#self-arranged marriage conversations

[smiletimeisrunningout]

someone should give me threads with characters who are close to Emma dealing with her being too much of a self-sacrificing hero with no sense of danger, because she WOULD actually be more careful if guilted into it confronted about how much she's making them worry

[hcneymooners]

⋆ i am afraid i will love you forever.

ambessa x sugar baby!reader x sevika. men & minors dni.

synopsis: ambessa & sevika are married for business reasons but cannot stand each other. however, they love you—you who are unaware that they are together.

cw: age difference, older woman/young woman, polyam but is it really bc they just love you and not each other, sugar baby!reader, business moguls!ambessa & sevika, power dynamics, power imbalance (you're a sugar baby, lol), sw, pining, non-sexual intimacy, sexually explicit content, threesome, cunnilingus, vaginal fingering, oral sex (everyone is receiving at some point), masturbation, exhibitionism, voyeurism, dom/sub, sub!reader, dom!ambessa, switch!sevika, mommy kink, strength kink, face-sitting, face fucking, possessive sevika & ambessa, y'all there's a lot of nastiness in here idk if i can warn for it all, discussions of sexuality, implied assault (non-graphic, within conversation), slightly dub-con, angst, angst with a happy ending, misunderstandings, arranged marriage, sexual tension, hate sex, bisexual!reader.

wc: 10.3k

PLAYLIST.

notes: y'all, i'm going to hell. i had fun with this. i have such a soft spot for plots like this.

ACT I: CONCEPTION. you were used to feeling like a guest in your own life, everything fleeting, everything temporary.

sugaring was something inherently lacking permanence, even in name. it was sweet for a moment, full of gleaming gifts that you accepted with perfect tears in your eyes.

you had more than enough money, saved from endless months in which you traipsed across the world in the hands of older men. maybe it was about the attention now, this idea that you were still young enough to be considered enticing without effort. maybe it was the desperation to wring what you could out of an age gap connection before you became the older one.

still, in the beginning years of your twenties, you found it increasingly grating. very quickly, you understood that the men were the main problem.

they were all the same: fleshy jowls wiggling as they chewed thickly through caviar and jasmine rice, their boisterous laughs sailing across tables when you attempted to join conversations. they took your interests and re-explained them to you, returning them pulpy and distorted as they attempted to convince you that you didn't understand them the way they did. their self-importance clung to them like cheap cologne.

the rare occasions where you actually slept with them were mercifully short, and you learned to suspend yourself out of your body. you would imagine hovering somewhere over yourself, banished to the lavish mirrored ceiling of the ritz or whatever opulent hotel they'd chosen. they shuddered awkwardly above you, and afterward, you'd come back into yourself only to scrub viciously at your skin under the unforgiving spray of the shower.

the women were different—usually. you found yourself drawn to their luxury perfumes and high society drawls. it was because of this that you dropped working through an agency—which you had originally chosen to better protect yourself from male clients—and began independent contracting.

you kept a private log of the ones you liked best. there was the private university professor (who was really a nepotism baby) who loved to wear le labo matcha 26 and smelled so deliciously of fig whenever she kissed you that you sometimes bought the fruit just to continue tasting her. her nickname for you was something in greek—μωρό μου, you think. moro mou. she told you it meant 'my baby', but in all honesty, she could have called you anything. you just liked hearing her speak.

you were a dreamy, distant creature. your appeal lay in your ethereal quality, moving through the world in a way that suggested you were detached from it. people described your presence as lingering, smokey and soft, like a fading perfume in a sunlit room. there was something endearing about the tilt of your head, the deliberate pause in your movements and speech as you stewed in thought, that made people stare a second too long.

you had plied yourself with romantic imaginations since you were younger, when you first grew to hate your mother. that hatred had led you across far waters into a glittering life of your own making. but you'd learned that women could be just as dangerous, if not more so. they could ensnare you, shatter your heart with just the flicker of a glance.

so, of course, this meant that you were bound to get caught in the tides of extensive affection at some point. you just didn't expect it to be with them.

🥩 ˚ ༘ ೀ⋆｡˚𓃔

the first sign should have been the unusual nature they coaxed from you.

you typically focused on one relationship at a time, securing yourself to a single person until you became too honest or too sensitive or too old. but with them, you fo​​und yourself with what you called a roster—a term your best friend and fellow sugar baby clleo (yes, two l's) took issue with during your weekly brunches.

"it's not a roster when it's only two women, [name]," she said, stirring her mimosa with a silver straw.

"it's more than one, no?"

"i feel like you have to have a minimum of three." she raised an eyebrow. "though i have to admit, even two is unusual for you."

the first was ambessa.

you'd met her when you weren't even looking, at some jazz show clleo had received tickets for from her newest beau. you had been perched inside the red velvet of the box, eyes roving over the insides of the other open balcony seats. you loved to observe, to look into others' lives and pretend they could be your own.

that night, you'd worn a navy slip dress that pushed the line of being dress-code appropriate, but it was comfortable and you had been tired. your hair was elaborately braided away from your face, threaded through with silk ribbons of the same color. despite its usually disagreeable nature, you'd managed to make it look elegant enough. your skin was littered with goosebumps from the fervent blasting of the air conditioning.

for once, you'd done your makeup the way you preferred it—less blushing ingenue, more cool nudes and a dark, bold lip. in the bottom of your purse sat two rolling bullets of lipstick: one a berry shade, the other a satiny red slightly subdued by a touch of brown pigment.

your feet had been curled beneath you, your ballet flats cast aside in the corner. the rounded tops were slightly scuffed, but you only saw it as a testimony of love. again, you looked out into the crowd only to find a woman looking back.

she was utterly beautiful, and your body flushed with heat for a moment, eyes wide like a doe. her skin was a dark, rich brown that gleamed with a sheen of oil and perhaps a shimmering body mist. her hair—black and streaked with thin rivers of gray—was pulled up into a tight bun, though the front was cornrowed. her mouth was full and smooth, a small gold cuff inserted in the middle of her bottom lip.

that night, she'd worn an oversized blazer over tailored pants. your eyes caught on her diamond cufflinks, and you felt your fingers clutch tighter around the bulk of your vintage ysl clutch.

she watched you with a sense of urgency, as if you might take flight like a bird and never return. bashfully, you turned back to watch the performance and clapped politely as it came to an end. her gaze never strayed from you, and as you rose to leave with clleo, you knew that she would be waiting.

you don't remember much of what happened after, of arranging the contract and indenturing yourself to her wealth. you only remember how she made you feel, her great body towering over you as she pierced you with her shrewd gaze. she'd cupped your elbow, pulled you gently to the side so that you were less in the way. the movement was easy; you trusted her with your body immediately.

now, ambessa reigned over the entries of your leather journal as your clear favorite. everything she did further endeared you to her, and you found yourself tumbling out of bed to check your phone where it lay on the floor, desperate for her messages. you watched the device all night, its flat body connected to a limp white cord plugged into the wall—willing it to ring.

and when she did call, you were almost delirious with joy.

ambessa's world was a carefully curated exhibition of power. noxus corp dominated the skyline with its obsidian tower, all sharp angles and tinted windows that reflected the setting sun like spilled blood. you'd learned early on not to ask too many questions about her work. the corporate merger making headlines—something about expanding into the industrial district of zaun—was just background noise to the way she'd trace your collarbone with cold fingers heavy with rings.

belatedly, in the midst of your betrayal and anguish, you’d berate yourself on your refusal to engage with real life when it inconvenienced you. you could’ve caught on, dived deep into the hole of information that was the internet as clleo did when taking up with someone new. but you didn’t, you just answered her call.

she liked to dress you up. tonight, it was a paper-thin black dress that cost more than your month's rent, the fabric liquid against your skin. you'd paired it with kitten heels that made soft clicking sounds against the marble floors—ambessa preferred when you were shorter than her, easier to maneuver, to possess. your lips were stained the color of coffee, and you'd lined your eyes with something dusky and soft.

the restaurant was the kind of place that didn't list prices on the menu, where the silverware felt weighty enough to be used as weapons. you liked this style of dining; it allowed you to escape further. you could pretend that since there were no prices, every morsel you ate was free and that the woman across from you was someone whom you loved and received love back from instead of bills.

“pull your hair back,” she commanded softly when you sat down, reaching across to brush a strand from your face. her touch lingered longer than necessary. “i want to see you properly. you should never feel a need to hide from me.”

you obliged, using the elastic around your wrist to gather your hair into a loose knot. the movement exposed the necklace she'd given you last week—a delicate thing of white gold and diamonds that probably cost more than your university education. her eyes darkened with satisfaction. she liked marking you with beautiful things, preferred to communicate through touch and gifts rather than words.

you preened under her clear pleasure. the idea that you’d done something right flowed through you, sweet as sugar as was the phenomenon of female favoritism. your tongue settled behind your teeth as she skimmed the menu, ordering for you as she always did. she seemed more aware of what you liked and needed more than you had ever been.

“are you alright with sharing the roast monkfish tonight, little lamb? i’m not all that hungry, so i think we should deal with something light.”

you nodded and she smiled, chucking your chin as she flagged down the server. you squeezed your thighs together, resisting the urge to rise from your seat and sit at her side with your head resting in her lap.

the waiter arrived with a bottle of wine you were unfamiliar with, which meant it was far more expensive than your beloved six-dollar gas station sémillon. as ambessa swirled the dark liquid in her glass, her phone buzzed. her expression hardened for a fraction of a second before smoothing over.

"business," she said simply, standing. "order whatever you'd like. i'll return shortly."

you caught fragments of her conversation as she walked away—something about zaun's infrastructure and liability concerns. one hour bled into two. the waiter refilled your glass with practiced discretion, and you watched the ice in ambessa's water melt completely. your phone remained silent except for a single text: an urgent matter requires my attention. car service will take you home.

the words blurred on your screen. you'd grown used to her absences, the way she could withdraw completely into her world of corporate warfare, leaving you adrift in these expensive spaces. but tonight, the emptiness felt sharper somehow. you had, more than ever, wanted her to take you home.

it was then that the woman entered the restaurant, right as you blinked upward to dispel the gathering tears. the air seemed to shift with her presence as she absentmindley looked in your direction.

she moved with the fluid grace of someone who knew how to handle herself in the cruel maw of this world, efficient and forceful despite wearing an expertly tailored suit. her left arm caught the light strangely—some sort of advanced prosthetic that spoke of military tech or private healthcare. a significant scar bisected her face, but rather than diminishing her beauty, it enhanced her striking features.

your paths crossed at the bar while you waited for a fresh glass of wine. she ordered whiskey, neat, and her voice was rough velvet.

"you're wearing that necklace wrong," she said, not looking at you directly. "the clasp should be centered at the nape. here."

before you could protest, her fingers—warm, unlike ambessa's—were at your neck, adjusting the chain. you caught a whiff of motor oil beneath expensive perfume. you swayed slightly, pressing into her touch. she steadied you with a single finger at the beginning knob of your spine, strong where you were momentarily weak.

"i'm sevika," she said, finally meeting your eyes. something in her gaze made your breath catch. you’d never seen eyes that grey. "you look like you could use something stronger than wine."

you smiled, albeit shakily, which avalanched into finding yourself talking to her about everything and nothing—about the book of poetry you kept on your nightstand for late night reading, about the way you collected vintage coats, about how you sometimes felt like you were floating three feet above your own life.

she listened with an intensity that made you feel anchored, present in your skin in a way you hadn't felt in months. her questions were sparse but precise, each one drawing out another story, another piece of yourself you hadn't meant to expose. and then she asked you to leave with her, and the answer was quick and easy. a light, eager ‘yes’.

the speakeasy she took you to was hidden beneath an auto shop, all exposed brick and piano medleys that wrapped around you like rope. in the dim light, you noticed the way her prosthetic arm moved with incredible precision as she gestured, the way her eyes softened almost imperceptibly when you laughed. she noticed you shiver and draped her jacket over your shoulders without comment, the leather still warm from her body.

"i manage specialized acquisitions," she said when you asked what she did, her smile suggesting there was more to the story. "currently dealing with some complex merger negotiations. but that's boring. tell me more about that poetry collection you mentioned."

you talked until your voice grew hoarse, until the early hours when the city felt like it belonged only to those who were lost or hiding. when she dropped you home, she fixed your broken porch light without being asked, her movements quick and purposeful. you found out later she'd also left her number saved in your phone under 's'.

what you didn't know—couldn't have known—was that across town, ambessa was returning to the penthouse she shared with her wife of six months, their marriage a carefully hidden clause in the merger agreement between noxus and zaun's industrial empire. their shared living space was largely ceremonial, each woman keeping to their own wing, intersecting only for appearances and board meetings.

that night, sevika found ambessa in their shared study, both of them surrounded by contract papers and acquisition reports.

"the zaun infrastructure reports," sevika said, dropping a thick folder on the desk. her wedding ring caught the light—a simple band worn only within these walls.

"you're late," ambessa replied without looking up. "the board expects updates by morning."

"i had a personal matter to attend to."

"as did i."

neither woman acknowledged sevika’s missing jacket which she never was without, nor the faint perfume—your perfume—that clung to ambessa's blazer. their arrangement was clear: their marriage was business, their personal lives their own. they had trained themselves not to care what, or who, the other did in their free time.

but that night, for the first time since their arranged union, both women found themselves thinking of the same person as they worked in silence. it was one of their more agreeable evenings together.

ACT II: GROWING PAINS.

“where do you go?”

you turned, half-lidded, your hair mussed into an untamed bird’s nest. sevika lay beside you, her smile a lopsided thing—teasing, warm, a little worn. you leaned toward her instinctively, pressing a lazy finger into the shallow dimple that cut into her cheek.

she caught your wrist before you could withdraw, lips brushing the tender pulse beneath your skin before pulling you into her chest. her hand slid across your stomach, warm and heavy, before it wandered higher to pinch your nipple just shy of too hard.

the two of you had met in a hotel, yet somehow, it felt less clinical than it should have.

“what do you mean?” you murmured, breath catching as her hand stilled.

“you go somewhere,” she said, “when we fuck.”

the words hung between you, and you felt your body shift under her scrutiny. her gaze trailed the uneasy motion of your shoulder blades as you shifted upright. honesty clawed at your throat, but you tried to swallow it back. you’ve never been the tiger, only the tiger’s bride.

“i often—” you broke off, tongue darting to wet your lips. her arm tightened around your waist, as if sensing your instinct to retreat. “i tend to disassociate when i do this part of things. i’m not—what i want, i usually can’t achieve. i don’t want to make it anyone’s problem, so i float.”

“float?” she repeated softly. her tone was unreadable, but you refused to meet her eyes.

“i pick a spot on the ceiling,” you admitted, voice small. “from there, i phase myself out of my body. it’s like it’s happening to someone else.”

sevika said nothing at first, and the silence thickened as you focused on the slow, steady rise and fall of her chest. then, carefully, she shifted you into her lap, holding you there like a delicate thing. her lips found the center of your chest, pressing a kiss over your heart before trailing up to the vulnerable line of your throat.

“you do this with me?”

“not always,” you whispered. “you’re…different. you pay attention to me—what i need. only two other people have ever been that way. both women.”

“mmm. do you still see them?” her voice was calm, but you caught the subtle current of possession beneath her words.

“only one.”

“and?”

“it’s good with her. one of the best.”

“and what do you want?” she pressed. the question lodged itself in your chest. “you said you can’t achieve it.”

your cheeks burned, and you squirmed in her lap, but she held you fast. “i—this is embarrassing.”

“there’s nothing embarrassing about your desires, baby girl,” she murmured, her tone soothing. “i wouldn’t be here if i didn’t want you to enjoy this too.”

“i do enjoy it, but…i’d like to go further. i like to go under.” you hesitated, then added, “you know that i’m—”

“submissive,” she finished for you.

you nodded, your voice softening as you continued. “i don’t really like the harsher aspects of submission, but i love being taken somewhere else—being softer. i love being told i’m good, that i’m doing well. i love being pushed past my limits, to the point where i’m…hazy. overstimulated. freed from my worries through my body, through the pleasure i give and receive.

“when you manhandle me, when you pull me close and push into me like you’re starving for it, when you break me apart with your mouth, i get so close. i hover in this warm heaven where i’m nothing but what i feel. you know?”

sevika’s expression softened, her face almost unbearably open. before you could process it, she moved, pressing you into the mattress beneath her. her broad frame blotted out the light, sheltering you in a cocoon of warmth and safety.

“you are good, baby,” she finally said. “so good.”

her lips fell again to your neck and you felt her slide her thick fingers into the warm walls of your cunt. a sound slid from your throat, something gutteral and worn. she began to move, curling her fingers as if you pull you closer. there, in the back of your mind, was that heaven.

she kissed your temple, her lips lingering there as your body arched into her hands. “thank you for telling me.”

then, softer: “that heaven? i want to take you there.”

the words sank into your skin, heady and heavy, as if she’d whispered she loved you.

🥩 ˚ ༘ ೀ⋆｡˚𓃔

ambessa had endured a long day—one filled with tedious negotiations and the peculiar frustrations of ruling over people who thought themselves her equals. she'd craved just one moment of quiet in her house, but fate, it seemed, had other plans.

when she stepped through the door, the sight of her wife pacing their kitchen dragged a weary sigh from her chest. sevika's movements were sharp, her broad shoulders taut beneath the worn leather of her jacket. even now, after months of marriage, seeing sevika in their shared space felt like an intrusion.

for a fleeting moment, ambessa considered turning around, but she hadn’t built empires by running from conflict.

“sevika,” she began, voice clipped, “if this is about zaun’s profit percentage in the acquisition, i suggest you take it up with legal. i’ve no patience to discuss business tonight.”

“it’s not that,” sevika muttered, her tone bristling with frustration. “but thanks for your grace, medarda.”

ambessa’s eyebrow arched. “then what?”

sevika stilled, the weight of her gaze pinning ambessa in place. “are you the other woman?”

for a moment, the words didn’t register. then irritation flared, swift and hot.

“i thought we agreed we weren’t in love,” ambessa replied, dry as the desert. “who i see outside this house is none of your concern, unless it compromises our arrangement.”

sevika exhaled sharply, the sound edged with restrained anger. she reached into her pocket and retrieved her phone, its screen casting a gentle glow across the marble counter. with a few taps, she pulled up a recent conversation.

she paused, a smile stealing across her face as she took in the selfie you'd sent of you and clleo in matching milano blaniks. the tenderness in her expression was something ambessa had never seen before.

my feet hurt but it might be worth it!! you'd texted. she had responded in record time.

looking cute, baby girl. i like the purple.

me too! they had a navy and gold pair i would kill for, but i'm trying to be responsible.

sevika's smile deepened, and this time she sent a bank transfer along with her next message.

you can be a little irresponsible.

oh, sevi. that's not what i meant.

i know. i don't mind. get them both.

"i'm sorry, but were we not having a conversation?" ambessa's voice cut through the moment like frost.

sevika snapped back to reality, her face twisting into something ugly—the expression she reserved solely for ambessa. she selected another image, and ambessa stepped closer, her eyes narrowing at the familiar necklace adorning your throat.

she recognized it instantly—it had rested on her desk just nights ago, a small token of indulgence she’d gifted you during one of your afternoons together.

you were smiling, beaming, caught mid-laugh. your hair was damp, clinging to your cheeks, and a sea lion nudged at your side. it was an image of unfiltered joy.

"she was talking to me the other night," sevika began, her voice tight as a wire. "mentioned some other woman. i thought it was a client thing, but then she showed me this." she gestured at the screen. "that necklace. it was on your desk when i saw you."

ambessa said nothing at first, her jaw working. finally, she sighed, the sound heavy with something like resignation. “i didn’t know. i assumed she might have other clients, but i didn’t pursue her because of you.”

sevika’s shoulders sagged slightly, but the tension in her face remained. she bent her head, palms pressing into the cool marble of the counter. “what the fuck.”

“does she know?” ambessa asked after a beat.

"what would it matter?" sevika shot back, her voice rising like tide. her gaze locked on ambessa, and her lips twisted in disbelief. "holy shit. are you in love with her?"

the question hit like a blow, but ambessa’s reaction was instant.

“as if you’re any better,” she snapped. her tone turned venomous, sharp as a blade. “you sulk through the door, reeking of her sex, then slink into the shower as if i can’t hear you simpering in there.”

sevika straightened, anger sparking. “and you’re what? innocent?”

ambessa’s laugh was cold, cruel. “i’ve never been innocent a day in my life. but you—god, sevika, you’re pathetic. you’re worse than i thought.”

sevika’s fists clenched at her sides, but she didn’t lash out. instead, she held her ground, her gaze fierce. “what do we do now?”

ambessa hesitated. her mind raced through the implications, the potential fallout. finally, she crossed her arms, her posture stiff. “we don’t tell her.”

“and keep lying to her?” sevika’s voice cracked slightly. “how long do you think that’ll work?”

“as long as it has to,” ambessa replied, her voice low and final. “this arrangement isn’t just about her, sevika. it’s about us. about what we’ve built. if you care about her as much as you claim, you’ll think before ruining what little stability we have left.”

“for fuck’s sake, ambessa. she’s a sweet girl. she won’t—”

“you have no idea what she will do if she finds out,” ambessa hissed. “and i know how sweet she is. she’s the only goddamn person i know who can stand me. who do you think i’m really protecting?”

for once, sevika had no retort. the silence between them was loud, heavy, filled with unsaid things.

“i’ll handle it,” ambessa said after a long pause, her voice softer now but no less firm. “but don’t let your feelings make you sloppy. if you can’t compartmentalize, this will all fall apart.”

sevika turned away, her shoulders tense. “it’s already falling apart.”

🥩 ˚ ༘ ೀ⋆｡˚𓃔

ambessa didn’t sleep that night.

not because of sevika’s words—though they lingered like a sour taste in her mouth—but because of you. she’d grown accustomed to the softness of your skin beneath her fingers, the way your presence softened the edges of her world, made it almost bearable. and yet, she couldn’t shake the nagging thought that you might be nothing more than collateral damage in this carefully constructed house of cards.

the following morning, as sunlight filtered through the sprawling windows of her office, ambessa reached for her phone. her fingers hovered over your contact, her mind warring with itself. she’d always prided herself on her control, on her ability to compartmentalize. but now, for the first time in years, she felt the cracks forming.

her phone buzzed before she could decide, sevika’s name flashing across the screen.

“what now?” ambessa answered, her tone clipped.

“the gala,” sevika began, her voice unusually subdued. “this year it’s your turn to host, right?”

ambessa’s grip tightened on the phone. “yes. and what about it?”

“and,” sevika said, dragging out the word, “she’ll be there. she got an invite through one of her clients.”

the air seemed to still around her. “you’re certain?”

“positive,” sevika replied. “what do you want to do?”

ambessa leaned back in her chair, her gaze fixed on the skyline. the decision should have been simple: handle the event with poise, maintain appearances, and ensure that you remained blissfully unaware. but something about sevika’s tone made her pause.

“we’ll stick to the plan,” ambessa said finally. “she doesn’t know, and she won’t find out. not from us.”

they both knew it was only a beautiful dream.

🥩 ˚ ༘ ೀ⋆｡˚𓃔

and then suddenly, it was different. it was horrible in its subtleness, but enough to make you less comfortable than you were before.

you went to dinner. ��​ambessa watched you with eyes as sharp as her diamond cufflinks, and you wondered if she knew how small you felt in her presence. you let her brush her thumb over your lower lip, and you leaned into it, hoping she doesn’t notice your hands gripping your clutch too tightly.

“is something wrong?” you asked her, throat closing around the end of the question.

she seemed to startle, and leaned back with a shake of her head. you knew what was coming next. she was going to blame work or her family, which you barely knew about, or maybe something as clandestine as the weather. you suddenly felt entirely too sick. you took a sip of wine, eyes falling on the little brown bag that sat next to you.

every gift you unwrapped felt a little like a goodbye, the sparkle dulled by the unspoken terms behind it. you kept smiling, face stretching tediously through the pain though your heart was sinking because nothing ruined a good arrangement faster than too much honesty.

you must’ve overstepped somewhere down the line, and she had grown weary of it. you were sweating now, looking away from her. it didn’t help that your phone had stayed dark all evening, your slew of messages to sevika read and unanswered.

“i finished that book you gave me,” you offered and ambessa nodded. “it was lovely. a little macabre, but i managed to push through.”

“bessa?” you asked, voice small.

the nickname seemed to spur her back into herself and she reached across the table, clutching your hand. her rings pressed cold indents into your skin. you'd grown to love the weight of them.

"the annual noxus environmental gala is tomorrow night," she said finally. her thumb traced circles on your palm. "i'd like you to come."

your heart stuttered. she'd never invited you to a public event before. "another client already invited me. i’ll be there."

she squeezed your hand once before letting go, unfazed by the mention of someone else. "good."

🥩 ˚ ༘ ೀ⋆｡˚𓃔

the evening was opulent in a way that made your skin prickle. the ballroom shimmered with soft golden light, chandeliers casting their glow across marble floors that reflected everything like still water.

you'd been invited by marcus—a client who preferred your company over dinner to discuss art and literature, who looked at you like you were made of gold but never asked for more than conversation. he was safe, a spiderweb you could free yourself from anytime without losing any skin.

your dress—a gift from ambessa—felt like a confession of infidelity. marcus had said nothing in the car, but his face had been momentarily confused. he kept track of what he gifted you, and he hadn’t seen this before. you offered no explanation, just smiled softly and held his clammy hand.

the fabric whispered against your skin with every movement, reminding you of her touch. you held your champagne glass like a shield, watching the bubbles rise and disappear, each one carrying a fragment of your certainty with it.

the past week had been strange. ambessa's usual sharp edges had softened into something almost tender, while sevika's messages had grown shorter, more distant. she’d eventually responded to the ones that had been read, but you felt as though you had disturbed her with them. you'd attributed it to work, to the upcoming shareholder conference business weekly had written about. you were good at making excuses for the people you loved.

and then you saw her.

ambessa stood on the stage like she'd been born there, her voice carrying across the room with the kind of authority that made everyone else feel small. her dress was long and white, with a delicate slit framing the plump skin of her thigh. it clung to her frame with an elegance that made your heart ache. you didn't want to admit how your chest tightened at the sight of her, how your body betrayed you with its instinctive pull toward her presence.

but before you could fully process the sight of her, another figure emerged from the crowd.

sevika.

she stood near the base of the stage, her broad frame impossible to miss. her presence was quieter than ambessa's, but no less commanding. the way she held herself—like she belonged here, like this was her world too—made something cold settle in your stomach. you shifted away from marcus, moved slightly forward with a furrowed brow.

it wasn't just their proximity—it was the way they moved. the way sevika's gaze lingered on ambessa, the subtle nods they exchanged, as if communicating in a language only they were privy to. and then, as if to confirm your worst fears, ambessa's hand brushed sevika's arm in a gesture so familiar, so natural, that the truth hit you like a truck.

the matching rings caught the light. the world tilted sideways.

the soft hum of conversation turned to static, the lights too bright, the room too warm. you tried to steady yourself, clutching the edge of a nearby cocktail table and nearly taking it down, but the weight of realization pressed down on you like a tide. marcus was asking after you, but you snapped at him.

you thought of the gifts—how similar their tastes had been. the way they both knew too much about each other’s companies, about each other's worlds. the little moments that should have added up but hadn't—because you hadn't wanted them to. you'd ignored the signs, wrapped yourself in their separate affections like blankets against the cold.

someone nearby whispered, "isn't that their…" the words trailed off, heavy with implication. you spun, eyes wide and searching. you couldn’t tell who had spoken.

the champagne glass slipped from your fingers. it didn't shatter—caught by a waiter's quick reflexes—but the sound of it leaving your hand seemed to echo through the room. both women turned at the noise, their expressions shifting from professional neutrality to something raw and complicated.

“do you know her?” the question came from a guest nearby, their curious tone laced with amusement.

the tension shattered. the murmurs began, the subtle shifts of the crowd as more guests turned to watch the unfolding spectacle. your voice was barely above a whisper, but it cut through the gathering noise like a blade.

“how long?”

ambessa stepped forward, her movements slow and deliberate, as if approaching a wounded animal. “it’s not what you think—”

“don’t,” you snapped, your voice trembling with anger and heartbreak. “don’t you dare lie to me.”

sevika tried to intervene, her hand reaching out as if to steady you, but you recoiled, your fury spilling over. “you both knew,” you said, your voice rising. “you knew, and you let me—”

sevika tried again."baby—"

"don't." the word came out hard and cold.

you backed away, your heels suddenly unsteady beneath you. the crowd parted like water, their whispers following you like shadows. you felt that your dress was transparent, exposing your body to the their ravaging gaze. you made it halfway down the marble steps before sevika caught your arm. her touch was warm, familiar—everything you'd grown to love and now couldn't bear.

"please," she said, her voice rough with something like desperation. she couldn’t possibly understand what it meant to be desperate. "please."

"let go of me." you tried to pull away, but she was stronger. had always been stronger.

"we never meant—"

"what?" your voice cracked. "to hurt me? to make me look like a fool? do you think i love being a loser? that i would be fine because i would view this as some way of knowing what it was like to win?" you yanked harder, and suddenly you were falling.

the puddle wasn't deep, but it was enough. your dress—ambessa's dress—soaked through instantly, clinging to your skin like shame. you stayed there on your hands and knees, watching your tears make ripples in dirty water.

"stand up," ambessa's voice came from behind you, softer than you'd ever heard it. “come inside. we can—”

"no." you pushed yourself to your feet, water streaming from ruined silk. your makeup was running—you could feel it tracking down your cheeks, and somehow that small detail destroyed you more than anything else. for the first time in a long time, you felt ugly. "i don’t want to come inside."

when you looked up, they were both there. ambessa's perfect composure had cracked, showing something raw underneath. sevika looked like she wanted to reach for you again but didn't dare.

"were you laughing about it?" your voice was barely audible. "about how pathetic i was, falling for both of you?"

"no," sevika said quickly. "god, no. we didn't even know—"

"until when?"

"a week ago," ambessa admitted. the truth fell between you, landed hard.

you stepped back, barefoot now, heels dangling from one hand. "oh my god. were you ever going to tell me?”

their silence was answer enough. the air around you grew thin.

a scream rose up from the depths of you before you could stop it, and echoed wildly from the sides of surrounding buildings. you clutched at your face, eyes screwing shut as you let out a terrible heaving noise. you knew they were seeing you now as you really were: a frantic girl who clasped desperately at whatever she could get in order to save herself.

“i hate you,” you screamed at them, hurling the words like they were knives. “i hate you! i never want you to speak to me again.”

it was rendered useless because the three of you knew that simply wasn’t the truth.

“just—leave me alone,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper.

their expressions were unreadable. if you gave in to your delusions, you could believe that ambessa looked slightly ill.

you walked away, legs shaking, each step carrying you further from everything you'd thought was real. behind you, you could hear them arguing in harsh whispers, but you didn't turn around. the city lights blurred through your tears until everything was just a soft shape and shadow.

your apartment felt suffocating when you returned, the silence oppressive in its stillness. you sank onto the couch, your dress pooling around you like a shroud. the tears came in waves, each one more relentless than the last.

you thought of ambessa’s calculated charm, sevika’s quiet strength, the way they’d both made you feel seen, cherished. and then you thought of the lies. you reached for your phone, your fingers trembling as you typed out a message. but no words came. what could you possibly say? that you hated them? you’d done that. that you missed them already? that you wouldn’t know how to exist without them?

instead, you deleted their numbers, one by one, the act feeling both liberating and excruciating. for the first time in what felt like forever, you were truly alone.

your mother was right. you were such a fun girl, but impossible to love. when someone looked at you, they’d never see someone worth settling down with. another wail unearthed itself, reverberating through the grave of your body. you twisted, holding yourself with your own arms as you felt the grief break you down.

you would never see them again. there was nothing worse than this, not now. you felt like you’d be better off dead.

ACT III: DEFORMATION.

ambessa hadn’t slept in days.

the boardroom’s fluorescent lights cast harsh shadows across her sharp features as she reviewed contracts she couldn’t focus on. every word blurred into the next, her thoughts returning to the look on your face when the truth unraveled.

“i don’t think i can fix this,” she had told sevika the night it happened, her voice hollow as they sat in the dim confines of her private office.

sevika hadn’t responded, her silence cutting deeper than any argument could. ambessa could tell her wife blamed her, and in some ways, she couldn’t disagree.

sevika, in response, buried herself in her work. her nights were spent overseeing global operations, her jaw clenched tight as she barked orders to underlings down the phone who didn’t dare question her unrelenting pace.

but even the chaos of the company’s industrial sprawl couldn’t drown out the memory of you. the sound of your pleausre haunted her—high and wispy as she ate at you. her dreams were vivid, stuck on the way you’d lit up when you talked about the things you loved—things she hadn’t known enough to ask about.

they’d both lost you, and they felt it in the empty spaces you’d left behind.

ambessa, meanwhile, pulled back. she gave the reins to her daughter for an indeterminate amount of time, something viewed as largely positive and a sign of trust. but those who knew her interpreted it as a sign of grave danger.

her days were spent much like yours, wrapped in the endless heart of her bed which she only left to sink underneath the soapy water of a warm bath. there were several evenings where sevika would stumble home, slightly drunk but coherent enough to check on ambessa and yank her from the bottom of the bath.

“no,” she rasped, her hand tight on ambessa’s thick wrist. “you face it.”

and you?

well, eventually you realized that the world would continue to move on. blessedly, your breakdown hadn’t hit the headlines or social media platforms. you knew this had to be the work of them, but it was the least you deserved. you cut all arrangements you had leftover. the gifts were boxed up and put into storage.

despite your dramatics, you reminded yourself to not be stupid. all cash you had kept was deposited into your bank account, in increments so it wasn’t flagged as suspicious. you had well over thousands, so you broke your lease and found a block several miles from where you used to be.

you’d invited clleo to live with you, but she’d refused citing her current suitor as her preferred living situation. she felt that he was the one, that they would marry. you felt your bitterness rise up, but you shot it right in the middle of its scaled head. you were happy for her, you said instead of “he doesn’t mean it. please don’t believe him.”

please send an invite.

she’d cupped your face and kissed your cheek. of course. you’ve been with me through everything.

so, you broke another lease and left the city.

ACT IV: REVIVAL.

true to her word, clleo did get married, and she did more than invite you. you were her maid of honor; the only bridesmaid at that. this meant that you were captured into a lavish gown that showed more skin than you thought would be appropriate.

“we can’t forget where we came from,” clleo had said coquettishly, pressing a soft kiss to your shoulder. she treated you so fragilely now, and you clung to it. you were pretending it was something else.

the wedding was a spectacle of opulence—ivory drapes cascading from every corner of the venue, chandeliers dripping crystal tears, and flowers so fragrant they felt like an embrace. the air buzzed with the cloying sweetness of a celebration meant to declare love eternal. you floated through it all, a wraith in your own right, bound by duty and the magnetic pull of clleo’s joy. you wore the dress she picked for you: black satin that crushed in on itself like paper whenever you moved and clung like sin, with lace so delicate it felt like a secret. it revealed too much and not enough all at once. you wondered if she’d done it on purpose, if she’d wanted you to stand out or to feel exposed. to embarrass you.

no, this was clleo. you were simply…paranoid now.

the ceremony was a blur, a kaleidoscope of vows and veils, of clleo’s radiant smile and the way her hand trembled in her husband’s. you caught the bouquet because she’d aimed it at you, her laugh like champagne bubbles bursting in the air. it was later, during the reception, that you felt it—that electric hum at the back of your neck, the awareness of being watched. you turned, and there they were.

ambessa and sevika.

they stood together, an impenetrable force against the crowd. ambessa’s gaze was as sharp as ever, her golden gown gleaming meanly, a study in power and restraint. sevika, beside her, had the air of someone caught between worlds, her hand resting on a glass of something dark, her eyes locked on you. they hadn’t been invited. you knew this because clleo would have warned you. yet here they were, as if summoned by the threads of some cruel, cosmic joke.

your stomach tightened, but you refused to look away. instead, you tilted your chin, the soft wave of your hair catching the light, and took a slow sip of wine. if they wanted to haunt you, they would have to work for it.

it didn’t take long. ambessa approached first, her steps deliberate, her presence cutting through the crowd like a blade. “you look beautiful,” she said, her voice low enough that it felt like a secret. you hated how your skin warmed under her gaze.

“you shouldn’t be here,” you replied, though the edge in your voice felt dull, worn down by something deeper.

sevika joined her then, her expression inscrutable but her proximity unnerving. “we needed to see you,” she said, her voice rougher, as if it cost her something to speak.

“at a wedding? how romantic.” you let the words hang, your lips curving into a smile that didn’t reach your eyes. “good thing it’s not mine.”

sevika’s lips twitched, and you scowled. your pain was not for her amusement.

“[name], we made mistakes,” ambessa said, and for the first time, there was something fragile in her tone, a crack in the glass. it distracted you from your ire. “but we haven’t stopped thinking about you.”

you set your glass down, your fingers trembling against the crystal stem. “i don’t think this is the time or place.”

“when is?” sevika countered, her voice steady but her eyes revealing something raw. “you’ve been avoiding us.”

“i said i never wanted to speak to either one of you again and yet, here you are,” you said, your voice sharper now, cutting through the haze of alcohol and longing. “do you think crashing a wedding will fix what you broke?”

ambessa’s jaw tightened, but she didn’t look away. “we’re not here to fix it. we’re here because we can’t let it end like this. and it’s not crashing if the groom extends an invite at the behest of the bride.”

your heart stuttered, and for a moment, the noise of the reception faded into a dull roar. clleo’s laughter rang out from somewhere behind you, a reminder of where you were, of what you’d tried so hard to rebuild. why did everyone betray you?

“i can’t do this,” you whispered, stepping back. the movement felt like tearing yourself in two.

“baby girl,” sevika said, her voice low, almost pleading. “look at me. this isn’t some big scheme, okay? let’s talk. we don’t even have to do it here. we can go anywhere you fucking want. just like before, mama.”

you shook your head, the weight of their words pressing against the fragile walls you’d built around yourself. “i need air,” you said, your voice barely audible, and before they could respond, you turned and slipped into the crowd.

“[name!]” ambessa called.

fuck being the tiger's bride, you were the tiger. you stood your ground, kept walking.

🥩 ˚ ༘ ೀ⋆｡˚𓃔

the gardens were quiet, the air cool against your skin as you leaned against the wrought-iron railing. the night sky stretched endlessly above you, an intricate canvas of stars that felt too indifferent to your pain. but the world wasn’t responsible for soothing you.

you’d thought the distance would help, that the cool air would clear your head, but instead, it only magnified the ache in your chest.

you heard them before you saw them, the soft crunch of gravel underfoot. you didn’t turn, didn’t acknowledge their presence, but you felt it—that charge, that unbearable pull that had slaughtered you repeatedly since the beginning.

“i didn’t ask you to follow me.”

“we’re not asking for forgiveness,” ambessa said, her voice soft but firm. “we are willing—we’re willing to take what we can get. we want to make this right.”

you turned then, your eyes meeting hers, and for the first time, you saw it—the vulnerability, the regret. sevika stood slightly behind her, her expression shadowed but her eyes fixed on you with the same intensity.

“and what does that look like?” you asked, your voice breaking despite yourself. “what could you possibly do to undo the damage?”

ambessa stepped closer, her hand hovering near yours but not quite touching. “we can’t undo it,” she admitted. “but we can promise to be better. to show you that you’re the only thing that matters.”

“you’re both so good with words. but words don’t mean anything if they’re not backed by action.” you laughed then, a bitter sound that cut through the stillness. “you always made me feel like i mattered. that’s why it hurt so much. i have no place between you.

sevika finally spoke, her voice quieter but no less resolute. “then let us prove it. on your terms.”

“you’re not good for me.”

ambessa glided forward, caught your chin inbetween her thumb and index finger.

“nothing in this world that we want with so much intensity will ever be good for us.”

you looked between them, your heart a battlefield between desire and self-preservation. the silence stretched, heavy with the weight of everything unsaid. finally, you broke out of her grasp, a small, tentative gesture that felt like stepping off a cliff.

“i have no place between you,” you said again, your voice barely more than a whisper.

sevika's shoulders sagged with disappointment, but ambessa��s lips curved into the faintest hint of a smile. she was like a bloodhound with weakness.

“is that what you want, lamb?” you looked up at her, sensing a shift in the air. “you want to be between us? coddled, warm, and safe?”

“ambessa—” sevika began, but the other woman held up a hand.

“you would’ve been fine if you had know that we were married from the beginning, hmm? is that it? your conscience would’ve been sated, right? because it’s not homewrecking or infidelity if the partners are aware of the others transgressions.”

“that’s not fair,” you snapped.

“mmm, well life isn’t. besides, you must be stupid if you think every client you’ve been with hasn’t once had someone waiting at home. this is your life, little lamb. your permanent affliction,” ambessa sneered. “i think you like it.”

you knew this game well. she pushed you, said the best things to make you act your worst. if you gave in, she won.

“fuck you, ambessa.”

“gladly,” she said with a small smile.

you scoffed, irritated beyond belief and moved to storm past her. by doing so, you gave her what she wanted. as you made an effort to leave, she cinched your waist with her arm and pulled you back into her chest. you could feel her breasts against your back, full and ripe like fruit.

“what are you doing?” you asked incredulously.

she didn’t answer, only hiked your dress up to press a ringed hand to your cunt. she held it there, groping the warmth of you until you were leaking in response. you let out a strangled squeal, legs kicking to no avail.

“see? you want us so badly. it’s like an instinct.”

you glanced at sevika, hoping for some fucking common sense but found her gazing at your lace-clad panties with something unfathomly angry lurking across her face.

“who the fuck gave you those?” she said quietly.

you stopped struggling, looking at her fully now. her stormy gaze lifted, piercing you like a spear through weak flesh.

“it wasn’t me, and ambessa never gifted you shit like this.”

“i had—i had other clients,” you answered and she rolled her shoulders, skulking forward. “but i bought these myself. i don’t see anyone else anymore. i can’t—i couldn’t. it was hard.”

her face softened at that, and she came closer. her large body covered the front of you, shielding your exposed body from any prying eyes. this meant that ambessa could slide the fabric to the side and dip a finger into your cunt. the slide was slick due to your drooling arousal, but the pain still startled you.

she was large, almost too much, but it seemed to burst a part of you that had been straining at its locks. you let loose a silent cry, shuddering desperately in her grasp as she explored you tenderly. sevika cooed, claiming your mouth in a bruising kiss.

“hold on,” she murmured into your mouth and you clutched onto her, gripping tighter as ambessa gave you over.

sevika walked you over to a small alcove, expertly hidden from immediate vision and grunted as she held you up with one arm—removing her jacket with the other. once the concrete floor was covered appropriately, she lowered you on top of it carefully.

you released her, but barely had a moment to thank her before she was on you. your first thought was that it was like before: relentless, tender, and crushing. her hands slid up your thighs until they grasped at your hips. you rocked into her, moaning softly as she squeezed the soft meat of your stomach. your breath came fast, labored and fueled by aching.

“it’s okay, baby. ‘m right here,” sevika said, her voice low and firm.

she pulled back, spreading your legs till the pink of your pussy was revealed to her hungry gaze. it winked at her, clenching around nothing the longer she looked.

“jesus, i’ve missed this,” she murmured.

you flushed, body pulsing hot with flame. from the side of you, ambessa came prowling. she lowered herself to her knees, back arching neatly as she crawled into the apex of your thighs. her mouth descended upon you with a fervor, her lips closing around your clit and sucking. your back bowed until you were practically hunched over her, hands in her thick hair.

she only adjusted herself so that she could better lick into you, her tongue lapping at every crevice of your cunt. you were dripping all over her face, hips bucking as you fucked forward onto her tongue. her hands came to cup the peach of your ass, squeezing and tugging until you felt like nothing more than a piece of meat. after a moment, ambessa pulled back and laughed as you tried to follow.

“sorry, little lamb, but i need to know if i’m doing a good job” she watched you, eyes sharp. “i know you are.”

you shivered at that, and she smiled. impatiently, you further opened your legs and pushed your sopping pussy toward her.

“c’mon. please.” when nothing happened, you let out a groan. “you’re doing a good job.”

“who’s doing a good job?” ambessa asked, moving closer.

you shivered again, your brain beginning to mottle and smear.

“you are, mommy.”

“fuck,” sevika groaned.

satisfied, ambessa suctioned her lips back over you. you let out a high moan, pushing your chest out. sevika reached over, tugging the bust down and exposing your tits. your nipples were straining toward her, so she dragged one in between your teeth. with a cry of surprise, you slammed your thighs closed around ambessa’s bobbing head. she did nothing to open them herself, only slapped a hand on your inner thigh to get you to correct yourself.

“yes, fuck,” you cried. “fuck, please. please. ohhhh.”

ambessa shook her head back and forth, letting herself get messy as she pushed her face deeper inside of your pussy. you were fully fucking her face now, your clit engorged and begging. whatever filter you’d had before was gone now; your mouth ran like water from a faucet.

“yeah. yeah, mommy, like that. eat your baby’s cunt. lick your girl’s pink little pussy.”

ambessa moaned, her nails digging into the skin of your ass. you bounced as much as you could, that warmth coiling deep inside your stomach. sevika was still teasing your tits, but she had a hand inside of herslef now—her pants pushed down for better access.

when you realized she was trying to rub one out, you came with a primal grunt. ambessa attempted to pull back but you kept her where she was with a firm hand at the nape of her neck. breathlessly, you coaxed sevika up for a kiss and then pulled her away by her hair.

“i want you to touch her,” you instructed. your voice was shaky as you edged toward your second orgasm.

it took her a minute to register what you meant and you watched her cheeks darken, her eyes flickering toward ambessa’s rippling back inbetween your legs and then back to you.

“i know you want to, sevi,” you murmured.

your mind was almost gone now; you were so close to heaven.

you could see her warring with herself, but you also knew her love for you would win out. with a curt nod, she moved until she was behind ambessa and lifted her dress until she was face to face with her naked ass. with an efficent movement, sevika pushed ambessa’s legs open so she could smell the musk of her large cunt. there was a moment where you weren’t sure if she would obey, but then she dived in—licking a large stripe between ambessa’s folds. you seized around ambessa’s tongue as she squealed in surprise, your orgasm pouring from you like honey.

you puhsed her off of you and crawled onto all fours, squatting slightly to make the push of your fingers easier as you entered yourself. despite not pleasuring you anymore, ambessa made no effort to move as sevika slapped a hand on her ass as she slurped at her pussy.

“holy shit,” ambessa muttered and you grinned.

“have you—have you touched each other like this before?” you asked, voice breaking as you reached that spot long your walls. “did you fuck when i left to try to stave the guilt?”

there was no answer, but ambessa stiffened. you laughed, bright and a little unhinged. it was confirmation that they’d thought about, but had never actually followed through. you were in a squatting position now, positioning your hips as you rode your own fingers. you wrist twinged in discomfort, but you were more determined to cum for a third time.

faster and faster, you rode. your head was turned up toward the ceiling of the alcove, your tits bouncing as you began to crest that wave. you closed your eyes, focusing on the shaky inhales of ambessa and the wet squelches of sevika feasting on her.

there was a pause, so you opened your eyes and found sevika flipping ambessa over so that the bigger woman sat on her face. like this, she was even more insatiable. she rocked ambessa back and forth on her face, spreading her own thighs weakly as heat cascaded through her.

you weren’t sure what did it: sevika’s newfound desperation to actually fuck her wife, ambessa’s unrelenting eye contact as she came, or the high whine sevika released when ambessa leaned back to fuck two fingers into her frantically pulsing cunt.

but whatever it was ravaged you. you screamed as you came for the third time, legs trembling as you squirted all over yourself and sevika’s suit jacket. the comedown was impossible. you were incoherent, moaning wildly as the pleasure possessed you.

you heard them both scrambling to move toward you, but you held a hand out. your neck bent, your body settling onto all fours like a lame animal as you let your cunt flutter and clench through the remnants of your orgasm. your chest heaved frantically, but you were euphoric. you’d done it, reached Heaven and taken control.

you glanced up at them and know from the look on their faces, you’ve never been this beautiful. if this was what the french called a little death, you wanted to die forever.

“this is your place,” ambessa said hoarsely. “you belong right in the center. you are the only one who understands. you are our center.”

sevika lay next to her, and she said nothing for a long while. then her face turned toward you. you met her gaze unflinching.

“baby girl, please. please.”

you thought you were the loser.

“it has to be different,” you finally said. the two women broke into identical smiles. “it has to be. i want you to be transparent with me. i’m not a little child.”

you thought you were down for the count.

“like you said,” you continued, staring right at them. “you are my life. this is my life.”

but here you were, the last woman standing.

© hcneymooners.

⚚ special taglist: @venusiandyke @thatonetargaryen @drgnflyteabox @y2kas13 @baeumonde @blackdykegirlblogger @slut4sevika @sevikasllver @indigopearl96 @dut1fuldyk3 @imheadintothemountains @bambishaven @kirammansbow @sidefanficaccounttohidemyshame @nightlyconfusion @sevikasrightboob @half-of-a-gay @nsfwruru @yourlovesicklibra @tnash-tammy @sweetcinnamoncookie6 @bluferret @doppelman @savedforlaterr @sevikasserafim @fruitfulfashion @soniiyi @namuranguinhos @16novvs @bubblestrbls @spidercat-soccerfan @pllduniverse @sugrcookiiee @iwasholic @sevslefthand @starting6over @fxngsfxgxrty @leone007 @ambessaswhore @jvalentinelvr @bella-goths-wife @maaaaaaaaaaari @elena0497 @powderpinkandsweeet @sweetcinnamoncookie6 @pearldaisy @sevikas-whore @wolfessa @lazyartizt

[jov1ii]

Mine, All Mine

♡⃕.pairing: Husband!Salesman x Wife!Reader ♡⃕.synopsis: life with your husband. ♡⃕.word count: 1.4k+ ♡⃕.content warning: a little suggestive if you squint, arranged marriage.

The corner of his lips twitched as a hint of a smirk danced upon his lips. He had been watching you since the onset of morning. There was just something so…so captivating about the way you moved, the subtle grace of your mannerisms.

He supposed, it was the simple things that enticed him the most.

Tearing his gaze away, he rose and crossed the room to the mahogany desk; a silent cue for you to do the same.

"I suppose we shall get to know each other better?" You propose.

He watched silently as you stood and approached the desk. This arrangement, it was strange, unconventional. And yet, he couldn’t quite find it in himself to abhor the idea of spending every day, every hour in your company.

"Oh yeah? Is that what you want?" He was somewhat bemused by your suggestion.

You were hardly the type inclined toward the idea of matrimony, and neither was he. But here you were, his wife. His wife—the term sounded foreign upon his tongue.

He regarded you with a stoic eye, head canted slightly to the side. He was trying to figure you out, to understand the machinations of your mind. Such a task was seemingly monumental, no doubt, by the way of your closed off demeanor, a quiet, stoic disposition. But that was all the more reason he wished to figure you out.

You were... intriguing.

Days had come and gone since their first conversation.

He had, for the most part, settled into this married life quite well.

There was something soothing, peaceful, about the quiet domesticity of it all. Both you and him became acutely aware of each other's presence.

They say familiarity bred contempt, but for you and him, it bred something much different.

Every now and then, he would recall the subtle slope of your nose, the elegant dip of your shoulders, the way the sunlight pooled upon your skin… It took every bit of self-restraint he possessed not to ravish you there and then.

He had always thought of himself as an individual who could not possess emotions such but it wasn’t just carnal desire that he felt, rather, there was a certain depth to this feeling. A feeling he wasn’t quite able to place.

He tried to push away those thoughts as best as he could, but in the hours at night when he laid in bed, with you so close, it became harder to shut you out.

He laid awake, staring at the ceiling, unable to sleep and plagued with the memory of your smile, the way you laughed, the scent of your hair- Wait.

"Can't sleep?" You ask, looking back at him.

The abrupt voice broke him from his trance. And then he groaned for the second time that night. He remained motionless for a few moments and then he rolls over, only to find you staring back at him from the other side of the bed.

”Clearly, neither can you…” He said, raking a hand through his rumpled hair which earned a chuckle from you.

The corner of his lips quirked into a smirk as the sound of your laughter reached his ears. He propped himself up on one elbow, studying you in the dim light. There was something rather enthralling about seeing you like this, all relaxed and vulnerable in the quiet night.

“I’d ask why you can’t sleep, but I think I already know the answer,” He teased.

"Oh yeah? What do you think is the cause?" You ask, smiling softly.

“You don’t seem to have much trouble sleeping during the day, when the sun is out. But come night time, suddenly there’s a change." He responded without a bit of hesitation. He wasn’t one to sugarcoat after all.

“You’re nervous about this new... condition, and about the future, and, if I’m not mistaken…a little scared of me,” He said, glancing back at you.

His words earned a huff from you. "Scared of you?"

His smirk widens into a sly smile as he props himself up on an elbow. He meets your gaze, regarding you with a keen eye.

“You are,” He states bluntly, reaching out and tucking a lock of hair behind your ear.

“I can see that little shiver that goes through your spine every time I touch you. That little bit of hesitation in your movements whenever I’m around.”

Oh.

When he suggested leaving the house “to get some air” on a Friday evening, you didn’t think much of it.

After all, for the first few weeks after marriage, he had spent his days working and evenings on the armchair by the fire. However, the last thing you had expected was to be led out the door and into his black car.

A date—was, and is, the furthest thing you had expected from a reserved man like your husband.

As much as he hated to admit it, he was nervous. A man as stoic and reserved as he, nervous for a date? Who would’ve thought. He had never been the romantic sort, too occupied in work and realistic for the idea of romance.

You tried to catch a glimpse of his expression from the passenger seat, but he was avoiding your gaze at all costs. Not a word was spoken, only the steady hum of the engine was heard as the scenery passed by.

Eventually, he pulled into a secluded spot overlooking a shimmering lake. A modest family-run restaurant on the edge of town.

He gets out of the car and comes around to your side, opening the door for you after. And as you get out of the car, you are quick to glance around and take in your surroundings. Expensive.

The restaurant looked modest and homey, quaint even. You watch as he speaks a word to the waiter who leads the two of you to a secluded table.

He gestures to the table and pulls out your chair for you.

A soft “thank you” escapes your lips in response as you sink into the seat, before he takes his own seat across from you. He reaches for the wine list, scanning it before ordering a bottle of red.

"Do you plan on staying this quiet, or...?" You ask, biting back a teasing smile.

So she hasn't quite lost her bite, then. He leans back in the chair and crosses one leg over the other, a sign of feigned aloofness. "Perhaps I'll save my tongue for our food." He said.

"Boring." You comment, watching as the waiter approached with a bottle of wine and a pair of glasses.

You took the glass, now filled with wine and brought it towards your lips, glancing at him.

"Boring, eh?" He asks. "Maybe I should order a second round of drinks just to shut you up," he retorts with a smirk.

"You look a tad too cocky for my liking."

....

It did not take long before the drinks started to get you. You were laughing louder, talking more freely, and your cheeks had taken on a rosy flush. It would almost be cute, were it not so annoying- or so he liked to believe.

He sets the glass down on the table and his tongue felt heavy in his mouth. Perhaps one drink too many.

He watched you from across the table, the smile never leaving your lips, the glint in your eyes all the more noticeable when your guard was down like this.

"Don't look at me like that." You whispered, swirling the liquid in the glass, your voice slurred.

"And how exactly am I looking at you?" He asked in a low voice, leaning forward ever so slightly.

"Like you want to rip my dress right here, right now." You said, smirking.

He blinked, that little remark sending an involuntary shiver down his spine. He tried his damned best not to react, but the words had an immediate effect on him.

"Don’t be ridiculous." He mumbled. But your words were doing all kinds of things him, in all the right places.

And he could only take so much.

And just like that, one last drink, a ride home, a few fumbled steps in the doorway and a heated night later, when you woke up the next morning, you think all of it had been a dream- the dinner date, the alcohol, the lust-filled return home... But the sight of a slender arm curled around your hip said otherwise.

You can't help it, a smile starts to form on your own face. If this was how married life was supposed to be, then you were more than ready to welcome it with open arms.

[sasagehoes]

His Darling Snake

⋆.ೃ࿔remus lupin x fem!reader

⨾𓍢ִ໋;; Hogwarts reunion dinner brings friendships back to life, yet for many, deeper feelings come to the surface.

CONTAINS: angst, self doubt, arranged marriage, abusive parents, toxic relationships. smut, p in v, unsafe sex, fingering, breeding kink, untold feelings, bitter sweet ending, the effects of the full moon not used for its intended purposes, fwb to enemies to strangers to lovers pipeline, reader may or may not have murdered someone, Remus is whipped. no voldemort AU!!

wc: 3.7k ( this was supposed to be a oneshot..)

Remus stood in front of his mirror, tie in his hand being tied around the white collar of his shirt. Looking down on his dresser, he took the Hogwarts sealed letter, inviting him to the whatever year reunion of class of ‘78 and ‘79. It stated that every alumni could bring one person in with them to the gathering.

He sighed, putting it down, fixing his hair aided by the reflection of the mirror. He contemplated not attending but Lily and Regulus convinced him, saying that it’ll be a way for the whole gang to be together after three years of them all constantly being all over the place for work and personal reasons.

 Why didn't he want to go? Simple. All of his friends one way or another had figured out their lives; Lily and James cooparent with both Regulus and Mary by their sides, Marlene and Dorcas own a successful vinyl store, and Sirius has been to more than five countries on tour in less than eight months. What has he done? Been thrown out from job to job time and time again for his condition, even from jobs he’s severely overqualified. The 90’s are just around the corner and this is still a bloody issue.

He’s happy for all his friends, he’d give his life for them but seeing them live life at their fullest makes him feel jealousy starting to bubble beneath his skin. It made him feel disgusting.

He left for the door before grabbing his cane, a constant reminder of his weary bones and worsening condition, he took the ticket that was in the envelope and left for the train station.

Once there, he started to see familiar faces, amongst them was Pandora with an adorable small version of herself in her arms “I’m so glad you decided to come Rem!” The seer beamed with joy at seeing him approach her. He gave her a warm smile and hug before acknowledging the little thing “How is the little lass?” he’d ask the giggling Luna, pinching her cheek.

While talking with Pandora and waiting for the others, they updated each other on their lives, how Xenophilius got a promotion  and how her experiments were doing, the conversation was cut short when Regulus arrived with a grumpy Harry in tow and a sleepy James behind them.

“Bloody hell, Prongs you with us?” he asked the man with a chuckle, “Stayed up all night painting the mural on Harry’s room even after I told him to leave it for later” Regulus scoffed as he exchanged children with Pandora. “You really need to start listening to Reg mate” Gods, how he missed this.

A couple minutes before boarding the train, and many others had shown up, the hopes of Sirius to show up were slim to none, yet as if he was summoned he appeared, tie loose and hair disheveled, panting like a maniac as he barely made it to the train platform on time. Lily just cackled at his state and James burst out laughing like an idiot “Ladies and gentlemen the heir of House Black” Regulus said, the sarcasm pouring out. “Oh come on little brother we both know who’s getting all the dough” he hugged his brother who responded with a nasty “Someones been touring too much around America” causing the people in the booths to laugh. After he made his rounds around the four booths that were filled with friends and acquaintances, his last stop was where Remus and James sat “Last but certainly more important— wait, where's Pete?” 

“The Tosser said he wanted to spend more time with his “wife”” James added with air quotation marks making Marlene’s head peek out of the booth behind them “Hey! What's so wrong about spending time with your wife” she laughed. “Nothing! Just bring her here with your mates, just saying!” James replied “You two are not even a booth apart, stop yelling!” yelled Mary

The rest of the train ride was spent with Sirius obnoxiously man spreading on the tiny booth causing him and Regulus to bicker like always, and the kids learning a few accidental curse words from their favorites aunts and uncles

“Long time no see Reggie” as voice spoke rather calmly behind the man, his eyes widened at the sight, “Been long enough” a sight that made a blood moon more common was wasted at that moment, Regulus smiled from ear to ear as he saw your face, once he stood Pandora almost squealed at the sight of you, if you were here that meant— “No calls, no letters, is this how you treat your brother?” Evan asked Pandora with a contagious grin. “Well dear brother, the phone works both ways” she smiled back “ouch”

Pulling away from the hug,Pandora looked at you with confusion, looking for someone else “Barty’s gonna be late, but he’ll get here” You smiled and went to hug her. Luna, upon hearing her beloved aunt’s voice, she ran from one booth to another and jumped in your arms. “How’s my girl?” You ask her, pulling her up into your arms  “Uncle Moony is here” she said sheepishly. You turned your gaze to where she was pointing and were greeted with a smiling Remus.

To say you two ended on good terms was a straight-up lie. His last days in Hogwarts were spent either trying to pass his O.W.L.S. or having a discussion with you, the last one you had was the last time you two were ever on talking terms, this caused the group to divide like the red sea, if you found out he was going to a certain activity, you would not attend, to avoid any tension, and so did he, the only time this rule was exempt was birthday parties, especially the kids, but even so one always ended up leaving early.

“Do you not get that I don't have a say in who I marry and who I don't, right?! Your yells echoed the walls of the prefects bathroom, “I don’t know if you haven’t noticed but the 1800s ended a few fucking centuries ago!!” he screamed back.

These fights always ended in one of two ways, either one of you storming out, or you splayed across his bed with his head in between your thighs, as if that was gonna change the mind of your deranged parents to not marry you off to some creep in his fifties. 

After the night of his graduation, the two of you never spoke to the other again. A simple ‘Hello’ was the most.

“You have to tell me all about your trip to the isles” Pandora pulled you away to some far away booth, scared of this becoming a battleground.

“That’s it? Are you guys ever going to have a normal conversation like the adults you two finally are?” Sirius groaned “Don’t start Sirius” Remus sighed, he hated when he would give him lectures of this eight year situation, he wanted to respect your space, as he should’ve done years ago. It's never late to do the correct thing, right?

After some time, Remus decided to walk to a far away booth, away from the kids to have a smoke, halting when he saw your body, facing away from him, just like Pandora he opted to leave the situation, but you stopped him.

“When are we going to stop behaving like children, John?” you asked in a chuckle, he decided, fuck it why not, and approached you, lighting his cigarette in the process. He sat on the booth chair, you now towering him, yet not by much, he took a hit of his cigarette, paper quickly turning to ash “How about when you start calling me by my name hm? He spoke “How is life treating you, Remus?” You complied now facing him.

“My hip’s giving out on me as if i was fifty, and cant hold a job for the life of me, so bloody fantastic i have to say” He joked, missing the whole point of making one. You frowned, letting out a dry laugh, no sentiment behind it ”I hear laws are being passed that forbid employers to fire people with lycantrophe” your eyes stared at his the crude facade chipping with each word.

“They said that four years ago dove, look what good it’s done me” you smiled fondly at the nickname. He continued, “And you, how’s life treating you” now it was his turn to burn his eyes into yours, you could only sigh, a cloud of mint scented smoke coming out of it as you slumped down the chair slightly. “Could be worse”

He was expecting to talk about that bastard, maybe even children, seeing as everyone is doing that nowadays— Gods did he like to suffer. “Have been traveling a while so that’s a plus” He hummed in response, flicking off thrash on the shrinking cigarette.

“My godmother senses are tingling Remus, i'll catch you later” you say as the cries of Luna were heard across the whole train, putting off the cig on the sole of your heel and stood to leave to go to the crying baby, before you left the booth he called out your name, “I'm glad you’re doing alright”  a genuine smile adorned his face, so you gave one back.

He made it back after his third smoke and sat with his mates for the rest of the ride, locking eyes with you from time to time, making James and Sirius smirk at each other knowingly.

Finally arriving at Hogwarts everyone went to their old dorm rooms to change into more formal attire, inside the Slytherin common room sat the Rosier twins, Regulus and you, waiting for a certain someone to show up late

“Didya miss me?!!” Barty showed up by the window, riding some poor kids broom. You all laughed, and Evan almost had a heart attack. Catching up wasn't really necessary with you all since you basically lived with Evan and Barty, Regulus might as well move in, and Pandora visits every other day.

“So, do I get my fifty galleons, or do I need to keep waiting?” Bart asked, and Regulus shook his head “What bet are you tossers making now?” you asked, groaning “Nothin!” Pandora answered, eyes wide and voice high, something that even when she was young gave her away when lying.”Salazar’s beard, you all best behave today, im being serious”

The night was falling, and everyone was getting ready, Pandora wore a beautiful navy blue dress with golden decals and stitching combined with an array of golden jewelry. Evan had ironed his suit and pants for the occasion using a tie that matched his house colors but Barty om the other hand had the most wrinkly suit known to man yet he managed to pull it off, Evan tried his best to straighten his suit to no avail.

Regulus had a simple black suit with a green tie and a red boutonniere. Certainly, to match with a certain Gryffindor, once you left the restroom, they looked appalled. You were rocking a golden backless dress with golden jewelry and your hair down, “Who invited the Hufflepuff to our dorm?” Evan asked Regulus with an insulted look on his face, he only shrugged and you could only laugh “Who said it had to be your house color” They looked at you as if an unforgivable curse was casted.

“Here at least wear these” Regulus gave you two golden snake arm cuffs “Had a feeling you'd disgrace Salazar and brought the cuffs you left home” 

You placed them around your arms and they slithered into a more comfortable position.

“You guys are twats” you say once more seeing their faux disappointment on their faces.

You all walked to the dining hall where the celebration dinner would take place, and as the wooden doors opened the place looked very different. The tables were not placed how they were normally displayed, now there were multiple tables and chairs to accommodate all the past alumni. No housing separation.

Lily came up to the lot of you and she looked marvelous, she wore a emerald green dress that hugged her curves in ways that would have anyone dropping to their knees “See!, she's wearing green and she's not being egged and stoned around the corner” you whined “you look amazing lovie” You said all in one breath. 

“She gets a pass, she actually looks good” Regulus said with an obnoxious grin, Barty and you gasped at the same time but only he spoke “Don't listen to him treasure, you look ravishing” he said seductively rolling his r's

“Yeah Reggie,  play nice” Lily giggled "You look stunning dear!, but I have to steal her from you guys for a minute, Marlene will cry soon” she spoke to your friends not before throwing them a wink as you unknowingly kept walking.

You soon were at the marauders (or what was left of them) designated table, you looked around trying to spot Marlene but she was nowhere to be seen. James gasped at your dress “Stunning, I might have to steal you from Barty from time to time” he joked

“Keep dreaming, lover boy,” whispered Barty, who was walking behind him. Making James shiver.

Lily stood beside you, a hand on your shoulder, “James, Reg is looking for you, love, it's rather urgent” she emphasized urgent and he seemed to get the hint.

He excused himself and Lily was soon to speak “Oh my!, Let me go fetch Marls, she was here minutes ago” without giving you time to respond she left. Leaving you alone, you were left thinking why all your friends were so strange this evening, but once you saw Remus walking up to your table, leaving a smirking Sirius on the balcony it dawned on you. Were they really doing this again?

“Sirius told me you wanted to see me” he approached you, wearing a brown blazer, worn down by the years with a red tie under, “I don't know what to say lovie, but i think our dear friends are setting us up..again” you reply with your hand now holding your head, you unknowingly gave him those half lidded eyes that made him go crazy, he looked away and adjusted his tie. He was never one to shy away from women’s flirtatious antics but with your methods he was but a victim.

“I had a feeling, I'll go talk with the tosser” he went to leave but you grabbed his arm making him stop in his tracks “Let’s just talk, maybe that will make them stop” You both knew it wouldn't end until you two got back together, but talking with an old friend never hurt anyone.

It went rather well, the talk went in more depth then what you two had talked in the train, out in the balcony the talking resumed, accompanied by smoke in your lungs and liquor in his bloodstream, he built up the courage to ask you something that Sirius mentioned recently. Your missing wedding ring.

“Is everything going well with what was his name?— Dominique?” you let out the most unflattering laugh and he stood there thinking he had been way off with the name “Let’s just say it didn't last past the honeymoon” you took a chug of his flask trying not to reminisce the events of that dreadful night.

“What happened” he said taking the flask from your hands to grab some as well “He passed” you put simply, his jaw went slack “Wh- are you alright? How?!" all the questions seemed to escape him at once.

You leaned in to whisper in his ear “I don't kiss and tell, Moony” and briefly kissed his cheek. Before he could even process what was happening the booming voice of the headmaster reached his ears, telling everyone to take a seat for the grand speech.

So now both of you sat multiple tables away as the effects of the upcoming full moon take a toll on the poor Remus, now tripled in intensity by your touch. Unknowingly he bore his eyes to your body, the canine side of him going feral just at the thought of having you once again. You pretended not to notice but you could feel his gaze. Oh and you knew the effect that kiss, innocent as it could've seem, took a toll on him

You knew that look on his face. Hunger. Not just any type of hunger, he looked insatiable. Anyone would think that he was mad, because of the intense glare, but you knew him well enough.

You had seen it multiple times throughout your days in Hogwarts, days before the full moon he became engulfed in a primal like feeling, never getting enough of you until he filled you up to the brim.

 You shifted in your seat and he seemed to get self conscious of his leering and looked away, having had enough of this awkward back and forth you took your glass of champagne and the one next to yours.

As soon as Dumbledore stopped his grand speech of nonsense you walked over to him, leaning in so close you were almost on his lap, “I dont scare easy big guy, stop staring and do something about it” you whispered in his ear. He closed his eyes to relish in your sent before snaking his arm around your waist “Dove, don't do this to me” he groaned, his pants getting impossibly tighter “Moony, I've missed you so much, I need you” 

Gods bless alcohol because if it wasn't for that, you would've never gotten here.

How did you exit the dining hall without being noticed? You didn't know, maybe people did notice but you couldn't care now.

Now that Remus had you pinned against the wall of some classroom kissing every part of your body that was exposed fervently. His cane and aching bones now long forgotten. He went to take his jacket off but before he even had a chance to take it fully off you were pulling him by the belt, “hands off leannan” he groaned, putting your hands away and taking matters into his own.

His shirt was off in a heartbeat and he was to attack your lips, sliding off the straps of the dress in the process, you deepened the kiss, gripping his hair to bring him closer. He groans at the closeness he has yearned for years. 

Remus picked you up with ease, still devouring you to his heart's content and settled you on the professor's desk. Your dress now discarded on the floor, his lips traveled down the path that your body led,leaving goosebumps in its wake,making you sigh in pleasure, he knelt down on the floor and made eye contact with you before more or less groaning “Port láimhe nó port béil?” Oh how his words made you feel, you arched your back against the desk whispering a low “Your mouth” accompanied by a moan. Wasting no time he spread open your thighs and started lapping at your core like a man starved.

You gripped his hair with such force causing him to groan, his fingers were quick to enter the scene, starting with just one that had you feeling so full, “Tá tú chomh tais”  he groaned, his mouth still on your cunt. Slowly a second finger was introduced making you gasp, he moved his middle and pointer finger in a scissoring motion all while sucking on your pulsing nub “Too much, fuck!” the chuckle that left his throat being the last straw to have you shaking under him, walls clenching on his finger, so close to sweet release before he stopped.

You whined, tears threatening to spill, he hushed you by standing up, and placing his slick covered fingers inside your mouth. “Want to feel you cum around me dove” he whispered in a gruff tone. He undid his belt with his free hand , ridding himself of his garments. He stroked himself a couple times before aligning himself with your entrance. Your slick was enough for him to slide inside you, you felt so full you it made you whimper, he wasn't doing too well either, overwhelmed by the tightness of your cunt, your scent, and the sheen coat of mixed slick that decorated so prettily the base of his cock, he knew he wasn't going to last long.

He grabbed your hips with such vigour that they were sure to be bruised the next morning, his thrusts were becoming more erratic and shallow as his moans and whimpers matched yours, he bent over to engulf your lips with his in such a passionate manner that contrasted his sudden harsh thrusts, he swallowed any moans you gave to him with such greed that would leave Plutus astonished. He left your lips swollen and bruised, glossy with a mixture of your combined spit, “Please Remus, i cant hold it anymore” you moaned, nails digging in his biceps, “Just a little more Dove, yeah?” you could only nod not trusting your voice with words,  “Atta girl” he grinned, sheathing himself deeper,if that was even possible. Few more thrusts had him cursing in his mothers tongue “Let go for me love, c’mon” he said, voice hoarse. Remus swore he would cry at the way your cunt tightened against him, before the knot on your lower abdomen burst, causing you to moan in pleasure, “So, so pretty like this,” he muttered as he himself came undone over your shaking body.

You both laid on the floor of the classroom, basking in the light of the moon that came through the huge glass windows, naked bodies entangled in a warm embrace, slightly covered by Remus’s blazer, he turned around to give his poor hip a break and you took the opportunity to trace the marks you had created, making him forget about the ones that caused him pain and instead relish in the ones that were caused by love”

Suddenly remembering something, he turned back around, smug smile adorning his features “You remembered what it meant didn't ya?” he chuckled and you could only roll your eyes “How could I not” As the laughter died down you both stared lovingly into each other's eyes. “I have some empty property around my house if you know..you need a safe place for the full moon” you ask sheepishly. Remus only smiled, kissing your lips tenderly “I’d love that dove”

Maybe all the two of you needed was a well deserved push.

Bonus: Morning came and it was time to leave the classroom before anyone noticed what you two were getting up to last night. Opening the doors to leave, clothes all wrinkled and put on in a hurry, you were quick to halt as you saw Barty smirking at a leaning Evan while he gave him his well deserved fifty galleons “Told you id get them tonight” he winked your way. And not far away from this betting mess was an absolutely hammered James yelling “Atta boy!!” from across the hall.

What a reunion.

Tá tú chomh tais- you are so wet

Port láimhe nó port béil- tune with my hands or my mouth?

This is my first time writing smut so i hope i did ok, I hope you enjoyed this, i was just testing the water seeing if this was for me but i dont know what to think just yet..

⭒๋࣭ ⭑ DO NOT;; RE-UPLOAD, TRANSLATE NOR COPY MY WORKS!! This belongs to;; -SASAGEHOES

[sena-seastar]

Let The Light In

Pairing: Aemond x fem!reader

Summary: You try to help Aemond relax when the world outside your shared bedroom becomes too much for him to handle.

Warnings: slight angst & fluff

A/N: This fic is incredibly self-indulgent, as I am deeply infatuated with Aemond's hair. No beta, so I apologize for any spelling and grammar mistakes!

The soothing, gentle sound of crackling wood from the fireplace echoed in the air. The shadows of the flames danced along the walls of your and Aemond’s shared bedchamber. Lately, though, it seems like it’s just yours. Your husband had decided to sleep in his own private quarters for the past week. Something that perturbed you deeply. 

This week has been filled with the most restless nights you've had in years, leaving you thoroughly exhausted. You had grown quite accustomed to sleeping in Aemond’s strong arms. The two of you had never spent a night apart since your wedding night two years ago. The marriage had been arranged, of course, but the two of you had quickly become besotted with each other. 

Has your spark faded so soon?

You took a deep breath, trying to keep yourself calm. Surely, you were just overthinking things. Aemond had his hands full with the threat of war looming on the horizon. It made sense that he would have little time for you. That was just something you would have to learn to accept.

You let your eyelids fall closed as you continue to run the brush through your hair. The day had quickly come and gone. The hour of ghosts was quickly approaching. You prayed that sleep would come easier tonight. Your poor mind and body craved a peaceful night's rest.

You jump on the small cushion bench you have been sitting on as your bedroom door slams open and closed—Aemond storms into the room. You watch quietly as he paces the room, mumbling angrily in high valyrian. You try to gauge what he is saying, but he is talking too quietly and far too quickly for you to understand. Even with the lessons Aemond and Maester Orwyle have given you over the past year and a half, it was nearly impossible to comprehend Aemond when he spoke so quickly.

You call him, but he ignores you. So you try again, this time much louder. His back is turned to you. You watch as he slowly turns, his eye wandering about the room as if it were some foreign place. You squirm in your seat when his gaze finally falls upon you.

“I’m sorry,” he muttered. “I thought I had gone to my room.”

Your heart sinks at the thought that he no longer considers this his room.

“It is yours, just as much as it is mine,” you shrug.

“Of course,” he mutters sheepishly, shuffling his weight back and forth on his feet.

“Has something happened?” You ask, hoping to draw him into a conversation before he tries to flee.

With an exasperated sigh, Aemond moved to the bed, sitting at the edge. He clenched the blanket tightly in his hands. The two of you sit in silence. You have to bite your tongue to keep yourself from badgering him with questions. He’ll never talk if you do that. The minutes feel like hours, but soon, he speaks.

“My mother is angry with me,” he says quietly. 

I should have known, you thought. You were well aware of the strain growing between your husband and good-mother since he had returned from Storm’s End. Since the murd- the death of Prince Lucerys Velaryon. Your heart aches for your husband. You know how close Aemond was to his mother and how much she meant to him. No doubt, the distance between them was significantly affecting him.

“She blames me for starting this war. As if she and my father's council have not been plotting to usurp the throne for years,” he scoffed.

His voice was laced with anger and frustration. You want nothing more than to go to him. To reach out and soothe him, but you're afraid he will leave. This was the most time he had spent with you in a week. You were desperate for his attention.

“The realm is preparing for a war the likes of which Westeros has never seen. She is afraid.”

“Aren’t we all?” He snickered.

The two of you sat in silence. Aemond rested his elbows on his knees and dropped his head in his hands. He seemed so small, almost like a child. Your heart grew heavy, weighed down by your worry and concern for your sweet husband. You wanted to help him, but you did not know how—or if he would even let you.

Your fingers twitch, curling around the brown wooden brush handle in your hand. You look down at it. A smile spreads across your lips as an idea finally comes to mind. You turn around, placing the brush down on the table before turning back towards him.

“Come here,” your soft voice cuts through the silence. You beckon Aemond closer with your hand.

Aemond lifts his head. The man looks at you apprehensively, his eye flickering towards the door. For a moment, you fear he will run, but he doesn’t. Instead, he gives you a slight nod and pushes himself up from the bed. You stand just as he’s about to reach you and quickly step aside. You gesture towards the cushioned bench, instructing him to sit. He hesitates but follows your instructions.

 Aemond sits up tall on the bench, his body tense and rigid. His violet eye watches you in the mirror as you step behind him.

“May I?” You ask, gesturing to his eyepatch.

His face goes pale, and for a moment, you regret asking. Perhaps you were overstepping. Though before you can apologize, he nods his head. Your heart skips a beat, overjoyed that he still trusted you enough to see him like this. You have to stop yourself from smiling like a fool.

You try to steady your trembling fingers as you loosen the eyepatch strap. Your eyes flicker towards the mirror. He isn’t looking at you anymore. Instead, his violet eye is closed. He flinched, and his brows knit together as you pulled the eyepatch off his head. You freeze, unsure if you hurt him or he is just uncomfortable. It had been years since he had lost his eye, but it still caused him some discomfort.

“Are you alright?” You asked. 

He blinks, eye flickering towards you. He watches you, no doubt waiting for some sign of disgust or repulsion. But you give him none; you never have. In your eyes, he was perfection. You do your best to look at him with all of the genuine concern and admiration that you can muster.

“I-,” his voice cracked. He blushed and quickly cleared his throat. 

“I’m fine.” He answered, more assuredly this time.

You nod, leaning over his shoulder to carefully place the eyepatch on the table. Your finger moved back to his hair, gently tugging on the tie that held his hair away from his face. Thankfully, it slips off with ease. His hair falls forward, curtaining around his face. 

You gather the hair off his neck, drawing it onto his back. A soft sigh escapes him as your fingers graze against the sensitive skin of his neck.

You reach over his shoulder again, picking up the brush you had been using moments ago. His single eye falls closed as the brush touches his head. You go slowly, trying to be careful of any knots and tangles, though there are none. The brush skims through his silver tresses with ease. You find yourself growing envious, thinking of all the times you and your handmaids have had to wrestle with your hair. 

His hair shines like beaten silver under the candlelight. The sight is almost hypnotic. You continue with your work, letting the brush run through his silver strands again and again. Little by little, his facade crumbles, and his body relaxes under your touch. After a while, you put the brush back on the table. 

You massage his scalp with your fingertips. Aemond’s head is tilted back just a bit, and a soft hum echoes from his throat. The sound reminds you of a cat purring. You smile, feeling rather pleased with yourself. Carefully, you remove your fingers from his hair before brushing through it one more time.

“Would you like me to braid it?” You ask.

“Yes, please,” he answers.

You nod and get to work. You don’t do anything too extravagant, just a simple three-strand braid. Once you are finished, you lean down and press a soft kiss to the crown of his head.

“All done,” you smile.

“Thank you,” he replies, sleepily.

You expect him to get you and leave, but he doesn’t. Instead, he spins around on the bench. His large hands gently take hold of your hips, pulling you a bit closer.

“I’m sorry,” he says so quietly that you almost missed it.

“For what, my love?” You ask, gently caressing the side of his face with your fingertips.

“For this ... distance between us.”

“Oh,” you hum. “It’s fine. I’m sure you have your reasons.”

“That’s not an excuse,” he mumbles. “I have been-”

You shush him and place a gentle kiss on his scarred brow. “All is forgiven.”

His lips part as he prepares to argue, but he doesn’t. He closed them and nodded, silently thanking you for your forgiveness. Silence takes over the room again, but it’s more comfortable this time. Aemond rubs circles on your hips, through your thin nightdress, with his thumbs.

“Perhaps I shall rest here tonight?” He suggests, avoiding your gaze.

“I would like that,” you smile.

Aemond stands, and you help him undress before the two of you make your way back to your shared bed. Your husband climbs into the bed after you, wrapping his arms around your waist. Your back is pressed against his bare chest, and almost immediately, you can feel your mind at ease.

“I love you,” he whispers against your hair.

You try to say it back but cannot, as sleep pulls you away from the waking world. You squeeze his hand in yours and hope he understands.

[notjustjavierpena]

Ubi tu Gaius, ego Gaia: Chapter III

Series Masterpost | Main Masterpost | Support a disabled creator

A/N: I'm excited to bring to you the next chapter! Happy reading!

Chapter Summary: In which you experience your wedding night and an uncomfortable conversation takes place.

Pairing: General Marcus Acacius x f!reader/you (no y/n)

Chapter warnings: +18, arranged marriage, historical sexism, probably historical inaccuracies, large age gap, religion in the form of Roman Gods, shitty parents, anxieties over wedding night, virginity loss, female masturbation, handjobs, piv sex, praise kink, dirty talk, painful sex but also not painful sex, creampie, politics, Marcus gets angry

Word count: 9k

Link to this work on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/57443332/chapters/154904269

Chapter III: You're a woman and a wife now

After you enter the room, Marcus closes the door to his night chambers with a soft click. He secures it to give the two of you an illusion of privacy despite the many servants walking up and down the halls that now belong to you as well, cleaning the rooms of any signs of guests so that new people can relish in festivities tomorrow too. 

“I noticed you regained your appetite. Did you like the feast?” He asks as he starts undoing his sandals with steadier hands than you can muster right now in your anxiety-riddled body, untying them where they stop just underneath his knees until he can step out of them completely. 

“Your cook is better than ours,” you compliment with a little smile, your arms crossed over your chest until you can hug yourself with your palms on your back. You try to self-soothe like when you had first met but the thought of the wifely duties that lie ahead makes your heartbeat pound in your chest in a dizzying fashion. 

“He is your cook now too,” he delves into small talk, trying to make a mundane situation out of something that so evidently weighs heavily on you. He is just about to continue when you hold up your hand to stop him, reluctantly having let go of yourself to signal that you wish to speak.

“Marcus,” you start in a soft voice without knowing where the sentence will go, doing the utmost to make sure that you are not sounding as if you are going to refuse to share a bed with him in case of evoking anger in him. He watches you curiously, graciously allowing you to interrupt him all the while you swallow the lump in your throat, “I must confess that I am nervous.”

You can barely get the sentence out before tears start to well up in your eyes, your throat constricting as you find yourself on the verge of crying. You reach for some of the fabric of your tunic, clutching it desperately as you hold a sob at bay. 

Marcus looks at you with sympathy that shouldn’t surprise you but still does despite the moment you shared the last time you were alone with each other.  

“What bothers you?” He asks despite knowing the answer already. 

“Is it not obvious?” You ask with a whimper, “I am dreading the thing that all wives so desperately long for on their wedding night. I have been told stories of blood and cries, of men being cruel in their passion, and— I know that it is my duty, that this is as important as the ceremony itself but it scares me. What if my body simply isn’t made for this act?“

It is odd to confess something so personal to a near-stranger but you suppose that there is no point in tiptoeing around the fact that you are united in marriage which demands the deepest form of vulnerability towards each other. A tear manages to escape your eye and it rolls down until it drips off your chin. 

“Carissima,” Marcus soothes gently. He dares walk to stand in front of you, his bare feet quiet on the cold floor and even though he can potentially reach out to put his hands on you, he does not, “Goddess Nox has given us plenty of time to take things slowly before dawn. These stories you have heard… I wish you would not think of me as such a brutal man. Our chambers are not a battlefield.” 

You reach up with the back of your hand to swipe away the tears that have started to continuously fall from your chin, catching some on your cheeks before they even manage to go so far. You feel a pang of guilt at your assumptions because Marcus is right and the proof is in the way he kissed you so carefully yesterday when you had asked. 

“I’m sorry,” you cry unhappily and stare down at your feet again, hating the way you come off as a scared child. You are married to a general of the great Roman Empire, meant to exude grace and strength even when the two of you are alone in your home. Your home. These chambers will forever be yours too.

“I know this is difficult but this is something we must do to start our lives together as man and wife,” Marcus coos back at you. He dares to put a hand underneath your damp chin to tilt your head up again, looking into your eyes with his own that seems to be miles deep with their brown color. You whimper but he shakes his head, “No more of that. I will not have you remember your first night in these halls with remorse and terror.”

His hand moves up to cup your whole cheek with how large his palm is, and as you feel his warm and gentle fingers on your skin, you close your eyes and lean into the same kind of touch that had made you explore yourself in bed last night. He smiles as you melt a little, “Very good, that’s it.”

Your eyes shoot open again as he praises you so effortlessly, a warmth spreading through your lower body at hearing words you have never heard from any man before. A tiny drop of need pools in your belly, making you bold enough to make a request, “Will you kiss me like yesterday? Perhaps then I might relax more.”

Marcus nods. You move to remove the crown of flowers that secures the veil covering your hair. You place it on one of the many marble surfaces in the room, handling it with the care that comes from your superstition as to what would happen if you were to tear it. You do the same with the veil, draping it across a chair while Marcus waits patiently. No tears fall from your eyes anymore.

You signal to him that you are ready and you don’t flinch as he leans close, the tip of his thumb resting underneath your chin while the rest of his hand is spread across your face. He pokes his nose into your cheek, pecking you there with featherlight touches of his lips before gently going inward to capture your mouth. 

The kiss is even better than yesterday. It makes you release the fabric of your dress in an instant, your arms coming up instinctively to wrap around your husband’s shoulders. You kiss him back with a desire that must have been asleep in your body because it wakes up as fiercely as linen catching fire. 

“What do I do?” You pant when he gives you a moment to breathe, your faces barely an inch apart. You might drown in his eyes. 

“You trust me,” he replies without hesitation and you can do nothing but nod slightly, so eager to follow orders that it terrifies you a little. You feel his strong hands bunch up the fabric of your tunic that’s draping over your hips as he captures your mouth once more, a soft moan leaving you as his tongue slips past your lips. 

He leads you towards the bed without pulling away. You can taste the honey and fruit from the dessert on his tongue, smell him when he forces you to breathe through your nose when his mouth does not leave yours. He smells faintly of scented oil that a servant probably recommended after a shave along his neck, of sweat and of himself, which you will fall asleep and wake up to for many days to come. He has you not worrying about yourself for even a second, not even when one of his hands reaches for the woven belt around your waist to undo it with utmost care. 

It sways in the air as it falls to the floor, lying forgotten for the maids to clean up tomorrow. He allows you a breath when he breaks the kiss but he takes the air from your lungs once more when his hands touch your shoulders. You feel lightheaded as he slips the tunic off of them, the soft fabric slipping down your arms and chest until it catches on your hips. You have never been this exposed to anyone before, the slightly cooler air outside of your clothes making your nipples harden and catch Marcus’ attention. He admires your bare chest without words at first but it makes you hesitate, knowing how effortlessly he had complimented your appearance when you had first met. However, when you reach up to cover yourself, he shakes his head. 

“You are radiant,” he praises and warmth goes to your face, eyes dropping to the floor at the idea that he might mean it wholly. You gain a shred of courage, pretending that you haven’t looked at the floor again by fixing your gaze on your skirt. You work the draping fabric over the swell of your hips, ripe for bearing children if that is what he should want, and let it pool around your feet. You have already had your blood this month, so you have no garments covering your sex. Suddenly, you are more exposed than you have ever even seen the depictions of Venus. Does he find you just as beautiful now that you are in nothing but the golden jewelry that your mother said he had sent?

Without word, your instincts guide you to sit down on the large bed and Marcus waits patiently while you crawl back on the linen sheets. You move your arms back to support yourself, bending your knees slightly but not daring to let your legs fall open like you know you probably should. You consider the pose of a siren, legs together like a tail and laying to one side to show off the curve of your body. 

“Seems like Venus has favored you. I shall wonder how your father has kept you in his house for so long,” Marcus finally breaks the silence but only to make you smile shyly, stirring up a little laughter and shortness of breath in your chest. Cupid seems to have hit you square in the chest with his golden-tipped arrow, filling you up with desire for your new husband when he says praise so effortlessly. 

“Are you going to join me now?” You ask, finding that nervousness is best fought by being direct. You gaze at his face to read him but you have no clue how these situations unfold, so you are unable to read his mind and foresee his next move. 

“You will not be ready,” he shakes his head. You narrow your eyes as you ponder what he means, watching him undo the knot of red fabric on his shoulder to slip off the top layer of his toga. He hangs it on the chair next to your matching veil. 

“Ready? But I am in your bed,” you let him know of your confusion. When he turns around to face you once more, you gasp at the sight of his sex, the length of it. He is visible through the toga now that the top layer isn’t covering him up anymore. His cock is outlined by it from the way he has gotten hard in response to seeing you naked, a thing you knew was going to happen but never could have imagined what looked like. 

“Come closer,” he says as he stands by the end of your bed. His tone has changed a little but you cannot confirm whether it has to do with him being aroused underneath the remnants of his clothes. It seems like a command now, so you follow through with a pounding heartbeat until your heels are pressing into the mattress right at the edge of the bed. 

“What did you mean?” You ask. 

“When you are alone,” he begins but the tone of his voice is still to the gentler side, his hand reaching out and hovering above your knee. He makes you gasp as he grabs it, carefully pulling it outwards until the most private part of your body exposes itself to him. His eyes only look down briefly, “Do you touch yourself here? Between your legs?” 

You glance away quickly as your heart leaps into your throat. The images of last night flood through your mind and you feel embarrassed, so you shake your head in response, “No, of course not.”

“I don’t believe your words for a second, Carissima,” he chuckles, his dominant hand going up your thigh until he removes it altogether to catch your wrist. He moves your hand to rest between your thighs, “Show me what you do.”

You release a breath you didn’t know you have been holding, feeling the warmth of your cunt against your fingers and how it aches for you to caress the spots you like the most. Your pulse is everywhere now but mostly centered around your clit, the pearl-shaped nub that you have explored just the night before. 

“I don’t do it long,” you babble nervously as you start to touch gently between your legs, two fingers rubbing in gentle circles over your clit. It makes you gasp a little, the sensations in your lower body heightened by being in another person’s proximity as you touch yourself, “I always stop right before… before something happens.”

“There’s no need to stop. Something beautiful happens when you keep going and get to that pinnacle,” Marcus teaches you with a kind expression, moving his hand to push your other leg out to the side. You are opened up to him like a lotus flower but he still doesn’t seem like he will move on top of you yet, crush you with his weight, and fall asleep afterward with horrible snoring that your sisters have joked about. 

You start to feel familiar wetness increase between your legs, your fingers gliding over your cunt easier and making you speed up your touches as the pressure increases. Marcus sees it from the way your slit glistens in the dim light of the oil lamp on the nightstand. He encourages you, his cock even more prominent underneath his clothes, “If you have touched between your thighs, you will know of what I speak. I see it now, the signs of your body welcoming intrusion by making itself warm and wet for me. It will feel like you are missing something… I assure you that I will give it.”

You furrow your brow at those words while you stroke yourself and feel a flutter of pleasure intense enough to make you moan, Marcus’ eyes dropping to his own lap where his length twitches. He readjusts himself with a soft groan and then something clicks. You do feel exactly like he said, perplexed by why you have not noticed the gaping emptiness all the other times you have done this. 

Experimentally, you reach lower to prod a finger at your entrance and you groan at the way it slips effortlessly inside yourself. You aren’t sure what to do next, letting the finger stay still inside of you as you get used to the unusual pressure, but the heel of your hand starts grinding down onto your clit in earnest. 

Marcus steps a little closer at the temptation you bring him with your growing pleasure. He squeezes your thigh and you nearly laugh in surprise when you can feel your walls squeezing your finger, “Will I not hurt you if I… grip you with my…”

You cannot say any of the words you know. Cunt, heat, sex. It somehow feels more exposing, more intimate in a way than the physical gestures you are performing for him. You hear him laugh but his eyes are not cheerful when you find them, instead, they’re dark with lust and you squeeze your digit again. 

“On the contrary,” he touches himself on top of his toga, his stomach rising and falling faster than just a moment ago when he didn’t have a hand on himself, “It’ll feel like I was made for nothing else.”

There’s the familiar gathering inside of your belly. Sweat prickles at your skin, pleasure steadily blossoming from inside of you as you reach a point of no return. This would be where you would stop back home, leaving you sensitive and emotional as you forced sleep onto yourself. This time, you chase the feelings that terrify you.

You feel like the most fragile person ever; like you are made of clay that might shatter at any moment. You clutch at the sheets with your free hand, Marcus’ eyes sure to make you succumb to how brittle you are as he watches intensely. You bite your bottom lip, a small whimper escaping you as you teeter on what you have always shied away from. 

“Don’t stop,” he urges when you hesitate for less than a second. His breathing is ragged now, synchronized with your own as you suddenly realize that you are doing the same thing. He seems better at controlling it than you, “Let it come, so we can enjoy each other.” 

You cannot breathe, snapping for air as you press a little harder on your hard clit. You want to squeeze your eyes shut but then you’ll miss the look on Marcus’ face as he sees you come undone, so you power through and, and… and—

A cry of surprise and pleasure leaps from your chest as you find release. You lift your hips to meet your hand, your index finger slipping out of you as you instinctively know to focus on your pulsing clit. It is like nothing you have ever felt before, going on for several maddening seconds where you don’t know whether to chase more or stop when you can do nothing but tremble from the sensation. 

The linen on the bed is wet underneath you and a cockiness within you tells you that you could handle him tenfold if you wanted. You are disoriented by the heat ebbing out of your body, leaving you in a state of daze and a mix of emotions that you cannot fathom has nothing to do with the wine during the feast. You let your hand rest on your stomach, feeling your panting underneath it and suppressing a giggle that bubbles up all the way from your belly. 

“Will it be like that every time?” You ask and stretch your legs to let your feet hang out over the edge. 

“It can be,” he replies with slight amusement, hiding a lopsided grin. He is standing with his knees brushing against the bed, having itched to get as close as possible without overwhelming you and perhaps scaring you off. He lets your foot brush his toga, “However it might get better with time and practice.” 

You stare at him in disbelief, not sure if you believe that there’s something even better awaiting you somewhere in your future. You stare down between his legs where he must be aching like you’ve been several times in the past. You are already aware that you are wrong in the assumptions you have about pleasure because you’ve learned so much in less than ten minutes. How will it feel when he gives it to you?

“Can I touch you?” You boldly ask and slowly find the confidence to sit up, feet planted on the floor. You are so close to his lap, “When you are undressed?”

“You can,” he nods, not able to hide the surprise on his face as you look curious above all else. He undoes the belt around his waist and lets it clatter to the floor, and you watch with nervous breath how he lets his own garments slip from his body until the whole of him is revealed. It is fascinating to see a man like this, much different from the statues around Rome and particularly where you sometimes have felt scared to look. 

He steps between your knees, looking down at you and the height difference should be intimidating but is not. Instead, there’s the calming reassurance of being watched and guided as you lift your hand to rest your palm on the softness of his stomach. He has muscles there, just a little less toned than what the working men back at the village sport. His arms are what hold his tremendous strength, the effects of carrying a sword or spear on the battlefield. He is gorgeous, you think to yourself while curiosity and unexpected heat stir in your loins. 

Your eyes wander while your palm skims lower. They follow the sculpt of his torso, a long scar weaving itself around his hip distracting you until your gaze settles on the sight of his erect cock. It is much larger than you expected - thick, long, and intimidating but somehow also beautiful - and the thought of it entering you brings new anxiety to your body and mind. 

“You are nervous,” he points out, chest rising and falling slowly as you explore the fine hair on his skin which becomes thicker the further down on his abdomen they are. You run your nails through the trail just below his navel, looking up as his cock jumps at the contact. 

“I try not to be. I’d rather be curious,” you tell him, finally bold enough to touch him where he is hard and straining. You wrap your fingers around his generous girth. He is warm in your hand as you stroke him lightly to simply feel the weight of him and it takes little else before he lets out a low, appreciative groan. The confidence his response gives you makes your mouth water but despite what your brain tells you to do, that seems over the line right now. 

Instead, you look up at him with big eyes as you continue in a rhythm that he seems to like because you can hear the catch of his breath. You think he might stop you when he covers your hand with his own but instead, he adds slight pressure to guide you in how he likes to be touched. 

You hadn’t thought this was how everything would go down. There’s a strange form of equality between the two of you when you are naked together, a comfortable feeling in your chest at the idea of a whole night of giving and taking pleasure from each other being before you. What you had gathered from what Cassius so disgustingly had tried to explain to you whenever you were by the river alone, it was supposed to be a cruel act for the woman. This is not cruel. 

Eventually, Marcus’ breathing has become labored and you know that he is within reach of his own pleasure. However, he tightens his grip on your hand to slow down your movements much to your confusion. 

“You’re a quick learner, almost too quick,” he says with a warm chuckle, removing your hand from his cock. There’s a bead of clear liquid at the tip, threatening to drip down onto your thigh. The room somehow smells sweeter when the both of you have been so close to experiencing a peak together. 

“Why did you stop me?” You ask curiously and let your hand drop to your lap. You can still feel his warmth radiating from his heated skin, it glowing with a sheen of sweat already. 

“I don’t want this to be over yet,” he explains with a few controlled breaths that seem to calm him. His jaw clenches as if he is in pain but he doesn’t sound like you have done anything wrong, “And it will be if I lose myself.” 

“Am I… are we ready now?” You question once more. 

“Lie back,” he orders with a nod. You do as you are told and he joins you on the bed with confident grace, as if he has done this a million times before, the mattress dipping underneath him. Gently, he pushes on your chest to make you lie down on your back. When you are comfortable, he lies down next to you with his body turned towards you. 

You see him come closer and meet him halfway, pressing your lips to his in a kiss even deeper than the first you’ve shared with him. He makes a noise of approval at your eagerness, cupping your face with a single giant hand while you cup the back of his head with both of your own. You try to initiate more kisses but suddenly his lips descend to your throat, leaving goosebumps in their wake as he pecks along the sensitive skin of your collarbone too. You start to feel impatient for another high with him, another peak of pleasure to dance its way through your veins. 

“Marcus,” you say with your fingers in his hair, “I’m ready.”

“Let me make sure,” he says while the hand on your face settles on your thigh instead. He rakes his fingernails across your skin when he goes inwards, causing you to gasp at the idea of what he means. Are you wet for him? Yes, you are. You know you are. 

Two fingers slide between your legs. He parts your thighs slightly to gain more access and then simply feels the slick that has been dripping from your cunt since you kissed him fully clothed. A gasp leaves you at the feeling of being touched by a man in a place that you’ve been told is your most private. In return, a smile spreads across his face and a satisfied hum escapes him. 

“You’re ready,” he whispers with his gaze fixed on you. Teasingly, he holds his fingers up before you and turns his wrist so you can see your wetness shine in the light. He then puts his digits in his mouth and licks them clean, to which you want to hide your face with a squeak. He describes you as ripe and sweet, juicy like the peaches in the Summer, all the while he shifts his weight and positions himself between your thighs. 

Feeling him like this - the skin of his rough thighs, the coarse hairs that feel nothing like yours as they grace your softness - makes a fresh wave of nerves wash over you. It feels like there’s suddenly a very short time to prepare for what you have come to understand will be a transformative experience. You start to tremble, looking down between Marcus’ legs and wondering how on Earth you are supposed to allow him into your body. Above you, you hear him say your name but it sounds like you’ve been trapped inside a bell jar. 

“We will go slow,” he promises when you look like a hunted doe. He has placed his hands on your thighs to soothe you, letting his calloused palms skim up and down your skin, but you tense up even more since he has barely touched you before. You swallow as he goes on, “You will guide me with your comfort. If anything hurts, I promise it’ll only be for a moment.”

“You will stop if I tell you to?” You ask with uncertainty. A part of you already knows that you will try to power through no matter the pain. 

“Yes,” he promises and removes his hand again when he realizes its effect on you. He places it on your chest instead, feeling your unsteady breaths underneath it, “But I need you to relax, Carissima. Take a deep breath and tell me what you fear.”

You do as he says, heaving for a large mouthful of air that makes your heartbeat settle down slightly as it fills your lungs. For once, you don’t shy away from his gaze as you talk about lying with him in such explicit terms. You chew your bottom lip after a few breaths, “What if it doesn’t fit?”

Marcus laughs and you feel embarrassed. He shakes his head as he notices, leaning over you to hover just above your lips. You hold onto the arm on your chest as he reassures you, “It’ll fit, I promise on the Gods. Your body and mine were made for this; for the act of making beautiful children.”

You decide to be brave and kiss him now that he is so close, and slowly, as you taste his mouth again, you tangle together in a way that makes sense for what you are about to do. Marcus is close enough to map out every detail of your face, one hand on your hip and the other resting just above your head. You, on the other hand, have grabbed both his bare shoulders, holding onto him tight enough for your fingertips to dent his skin. He has promised that it will be okay if you scratch him with your nails, that he, if he is completely honest, likes that sort of thing. 

“Okay, I’m ready,” you say with determination, feeling the way Marcus lets go of your hip to run his fingers through your folds again. You moan softly as he lets his hand gather wetness, your eyes going down to watch him take his cock in hand and smear it with slick. 

“Don’t look down there, look at me,” he guides you gently as he prods against your slit. You force yourself to meet his eyes again, a gaze in them that holds a mix of desire and restraint. He takes a deep breath that is followed by him starting to push forward, the feeling so intense that you whimper while keeping eye contact. 

“Shh,” he soothes during the initial sensation. There's a painful sting as the head stretches your walls that have never known such intrusion. It makes you breathe rapidly and shudder from discomfort until a cry leaves you when you are breached. Tears form at the corners of your eyes as it burns. It’s a feeling that you can’t describe, a fullness that feels unnatural and natural at the same time. He pushes beyond the thick head and it makes you tighten around him, so much he has to still completely. He looks angry but he isn’t, his teeth gritted as he continues to push despite the danger of finishing, “You’re tight around me, try to relax.”

“S-sorry,” you attempt to follow his instruction, try focusing on the exciting intensity of his gaze, the delicious way he looks at you because he wants you. His weight on you is so heavenly, his skin is warm against yours that is riddled with goosebumps despite not being cold, and the sound of his breathing reminds you of the way your own breath is rapid when you pleasure yourself. 

Yet when you seem to think that the worst is over, he goes a little faster with feeding you his cock and the pain intensifies by blooming into something more sharp. The air inside your lungs feels trapped as your breath hitches but you force it out until it releases into a pained cry. Mostly, you just want to stop but you’re reminded that this has to happen if the marriage is to be successful and legitimate. So instead, you clutch at Marcus’ shoulders and whine. 

“Am I hurting you?” He asks, resting his forehead against yours and stilling his hips. You nod at first but then shake your head quickly afterward, unable to speak in case you’ll sob. He doesn’t seem convinced, “I’ll try moving. I won’t go further in before you can handle it.”

You nod in approval, your heart beating so fast it is making your mind feel clouded. He begins to move with gentle, shallow thrusts of his hips, his eyes glued to you in search of anything that might tell him that it’s too much. The first few moments have you thinking that you might split in half but you find that the repeated fill of your cunt makes everything turn into a dull ache as you get used to it. Your noises are pained yet soft, soon switching to quiet moaning as he moves inside of you. 

“Doing so well,” he praises as you welcome him further without thinking. A sensation that you had thought would only be painful has kickstarted a different kind of feeling. It’s a warmth that spreads through your lower body, pleasure that mixes in with the rest in an almost insistent way. Marcus makes a noise that makes you clench around his cock, and he finds your mouth in a messy kiss, “I’m almost all the way in. It’s supposed to feel good. Does it feel good?” 

You nod repeatedly as you feel connected to him in a way that you never thought you would with another person. He is so deep inside of you and the discomfort that you thought would persist is fading away fast, leaving only a tug of pleasure that tightens more and more. You close your eyes and squeeze them shut as you moan a little louder for the first time. 

Without control of your body, your hips rise up to meet his and he fucks you a little harder. The friction is significantly more intense than what you have felt alone, but you can feel its effects mixing with your previous orgasm’s warmth. The room fills with the lewd sounds of your shared breaths and the scent of sex. 

Marcus’ hand settles on your hip, his incredible strength hauling your leg over his own hip so he can switch up the angle. Meanwhile, his other hand reaches down and pushes hard down on the back of your thigh to open you up even further to him. He stretches so his upper body towers over you and rolls his hips with controlled desire, mouth hanging open a little in his breathless state as he concentrates on making the pain disappear completely. 

It does a moment later. An involuntary moan leaves you when the head of his cock slides over a spot that seems different from every other place inside of you. Your eyes fly open after having been squeezed shut for so many seconds, fireworks going off in your peripheral vision. Your gaze moves down between your bodies to see a faint trace of red on his cock, setting your heartbeat into overdrive. You should be shoving him off now that you are bleeding but what the hell felt so good? He hits the same spot once again to make you cry out and crane your neck. 

“You like that? Was that all I had to do?” He asks with a satisfied smirk, breathing raggedly on top of you as he treats you to even more of the same pleasure. You want to come again, your hips rising to meet his thrusts more insistently if it means him giving you pleasure like that over and over again without fail. As your pleasure starts building into another peak, a shocked laugh leaves you. 

“How do you… How did you—?“ You start. 

“I knew where I wanted to reach. Feel that? That spot is made for feeling good,” he explains with a voice rough with his own pleasure before you manage to finish your inexperienced question, “I wanna hit that over and over, fill you up so you can feel it there for days when I’m done.” 

“Don’t stop,” you groan. 

“I’m not going to,” he promises but instincts tell you to make sure, that if he even falters a little, you’ll feel the frustration of no release like you have since you discovered what is between your legs. You tighten your thighs around his hips, locking your ankles around the small of his back and the move makes Marcus growl. 

He, who you are ready to call a master in the art of love, leans down over you and drives into you like a wild animal. You whimper but it isn’t of pain, the familiar feeling of ecstasy building rapidly between your legs again. He feels huge inside of you, the whole length of him throbbing against your overstretched walls. 

And he kisses you, seemingly not in control of himself anymore when he feels the same pressure in his lower abdomen. It is messy and sweet and rough at the same time, your hands cupping his face until they automatically slide up into his hair. You can feel his chest rub against your breasts, your nipples more sensitive than they ever have been and you moan as a fact runs through your head. No man has ever been this close to you before. Only the sun’s rays or the clouds’ rain has been this close to you.

You come once more with this thought in your mind, the intense and warm feeling hitting you as suddenly as the snapping of a dry twig found in the sun. You arch your back with a groan, feeling it even deeper inside of you than before because it seems to be the spot inside of you that has triggered it. 

“Oh! Oh Gods,” you moan into the air, Marcus’ lips having descended to your now-exposed neck and kissing with the same fervor as he had your mouth. His own noises have grown in volume, his cock seeming to respond to how your heat clenches around it. You have tears coming down your face without knowing why; you aren’t upset but rather quite the opposite. Everything below your navel is sensitive, slick, and used up. 

You feel it as he goes rigid as you have just done, a rough growl leaving him as he has his own orgasm. However, you instantly realize that Cassius forgot to mention something in his horrible renditions of love-making; the sticky, warm waves that come along with a man’s ultimate pleasure. You gasp in shock, looking down between the two of you as Marcus fills you up with his seed.

You cling to him, your hands grabbing at whatever they can while you whimper, and you stare at the milky white ring that forms around his length. He keeps going for a few thrusts more, and the noises coming from your connected bodies are on the verge of making you embarrassed. It’s squeaky and wet, but it’s not making you want to pull away. Instead, it makes you reach up to cup Marcus’ face so you drag his lips to your mouth and kiss him, the sensation of his seed inside of you making you feel more connected than ever.

You kiss for a moment before your husband buries his face in your neck. He leaves you empty when he softens, eliciting a weak gasp from you when you become aware of the sticky wetness smearing your inner thighs. Marcus pants against your already burning skin and chuckles without any particular reason. You are in awe of what has just happened, seeming to somehow know that this was the completion of the act. 

This act, once so unfamiliar and feared, now feels like a revelation to you. The new dimension of pleasure, so uniquely intense and intimate, makes you wonder how anyone gets anything done when they can do this all the time. You are sticky with sweat, dizzy with tears and pleasure, and by the Gods, you want to do it again and again with him. He will not leave this bed until you get tired of feeling this way between your legs. You think of commanding him this but you are already aware that it is an impossibility. He would probably laugh at you but given the way he lifts his head and looks at you now, he might also follow through on your order by sinking back into the mess between your legs.

You miss his weight on you when he rolls off, the both of you staring towards the ceiling. The room becomes very quiet in the aftermath, torches and candlelight flickering around you. You have a hand on your chest, trying to calm your racing heartbeat to no avail and breathing rapidly to catch your breath. Your whole body buzzes, feeling like it is aglow and warm, and you dare sometimes look at your husband out of the corner of your eye. He looks the same but less surprised by the state he is in, clearly experienced and you find it all enticing when everything inside you has shifted.

You let your back and legs relax fully into the bed. Marcus watches as you stretch your body, and there is some kind of tension between you that you cannot put into words. You know it stems from the silence that is also between you, an unspoken game of who breaks it first, and when you dare peek at him, you find him staring right back at you. Your heart rate spikes once more but Marcus holds your gaze in a way that makes you unable to look away. 

“Are you alright?” He asks after a beat. You see him look at you with a softness that reflects how vulnerable you must look right now. He reaches out to take your hand, brushing your knuckles with his thumb, “You are not in pain?”

“No. I– I’m fine,” you shake your head. You say the words and realize that they are true even despite your uncertainty at first. For now, your body feels afloat but you have a gnawing feeling that it won’t last. A thought enters your mind, “What do we do now? I mean, what does one do after being together like this?”

“Well, given our roles and the expectations placed upon our union, there’s a thing that I would like to do. I’d like to help you arrange yourself comfortably if you’ll allow me,” he gently releases your hand and shifts to sit upright beside you. 

You give him a puzzled look, not sure what he is talking about but you nod. It’s natural to trust him, you find, and his proposition intrigues you, “Yes, of course.”

Marcus reaches for the pillow against the headboard on his side of the bed. He fluffs it with care before patting your thigh, causing you to follow your instincts and automatically lift your pelvis towards the ceiling. When you have given him the room for it, he slips the soft pillow underneath your hips to elevate them, resulting in them laying comfortably at a gentle angle. 

Afterwards, he lies back down beside you but this time with his body facing yours. You try to smile at him but there’s embarrassment in your chest as the intention behind his act becomes clear. However, even as he senses your vulnerability, your new husband simply reaches for your hand again to kiss your knuckles. It is soft and intimate, it is kind reassurance in your time of transition. 

A moment after, he guides you to rest your palm just below your navel and places his own on top of it, caressing where new life may spring after tonight if Goddess Juno has the both of you in her favor.

"The pillow will help," he says quietly as he gently feels the soft skin on your stomach, the skin made to carry a child, "To ensure that our union bears fruit. Our alliance is only strong if I put a baby in your belly."

The words remind you of how your partnership is a part of something much bigger than yourselves, something to do with your father’s power and greed that you aren’t sure if Marcus feels too. Yet despite the impersonal nature of your union, the General’s tone is gentle and speaks of more than just mere duty. 

“And while we wait? What then?” You question, daring to entwine your fingers and feeling your chest flutter when he doesn’t protest. 

“We may rest…” He suggests with a smile, “Or, if you prefer, we may talk. It is different in every marriage.” 

There’s something about the way he words it that makes you feel more secure in your situation, that even if this is new territory, he is giving you permission to join in on shaping your relationship. 

You nod, “I think I would like to talk.”

“Then talk we shall,” he agrees without question, “Tell me something about yourself.”

You let go of his hand to place both palms on your stomach, looking to the ceiling as you reminisce about the life you have left behind back home. You tell him about the river all over again, about the sparkles the sun leaves on the surface of it, so beautiful it makes it seem like you can pick them with your bare hands. You tell him about wine and bread from the market, about a secret orange tree that you think only you and your sisters know of, and then you tell him about your sisters who all married for love. 

The latter makes Marcus shift slightly. A fleeting expression crosses his face before he gently clears his throat and gives you a small, hesitant smile to reassure you, “Do you think you’ll be happy here?” 

You take a moment to mull it over. You don’t want to lie to him but he looks so hopeful and sad at the same time, “I suppose that there’s always going to be a part of me that is going to wonder what would have happened if I had followed my own path and married someone I was deeply in love with, but I hope I will find happiness here. Perhaps it would have been you anyway, you never know. I would be as lucky as my sisters then.”

You say the last sentence with a twinkle in your eye, a soft and playful smile on your face, and Marcus looks almost shy, the importance and duty that he usually carries crumbling. You take the opportunity to see further under the surface, “And what about you? Do you have family that you are close to? I couldn’t help but notice that there were no formal introductions at the festivities.”

He hesitates briefly before answering, “My parents passed when I was merely a child. Thus the military became my family in many ways. I’ve always admired their dedication to each other. The responsibilities for the men I command seem like the next closest thing.”

“I’m sorry about your parents,” you say sincerely, touching his wrist gently, “I suppose it explains your dedication.”

He looks modest as he smiles, “I suppose it does.”

There’s a comfortable silence in the large chamber. Marcus looks down at your hand, opening his palm to invite you to place your own in it. You take his hand without hesitation and it feels natural, a thing so calming and warm, which invites you to venture further into his world. 

“May I ask you something?” You ask. 

“Of course,” he replies.

“Our conversation was interrupted earlier by one of your men, and I wanted to ask what was whispered in your ear. I hope I am not intruding—“ You tiptoe into the conversation, hoping your curiosity doesn’t come off too strong. 

He interrupts you, waving a hand dismissively, “We are husband and wife. I support the idea that we shouldn’t keep secrets from each other.”

“Yes. Yes, I quite agree with that,” you say with relief in your voice, “So you’ll tell me?”

“There was some unrest in the city today. The man was one of my men telling me that there’d been an incident - a confrontation - in one of the town squares. It led to the death of two of my soldiers.”

You gasp, “Gods! That’s terrible!” 

“The loss is shameful and upsetting, yes, but the people are hungry,” he explains simply, “Even the smallest of disputes can escalate when tensions are high. When one feels unheard by leaders, one can be driven to acts one might never have considered before.”

“But surely Rome’s subjects know better than to challenge Roman authorities?” You note with your brows furrowed, suddenly finding yourself speaking words that you have heard too many times around the dinner table at your childhood home, "A firm hand might be necessary to keep the peace. If the people are allowed this kind of behavior towards the empire - and thus the emperors - they might sometimes need to be reminded of their place."

There’s a shift so small that you could almost miss it in Marcus’ expression but disappointment clouds his eyes. You notice it because he follows it by subtly slipping his hand out of yours. He measures you with his gaze for a moment, “You don’t truly believe that instilling fear with unyielding force is the right way to rule?”

You sense his disapproval and feel embarrassed flood your system. With warm cheeks, you sit up and stutter a reply, "I... I suppose that's what I've been taught. My father always says that strength and control keep the empire strong and unwavering."

“And if I ask you to look past your upbringing?” He says it casually but there’s a command in his voice. Suddenly, the security you had felt moments ago is washed away by the feeling of being a mere little girl.

You look down at your hands, not able to keep eye contact despite how close you have just been, "I didn't mean to offend. I don’t— I don’t think I have ever taken the time to consider other perspectives. My father has given little room for such discussion."

“Is that so?” He raises a brow, “And does he seek influence in Rome’s leadership?”

"Yes," you reply hesitantly, still yet unaware of the implications of your words, "He hopes that our marriage might help him gain favor, perhaps even become an advisor to the emperors."

“It seems like your father was unaware of the fact that I served under Maximus Decimus Meridius, a man who believed in ruling with honor instead of fear. He would have done himself a favor by seeking alliances elsewhere if he aligns himself with ruling through oppression. Perhaps he should have married you off to the emperors themselves,” he says firmly, jaw tight and words filled with frustration, tingeing on angry. They come out a lot more venomous than you think are his intentions yet they sting nonetheless and you have to bite your lip to keep tears at bay. 

“I didn’t— I’m sorry, I was just repeating what I have always heard,” you stammer, swallowing around a lump in your throat. The vulnerability of your situation suddenly crashes over you like a wave trying to drown you, making you choke on a sob as his hard gaze scrutinizes you. You are young, barely out of childhood, and thrust into the role of a wife. You have never been expected to relay your views to anyone let alone a commanding general of the highest order in Rome. 

For a moment, an uncomfortable silence fills up the growing distance between you. You try to shift away on the bed but there’s a sudden ache between your legs from the previous activities of your wedding night. It’s shameful to look back at him but you have no one else to turn to right now. A tear escapes your eye but you find the courage to say what you need to say even if it is with a dizzying heartbeat, “My whole life, I have been taught to be obedient, to serve along with my sisters. My mother even. I don’t know who I am outside of that.”

Marcus suddenly mirrors your expression of shame, evidently grappling with his own emotions behind his eyes. He gently lifts his hand to catch the tear running down your face until it threatens to drip down from your chin. 

“Forgive me, I should not have raised my voice at you,” he says sincerely. He cups your cheek with a softening demeanor and you allow him, needing the affection and this is where you can receive it, “I know you have your concerns but I hope you can entertain the idea that this union might not just be a different cage.”

You nod, leaning your cheek into his gentle touch and earning a smile. There’s a promise beneath his words and despite everything, you allow yourself to feel hopeful. This man is not your father, actually far from it, and he is offering you something you are not used to; partnership and respect. 

Instead of answering him, you chew on your bottom lip and try to find the same courage that made him apologize so you can address the ache in your lower body. The pillow under your legs is all askew. You try to busy yourself by straightening it, “It has started to hurt where you…— Is that normal?”

"It can be," he says gently, and the hand on your cheek goes to skim over your bare thigh in an attempt to soothe,  "Your body needs time to adjust and recover.”

You pout as you automatically lie down again. You look like a child not getting their way, “Time to recover? Does this mean we can’t do it again?” 

Marcus’ expression flashes with amusement at your eagerness. He raises a brow, “Eager, aren't we? I admire your enthusiasm, but it's important that you give yourself time to heal. Rest might help.”

“Surely there's something else we can do?” You only just abstain from pleading him, tilting your head.

“This, my dear wife, was your husband's subtle way of saying goodnight,” Marcus chuckles quietly and you find that all tension has slipped from the room once more. He dips down to kiss your forehead, the tip of his nose skimming down the length of yours. He stares into your eyes, only an inch from you, “Say it.”

You smile and kiss him softly, “Goodnight, Marcus.”

“Goodnight, Carissima,” he whispers.You go to sleep next to your general, the man who is slowly becoming the commander of your heartbeat, unaware that your conversation has changed the course of your father’s future gains from your powerful marriage.

.

.

If you would like to follow my writing then go follow @notjustjavierpena-fics and turn on notifications 💖❤️

[kairiscorner]

Heian! Muzan with a really sweet and gentle wife from an arranged marriage? He's completely in denial and becomes tsundere whenever the wife lovingly takes care of himm

hearts' day imagine 001.

muzan kibutsuji with his loving wife.

"her kindness is only an act of formality; it's not real."

muzan constantly believed that for a woman that was forced to marry him, your outward kindness was bound to run out eventually. you were a benevolent soul, extremely gentle, and softhearted. every time he came home from attending to his business, you would always greet him with a sweet smile and a hot plate of his favorite food.

you were the only woman he had ever lived with that wasn't a family member, he was never really used to a stranger cooking meals for him or asking him about his day. he refused to let his guard down with you, even if you meant the nicest intentions, he just couldn't bring himself to trust you.

he barely responded to your questions, usually making snark comments about your cooking or other things you did. they did sting, but you took every word he uttered with a kind smile. he found it somewhat unnerving, how someone who was constantly insulted by him could stand being so nice to him still.

after several weeks of this arrangement between you two, muzan toned down his snarky comments and insults, remaining silent more than cranky around you. he opted that instead of engaging in conversation with you, he opted to observe you as you tended to your garden every morning and every afternoon, the same time as always, without fail.

while he rested inside by the living room, he overheard a neighbor making conversation with you. you talked about how your wedding anniversary with him was tomorrow, and though he had never really felt compelled to get you anything, he felt as though it wouldn't hurt to get you something at least, something that would keep your pretty little self happy for even a few hours.

he went off to the florist's at dawn, and requested for a bouquet of some of your favorite flowers, the kinds you wish you had in your garden and envied other wives in the village for having, silently wishing you could have the same species of flowers as them. when muzan got home, you were about to start your day and cook breakfast for him, as usual.

though when you headed downstairs, the sweet scent of the flowers he bought for you wafted in the air. muzan barely had any time to hide them foe you to find, so seeing your husband clutching a bouquet of colorful flowers–expensive ones, mind you–on the morning of your wedding anniversary warmed your heart, and... drove you to tears.

muzan couldn't understand why you were sobbing over flowers, but instead of reaching for the bouquet, you wrapped your arms around him, hugging him gently, sobbing a little into his clothes. he usually would push you off when you got too close to him, but... not a single cell in his body compelled him to. it was as though muzan felt comfortable with you clinging onto him like this.

it was strange, it was new to him, but... he didn't hate it.

[lucysarah-c]

Mounting Spring Ch. 6

Summary: Paradis has opened its doors to the world, and the Rumbling has not yet occurred. The military board insists, "We need more Ackermans!" to avoid ruining Mikasa's life. Levi agrees. Arranged marriage, explicit consent, Omegaverse. Alpha! Levi x Omega! Y/N. Mentions of underage marriage but it doesn't happen, the reader is over 21. Age gap but they are both adults. (I would say enemys to lover but they don't even know eachother to be enemys lol.)

Author note: I've had this idea for so long… Omegaverse is my guilty pleasure, and I decided to treat myself with it.

From the creator of "Not in season?" I bring to you "Mounting Spring" lmao haha sorry it's just that my first omegaverse was rather a success… so I decided to do another.

Masterlist to the previous parts!

Ao3 link in case you prefer to read there! Chapter dedicated to @marianafairybread because she always wants to be first in the chapter's comment section... and she did it! haha

Reaching out, he grabbed the first items he found, dropping them into his basket with little thought. ‘I should’ve gone to Trost’, he mused.

The small rural town near the Scout facility didn’t offer much in terms of variety. Most locals lived self-sufficiently, farming or raising livestock. Trost, on the other hand, was farther away, and with his limited free time, it wasn’t an option this week. The act of grocery shopping felt like a distant memory, more of an abstract concept than a routine he’d ever mastered.

In the underground, homes were more like squatter's shelters—claimed rather than owned. Kitchens were either non-existent or barely functional, forcing most people to rely on taverns for meals. He’d done the same. If he wanted more than bread and cheese, he’d head out for something warm. He recalled the occasional market day when he’d taken Isabel to pick out “whatever she wanted,” keeping his hood up to avoid attention.

The image flashed briefly—Isabel, beaming, holding up a packet of cookies, seeking his approval. The memory flickered and faded as he reached for some pastries on display at the bakery. They weren’t much, but they were more than plain crackers.

He picked items at random, a mixture of reluctance and uncertainty guiding his choices. This should do, he thought, noticing the baker’s daughter lugging a heavy tray of milk buns to the counter. Her flour-streaked apron and flushed cheeks gave her the look of someone used to hard work.

Levi cleared his throat.

“Oh, are you done, Captain?” the girl asked, dusted her hands off before packing his selections into paper bags. She couldn’t have been older than his newly proclaimed wife.

“Can I get a dozen of those, too?” He pointed at the fresh white bread.

She blinked, surprised but obliging. “Of course.” As she moved to fulfil his request, she added, “I dare say, Captain, it’s surprising to see you here like this. You hardly ever shop in town.”

Levi hummed noncommittally, neither confirming nor denying. He glanced over his shoulder at his squad, who were busy loading supplies onto the cart, too preoccupied to notice him.

“Is someone sick at HQ? The weather’s been wild lately,” the girl continued, clearly eager for conversation. She might have assumed someone had caught the flu, forcing him into town for soft bread to tide them over until rations were delivered.

“No,” Levi replied curtly, “But yeah, it’s been raining a lot.”

“Do you sell dairy?” he asked, shifting topics as he mentally ticked off his list.

The girl shook her head. “No, that’s Gilbert. He’s around—want me to call him?”

Before Levi could answer, she turned to the back window and shouted, “Gilbert!” Her voice was startlingly loud and commanding, a sharp contrast to her polite demeanour moments earlier. She returned with a cheery smile. “He’ll be here in a minute.”

Levi barely had time to process before, a young man with a dishevelled look and a peaky cap leaned into the window, clearly irritated.

“What now, May?” he grumbled.

‘They’re close’, Levi noted. ‘Well, this town’s so damn small, everyone is.’

Gilbert’s attitude flipped the moment he spotted Levi. “Captain,” he greeted, pulling off his cap and nodding respectfully.

“He’s asking about dairy,” May informed him, returning to her chores.

“Oh, is someone sick?” Gilbert asked, shifting his attention to Levi.

“No, just need milk, cheese, maybe butter. I can’t keep coming down here every time I run out. Do you deliver to the countryside?”

“Of course.” Gilbert nodded. “Leave the empties near the stables. I’ll replace them when I see them.”

“That’ll do,” Levi agreed, pulling out his wallet. He suspected other Scouts’ Squad Leaders had lived a little less frugally than he did. ‘Like Eyebrows,’ he thought grimly. But at that time, most of them where gone.

“I’m just surprised you’re shopping here now,” May chimed in, a sly smile on her face. “Is everything alright at HQ?”

“Yes.”

“I thought the Scouts had a deal with the Reeves Company,” Gilbert added, leaning on the window frame.

Levi hesitated. Socializing wasn’t his strength, but ripping the bandage off now seemed the easiest option. “It’s for my wife,” he said plainly.

Silence fell, heavy and awkward. Levi pressed his lips together; it simply didn’t feel real to pronounce those words. Saying them out loud confused him, it just made no sense for him but it was real. Almost like a weird illusion.  The girl’s fake innocence vanished, replaced by a look of irritation and disappointment. Gilbert, on the other hand, stifled a laugh poorly by noticing her face.

“Congratulations,” the girl muttered begrudgingly.

“Congratulations, Captain,” Gilbert said, grinning. “Actually, my father mentioned something about it, but I didn’t believe him.”

“Thanks,” Levi replied curtly, eager to leave.

“Where’s she staying? Maybe she’d like to join us, the girls and I, for tea,” May asked, her tone a forced blend of sweetness and curiosity.

‘For fucks sake, just drop it,’ Levi decided to ignore it as the young man set four glass bottles of milk and some extras. Levi paid, though May tried to refuse. “It’s on the house, Captain,” she insisted.

“Come on, I grabbed a lot,” he countered.

“And my mother would be thrilled knowing Humanity’s Strongest Soldier’s wife is eating her recipes,” she insisted.

Reluctantly, Levi accepted, gathering the bags with practiced efficiency. She resumed her prying. “Let us know where she’s staying! We’ll invite her out!”

“She’s at HQ for now.”

May’s surprise was evident. “I didn’t know civilians could live at HQ.”

“Let them be,” Gilbert teased, nudging her arm. “Newlyweds can’t stand being apart, especially this time of year.” His comment made her giggle and blush.

—

“I paid for those groceries with my dignity,”

“I mean… they’re kind of right; don’t you think? What’s a civilian doing at military headquarters?” The brunette nudged the captain, attempting to keep the conversation alive. “You can’t just keep her locked up in your quarters forever, you know.”

Levi pinched the bridge of his nose, sighing. “I know. But where the hell am I supposed to put her? In the stables?”

Hange’s enthusiasm didn’t waver, despite Levi’s clear frustration. “Oh, we could go house-hunting! I’ve always wanted to do that!” They grinned, as if this were an adventure. “Owning a house is one of my wildest dreams! Right up there with seeing the outside world. I can’t believe I got to see the ocean before I could even afford a house—but hey, that’s the economy for you.” Hange chuckled, undeterred.

“I’ll have to have a word with that asshole Zackly. I can’t keep her living off charity,” Levi muttered. His long list of responsibilities felt like tackling a Hydra—cut off one head, and two more grew in its place.

“So?... Did she like them? Or is she still sticking to that hunger strike?” Hange leaned back; their cheeks already flushed from the alcohol. They’d shifted from standing close to the captain to sprawling in their own chair, drink in hand.

“There was never a hunger strike. She just hates our food,” Levi replied dryly. “Not that I blame her. But she’d better start getting used to it. I’m not hiring her a private chef, and she can’t live off cookies and cheese forever.”

The memory of earlier that day surfaced unbidden.

“You’re back!” she said, startled, stepping out of the room quickly to meet him.

“I brought you something to eat.” Levi set the bags down on the table. Unlike her usual cautious approach with the trays he brought, she dove right into inspecting the bags, curiosity lighting up her face.

She peeked into each bag, her expression softening with genuine delight.

Levi caught himself staring—maybe for the first time since they met, he noticed something resembling happiness on her face.

“Oh!” she squealed, pulling out the buns and bringing one to her nose. She inhaled deeply, savouring the sweet scent before tearing a piece off and taking a generous bite.

“Try not to fill up before dinner,” he warned gruffly. He remembered the previous night’s “dinner,” which had mostly involved her picking through the stew like it was poison.

But her eyes, bright and grateful, met his. She made an effort to swallow quickly, breaking the eye contact momentarily, then said softly, “Thank you.”

“Oww. Look at you, all doting. Your little alpha brain was probably glowing,” Hange teased with a wide grin.

Levi frowned. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“Come on, Levi. Alphas instinctively provide for their mates. Bringing her food is, like, prime courting behaviour—”

“Spare me the biology lesson,” Levi cut them off sharply. “I’ve had enough of your nonsense for one day.”

He reached for his glass, hoping it would hide the faint heat creeping up his neck. He’d dreamed of her the previous night. Not just of her, but of marking her—claiming her in a way he hadn’t allowed himself to think about while awake.

“At least her scent’s calming down,” he muttered, more to himself than to Hange. “Maybe now I can actually think straight.”

The last remaining veteran hummed faintly, their approval distant as they leaned back in their swinging chair, eyes closed. Sleep-deprivation from endless responsibilities and the alcohol in their system created a perfect cocktail for them to drift into dreamland almost instantly.

Levi, however, let his head hang over the back of his seat, eyes shut. He sighed heavily. “The one thing I’m grateful for... is that those two are Betas. If they weren’t, I’d never hear the end of it.”

He was referring to the fact that the small-town folk—most of whom were Betas—couldn’t recognize or differentiate between the scent of a bonded or unbonded Alpha.

—

“Dear Nana,

How is everyone? How is Clauws doing?”

She carefully penned the letter, seated at a desk that wasn’t hers. The pen’s tip dipped into ink once more before gliding across the paper. Though countless questions buzzed in her mind, very few could actually be written down. Her grandmother had always been strict, but when everything fell apart, she was the first to offer support—a comforting presence her own mother hadn’t provided. Her mother, too preoccupied tending to the returned “head of the house,” had barely noticed her struggles.

“I’m sorry I ruined your dress, Nana,”

She paused, remembering the day her grandmother had handed her the cherished wedding gown. It was simpler in design, a reflection of the fashion back then. “A piece of me will be with you that day,” her grandmother had said.

The letter rambled in places, yet felt hollow in others. “Things are improving slowly. My belongings arrived two days ago, which was a clear improvement,” she wrote.

She smiled at the memory. How ridiculously happy she’d been to finally take a proper shower using her own soaps, hair products, skincare, and body lotions. At last, she could wear a dress that was hers.

Levi’s reaction to the mountain of boxes had been understated—a brief glance, a slight narrowing of his eyes—but he’d said nothing. His indifference almost tempted her to write: “Nana, is it normal for a husband to not be interested in you?” But she stopped herself.

Her initial theory had been that her appearance was to blame. The limited wardrobe and lack of self-care products had left her feeling dull. But after her belongings arrived, she took her time in the shower that night, ensuring every inch of her smelled pleasant.

—

Levi returned to his chambers after a long day, utterly drained. He kicked off his boots, but still bent down to align them perfectly by the wall. Scratching the back of his head, his hand moved instinctively to push the bathroom door open—only to stop short when he noticed the light was on.

Her startled squeak from inside made him freeze. The door slammed shut in his face.

“Sorry,” he muttered, stepping back to avoid getting hit. He’d completely forgotten she was there. Despite the subtle changes around his chambers—the rearranged furniture, the extra storage for her belongings—it hadn’t sunk in.

Levi waited a few moments, exhaustion weighing on him. Each blink grew slower, heavier. Finally, he sighed. “Is this going to take long? I need the bathroom,” he asked, voice calm but firm.

“No.”

He frowned, rolling his eyes as if following an invisible clock. “Is that a ‘No, I’m done,’ or a ‘No, I need more time’?”

“What does that even mean?” she called back, her muffled voice sounding farther away than it actually was.

Levi shifted his weight impatiently, hands on his hips. “It means your ‘just a minute’ is turning into an eternity.”

He opened the door, the abrupt motion startled Hange, who was working at the desk nearby. Levi muttered irritably under his breath, brushing past them. “Feel free to make yourself at home,” Hange quipped sarcastically, as if they didn’t burst into Levi’s chambers uninvited all the time.

“I need to use your bathroom,” Levi snapped. But after a quick glance inside, he wrinkled his nose, muttered, “Never mind, the cadet’s public ones are cleaner,” and left.

—

When he returned to his chambers later, exhaustion pulling at every step, she was seated there. Her freshly washed hair glowed with a soft sheen, and the dress she wore seemed to accentuate her figure in all the right ways. The change in her mood was palpable—she looked lighter, almost happy.

“You’re back earlier,” she said softly, breaking the silence. Perhaps the isolation was getting to her. She had no one to talk to but herself, and even her inner monologues were starting to feel unhinged.

“Yeah.” Levi didn’t elaborate, setting down a stack of papers he needed to finish. He poured himself a cup of tea and sat at his desk, ready to get to work.

But her gaze was intense, her attention unwavering. He raised his eyes slowly from the papers, catching her shy smile. She looked... almost embarrassed.

“Yes?” he asked, his voice betraying no emotion.

She tilted her head slightly, her eyes bright with unspoken thoughts. Levi frowned inwardly. ‘She wants something’. Too tired for subtle games, he asked bluntly, “What do you need?”

“Oh, um… how was your day?” she asked, the long pause making her question feel like an afterthought.

“Busy.” He blinked slowly, waiting for her to get to the point. “What do you need?”

For Levi, this was attentiveness—cutting to the chase and solving her problems directly. But to her, it felt cold. Distant.

Pressing her lips together, she tried to maintain her optimism. “Don’t you notice something different?” she asked, her voice carrying the same tentative excitement as a child presenting a crayon drawing, they’ve poured their heart into.

Levi barely looked up from his work. Exhaustion weighed heavily on him after nonstop duties. “Your stuff arrived.”

She chuckled, rolling her eyes. “Well, yes. You brought it.” She leaned forward slightly. “Something else.”

Levi, disinterested, returned to his papers. “My bathroom is crammed with packages of things that’ll be impossible to keep tidy. That it?”

Her smile faltered, the enthusiasm in her eyes dimming. “No,” she muttered.

The silence stretched between them, broken only by the scratch of his pen on paper. Her drop in mood didn’t register with him immediately; his focus remained fixed on his work.

“Then I don’t know. I give up,” Levi finally said, his tone casual as though indulging in a child’s guessing game. “Communication is key, isn’t it?” He kept the conversation going, albeit with his usual bluntness. “I’ll be direct. I leave this place around six in the morning and come back around nine at night. When I get here, I just want to use the bathroom without waiting an hour. The rest of the day, it’s all yours.”

In his mind, he was simply setting boundaries—clarity prevented misunderstandings. “Settled accounts keep old friends,” as the saying went. He didn’t want resentment to build and cause an issue later.

“Sure,” she replied, her voice lacking the earlier spark.

Minutes passed in silence. Only then did Levi notice the shift in her mood. He tapped his pen against the desk, trying to shake off the sense of something being off. Straightening in his chair, he forced himself into a form of socialization that didn’t come naturally.

“How... was your day?” he asked, his tone awkward but sincere.

She gave him a faint, understanding smile. “It was good.”

“Good to hear,” he said, returning to his papers.

She replayed the events of the previous night in her mind, conflicted.

‘He called off my wedding and chose me with such determination... didn’t back out of the new arrangement when I lost my heat.’

She pieced together the events as though unraveling a mystery, searching for a missing clue.

‘He not only didn’t want to claim me… he’s simply not interested in me.’

A deep sigh escaped her as she ran a hand over her face. The confinement of the past few days had left her dizzy and drained.

‘Am I doing something wrong? Failing as a wife somehow?’

The thought of asking, ‘Captain, have we met before?’ lingered on the edge of her mind. How could a man so adamant about marrying her—a man who used his newfound authority after the uprising to demand her as his wife—not even know her?

‘We must have met before,’ she rationalized. ‘Perhaps at a ball? Maybe he knows my father?’

Yet, even as her thoughts spun, she arrived at a reluctant conclusion:

‘I don’t desire him to claim me, but at least he could be interested in me.’

If she could wish for one wedding gift, it would be for him to talk to her—about anything. She wanted to know if this marriage was punishment for her family, a humiliation disguised as duty, or if he was simply as severe and unyielding as he appeared.

She stood a few steps behind him, clutching the letter she had written earlier. Her eyes lingered on the curve of his bent head as he worked. When should she ask? Would it annoy him? What if he refused?

‘What if he doesn’t want me to contact my family anymore? Should I lie and say it’s for a friend?’

“Ehm,” she began hesitantly, catching his attention.

Levi glanced at her, waiting.

“I was wondering if you could send a letter for me?”

She braced for his reaction, expecting irritation or even outright anger. But Levi merely extended his hand.

“Sure,” he said simply.

Her initial shock passed quickly, and she moved closer, handing him the envelope. “Is... this alright?” she asked cautiously, testing the waters.

“Did you write the address correctly?”

“I think so.”

“Then I don’t see why not.”

They shared the same language, but their meanings never aligned. She questioned the morality of staying in contact with her past, while his thoughts drifted to streets and doorways, turning her words into something as practical as addresses.

Levi flipped the envelope over, his sharp eyes catching the empty space where the sender’s details should have been. Picking up his pen, he filled in the information himself, then reached for one of the stamps he used for his own correspondence. After affixing it to the envelope, he placed it atop the pile of outgoing letters.

“Done. With that stamp, it’ll be sent as a high priority.”

She wondered if this was some sort of test. “Alright, thank you,” she replied hesitantly, retreating slowly back to the room. Her cautious movement caught his attention.

‘Try talking to her, be sociable,’ Hange had urged him during lunch. ‘At least try to befriend her. You’re the only person she knows.’

The memory of that conversation made Levi press his lips together and exhale softly, though not loud enough to draw attention. His eyes scanned his desk as if it might somehow offer the social skills he so clearly lacked.

“You don’t have to leave. We can share the room.”

Those words stopped her in her tracks. After countless nights of waiting for his return and his insistence that he had too much work to spare time for her, she had assumed he didn’t want her there. Slowly, she walked back to the desk, hesitating before taking one of the armchairs in front of him.

Her mind was a battlefield of questions, but the voices of those who once told her that the success of a marriage depended on a woman’s quietness forced her to remain silent.

Levi, on the other hand, wished she would ramble about anything—or everything. ‘I’m not in a position to get picky’, he thought. It wasn’t that he particularly enjoyed talkative people— ‘no one likes a damn yapper’, he mused with a wry press of his lips—but he wished she didn’t seem so…scared.

Respect and fear had followed him like shadows since his underground days, and he had never found silence uncomfortable. But something about the absence of connection in their shared space unsettled him. This was his sanctuary: the room where veterans had snuck in to celebrate his birthday against his will; the room where he, Mike, and Hange had gotten high because the mess in their rooms drove him mad; the place Erwin would stumble into drunk to rant about aging before forgetting the entire conversation the next morning.

Now, she slept in his bed—a bed he rarely used unless he got any unexpected visit for a night or two. She had gone through his drawers, where condoms, hardly touched lube, and those ridiculous chocolates Hange had once gifted him as a joke lay tucked away. She had invaded his space, his place, and he didn’t even know if she had some embarrassing middle name.

“You came back earlier today,” she muttered, breaking the silence.

He blinked. Had he? Maybe he had been trying to finish work earlier, hoping to get back before she fell asleep. “Did you forget your keys?” she asked.

Her question made him freeze, his sharp eyes narrowing. She instantly regretted asking.

‘Someone tried to break in’, Levi’s mind leaped to the worst conclusion.

“What happened?” he asked, his tone calm but commanding.

“Nothing. It was a quiet day,” she lied, her eyes darting away like a guilty dog avoiding its owner.

“Don’t lie to me,” Levi said firmly, though without aggression.

“Nothing. The front door’s knob was pushed down and tugged a couple of times, but that was it. The door was locked anyway,” she admitted, her voice hesitant, “I thought maybe you’d forgotten your keys.”

She tried to shrug it off, though her footing felt shaky. “It really was nothing,” she added quickly, her excuses flimsy and arriving too fast to be convincing. “It’s not that deep.”

‘I want to go out… I need to leave this place, or I’ll go nuts,’ she thought, the words she withheld tightening around her like chains. It felt as though she’d just added three more locks to the door with every word she spoke.

“I didn’t mean to hide it from you,” she murmured, her voice softening.

‘Well… maybe a little,’ she admitted silently, guilt prickling at the edges of her thoughts.

Levi sighed heavily, closing his eyes and pinching the bridge of his nose between his thumb and index finger. His patience was stretched, but his tone was steady.

“Stop it. I’m not angry at you.”

“Well…you look like it,” she muttered, barely audible.

Levi caught her words. “That’s just the face I was born with,” he deadpanned, standing to prepare tea. “If I were actually mad, you’d know.”

Her shoulders relaxed slightly, though she still seemed wary. When he asked, “How much milk?” she snapped out of her thoughts.

“Oh, half and half, please,” she replied.

He carried on, adding two sugar cubes and placing her cup next to her before returning to his seat. One leg over the other.

“Thanks,” she murmured into her tea, both hands clasped around the warm cup.

As the room fell silent again, Levi’s gaze landed on a stray sketch she’d left on his desk—a portrait of a cat. He held it up. “You’re an artist, huh?” “You’re an artist, huh?” he asked suddenly.

“Uh?” She blinked, then realized what he meant. “Oh. I won’t leave them around again. Sorry.”

“That’s not what I meant,” he said, a trace of exasperation in his tone. “You’re not bad at it.”

A soft smile touched her lips. “Thanks, but I’m just an amateur. A real artist is someone professional. My technique is weak.”

“Don’t sell yourself short. You’re better than anyone I know,” He scanned the sketches scattered across the desk. “Who told you that? Some shitty teacher?”

She hesitated. “My father.”

Levi pressed his lips together. “Sounds like a real ray of sunshine.”

She chuckled at his dry tone. “He just didn’t want me to think I could make a living out of it.”

“Ah, a natural motivator,” Levi deadpanned. “Bet he works in suicide prevention.”

She laughed, the sound light and genuine. ‘First joke she’s found funny,’ Levi thought.

She leaned forward slightly, a grin on her face. “Do you know my father, sir?”

“Not a clue,” he replied, sipping his tea. “Don’t call me ‘sir,’ by the way. I told you that.”

Her expression turned sheepish. “Sorry… force of habit.” Her smile faltered. Then why…why did you choose me? The question hovered unspoken between them.

Before she could gather the courage to ask, Levi changed the subject, holding up the cat sketch again. “You like this cat?”

Her face brightened instantly. “Yes! That’s my baby, Clauws!”

Levi raised an eyebrow but kept his thoughts to himself. ‘What kind of shitty name is that?’

She explained, “I got him as a Christmas present. He had claws, and Santa Claus brought him to me, so…Clauws.”

“Ah. I see.”

She laughed, catching his expression. “Give me a break—I was ten!”

“Fair enough.”

“Are you a cat person or a dog person?” she asked, clearly trying to keep the light mood alive.

“Neither,” he replied bluntly.

Her smile faded.

“I never owned pets. They shed everywhere. Too messy.”

Her enthusiasm dimmed, but she tried to hide it. “I guess…”

—

“I’m telling you, he’s been taking trays to his chambers!” Sasha’s finger hit the mess hall’s table as she spoke. “He has someone there!”

“How do you know he’s taking an extra tray for someone else and not just for him and Commander Hange to have dinner together?” Connie asked, trying to find logic in her declarations.

“Because there’s been an extra tray for every meal!”

“You count trays?” Jean grimaced in shock. “You’ve got a serious problem with food.”

“Whatever! He has someone there!”

“Ugh, let’s put an end to this,” Armin said, appearing out of nowhere to place his tray on the table. He climbed onto the bench attached to the surface, the rest of the group looking at him in confusion. With a loud, fake sigh, Armin pulled out a small pile of letters and held them up for everyone to see. The group gasped.

“He has a girl named Y/N over. How do I know? Correspondence,” Armin declared.

“Armin, you’re a genius!” Sasha exclaimed, but Jean stared at him in pale horror.

“Have Eren’s suicidal tendencies rubbed off on you?! Captain Levi will beat you senseless if he finds out you’ve touched his letters!”

“Relax. I’m going to put them back before he finds out,” Armin said calmly. “I read in a detective novel that you can open letters with steam and reseal them. Maybe we’ll figure out what she’s doing here.”

Before anyone could respond, another voice broke in. “Who? The omega Captain Levi has in his office?”

As Floch appeared and sat down next to them—uninvited and unwelcome—their lighthearted curiosity turned uneasy.

“How do you know that?” Connie was the first to ask.

“Well, Mr. Wannabe Detective here would’ve known if he were an alpha,” Floch sneered, clearly enjoying his superiority on calling Armin’s beta nature out. Was there a connection between Floch clear unbiased wish that they would have chosen Commander Erwin, a well-known alpha, over Armin? Perhaps.

Armin stayed silent, his self-esteem taking a blow, but Jean, the only alpha in their group, though far from dominant, jumped to the challenge.

“Shut up! Even if she was one, how would you know?” Jean demanded.

“Oh, I know.” Floch smirked. “I was delivering reports to Commander Hange, and her scent hit me under the door.”

Floch had recently come out of a rut, a telltale sign of young alphas developing.

“I have to say, before I realized it, I was trying to open the door. But it was locked,” he added, sounding almost offended. “Such a pity.”

The friendly atmosphere disappeared completely, and everyone shifted uncomfortably in their seats.

“That’s creepy as hell, dude,” Sasha said, disgusted.

Floch shrugged. “Everyone knows omegas drive alphas wild. Who the hell brings one here? That’s on them.”

Suddenly, Armin stood, clutching the letters tightly. “Maybe I should put these back,” he muttered. The idea of digging into Levi’s private life no longer felt like innocent gossip—it felt deeply wrong.

—

Levi stared at the two envelopes in his hands, clearly not work-related and not addressed to him. He quickly noticed one bore the name of the letter he’d sent earlier. But something didn’t add up. The last names didn’t match. “Her father, maybe,” he thought as he read, “Dietrich.”

He shrugged it off. “Maybe they’re a tight-knit family,” he guessed. He made a mental note to drop the letters off at his chambers before heading to his meeting. “Maybe it’ll cheer her up.”

But when she saw the letters, she didn’t look cheerful at all. She tried to mask her unease with a forced laugh. “Oh, haha, I just have a headache,” she lied, waving it off.

“Do you want some painkillers?” Levi asked, already thinking about making a quick trip to the infirmary. ‘Maybe it’s an omega thing after a heat?’ He wasn’t well-versed in omega biology, but he wanted to be a considerate partner.

“No, no, thank you! Have a good time at the meeting,” she said quickly, ushering him out.

Alone at last, her hands trembled as she clutched the letters, sinking into the couch. Her heart raced.

‘He wrote to me,’ she thought, her cheeks flushing. But the realization quickly turned sour.

“He wrote to me,” she muttered, dread sinking in.

One part of her wanted to read it, to giggle and cherish the thought that she was still the deepest desire of a man who wouldn’t give up without a fight. But her rational side screamed, “Are you out of your mind? Imagine what he’d do if he found out.”

Duty or love. Desire or safety.

‘Screw it,’ she thought, her hands trembling as she struggled to open the seal without tearing the paper.

A gilded reflect caught her attention from the corner of her yes. Her grandmother’s letter, sitting on the coffee table next to the wedding ring she’d taken off earlier.

The ring was uncomfortable. It didn’t fit her well. But the sight of it next to her grandmother’s letter felt like a moral reminder. Her grandmother had written back so quickly to offer support, her words a lifeline in this overwhelming new life.

The excitement drained away, leaving only shame and pain. “You know what the right decision is,” her conscience scolded.

Before regret could take hold, she tore Dietrich’s letter to pieces and flushed it down the toilet. Tears streamed down her face. “It’s the right decision,” she repeated, thinking of her younger siblings—particularly her two little sisters.

It was late into the night. The field lay eerily still, save for the occasional shadow of soldiers patrolling under curfew. Their footsteps were sparse and distant, a quiet reminder of the night’s vigilance.

She sat on the wide threshold of the office’s main window, her head leaning heavily against the glass. The chill seeped through, a stark contrast to the warmth of her skin, and she welcomed it. Her lifeless gaze stretched out into the abyss beyond, where darkness swallowed everything in sight.

The tears hadn’t dried yet. She blinked slowly, afraid they might return if she lingered too long on her thoughts. The air felt thick, oppressive, as if it carried the weight of her despair. The walls seemed to close in with each passing second, shrinking her world into something suffocatingly small.

‘I hate it here,’ she thought bitterly, the words ringing like a quiet scream in her mind.

Levi returned to his quarters, the weight of another gruelling meeting pressing on his shoulders. The moment he stepped inside, he noticed her sitting by the window, her figure barely illuminated by the dim moonlight. Her head rested against the glass; her shoulders slumped. Something about the way she sat—so still, so lost—struck him.

He shut the door quietly, hanging his cloak by the hook before stepping further into the room. “You’ve been sitting there all night?” he asked, his tone neutral but laced with a hint of concern.

She didn’t turn to look at him, her voice soft and hollow only hummed. “What is that even supposed to mean?” Levi asked back.

She didn’t turn to look at him. “I’m fine.” The words were brittle, almost a whisper.

He crossed the room, setting something down on the desk before leaning against it. “You don’t look fine.”

She seemed unresponsive, as if life were something that passed her by, not something she was meant to live. Levi’s gaze lingered on her, his breathing slow and deliberate as he wrestled with the unfamiliar territory of trying to be understanding. ‘What is it now? The food? The place?’

“Y/N,” he said, his voice low but firm. The sound of her name seemed to pull her out of the fog she was in. “I told you—I’m not a mind reader. If something’s wrong, just tell me, so I can fix it.”

Something shifted in her expression, her dull gaze sparking with an edge of frustration. “What’s wrong?” she echoed, her voice breaking slightly. “I’m far away from home, from everyone I know. Stuck here, in this tiny little room.”

‘Oh… so that’s it,’ he thought, nodding softly with an air of exhaustion. “This is temporary,” he replied, his tone even. “I’ll find you a place—somewhere better. Somewhere you don’t have to be here… with me—”

Before he could finish, she raised her hands to her face, muffling a scream before collapsing into sobs. Levi froze, his eyebrows shooting up in surprise. That reaction wasn’t what he’d expected.

“What the hell did I say now?” he muttered under his breath, bewildered, watching her unravel before him.

She turned to face him, her eyes red-rimmed but sharp.  “What do you want from me?!”

“I’ve the same damn question,”

“Why are you doing this?”

He frowned, taken aback. “Doing what?”

“This.” She gestured vaguely around the room, her tone sharp and weary all at once. “Why am I here? Is this some sort of punishment? Did you think my family would suffer more by taking me?”

Levi’s brows knit together. “Punish your family? What are you talking about?”

“I’m not going to excuse anything,” she continued, her voice rising as if she hadn’t heard him. “I’m not going to excuse what my father did, alright? He did business with the old Military Police. Sure. But we weren’t some noble family rubbing elbows with the royal court. We’re not that influential.” Her words came faster now, anger and frustration spilling out unchecked.

Levi opened his mouth to respond, but she didn’t stop.

“At first, I thought you knew my father somehow, or maybe you hated my kind, and this was some sort of twisted fantasy,” she began, her voice trembling but firm. “Then I wondered if you just wanted an Omega wife to fit neatly into your new position in the government. But now? I don’t know anymore! I don’t understand what you want from me!”

Her hands clenched into tight fists on her lap, her knuckles whitening with the pressure.

“I don’t understand!” she repeated, her tone rising with the weight of her frustration. “You don’t even want me here—you’re trying to send me away, somewhere I won’t be a burden to you. You had plenty of single Omegas lined up for marriage, but instead, you called off my wedding, dragged me all the way here… just to cast me aside. What do you want from me?!”

Her voice broke as the raw emotion spilled over. “Is it fun for you? To ruin my life? To make me miserable? Is that all this is to you—some cruel game?”

She looked away, her gaze dropping to the floor. “And now my grandmother writes to tell me that my cat won’t eat. He’s lying in my old room, waiting for me. He’s going to die because of all this.”

Levi straightened slightly. “Your cat?”

“Yes, my cat!” she snapped, her eyes blazing. She inhaled sharply, trying to steady herself, but her tears betrayed her. “I was supposed to marry someone else,” she said bitterly, her words slicing through the air. “I had a life planned out. I was going to live close to the capital with my friends, with my cat, with the man I’d been preparing my whole life to marry. And then you…” Her voice wavered as she fixed him with a glare. “You called off my wedding.”

Levi froze, his eyes narrowing slightly. “What?” he said, his voice low and rough. “I didn’t—”

“Don’t,” she interrupted, her hand raising as if to physically block his words. “I don’t want to hear it. I don’t want your excuses or justifications. Just leave me alone, okay?”

He stood there, his hands at his sides, watching her crumble in front of him. Her words hit him harder than he cared to admit. He hadn’t known she was engaged—or that her life had been so carefully planned before all this. He hadn’t realized how much she’d lost in the process of being pushed into his world.

But she wasn’t letting him speak.

“I just want to go home,” she whispered, her voice breaking. “Please… just leave me alone.”

Levi clenched his jaw, his hands curling into fists. He wanted to say something—anything—

—

“You GAVE me a girl who was engaged to someone else?!” Levi’s voice cut through the room like a blade.

“You didn’t claim the damn Omega?!” Zackly shot back, his tone equally sharp.

The two cadets stationed at the far wall exchanged nervous glances, their bodies stiff and pressed flat against the plaster as if trying to disappear. They dared not breathe too loudly, their eyes darting from one side of the office to the other as the shouting escalated.

“Who the hell cares about that?!” Levi snapped, running a hand through his hair in frustration. “The girl’s a blink away from throwing herself off a balcony! And the only reason she hasn’t is because I live on the first floor. She’s smart enough to know she’d survive the fall and just end up crippled!”

“You come into my office to shout at me,” Zackly growled, slamming his fist on the desk, “demanding a house, calling me a liar—and you haven’t even claimed the girl?!” His voice rose with incredulity. “You wanted her. No second thoughts. We gave her to you! What the hell did you expect us to do?”

“I don’t know,” Levi retorted, sarcasm dripping from his tone. “Maybe you could’ve told me she was already promised to someone else!”

“You got what you asked for,” Zackly shot back with a scoff, leaning back in his chair. “You had one damn job, and you couldn’t even do that. So go back, claim the girl, and then we can talk about anything else.”

Levi stood frozen, disbelief washing over him. His steel-gray eyes locked on Zackly as if trying to process how a man could be so absurdly indifferent. “Maybe you’re the type to enjoy abusing girls half your age, but that’s not me. She doesn’t just hate me—she despises me.”

Zackly let out a derisive laugh. “Oh, your wife hates you? Boo-hoo, Captain. Welcome to marriage.” His sarcasm made one of the cadets stifle a chuckle, which they instantly regretted when Levi’s sharp gaze flicked toward them.

“We’ve got a coastal expansion to deal with, a train system to build, and a Marley invasion to prepare for,” Zackly continued, waving dismissively. “Neither of us has time to waste on this nonsense.”

Levi’s fists clenched so tightly his knuckles turned white. He’d never seen eye to eye with Zackly, and now, his patience was at its breaking point. “I need a damn house,” he ground out. “I can’t keep her at headquarters.”

The tension in the room was broken by one of the cadets, who sneered, “A house? Alone, for an unclaimed Omega? We’re not funding a brothel. Half the Alphas inside the Walls would be lining up outside her door.”

Levi’s world went red. His hand shot out, grabbing the cadet by the collar and dragging him close, his voice a low growl. “You say something like that again, and I’ll make sure you’re the one they’re lining up for.” He yanked the cadet lower, forcing him to meet his piercing glare.

The cadet’s bravado shattered instantly. “I’m sorry, sir—I didn’t mean—”

“I don’t care what you meant,” Levi hissed, his tone deadly calm. “You like to act cocky, but the moment you’re in my hands, you’re shaking like a little bitch.” He held him there a moment longer before shoving him back against the wall. “Don’t test me again.”

The cadet nodded furiously. “It won’t happen again, Captain. I’m sorry.”

“Tch.” Levi turned away, muttering under his breath. “This couldn’t get worse.”

—

“So… no house hunting today?” Hange quipped as they exited the main building, each fresh from their respective meetings. Their steps initially fell in sync, heading toward the waiting cart, but Levi abruptly veered off down the street.

“Were you going?” he shot back, his tone flat yet tinged with subtle sarcasm.

Hange stopped, blinking at his retreating figure before jogging slightly to catch up. their eyes dropped to the letter he held, his gaze fixed on the address written there.

“I’ve got something to pick up,” Levi said curtly, not breaking stride.

—

“Hey. Come on, wake up.”

Levi’s voice was quiet but insistent as he gently rocked her shoulder. She was sprawled on the bed, deeply asleep, the pitch-black room silent except for his voice. He’d been gone the entire day, leaving at five in the morning, and now it was three a.m. the following day. Despite his best efforts, she hadn’t even stirred when he came back.

“Wake up,” he urged again, shaking her lightly. “I’ve got something for you.”

A muffled groan escaped her lips as she shifted uneasily, her face scrunching in sleepy confusion. “What?” she mumbled, rubbing her eyes. “You’re back?”

“Yeah, now come on.” He tugged lightly at her arm, his grip firm but not rough. “Get up.”

Grumbling incoherently, she sat up, her movements sluggish as she tried to process being forced awake. Levi didn’t wait for her to fully come to her senses. He turned on the light in the adjoining office, casting a blinding glow that made her squint and groan louder.

“What’s this?” she muttered, shielding her face and rubbing her eyes.

Levi didn’t answer at first. Instead, he walked to the center of the room, a box resting on the floor. “You’ll have to be responsible,” he said plainly, crouching to open it. “I don’t have the time to take care of it or clean up after it. That’s my condition.”

Her grogginess evaporated the second she processed his words. Her eyes widened, and her breath caught as she saw him lift the box’s lid.

“Oh my god. Oh my god—oh my god!” she exclaimed, her voice breaking as tears spilled down her cheeks. Dropping to her knees, she reached out as her cat—frail, disheveled, and scared—darted toward her arms.

The small animal let out a hoarse, frantic meow, burying its head into her neck as she hugged it tightly, crying openly.

“It’s okay,” she sobbed, rocking the trembling creature as if to soothe both of them at once. “Mommy’s got you. It’s okay. You’re safe now.”

Levi stood in silence, watching the scene unfold. His lips pressed into a thin line as he observed the cat clinging to her like it was afraid to let go, its pitiful meows muffled against her shoulder. The animal looked half-dead—though perhaps it had been revived by her sheer will the moment it reunited with her.

Before he could say a word, she rose to her feet, still clutching the cat, and threw her free arm around him in a fierce hug. The startled animal was caught between them, meowing in protest, but she didn’t seem to care.

“Thank you,” she cried, her voice thick with emotion. “Thank you so much!”

“You’ve got to be responsible—” Levi started, but his words cut off as she planted a quick, impulsive kiss on his cheek.

He froze, his usual stoic composure crumbling for a split second as his brain scrambled to process the gesture. He didn’t know whether to step back, reciprocate, or say something, so he settled on standing still, his arms awkwardly hovering at his sides.

‘Well,’ he thought dryly, watching her coo at the cat with unrestrained joy, ‘this’ll make it ten times easier to tell her she’s stuck here until further notice.’

Link to my masterlist and my other works if you feel like checking them out.

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[sanguineterrain]

I am FERAL over your knight Jason thought. FERAL!!! Okay check this out: so Jason's ignoring reader because he feels guilty right? Maybe he tried to give them back but the king wouldn't allow it. But maybe the reader misunderstands and thinks they're not doing their "duties" so they make dinner and breakfast and wash his clothes and basically act like a perfect spouse. How would Jason react? 👀

Dear god... I feel another series coming on...

Idkidk, their dynamic is just really interesting to me! it's probably gonna be a bit of a slow burn here. Feel free to send more thoughts about them. I am rotating these two like a rotisserie chicken in my brain.

knight!jason todd x gn!reader. ambiguous time period but just assume it's olden times *gestures vaguely*. tw arranged marriage/forced relationship but it's complicated! jason is full of angst and self-loathing but he's a sweetie as per usual. original post for context.

****

The soldier—Jason—has said four words since you've arrived.

The first was "here," which he said whilst handing you a mug of milk. He didn't look at you as he said it, and that morning, he left for a five-day long station. You only know that because he said, after handing you the milk, "I've been stationed."

You realized it was five days when you heard his horse galloping towards the house... five days later.

You haven't initiated conversation because though you're a commoner, and no one ever had much hope for you to become anything but an old spinster, you know not to challenge knights.

But this is fucking ridiculous.

"Do you like veal?" you ask on your fourteenth day here.

Jason is about to leave, his boots half laced. He freezes at your question and looks up.

You stand tall, chin up. This is a normal question. A question a wife would ask her husband, except you're not a wife, and you're pretty sure this soldier isn't a husband either.

"I like veal," he says carefully, slowly. "Would you like me to fetch some from the market?"

Now, this is where it gets tricky. When the king summoned you, he made it clear that you were expected to care for Jason under his rules. You don't know how to navigate this world. You know what couples in your village do, but you don't know what's expected of you here.

"Actually, I..." Jason looks at you. His eyes are very green. He has a surprisingly sweet face under his helmet. "Actually, I was wondering if I could go. On my own."

"Oh."

You brace yourself for arguing or yelling. True, he hasn't raised his voice once, but he also hasn't said much at all. It's like living with a ghost.

"Yes, of course. Of course you can go." He fishes out a pouch of coins and gives them to you. You take it slowly, waiting for him to realize his mistake. He doesn't.

"Thank you," you say.

He nods and watches you walk.

"Wait."

You stop. Here it comes.

"There's a cargo ship in port today. The guards rotate at noon."

He leaves before you can form a thought. You hold the coins, watching blankly as the door shuts behind him. His horse whinnies, and then he's gone.

The market isn't far from the cottage. It's fantastic to be outside again. No one's noticed your absence, clearly, but that's alright. You've never expected more.

You buy a good cut of veal and potatoes and carrots and apples. Jason gave you more money than any cut of meat would cost, so surely he assumed you would buy other food. Why else would he give you so much?

A ship's horn drones in the distance. You're feeling some oranges when you remember his words. A cargo ship.

The sun is almost at its highest point.

"Oi! Either buy 'em or stop feelin' 'em!" the seller snaps.

You roll your eyes and move on from the orange stand. You can see the horizon of where the sky meets the sea from here. Any moment, the guards will change, and the ship will be...

You stop. Was Jason hinting at your escape?

No, he couldn't have been! That's preposterous. Why would he want you gone? The king took you for a reason.

And where would you go anyway? Once you leave, you'd be a criminal forever. You couldn't make a home on your own. And who knows what could happen in between? Pirates, enemy soldiers, anybody could snatch you up.

This must've been a test. A test to see if you would run. That's why he agreed to you going so easily.

No, your escape can't be planned now. Not when you're so obviously uncomfortable, and Jason knows it.

You ignore the ship and go home with your purchases. You spend the rest of the afternoon preparing veal stew. You warm leftover bread over the fire and set a pot of butter on the table.

Jason comes in louder than he has before, humming quietly. You perk up at the sound, happy for the lack of silence.

You set a bowl of stew at his chair and wait by the fire. As soon as he enters the kitchen, the humming stops.

"Welcome home," you say, wringing your hands. "I made supper."

Jason glances at the table, then back at you.

"You came back," he says.

"Why wouldn't I?" you ask, face neutral as you cut the bread into chunks.

"That—did the ship come?"

"Yes."

Jason sits. His face is dirty from training.

"I bought more than veal," you say, and hand him the pouch. "I hope that's alright. We—there were no more potatoes."

He takes the pouch, rubbing the string tied around the top. "You went to the marketplace... and came back."

It's not a question, but it sounds like there might be one behind it.

"Certainly," you say. "I'm loyal to you, Jason. I serve you."

He looks up, blinking rapidly. Then he looks back at his stew.

Oh, right. He's waiting for you to ask permission to sit.

"May I join you?" you ask.

Jason flinches. "You don't... you don't have to ask. I would never stop you from eating."

The words hang in the air. It's like neither one of you can speak right.

You watch him, and he watches you as you serve yourself and sit on the opposite side of the table. Jason takes the first bite, and you eat right after.

"Is the supper satisfactory? Have I done well?" you ask.

Jason stops chewing and sets his spoon down. You're struck by his shift in demeanor. You worry for a moment you've screwed up something as dim-wittingly simple as stew.

His eyes are sad as they fall on you. It's akin to grief, the pain he wears, but you don't know why he's grieving. You silently offer him more bread, pushing it toward him. He takes it.

"Yes," he says quietly and eats another spoonful. "You did. Thank you for supper."

Jason cleans his bowl three times. You have no stew leftover, which pleases you.

But as soon as Jason finishes eating, he gets up, rinses his bowl, and wordlessly leaves.

You don't see him for the rest of the night.

Somehow, you feel lonelier than when you weren't speaking.

[ceruleanskies48]

Mizu’s Affinities with Trans Women

While many folks have drawn parallels between Mizu’s life experiences and those of trans men (AFAB living as a man, wearing a binder, deepening her voice, adopting masculine mannerisms, etc.), an under-explored topic is her affinities with trans women. 

From as early as Mizu can remember, she was forced to hide her femininity and live as a boy. In flashbacks, we see her “Mama” forcefully shaving her head, saying she “must be a boy, always a boy,” while she sadly clutches her fallen locks of hair. Mama’s supposed death in the hut fire only further cements in her the importance of living as a boy for her safety—to protect herself from the “bad men”—and it also leads her to seek vengeance, which requires her to live as a man (as Madame Kaji says, "under the law, revenge is a luxury for men like you"). In Mizu’s conversation with Mikio, she also confirms that she didn’t want to live as a man but had no choice but to do so because of the bad men and her revenge. 

Indeed, when Mizu is briefly given the opportunity to live as a woman, she takes it. Even before her marriage to Mikio, when she was reunited with Mama, she chose to dress like a woman. She no longer needed to live as a man since (as Mama explains) the bad men believed she died in the fire, and she was no longer on her revenge quest. When Mama exhausts Mizu’s savings, it’s notable that Mizu agrees to the arranged marriage instead of going back to living as a man to make money. 

Similar to trans women, however, Mizu was not socialized to live as a woman. She initially struggles to conform to womanly roles in Edo society, like acting appropriately submissive to her husband, moving elegantly (she’s shown to be clumsy while doing chores), and cooking meals. According to the Lead Character Designer, they intentionally made her women’s clothing fit awkwardly given her height. She is also self-conscious of her looks and how she does not fit the feminine ideals of her times. She’s used to people calling her ugly (including Mama, Swordfather, and Mikio). In a cut scene from Ep. 4, Mizu tries to put her hair up and gauge whether she could be considered attractive but concludes that she cannot. She exhibits jealousy toward Akemi (more on that here) for how she epitomizes feminine beauty and privilege and judges her for not appreciating the fact that she can “have anything she wants,” including the epitome of prizes for Edo women, a marriage into the Shogunate. 

Mizu’s marriage with Mikio also exhibits parallels to the safety challenges trans women can face in romantic relationships. Despite her initial struggles, Mizu is eventually able to win Mikio’s heart, in part by suppressing her more masculine attributes. For example, she pretends to not be able to throw the knife to cut down the apple. But for a little while, she is able to live a happy life, as a woman.

Her mother told her to hide her past, but she eventually trusts Mikio enough to reveal that she was raised as a boy and lived as a man. And not only any man, but a man dedicated to the most masculine Edo pursuit of swordsmanship. The fact that Mikio seemed not only open-minded about this but eager to see “all of her,” leads her to show him her masculine side as well. Unfortunately this backfires spectacularly. He rejects her, calling her a monster. Interestingly, Mizu intuited the connection between his rejection and her gender presentation. She tried to smooth things over by putting on makeup and her wedding kimono to use her femininity to soften his heart and implicitly show her willingness to suppress her masculinity and commit wholly to being his feminine wife, but it was already too late. He leaves her to be killed by the armed men (he was also most likely the one who ratted her out: see here).

The deaths of Mikio and Mama not only mark the end of her relationships with them but also the end of her life as a woman. She concludes she has nothing left in life but her revenge quest, which necessitates her living as a man. For a brief moment, she thought she could be herself and be loved, but that dream came crashing down with betrayal and tragedy. 

All of this is why I’m personally a huge sucker for feminine Mizu moments. I find them quite subversive even though she is AFAB. I hope in Season 2 she’ll be able to spend at least some of the time living as a woman since she won’t have the bounty on her head to worry about and it might actually be easier for her to present as a woman in London accompanying Fowler. Also, it would be empowering for her to explore leveraging her femininity as power rather than having to constantly suppress it. Here’s to kick-ass Mizu in a dress! 🍻 

[moonlitstoriess]

Binding Lies- Eris Vanserra x fem!reader (mini-series) Part 1

Summary: When Y/N, Azriel’s secret half-sister who lives far away, and Eris Vanserra form a strategic contractual marriage to further their own agendas, what begins as a carefully crafted arrangement soon becomes more complicated. As they pretend to be a perfect couple, the lines between duty and desire blur, and neither is prepared for the consequences.

Next part

See masterlist

Warnings: none for now, I think.

A/n: Soo I believe that because Eris is the ultimate enemies to lovers boy, what other character would be best suited for this type of story if not him? 🤭

What was life if not a series of obligations and chains?

Eris swirled the wine in his goblet, the deep red liquid catching the firelight like blood. A fitting image, he thought grimly. Everything in the Autumn Court reeked of it—blood spilled for power, blood spilled for survival, and the invisible blood that stained every action taken under his father’s rule.

He stared into the wine, the rippling surface reflecting the gilded dining hall around him. The room was filled with laughter and chatter, the High Lord’s officials and their daughters basking in the false warmth of Beron’s presence. Eris wanted to set the entire place aflame, to reduce it all to ash.

“Are you listening, boy?”

Beron’s voice cut through his thoughts like a whip, and Eris blinked, his fingers tightening around the goblet. He didn’t bother hiding his irritation as he looked up, his sharp gaze meeting his father’s.

“You were saying?” Eris drawled, his tone laced with mockery.

Beron’s lip curled, his fiery eyes narrowing. “I said, it’s time you marry. The Autumn Court needs an heir.”

Ah, this tired song again. Eris leaned back in his chair, feigning nonchalance even as his jaw tightened. “I didn’t realize the court was on the brink of collapse without me married off. Or is it simply that the officials are tired of their daughters gathering dust?”

A few low chuckles rippled around the table, but Beron’s gaze burned like embers. He leaned in and whispered to his son, “I didn't order for all these females to be brought here like herds of sheep for nothing. Careful, Eris. Your insolence won’t serve you well when you’re High Lord."

Eris’s mouth curved into a cold smile. “And yet it serves me well enough now.”

Beron’s fingers flared with fire, but Eris didn’t flinch. He’d played this game with his father too many times to be cowed by his temper.

As the conversation shifted to other matters, Eris returned his attention to his goblet, though his mind was far from at ease.

Perhaps his father would die soon. That would certainly solve a number of problems.

The conversation at the table turned to the next ball Beron was hosting—a thinly veiled excuse for court officials to parade their daughters before Eris like prized cattle. He ground his teeth at the thought, his fingers tightening around the stem of his goblet until the fragile glass threatened to shatter.

“We’ve extended invitations to the most prominent families,” Beron announced with a self-satisfied smirk. “I trust you’ll make an effort to charm them this time, Eris. We can’t afford your... indifference.”

Eris forced his face into a neutral mask, though his thoughts burned like the fires of the court. Charm them? For what? So they could shove their scheming daughters into his arms, hoping to cement their families’ power at his side?

He knew these men. Knew how they whispered behind Beron’s back, how they lusted for a slice of the Autumn Court’s rule. And their daughters—pretty, vapid faces who smiled too sweetly and batted their lashes with calculated precision. None of them wanted him. They wanted the title, the crown, the prestige.

“I’ll do what’s expected,” Eris replied flatly, his voice betraying nothing.

Beron’s smirk widened, as though he’d won some unspoken battle. “Good. It’s time you understood your duty, boy. This is about the future of the court, not your personal whims.”

Personal whims. Eris resisted the urge to laugh. As if his father cared about anything beyond his own legacy.

Hours later, Eris stood alone in the dimly lit study, the flames in the hearth casting flickering shadows against the walls. He stared into the fire, imagining Beron’s face in the dancing embers.

His thoughts were interrupted by the soft creak of the door. He turned to see his mother stepping inside, her elegant frame draped in rich autumnal hues. She regarded him with a mix of weariness and concern, her sharp eyes softening only slightly as they met his.

“I see the evening went as expected,” she said quietly, closing the door behind her.

Eris let out a bitter laugh. “Oh, it was delightful. Another ball to look forward to, another round of power-hungry men throwing their daughters at me like bait.”

His mother sighed, moving to stand beside him. “You know he’s right, Eris. As much as I loathe him, you are the future of this court. It’s time you—”

“Don’t,” Eris snapped, his voice sharper than he intended. He turned to face her, his amber eyes blazing. “Don’t tell me you’re siding with him now. You’ve always said to wait for my mate, that the bond is sacred—”

“And it is,” she interrupted, her voice calm but firm. “But Eris, you can’t live your life waiting for something that might never come. This court needs you to lead, and you can’t do that alone.”

His jaw tightened, his hands curling into fists at his sides. “So what? I’m supposed to pick some scheming girl with a pretty smile and call her my wife? Let Beron manipulate her like he manipulates everyone else?”

“I hate it as much as you do,” she said softly, reaching out to touch his arm. “But this is the reality of our world. You can’t change it by standing still.”

He pulled away, stepping back as if her touch burned. “No. You’ve always told me to hold out for my mate, that she’s my true other half. And now you’re telling me to abandon that for... for duty?”

Her gaze faltered, and for a moment, Eris saw the sadness beneath her composed exterior. “Sometimes,” she said quietly, “duty must come first.”

Eris stared at her, his chest tightening with anger and something far more painful. He turned back to the fire, his voice low and cold. “Then maybe I don’t want this court. Maybe I don’t want any of it.”

His mother didn’t leave immediately. Instead, she lingered, her silhouette bathed in the warm glow of the firelight. She always had an air of quiet resilience about her, like a tree that had weathered too many storms but refused to break.

“You’re angry with me,” she said after a moment, her voice soft but steady.

Eris let out a sharp, bitter laugh. “Angry doesn’t quite cover it.”

She sighed, her expression guarded. “You think I don’t understand how you feel? That I haven’t spent centuries trapped in the same gilded cage?”

Eris turned to her, his amber eyes blazing with frustration. “Then why are you saying this? Why are you pushing me toward the very thing you despise?”

Her gaze didn’t waver. “Because I know what it means to survive in this court. I know what it takes to hold onto even a sliver of power. And if you think Beron will let you ascend without a fight, without someone at your side to help you weather the storm, then you’re deluding yourself.”

“I don’t need a wife to survive his schemes,” Eris shot back. “I’ve been outmaneuvering him and his sycophants for years.”

His mother’s lips pressed into a thin line. “Outmaneuvering isn’t the same as leading. One day, you’ll be the High Lord, and when that day comes, you’ll need more than cunning to keep this court from tearing itself apart.”

“Don’t act like you care about this court,” Eris said sharply. “You’ve hated it for as long as I can remember. Hated him. Hated everything about this place.”

Her face hardened, but there was a flicker of something in her eyes—pain, perhaps, or regret. “You’re right. I hate it. But I stayed for you, Eris. For you and your brothers. Do you think I endured this hell for my own sake?”

He flinched, her words cutting deeper than he cared to admit.

“I stayed,” she continued, her voice trembling ever so slightly, “because I wanted to give you a chance. A chance to be something better than him. To rise above his cruelty and show this court what true strength looks like. And now, after everything I’ve sacrificed, you want to throw it all away because you’re too stubborn to see the bigger picture?”

Eris’s jaw tightened, his hands curling into fists. “This isn’t about me being stubborn. It’s about not letting him dictate my life. I refuse to let him win.”

“And you think refusing to marry will stop him?” she asked, her tone sharp. “He’s already won, Eris. As long as he holds the title of High Lord, he’ll keep manipulating you, keep twisting everything to suit his whims. The only way to beat him is to take his crown—and you can’t do that alone.”

He turned away from her, staring into the fire as if it held the answers he so desperately sought. “I’m not like him,” he said quietly, more to himself than to her. “I won’t let this court turn me into what he is.”

“And you won’t,” she said, her voice softening. “But you can’t change this court without wielding its power. You have to play the game, Eris. Even if it means making sacrifices.”

He laughed bitterly, shaking his head. “Sacrifices. That’s all we ever do, isn’t it? Sacrifice our happiness, our freedom, our lives for this damned court.”

His mother stepped closer, placing a hand on his shoulder. “You’re stronger than you think,” she said softly. “Stronger than him. Stronger than me. And one day, you’ll make this court something worth fighting for.”

Eris didn’t respond, his eyes fixed on the flickering flames. Her words stirred something in him—a deep, aching need to prove her right, to show her that her sacrifices hadn’t been in vain. But the weight of his father’s shadow loomed over him, suffocating and unrelenting.

After a long silence, his mother gave his shoulder a gentle squeeze and stepped back. “You don’t have to like it, Eris,” she said quietly. “But you do have to face it.”

With that, she turned and left the room, leaving him alone with his thoughts and the ever-present firelight.

The endless parade of extravagant gatherings had become a well-known routine in the Autumn Court, each more suffocating than the last. Another evening, another dreary ball. Eris stood at the center of it all, draped in the formal attire his father insisted upon, an expression of mild annoyance barely hidden behind his regal facade. His father, Beron, had decreed that Eris must choose a suitable wife, one from the political elite, as the latest power struggle played out. For Beron, it was all part of a calculated game, a way to secure more influence for the Autumn Court—and a way to control Eris.

Males, their faces full of ambition, tried their hardest to charm Eris, while women, desperate to catch the Autumn Prince’s eye, all but draped themselves at his feet. It sickened him. Every glance, every touch, every word was a play for power. Eris knew they weren’t interested in him; they were interested in what his title could give them. His sharp gaze swept over the room, taking in the sycophantic expressions, the forced smiles, and the hunger for power in every corner.

Beron watched from his place at the head of the room, pleased with the spectacle, his eyes shining with the gleam of conquest. Beron had made it clear: these gatherings were not just for entertainment. They were strategic. He would not rest until Eris had chosen someone from this selection, a female who could help solidify the family’s dominance and advance the court’s agenda.

But Eris could feel the walls closing in, the pressure mounting. He could hear his father's voice in his mind, always there, like a shadow he could never shake: “It’s time, Eris. The court expects this. You must comply.”

There was a veiled threat beneath those words. Beron had already made it clear that if Eris didn’t choose, if he didn’t bend to his will, there were others—his younger brothers—who could take his place. It was a subtle threat, but one Eris understood all too well. His father’s cruelty and ambition knew no bounds.

The weight of the possibility hit Eris hard. His life had always been a game to Beron, but the stakes were growing higher.

The ball dragged on, but Eris had long since stopped paying attention to the endless parade of hopeful females. With a glass of wine in hand, he withdrew to the balcony. He stood in silence, staring at the empty expanse of the Autumn Court below. The festivities continued inside, a blur of noise and laughter, but all Eris could hear was the pounding of his own thoughts.

What is life?

The question lingered in his mind, an idle thought born from the monotony of his existence. What did it all mean? The power, the position, the endless battles for influence—none of it seemed to satisfy him. All his life, he had been surrounded by people who wanted something from him. All of them were vying for his favor, for his loyalty, for his title. His position had always been a means to an end, never something people cared about for Eris himself.

He was the Autumn Prince, yes. But who was he beneath that title? Was he just another pawn in Beron’s game? Or was there something more to him—something his father never saw? A part of Eris longed for something different, something real.

A soft sigh escaped his lips as he stared into the swirling depths of his goblet, watching the liquid ripple and shift. I want a partner. Not a pawn. Not a game. He wanted someone who could see him for who he truly was, someone who wouldn’t be blinded by his position and the power that came with it. But that, he knew, was impossible.

Who would want me?

His fingers tightened around the goblet, and his thoughts turned bitter. He knew the truth: to everyone else, he was nothing more than a means to an end. His bloodline, his name, his legacy—it was all they cared about. Even his own brothers, some of whom had never hesitated to remind him of his place in the family, saw him only as the heir, the one who could secure the future of the Autumn Court.

But how much of a fool he was to believe that tonight he would once more go back to his bedchambers, sleep and this whole ball circus will repeat once again the following evening.

Because it did not.

Something worse happened.

Something Beron told him that very evening.

The day after his father’s ultimatum, Eris was still reeling. His mind raced with frustration, his usual calm demeanor cracking under the weight of Beron’s command. Beron had made it clear: Eris would go to Montesere.

A place far removed from the harsh, cold winds of the Autumn Court. Any of the courts, really. Montesere, with its tropical warmth, golden sands, and sun-drenched lands, was like another world—a place of exotic beauty that felt almost like a dream. Beron had decided that Montesere’s ruler's daughter would be a suitable match for Eris, a political pawn to further cement the Autumn Court’s power and control over the region. Trading, influence, military alliances—Beron wanted it all, and Eris was the one who would secure it.

Eris had argued, of course. He’d protested, pacing in the grand hall of the Autumn Court, his voice sharp and full of anger.

“I will not do this,” he had told his father, fury burning in his veins. “You cannot force me to marry her. I will not be part of your schemes any longer.”

Beron had smiled, cold and calculating, as always. “You have no choice, Eris. You will go, or I will find someone else to take your place.”

Eris’s fists clenched, but he knew his father would follow through. The threat hung in the air like a sword, ready to fall. So, despite every instinct screaming to fight back, Eris had been forced to relent. It was either obey, or lose everything.

The night before he left, Eris had gone to his chambers in a haze, too angry and too betrayed to think clearly. But as the first rays of sunlight broke through the curtains, he found himself boarding a ship bound for Montesere, the tropical city a distant blur on the horizon.

The journey had been long, but as his ship docked in the vibrant city, Eris couldn't help but feel a simmering sense of discomfort. Montesere was a tropical paradise, yes, but it felt foreign in every sense. The air was thick with the scent of spices and wildflowers. The sun was relentless, beating down on the city like an oppressive force, making everything feel hotter than it should have been.

The city sprawled before him—warm, vibrant, and alive with color. The sounds of bustling markets and street vendors filling his ears. It was so different from the cold, rigid courts of his homeland, where everything was ordered, controlled. Here, there was freedom in the chaos. The sun shone fiercely in a sky of brilliant blue, and the city sprawled with narrow streets and grand palaces, lush gardens overflowing with life.

The architecture was stunning—a mixture of Moorish arches and vibrant murals that covered every surface of the grand buildings. Despite its beauty, Montesere gave off an undercurrent of tension, like a simmering pot of water on the verge of boiling over. Everything was too lavish, too colorful, too alive for Eris’s taste. He was used to the cold, biting winds of Autumn Court, the grey sky, and the rigid control of his father's rule. Montesere was an unknown entity, and he found it deeply unsettling.

Eris and his men walked through the city’s bustling streets, his boots making a steady sound against the cobblestones, but his mind was far from the sights before him. He wasn’t interested in the markets with their endless rows of goods, the open-air gardens that teemed with exotic plants, or the vibrant street performers who drew crowds of curious onlookers. He wasn’t here to admire the landscape.

His father had insisted on this alliance with Montesere. Beron had been pushing for months, envisioning it as a strategic move to gain control over trade routes, secure valuable resources, and extend his influence into territories far outside of the Autumn Court’s domain. And the key to that power was the ruler’s daughter—a female named Leona, Beron believed would make the perfect bride for Eris, a political pawn to further his own ambitions.

Eris had argued, of course. He had told his father that he didn’t care for some marriage of convenience to a woman he didn’t even know. He had protested that he wasn’t some puppet to be controlled and that he had no interest in taking yet another step toward tightening his father’s suffocating grip on his life. But Beron’s threats were sharp, and the weight of them had forced Eris into submission. In the end, he had been left with no choice.

Now, here he was, standing at the grand gates of Montesere's ruler’s palace, feeling the weight of his father’s will settle on his shoulders.

He had been instructed to meet with the ruler first—no pretense of formality, no chance to wander the city or take in the sights. It was straight to business.

As he approached the palace, the doors were already swung wide, and he was ushered inside by two sharply dressed guards. The marble floors gleamed beneath his boots as he was led down vast corridors with vaulted ceilings, adorned with intricate patterns that glimmered in the sunlight filtering through open windows. The palace was grand, more so than Eris had imagined, but it felt suffocating in its excess. Every corner seemed to shout wealth, power, and decadence—a sharp contrast to the order and structure of his home.

The king of Montesere was waiting for him in a large, open courtyard. The man’s presence was commanding, his dark eyes reflecting a mixture of curiosity and controlled power. He stood tall with a regal air, his robes of gold and royal blue trailing behind him as he spoke.

“Prince Eris,” he greeted, his voice smooth but carrying an edge of authority. “Welcome to Montesere. I trust your journey was uneventful?”

Eris met his gaze, offering a tight, polite smile. “As uneventful as one could expect.”

The man studied him for a moment, then nodded. “Come, let us discuss the matters at hand. There’s much to be done.”

They moved together toward a long table set with fruit and goblets of drink, though Eris had no desire to indulge. His mind was already miles ahead, racing through the consequences of his father’s machinations.

It wasn’t long before the ruler finally turned to introduce his daughter.

As the doors of the grand hall swung open, Eris was met with the sight of a woman who could not have been less interested in him. She walked in with an air of quiet dominance, her posture regal, her gaze sharp and unyielding. Her skin was kissed by the sun, a deep golden hue that glimmered like the sands of Montesere’s beaches. Her black hair was coiled into intricate braids, and her eyes—dark and intelligent—flickered with a disinterest that sent a strange ripple through Eris’s chest.

She didn’t even glance in his direction at first, her focus solely on her father. The king gave a small wave of his hand, signaling her approach.

“Eris, this is my daughter, Leona” the king said smoothly. “I trust you’ll find her quite the capable match for your endeavors.”

Eris was about to offer the usual pleasantries when he noticed her subtle shift in stance. She glanced at him, and there was nothing warm in her expression—nothing even remotely welcoming. It was clear from the beginning that this was going to be a difficult conversation, and Eris could already feel the simmering tension between them.

She stepped forward, her chin slightly tilted upward, and looked at him with a cold assessment.

“Prince Eris,” she greeted, her voice clipped and filled with restrained disdain. “A pleasure, I’m sure.”

Eris didn’t know what to say at first. He was used to being the one in control of a room, used to women falling over themselves for his attention, but here? This female, wasn’t even pretending to be polite. She didn’t care about his title, his name, or what he had to offer.

“I’m sure your father has already told you why I’m here,” Eris said, keeping his tone neutral. “But I’d rather not waste either of our time.”

Her gaze narrowed as she tilted her head, clearly unamused by his bluntness.

“Oh, I’m well aware of why you’re here,” she replied coolly. “You’re here to do as your father orders—arrange some sort of political union. How quaint.”

Eris’s eyes sharpened, intrigued by her lack of filter. “And you don’t seem at all interested in that.”

She gave a wry smile, almost a smirk but before she could reply, her father gave her a nudge and pushed her away while sighing and leading Eris away, talking about anything and everything.

He hadn’t wanted to come here. But Beron’s orders had been clear: Don’t return until they agree to the marriage. But what marriage?

Their first meeting was brief. Eris had been led into a sitting room, where Leona sat, her posture rigid and uninviting. Her dark eyes—unwavering and cold—studied him for a moment before she even acknowledged his presence.

“Prince Eris,” she said with a slight nod, her voice carrying an edge of indifference. “A pleasure.”

The words were a formality, one Eris had heard countless times before, but there was no warmth, no attempt to make him feel welcome. She didn’t even stand to greet him, as if he wasn’t worth the effort.

Eris had forced a polite smile, but his patience was already wearing thin.

“Thank you for your hospitality,” he said, his tone smooth, though he felt no warmth toward her. “I trust we can begin discussing the matters of the courts?”

She didn’t respond immediately, her gaze flicking briefly to the ornate tapestries hanging on the walls. “The matters of the courts, yes,” she said, her words deliberate. “I have no interest in them, but I will endure.”

Eris had been taken aback by the bluntness of her words. No pretense, no sugar-coating. She had no interest in politics, in alliances, in him. And, frankly, he didn’t blame her. This whole arrangement reeked of manipulation and control, something he knew all too well.

Over the next few days, they met daily, as was expected. Eris stayed in the lavish guest quarters, while Leona continued with her duties, often walking the gardens or attending to the administrative needs of the palace. The first few conversations were business—exchange of trade information, a few discussions about potential negotiations—but it quickly became apparent that she wasn’t interested in any of it.

Every conversation felt more like a challenge. Leona constantly looked down on him, her words laced with sarcasm and condescension. She would laugh when he mentioned the complexities of the Autumn Court, or the intricacies of their alliances with other courts.

“What does any of your courts know about real power?” she’d sneer, her lips curling slightly with amusement. “You’ve been wrapped in your little bubble, thinking you control everything, and yet, here you are, in our world, where things work differently.”

Eris found himself both frustrated and intrigued. Still, he continued the charade, as his father had ordered. He met her every day in the grand gardens of the palace, a sprawling, lush oasis that contrasted sharply with the cold stone of the Autumn Court. They walked together, discussing politics in shallow, often biting terms, neither of them giving an inch.

And then, on their third meeting, something shifted.

Leona led him through the sprawling gardens once more, her sharp eyes scanning their surroundings. As they passed through an ornate archway into a more secluded part of the palace grounds, Eris couldn’t help but notice the subtle tension in her shoulders. She stopped suddenly, and he almost collided with her back.

“Enough of this,” she muttered under her breath, though Eris could still hear the frustration in her voice. “I can’t do this anymore. You need to leave.”

Eris blinked, taken off-guard. “What do you mean? Leave?” His heart skipped a beat, not in fear but in genuine confusion. “I can’t leave until—”

“I know,” she cut him off, her voice like ice. She turned to face him, her expression hard. “Until you marry me, is that what you were going to say?

Eris’s confusion deepened. “Why? Why the hell would I leave?”

Leona’s eyes flashed with an emotion he couldn’t quite place. Her lips twisted into a bitter smile. “You really don’t get it, do you?” she sneered. “I’m not interested in this marriage. Not in you, not in anything this ridiculous alliance is supposed to bring. I like females, not males!”

Eris stood there, stunned, the words hitting him like a punch to the gut. He hadn’t seen that coming. Lesbian?

Her face was flushed with irritation now, her jaw clenched as she continued. “This whole thing, this marriage—it would never work. Not because you’re not… well, you, but because I don’t find males appealing. I don’t want to marry you. I don’t want to marry anyone.”

Eris struggled to process what she was saying. His mind was still racing. “But… why the hell didn’t you tell your father that? Why not just tell him the truth?”

Leona’s eyes narrowed, her frustration turning into something sharp, almost dangerous. “Because it’s not that simple,” she snapped. “He doesn’t care about me. He wants the alliance. He wants the trade routes, the power. I’m just a pawn in his game, just like you are.”

Eris’s anger flared. This wasn’t just about the marriage anymore—it was about the game his father had been playing with his life. He had been dragged all the way here, only to find out that the princess had no interest in males to begin with. That she had been trapped in this entire situation for a reason that had nothing to do with him, or his father’s plans.

He took a step closer to her, frustration dripping from his words. “So, I’m supposed to just pack up and go because you’ve been lying to everyone about this? Because you’re too afraid to tell your father the truth? And what, I’m just supposed to walk away after being dragged halfway across the world to sit here in this tropical hellhole?”

Leona’s eyes flashed with irritation. “You don’t get it, do you? I don’t owe you or anyone else an explanation. But I do owe it to myself to not get forced into something I don’t want. This marriage would be a nightmare for both of us.”

“Then why the hell didn’t you just tell your father from the start?!” Eris’s voice was rising now, his frustration spilling over. “Why drag me all the way here for nothing, when you knew the entire time that this was never going to work?”

Leona crossed her arms over her chest, her gaze unwavering. “Because it wasn’t just my choice, Eris. You were chosen because of your father’s power. And I was chosen because my father wants to strengthen our position in the courts. So don’t stand there, pretending like I’m the only one who’s playing a game.”

Her voice softened, almost imperceptibly, as she sighed in frustration. “I’m not afraid to tell him the truth. I’m just trying to avoid the inevitable fallout, alright? I’m trying to keep the peace in my kingdom, at least for now. But you? You need to leave. You’re making this worse.”

Eris stood there, his chest rising and falling with each breath, his mind swirling. For the first time, he actually saw the weight of the situation—saw it for what it was. It wasn’t just about the marriage. It was about her life, her choices, her struggles that had nothing to do with him.

Still, his frustration simmered under the surface. He had been dragged all this way under false pretenses, and now he was being told to leave because the princess was attracted to women, not men. It was absurd. His father’s games had never felt more pointless than they did in this moment.

“What happens now?” he asked, his voice tight, his anger barely contained. “You expect me to just turn around and walk away?”

Leona’s eyes softened for a moment, but only briefly. She uncrossed her arms and stepped toward him. “I don’t want to be trapped in this world anymore, Eris. You need to understand that. The longer you stay, the more complicated everything gets. For both of us. So yes, I’m asking you to leave. For both our sakes. I will tell father that I rejected you."

Eris stared at her, the weight of her words settling deep into his chest. He wasn’t sure what he had expected, but this—this was a far cry from what he had been imagining.

For the first time since he’d arrived in Montesere, he wondered if he might have misunderstood everything.

The heat of the Montesere sun beat down on Eris as he walked through the bustling market square, his mind a whirlwind of thoughts. Leona’s words had taken root in him, stirring up a storm of emotions he wasn’t ready to deal with. He was pissed—hell, he was furious—but he wasn’t about to act on that fury just yet. The last thing he wanted was to reveal how off-balance he felt, especially to the small entourage of his father’s men who had accompanied him. No, he’d keep his irritation hidden, at least for now.

As he moved through the crowded market, his boots clicked against the cobblestones, the chatter of vendors and merchants filling the air. The scents of exotic spices, fresh fruit, and roasted meats mingled in the humid air, making it both overwhelming and suffocating. The faces of Montesere’s people were a mix of curiosity and indifference as he passed, his dark cloak drawing the occasional wary glance.

His hand rested casually on the hilt of his blade, a habit born of the tense nature of his travels, though right now, he didn’t think it would do him much good. Still, the constant pull of the surrounding chaos was a reminder that he was far from home, far from control. But as he wandered deeper into the market, looking for anything to distract him from his thoughts, his gaze caught something unusual.

A flash of movement in the corner of his eye. A figure—small, quick—darted between two stalls. Instinct kicked in before he could process the scene. Eris’s eyes narrowed, and his steps quickened as he moved in pursuit of the mysterious figure. The market was loud, chaotic, with people shouting at one another over prices, but he was focused, following the figure as it weaved through the crowd, dodging market-goers effortlessly.

He was close now, almost within reach, when the figure suddenly took a sharp turn down a narrow alleyway, disappearing from his view. Without missing a beat, Eris veered off course, following the alley. The shadows were deep here, the walls of the buildings rising high on either side, creating a tunnel of coolness that contrasted with the heat of the sun. He pushed forward, his muscles tense, every sense alert.

As he rounded the corner, he collided with something solid—someone solid. He cursed as his hand flew out instinctively to steady himself, grabbing the nearest source of balance. And then, in a flash, his fingers tightened around a wrist.

“Let go of me!” a voice hissed sharply, a blend of anger and surprise.

Eris looked down to see a female—small (atleast shorter than him) with sharp eyes that gleamed with an intensity that matched his own. She was dressed in simple yet sturdy clothing, something that didn’t stand out in the crowded market but suggested she was no stranger to movement or danger. Her hair was messed up after all that running, poking out from different angles, and there was something wild about her, a certain fierceness that intrigued him even as he held her wrist firmly.

“What are you running from?” Eris demanded, his voice low but commanding. He didn’t release her, not yet, his eyes studying her with growing curiosity.

The female yanked her wrist free from his grasp with surprising strength, her eyes narrowing in irritation. “None of your business,” she snapped, taking a step back, her hand instinctively reaching for something at her waist.

Eris’s brow arched, impressed despite himself. “You seem awfully keen to keep your distance,” he said coolly, studying her carefully. “What’s the rush? Or are you just trying to avoid a charming conversation?”

She shot him a look that could’ve cut through steel. “You want to talk? Fine. But first—” She paused, her gaze flicking to the alley behind him.

Eris turned just in time to see a pair of thugs, rough-looking men, appear at the end of the alley, eyeing them with clear hostility. Their eyes immediately locked onto the woman in front of him, and a heavy silence fell over the space.

“I’m not going back,” the female muttered under her breath, and her voice—barely a whisper—carried a weight of finality. But before Eris could respond, she had already moved.

She darted forward with the speed of a striking serpent, her elbow crashing into his chest, forcing him back just enough to clear the space. “Get out of the way,” she hissed, and there was no time to argue.

The two men lunged, and instinct kicked in. Eris reacted without thinking. With a swift, fluid movement, he drew his blade from its sheath, his movements sharp, precise. The first thug tried to grab for him, but Eris’s blade met his wrist with a crack, sending the man staggering back in pain, clutching at the wound. He barely had time to focus on the second man, who had already launched himself at the female.

But before the man could land a blow, the female was on him—her hands quick and efficient, her movements graceful yet deadly. She had a dagger in her hand that gleamed silver in the dim light, and with a quick twist, she disarmed him and sent him sprawling to the ground with a frustrated grunt.

Eris stood there, momentarily stunned by how easily she had handled the thugs. His grip on his sword loosened, and he stepped back as the last thug, now unconscious, crumpled to the cobblestones.

The stranger turned to face him, breathing heavily but not with any fear. If anything, she looked… amused. “You’re lucky I didn’t leave you to deal with them,” she said, her voice dripping with sarcasm.

Eris’s chest rose and fell with a mix of adrenaline and surprise, but his tone was steady. “And you’re lucky I didn’t leave you to deal with them alone.”

She gave him a look, still incredulous. “I was perfectly fine. Just didn’t want to waste my time. And you,” she added with a smirk, “seem like you could use some lessons in the art of survival.”

Eris’s lips curled into a half-smile. “I’m not the one running from a fight.”

Her eyes sparkled with a challenge, but she didn’t respond, merely tucking her dagger back into her belt. “Name’s Y/N,” she said, offering him a glance that seemed to measure him up. “I don’t have time for pleasantries, but thanks for the assist.”

Eris hesitated, then gave a slight nod, acknowledging her presence, though still not entirely trusting her. There was something about this female—her calm under pressure, her lethal precision—that intrigued him. Perhaps it was more than just a shared moment of chaos.

He straightened, his voice colder now, but still with an edge of curiosity. “Eris. I don’t make a habit of getting involved in other people’s problems.”

Y/N smirked again, and for a moment, their eyes locked. “Maybe you should start,” she replied coolly, then turned on her heel and began walking away without a second glance, her movements as fluid and confident as ever.

Eris stood in the alley, watching her disappear into the crowd, a sense of intrigue buzzing at the back of his mind.

The midday sun hung high in the sky, casting long shadows over the bustling marketplace of Montesere. Y/N moved through the stalls, her fingers brushing against the fabrics, jars, and herbs that made up her trade. She had a small corner booth where she sold trinkets—jewelry made from wood and bone, simple but beautiful things—and herbs her mother harvested from the nearby woods. Life here was quiet, mostly peaceful, though nothing spectacular. Middle class at best, but comfortable enough for someone who had learned how to blend in.

She wasn't anyone important, nor did she ever wish to be. Her mother, a simple merchant who had once caught the eye of a powerful Illyrian male-her father-had raised her in this small, thriving town, far from the war camps of the Illyrian mountains. She never knew her father.

The only thing she knew of him were the whispers her mother had shared, tales of a fleeting romance that ended with Y/N's birth. Her father had never returned to them after that night.

Azriel, her half-brother, would never know she existed. They had the same father, but different mothers. He was born into the cold, rigid world of their father's estate in the Illyrian mountains, a place where power and cruelty thrived.

Yet he had risen above them, had become a legend among the world. He was everything Y/N was not.

She didn’t hate him. How could she, when she didn’t even know him? What she hated was the man who tied them together. Their father, who had left her mother to struggle in silence. Their father, who had chosen to raise Azriel in his home, while Y/N was cast aside entirely. She was nothing more than a secret, a mistake. A child of a fleeting affair, abandoned and forgotten.

Y/N had spent her life trying to avoid the idea that her bloodline tied her to such a man. She never went near the Illyrian war camps, never even thought of them. Montesere, far from the courts and the suffocating politics that ruled them, was where she belonged.

Her mother had kept them hidden, not wanting her daughter to be drawn into a world where she wasn’t wanted. And so, Y/N had grown up far from the Illyrians, living simply as a merchant, living simply as herself. She had learned to make peace with her life—or at least, she tried.

A customer approached, snapping Y/N back into the present moment. She offered the bundle of rosemary with a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes, her thoughts still tangled in the web of her past. She quickly took the coins and returned to her stall, arranging the trinkets with practiced hands. She had to keep going, keep moving forward. She had her life here, in the town that had accepted her. A life without the burden of court politics, without the weight of her bloodline, without the shadow of her half-brother lingering over her.

The sun had already set when Y/N was summoned to the palace. She had no intention of attending any royal feast—she wasn’t a noble, after all—but the request came from the kitchen, where she had worked for the past year as a second job. The head chef had insisted that her skills were needed to prepare some delicacies for the evening’s banquet, and Y/N didn’t dare argue. She needed the work, even if it meant entering the heart of the opulent palace she avoided whenever possible.

She quietly slipped in through the small side door meant for staff, her worn shoes clicking softly on the stone floors of the servants’ quarters.

“Y/N, get upstairs,” called the kitchen head, a short, no-nonsense woman whose gray hair was tied back in a tight bun. “One of the servers called out. I need you to take the platters to the royal table.”

Y/N’s gut clenched. She had no interest in serving the highborn—especially not after the way they looked down on people like her. She’d rather stay in the back with the heat and the smells of roasted meats than parade in front of royalty and their guests.

“I’m not meant for the royal table,” she protested, wiping her hands on her apron and glancing at the mess of ingredients that still needed attention. “I’m fine down here, really.”

“You’re going, and that’s final. We need someone who isn’t afraid to move quickly. You’ll be fine.”

She opened her mouth to argue further, but the look on the head’s face told her it wasn’t worth it. Reluctantly, Y/N grabbed a tray, carefully stacking the food, and made her way up through the servants’ stairs. Her feet were heavy as she ascended, the grand sounds of music and laughter becoming louder the higher she climbed.

When she finally reached the top floor, she barely spared a glance at the grand banquet hall that stretched before her. The sight of the highborn nobles lounging at tables, laughing and drinking, only reminded her of how little she belonged in such a place.

She found the corridor leading to the royal table and, with a sigh, took a deep breath before entering.

It was just her luck that, as she approached the table, she nearly collided with someone.

A deep voice rumbled above her as she froze in place. “Careful.”

She glanced up, heart thumping, and saw none other than Eris--the stranger from the day before.

For a split second, their gazes locked. He stood tall, an imposing figure even amidst the other nobles, his sharp features sculpted into a casual but commanding expression. His lips curled into a smirk when he saw her.

“You again?” he asked, his tone dripping with amusement.

Y/N’s chest tightened, but she managed to keep her composure. “What are you doing here?” she shot back, her tone colder than she intended. “Shouldn’t you be off enjoying yourself?”

Eris chuckled lightly, unbothered by her cool response. “I’m here on business, just like everyone else.”

The words were quiet, but their meaning was clear—Eris wasn’t here just to socialize. There was something more behind his presence, something sharp and calculating that she couldn’t quite place. It made the hairs on the back of her neck stand up, but she wouldn’t show weakness.

“Right,” she muttered, turning her attention back to the platters in her hands. She had no time to exchange pleasantries with the likes of him. “Excuse me, Your Highness.”

But as she tried to move past him, one of the servers bumped into her from behind, sending the platters nearly toppling. She had barely enough time to steady herself before one of the dishes slid right off the tray, splashing onto the floor in a mess of sauce and roasted meat.

The noise echoed across the hall, drawing the attention of several nearby guests, including Eris, who watched her with an unreadable expression.

“Lovely,” she muttered under her breath, already kneeling to clean up the mess. She had no interest in making a spectacle of herself, but the eyes of the nobles burned into her skin. The last thing she needed was more attention.

Eris, however, stepped forward, his gaze flicking between her and the mess she was attempting to clean up. After a long beat, he knelt beside her, offering a hand. “Let me help.”

Y/N didn’t expect the gesture, and her hand froze mid-air. She glanced up at him, surprise written across her face. “I can handle it,” she replied sharply, brushing the dirt off her hands. She wasn’t about to accept help from someone like him, especially not someone who looked at her with disdain.

But instead of backing away, Eris’ gaze softened, just a fraction, and he smirked. “I can’t let you ruin your evening, can I?”

Her jaw clenched, but she said nothing as he helped her clean up the mess. Despite herself, she couldn’t help but notice how carefully he handled the delicate porcelain of the dish, as though he didn’t want to make a bigger mess.

Once the platter was back in her hands, Y/N stood, brushing the dust from her skirt. “I don’t need your charity,” she said curtly.

Eris stood too, his eyes gleaming with amusement. “You don’t seem to want much of anything, do you?” he said, his voice almost teasing.

Y/N shot him a sharp look. “What is it you want, then? To mock me in front of your friends?”

He tilted his head slightly, his lips curving into that wry smile. “You misunderstand, Y/N. I’m not here to mock you.”

For a moment, neither of them spoke. The tension between them crackled in the air, thick and uncomfortable. Y/N wanted to snap at him, to demand that he leave her be, but instead, she took a deep breath and turned away.

“I have a job to do,” she muttered, not looking back.

As she left the room, her heart still racing from the close encounter, she couldn’t shake the feeling that something had shifted between them. Something she couldn’t quite explain.

The morning light filtered in through the window, gently coaxing Y/N out of her sleep. She stretched lazily, dreading the day ahead. The rhythm of her life had been predictable lately—work, more work, and quiet nights alone or with her mom. She had almost grown accustomed to the solitude. Almost.

As she brushed her hair and pulled on her outfit, a sudden, sharp knock on her door sent her heart into a rapid flutter. Who could that be at this hour?

Reluctantly, she moved toward the door, her stomach knotting. She wasn’t expecting any visitors, especially not this early. With one hand resting on the doorknob, she muttered to herself, “Great. Another surprise.”

She swung open the door, only to freeze at the sight of the last fae she expected.

Eris Vanserra.

Her heart skipped a beat, but she quickly masked it with a glare. “What the hell are you doing here?” she snapped, crossing her arms. “How did you find me? How did you even know where I live, you psycho?”

Eris smirked, as usual, unfazed by her harsh words. “A prince has his ways,” he said with a wink, stepping closer to the door. “Wouldn’t want you to think you’re living in complete obscurity.”

She stepped back, disbelief crossing her face as she exhaled sharply. “You’re insane. I don’t know you. I don’t even know why you’re here.”

“Let me in. I’m not here to waste your time,” he said, his voice more serious now, though still laced with a hint of amusement.

Y/N hesitated, a thousand questions racing through her mind, but she sighed and stepped aside, allowing him in. “Fine. Whatever. But this better be good.”

Eris walked into the modest home, his sharp eyes scanning the room with an almost calculating gaze. It was humble, far from what he was used to in the luxurious halls of the Autumn Court. Yet there was something about the quiet simplicity of the place that intrigued him.

He turned to Y/N, who stood in the doorway, her arms still crossed. “We need to talk.”

“About what?” she asked, her tone sharp, distrust obvious in her eyes.

He walked over to the small table, setting himself down with the confidence of someone who had always been in control. “I need you to marry me.”

Y/N’s eyes widened, her brows furrowing. “What? Are you out of your mind?”

He leaned back, unfazed by her reaction. “Not quite. You see, I have a little problem. My father is—” he paused, his face hardening for a moment, “—insisting that I marry. He is Beron, high lord of Autumn. But there’s a catch. There’s always a catch. I can’t marry just anyone. I need someone specific.”

She blinked, confusion and suspicion creeping into her voice. “What do you mean ‘someone specific’? What does that even have to do with me?”

He shrugged, his smirk never wavering. “You, Y/N. You’re the perfect candidate. A marriage of convenience, one that benefits both of us. You see, my father insists that I marry someone with noble blood, someone who can stand by me and help me secure my place as heir. That's exactly why he sent me here as a last resort after I refused every female he threw at me. He wanted me to marry princess Leone."

Y/N looked at him like he’d just grown another head. “You’re insane. Why would I ever agree to something like that? What would I get out of this?”

Eris’s smile deepened. “Well, a lot more than you think. For one, I can offer you stability—security. I know you’re taking care of your mother, and I have resources at my disposal. I can help her.”

Y/N froze. The mention of her mother sent a shiver down her spine. Her mother’s health had been deteriorating slowly, a sickness that she couldn’t seem to shake, and it weighed heavily on her. “How do you know about my mother?” she asked, her voice cracking slightly.

Eris didn’t flinch. “I’ve been doing my research. I can help her get the care she needs, the treatment you can’t afford on your own. If you agree to this marriage, we can keep her healthy, and I can make sure she has everything she needs.”

Y/N’s heart beat faster, but she shook her head, not wanting to show how much the offer affected her. “I’m not a noble. I’m not a princess. Your father won’t accept me. He sent you here to marry our princess, not some nobody.”

Eris’s gaze turned thoughtful, and then, with a small, calculating smile, he said, “My father doesn’t know that. He’s never seen the princess from Montesere. He’s never seen the world beyond the seven courts. But you? You could pass as the princess’s sister. Or, we could say half sister. Perhaps a cousin or a distant relative would be acceptable as well.”

That struck a nerve. Y/N stared at him in disbelief. “You’re insane if you think this will work.”

Eris leaned forward slightly. “Not really. Even if he tries his best not to show it, the king of Montesere is in failing health. His daughter, Leona, has been taking control of the kingdom. She and I had a... disagreement, and she’s made it clear she’s not interested in marriage. But she can help us. Trust me, she has her own motive. She can make it look convincing that you’re the princess’s relative. What kind? you can choose that yourself."

Y/N felt the weight of his words, the possibility starting to form in her mind. But she shook her head, trying to push the thoughts away. “But why me specifically? Why would you choose me over someone else?”

He took a breath, his eyes steady on her. “You have a certain... resilience. You’re not easily manipulated. And unlike the other female's I’ve met, you don’t fawn over me. That’s rare, you know.” He let out a soft laugh. “Plus, I'm pretty sure you’re smarter than most think.”

Y/N turned her gaze to the floor, trying to process everything. The situation felt so complex, like she was standing on the edge of a cliff, not sure if she should jump or step back. She needed time to think.

“I don’t know,” she said, rubbing her temple, her mind a whirlwind. “I can’t just do this. You’re asking me to lie—to pretend to be someone I’m not. And-and marriage?!”

Eris stood and walked over to her, his expression softening just a fraction. “Trust me, Y/N. You don’t have to pretend. Just a little... adjustment, and we can both get what we want. You’ll have your mother’s care, and I’ll have the alliance I need. My father’s not going to let me out of this marriage arrangement. I need someone, and you’re the one who makes the most sense.”

Y/N looked up at him, her decision weighing heavily in her chest. She could almost feel the pull, the necessity of this arrangement, especially with her mother’s condition.

“If you don’t agree, nothing will change. But if you do... you’ll have the power to change everything,” he added, his tone insistent but strangely soft.

She took a deep breath, the weight of it all crashing down on her. "Fine," she said, reluctantly. "But this doesn’t mean I’m going to like it.”

Eris grinned. “I didn’t expect you to. But we’ll make it work.”

Later that evening, Eris leaned back in the plush chair of his room, a glass of amber liquid swirling lazily in his hand. The flickering firelight danced across his sharp features, his expression one of triumph.

He pulled out a crisp sheet of parchment, the Autumn Court insignia emblazoned at the top. Dipping his quill into the ink, he scrawled out a short, deliberate message:

Father, Your incessant nagging has finally borne fruit. The marriage is set. Expect us soon. -E.V.

A smirk curled his lips as he folded the letter, sealing it with wax. He held it up to the firelight for a brief moment, admiring his handiwork, before handing it to the waiting messenger at the door.

As the messenger disappeared into the night, Eris leaned back once more, a self-satisfied grin plastered on his face. “Got what you wanted, Father,” he muttered to the empty room. “Let’s see if you choke on it.”

The flames crackled louder, as if in agreement, while Eris’s mind began spinning the next steps of his plan. The game was far from over—it had only just begun.

And Eris….Eris would make sure his plan unfolded perfectly.

----------------------------------------------------------

Taglist open!

[reocidal]

sweet — jing yuan

PAIRING: jing yuan x female reader

CONTENT: medieval au, marriage of convenience, fluff with 0.1 second of self doubt related angst, no swearing or anything so no real warnings i think :)

WORD COUNT: 1.0k

NOTE: requested by @prinzessinns for my event!

"princess."

you lay down your embroidery with a sigh, looking up at your husband — jing yuan — with a perfectly practised smile. "my lord."

he waves a hand at you dismissively, lips curving up into a lazy grin. "no need to be so formal — actually, i have something to ask of you."

"do continue." this is an arranged marriage; a union between two nations for the good of both. you — and jing yuan, too, you realise — are nothing but sacrificial lambs for this cause. and yet — his smile, the way he moves, it should not cause you to feel like this. the butterflies that come to life in your stomach every time you see him are just a mistake.

"you are overworking yourself," he says gently. how unexpected. then, catching you off-guard: come out to the gardens with me."

but wait — he shouldn't even be here, he should be out in the courtyard training with his soldiers or teaching his juniors right now. you open your mouth to protest, but he presses a finger on your lips with a barely-concealed smile. "not a word."

you stare at him expectantly, and he relents, stepping back. "we have both been working so much lately. surely a stroll outside shall not cause any issues?"

before you can respond, there's a firm knock on your door.

"yes?" you call out.

they're guards, specifically your husband's guards, and they're looking for him. your gaze meets his, and mischief dances across his features as he raises a brow. it's up to you, so what'll you do?

"he's not here!"

the footsteps recede, and he approaches again. "come, my lady, while we still have time."

the sun is already sinking into the clouds, bathing the grounds in a golden-orange light. he cocks his head, waiting for an answer, and you get up. why not?

"detour to the kitchen?" he suggests as the two of you sneak out of your room. you don't reply, but you follow him anyways, standing discreetly in a corner as he riffles through the well-stocked cupboards while the cooks watch on in disbelief. once he's satisfied with what he's scooped up in his arms, he nods at you to leave — only to be met by the guards, once again. a laugh bubbles out of him; he shifts the bag of food to one hand and grabs yours with the other, pulling you along as he begins to run.

you find yourselves hiding in the stables, sitting on hay bales in most undignified a manner; your husband is digging into a sandwich that looks quite literally perfect. you get rather carried away staring at him, and he, in turn, notices your eyes on him almost immediately.

jing yuan looks up, mouth full. "wan' some?"

taken aback, you blink at him owlishly, and he barely has time to swallow his food before he begins to laugh. "it's fine. here, we're not of any status, so please don't worry about any formalities."

you smile, tight-lipped. is this a test? but he's serious, and princess or not, who are you to refuse a perfectly good sandwich?

by and by, you find yourself slipping into commoners' attire that jing yuan has procured through dubious means.

"are you done yet?" he asks; his back is turned to give you privacy.

"yes, i'm sorry."

"take your time, it's fine."

you walk up to him. "still, i do apologise."

he seems surprised. "whatever for?"

"i just… i'm nothing like you. i'm sorry you aren't getting to do this with someone you really love, instead of the princess you married only to better the bonds between our countries."

"oh," he says, but he does not continue the conversation as he takes your hand and leads you into town.

it's well into the evening now, moonlight streaming down upon the two of you. even in his old, drab outfit, jing yuan seems to glow in its light. but that's not unexpected — he is beautiful. instead, what's more surprising is that no one recognises the two of you. or almost no one. (when you're almost at the end of your walk through the town, a little boy looks up at the two of you, eyes widened. he seems to have realised who you are, but before you can do or say anything, jing yuan presses a few coins into his hand with a sly grin and pulls you away with him.)

"you know," he begins. the two of you are in a secluded area by the town; no one else is around to hear him speak. "what you said before… that isn't true."

"what's not true?"

"the thing you said, about me deserving someone else instead of you. i don't agree with it."

"o-oh. and why not?"

"there's no delicate way to say this." he flushes a little, clears his throat. "i don't want to be with anyone else, regardless of what i deserve. the only one i love is you."

"oh."

"i'm sorry," he adds.

"what? why?" (déjà vu, much?)

"for springing this upon you so suddenly, of course."

"we're going about this wrong," you declare suddenly, fueled by the adrenaline of such a confession. "if we both love each other, we should stop apologising."

"if we both— what?"

the rush has left your system now, and you only offer him a shy smile in return. the sight makes him weak at the knees.

"what do you propose we do about it, then?"

you don't say anything, but the answer is clear.

"may i kiss you, my lady?" his voice is soft, and his touch is softer. you've never nodded this hard or this fast in your life.

when he cradles your face in his hands, you seem sosmall in comparison to him. fragile, like a flower or a sculpture made of glass. and his parents always taught him to appreciate everything he was given, so of course he takes his time, too. and even though fireworks are erupting through his nerves and hordes of butterflies spontaneously come to life in his stomach, when he kisses you, he's gentle and oh so sweet.

800 follower event

© reocidal 2025

[chosos-mascara]

jujutsu kaisen

✿ smut ✧ fluff * angst

one shots

i am currently in process of reworking some of these. i will reblog once complete. i have taken a few works out of this list to be re-written entirely, but they are still on my blog somewhere.

satoru gojo

with me ✧ summary: as you find yourself awake at night, you wonder if it’s time to confess to captain gojo. (pirate au)

gojo's bride 5.4k words summary: as part of the ryomen clan, your life revolves around organised crime. when your father tells you you're destined to marry naoya zen'in, you're left with little choice but to run.

morning after ✧ summary: after sleeping with Satoru for the first time, you wake up to him making you breakfast. just a cute little comfort drabble tbh!

new years kiss ✧ summary: gojo devises a plan in which you can share a new year's kiss in secrecy.

when flames dance 2.4k words ✿* summary: as prince gojo's bride is chosen, you're left to experience one last night within his chambers.

suguru geto

all my love, suguru * multiple part series summary: after an unexpected night spent with your close friend, you find yourself pregnant, and unable to tell him so. will you be able to come to terms with this news, or will it destroy the delicate relationship you’d had left?

choso kamo

red,blood ✿ 10.8k words summary: bitten by a stranger, you notice an extreme aversion to food - instead craving one substance above all. moments from taking a life, choso brings you back to normalcy; with only one issue. it's choso's blood that you crave.

christmas tree ✧ just you, choso and his little brother yuji decorating the christmas tree!

toji fushiguro

mornin' ✧ 0.7k words summary: waking up beside toji!

wedding night ✿ 1.4k words summary: after an arranged marriage to unite your clans, you're left alone in a hotel room with your new husband.

kento nanami

two lines 0.8k words ✧ summary: after finding out you're pregnant, you contemplate what to do.

megumi fushiguro

reunion 2.1k words ✿ cw:spitkink

yuta okkotsu

a piece of advice 2.6k words ✿ summary: after you offer condom advice to yuta, you put forward a second suggestion.

yuji itadori

blood ✿ 3k words summary: you don't understand why your boyfriend won't come over while you're on your period. the secret he's been keeping from you surfaces as he's faced with the iron scent he loves - yuji is a vampire.

sukuna

the proposal*✧✿ 5.5k words summary: an evening within a club owned by sukuna had ended in a late night conversation, the beginning to a secret friendship between yourself and your sister's boyfriend. only, when pining over one another for so long, you can't keep yourselves from the truth; you were in love.

maki zen'in

girl ✿ summary: after maki arrives in your home riddled in self-doubt, she learns your true feelings toward her.

[wisecura]

Sheets

megumi fushiguro x fem-reader

p.1

p.9  ( ⸝⸝꩜ ᯅ ꩜⸝⸝;) p.11

p.10

Short summary: Your arranged marriage to Toji Fushiguro had been sudden and unexpected, but now you found yourself living under his roof alongside your moody stepson. Your only directive from your clan head before moving in was clear: keep a close eye on Toji, the notorious Sorcerer Killer, and his son, a potential sorcerer prodigy.

AN: can I make it up to you with a slightly longer chapter? please? sorry if this is a bit wordy, but enjoy. the next few chapters will have more momentum and movement. I'm still debating how messed up I want this story to be-- i tend to lean into the dark fic lines. i have a rough outline but....

warnings: this story may cover sensitive and uncomfortable topics. please read at your own risk, violence, lashings, blood, mental breakdowns, yandere, obsessive behavior, possessiveness, mommy kinks, mommy issues, arranged marriages, forced marriages, angst, eventual smut, clan politics, age gap (5 years from meg, and a little over 10 with toji), hints at inappropriate thoughts, toji aint the best dad, mentions of child abuse, slowww build.

thoughts and time changes

Lately, you’ve found yourself growing unexpectedly closer to Toji. 

There’s a subtle… warmth in him now that wasn’t there before, though he still remains quiet, never prying—and it all started after you returned from your clan house battered and bruised. When he was surprisingly gentle as he wordlessly patched you up. Yet, despite this newfound…what? fondness?—his frequent absences still plagued the house, never lingering longer than necessary, and more often than not, It was still just you and Megumi.

Megumi returned home for the summers—with that first one standing out as particularly difficult to navigate. 

The two of you fell back into that familiar closeness, as if the strained conversation from before had never happened. As if he hadn't ever avoided you in the first place. He never spoke about it, opting to steer clear from any conversation that seemed too personal. Yet, this left you with a lingering uncertainty that seemed to hang over every interaction—never knowing if he might suddenly pull away or how his mood might change—keeping you constantly on edge around him.

And how could you bring it up? No, you’d much rather keep things peaceful—safe, between the two of you. 

Despite all of your “concerns”, he slipped back into his touchy, almost affectionate habits—perhaps even more so than before, seemingly fine for the most part. The anger and blatant irritation that once defined him, present in his every interaction with Toji, had given way to a stoic calmness—a neutrality that left you feeling a bit happier. He changed so much, yet felt so familiar in so many ways.

And it was that same composure that made him so hard to read, leaving you endlessly guessing at what he didn't say. You definitely can't say you knew him as well as you did before.

Megumi’s thoughts drifted back to his first year at Jujutsu High.

A plethora of new faces and challenges—meeting his classmates had been, to put it mildly, eventful. There was Gojo Satoru, for one. His arrogant and self-absorbed teacher, who seemed far too amused by his own power and status as the strongest sorcerer. Easily the most skilled, he pushed Megumi all year to become a better version of himself, taking an interest in his background with the Zenin Clan. Annoying as it was, Megumi had to admit—thanks to the blue eyed freak, he understood his potential far better than he ever had before. 

Then there was Yuji Itadori. The reckless idiot who, in a moment of pure desperation and absolute insanity, swallowed one of Ryomen Sukuna’s fingers. Even now, Megumi couldn’t shake the guilt. If only he’d been faster, stronger—he might’ve stopped it. Might’ve saved Yuji from a path that tore his life apart.

Yet, despite it all, he became what Megumi would consider a friend. Easily the biggest doof he'd ever met—somehow managing to be both absurdly reckless and irritatingly good-hearted, resembling you in a weird way. Despite knowing him for such a short time, they’d already faced more together than most do in a lifetime.

And meeting Nobara Kugasaki. A girl he initially thought of as only loud and annoying, proved to be more than capable in more ways than one. Somehow, she managed to grow on him, though not without constantly provoking his every last nerve. Even worse than Toji did—a feat he hadn't thought possible.

He’d been careful not to tell you too much, as hard as it was when he saw your face waiting for him the moment he walked through that front door—a sight for sore eyes if there ever was one. His first year had been chaotic, after all, but he hadn’t lied to you… just carefully sidestepped the truths. You poked and prodded for answers, but he remained evasive, selectively sharing only what he thought was safe for someone as precious as you.

Those text messages you sent? He couldn’t bring himself to respond much—not because he didn’t want to, but because he couldn’t stand the thought of making you worry. Your messages were always so short, almost hesitant—yet somehow, impossibly cute. Strangely endearing in a way that made him smile without meaning to. And they had him staring at his phone far longer than he’d ever admit. Long enough for Yuji to notice, of course, grinning as he tried to snatch the phone from Megumi’s hands, teasing him mercilessly about some "mysterious girlfriend."

There was no way in hell he’d let Sukuna’s vessel or his creepy teacher know about you—let alone meet you. Gojo probably had some inkling about your presence in his life—after all, who in Jujutsu society wasn’t at least vaguely aware of an arranged marriage? Especially one involving someone he had only recently discovered was as much of a social pariah as his father. But even if Gojo knew, Megumi was certain it was only through word of mouth alone, and he intended to keep it that way. You were a part of his life that he refused to let this chaos touch.

But they were good people—people who made him question everything he thought he knew about himself. What kind of person did he want to become? What kind of lives did he want to protect? The answer always circled back to you. You were his constant, the standard by which he measured everything. Someone who deserved better, someone who had endured far more than anyone should, and someone he would never stop trying to be worthy of.

He hated the unfairness of it all. Despised it—the sheer injustice of everything you had endured. The crushing expectations your clan had forced upon you, the suffocating marriage to his father, the unrelenting sense of entrapment that shadowed your every step. None of it was right. And the more he learned from Gojo, the angrier he became. A power system designed to crush those deemed weak or inferior, wielded to maintain a twisted hierarchy.

The true difference between you and Megumi was your golden heart—your unwavering care and strength, even in the face of how he knew you were likely treated within your clan. And yet, it was him who was being praised, lauded for qualities he wasn’t sure he deserved credit for.

That first year had taught him plenty. He’d solidified his choices, made his intentions clear, fully understanding what he was stepping into. And Megumi wasn’t just reflecting on these wrongs—he was determined to set them right, no matter the cost.

To him, you didn’t belong to anyone else—least of all his father. You were his. The very thought of you leaving, of slipping beyond his reach, sent a sharp, desperate ache through his chest. He couldn’t let that happen. He wouldn’t. He’d free you—not just from the chains of your family or his father, but so you could truly be free. Free to choose him. To stay by his side. Always. Forever. Exactly where you belonged.

All he needed was for you to wait for him. Just a little longer.

After that long, grueling first year at school, Megumi finally got to see your beautiful face again. The way your smile lit up the room, the teasing lilt in your voice as you poked fun at him—it was enough to completely unravel him inside. It quietly reassured him that you still cared, easing the self-consciousness that had lingered since the day he left. Somehow, despite everything, it still felt the same. Like nothing had changed. Like home.

He had to restrain himself when he came back—the overwhelming urge to pull you close, to kiss you like he’d always dreamt of, nearly getting the better of him. But no—he wouldn’t risk it. He couldn’t scare you away, not when having you near again felt like the only thing keeping him steady.

And he didn’t want you worrying about him, either. The probing questions you had? He’d place those on the backburner for now. Maybe even forever. That wasn’t what he needed from you. The thought of seeing your broken expression, your worry etched into every line of your face, was enough to haunt him. You were his light, his solace—and he’d do whatever it took to keep it that way.

Since coming back, Megumi had been careful—deliberate—in carving out his place in your life. Every move he made, every word he spoke, was measured and planned, more so than ever before. Subtly, almost imperceptibly, he had begun reshaping the way you saw him. He dropped small, seemingly innocent comments here and there, gently steering your attention toward him and away from anyone else—especially his father. Subtlety was key, he figured.

Every look, every gesture, was a calculated effort to blur the boundaries between you, to shift the nature of your relationship without you even realizing it. He wasn’t content with simply being part of your life—he was determined to make himself the center of it.

He worked tirelessly. 

He regretted pulling away before, but if school had taught him anything, it was to cherish these fleeting moments with you. And each day, it seemed his efforts were paying off. You turned to him more often now, seeking his presence, his reassurance. Every question you asked, every flash of that radiant smile, felt like a step closer to what he wanted—to what he needed.

But it still wasn’t enough. He could tell you didn’t see him the way he saw you, didn’t feel the same pull that consumed him. The way he craved you. It ate away at him, the frustration building with every stolen glance, every moment he found himself aching for more. More than your smile, more than your laughter—he wanted all of you, and the thought of waiting drove him mad. He wanted your everything.

At least your eyes were still on him. At least you still cared. For now, that would have to be enough. 

But he wasn’t going to stop. He couldn’t. You’d realize it eventually—you had to. And when you did, he’d be there, ready to claim the place in your heart that was always meant for him.

Before you knew it, Megumi was heading back to school, leaving the house quieter than usual. You’d been bracing yourself for another inevitable summons from your clan, surprised by their unusual silence. It was an uncharacteristic delay, one that left you both relieved and unsettled.

When the message finally arrived, it was as if the air grew heavier around you. Steeling yourself, you went, prepared for the worst, knowing all too well the weight that came with their demands. The possibility for retaliation. No. the absolute for retaliation. 

As expected, you were met with the same barrage of insults, the words slicing through you with their usual sharpness. But this time, there were no lashings, no physical punishment to endure. The absence of that particular cruelty felt like a small, bittersweet victory. You carried the weight of their scorn on your way home but couldn’t help feeling a tinge of relief that it hadn’t been worse.

Toji was home that day—a surprise that caught you off guard, especially since you’d texted him earlier about your meeting with the clan. He’d mentioned being tied up on another one of his long-winded trips, at least for the next few days. Yet here he was.

He greeted you with his usual detached demeanor, but his eyes betrayed him, scanning you with unnerving precision—a deliberate, assessing once-over that made your stomach twist. Before you could fully process it, he stepped closer, his presence effortlessly commanding the space between you. Instinctively, you recoiled in surprise, but it didn’t deter him.

Without a word, his hand moved with an almost lazy confidence, slipping under the back of your shirt. The warmth of his palm against your skin sent a jolt through you, heat rushing to your cheeks as the intimacy of the gesture froze you in place. You couldn’t move, caught entirely off guard by his boldness, the casual intensity of his touch leaving you breathless and unsure of what to say.

“Relax,” he murmurs, a teasing lilt coloring his voice. His fingers trailed lightly across your skin, as though searching for something. It didn’t take long for him to pause, clearly not finding what he was looking for. With a quiet chuckle, he pulled his hand back, a smirk curving his lips as his eyes locked onto yours.

“Clean this time, huh? Guess they decided to play nice.”

You couldn’t tell if his words were meant to mock or comfort, but the way his eyes lingered on you left your pulse racing, your breath catching in your throat. He stepped back, the teasing edge in his demeanor—his gaze, softening ever so slightly before he turned away, leaving you rooted to the spot.

The warmth of his palm still clung to your skin, your mind spinning, cheeks burning a vivid red. He’d never been this handsy before, but you knew exactly what he was searching for. What you couldn’t quite grasp was why it seemed to matter to him. Then again, when had Toji ever made sense to you? 

You and Megumi had been exchanging texts more frequently than ever. It wasn’t something you had expected, but it started after he seemed to notice how upset his silence left you. The habit picked up when he returned to school for his second year. Whether it was guilt or something else driving his newfound consistency, you couldn’t deny the quiet relief that warmed your chest each time your phone pinged with his name.

Megumi’s birthday came and went, and for the first time, you felt comfortable enough to text him without hesitation, inviting him home for a small celebration. "Bring your new friends!" you added hopefully, sprinkling in an emoji or two to lighten the tone.

His reply came swiftly, cutting through your excitement—though, deep down, you should’ve expected it.

"I can’t. I have a mission coming up. I won’t be able to make it."

The disappointment settled heavily in your chest, but you tried not to push. The memory of his last birthday lingered in your mind, making you wonder if he avoided these moments on purpose. Megumi was never the social type, but you couldn’t help wanting to meet his friends, to see the people he spent so much of his time with. And, if you were honest, you missed him. The house always felt quieter, emptier, without him around.

Later that evening, however, your phone buzzed with an unexpected surprise. A picture.

It was Megumi, his expression as stoic and neutral as ever. Standing beside him was a pink-haired boy who couldn’t have been more of a contrast—wide-eyed, grinning ear to ear, brimming with an energy that practically leapt off the screen. The backdrop was lively, vibrant, a fleeting glimpse into the life Megumi was living far away from you. 

You lingered on the photo, your fingers brushing lightly over the screen. For all your probing and insistence on wanting to meet his friends, wanting to see him again, you were surprised he’d sent anything at all. Megumi had always been evasive, but this felt like a compromise—his way of meeting you halfway.

He looked… different. He had been looking different for a while now—since arriving at that school. Once again, as always when you saw him, you couldn’t help but notice how much he’d grown. He wasn’t just older; he was changing. Growing up. Making friends. Breaking free from his shell. Enjoying his life in a way you hadn’t seen before.

For a fleeting moment, pride swelled in your chest—warm and undeniable—only to be chased by a bittersweet ache. He was different, and though you were happy for him, the realization of how little he shared with you felt suffocatingly lonely.

And you couldn't help but feel a little…jealous. 

The next summer passes much the same, uneventful but filled with moments of quiet reflection. Your clan has kept their distance physically, but their questions have grown intense, more persistent. They never hit you again, though the threat was always there. Prodding for details you refuse to give, their subtle questions suggesting they have something more planned—something you can’t quite decipher yet.

When Megumi returns, it’s impossible to ignore how much he’s changed toward you. At seventeen now, he towers over you—maybe even reaching Toji’s height. His lean frame is noticeably stronger, and his presence feels heavier, more grounded. He still leans on you in his quiet, familiar way—that same energy that had always lingered between you stubbornly remained. But now, it felt… different. A little harder to ignore. A little harder to navigate.

It catches you off guard sometimes, especially when his eyes seem to linger on you just a bit too long. You’d always shrugged it off—those previous years, Toji’s words, even Megumi’s actions. A crush. That’s all it was. A fleeting, innocent crush. One you never addressed, one you assumed he’d outgrow. He’d figure out soon enough where you stood in his life.

But there was something unspoken in his gaze now, something that left your heart uneasy and your thoughts spiraling. You couldn’t help but think back to his bedroom, the night before he first left for school—the way the air had felt heavy, the unspoken tension hanging there ever since. His promise to protect you. That anger of you dismissing him. 

That third summer at home felt different—unsettlingly so. The reminder of how much he’d grown. The uncomfortable realization of how much you’d come to lean on him in return. But most of all, the subtle shift in how he acted around you, how he spoke to you, how his presence seemed to take up more space.

Your relationship with him had already felt off before. What could you even do about it now? Especially when he wasn't going to talk about it first?

Yes, that summer was a strange one.

Megumi was determined to win you over.

He was close—so close. With just one more year left until graduation, his plans were nearly complete. All that remained was you.

But despite the way you turned to him more often, leaned on him in ways that only fueled the fire of his obsession, your affection stubbornly stayed confined within the boundaries of platonic care. And for Megumi, that wasn’t enough—not even close.

But despite the way you turned to him more often, leaned on him in ways that only fueled the fire of his obsession, your affection stubbornly stayed confined within the boundaries of platonic care. And for Megumi, that wasn’t enough—not even close.

So he made sure you noticed. Made sure you saw just how much he’d grown.

He began wearing less clothing around the house, casually shirtless as he passed you in the hall, his lean, sculpted frame brushing just close enough for you to feel him. Bare skin ghosting against yours in fleeting touches that lingered in your mind. His voice dipped lower in the mornings, rich and deep as he greeted you, leaning in just a little too close as he reached for one thing or another. The subtle pink that crept into your cheeks didn’t escape him—and he enjoyed every second of it.

His touches grew more deliberate, yet always subtle enough to avoid suspicion. Fingers grazing your waist as he passed, lingering just a beat too long on your arm, or a hand ghosting over the nape of your neck in what seemed like an accident. But none of it was accidental.

It was all calculated—every movement, every look, designed to pull your attention, to fluster you, to shift how you saw him. Like a predator circling its prey, he was patient, methodical, and utterly focused. 

And you… you were quite the prize. Every day, he admired you, every glance fueling the fire that burned inside him. The more he pushed, the more flustered you seemed to get, each reaction feeding his obsession. But no matter how carefully he set his traps, how hard he tried to shift the dynamic, you remained painfully oblivious.

If you noticed the changes in him, you didn’t let on—offering only the small, well-meaning comments of someone watching a child grow. But Megumi couldn’t ignore the cracks in your composure, the way your voice faltered or how your cheeks burned when he walked around shirtless. Because really—what mother blushes that much when her stepkid walks by?

It wasn’t enough. It would never be enough.

But Megumi wasn’t done yet. Not by a long shot.

As the summer wore on, his patience began to wane. Subtlety had carried him far, but now it felt too slow, too restrained. His tactics shifted, his determination sharpening. He wanted something more, something that would bring him closer to you—something impossible to ignore.

p.9

p.11

come home

[mvshortcut]

Put That Guy in a SituationTM Ask Game/Prompt!

For when you want to put your favorite little guy (gender neutral) in a fanfic-type Situation. Send in a fandom, character(s), and/or relationship/ship as well as a number (or a few!) Feel free to use for fanfic, art, or whatever you choose!

Touch starved/cuddle curse

Time loop

Misunderstandings

Mind meld/telepathy/mind reading

Amnesia

Reverse amnesia (everyone else has no memory/recognition of your character)

Trapped in a room/closet/elevator

“Who did this to you?”

Sleep deprivation

Framed for a crime they didn’t commit

Hiding from pursuers

Turned invisible

Drunken/drugged/sleepy confessions

Role swap

Soulmates

Meeting past/future self

Tending to an injury/wound/illness

Possession/Mind control 

De-aged

Personality swap

Fear poison/gas

Truth or dare/party games

Loss of powers/abilities/skills

Showing up injured at their friend/mentor’s house

Showing up injured at their enemy’s house

Group project/team effort

Demon summoning

Curse of obedience/can’t disobey a direct order (the “Ella Enchanted”)

Time jumping/time travel/fix-it

Only one bed

Cursed/turned into an animal

Body swap

Reincarnation 

Love spell/curse/potion

Hatred spell/curse/potion

Avalanche/huddle for warmth

Secret relationship

Multiverse/meeting alternate version of self

Avoiding a conversation

Identity reveal/major secret revealed

Panic attacks

True love’s kiss/breaking a curse

Fake dating 

Arranged marriage

Realization of feelings at the Worst Possible Moment

Confessions during an argument

Sickfic/caretaking

Enemy caretaker

Self-sacrificial

Meet cute

Meet ugly/awkward first meetings

Fake death/presumed dead

Wings/supernatural body features

Kidnapping

Mutual Pining (+ Oblivious)

Mutual platonic/familial yearning

Accidental hand-holding

Crying

Lying curse/forced to lie about something

Truth Serum/spell

[g1rlken]

too sweet 11

Rupert Campbell black x fem!reader, godfather!tony

— part 1 here

summary: Rupert comes forth with a proposal to help the Baddingham family out of bankruptcy

warnings: arranged marriage, mild swearing

word count: 6.4k words

-

That could not possibly be. Kissing, Rupert. Rupert. Of all people, that man. How could she be so devoid of self awareness like this. Deprive herself of proper principles kissing him back this time. She didn’t even reminisce to the sweetness of the kiss, if one would call it that. Agitated out of her mind she huffed returning back to the paperwork at the end for the bankruptcy which did not seem to have any viable result. Meeting one dead end after another over and over. She had the feeling of being a traitor, kissing the enemy, not being a useful asset to the war at hand and then she realise it wasn’t the 18th hundreds; she had to stop flipping about. Mistakes happen. They happen. Rupert happened.

Following that week she avoided Rupert as if the proximity he was present in was about to go through a disastrous calamity, like a virus, which he was which everyone said. She wasn’t married enough to catch him like that. The prospect in her mind was funny, had she befriended any people in this godforsaken town to joke about she would do so. But as of now she did not have the time nor the correct people. Imagine telling Bas that she’d kissed Rupert. She would much rather self immolate than have that conversation.

The days were so ghastly she was met with such guilt filled anguish about the kiss and the knife of bankruptcy lingering over, loosing solutions and seeing her uncle’s turmoil. It could not get worse than this. Scratching, crossing and throwing papers in her home office upstairs she barely adhered someone at the door, when the bell rang. But it was evening and nobody important visited at the time. At least not for her. Others were probably anyways home to answer the door.

Tony’s face fell when he saw who was at the door and he did not even try to pick it up because there was so much to his displeasure already, “Good evening.” Rupert, dressed in a well pressed suit and flowers in his hand. “Bas is not here.” Tony answered for the man wanting to be done with this interaction with lightening speed. Sending him off right as he came.

“I am not here for him.” Rupert answered, climbing a step on the well marbled entrance stairs to the Baddingham mansion. “May I?” He said, politely allowing himself inside even though Tony felt like being ambushed.

Very uncharacteristic for Rupert to be this way towards their house. Flowers and suits and may-I-small talk. Rupert found his way to tony’s sitting area and he followed behind the man. Both men sat in arm chairs across each other, Tony observed with a distasteful raised brow as Rupert sat on the edge of his seat. Trying to feign respect? Poise? Tony couldn’t figure it out but he was vexed regardless. “So what is it?” Tony inquired letting out a sigh.

“Is Mrs. Baddingham home?” Rupert asked as he kept clutching on to the bouquet of flowers he’d brought for god knows what reason. Nobody had died, Tony thought to himself. Well not yet anyways.

Wanting to get this antics of his over with as soon as possible Tony nodded and called for his wife who was already coming in with a glass of water for supposed guest she’d heard come in when the bell rang. “Rupert!” She exclaimed setting the tray on the coffee table. “Didn’t know you were coming in.”

“I am very fond of the look of surprise.” Rupert amused keeping it light hearted for the conversation upcoming, then he drank half the glass of water she’d brought him. “Sit, please.” He gestured to the arm chair next to Tony.

Just as confused as lord baddingham, keeping her grace and politeness up the lady sat anyways. With her positive smile, “I’m sorry to disappoint but I don’t think Bas is here.” She said assuming the same reason as Tony.

“He is not here for Bas.” Tony answered for Rupert flatly, absolutely underprepared for the curveball that was about to hit him.

“That is right I’m not.” Rupert agreed as he put the flowers forth and then sat back in his seat, clasping his hands together with a deep breath. “It is no secret, you are struggling with certain finances at the moment. Despite of our differences I want you to know I am not here to gloat nor empathise…I have a solution. I just want you to be patient and hear me out once.”

“I have one of the best and most educated people working on it. It isn’t even that big of a problem to begin with” Tony scoffed, it was the biggest problem yet but why would he mention that to Campbell Black? Most definitely here to gloat.

“Are you not nearly bankrupt?” Rupert inquired knowing the answer he just wanted Tony to realise the gravity of his mess.

“Are you not intruding the matter?” Tony snapped back, his patience no longer ran thin it had vanished. The might of this man was unbelievable, he came all the way to his house unannounced to meddle in his business.

“I am not. Like I said I have a solution.” Rupert said with a guarded, bordering polite tone which he never used with Tony as long as he could recall.

Lady Baddingham sought to excuse herself from this conversation since she did not handle business nor finances, “I believe I must excuse you gentlemen to this not being my subject. I could send y/n in, she is working upstairs anyways.”

Before Tony could refuse that, not to disturb y/n, someone who was actually working on the matter instead of this time waste of a man, “No no-“ Rupert said, rather immediate to stop her leave when she didn’t even attempt to stand up. “Don’t send her in.” He emphasised as though wanting her to be the last person for this conversation. “You ought to be here for this, please stay.”

“Oh alright…” she trailed off with an awkward attempt to laugh and make the direly situation lesser.

“I could help you with your situation, waver the tax fine off. It is merely a write off with the minister’s letter and your debt, I could fund that as an investment…if I were to transfer the money directly to my supposed familial-” he paused extremely hesitant to continue but did not let his confidence falter “wife’s account. Wife which I don’t have, but I could.”

Tony let a moment pass, just staring at the man with scrutiny and joined eyebrows as if he were solving some arithmetic in his head. “What?” He spoke finally with a huff, “a wife?” Zero situational awareness as to where Rupert was headed with this.

“If it is an account of your own family, you could easily pay off the debts it wouldn’t even be an additional loan. Even from me.” Rupert shrugged just beating around the bush explaining him the dynamics but not intent.

“Suppose yes.” Tony said turning business with this but he knew there was a score at the end of his deal which would shatter the land beneath his feet, “but you don’t have a wife and due to my deplorable luck l can’t marry you.” Tony scoffed looking away in disregard at his ridiculous offer.

“Ah Lord Baddingham!” Rupert exclaimed laughing as if he actually found that funny, “always so quick with his jokes.” He said pointing it to the man’s lady wife who flashed a small smile at the interaction. “No I don’t mean you…I happen to not have a wife, like I said.” Clearing his throat he shifted in his seat for the third time “and you happen to have someone in your family who could be courted, nudged towards marriage. Your niece-“ he could have paraphrased even more and more but the scrutiny was getting somewhat worse as he realised his point did go across.

The point went across Lord Baddingham like a knife to chest, he contemplated so silently and expressionless the under-reaction was a horror brewing. Even the ever chattery lady wife of his had nothing to say to lighten the tension. “You mean y/n?” Tony asked, as if to confirm.

The calm and guarded voice of his question almost made Rupert wanted to refuse that but he weighed heavy on confidence and answered “Yes.”

Tony nodded, taking in a deep breath bringing his hands together as he stood up slowly “Give me a moment.” He said casually and exited the room with slow strides.

Leaving Lady Monica with him in the wake of the tension of the proposal. “It is rather a generous offer, your kindness and charitable nature baffles me!” She spoke and her usual merry and forever unfazed expression was actually taken aback this time. The gesture and the guts. “As in truly baffles me.” Flabbergasted even.

Rupert just smiled at her words with a nod acknowledging that with modesty but as the time seemed to pass slow on Tony’s absence from the room he couldn’t help but feel anxious. He wasn’t someone who felt anxious often, worrying is for losers. His worry ceased to alarm as he looked up to Tony returning the room with his hunting rifle. “Woah woah now hang on a minute-“

“How dare you!” Lord baddingam enraged pacing across the room as he hastily loaded the rifle in his hands causing his wife to stand from her seat. “You think?! You think I will marry my only niece to someone as vile as you?!” He had added the bullets to the empty load box aiming the edge of it towards Rupert who know stood behind his seat. “I would never disdain the memory of my brother by wedding her to YOU!”

“He was my friend too. My good, honest friend I saw him as a mentor and I too wish to do this for your family on his memory this is beyond our rifts-“Rupert began a hasty explanation. Monica’s hands on Tony’s shoulders were a feeble attempt to hold him back as he fired it in his direction but went to his slant and missed Rupert. “Have you lost your mind?! You could have shot me!” Rupert exclaimed having easily dodged the poor aim he did not believe the man would actually shoot, forced to think against it as he was reloading the rifle again.

“I do intend to shoot you.” Tony parroted aggressively trying to add another bullet into his hunting gun.

“We can have a rational conversation on the subject getting hostile!” Rupert retaliated as Monica got Tony’s gun to lower its shooting end yet not completely out of his grasp.

“On the subject?” He huffed at the underplay of words Rupert used. “Marrying my godchild to a fucking cunt like you would be an atrocity!”

“It would just be one in name, arranged and completely transactional. Had I wanted to swoon her I wouldn’t be having this conversation of asking her hand in marriage with her uncle and aunt.” Rupert tried to explain how he referred to the situation in his point of view.

But it was no use to the offended Lord Baddingham, “You wouldn’t be able to swoon her in your next eight rebirths.” Tony said pointing to him with his gun again which was now taken away finally by Monica, shaking her head.

“Murder is the last thing we need on our plate at this point darling.” She told her husband and set the rifle aside with a heavy sigh.

“Get out.” Tony said approaching Rupert grabbing him by the collar of his blazer, “Get the fuck out of my house-!”

“Alright but you and I both know that even with your debts off, that tax fine is a number nowhere near all of your fortune.” Rupert said treading dangerous waters with practicality and the only language Tony understood, money. “The bank debts, I will transaction them off not as a loan. You wouldn’t have to pay me back. And the letter for tax fine. Think about it you know you need this.” He spoke on the border of his way out before heading out, Tony threw a glass on the wall he was behind, his direction which finally made him leave in a hurry.

There was no possible way Tony would even think of it. Gruffly he scoffed running up the stairs. In a bit y/n herself came downstairs but did not seem to find her uncle anywhere, “Is everything alright? I think I heard gunshots.” She asked her aunt leaning against the kitchen entrance.

“Don’t worry about it, it was nothing.” Monica assured her with a smile as her children settled for dinner. “Come I’ll set your plate.”

“Are you sure it was nothing?” Y/n asked because from the current state of life her uncle was very much in a position to shoot somebody or worse, himself even.

“Yes…” Lady Monica trailed off with a sigh as she ran a motherly hand through her hair, “don’t you worry, alright?” She always had this grounding way about herself who treated y/n the same as her own children.

There was so much left to interpretation but at this point y/n didn’t know what other problem she could tackle so she let it be taking her aunt’s word. Tony came downstairs rushing and dismissed the dinner call, grabbing his coat and running off out. It left the rest of them rather confused but his antics weren’t unseen of.

Tony spent hours with his accountants going through the dynamics of Rupert’s hypothetical plan. Wanting to see if that viper had a double side to this arrangement, that is, if he even thinks about it. The affidavit assurance he spoke of did make it solid. The accountants were very, very positive to go through this deal but he hadn’t told them the anguish of him yet.

He came home and discussed the matter over again with Lady Monica, “the accountants call it a golden deal but, Rupert?! I mean come on-“ he scoffed as he narrated it. “He’d marry her just to spite me. The intent, the motive it all seems so ghastly.”

“If the accounts have reassured you, I suggest you think this over rationally and not emotionally.” Lady Monica advised him from her seat, she loved y/n as much as Tony if not more but the stakes were rather unaffordable this time “Blessings in disguise don’t just come knocking at your door.”

“Rupert is no blessing.” Tony corrected her as his posture stiffened, his money and the post may just be so but himself was nowhere close to it.

“He doesn’t live that far” Lady Monica said with the undertone of considering the proposal, trying to give her husband silver linings.

“What does that have to do with anything?” He asked confused brows raising up at the implication.

“She wouldn’t be that far from us should you consider the prospect.” She explained meekly hoping it would get through without being offended. He did not get so, but he was still dismissal of the silver lining. “She is a smart girl. Why don’t you talk this over with her?”

“And tell her what? I am offered fortune of a dowry for her?” He scoffed shaking his head, he eventually would have to but he did not like that confrontation nor the subject.

“Tell her we are offered a way out, like the accountants said…a golden deal. She would understand.” Lady Monica said lastly as she bid him farewell and good night. He probably didn’t sleep the whole night that night with the information he had to relay on his niece the following morning.

The sunrise had never seemed so very dreadful before as it rose with the household. Tony had to put forth the happenings of yesterday and he hated it already, the sense of upcoming heartache. “You called for me?” Y/n’s knock on his home office door pulled Tony out of his trance as he nodded and gestured her to sit. She followed as she sat on the teal arm chair. “I have to go submit the appealing papers for an extension on the tax notice today did you look at the papers?”

Tony had long forgotten about those papers he had to go through previous night and they just rang a bell as of now. “Oh? Yes, the papers” he spoke paying less mind to it and then with a heavy sigh he sat slant to her on the sofa. “There is something else I wanted to talk to you about.”

The somber yet serious pitch of his tone was new these days, “what is it?” She asked placing her file on the desk to listen to him attentively.

“Rupert, came here last night and he has told us something that might change things.” Tony briefed her in vaguely even though he had thought about it the entire time last night he couldn’t find the right words to relay the information on her now that she was right in front of him.

“Rupert” she repeated trying to undermine the anxious paranoia rising within her. The fright she felt as to what he could have told him, the kiss? He wouldn’t stoop that low would he. It was a mistake. “What did he have to say?” She asked trying her best to maintain a level proper tone and not let the obvious anxiety show.

As he narrated about the proposal the colour on her face drained bit by bit, her uncle explained her only the dynamics of his money oriented offer and only lastly added “…that is, if you are to marry him.”

Y/n just started at him for a moment zoning out in the tense silence and then her shoulders relaxed as she gathered Rupert didn’t tell him about the kiss. “Marry him?” She let out a huff, “How dare he?! Has he gone mental to even think he can come into our house and bait us-“

“No no listen” Tony interrupted her before she was about to mirror the exact reaction he had from when he first found out about it. “I went to the accountants last night and they went through it. The dynamics of it—they said it is a golden deal.”

Oh. The fact that he was taking this in consideration and not ridicule and offence just sinked in. But she could not fathom it, “Are you asking…” the proposition was so ghastly to even say it in a sentence she just tailed off in implication.

“I don’t know if I am.” Tony said honestly because he had the same feelings on saying that out loud. Asking her to marry Rupert Campbell Black? “It’s a bad way out of this, it seems to be our only one.”

“What are you saying-?!” She exclaimed as she stood up from her seat in shock and disgust, “are you serious uncle? Rupert? Rupert?! Of all people? Rupert Campbell Black?” She scoffed speaking out her distress all in one breath “That man?”

“There is no need to panic like this I wouldn’t force you to even breathe in his direction let alone marry him if you don’t want to.” Tony assured her standing up with her and he walked across the space to get her a glass of water. “You have worked on this, you know what’s at stake and what else are our options.”

She took the water he offered her and gulped the full glass all at once to ease the nerves, “I know, I understand I know we don’t have time even, but” she let out a heavy breath even repeating that man’s name again felt like saying a slur. “This is-this is ridiculous!”

“You my darling are the first born of this family.” He told her putting a hand on her shoulder reassuringly “I would never want you to marry someone you don’t want to let alone that swine. You are worth a fortune for me alright? I have never asked anything of you all your life and I’m not even asking for this. I just want you to be open to it”

“But he’s Rupert!” She let out an exasperated sigh and moved away from him, pacing back and forth “If I marry him I’d never be able to show my face anywhere” she said considering that ugly life.

“This pains me more than it does you but he is not, not-reputable” he briefed her trying to provide whatever consolation.

"I don’t mean here" she said with an exasperated sigh running a hand through her hair. "I have friends everywhere but this place, honest, educated people. They would look down upon me if I was Mrs Campbell Black." It was more than a horror to loose even more people she could call her own. The city colleagues, people she trained with, went to university with. Forward minded new deal politics people would discontinue friendship with the conservative MP's wife.

"You will always have us though and you do have friends here, work, Corinium, you do have plenty." Tony explained, what seemed to be a big concern for her wasn't as dreadful for him. After all she had never given him a reason to think she considered countryside to be a small pond.

"It’s nowhere close" she muttered well aware she would not be able to get this point across.Besides she did have lots of other concerns to dwell upon "He is infuriating, a deceit, a hedonist and he is so much older!' She did not intend to let that come out as a whine.

"You do not have to clarify that to me, I have spent more years loathing him than you have seen winters." The godfather in him anguished more than he empathised with her. It was beyond understandable that it was only his disdain which had seeped through her due to all the right reasons which would make this even harder for her.

“My life would be over." Words couldn't put front just how much of dread occupied her heart and mind to even consider this.

"You know this doesn't have to be permanent. At all." He plotted in a low tone providing her actual theory to look forward to "Two years and you can divorce him. Our funds would be steady, the new earnings would be consistent and we can drop him like dead meat."

With a sharp intake of breath she thought his words over, that could be so. Knowing Rupert his own whim wouldn't last that long. "Two years maximum?" She asked for reassurance as she sat back down on the chair.

"Maximum." He confirmed positively mirroring her seating. "Consider him a means to an end. Two years is all I ask from you and then you can always marry a boy of your choice again!" All I ask from you y/n, his words echoes with the same blend of plea and demand of his tone.

She had felt this undertone of owing her godfather woven fragments in the tapestry of her life. He had raised her, like her own, it is only fair she repays it with her life however she can. Most days he felt hyperaware of the debt in her emotions, her unsaid obligation he did not feel like putting out like a house fire but raising more like a forest fire. She had started to feel this weight as she grew more sentient and emotionally mature, the weight grew more and he never bothered to tell her otherwise. A price for a parental figure she felt like paying for, pursuing careers he told her to, leading a life he asked her to. Neither him nor Monica ever made her feel a void in place for a childhood. She could say it was blissful and healthy despite of the tragedy. Tony articulated sense of purpose for her, she abided. Always. Forever bound to gratitude. "Ultimately this is your choice, if you refuse to the marriage we wont have this conversation again. You have my word."

You can always get another degree of your choice! You can always marry a boy of your choice again! Over and over and over twice the time for twice the decisions because she had to live it up for two people. Herself and her godfather. It was barely an illusion of choice, her uncle was not a level heeded man when cornered. If not today, next week when, if not then when the third notice comes in, that is when he would loose his composure and she knew him well enough to see that.

With a day or two to her demise and battling against the circumstance, there wasn’t even any other road to not be taken. The universe had put forth one and only one way out of this and it was an incomprehensible burden to carry. A simple, “Alright then, Rupert it is.” And the wedding bells rang like an alarm in a troubled country. Tony rushed to inform Rupert of it in the very same day not even an hour of time difference since she agreed. To have a second thought himself or offer her more guidance and a space to change her mind which she so desperately wanted to. There was no time, they had more than just wedding to make arrangements for.

Her godfather had asked y/n if she were to join him in informing Rupert of her acceptance but she abruptly refused. Which was understandable, why would she endure the man in optional settings. Tony didn’t force her on attending for now anyways, she was doing a lot in retrospect.

However the exchange left Rupert with an unsure and skeptical attitude to the lady’s willingness when she did not come with her uncle to relay her answer. It felt rather strange and knowing Tony he would most definitely answer for his niece and then force her to the outcome he wanted. So he decided to take matters into his own hands to cross check.

Somewhat late in the night post dinner as the countryside fell quiet to the crickets and nightly mist. Easily making his way through the estates he calculated exact space to her room by standing right below it. Unaware that a heartbroken y/n was lying in bed listening to her vinyls trying to angst out the gradual foreseen depression with music. She missed the pebbles clashing on her balcony door. It was only when their amount grew and the feeble sounds became frequent that she was pulled out of her horror-dreaming trance of envisioning her upcoming life. She pulled the needle off the vinyl and turned away from the record player to inspect over the balcony. Hugging her cardigan closer to herself as she was exposed to the chill November air outside of her room. She lowered her gaze to inspect where the direction of the small stones that lay around her balcony. That is when she saw Rupert halfway through the tree adjoining her balcony. “What are you doing?” She asked as her eyes widened and her face fell at its sight. He was rather swift with his movements and study grip over the old tree and then he jumped off to the side, then the pipe, a bit too much of sturdy gymnastics and she was more freaked out than concerned or amazed. “Have you lost your mind-?!” She was whisper yelling as she looked back to her room to see if someone was there to interrupt this madness.

He managed to climb up to her balcony. Leaning on the railing from the outside as she distance herself, catching a breath creating a winter fog. He smiled through panting out his determination, swaying his leg across the railing as he made his way into her balcony. “I would have come through the main door but you ignored my calling.” He said referring to the small stones laid around them, in the wake of his attempt to catch her attention.

“What is wrong with you!” She exclaimed knowing well enough that there was plenty, “what if you had ended up on the wrong balcony.”

“I did. Your cousins, the children. They directed me here.” He said plainly as if he were to end up at any other room would be a horror for him. Nothing fortified his will more than what his heart desired “I wanted to see you.”

“At this hour?” Making her away inside to her room given it was unbearably cold outside for just one layer which she’d worn. She was in no mood to cater to his stunt but he followed her inside and she did not refuse him anyways.

“You could have come to meet me yourself today, when your uncle did.” He said with a shrug, closing the door behind his hands. Rupert wanted to cross check if she even knew that Tony had visited him today to affect his proposal.

“I didn’t want to then and I don’t want to now.” She spoke with an alerted and agitated look on her face. Alert to look out for any noise outside of her room, concerned footsteps if they heard conversation from her room in the dead of the night.

“Has he even told you?” Rupert said with a scoff, he was more confident over the fact that Tony would have said yes to their marriage for his self serving ways and not even considered her. It couldn’t possibly be that she herself couldn’t be bothered to visit him herself to give her ‘yes.’

“Told me what?” Bemused look on her face, unsure that there was more information for her uncle to withhold from her.

“Unbelievable…” he scoffed putting his hands on his hips as he looked around and then back to her, “just as I thought. He came to visit me today to tell me you accept the marriage proposal.”

“I know that” she answered with a unfazed look on her face, not even of sorrow or remorse. “He told me he was going” hell, even lady monica wanted to go with a proper basket and celebratory essence of it but it was neither celebratory nor familial so she did not attend.

“And you did not deem it necessary to come?” He was surprised to say at least, blissfully unaware to a large extent of her despise towards him he thought it was all to change after the kiss, not spike overnight of course. But aren’t some things sealed with a kiss?

“I do not have to endure you a second longer than actually required, why would I go voluntarily?” She raised obvious brows at her reasoning not taken aback by his assumptions and extractions of her attendance.

“The way you are marrying me voluntarily.” He reminded and also questioned to confirm if it was a voluntary step or not.

“I am trying to save my family’s fortune voluntarily.” Y/n rephrased the proposition, that is what she told herself too. It was his scrutiny towards her for not accepting his proposal herself which threw her off, in her house in her own room was this man making her out to be answerable to him. “What are you even here for? Out!” She said pointing to the balcony door again, her aunt was a light sleeper anyways she wouldn’t risk that.

“I wanted to confirm if you weren’t being forced into anything.” He responded truthfully however it seemed like his integrity held account for something so small in her eyes.

“Well now you have.” Answering his illogical concern she shrugged, she wasn’t being forced but at the same time whose choice would be Rupert. “You can leave.”

“So you will marry me.” He said plainly wanting a real answer where she would not just brush it off. Taking a step closer to her gently taking her hands in his.

If he was being so direct she could not rephrase the situation, arranged setting, business deal, financial consequence, “this is a violation.” She said gesturing to him holding her hand and took it away.

“Violation like when you kissed me.” Rupert said with his usual smug, grin and he could see the buttons being pushed in her head.

“That was a mistake.” An obvious agitation was not the blush he expected. “As is the marriage I’m telling you. I’m miserable as it is you will lose your mind. This truly is a big mistake.”

“A mistake I’m rather fond of.” He dismissed her paranoid concerns and fragile self perception. “We will find our footing.”

“What if I don’t that want with you.” She told him crossing her arms always panning out the worst but she did feel that way, at least show she thought she did.

“Then I will wait.” Ever so confident he could make so much work with her, it was beyond infatuation and also her understanding just how much he was capable of in his want and yearn.

“I won’t change my mind.” She told him firmly and in all truthfulness to put out the flames of affection and domesticity he may expect from her.

“And what of your heart, my love?” He asked further, more straws from him to grasp on and the straw was her heart. How inconveniently determined.

“I am not your love.” She affirmed bringing her brows together as a response to her unaccounted detest to the word.

“My bride.” Rupert added an option to her being his to a certain configuration whichever she found befitting.

“—Not yet.”

“Fiancé then?”

“That generally requires a ring.” She would much rather have a stone drown her down a stream than a stone on her finger which symbolises being his.

“Oh does it?” He asked nonchalantly as if he had something brewing, he certainly did. He reached out for his pocket bringing out a small red box.

“God no” she sighed as she realised what it was without him even opening it. There was a ridicule in the tragedy of this situation.

Getting on his knee, slowly, he opened the box and his eyes never left his bride, “will you-“

“There is no need for this dramatics this is simply a business arrangement and a finance-“

“Do you ever shut up?” He interrupted her still from his place situated on one knee.

“I should just shut up and marry you?” Going in for her turn to not-shut-up she said in between spaces of his sentences which caused him to revert what he was going to add.

“Shut up and marry me” he nodded, despite of his assurances she was so headstrong and stubborn. There was more a logic in a sentence so simple than further explanation.

There was more to the question than just marriage and him. Fragments of obligation, dutiful girl’s perfect life and her godfather’s generosities upon her. But in moments like these, the kiss, him climbing a tree to her balcony in the middle of the knight, the kiss, him wanting to reassure her despite her coldness, the kiss, him down on one for her, the kiss…the damned kiss. Taking the ring out of the box she but it on her finger in a swift motion only so he would stand up.

Rupert wanted that part to be intimate and his, but this is the closest to that he could get with a possibility of having her throw the ring on his grinning face. He didn’t want to take any chances. “Suits you.” He stood up staring at his ring on her finger.

“Farewell then…” she trailed off not wanting to feel the ill fabricated heavy emotions of his close proximity. As he was about to turn to her door out the room she stopped, getting in his track. “Not from there! The balcony” she pointed, her aunt was a light sleeper he ought to go out the way he came.

“How come? I will just use the main door it’s the same distance.” He answered unaware of her concerns of wrongness in his presence at the mansion this late.

“You can’t do that someone will find out you were here!” She exclaimed shaking her head.

“And? Your uncle has already put forth your terms of wanting a separate room, separate bed after marriage it’s not as if we would be having pre marital sex” he huffed at the sanctimonious assumption, jokingly implying she cared for the sort. She was too modern and he was too adulterated for that. However them not doing it had several other reasons, mainly her.

“Even post marital sex with you is far from dreams please don’t get ahead of yourself” she scoffed. He was pompous with the amount he’d bedded and could do so which repelled her even more to share a ‘marriage bed’ with him. He wouldn’t force himself on her so she did not specify that, it was an obvious boundary. It’s just his ballon of pride she wanted to guest perhaps over and over again.

“Afraid you’ll like it? Just like the kiss?” He knew the kiss was a tingling subject for her and he misused it full to his advantage.

“Get out!” Running out of replies she realised she did not owe him any. Feebly shoving him towards the balcony finally made him give in.

“Alright alright” he sighed standing halfway out the balcony door smiling the entire time. Before his exit he placed a gentle peck on the side of her face and made his way out, the same gymnasium of tree lunges and balcony railing. “Good night, my love!”

Already repulsed by his kiss the last words irked her further “not your love!” closing the door and curtains to the balcony on him at once she returned back inside to the disrupted serenity of her room. The music long abandoned she fell on the bed again, rethinking the interaction and overanalysing her thoughts.

Looking down at the ring on her finger, the more she looked the more it seemed to weigh and she had barely slept enough on the fact that she was getting married to Rupert Campbell Black. She couldn’t sleep in his ring.

Removing it from her finger to the bedside table she turned off the lamp to match the dark phase of her life. With a sigh hoping for sleep or morning, whichever outruns her thoughts.

—

Next part is the wedding and you’re all invited ;) please let me know your thoughts in the comments it really motivates me

🏷️ @playbucky @theoceanandthestars @omgbrianab @melancholicandmessy @nebulastarr @sarahsobsession