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kabuki-writes · 5 months ago

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An Entertainment For The Gods

chapter: 2 chapter 1 | 3 | 4

pairing: emperor geta/emperor caracalla x acacius' daughter!reader

summary: Through an invitation from the Emperors themselves General Acacius and his daughter attend one of the bloody Gladiator fights at the Colosseum. But this time it is not only the brutality of the arena that encaptures Geta and Caralla.

Note: -

word count: 2.5k

There was no bigger temple in Rome than the Colosseum. A monument to the Roman Empire, an architectural masterpiece as well as a slaughterhouse for humans and animals. They had to die for the amusement of the masses in the pale white sand and under the eyes of the Roman citizens as well as the Emperor's. You've never visited the arena before, it just wasn't the entertainment you usually seeked as you fancied the amphitheater and stage plays of comedies or tragedies. No one really died from a well-spoken dialogue and the stages weren't drown in blood afterwords. Your father was a similar soul with this. As someone who had seen war and death countless of times, Acacius developed a distaste for the useless killing, which he argued was the mere core of the collosseum's existence.

But while one would despise this form of humanity at its core brutality, other's simply loved it. First under Commodus the fights in the arena became more frequent, while Septimius Severus after him didn't change anything in that matter. Under Geta and Caracalla however Gladiator fights reached an all time high, especially those 'special' spectacles with exotic animals or ships. They themselves had an own Gladiator school under their wings, which was due to their wealth filled with the most skillful warriors and the best equipment, that it was almost unfair.

Given the fact that both twins enjoyed the performance in the arena and the bloody outcome, it wasn't surprising that they were frequent visitors. For the Emperor the colosseum had an own arena box with the best view over the inner pit and with two throne like chairs for each one of them to sit comfortably. It wasn't unusual for them to have guests here either and this time it was a special one. The moment Geta and Caracalla stepped out, the masses greeted and cheered for their Emperors, who - at least in Rome - offered them bread and games to forget the common sorrows of life. Both of them were dressed in the finest, colorful fabrics, while their golden laurel crowns throned on their heads. They waited for General Acacius at the balustrade to come forward, join them and speak to the people. He was still their celebrated hero, their triumph card, so to speak. It was an easy way to win the hearts of the people through a figure like Acacius, who was the ideal Roman.

After your father held a small, yet powerful speech about the braveness of the Gladiators they'll see today, a slave went forward to place a cushioned chair between the thrones of the Emperors. You hesitated a second, since usually you would be seated at the side of your father. "Since we've heard that you had never witnessed a fight in the arena befoe, we thought you might like a good view", Geta suddenly explained to you, before he sank into his own chair. "Please, sit down."

Your eyes went to your father for a quick exchange and you saw in them how he displeased this way of treatment, yet he nodded and you sat down. More and more you understood that the situation had a differnt tone in it. It wasn't mere courtesy why the Emperors treated you like that and given the way you'd read their eyes, it was more than clear that you've captured their interest. Usually any woman of the realm would fight for that privilege, but you had seen how your father acted in front of them, how worried he was when you first made your way to the palace - something was off. You knew you needed to pay attention and be cautious.

"Citizens of Rome, the arena welcomes you! Emperor Geta, Emperor Caracalla, we the people bow to your greatness and the mighty of our beloved Empire! Under the eyes of the sun the colosseum presents to you a spectacle like no other!", the high-toned, yet thunderous voice of the richly decorated announcer set the beginning of the show and drew all eyes on the white sand down in the arena pit, where a group of men in armor but with a limited equipment of weapons entered through a door from the Colosseum's catacombs. "First we present to you the brave Gladiators that will be our Theseus' today! They may not need to save their Ariadne, but they'll still have to face horde of Minotaurs today in an attempt to safe their own lives!" With those words a couple of other doors opened and six wild bulls entered the arena. Their massive and strong bodies stirred up the sands with every step of their big hooves. They may've been animals, but they had terrible weapons on their head with sharp horns that grew out of their heads.

Caracalla clapped with a joyful laugh. "Oh i love mythological pieces, even though they forgot the labyrinth!"

Your fingers nestled with the fabric of your dress in nervousness as you watched the men prepare themselves for the attack of the angry bulls, which were already pawing with their hooves. More than one set off to ran towards the Gladiators and given the fast but powerful movements of those animals, it didn't take long until the first fighter got overrun by them and another one faced the horns that drilled themselves like spikes into his torso, where blood spilled like a waterfall. The other fighters tried their best to ran or face the bulls with the few weapons they'd been given. One of them even striked down a beast by pressing his sword into its neck, when it was running towards him. You watched the spectacle with a neutral, yet pale face, while the Emperors seemingly enjoyed the show. Geta quickly noticed the way you followed the happenings down in the arena and leaned towards you.

"Are you not entertained, y/n ?", he asked you in a low voice, still loud enough to overcome the cheerings of the crowd. Your eyes went to him, facing the deep blue of his own, while you tried to put on a mask of apathy. "It is hard for me to understand, why useless killing is viewed as entertainment, I'm afraid," you answered, but it just got you an amused smirk in return.

"Oh it is not useless. You see, nothing is as entertaining as humanity itself. What lies more in our human nature than violence, power and the survival of the strongest? Without that, your father wouldn't be able to win all his great victories and our father would not have been able to secure the Roman Empire after the weak reign of the senate."

"And yet Emperor Marcus Aurelius believed that true strength isn't born in violence, but in mindfulness and kindness. The ability to speak, think and therefore to thrive for something higher than mere survival, is what distinguishes us from animals," you responded in a clear, settled tone. This sudden response surprised Geta clearly as his eyes widened and his fingers tensed up. Even Caracalla's eyes had left the arena for a moment and were locked at you. Even though he followed the fight down there, one of his ears had catched every word you'd said. What a sweet, naive woman you were... it made this whole moment even more interesting.

The corners of Geta's mouth twitched and at first you weren't able to tell if he found your words disrespectful or not. In fact, he'd not expected such a bold answer from a woman, especially not against an Emperor. And even though he wouldn't agree with you, it proved him right, that you were not a simple-minded girl. Naive maybe, but not dull.

"Interesting thought, my dear. But would you recite the words to one of these brave warriors down there too? Who will ll earn their freedom, if violence keeps them alive long enough? We offer them a precious gift, and in return they entertain us."

Your eyes went to the pit again, which was mottled in deep red blood now with only one man and one bull remaining. The moment was intense as both animal and human watched each other with intensity, before the bull stormed forward and the speer of the Gladiator, who waited for the perfect moment, hit his opponent. The massive body fell to the ground and the people cheered in Ecstasy. Geta and Caracalla clapped with admiration for the celebrated Gladiator, as he sunk to his knee and bowed to them.

The next round began after the exhausted and wounded 'hero' stumbled through one of the doors, back into the darkness of the catacombs, before he was replaced by a bigger group of Gladiators, who now had to face armed chariots. Their opponents wore the armory of old Sparta while they teared down one after one with their arrows. You leaned back in silence, watched by Caracalla, whose eyes were taking in her side profile for quite a while now. Even though he loved the fights down there, the blood, the violence... you encaptured him more right now. Your stern face, which carried a deep displeasure for this, while you tried so hard to hide it, it was captivating.

Everyone, even his own twin tend to underestimate Caracalla. Even though he was born a couple of minutes earlier than Geta and was therefore technically older than him, his stature was smaller and he wasn't as tall as his brother. This was accompanied by the fact that he enjoyed the pleasantries the god Bacchus had to offer him: wine, music, arts and sex - even more than Geta did. Together with his rather impulsive way of acting, it often led to the false thought that the more capable brother of them was Geta. Oh, Caracalla hated this, it was a misinterpretation weaved like a thread through his whole life. Because he had a gift, he could read people and together with his extensive web of information sources and spies within the city of Rome and beyond, he had a power that lied in the dark. And it was a preparation he did on purpose after he'd learned about the plot that was once set against Emperor Commodus. Some would've said it was paranoia, maybe it was, but he would call it 'preparation'. Nonetheless it came with the pleasant side effect of knowing a lot about the people around him.

"I've heard that you rather choose the theater over the arena", he said with a soft, yet unreadable smile on his lips. "You're a dreamer, aren't you?"

As you heard his voice next to you, your eyes quickly turned to him. "There is nothing wrong with dreaming, my Emperor...", you answered and he nodded quickly as if he'd hoped for that answer. Caracalla even grinned, his golden tooth gleaming in the light. "No, not at all." My Emperor. The way you've said it with your eyes looking at him. It electrified him, so much so that the cheers of the crowd almost faded in the background. You'd faced the pit and the fighters again, but he was still staring at you.

"Which play?"

"Octavia," the name almost shot from you mouth.

"And you consider yourself to be?"

"Octavia. And you?" You didn't even expected him to give you an answer on that, but meanwhile Caracalla's grin grew wider.

"Nero," he said just as fast as you'd answered before.

Your eyes instantly went back to the Emperor, whose eyes were now focused on the deadly fight between a Gladiator and a chariot rider. He couldn't hold back a chuckle, while he watched how the man pushed his sword through the neck of his opponent, ripping off his head.

Nero.

"Why?", you suddenly asked, this time it were your eyes, that watched him.

"I cannot blame him for setting himself free." His answer was almost like a whisper, yet you heard every word. It was a very unconventional way of interpreting the mad Emperor, one she herself would even despise, if he wouldn't seem to be so certain of it. It meant something more.

The arena fight slowly came to an end, when only to oppontents were fighting for the right to claim the victory. Nearly all of the Gladiators and chariot riders were dead, their bodys laying in the pale sand and drowining it with their blood, a weird composition of death that accompanied your questions about Caracalla's answer.

After a final hit, one of the men went down on his knees. He was wounded, severely, and he now felt the tip of a sword against his neck. He surrendered and the gods had to decide what will happen with him. One of the Gods was Geta, who stood up from his chair and approached the balustrade, while the crowd called for a decision. The Gods need to decide, yet Geta suddenly turned his head to you. "What do we say,...? y/n, should he live or die?"

Your face grew even paler than it already was, your fingers were almost digging themselves into the armrests of your chair. You felt a thousand eyes on you, even though it was only Geta and Caracalla watching you, as well as the eyes of your father from behind. The Gladiator waited, while his opponent's arm was cut off and his head was bowed down as if he awaited death. And the crowd screamed and screamend. Death, Death, Death, Death, Death.

It rang in your ears, you didn't want to make this decision. But the moment you faced the Emperor, just as you opened your mouth, Geta simply bowed his thumb down - Death.

And the sword went down. Death.

The head dropped in the sand followed by the body, the cheers errupted in the arena, screaming the name of the victorious Gladiator. But you just stared into the nothingness that was in front of you, while you bit your tongue to the point of pain. "Don't pain yourself about this, my dear. There was only one answer anyways," Geta said while he suddenly reached out for your hand and kissed your knuckles, before he took his glass of wine. You didn't move, you couldn't.

Caracalla stared at this scenery and his fingers were shaking as his eyes darkened. The intense urge came up his mind: To simply take his brother and throw him from this box into the pit, his neck breaking from the impact. Those thoughts sometimes came and went, but they got more intense every time he saw Geta interacting with you. And this interaction hit a new high point in him that was only interruped by your form the moment you stood up.

"My Emperors, it was a pleasure to join you, but i need to leave now...", you said in a tone that tried so hard to be polite and not carry any emotion, before you turned your back and quickly stepped out of the imperial arena box, followed by your father General Acacius, who bowed and excused himself in an equally neutral tone.

Both Geta and Caracalla watched them leaving, before the taller one of the twins took a deep sip of his wine. "She'll learn to love it sooner or later."

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@barcelonaloverf1life @naysha140 @shinnerslighttt @mmkkzz @ange-olras @earfq0ake @honey-eyed-munson @koshkahhh

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If you liked my fic, please feel free to like, reblog and leave a comment. I am always happy to hear your thoughts <3

#gladiator 2 #gladiator ii #emperor caracalla #emperor geta #general acacius #geta x reader #caracalla x reader #joseph quinn #pedro pascal #fred hechinger #gladiator ii fic #kabuki writes

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boreal-sea · 6 months ago

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After the 2016 election I was frustrated and exhausted and deeply, deeply sad. I literally cried. The four years that followed were extremely stressful. But, notably, I didn’t hate the people who chose not to vote for Clinton. I’d been in their shoes in 2004, after all. And Trump was technically an unknown - we didn’t know for SURE how bad his presidency would be.

We know now.

Now, if you are a leftist who intentionally didn’t vote for Harris, I genuinely hate you. I hate you as a person who was willing to throw my safety under a fucking bus. I hate you for being sexist, homophobic, ableist, transphobic, xenophobic, racist, Islamophobic, antisemitic, etc.

You chose fascism. You knew what was at stake, and you intentionally let the fascist win.

I hate you more than I hate the people who voted for Trump. At least they’re honest. At least they admit to themselves they hate women, and Mexicans, and queer people. But you, the lazy leftist, you can’t admit you’re a bigot.

Any action or non-action that you took that resulted in Trump being elected means you consented to that outcome.

There are MULTIPLE news articles and political analysis talking about the fact that the Democratic Party will move right as a result of this loss. Of course they will. The people who bothered to vote chose Trump. He’s as far right as you can get. The people who didn’t vote obviously didn’t care about the outcome, and thus do not matter. The Democrats will not try to win back your vote - they will just move right. They will try to win the votes of right-wing “moderates”. Leftism is clearly not what this country wanted.

So fuck you. Fuck you. I hate you. You are worse than Trump and his voters. You’re a lazy, entitled bigot, and I hope the next four years destroy your fucking life. Maybe you’ll fucking listen four years from now - if we’re allowed to vote in a free election ever again in this country. To quote Trump, your hero:

“You’ll never have to vote again”.

#uspol

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kleptokure · 16 days ago

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Sensitive Soul Jams ‪‪❤︎‬

Burning Spice Cookie, Mystic Flour Cookie, and Shadow Milk Cookie x GN!Reader (separate)

(a bit suggestive !) (inspo from this post, by my lovely mootie ᡣ𐭩 )

-` ᰔ ´-

Burning Spice Cookie ⟢

The day was progressing as it always does. The heat blazes down from above, and the scent of spice wafts through the strong breeze. The Tribe of Wild Spices seems to have everything under control since the capturing of Kulfi is showing positive signs.

There was not much that their lord needed to step in for. Golden Cheese Cookie was captured, and he would receive the remainder of his Soul Jam in due time. It would appear the afternoon could not get much more grand.

Although he craves havoc, Burning Spice Cookie settled for an activity less disastrous: a playful brawl between him and his lover.

It never fails to be a joy when roughhousing with you. The outcome of the battle can only be anticipated. Either he wins due to his pure strength, or you do by catching him off guard with your quick wits. Regardless, he will revel in the result. A fight that is not so dull is rare for him, so he appreciates your liveliness.

Nearing the canyon close to his temple, the two of you commenced a battle. Burning Spice Cookie charges at you with his weapon in hand and a large grin plastered on his face. You dodge him by a smidge, your arm brushing against him in the process.

Burning Spice Cookie's smile falters, and his movements come to a slow, giving you an opportunity to strike. Yet you do not, due to noticing the change in his behavior. It is not the most common to see him with a poker face, causing you to rethink the prior moments.

You did not attack him; rather, you had some momentary contact. With his Soul Jam, to be specific. It was quite brief, but you find there to be no other reason for his slight stillness. It is obvious his desire for battle remains, so it would be silly to think otherwise. Testing the matter once more would be the sole way to find out.

Your chances are cut short when his normal behavior returns, a chuckle emitting from his way as he dashes at you another time. Burning Spice Cookie has you pushed against one of the pillars supporting his temple, his parashu near your neck to trap you.

While it seems the position plays out in his favor, his actions also give you a chance to strike up your new objective. Burning Spice Cookie inches closer, his face nearing yours. He can sense the taste of sweet victory already. All of a sudden, his attention is rerouted, and his grin falls flat out of surprise.

The Beast of Destruction detects a soft touch landing on his Soul Jam, a certain hand gliding across the edges of the crimson triangle. The feeling is new to him, and he does not know how to welcome it. The sensation causes a sheet of warmth to fall over him, as if he were an animal going through mounds of petting.

Quickly, he jumps back, putting a distance between you two. Burning Spice Cookie narrows his eyes, looking your way. He can spot the smugness across your face. It is clear you know what you did, and he will get you back for it. Though his mind still lingers on the topic. Why did he feel so weak in that moment?

"What's wrong? You almost had me there," you taunted, snapping him out of his thoughts. For once, Burning Spice Cookie does not have a response. He himself finds the situation to be odd, but he is aware it has to deal with some part of his Soul Jam. Surely he did not grow a flaw, he believes. That would be absurd.

"I will not allow you to crumble so soon," he excused, covering up the truth that you both know. This time, your lover is hesitant to come forth, as he has acknowledged the slight inferiority he gained. Instead, he watches as you dash towards him. Even so, you do not aim for an attack, and Burning Spice Cookie notices. It should be pretty clear on what you plan to hit.

The beast dodges, sliding to the right. You follow right after, causing him to elude you once more. Although he swerves your strikes, your lover finds the circumstances to be hilarious. It is surprising you managed to cause a challenge for him, making him all the more excited. Unfortunately, his excitement led him to a predicament.

While Burning Spice Cookie is fast, you were able to catch up by the slightest inch. He experiences the smallest touch of your palm near his Soul Jam and has to resist himself from going still. He does not know when or why he's gotten so sensitive.

By now, he had decided to stop his evasion. He is the Great Destroyer, a name you whisper with fear. Why is he running from another? It does not matter if that other may be his lover; he should stand his ground.

Burning Spice Cookie stops, and to his surprise, you do as well. Did you grow tired of teasing him? He hopes so, but at the same time, he wishes for more of this little game.

His eyes are trained on you, growing nearer to him with each slow step you take. You stand a breath away from your beloved's face, and your hand rises closer to the Light of Destruction. This time, he will allow you to do such. It would be better for him to find out more about the pestering feeling rather than resorting to negligence.

The moment your palm touches his Soul Jam, Burning Spice Cookie releases a breath. Without words, you press your hand firmly against the shiny red shape. The receiver of your touch feels as if his mind will go to mush. He may have been sweating earlier due to your spar, but now he sweats for a different reason.

Your hand feels so warm, tracing the edges of the triangle engraved to your lover. Burning Spice Cookie wonders if his Soul Jam had always been so delicate. It's rare for a cookie to grow so close to him, so he would have never guessed.

Looking upwards, you lock eyes with him. You have yet to lay your eyes on such an expression. His brows are furrowed, and his constant smile lowered into a shaky frown, like he gained no enjoyment from this. You can hear the uneven breaths that emit from the beast. How funny it is to see him experiencing new emotions.

Burning Spice Cookie raises his hand, which now wraps around your wrist. You assumed he could take no more stimulation; however, he keeps your hand in its placement. The beast grits his teeth at his own actions, refraining from letting any noises escape him. He could already feel a rumble in the back of his throat, and he did not wish for further sounds to come up.

Just to make matters worse for the unsteady cookie, you position yourself lower, now face-to-face with the object of his power. Burning Spice Cookie foresees your next move, and he cannot come to deny it.

Your lips press against the smooth gem, a soft kiss taking place as your final blow. It is nothing short of effective. The cookie with spice carved into his dough, the cookie who spends perpetual time under the blaring heat, feels like he has managed to melt into jam, all because of a small kiss. He had to gulp down the drool he built up, or else he'd create a mess.

You do not plan to end your attacks here. Burning Spice Cookie is fierce until the end when he indulges in your shared spars; it would only be fair to reciprocate.

Pressing your hand to his Soul Jam, you make sure to be firm with your movement. A consistent, pestering rub for him to endure. His grip on his weapon grows weaker, but he refuses to drop it. He feels as if doing such would be a sign of weakness and has not lost this battle yet.

His eyes appear to stare back at yours, yet you get the sense he stares through you. Something must be stuck in that pretty head of his. Too bad you do not know what.

Your hand rubs the borders of his Soul Jam, which seems to be to his liking. You are close enough to hear the whirr springing from your lover, despite the tough front he has on. Just a bit more, and your victory is guaranteed.

Burning Spice Cookie decided to stop fighting against the feeling you give. Leaning into your touch, he strengthens the charge that shoots through him. He has endure many hot subjects, but he does not recall a heat such as this.

You believe your lover's headspace is nothing more than a white space. Burning Spice is entirely zoned out, and you even led him to purr. Although he might not declare it, you have won without a doubt.

With the beast weakened, you lift your hands, cupping your lover's face. As adorable as he is right now, you would like to point out another detail.

"I win," you stated, and Burning Spice Cookie cannot muster up words to say anything against your declaration. If he were not at a loss for speech, he would surely say you cheated. You cannot just abuse the power you hold over him! But, oh well, you did. Besides, he does not appear so displeased over that fact.

Of course, now you are obligated to take care of Burning Spice Cookie until he regains his right state of mind. This is all because of you, anyway. You won't leave your lover hanging, will you?

Mystic Flour Cookie 𖢻

The wind blows a harsh gust after another, a certain flour gusting through the wind. A cookie would think to flee, giving themselves an attempt to escape the pale ailment. It would be useless in the end, but it is amusing to watch them try. For you, the weather is one to take a breath in. There's nothing like the flour fog to stand amidst each day.

Of course, spending the morning with your beloved improves the dawn by a long shot. Mystic Flour Cookie is a lady of grace, and you will always be grateful to have been blessed with the sight of her every day. The cookies that dared to take your lover for granted in her past are nothing more than doughbrains.

You tend to go the extra mile with your care, slowly erasing the misery in her memories during the process. For once, the apathetic cookie could admit she feels appreciated. You must be a gift from the Witches; an apology for her suffering. If so, she has accepted the present with open arms.

Despite how emotionless Mystic Flour Cookie may appear, she makes sure to return your endearment in her actions so you'll never feel mistreated. Many call you a terrible duo due to the anguish you both cause, but all cookies return to flour at some point. Those who think otherwise are doughbrains too.

Nonetheless, even those who are opposed cannot come in the way of your wonderful relationship. The moment as of right now proves how pleasing your connection with Mystic Flour Cookie can grow.

Underneath a dumpling tree, the beast rests in a sitting position. The shade the tree provides offers a nice area to relax. You have your head laid in her lap, a common place to spot yourself in.

Mystic Flour Cookie tends to meditate elsewhere, a location at the top of many stairs, but this time, she decided to take a more scenic route. After the two of you decided to take a simple stroll at sunrise, you arrived where you both are now.

The beast has her hands caressing your face. One brushes against the side of your face, and the other lifts your hair away from your expression, which gives herself a lovelier sight of your features. Her touch is soothing, and her hands are soft when in contact with your dough. Sleep could come easy under situations like this. Yet, a sudden thought appears, keeping you awake. You feel the need to share your ideas with your lover.

"Mystic Flour Cookie," you called out in a low tone. Her motions stop, a signal that you have her full attention.

"Would you mind if we switched places?" With your question out, you wait for her response. As always, she keeps her silence, but you can notice the mental debate ongoing within her head. It does not take long before you receive your answer.

"Very well," your dearest replies. Mystic Flour Cookie does not mind being on the receiving end of gentle touches. After all, she is the main one to give them to both you and her pet haetae. She is sure the change of positions would not be distressing, especially since they shall come from her beloved.

With confirmation presented, you sit up to remove yourself from the comfort of the Beast's lap. The two of you shift until perfection, and now Mystic Flour Cookie has her head placed on your lap. Her veil nearly falls off, but she would not care much if it did anyway.

She appears so divine that any cookie would be jealous that they are not the ones this close. You cannot help but reach forward, your hand taking place on her cheek. Your palm brings warmth to her usually cool dough, and Mystic Flour Cookie leans the slightest bit closer.

Soon after, you fiddle with her hair, combing your hands through the pasty icing, which felt like silk due to how well it was cared for. You can simply hope your dearest experiences the same feelings she gives you.

The beast of apathy would admit that she does feel at ease, so much so that she believes a nap would be in order, even though sleep is not a requirement. It would not be the first time she rested near you, so it would fail to be a problem.

She perceives one touch, belonging to you, idly rubbing the side of her face. The other hand runs through her hair while also being careful not to cause any strands to stick out. A soft sigh makes its way from her lips. She deems the gentle combing more enjoyable. This should happen much more, she believes. Was this the bliss she has been gifting to the guardian of her temple this entire time?

Alas, she felt your hand remove from petting her any longer. Then, your touch begins to trail further up. Mystic Flour Cookie assumed you would undo her bun, to which she would not be opposed, but her expectations fall flat. In reality, your next act is far more alarming.

Your next placement lies onto the light of Mystic Flour Cookie's power, her Soul Jam. Her face twitches for a slight second, which skips past your notice. Even though the weight of your hand was so delicate, her head endures a flicker of going faint. Conditions worsen for the pale beast when you begin to stroke the rhombus-like shape.

She feels strange. Overly so, as if you were embracing her into one of your sweet hugs, but this time around, the tenderness comes stronger. She was unaware that her Soul Jam could bring these sorts of emotions. It is not common for a cookie to get this close to her for such to be known.

At first, Mystic Flour Cookie believes the sense is one to come and go. She would not say she minds it. In fact, the beast nudges into the sensation you have unknowingly offered. Extra affection that stems from you will never fail to be savored on her end.

Though the truth soon brings itself forward. The buzz refuses to dim down; rather, it grows more prominent. It seems it was accompanied by a stronger warmth as well. All the while, your interest in her Soul Jam remains, along with your constant rubs.

Now, Mystic Flour Cookie notices how the heat of her jam feels as if it is increasing. Perhaps comparing this to a mere hug was the wrong choice, as your touch lures out different reactions. Though it is not exactly shown on your lover's face. She still looks graceful, per usual, and you are too concerned with the pale shape to notice her speed in breathing escalating.

While this may appear as a problem for the beast, she makes no attempt to point it out. Pain is not imposed upon her, so there really is no reason to bring this to your attention, she thinks. After all, she has said every inch of your love is to be relished. Mystic Flour is not one prone to changing opinions.

Your hand brushes over the point of her gem, and she releases a shaky breath. No matter your delicate manners, she shudders at each movement, a small tremble in her hands.

"Is something the matter, Mystic Flour Cookie?" Your inquiry catches her off guard, and her eyes open partially. You were bound to notice her unusual behavior eventually, which was unfortunate for her.

"...No," she lied. After realizing her own peculiar gestures, Mystic Flour feels foolish. It is strange for her to act so inappropriately, in her own words. But can she truly hold herself liable? Love did not exist much in her reality, as she believed it would be futile in the end. She becomes greedy when it is given. You know this, don’t you? You surely would not mind. As her lover, of course.

Although she noticed the suspicion laced in your expression, you continued with your curiosity, and your hand placed onto her Soul Jam once more. She hums when you do so. A stronger sound rests on the tip of her tongue, but she refuses to let it be heard.

With the light hue of her dough, she is sure her cheeks are noticeably flushed. She is unable to prevent much of that, as the heat from your contact is much stronger. She rests in a cooler region, so encountering a warmth as this nearly brings her to overheat. You can only point fingers at yourself if she were to diminish to crumbs.

She would not mind, though. Mystic Flour Cookie accepts the truth of her turning into flour, too. If it were to be from your hand, then her bliss would only grow stronger. In her perspective, that appears like a preferable way of crumbling.

Just carry on with what you do. Get used to it along the way. She foresees herself asking for another headpat quite soon. As her partner, you would be delighted to, wouldn't you?

Shadow Milk Cookie 🂱

Swaying side to side, you rest upon a grand chair placed in front of an extravagant show, which was orchestrated by none other than Shadow Milk Cookie, your cherished one.

It is nothing short of a routine, observing the beast commence yet another of his countless performances. All the same, you view each one with fondness. For you, it comes as hard to feel disinterested when he organizes each presentation so meticulously, and it is all intended just for you.

You look ahead, watching the small cut-out of a certain Soul Jam thief grow puny under the sights of his superior enemy. It is always amusing to watch some simple foreshadowing. Clapping your hands, you prompt your host to continue with your sign of approval.

There are a few acts that include this specific scenario. In this particular plot, the ending contains the lovely crumbling of the thief. What more could a cookie ask for? That was a grandiose display.

"Bravo!" You applauded once more, watching as your entertainer bowed down in a show of his gratitude. Roses get thrown to Shadow Milk's stage, not from any definite cookie.

"Thank you, thank you!" He sends his kisses to the false audience. Somehow, they are all sent your way. What a silly accident. Nonetheless, you catch each one.

Shadow Milk Cookie hops off of the platform, floating his way towards you at an eager pace. You hold out your hands, awaiting his own to receive them. Throwing his staff to the side, the deceiver believes your grasp is more significant than a measly stick.

His hands cup yours, pulling himself closer to shorten the distance much too large for his taste. The ill-famed eyes he possesses stare lovingly into yours.

"I refuse to leave such a dazzling host empty-handed. Surely, you require something in return?" You jest, a proper tone held in your speech. Your lover refrains from giggling. He decides to play along with your proper front.

"Oooh, but I could never! Your presence is more than enough," he protested, but that answer fails to satisfy you. Shadow Milk does plenty for your sole benefit. Would it bring him to crumbs just to ask for repayment?

Perhaps you may be lesser in reality, but that means little. You are certain your affection brings him more joy than meets the eye. All you can do is be left to wonder how starved the jester is if affection is all it takes to reimburse him. Nonetheless, that need of his is being met now.

"I believe a dance is in order." Your hands hold a firmer grip as they grasp onto his. Starting up a slow waltz, you coax the deceiver into a dance laced with the genuine adoration you retain for him.

"Well..." He drags on, which would leave you in a brewing suspense, yet that falls short when a soft tune falls upon your hearing. You can assume his answer when a floating gramophone appears out of the blue.

"Since ya asked so nicely, I suppose I can spare a minute or two." You managed to woo your notorious lover once more, an expected outcome. Placing your hands onto his waist, you feel Shadow Milk's arms slide around your neck, ensuring a formal stance. The moonlight peeks through a window, spreading a blue light across the space. The moment feels straight out of one of the many fairy tales Shadow Milk has told.

You move in sync with your partner, eyes heavily trained on one another. He does not blink, you notice. That would probably unsettle any other cookie, but you tend to welcome his odd habits, so nothing much is different.

The dance goes along smoothly, with movements careful and following the pattern of the music. However, the usual bores Shadow Milk Cookie, so he finds it hard to stay within those borders. All of a sudden, a foot steps on yours, causing you to stumble over your planned choreography.

Not to worry, as your trickster here catches you before you could get the chance to fall over. Don't point your fingers at him; it was merely a misplaced maneuver on his end. Though it is hard to believe such when you are aware of how skilled the cookie is when it comes to waltzing around.

"Woopsie!" Not an exact apology, yet you do not plan to scold him or say much else for that matter. With the gramophone's classical music coming to a halt, you believe there should be a closing for your dance that is just as suitable.

You stand upright, having rebounded from your unintended tumble. The soft melody arrives at its stop, and you both stand in your places. Your touch lingers on his satin clothing. The pleasant silence floats by, as Shadow Milk's broad smile gives you the hint that he is beyond delighted to participate in your waltz.

Approaching your beloved's face, you intend to get rid of the gap between you. While the beast would find rejecting your kiss humorous, he cannot deny himself wanting to lean in as well. He does so, closing his eyes in like manner and awaiting the intimacy he craves.

In an instant, his multicolored eyes open at the same moment. His attention is brought to an abrupt case: your lips are pressed to his Soul Jam. That differs much from the mark he had foreseen you gracing your touch with. Your impromptu deed brought out conflicting passions, too.

Your kiss was no simple peck. You ensured a lengthier smooch was made against the Light of Deceit. The extended action allowed more feelings to be processed on his end. It was amusing, you thought, until you raised your sights on your lover's incredulous face. His expression lacked any theatrical essence. Had your joke landed the wrong way?

"Shadow Milk Cookie?" Whispering his name, you are patient for his reaction. While his stare does return to gazing into your own, the deceiver's response is absent. Though, you caught view of the deeper shade of blue swirling on his cheeks. It appears you had flustered the beast in a way untold.

"I didn't know you were ticklish," you teased, your smile curving upwards, while Shadow Milk's lips did the opposite. Being blindsided to the truth goes heavily disliked by him. He was unaware his Soul Jam was so... delicate. You cannot trick the trickster! At least, not in any books he has read. Shadow Milk Cookie may be the slightest bit annoyed, but he could not deny the warm thrill that shot through his body.

Shadow Milk Cookie's feelings resemble a volatile batch of blueberries. One is a bit too sour, making his hair flow around with a mind of its own, and one is just right, sending a pleasant tingle on his tongue. Please, give him another kiss for him to grasp whatever it is he truly feels. It would bring him to crumbs if you denied. The Light of Knowledge still resides within him somewhere.

You seemed eager to deliver, placing a peck onto the slit that is carved into his Soul Jam. Even though your affection was quick to leave, Shadow Milk Cookie giggles on this go-around. He believes he understands now. Some excitement never hurt any cookie. If that is what his new discovery brings, so be it.

Shadow Milk Cookie will allow you to hold this one power over him. If it makes you feel superior, then go right ahead. He is sure your peck is simply tickling him, or something along those lines.

Since your lover does not seem opposed to your actions, you follow your impulse: peppering the pretty shape in more kisses. Once again, you lead a row of chuckles from the cookie that others somehow fear. A hand on your shoulder, Shadow Milk Cookie keeps you in place, tempting you to continue.

Then, Shadow Milk Cookie's laughing grows breathier, almost forming into a soft pant. An overdose of delight hits him in the face. His grasp on you tightens, as opposed to pushing you away. Now digging into your shoulder, his grip serves as a quiet reminder to keep himself composed. He did not expect his outlook to be wrong.

Perhaps the rush he's receiving is a bit much, coming out of nowhere, but he gives no care for that. The jester has never felt such an exhilaration before, and he can't help but want more—to explore the strange pulse you present him with. His eyes dilate due to both excitement and realization. Looks like the power you hold over him is stronger than he assumed.

He can not believe you still persist with your torrents of love. Though his gratitude lies underneath. The amusement you bestow is far too grand to be discarded without delay. So grand that you pressured his mind to blankness, his thoughts blurry as he puts all of his focus on your sole touch.

For once, Shadow Milk Cookie truly believes he will faint. Even though all of his rational urges tell him to stop feeding into this passion of his, he continues. He would rather chase the depths of overstimulation, and he would do so without remorse. Embarrassment was merely sprinkled into his dough.

Unfortunately, the pleasure he seeks was snatched from him. The distance grows when you reposition yourself, backing away from the fervid man. If it weren't for your arms glued around Shadow Milk Cookie, he would have slumped on the cold floor amidst the large, quiet room.

With his head leaned back, he huffs, descending from the high you had brought him to. Though it was shaky, a smile remained etched across his face. The aftermath leaves a buzz residing across himself. Your lover jolts at random intervals, as if lightning struck him with mere gratification.

Shadow Milk Cookie looks your way, attempting to gauge your reaction through his blurred vision. Surely, all of his panting was audible. It would be silly to consider you did not know the measures of your actions.

He spots a smile of innocence iced on your face, but a flicker of mockery darkens your eyes, revealing your real ambitions. Shadow Milk Cookie can not come to say he dislikes your expression. In reality, he was never aware of how intoxicating it is to be inferior for once. He would not be against this as a pastime. Or an all the time.

His stare focuses once you begin to move. Unexpectedly, you approach his brooch anew. Shadow Milk Cookie was always one for surprises, so he would not mind another round of his brain turning to dough.

In the mere second of your breath hitting his Soul Jam, his trembling harshens. Even so, he tilts your way to quicken the process. Shadow Milk Cookie believed he would grow accustomed to your onslaughts of kisses, but he could not prepare for your next deed.

Your tongue glides inside of the slit that marks his Soul Jam, coating the crevice with your saliva. That marks the moment you break Shadow Milk Cookie, who releases a high-pitched mewl in response. His quivering will never come to an end at this point. He was left with a shred of sanity before, but now? You have taken his stability and his dignity.

There is only so much the jester can handle. Shadow Milk Cookie goes limp in your arms. He fainted from the pure elation, one he had not even experienced in his earlier days. Maybe now he will stop inferring things about you. It rarely ends well.

At the moment, you have an extremely vulnerable beast in your arms. The power you hold is immeasurable, literally. Yet you would rather his minions not take sights on him. It is not the worst option to keep him to yourself for the time being.

You will be right by his side when he wakes—only to tease him for the way he behaved. And probably go about it again.

-` ᰔ ´-

#burning spice x reader #burning spice cookie #mystic flour x reader #mystic flour cookie #shadow milk cookie x reader #shadow milk cookie #crk x reader #gn reader #cr kingdom #crk #cookie run #cookie run kingdom #x reader

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byeoltoyuki · 4 months ago

Text

DENIAL

↳ Pairing: San x reader

❧ Genre: enemies to lovers, enemies with benefits, fluff

❧ Words: +6k

❧ Warnings: blowjob, unprotected sex, pussy slapping, mention of orgasm denial and spanking and being tied.

❧Summary : You swore it was a one-time thing. Get him out of your system and never see him again. If only it was that simple.

❧ A/N: Surprise! I’m not dead! I’ve been barely active on tumblr for the past few months but I never stopped wishing to have time to write some more. Hope you enjoy it as much as I did while writing. Comments are always appreciated ♥

“It’s the last time.” You swore against San’s lips, biting angrily, pushing him against the nearest wall, tearing his shirt off, as if it was entirely his fault. When really, it was mainly yours.

This thing, whatever it was, between the two of you, was supposed to be a one-time thing. You were supposed to get him out of your system, maybe also prove that he wasn’t worth your time, and preferably ignore his existence for the rest of your life. So how the hell did a one-time thing turned into two, then three, then ten?

Simple.

San was a walking sin. Handsome (sadly) face with a sharp jaw. Pretty eyes, pretty smile and devastatingly cute dimples. And his body. You shuddered just at the mere thought. Strong muscles that could crush you if he wanted to. Strong hands that often find its ways either around your throat or on your ass.

To sum up, San was a temptation you couldn’t ignore no matter how hard you tried.

“I believe you said the same thing the last two times.” He reminded you, a smug grin on his face. Oh how much you wished you could wipe this grin from his face – but you couldn’t. San held power over you. He knew exactly what to say, where to kiss, where to touch to turn you into an addicted mess, begging for more. Always making sure you would crawl back to him.

There had to be something wrong with you. There was no other explanation.

Annoyed with yourself and a little with him, you shut him up with another kiss, trying to win at least one battle – the only one you stood a chance. There was nothing sweet about the way you kissed. No, you poured both all your resentment and need into the kiss. You pressed yourself harder against him, pulling at his hair which made him chuckle against your lips, completely unfazed with your annoyance.

“Nice attempt, kitten.” San cooed at you, his hands slowly sliding down your body, stopping at your butt. He gave it a strong squeeze that made you bite on your lips to prevent a moan to escape. “But we both know I win again.”

You were dying to protest, to prove him wrong. But it would be lying. Because ever since you met, he kept winning against you.

Six months ago

The bar was crowded and loud. So many people had gathered there for different reasons in the middle of the week. You and your friend were one of them. It was supposed to be a good night. A night to celebrate another victory of yours, another success. And yet, you were far from celebrating. Quite the opposite.

You emptied your glass in one go and groaned. “I can’t believe she chose this Choi’s design.” You complained, still baffled that you had failed. You were one of the best in your field and you had spent endless hours working to satisfy a potential client. You were so confident in your design, convinced your client would adore the outcome. And she did. She did admit it. It was a tough decision and yet, you lost to a guy you had never met or heard before and it irked you to no end, hurt in your ego.

“As much as it pains me to admit, he’s good.” Yeji said and winced instantly as you gave her the stinky eye. She held up her hands in defense. “Don’t look at me like that. I warned you he’s good, you choose not to listen.”

Yes, you made a terrible mistake and you were perfectly aware of it. It wasn’t in your habits to underestimate an opponent whether it was their first time or not, but lost in your own little world, you did exactly that and now were paying the price.

“Fuck.” You buried your face in your hands. It wasn’t the end of your world and definitely not of your career but it still stung.

“Come on, I don’t think it’s a bad thing.” Yeji began, “This project would have taken a lot of your free time. Now you can concentrate on something else.”

“Guess so.” You agreed. “I’m gonna get another drink.” But before you could do that, a commotion behind you attracted your attention as a group of men entered the bar. You didn’t intend to stare (and you were definitely not the only one staring right now) but it was impossible not to. The four of them looked incredibly handsome in their suits and had a powerful aura around them.

Well shit. Your eyes followed them as they went for the only empty table in the back of the bar. You eyed them, one by one, your gaze stopping at the tallest of the group. You watched him, unable to take your eyes off him, as he took off his jacket and slowly rolled the sleeves of his white shirt, exposing strong and veiny arms.

Yeji coughed beside you, trying to attract your attention to no avail. For a short moment you felt like in a movie; the moment where everything and everyone stopped existing except for you and this stranger. It was a ridiculous reaction, you thought later, but there was something about him that had you completely bewitched. Maybe you had a kink for men in suits and you weren’t aware of it. Or maybe it was his aura along with the nice smile.

“YN,” Yeji’s voice sounded so far away despite her being so close. “You should probably stop looking.” She quickly added, sounding a little nervous which should have been a warning but you barely registered her words.

He, sensing probably your eyes on him, looked your way. He stared back, his gaze so intense you gulped. But then, he smiled, showing his cute dimples and you swore your heart missed a beat. Yeah, you somehow ended in a movie.

“You’re drooling.” Yeji mocked.

That got your attention and you quickly looked away. “I am not.”

Yeji burst into laughter. “That got your attention huh.” But quickly sobered as she glanced at the man who was still staring at you, curiously. “Just so you know, this man is Choi San.”

You were grateful your hands were empty because you would have dropped your glass. “What?” You looked back, eyes wide. This beautiful stranger, the man that made your heart skipped a beat couldn’t be the man who won against you. No way. You refused to believe your friend.

Until the said man winked your way, his smile turning into a knowing smirking as if he knew exactly what Yeji had told you. As if he knew, you just found out his identity and were not happy about it.

Fuck my life.

Back to present

San grabbed your hips and in a blink of an eye you found yourself crushed against the wall. He pressed his body hard against yours, letting you feel all of him. Letting you feel just how badly he was also craving you. You couldn’t help but arch and moan as you felt his hardness against you. He pushed his leg between your knees and forced them apart. Your body moved on its own, you grinded shamelessly against his thigh, trying to ease the ache between your legs.

He tsked. “So needy.” And yet he didn’t stop you. “So beautiful, love.” San dragged his lips from your lips, to your jaw, to your throat, leaving no inch of flesh untouched. “So responsive.” Biting, licking, marking you. No matter how many times you told him not to mark you, he still did as if he wanted the whole world to know exactly who you belonged to. As if he wanted to make sure you wouldn’t forget that no matter how much you tried to escape him, there was no way out.

Your whole body thrummed with need, with desire. You believed you could die if he didn’t touch you. It should be illegal to feel so much need for someone.

“Tell me, love. What do you want?” He asked as he bit on your tender flesh.

Desperate and on fire as you were, you were ready to accept anything he was willing to give. “Anything.”

He chuckled against your skin. “My lips?” And he sucked a spot. “My tongue?” And he licked. “My fingers?” You felt him slip his fingers right under your dress, toying with your flesh. “Mmmmh, no panties tonight, love? You knew how it would end.” For someone who behaved as if San was the bane of your existence, you certainly came prepared for this to happen. Hoping he would bring you to his place and ruin you.

“Please, please, please.” You begged, half delirious with need. His fingers were so close to your aching pussy. You just couldn’t wait any longer.

“Use your mouth, love.” He advised you. “You usually have no problem with using this pretty mouth of yours. Especially to tell me how much you hate me.” He pressed the palm of his hand to your cunt and hummed in satisfaction. “And yet look at you. So desperate.” And he slapped your pussy.

You arched your back as a loud moan escaped your lips. It was not enough. You couldn’t take it. “Just fuck me. Please.”

San hiked your legs around his waist, his grip on you strong, bruising, possessive. You loved every second of it. You buried your head into his neck, biting, leaving marks in return. For once, it wouldn’t be just scratches on his back that you would leave.

Holding you with one hand, he took out his cock with the other and nudged against your pussy. Despite his own need and wish to ravish you and make you scream his name, he couldn’t help but tease you.

You whined in response. “Bloody hell, San.”

“Admit that you don’t hate me and I’ll give it to you.” He challenged you.

And you couldn’t believe he would ask something like that. You could talk about your hatred (or lack of it) any other time but no, he chose this moment. The urge to kick him was strong but San pushed the tip of his hot and hard cock inside you and you lost the wish to fight right away.

Fuck it. You needed him to fill you up more. “I don’t hate you.”

The smile he gave you unsettled you. His smile was genuine and so happy, you forgot how to breath. But before you could dwell on it, San buried himself to the hilt.

“Fuck!” You threw your head back.

This.

Him inside you, hard and warm. So incredibly full. You just couldn’t get enough of it.

“Fuck.” He cursed under his breath. He was trying hard to control himself and not just pound into you. He wanted to tease you more, to watch you fall apart around his cock. But then, you clenched around him and he growled. “Don’t do that.” It came out more desperate than he intended, exposing just how affected he was. He could play the powerful man all he wanted, but once inside you, there was little control left.

“Fuck me, please.”

San closed his eyes and took a deep breath before, finally, unleashing the beast. His grip on your thighs tightened to the point, you knew it would leave marks later, and did not care. He fucked you against the wall, his every thrusts powerful, going deeper and deeper. Your nails dug into his shoulders, holding for your dear life as whimpers escaped your parted lips.

You took everything he gave you, mewling, arching, begging for more. “Please, don’t stop.” It was still not enough. You didn’t comprehend why you needed so much more from him, but there was no reasoning. Not when your whole body sang in response to his cock.

“No chance.” He reassured you with another sharp thrust. “This,” and another strong one. “is mine, kitten.” And he growled louder, his pace not slowing down. In fact, it turned harder. Punishing.

And it felt divine. Every inch of him just made you feel so alive. There was no stopping. Every stroke of his cock brought you closer to the edge. Your mind blanked. You could barely breath. Your body trembling. And you still wanted more. More pleasure. More of him.

And he could tell. “Come for me, love.”

How could you not obey when his voice sounded so sweet? So full with something you almost believed to be love. Electricity shot through your body and you cried out his name. Tears leaked from the corner of your eyes as your orgasm hit you in waves.

San fucked you through your orgasm, seeking his own release. San’s thrusts grew sloppier. He hissed between his teeth and finally he came with a deep groan. He pressed his forehead against yours.

None of you spoke. The only sound in the room was your pants and probably the roars of your hearts.

“I’m never letting you go.” He promised.

***

You woke up in the middle of the night, feeling all hot and squeezed tightly. It took you a moment to realize where you were and who was lying half on top of you. You weren’t supposed to be sleeping in his bed. In fact, you were supposed to be back at your place, in your bed. But you were drained after your late-night activity.

One round turned into two than three. You couldn’t have enough of him and San obliged. He fucked you in his bed, hands tied behind your back, at his mercy, ass red with all the spanking (who cared if you wouldn’t be able to sit straight for a day or two). He fucked you again in the shower because you couldn’t be a nice girl and keep your hands to yourself when he tried to clean you.

Get the hell out of here! A little, panicked voice ordered you. But as if sensing your attempt at fleeing, San’s grip on your body tightened to the point you couldn’t move your limbs at all. Even in his sleep, he was aware of your intentions. Even in his sleep, he wanted to keep you close and safe in his arms.

You tried a few times but failed every single time. Resigned, you turned in his arms so you could face his sleeping form. San looked so relaxed, his face so soft and the little pout unleashed the butterflies in the stomach.

Shit. I’m in trouble. Big trouble.

You didn’t want to feel so much for this man, but with every passing day it became harder and harder. Obviously, sex was great and addicting, but it wasn’t the only thing that made you come back for more.

Three months ago,

You sighed and cursed yourself for the hundredth time tonight.

They say ‘beauty requires sacrifice’ – you agreed but hated it nevertheless. Nothing was better than comfortable clothes. But tonight, and every time you had a party where you could spot potential clients, you did your best. And tonight, you looked particularly good. You had outdone yourself, whether it was with your dress or your shoes or your makeup. Everything was perfect. Not that you had any ulterior motives. No men you were trying to seduce. And especially not the diabolically handsome one who, and it hurt to admit, chose not to come tonight. It was unusual. San attended the same parties you did which made avoiding him quite difficult and not end in his bed even harder.

You shook your head. “Stop thinking about this asshole.” You scolded yourself and slowly walked towards the balcony, hoping it would be empty and you could take your shoes off for a moment. Heels were great, it made you look hot, but it was a pain in your ass. You regretted them a lot.

You met few people from the party on your way to the balcony; some were too lost in their conversation, some seemed to be lost in a seduction game and some smiled at you. You tried your best to ignore the pain and smile back.

But finally, you reached your destination. You sighed loudly in relief as you found the balcony empty. Just perfect. You leaned against the railing and slowly reached your feet and started rubbing. It soothed you but only for a moment. The wish to just take them off was strong but you couldn’t possibly walk back bare feet.

“What a sight.” A very familiar voice echoed not very far from you.

All your pain vanished instantly as you raised your head and found San leaning against the doorframe, watching you intensely. Your heart leaped in joy at the sight of him which should have appalled you but right in this moment, you barely cared. He looked dashing in his white cream suit. He could be a model and you wouldn’t be surprised.

San eyed you from head to toe, slowly, making sure to memorize the sight in front of him. “I’m surprised no men tried to approach you. You’re gorgeous, love.”

You weren’t waiting for someone’s approval, but his words along with the hunger in his eyes, pleased you more than you were willing to admit. Your words failed you, so instead of trying to say something, you simply stared back and enjoy the view.

A tiny smile grew on San’s face at your lack of reaction. Slowly, he moved toward you and only then you noticed what he was holding in his hand: a pair of flat shoes. Your shoes. You didn’t remember leaving a pair at his place which made you question how he got them in the first place.

“What – How?” You mumbled; eyes wide.

San didn’t answer right away. He stopped in front of you and then, slowly, his eyes locked with yours, got on his knees. You forgot how to breath for a second, unable to look away, unable to speak.

Your treacherous mind couldn’t help but imagine what he could do to you. Your treacherous body forgot all about the pain and instead tingled with desire.

You watched him as his hands found your ankles and a soft gasp escaped your lips. He rubbed your ankles gently, his warmth spreading through your body.

“San-“ Whatever you were about to say died on your tongue as he massaged your left ankle a little stronger – you moaned at the relief. Embarrassed with how easily he made you moan, you clasped your hand over your mouth. San, instead of teasing you like he usually would, only smiled.

“Hold on to me.”

You hold onto his shoulder, your knees feeling suddenly weak. Not because you couldn’t stand properly but having San on his knees, taking care of you and being so gentle? You were a mess and not the kind you were used to. You could probably melt into puddle if you let him be this sweat with you. And that was dangerous.

“I thought you weren’t coming.” You told him to distract yourself from some intrusive thoughts.

“I wasn’t planning to.” He admitted and helped you slip your foot in your so much more comfortable shoe. “But then I thought about missing you in this gorgeous dress.” And then he did the same with your other foot. “And I just couldn’t.”

For a moment you stayed like that. You watching him and wondering how he could be both so evil (at least in your opinion) and so sweet. And San with his hands on your body.

“Couldn’t let another man have you.” San ended up saying as he slowly stood up. His hands didn’t part with you. No, they travelled from your ankles to your legs, to your thighs, hiking your dress in the process causing goosebumps all over your body. “You know why?”

You did know why. Or at least, you could easily guess what he was about to say. You asked anyway, “Why?”

San’s smile went from gentle to wicked and you had no doubt you were in (kind of delicious) trouble. One hand possessively held your waist, the other reached for your hair. His hand tangled in your hair before pulling harshly – a desperate moan escaped your lips. “You’re mine.”

You expected a possessive and dominating kiss. You expected some teeth clashing and a fight for dominance. Instead, he pressed his lips against yours. Softly. Gently. His mouth melting against yours. And so did you. You went completely soft in his arms.

Boy was trouble and there was no escape for you.

Back to present

Despite your rocky beginning, San was probably one the sweetest human being you had ever met. It pained you to admit it but you could no longer hide your feelings behind your hostility. He was gentle and caring. Every little gesture, every little thing he did for you without you expecting him to do, made your walls crumble and your heart yearn for him.

Two months ago,

The advantage of creating your own company with your friend, meant you were the one to decide how to dress, without anyone criticizing. If you decided to come to work in your pajamas the only look you would get would be a shrug from your friend. Which exactly was your case today.

You were exhausted and your body ached. Everywhere. You had San to thank for that. And maybe also yourself. You weren’t planning to provoke him or be a brat, but the temptation was too strong, and you paid dearly for that.

You tried to shake off the image of you under him, sweaty, panting, trembling, begging for him to let you come, your hands tied to the bed with his belt, your skin red and covered with marks. His marks.

You tried to forget the image of him nestled between your legs, digging his fingers into your skin as he teased you. As he feasted on you. Endlessly. Mercilessly. He pushed you to the edge for what felt like hours but never letting you come. No matter how much you begged. How much you cried. Because San had learnt everything about your body. He knew how much you could take. And he showed you.

You groaned and slammed your head on your desk. How were you supposed to have any work done today if you couldn’t concentrate?

“Cute office.” As if summoned just by your mere thoughts, San commented.

Startled, you almost fell off your chair, letting out a little, and very unflattering, yelp. You gawked at him, completely taken off guard and embarrassed. “What the hell are you doing here?” You didn’t intend to sound so hostile, but your tired brain was not cooperating.

San only chuckled and walked inside your office confidently. It was unfair that you looked so not composed and tired while he looked so handsome and relaxed. There was no justice in this world. Or maybe he wasn’t a human (which, in your opinion, would explain a lot). “Plushies, really?”

You cleared your throat and tried to compose yourself. So what if you had a few plushies scattered all around your office? To some it seemed childish, but really, they were the best moral support you could ask for. Plus, they were cute. “Yes. They keep me company.”

“Aren’t you full of surprises.”

You chose not to comment. Instead, you watched him closely and finally noticed what he had brought you.

San followed your gaze and smiled. “I figured you’d need some coffee after the night you had.” And he looked too damn proud when he said those words.

You huffed but couldn’t ignore the smell of coffee as he got closer to your desk. Whatever embarrassment you had felt previously vanished as he set the cup on your desk.

You slowly reached for the cup, eyes not leaving him. “For your information, I feel perfectly fine.” You were not.

San laughed at your poor lie. He sat at the edge of your desk and hovered over you. “You’re a terrible liar, love.” He pointed at the lovely, red mark around your wrist.

You hurried to pull at your sleeve to cover the mark, but San grabbed gently your wrist and brought your hand closer to him. You thought he wanted to inspect and admire his work and probably tease you and remind you why you got tied in the first place (news alert: you couldn’t keep your hands off him when he specifically told you to be a good girl and not touch him). He did none of that.

San peppered your wrist with kisses, the warmth of his lips tickled your skin. At this gesture, butterflies erupted in your stomach. He had absolutely no right to be this gentle and sweat with you. You wanted to argue and tell him to stop but your mouth refused to cooperate. Your whole body (the little traitor) surrendered to him.

Whatever game the two of you were playing, you were now convinced, you wouldn’t come out unscathed.

Back to present

Gently you reached for his face and pushed back some strands that fell over his eyes. You realized, in that moment, that you had made your choice. You could stop running.

Because San was worth the risk.

***

San was no longer in the bed.

You stared blankly at the empty spot before slowly reaching for his side, patting the spot. It was still warm. You rolled to his side and pressed your face to his pillow, inhaling his addicting scent. You still couldn’t believe that you had stayed the night. But oddly enough, now that you had admitted to yourself that there was no avoiding San – it felt nice.

It felt right.

A tiny smile spread on your face. When was the last time you felt so satisfied? So in peace? So happy? You couldn’t remember and maybe because it had never happened before.

Lazily, you threw the blanket off your body and got out of bed. You grabbed San’s shirt from the nearest chair and put it over your body. It was tempting to just walk out of his room naked and tempt the devil, but your body ached in reminder. There was no way you could have another round.

The moment you stepped out of his room, you easily guessed where to find him. A delicious smell was spreading in the hall. San was making breakfast and your stomach grumbled in response and delight. You had the privilege of trying his food. Once. You smiled at the memory. He had promised to take care of you. And he did.

He always did.

One month ago,

You had been told many times that you were a stubborn woman. You would love to refute this statement but sadly, it was true. Today was just another example of your stubbornness. You were sick, coughing for your dear life and a little feverish. But did it stop you from working from home? Absolutely not. Bundled up in your fluffiest blanket, a cup of tea with honey on your table, you pushed your limits. Didn’t matter that you received at least ten messages from Yeji, threatening you if you didn’t get any rest. You laughed at her attempt, even when she threatened with sending you San to deal with you. You didn’t really think she would reach him. Could reach him.

That was your mistake.

Music in your headphones you weren’t paying attention to your surroundings. And why would you in the safety of your home? Why would you when you lived in a friendly neighborhood, without stories.

Until you felt strong arms around your body.

Until your heart missed a beat.

You screamed, as loud as your lungs allowed you to while being sick.

You fought for your life, kicking, and screaming as the intruder lifted you from the couch as if you weighed nothing. It was a sad way to go, you thought, alone, at home, looking like a mess in your damn pajamas. You could already imagine the headlines.

Or maybe you wouldn’t die. Maybe, whoever was holding you tightly against a very solid torso, wanted to kidnap you. It was better than death, right? Right?

“For someone supposedly sick, you have too much energy, love.”

Your body froze instantly at the warm and friendly voice.

You knew that voice.

You loved a little too much that voice.

You opened your eyes and gawked at a very amused San. He shook his head, smiling fondly; his dimples on full display - your hand hitched to poke his cheeks.

Realization dawned on you.

One, you should definitely not underestimate ever again Yeji’s threats.

And two, you were not going to die today. Except maybe of embarrassment. Your face heated up in embarrassment and you buried your head into his chest, trying to hide, trying to forget the very unlady scream that had left your mouth.

San laughed softly and pressed his lips against your forehead. “It’s okay. I promise not to tease you about this little incident.” Seemed too good to be true. San never forgot about your embarrassing moments. Never. “For the next few days at least.”

“Knew it. Asshole.” You cursed under your breath and slapped his chest for good measure. Not like it hurt him anyway but you felt a little better afterwards. You cleared your throat, “How about you put me down now?” Thought for a second and quickly added, “And maybe explain why and how the hell did you get inside my place?”

San huffed in response and pressed you a little tighter against him. “Why? Isn’t it nice? In my arms?”

“No. I hate it.” You lied through your teeth.

In fact, it was more than nice. Too fucking nice.

It felt right.

And safe.

San was warm. And gentle. And smelled too damn good. You forced your body to obey and not to move. You forced yourself not to rub your nose against his neck. It worried you a little how badly you wanted to do it. Your fever is the reason. That’s why.

San laughed heartily at your blatant lie. “Yeah sure. Whatever floats your boat, love.”

Your ego demanded that you defend yourself but any words you were about to say died on your tongue as San carried you straight to your room. It was his first time at your place and yet he looked like he belonged. That was another worrisome thought.

“Wait-“ You protested at the sight of your bed. Your brain finally caught up with his intentions. “I’m not staying in my bed!” And you wriggled in his arms. You didn’t mind if he dropped you (what a little pain right?), but there was just no way you would go back to bed when you have lot to do.

“Yes, you are.” San threw you on your bed, making you squeal in the process.

You recovered quickly, glaring at him as angrily as you could manage, ready to jump out of the bed. San pushed you back with one hand. One, strong enough, push and you fell right back.

“Don’t even think about it.” He warned you. “I’m glad to know I’m not the only one you refuse to listen to.” There was no doubt he was referring to Yeji but you ignored his remark (and took note to curse your friend later for not minding her damn business).

“Yes. You’re not special.” You grumbled and pulled the blanket over your body. You refused to admit that being in your bed felt nice, your body instantly melting in your sheets.

“YN.” You winced at the use of your name. San almost never used your name. He loved using different pet names that most of the time pushed your buttons (and yet they grew on you). Hearing your name coming out of his mouth brought very unwanted feelings. “You’re a stubborn little thing, but it’s okay, I like it.” He hovered over you and brushed few strands of hair from your face. “Be a good girl and rest. I’m going to take care of you.”

Back to present

You thought you couldn’t take another round. Well that was your thought before finding San in the kitchen.

Fuck my life.

If you thought that San in a suit was hot, this San in grey sweatpants and shirtless and cooking was a sight you would never forget. Who cared about breakfast when you had such a sweet meal right in front of you? And who cared that your body was begging you not to jump on him?

To hell with food. You had a better idea.

Without making any noise, you approached him. You pressed your lips to his shoulder, then to his back, enjoying the taste of his skin on your lips. You expected to startle him but San only chuckled and glanced over his shoulder.

“Hello love.”

You only hummed in response, too busy peppering his back with kisses.

“Food is almost ready.” You bet San knew exactly what kind of meal you wanted and yet he played pretend.

You hummed again while your hands travelled from his shoulders to his arms, hands to settle then on his hips. Before you could explore further, San grabbed your hands and turned to face you, trying to look stern. Nice attempt, you thought. But his eyes betrayed him.

You batted your eyes innocently but refused to let go so easily.

“You won’t stop, will you?” He asked, resigned.

You licked your lips in response. San let go of your hands and you smirked in victory. Slowly you lowered yourself on your knees. You grabbed his pants along with his boxers and pulled, freeing his cock. Your mouth watered at the sight of your prize. Long and thick and begging for attention.

You grasped him with both hands and stroked. Slowly, gently, taking your time. You savored the feeling, the moment. The power you had over him. You loved letting him take control over you, but you also delighted in watching him come apart because of you. Because of your touches, your mouth, your tongue. There was just something so hot, so sexy, watching him throw his head back, his eyes closed, lost in his own pleasure.

You pressed your thighs a little tighter, feeling just how easily you got wet and you had barely touched him yet.

Slowly, you licked his cock. Up and down, savoring the taste of him. His hips bucks in response and you hid your smirk. It was game on.

You slid his length down your throat, moaning at the feel of him inside your mouth. San was thick and long and hard and you still weren’t fully used to him. But who cared? A little challenge was always welcoming. You took him as far as you could – your eyes watered.

“Fuck, kitten.” He groaned as his hands sank into your hair, grabbing tightly. You moaned around him in response, loving the slight sting of pain. “You’re so good to me.”

You usually weren’t but you didn’t correct him. You also didn’t tell him how much you wanted things to change between the two of you. But it was okay, you had lots of time before you. And right now, the most important thing for you was to please this beautiful man, this lovely and sweet human-being.

You bobbed your head and licked and sucked, confidently, eagerly. With every swirl of your tongue, his grip on your hair tightened. You bet he was trying hard not to let go and just fuck your mouth.

Every little groan, every pants only fueled your own desire. You were yourself so turned on you fought the urge to slip your hand between your legs and take care of your own needs. Not this time, come on.

“Just like that.” He encouraged you.

You moaned in response, eyes blurry with tears as you stared back at him. And what a sight. San chocked. He was barely holding on. You so eager, teary, your mouth full of him.

Your mouth and hands worked in tandem. You increased your pace, sensing he was so close to his release. And you wanted it. You wanted him to come down your throat. You wanted to show him you could be a perfect, little girl if given a chance.

“YN-“ He warned you and tried to push you off him.

You didn’t budge. You held stubbornly and let him explode with a roar inside your mouth. He watched you with bright eyes as you swallowed everything. He watched as you slowly released him and licked your lips, glowing in delight and satisfaction.

“You’re gonna be the death of me.” But despite his words, he smiled. He grabbed your arms and lifted you from the floor. You barely had time to recover, his lips were already on yours. Sweet, gentle and yet also demanding. He parted your lips with his tongue and deepened the kiss, tasting himself on your tongue, moaning into the kiss.

You melted in his arms, into the kiss. This was the best morning ever and you wished you had done it sooner. How many mornings like this did you miss because of your own stubbornness? Because you refused to admit how you truly felt? It was ridiculous and you punched yourself mentally for that.

San pulled back. He held your face between his hands, staring more seriously at you. “You stayed.”

Oh. Maybe you were about to have the talk after all. “I did.”

If San was frustrated with your answer, he didn’t show it. Ever the patient man. He simply nodded and stroked your cheek. Slowly. Lovingly. His eyes never left yours. “You never did before. Why now?”

Your heart beat loud and strong inside your chest, you bet he could hear it too. “I-“ Why was it so hard to be honest? Why was it so hard to confess how you truly felt? It shouldn’t be. Not with him. And yet, you couldn’t formulate a proper answer.

Fortunately for you, San saw through your struggle. “Let me tell you this, YN. I want it all. I want you. Your heart, your body, your soul and everything you’re willing to give me.” And there, the dimples were back as he smiled at you. “I want your smiles and your lovely giggles. I want your anger and your tears. I want to spend my days and nights with you. And I want to wake up by your side every single day. Do you want it too?”

There was only one possible answer and as he finished his confession, you couldn’t help but give him the warmest smile you could muster. You wrapped your arms around his neck and pressed a soft kiss to his lips.

“I want it very much.”

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