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[boylerpf]

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[sajidhaji]

[foxytagles]

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[giolleriajewellery]

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[cherrysweets-world]

Eyes of the Gods VIII

series masterlist - part seven

Pairing - Caracalla x fem!Reader x Geta

Summary - The pot finally boils over.

Warnings - 18+, minors dni, historical inaccuracies, mentions of injured animals, reader is briefly intoxicated, dub-con, forced proximity, obsessive/possessive/unhealthy relationships & behavior, biting, dirty talk, reader is traumatized, alcohol consumption, violence depicted, blood, gore, vomit, slight breeding kink

Word Count - 5.4k

The cuffs on your wrists felt unnatural and heavy. They were not unlike the cuffs that slaves wore to signal who they belonged to, although yours were dotted with jewels and made with solid gold.

They had a matching necklace; a big, chunky thing that made you feel as though you were about to topple over. The jewelry paired with the fine clothing made you feel unrecognizable. Anyone who looked at you would not assume you had once been a simple worker.

The crowd roared with excitement and the sound created a buzz in your ears. Never had you thought you would have to endure the games again; once had been more than enough for you. Now, not only were you being forced to watch the games, you would be doing so from a prime viewing position.

It could have been your imagination but you felt as though you could already smell the scent of blood in the air. Cloying, suffocating. You reached up a hand to adjust the necklace and quickly dropped it when Geta side-eyed you.

You had thought the games would distract them from you. Their attention had become even harder to shake since your room had been destroyed. Crushed under the weight of it, you were desperate for a break that would not come.

Once again you had been placed on a wooden chair, but this time it was between the seats of the emperors. A position of honor. You wanted to tear the jewellery from your body and flee, disappear into the crowd and become invisible once more.

Occasionally you would catch the eye of someone in the crowd. You were getting used to receiving that same pondering look from everyone you saw. They wanted to know who you were, why you were sitting with the emperors, why their hands were all over you.

It was as if they were stripping you of you past, moulding you into someone who was more suitable. Dressing you up as they would a prized doll. Jewelry, clothes - there was even a smearing of kohl on your outer lids.

Would your friends recognize you if they saw you now?

The emperors were dripping in luxury. Draped with expensive clothing with the most intricate of patterns and colors you could not even name; you couldn't help but admire them up close. They looked every bit the gods you had believed them to be.

Caracalla's enthusiasm was palpable. He kept yanking you close to his side, pointing out things in the crowd or regaling you with tales of past games. You nodded numbly through his explanations, too wrapped up in your own nerves.

Geta was unusually twitchy and it took you a moment to realise that he, too, was eager for the games to begin. Your hands clenched around the fan you had been given and you glanced over your shoulder, at Lucilla and her husband.

General Acacius was striking man. Tall, muscular and certainly handsome. Together, he and Lucilla made an impressive couple.

Geta leaned close and hissed, "Is there something particularly interesting back there?"

"I have never seen a General before," you said stiffly, returning your attention back to the arena.

Geta's lips twisted and he placed a warm hand on your thigh, squeezing.

The crowd adored Acacius. Geta instructed him to speak and he did so, offering a few coarse words before returning to his seat beside his wife. Geta and Caracalla earned similar applause, likely because of the food that had been provided. People were all too easy to please.

With that, the games began.

Your face tightened as several men rode out on exotic animals, swiping and slashing at the gladiators to thunderous applause. It seemed such a waste - both of human and animal life. You snapped open your fan and attempted to breath steadily.

Caracalla pushed a cup of wine into your hands and you drank it down in its entirety. It was more potent that what you were used to and you leaned heavily on the side of Geta's throne, exploring the bitter taste in your mouth.

Both emperors were enraptured by the games. When the first man died you gasped, craning your neck to watch him flail in the sand. Red blossomed around him and it felt as though it took hours for him to finally go still.

The smells were getting to you. Blood, filthy men and animals. You stuck your nose into another cup of wine and attempted to drink slowly.

"That gladiator is talented, is he not?" Geta asked.

"Certainly," Caracalla agreed.

You felt their eyes on you, gauging your level of interest. You busied yourself with another cup of wine, drinking it down in big gulps. You felt nervous and yearned for a distraction. You had found one in the bottom of your cup.

Once your cup was empty Geta signalled for it to be filled again. Your hand trembled as the attendant topped up your cup. You stared at the woman and she finally met your gaze and dipped her head.

"My lady," she said.

You breathed slowly out of your nose. You were so far from a lady it was comical. Could no one else see that? Could they not feel it the way you felt it?

Caracalla pinched your waist. "My lady," he cackled. "You certainly look the part."

"It is all thanks to the generosity of my emperors," you smiled tightly.

Caracalla's attention was pulled from you once more when the crowd cried out. He got to his feet, pressed himself to the edge of the box for a better look.

Geta eyed you, an unfamiliar look on his face. "You are going to be drunk by the end of this if you continue."

"I am thirsty," you lied.

It had been an age since you had last been drunk. And never off of something so exquisite. The wine drowned out the roars of the crowd and the squealing of injured animals.

Miserable, you scanned the crowd. How could they dislike the emperors when they, too, were so bloodthirsty? As long as it was not theirs, they did not care. How was that any different to Geta or Caracalla?

Nauseous, you finally set down your cup. It would not do to make yourself physically sick.

Geta ran and finger down your inner arm before entwining his hand with yours. The physical affection startled you and you would have moved if you didn't feel so suddenly ill.

He called for a refill - of water this time. He used his free hand to push the cup into yours, telling you to drink.

"Fool," he shook his head, "you should not have drank so quickly. Now sit up and look amused."

You did your best to sit up straight and do as he had ordered. Whenever you began to shiver or look away his hand would tighten on yours ever so slightly. You were almost grateful; the last thing you wanted to do was humiliate yourself in front of any curious onlookers.

Even shaded from the sun you felt hot. So many heaving bodies pressed together generated almost unbearable heat, even from your position in the emperor's box.

An hour slipped lazily by. You felt every moment of it even in your drunken state. Men died below you like flies. The crowd devoured every death until they became meaningless.

It took a moment for you to realise why Geta was getting to his feet. The games were almost over. There was one man standing and another on his knees. Both were bloodied and dirty, sweating in the hot sun.

The winner looked up to Geta for his answer. Geta paced for a moment, palms upturned as though asking for guidance from the gods. It looked real enough from where you sat; you could not imagine how he appeared to those in the crowd.

Geta held out his hand, shaking as though coursing with power. You stilled, leaning forward. What would he decide? What would the gods decide?

When Geta flipped up his thumb you nearly vomited with relief. The crowd went wild, rising to their feet and screaming for the hero in the arena. Relief - albeit temporary. The man would likely meet his death before he earned his freedom.

Your feet felt unsteady as you attempted to get up. Geta saw you sway and locked your elbows together, jerking his head at Caracalla who appeared on your other side.

If you spoke to Lucilla or Acacius you did not remember it. The emperors were doing a good job of making it look like you weren't about to spill all over the floor. You leaned heavily on them, teetering down the steps like a newborn babe.

The journey back to the palace felt torturous. Geta's hands wandered, encouraged by your inebriated state. His rings were cool against your skin and you welcomed his touch, sagging into his side. Pleased with your reaction, he peppered tiny kisses behind your ear whilst scolding you for drinking so much alcohol.

Geta's forwardness would have been startling if not for your current state. The heat of the afternoon sun combined with the wine was making you delirious.

Once you were back in the confines of Geta's rooms, Caracalla placed a smacking kiss on your lips.

"You taste of wine," he commented, squeezing your chin. He leaned in for another kiss, relishing the taste.

You took a step back, evading Caracalla's grabbing hands. He pouted and followed, hands tight at your waist. You swayed in his arms, letting your head drop onto his shoulder. The jewelry he wore dug into your forehead but you felt paralysed.

"I am not well," you moaned.

"Poor girl," Caracalla cooed, hands cupping your ass. "She cannot hold her wine, brother."

He released you and you sank to the floor, curling into a ball and breathing heavily through your nose to ward of the nausea. Foolish indeed.

You could hear Caracalla and Geta arguing but it barely registered. Your thoughts turned slow and syrupy and you succumbed to the alluring lull of wine-fueled dreams.

Sleep was filled with feverish dreams. Crowns of golden laurels, soft hands, red hair. You awoke sweating, dizzy and alone.

Staggering to the table, you poured yourself a cup of water. It went down smoothly, soothing your throat. Geta's rooms were empty and you were, for once, blissfully alone.

The cuffs had left indents in your skin and you hissed as you pulled them off, followed by the chunky necklace. You rubbed at your neck, absentmindedly tracing the patterns it had left on your skin.

You poured yourself another glass, lowering yourself to the floor in a sitting position. The sky had darkened considerably since you had slept and it left you feeling disorientated.

Lifting your hand to your eyes, you patted gingerly at the corners, pulling away to see kohl still on your fingers.

You no longer felt entirely fearful around the emperors. There was always a level of uncertainty, naturally, but it was exhausting to constantly be afraid. They would always be unpredictable and you would never be able to fully understand them but you had come to feel somewhat. . .secure.

You did not know what you had done to deserve this. Both the positive and the negative.

Your days all blurred together in a smear of gold and red. They had inserted themselves in your life - or, rather, forced you into theirs.

They could still have you killed at any moment. The way Geta had looked at you when he caught you staring at Acacius had turned your stomach. How far would you have to push to have the full brunt of that aggression turned on you?

Their violence was something you had to keep reminding yourself of. You had seen it with your own eyes and heard so much worse. Yet it was hard to remember when none of it had been directed at you and it made you feel like a traitor to those who had been beaten bloody and killed on the orders of Geta and Caracalla.

Sighing, you got back to your feet. You put the jewelry back on. It was probably best the emperors did not see you took it off without their permission.

With no one around to tell you otherwise, you left the room under the pretence of searching for the emperors. You needed to get out of Geta's rooms for at least a little while.

There was a Praetorian waiting outside the room. For you, you realised. He told you that the emperors were in a meeting of sorts with Macrinus and that he was to bring you to them once you awoke.

You nodded. "I'd like to go this way, please."

The Praetorian allowed you to lead him the longer way round. He did not comment if he noticed you dragging your feet.

Being trailed by a guard felt strange. It had been enough just to have their eyes on you, now they were ordering others to watch you as well. You did not have it in you to protest. Whatever boundaries you had had been crushed by Geta and Caracalla days ago.

The shadows deepened the longer you walked. Cool air floated through the windows, dusting across your cheeks. The scent of food and smoke was in the air. You inhaled eagerly, a smile forming on your lips. In a moment like this it was simple to pretend everything was normal.

It disappeared as you went further into the palace. Once you entered the entertainment hall you stalled, glancing about at unlit walls. It was an odd place to be when it was empty of revellers.

A thump sounded from behind you and you glanced over your shoulder at the unexpected noise. Everything stopped as the guard fell forward, clutching at his throat and trying to stop the red river that was pouring from it.

He fell to the floor, amour clanking, body spasming. Your mouth parted and you tore your eyes from his body, meeting eyes with the man who had slid up behind him and slit his throat to the bone.

Iron, you thought, it stinks of iron.

There was nothing unusual about him; he looked like any man you would pass in a market or brush shoulders with in the hallway. The only thing that stood out was the knife he held and the serious expression on his face.

"Who - who are you?" you spat out, staggering back.

There were no guards in sight other than the dead one on the floor. Never had you so yearned for the sight of a Praetorian. Your hands twitched at your side, desperate for a weapon of your own.

"It does not matter," he said. "This is nothing to do with me. Or you. Not really."

There was no time to consider his words. He dove at you and you screamed and raised your hands. By some luck the knife glanced off of the cuff and clattered to the floor. The man considered this for only a moment before tackling you to the floor and securing his hands around your throat.

Being choked was more painful that you expected. You could feel the grinding of your bones beneath his hands, the full weight of his upper body being forced down onto such a fragile body part.

You could feel your legs flailing on the floor behind him. Your hands scrabbled at his fingers but you could not get him to release. Finally you turned your attention elsewhere, clawing at his eyes until he gave a shout and released you.

Turning on your stomach, you heaved painful breaths and tried to blink the bleariness out of your eyes, crawling frantically across the floor to reach the dropped knife.

The man swore and, still clutching his right eye, ran past you. You grabbed at his ankles and he fell with an almighty thud.

Each breath felt like agony but you had the knife in your hands. Shaking, you held it with both hands and pointed it at your attacker.

It was him, you thought, he broke my wolf.

This time, when he charged, you were somewhat ready. You swung your arm back and slashed with the knife. Blood splattered over the marble as he wrestled with you for the weapon.

"Please," you sobbed through clenched teeth, "please, please."  

You could not say how it happened. Only that, in one moment the man was on top of you and the next he was looking up, distracted. Sensing a moment of opportunity you slid the blade through his fingers and into the side of his neck.

Free once more, you screamed. The sound was painful and croaky and muffled by blood falling into your open mouth. You turned your head to the side and vomited. You could not tell what was wine and what was blood.

The man fell off to the side, suffocating on his own blood, writhing amongst it.

Everything ached as you struggled to sit up. Your ribs, your wrists, your throat. Your lungs were on fire as you took huge, greedy gulps of air. You would never take it for granted again.

A heavy hand fell on your shoulder and you screamed again, scratching at it and trying to get away.

"Shhh," Geta hauled you up from the floor, "shhh, it's okay."

His eyes were wide and he could not stop looking at you and the men on the floor. There was so much blood. He could not tell how much of it was yours.

"No," you sobbed, "it is not okay. He tried to kill me. I killed him. I killed a man."

Before, you had been so angry at the person who had destroyed your carving. You had thought you wanted to see him dead. And maybe you had - but not by your own hand!

You were covered in his life's essence. It would stain more than your clothes.

"Praetorians!" Geta roared. His entire body was shaking in unbridled rage, you could feel it.

"He killed that Praetorian," you said numbly, pointing.

Caracalla appeared next to you, furious. "Good!" he cried, "What use was he if he could not protect you?"

You flinched as Caracalla kicked the corpse of the fallen Praetorian. It made a disturbingly meaty sound and you would've thrown up if you hadn't already emptied your stomach.

Caracalla knelt beside your attacker. "This one is still alive, brother. Barely."

"No, no," you shook your head. "I killed him."

Guilt was clawing it's way up your throat. You had ended a man's life and you did not even know why it had happened.

Caracalla pulled the knife from the man's neck and he jolted. You gasped and stepped back further into Geta's arms. The man let out a garbled moan and Caracalla spat at him, plunging the knife once, twice, into his neck again.

"You did not kill him," Caracalla said, "I did. See? It will be okay."

The tears would not stop coming. You looked down at yourself and saw nothing but blood.

Geta cupped your cheek and forced you to turn to him. "What did he do to you?"

"He strangled me," your own hands came up to encircle your throat. "Hurts. Bad."

Geta's nostrils flared. Praetorians had began to fill up the room behind him but you could not focus on them. Caracalla was in front of them, furious. He kept pointing over at you, gesturing wildly, his voice getting louder and louder.

"He - he said it was not about him," your words hardly made sense to your own ears but you continued, "or me. He was on top of me, strangling me -"

"Shhhh," Geta soothed once more, cupping your face. "It will be okay."

"I'm covered in his blood," you said, "how can it be okay?"

Geta called over a woman. She was elderly and appeared kind. She took your hand in hers and squeezed.

"Take her to our baths," Geta ordered, "we need to see how bad the injuries are."

"No," you shuddered, "what if someone else comes?"

Geta considered this, his own eyes wide and frantic. You sensed that he wanted to go with you but he needed to deal with the Praetorians.

In the end, he chose six of them to accompany you and the woman to the baths. He watched you leave the room as though he couldn't bear to tear his eyes from you.

Numb, you followed the woman. You would have been too afraid to go if not for the sheer amount of Praetorians accompanying you.

The woman led you down an unfamiliar route until you came to an ornate set of doors. Upon opening, steam spilled out and soothed your aching throat.

A bath suddenly seemed appealing, the urge to be clean overtaking any of your reservations. The woman gestured to go with you but you shook your head and told her she could wait outside with the Praetorians. Being alone was scary but your trust of strangers was slipping away.

The bath was huge and the waterwould come up to your neck once you were sat. There were several tiny windows littered across the top of the room to reduce the steam. Small enough that no-one could climb in. There were petals scattered across the surface of the water and bottles of oils and perfumes littered the side. There was a small set of steps leading up to it, allowing you to clamber over the sides. This was the bath of the emperors.

Breathing heavily, you peeled your blood-soaked clothes from your body. The blood had begun to dry and tugged at your skin. You stripped as quickly as you could and dumped your clothes in the corner.

You stepped back, biting your lip, before bending down and arrange them so that you could not see the blood. You ran your fingers over the cuffs, reluctant to take them off. You could see a slight indent in one where the knife had threatened to pierce you.

It took a moment but you eventually took it all off, laying the pieces reverently on top of your clothing.

Naked, you shivered. You let your hands explore your body, searching for any injuries. Apart from your throat and several cuts on your hands you could not find any. The gods had been merciful.

You tip-toed up the steps before bending and seating yourself on the edge. The stone was comfortingly warm beneath your bare ass. You slipped your toes in and moaned at the delicious heat licking up your calves.

You allowed yourself a moment to adjust before sliding in. The sensation was incredible, the water clean and scented. The heat seemed to help your throat and you ventured further in.

The water on the outskirts of the bath came up to your shoulders in place but varied in shallowness. As you neared the centre it began to deepen until you were kneeling. You half walked half swam to the furthest side, pressing your back to the edge and curling in on yourself.

Blood flaked from your skin in the water. Although you wanted it off of you, you could not bring yourself to touch it.

Your eyes fluttered shut. The only sound was that of the water. Exhaustion settled in every line of your body, battling with fear. Someone had tried to kill you.

He was dead now. By your hand and Caracalla's. A combination of relief and guilt stirred in your gut and you buried it deep, recalling your previous words.

Kill or be killed.

The hinges of the door squeaked as it opened and you sat up, almost spilling water over the edge. Your heart calmed as Caracalla entered, his eyes rounding at the sight of you in the bath.

You said nothing and watched as he shut the door, eyes never leaving you. He began to tug off his own clothes, expensive accessories clattering to the floor as though they were nothing.

Something else stirred in your gut at the sight of his chest, dusted with hair. Your eyes drifted lower, naturally, until they settled on his cock, bare and twitching against his thigh.

The tip was flushed red. It was thick and longer than you had imagined, nestled in a bed of reddish-brown hair. It seemed to perk up beneath your gaze and you swallowed, eyes jerking up back to his face.

His expression was one of pure want. The blatant desire did something to you, made the ache in your throat fade. You watched as he climbed into the bath and made his way to you, water lapping at your shoulders.

Caracalla stopped in front of you and settled his chin on your knees.

"Show me where it hurts," he urged. It reminded you of that first night in his room.

You found his hand under the water. He was watching your face carefully, looking for something. You brought up his hand and settled it on the base of your throat.

"Here," you croaked.

Caracalla's hand was gentle. He reached over your shoulder to pick up a woven cloth, dipping it into the water and dabbing at the blood crusted on your face.

It was a bad idea to let him touch you the way he was but no part of you wanted him to stop. You yearned for a distraction, for tenderness in the wake of such violence.

So you let him pull your knees from your chest. His breathing got heavy at the sight of your breasts and he wiped at your chest with a cloth, wiped your arms and legs until there was no more blood and the water took on a pinkish tint.

You reached out to grab his hand and he stilled, eyes bleary but questioning. You gently tugged the cloth from his grip and brought his hands up to cup your breasts.

"Oh," he breathed, palms firm against your puckered nipples.

"Please," you begged.

Caracalla's hands left your breasts to cup your face and slot your lips together. His tongue flickered into your mouth, drawing a languid moan from you as you melted in his hands.

You shuddered in his hands as his tongue began to massage yours. When he parted from your lips you felt dazed, blood buzzing in your ears. Caracalla urged you up, higher out of the water until your breasts broke the surface.

The feeling of his mouth on your breasts was intoxicating. You let your head fall back, burying your hands in his hair in encouragement. He lapped at your nipples, teasing them, before taking them in his mouth and sucking.

"Gods," you purred, "Caracalla."

He pulled from your nipple with a wet pop, looking at you with red cheeks and damp hair. His breathing was ragged and you could see the wetness on his lips from where he had kissed you.

"You want it too," he rasped, hands coming to part your knees under the water.

Then he seemed to change his mind. With some careful rearranging, he got you out of the water and perched on the side of the bath. There was enough room for you to sit back, half supported by the wall.

You felt a little dizzy at how exposed the position left you as Caracalla knelt and spread your knees. Your hands fluttered at your sides, not entirely sure what to do.

"Elysium," Caracalla moaned, eyes glued to your cunt and the wetness that was glistening on your puffy folds.

He tucked his arms under your thighs and moved you until you were right in front of his face. He took one, long lick from the bottom to the top of your cunt, eyes on yours the entire time. He lapped at the wetness gathering at your entrance, parting your lips to expose even more of you because he wanted to see and taste everything.

Babbling incoherently, you let yourself be feasted on. You could feel yourself dissolving into pleasure, your only connection to earth being Caracalla's hot tongue flicking across your clit. He watched your every reaction greedily, determined not to miss a thing.

He ate like a man starved, devouring your wetness with broad strokes of his tongue that left you reeling.

You jolted when one of his hands left your thighs, delving under the water. It pumped rhythmically, sending ripples across the bath.

Fire seared across your skin. "Are you. . .?"

"Yes," he murmured. "Your cunt is so pretty. Tastes like ambrosia."

Your orgasm pulsed through you, made you draw your legs up to your body and cry out. Hips undulating, you rode out the shockwaves of your orgasm on Caracalla's tongue as he stroked his cock beneath the water.

Before you could think, Caracalla rose from the water. Water sluiced down his body, his cock was heavy and flushed against his stomach. His eyes were scorching and he grabbed himself and positioned you at the edge of the bath.

"Wanted this," he said, "wanted you so bad."

He positioned the fat head of his cock against your cunt, rutting against you several times until you could hear the slick mess you had made. You keened when he sank inside in one slow move, all the way in until your hips were flush together.

Panting, he pressed one bruising kiss onto your lips, keeping you pinned with his cock until you were practically writhing, yearning for movement.

"Fuck me," you cried wantonly, "Caracalla, need you to fuck me."

From the moment he pulled back his hips and slammed into you, you knew there was no denying it. You were his. Would soon be Geta's too. A part of you whispered that you would do terrible, terrible things so long as he kept making you feel like this.

Caracalla must have read it on your face. "Tell me you're mine."

"'M yours," you breathed, rolling your hips to meet his.

Hands on your hips, he rolled into you as though you had been made for this - made for them. When your eyes threatened to flutter shut he cupped your cheek, directing your gaze to downward and to his cock pumping inside of you.

"Need you to see this," he swore, "want you to remember how good I made you feel."

You were not sure you could ever forget. The room became an orchestra of sloshing water and slick, wet sounds from your union, punctuated by Caracalla's possessive words.

"You belong to us," he thrust into you as though that would make you believe it. "Ours. With us, always."

"Yes, yes, yes," you babbled, believing it entirely.

Everything had been working up to this moment; you could see it now. There was no need for confusion or fear when there was this. Blissful, mindless pleasure.

When Caracalla slotted his hand between you and began to rub tight circles on your clit, you nearly lost your mind. Your nails dug into his back and then his hips, drawing him impossibly closer and urging him on. No experience you had had before compared to this and pleasure was quickly mounting again.

"I can feel you," Caracalla fucked into you harder, faster, "can feel you tightening on my cock. You want me inside you, want to be ours forever."

You squeezed your eyes shut, white light splintering across your vision as you came once more. Caracalla followed close behind you, rutting desperately and palming at your breasts until he reached his own orgasm. He rode it out, hips stuttering into yours as his chest heaved and he partially collapsed onto you.

He did not pull out of you immediately. He pressed soft kisses to the base of your neck and your cheeks, whispering filthy things into your ears. You did not push him away. Instead you ran your fingers through his damp hair and let him nuzzle at your jaw.

Finally, he pulled out. You bit your lip at the feeling of his seed spilling out of you. Caracalla ran a finger through your swollen folds, collecting some on his fingers before pushing it back in. You whined a little but held still, letting him push his seed deep inside of you.

"I hope it takes," he whispered, nipping at your lips.

You slid back into the water, boneless. You had heard other women talk about their sexual experiences before, about how sometimes when you gave in the man lost all interest. You had had two partners before but had never cared enough about them to be bothered when you lost contact so you were not sure what to expect with Caracalla.

If possible, he was more affectionate than before. He pressed his body tight to your side, hands busying themselves with your breasts and exploring your inner thighs. Insatiable.

Caracalla picked a glass bottle from the side, pouring the oil in contained into his hands. You held still as he oiled your shoulders and body, covering you thoroughly.

"Smells like you," you said.

He giggled before pushing the bottle into your hands and turning around. He had several scars on his back and chest that seemed to have healed. You bit your lip at the scratches that now adorned his back along with several puncture marks from your nails. He shuddered when you ran your fingers across them.

You let the oil pour across his back and began to massage it into his skin. He sank into your touch until there was no space between you and his back was pressed against your chest. Intimacy was something you had not experienced in a long time and you almost teared up at how relaxed you felt.

Caracalla took the bottle. "Don't cry," he cooed, "no more tears because of those animals."

"No more tears," you agreed.

It had been a very fucking long day.

Author’s Note - okay guys how did I do??? Let me know with notes/comments/reblogs and asks!!! Interactions with you guys is my favourite thing♥️

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[carsthatnevermadeitetc]

Jaguar E-Type Roadster, 2024. Jaguar Classic have built a pair of brand new Series 1 specification E-Types for a Southeast Asian client. The cars include bespoke interiors featuring jewellery including a mother of pear, hallmarked solid silver, and gold. The cars were built from scratch to mark 50 years since the end of E-Type production in 1974 and took over 2,000 hours to complete. They are identical Series I drophead coupés, apart from being finished in Signet Green and Opal Black.

[boylerpf]

Half Eternity 14K Gold Ruby Diamond Band Ring

Source - Boylerpf.com

[moonsonder]

YOUʼRE THE SUNFLOWER

synopsis. sonder's headcanons of getō suguru.

cw. mention of piercings and tattoos. non-sorcerer au (?). reckless driving (trying to learn how to drive). smoking/cigarettes. satosugu moments. swearing. not proofread.

a/n. this is all self-indulgent and fun (projecting myself onto suguru). i’ve been working on my long fic still :’) which i doubt anyone tune in from how inactive i’ve been.

getō suguru, who was born with brown skin and curly hair and the most gorgeous—and rare—purple eyes. he has a few moles spread over his face, chest and arms. he has two moles on his right arm that his perfectly spaced for him to pinch the skin together to create an image of an elephant.

“satoru, check this,” proceeds to him the arm elephant “...” “...” “what the fuck was that?” both of them bust out laughing.

getō suguru, who grew up calling his parents “ma” and “pa” instead of the formal titles such as mother and father. on his phone, he saves his mother as ma and his father as old man.

“ma, what’s for dinner?” “are we washing the car today, pa?”

getō suguru, who got his hair done by his mother before learning how to blow dry and straighten it himself. he’d sit on a chair in the middle of his parents’ bedroom while his mother is behind him with a blow dryer and styling brush.

“suguru, where are you going?!” his mother yells over the loud noise of the blow dryer. “nowhere! you’re just pulling my head, ma—OW!”

getō suguru, who grew up in an apartment with his parents in tokyo. his bedroom was right next to his parents’ room and it was tidy the majority of the time. it was decorated with various posters, cds, mangas, etc. probably kept a houseplant or two by the window sill.

getō suguru, who is an only child but grew up around his cousins. they took turns playing on one of the older cousin’s playstation 2 and often fought over who got to be player one. but didn’t matter, the evening always ended the same with them all having fun and falling asleep on their respective futons on the floor at their grandparents’ house.

getō suguru, who loves to express himself through fashion and accessories. mixes gold and silver jewellery. layered outfits, baggy clothes, wife beaters, slutty crop tops, black nail polish, and multiple piercings—despite his parents’ disapproval of that. oh, and he has tattoos.

getō suguru, whose piercings consist of gauges, an industrial on his left, an eyebrow piercing on the right side of his face, a nostril piercing on his left, and snakebites.

getō suguru, who gardened a love for gossiping—courtesy of eavesdropping at the family functions. he’d pretend to be on his phone as he sat next to his mother while she and the other aunties were gossiping.

“listen, you didn’t hear this from me…” “. . . apparently the boyfriend didn’t want her anymore, and that’s what happened. but i don’t know, that’s just what i heard.” “oh? well, what i heard was that…”

getō suguru, who takes the longest to get ready sometimes. not because he’s indecisive of what to wear, but because he has a solid hair care routine that he’s very meticulous about. after years of trial-and-error with different hair care products, he finally knows what works and doesn’t want to fuck that up.

getō suguru, who started smoking cigarettes after eating something bad. he kept making gagging noises at the aftertaste and it annoyed the fuck out of shoko. so much so, she offered a cigarette. at first, he was hesitant but accepted it. after that incident, he developed a smoking habit. he’d often share smokes with shoko.

getō suguru, who loses his hair ties and small pots of vaseline. he doesn’t know how they get lost, but he believes they take turns disappearing. especially in times when he needs them. when he wishes to tie his hair, it’s nowhere to be found. moisturise his lips? gone. in both cases, he’s pissed. the back of his neck is sweating due to his hair or it’s because he has to walk around with chapped lips.

getō suguru, whose music taste is a bit of everything. if he likes, he likes it—there isn’t a song he wouldn’t listen to. which also leads him to being the dj most of the time. hand him the aux cable, he’ll know what to play for what crowd—especially since he has various playlists.

getō suguru, who can be seen wearing his usual streetwear outfits and a poker face as he has a pair of earphones/headphones on. don’t be fooled though, he may be fashionably dressed but he’s actually listening to crystal kay as he’s taking the train.

getō suguru, who has a matching tattoo with satoru. at first, it took some convincing to let satoru agree on getting a tattoo with him, but they eventually got there—suguru kept taunting satoru, and he took it as a challenge. suguru also had to hold satoru’s hand throughout the process. they both swore not to mention that to anyone.

satoru staring at their intertwined hands, seeing how he’s squeezing the life out of suguru’s hand, as the tattoo artist was about to do the final touches. “not one word.” suguru, gritting his teeth but not stubbornly not admitting that satoru’s grip had hurt him. “agreed.”

getō suguru, who promises that his friends can always reach out and rely on him. meanwhile, he knows his phone is on do not disturb mode, silent, notifications are muted on all social media platforms, he stares at his phone screen when someone calls and he hates it whenever someone comes over unannounced and uninvited.

getō suguru, who was the kid that tried to play video games on a school night. but the minute he heard his mother’s footsteps, he’d try to pretend he was sleeping. his mother knew better and scolded him to try that again. suguru and his mother came to a compromise that he can play past curfew om and fridays and saturdays.

getō suguru, who is not like his parents and keeps people’s tupperware for years before returning it once remembering that it was still at their house. your tupperware will be brought back as soon as possible—the very next day at best. it will be washed and dried, and he’ll surprise you with your favourite treat inside.

getō suguru, who did the small talk thing with his mom. if she was laying on the bed or couch, he’d sit next to her, drape and arm over her, and lay his head on his shoulder while she’s busy on her phone or watching tv. he’d start small talk, asking how her day was and everything, only to end up asking for permission to go out with his friends—the whole reason he started the conversation.

“hey, ma,” he greets. sitting next to her on the couch, throwing his arm over her waist, and laying his head on her shoulder. “how are you doing today?” his mother raising an eyebrow, glancing down at him. “fine, you?” “ ‘m alright, ma.” he smiles, nodding his head. “ma want anything? tea, maybe? how was work, by the way?” “suguru,” she warns. “what do you want?” at first, looks shocked and feigning offence. which is only met with a pointed look from his mother before he sighs. “can i go out tonight?”

getō suguru, whose favourite memory from his teenage years are that of him and satoru learning how to drive with his (suguru) father’s car. they were overconfident and cocky, thinking it was easy but they were proved wrong when satoru reversed so badly that he scraped the car’s rear.

“wanna try?” holding up his father’s car keys, tossing it to satoru—who caught it perfect. “please, how difficult can it possibly be?” 45 minutes later “okay, satoru, just a little bit slower, we’re almost—WAIT A MINUTE, YOU’RE GOING TOO—” SCRAAAAPE ! satoru pulls out from the driveway and turns off the ignition, pulling the handbrake. they stare at each other before climbing out and checking the damage. satoru whistles, suguru’s eyes twitch. “well… that happened.”

getō suguru, who owns silk pillowcases because there’s no way he’s going to wrap his hair after a long day. he’ll come home, wrap his hair in a shower cap when he’s taking his nightly shower, change into whatever plaid pajamas pants he can find (he’s a shirtless sleeper), and go straight to bed.

“and i gotta do this shit again tomorrow? fuck.”

[mythicmanuscripts]

As soon as you said a/b/o i was sold! And no omega!reader, you stole my heart! Let me know if this is too specific or not specific enough but could we know what would be the best way to court the omegas of team green? How would they want to go about it? What gifts would make them fold the fastest? Would they try to speed up the process against decorum if they got too desperate?

Ooo great question anon!! Since we’ve never discussed a/b/o before, I think I’m gonna write some general head cannons for courting omega!Aegon and also omega!Aemond and then we can develop from there?

While this answer isn’t really explicit, I’m gonna put it under a cut anyway just because I know a/b/o isn’t everyone’s cup of tea. All a/b/o will be tagged ‘a/b/o hotd’ so you can easily filter it out :))

COURTING OMEGA!AEGON HEADCANNONS:

- so obviously Allicent would have a whole line of alphas available and she’d definitely have one in particular that she wants for Aegon. Does Aegon listen to this? No absolutely not.

- I think the trick with Aegon is to find the middle ground between letting him be independent and also caring for him? Cause Aegon would HATE to be controlled but also he will giggle like a school girl and kick his feet if you open the door for him or pour his wine for him.

- while he does certainly like gifts, I actually think he likes small personalised gifts far better than anything expensive? He is quite literally the king he can afford whatever he wants.

- he could not care less about the giant gold necklace the Lannister alpha presented him with, but then you literally just pick a flower from the gardens that he told you was his favourite and when you give that to him he blushes and thanks you and hisses at the poor servant who tries to take it and put it in a vase.

- it should come as a surprise to absolutely no one that he’s not exactly one for traditions and decorum, and so if he can see that you accept that then he’s so happy.

- he’s also VERY possessive. From the moment he thinks he might like you, he hates the scent of anyone else on you. He’s well aware that scenting is looked down upon before mating but Aegon found not give less of a fuck because there’s another omega glancing at you and he will not have that!!!!

- it’s also very important to just speak to him normally? He hates when people speak to him formally and put on this facade. He needs to feel at ease and supported by his alpha.

- also he will indeed get very desperate as time goes on, especially because allicent digs her heels in a little about his choice

- there’s a solid three weeks where he’s just losing his mind cause he knows who is alpha is. He can’t stand having to entertain all these other suitors, he doesn’t want them!!!!

COURTING OMEGA!AEMOND HEADCANNONS:

- most people get courting Aemond terribly wrong, because they see his strong and skilled he is and how he’s so very very intimidating and so alphas tend to think he wants them to treat him like another alpha? And make no mistake, Aemond has worked very hard to get rid of the omega stereotypes and he certainly wouldn’t want all the alphas in the keep to treat him like an omega.

- but…. He just melts when you treat him like an actual omega? The others bring him swords and books and armour, all things he can get himself very easily and none of it impresses him. You bring him flowers and the softest blanket you can find for his best and he just absolutely melts because that omega side of himself is so so happy??

- he wants to feel safe and loved and cherished and yes he knows he’s not acting like someone who wants that but deep down he wants an alpha to treat him like a proper omega so badly.

- So when you introduce yourself and ask if you can stand closer and ask before you touch him and offer him nesting materials and pretty jewellery and just whooing him like he's any other omega

-- this is because when you treat him like that, it means you see him as an omega deserving of that? All the other alphas trying to get his are rude and entitled about it, acting like because he fights and rides a dragon and does things not stereotypical of an omega then they can just demand his hand and he's supposed to be thankful that anyone is interested in an omega like him

-- but you see all those traits and just thinks it adds to how incredible he is? So when he meets you and you ask if you can kiss his hand and go for a walk with him through the gardens? He's sold.

-- During your walk, you have very real genuine conversations and you listen to him and you give him the credit he deserves. You know he's very knowledgeable and you enjoy learning from him. The others expect him to be quiet.

-- I actually think out of Aemond and Aegon, it would be Aemond who gets the most desperate and is the most likely to beg their alpha for more before anything is official. I know this sounds counterintuitive but I'll explain: Aemond never actually thought he would find a good alpha.

-- Aemond was convinced he'd either be alone all his life or he'd have to settle for some pompous alpha who uses him and who he'd spend most of his days avoiding. So when suddenly there's an alpha who treats him well and listens to him and who makes him feel so wanted and safe? It's so so so hard to wait.

-- Allicent warns him, tells him that he can't take this too far before he's mated because if word gets out that he has then he'd never be able to find another alpha but what allicent doesn't understand is that this is exactly why he wants more. He doesn't want anyone else to even look at him. He wants to be drenched in your scent and so thoroughly yours that there can be no one else.

[prettieinpink]

Wardrobe Essentials Guide !!

This is only a guide- you don’t need everything I list. This is just to help people build their dream wardrobe sensibly without over or under consuming or to recognize what they may want/need.

Solid colour does not mean there can be no pattern on your clothes!! It just means avoid shapes, text, pictures etc on your clothes!! 

Before purchasing ANYTHING ask yourself these 3 questions!!

How can I style this?

Is there an opportunity cost? 

Will I still be able to wear it in 3+ years, even if my style changes?

TOPS 

  2 solid colour long sleeve tops

 2 solid colour short sleeve tops

2 solid colour tank top

2 solid colour cami top

2 underneath ‘layers’ tops 

1 athletic wear top

1 white button up ( make it as plain as possible) 

2+ graphic tee of your choice ( for funsies ) 

1 cute bodysuit of your choice 

1+ knitwear solid colour top

3+ statement piece tops of ur liking 

BOTTOMS 

1 good pair of jeans you like

2 leggings solid colour!!!

2 sweatpants 

2 track shorts 

2 basic long pants solid colour ( for going out more formally/extra) 

2 biker shorts solid colour

1 cargos pants solid colour 

1 denim shorts

2 mini skirts ( or longer )

1 midi/maxi skirt 

1 pencil black skirt ( formal events ) 

1 athletic wear bottoms 

3+ statement pieces of your liking 

DRESSES / FULL BODY 

1 black mini dress (trust me)

1 solid colour maxi dress

1 solid colour mini dress

1 solid colour jumpsuit (short or long)

1 solid colour 2 piece outfit

1+ statement pieces of your liking 

OUTERWEAR 

1 white cardigan ( can be cropped)

1 black cardigan ( can be cropped) 

2 solid colour zip up jackets

2 solid colour sweaters 

1 solid colour puffer jacket 

1 solid colour blazer

1+ statement piece of your liking

SLEEP/LOUNGEWEAR

1 cute pair of summer pjs

1 cute pair of winter pjs

2 sleeping tops

2 sleeping bottoms 

1 satin OR cotton robe 

2 cute loungewear sets 

UNDERWEAR & BRAS

2 your skin colour t-shirt bras 

2 solid colour sport bras

1 black t-shirt bra

1 white t-shirt bra

2+ your skin colour bikini underwear

2+ your skin colour slip underwear 

2+ solid colour hipster underwear 

2+ solid colour classic underwear

1+ maxi underwear 

OTHER AKA OPTIONAL 

1 cute swimwear set 

1 cute activewear set

SHOES

1 plain white sneakers ( can be chunky) 

1+ white sneakers with statement colours

1 cute pair of ugg boots 

1 nude pair of heels of your choice

1 white pair of heels of your choice

1 black pair of heels of your choice

1 white OR black boots 

1 black, nude OR white pair of loafers

1 pair of solid colour sandals OR FLATS

2+ statement pieces of your choice 

BAGS 

1 black shoulder OR crossbody

1 white shoulder OR crossbody 

1 brown shoulder OR crossbody

1 solid colour tote bag ( not the shopping ones) 

1 solid colour clutch 

1 solid colour backpack

JEWELLERY ( ALL ARE EITHER SLIVER OR GOLD YOU CAN CHOOSE )

small OR big hoops

5 cute studs

5 dangling earrings

2 necklaces

4 rings 

4 bracelets 

1 good quality watch 

APPAREL ACCESSORIES 

2+ black belts

2+ solid colour scarves 

1+ solid colour gloves

1+ solid colour beanies 

2+ solid colour hats of ur liking

2+ apparel chains

2+ solid colour sunglasses 

Andddd thats it lovelies!!! Reminder to spend and consume responsibly, don’t shop fast fashion please!! Clothes suck and its so bad for the environment. Is there anything that you think I should add to this list, or anything to remove and why? Also if you don’t know why something is on this list, ask me pls!!!! 

Should I make an skincare or make up bag essentials guide next ??? 

[giolleriajewellery]

Blue & White Moissanite Solid Gold Pendant

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[kitcat22]

Elrond’s Jewellery collection!

Some things that were handed down, gifted or just bought for himself. only a select few pieces, his full collection needs an entire room of its own.

Peacock hair comb - belonged to Maglor. It was bought by Celegorm from a street vender in central Tirion for Maglor’s birthday. He said that since Maglor acted like a peacock so he may as well dress as one.

Lily flower earings - a gift from Cirdan after Elrond and Elros’s return. The boys were going through a lot mentally especially Elrond as Elros began to get closer to the Edain. Lily’s are a symbol of rebirth and resurrection.

Elwing’s wedding ring - once belonged to Elenwe’s. Jewellery making wasn’t a major priority in the havens of sirion so this was the best Earendil could do.

Golden cuff with a beautiful picture of a field on a sunny day carved into it. - Belonged to his nurse from Sirion. He took it from her corpse. She had no family left in middle earth so he kept it with the intention of returning it one day.

A set of rings each with a little dogs carved into it. - Bought from Haladin merchant.

Delicate pearl necklace with two small swan’s intertwining. - Gifted from a tween Findekano with a not-at-all-obvious crush to Maitimo after he returned from visiting Aqualonde.

Cherry blossom Hairpin - that functions as dagger. From a sindar lord with a bit of a crush.

Bronze bangles - Celebrimbor bought them from Narvi and sent them to Lindon as one of Elrond’s coming of age gifts.

Crystal earrings previously belonged to Galadriel. He claims to not know how they ended up in his possession.

Seahorse Broach bought in Numenor during a visit to his nieces and nephews.

Flower crown made of solid gold crafted by Feanor after Maitimo went through a very public and very bad break up with a Vanya nobleman. He showed up to the spring festival wearing it like princess Diana in her revenge dress.

A heavy golden choker with red jewels. Gifted to Maitimo by Melkor on his birthday during the years of the trees no one was comfortable with this least of all Maitimo but he couldn’t refuse a gift from one of the Valar so publicly. Even Celebrimbor’s maia friend seemed very tense and almost angry when he saw it. Mostly stays inside jewellery box, occasionally goes on display in museums.

A little coin with boats on a raging ocean engraved on it Earendil found it washed up on the beach and gave it to him and Elros to share. Has a little gold chain that lets it be worn as a necklace.

[fanaticsnail]

OK but picking rocks with Penguin and then he teaches you how to cast them and you make jewelry for each other. You guys are the couple ever

I love the way you think.

This is a follow up to this fic, following this ask.

Jewellery making nights with Penguin was meant to be fun. An exercise as a couple, strengthening your bond, and spending pure quality time with one another.

But you just can't seem to get it right.

The gold is too runny, falling over the sides of the divots and spilling onto the table where you were working. The action prompted you to hastily reach forward and attempt to scoop up the molton metal with your gloved hands, some skimming past the drawstring of the wrist tie and searing your flesh.

"Ah-!" you choke your soft yelp, recoiling and cradling your wrist in your hand: inadvertently rubbing the metal further into your flesh as you attempt to wipe it off.

Penguin is immediately by your side, spilling sweet nothings in your ear as he rushes you to the medical office. Turning on the tap, he removes your glove and places your wrist beneath the running water. He braces you against his chest from behind while you sniffle and hide your face in the crook of his neck.

"It's okay. It's okay, baby. You did so good, honest," he coos into your ear, peppering your neck with a flurry of soft kisses. Once the swelling calms down, and the metal becomes solid, you both sheepishly approach your captain and tell him what happened.

With a gruff growl, a quick utter of "scan, room, shambles," the metal falls away from your skin without any inhibitions. Giving you a prescription for cream, and a forbodence of never attempting to do this again without Eustass Kid to guide you properly, he dismisses the two of you without further word.

After this, he would instead demonstrate to you how to do gem wrapping with strings and wires. While he would give you a shard of blue sea glass to practice with, he would quietly and secretly work on a piece more personal and with a story to go with it.

Once you present him with the sea glass coil, hanging from a length of string long enough to wear around his neck, you smile that smile that holds him captive.

"It matches your eyes," you whisper lovingly up at your fiance, offering to place it on his neck. He attempts to choke back his deeper emotions and how much he's moved by your gift, removing his hat and allowing you to tie it at the nape of his neck. Once you fiddle enough with the knot to hold it in place, you press your lips just below the tie. He physically stiffens, his breath catching, and goose flesh rising each follicle up to attention.

Turning back to face you, he welcomes you into his embrace with a heated kiss. Lips colliding, moving like a slow and sensual dance, he wants to express his gratitude for such thoughtfulness from you.

"So good," he whispers in a muffled gasp, "Did such a good job. Proud of you." He parts his lips, pressing a deeper kiss against your lips while tugging your hips flush with his own. Wrapping your hands around his waist, he draws his hands up to the nape of your neck.

You barely process him placing his own craft around your neck, too lost in his kiss to pay attention to his hands. Once he clasps it closed, he cups your cheeks and holds you steady while pulling away his lips from yours.

His blue eyes fall half-lidded, gazing at your love-bruised lips before gazing up into your eyes.

"Don't be mad at me," he sucked his lips into his mouth to stifle his smile, "But I made you one too." He nods down at your neck, prompting you to furrow your brows before looking down at the object.

In the centre of Penguin's woven piece, the seared gold that cooled against your skin lay flush amongst the various ropes and ties. Sucking your own lip into your mouth, you pout down at the piece before turning your mock-anger back onto your fiance.

"Hey! I said don't be angry! Oi-!" Penguin laughed, removing himself from your arms and beginning to flee from being on the receiving end of your playful wrath.

"Pen!!" you whine after him, chasing him until he's cornered in his quarters.

Giggling and laughing all the way, he allows you to pin him and invoke your punishment on him for using your embarassment to craft something beautiful. He would happy receive your wrath, so long as you do it with a smile on your lips while his meet your own.

[serbarris]

No Sweeter Innocence

Dragon Age: the Veilguard, some spoilers for plot, spoilers for Emmrichs romance  Pairing: F!Rook Ingellvar x Emmrich Volkarin  Rating: E, this is NSFW   Chapter 11 of At Best You Find a Little Remedy Summary: Calliope and Emmrich come to an understanding when they visit Calliope's old apartment. Words: ~2000 read the chapter on ao3read the entire work on ao3

A silent war raged in Calliope’s head as they walked through the Necropolis. Was everything she knew wrong? Emmrich didn’t seem to find an issue with her inability, but she had tried to cure herself for years. Using men she’d just met in taverns, her own hand, even trying a small device she got in Minrathous, but she had yet to find satisfaction. There was always something holding her back, the sensation becoming too dull or too intense, an errant thought distracting her, a sudden noise disrupting her pleasure.

She wanted to go home. To her little apartment. A place that was solely hers, not borrowed from a god of lies. She wanted to be surrounded by her books and her furniture, maybe she’d even sleep in her bed. Calliope tugged lightly on Emmrich’s arm as they neared the Hollow Belfry, and sheepishly asked, “Can we go to my apartment? I- I'd like to stay home a bit longer.”

“Of course my darling.” About turning they made their way to the upper levels of the Necropolis, down the wide corridors to the medior Watcher apartments. They approached a door just like all the others, solid stone with brass inlaid. Calliope cast a quick incantation to unlock the door, before she turned to invite Emmrich inside, “You can come in - if you wish. I can't promise how tidy it is, I haven't been back since I left, and I was in a rush.”

“I'd be delighted to.”

“It's not much, but it's mine,” Calliope said as she lit extra candles with a wave, illuminating the room further. The tension in her shoulders abated as she took in the sight of her apartment, her lip no longer caught between her teeth with worry. She forgot she owned so many things. She had books stacked neatly against every surface, the bookshelves lining two of the walls of her living area not enough to hold her collection. Small glints of light caught Emmrich’s eye. Despite the bookshelves being filled to the brim, Calliope had a hoard of trinkets. Every possible space not occupied by a tome was covered with them. Small hair pins, brooches, porcelain statues, bent spoons, broken earrings, a rainbow of coloured glass, and old coins similar to the ones she wore around her wrist. Calliope noticed his interest as he inspected the shelves; the treasure differed from Emmrich’s collection of antiquities and specimens sitting in his quarters. “I keep meaning to take some of these with me,” she started, as she picked up a beautifully wrought key, “Solas’- my room at the Lighthouse seems so empty without them.”

“How did you collect so much?”

“Well, Vorgoth told me that as a child I was always drawn to shiny things, constantly picking things up that caught my eye. He used to call me a ‘MAGPIE’.” Emmrich chuckled at Calliope’s imitation of Vorgoth’s rasping voice. The nickname suited his paramour, recalling moments where she wandered off to the side, the glint of a discarded object catching her attention. “Half the time it's not even how pretty it is that draws me in, I'm curious how it got lost, or broken. I probably intended to fix the things but never actually got around to it.”

“Did you collect the gulder’s to make your bracelet?”

She nodded, “I picked my favourites and saved as much money as possible to take them to a goldsmith.” Calliope rifled through the coins that littered her shelves, showing Emmrich a curated selection and acknowledging their rarity. Only a couple were tarnished, minted during a time of economic hardship - though some had a heavy patina, dulling the gold. Some had stories she promised to tell him in the future. So few had ever asked about her unique jewellery, and she couldn’t help but be enthused to talk about her pieces and how she acquired them. She then spun her bracelet to find the right coin, holding her wrist to Emmrich, “This one is my favourite, it’s of a Death Watch Beetle, from the Storm Age!”

“I'm glad you've perked up,” Emmrich began, his hand stroking Calliope’s arm, “I was getting worried about you, my dear.” Calliope acknowledged his concern with a grimace. Until then she could almost forget what happened a short while ago. But she felt less at the behest of her emotions than earlier.

“Sometimes… a lot of the time, my mind likes to get stuck on something and won't let it go. I- I want to go about this in the best way possible, I don’t want to sabotage this.”

“You're not sabotaging anything, I understand… much better than you know. I daresay I've just had more years to manage it myself.”

She pushed herself to the tips of her toes, pressing her mouth to the corner of Emmrich’s lips. “In the library, I was enjoying it, the kissing, more than I have with anyone else. I didn't know it could feel like that.” Calliope's cheeks coloured as she remembered how it felt to have Emmrich pushed against her, his knee between her legs, her skin electric under his touch. Now she knew how it felt, she wanted more. “I want you, Emmrich. In any way you'll have me.”

His eyes darted to her parted lips. Emmrich closed the gap between them, her soft lips parting further, giving his tongue access as he pulled her flush to his body, their legs intertwining. “Do you want to continue?” Emmrich asked as this thumb stroked where her shirt met the underside of her breast, his touch sending a shiver down her spine. She agreed with barely a whisper. “Poets wax lyrical about reaching a pinnacle,” He purred as he tangled his hand in her hair. “In my experience, this.” His hiss was like silk against the roaring pulse in her ears, “Is about connection. Enjoying the company of the person who has bewitched you.” He punctuated his words with his teeth against her neck. Unconsciously she rolled her hips, Emmrich grabbed onto her rear and his fingers bit into the soft flesh. “Exploring the body that invades your dreams.” He captured her mouth again in a bruising kiss. A soft moan resonated in Calliope’s throat, desire flooded her body, pooling between her legs. It was all she could do but grasp onto him, her legs threatening to buckle beneath her.

“Bedroom?” she asked as if it might be too forward as if Emmrich hadn't just abated her nerves by making her so aroused she could implode. She took his hand and led him through the open doorway.

Emmrich took in the sight of Calliope. She stood in front of him, her flush stretched across her chest, dipping between her breasts to where her shirt joined. She started to undo the tied shirt, her hands wanting to move, to do something. Emmrich closed the gap, pushing Calliope’s hands away to give him access. “Calliope, let me,” he whispered, kneeling before her to undo her boots.

All Calliope focused on was his touch, it was slow, purposeful, and reverent. He was meticulous, taking his time to untie her shoelaces, savouring the curves of her body, admiring the strength she held in her quadriceps and calves. He pulled down her stockings, distributing kisses across her thighs, leaving goosebumps to pebble her pale skin in his wake. Her breath hitched as Emmrich stood, a lock of silver hair had escaped his immaculate coif. Seeing him come undone, his shiny varnish cracking from her touch took her breath away. She felt her skirt pool at her feet, his hands roaming over the curve of her hips, skirting her underwear. Emmrich’s hands journeyed up her body, his deft fingers releasing the tie between her breasts, she recalled his earlier admission “This shirt has been consuming my thoughts all night.”

He admired her, pale skin glowing green in the candlelight, her nipples pebbling from the slight chill of the air, despite the heat of her skin. He peppered kisses from her mastoid process to her clavicle, before finally tracing his tongue down her sternum, following her tattoo. “Emmrich.” She sighed, her core tight, unable to focus on anything but his touch. She'd never experienced such heightened pleasure, elevating her beyond the trivial thoughts that plagued her. Her hands gripped Emmrich’s hair as he nipped at her breasts, alternating between the peaks. She pulled Emmrich up, wanting, needing, more.

Calliope undid the buttons of his vest and shirt, smiling at Emmrich. She took in his swollen lips, the smattering of colour at the top of his cheekbones and how dishevelled his hair was from her touch. Emmrich was making quicker work of the rest of his clothing, to her surprise leaving it abandoned on the floor. Her mouth went dry as she admired the smooth planes of Emmrich’s body, his broad shoulders and lean muscles, a smattering of dark hair covering his chest, and a trail disappeared below his underwear leading to his already straining bulge. Emmrich captured her mouth, guiding her backwards until her knees hit the edge of her bed and she lay back. He settled on the bed between her legs, hovering over her. Calliope’s hands itched to push a lock of hair back from Emmrich’s forehead, but before she could Emmrich kissed her deeply.

He kissed down her neck, his lips following the incision tattoo that trailed down her centre reverently, his hands trailing over the expanse of her skin, committing her body to memory. Kissing her soft stomach and nipping at her thighs, he pulled her underwear down. His fingers pressed into the soft flesh of her legs to hold them open, preventing her from clenching them together.

“Have you ever touched yourself?” Emmrich asked, Calliope lay bare before him, her grave gold glinting in the dim candlelight. She shied away, trying to bury her face into the sheets. “Use your words Calliope. Have you touched yourself while thinking about me?”

She wanted to keep her head buried in the sheets, looking at him felt almost too intimate, too real. Yet his tone, heavy with lust but firm, forced her to look at him, his eyes glowed almost as bright as the veilfire surrounding them. “Yes.”

“And yet you didn't finish.” His fingers ghosted over the soft curls between her thighs, making her shiver. “I hope to exceed the expectations set by your fantasies.” Maybe one day she would confess that the first time she ever touched herself it was thinking about him. 15 years ago, when he had more black hair than grey. When the streak of grey hair entranced her during lectures. Wanting him, with his gentle but direct voice to teach her about anatomy.

Calliope gasped, bucking her hips, pulling her from her thoughts as Emmrich dragged his tongue between her folds. She had never had any previous partners do this. She almost thought it was a myth that only happened in romance novels. His tongue was so warm, his moustache a new but pleasurable sensation.

Emmrich’s touch was experimental, he learned from her reactions, her quick inhales, whether her hands twisted in the sheets, her squirming hips nudging him in a different direction. She only felt his touch, how her core was coiled tight, her breath coming in quick soft pants. Emmrich pushed a finger into her, curling it within her. Her body tightened as he stroked her, the sensation overwhelming. “Calliope, relax,” he growled, his voice heavy with lust, the vibrations running through her. She uncoiled her muscles and Emmrich moved faster, driving his fingers into her harder, his mouth nipping, sucking and licking at her core.

Then he stopped.

[valentine-cafe]

˖⁺. ﹙ the hex demon rhytaari. ﹚:  valerius ariti .𖹭 ݁

. . . a touch of gold !! 🍒 : “ but when you are here, I feel my heart stutter and lose it’s beats a thousand million times in a minute. you shine brighter than any moon and sun I have ever come acorss, my darling ”

꒰ verse ꒱ of the abhorration

꒰ species ꒱ demon lord, rhytaari

꒰ ethnicity ꒱ greek

꒰ age ꒱ unknow ( thousands )

꒰ gender ꒱ male

꒰ mbti ꒱ enfp

꒰ alias ꒱the hex, the rhytaari of hexes, the auric, xra’fei’s right-hand, valerie ( talisen 781 ), vale ( standard ), the prince of ruin, the prince of desolation

꒰ story ꒱ 

a creature so beautiful and divine, with an allure of the heavens should be anything but a devil. a honeyed voice that speaks hexes and curses as though they are poetry and gold eyes that shine with serenity yet hold only deception.

the rhytaari of hexes, valerius ariti — otherwise known as vale when he disguises himself within the material plane. taking on the stature of an art student, a lover of music who roams the halls of verse 781’s elritea university.

a demon from the depths of the abhorration, adorned in chains of gold and gemstones alike. some see him as vain, some see him as a gentle breeze within the depths of hell; but all he is, is a scourge — with a smile.

 

꒰ appearance ꒱

long, straight silky light gold hair that extends down to his waist

deep amber eyes with feathery lashes

dark bronze skin tone. gold veins running down his chest from his lower neck and up his wrists/forearms

6’5” in height when in disguise, but his true form scales to 7’6”, slender figure with just enough lean muscle

long nails painted dark cold colours, can extend into large claws

wears some gold chains and necklaces in his human form with gold rings

opal bracelet

standard lobe piercings with dangling opal and gold earrings

demon form:

even longer hair

in his full demon form, he has a series of five eyes in a semi-circle around his upper face, all solid gold in colour without any pupils. each eye has a small circular opening ( that is also gold ) atop

two large. amber horns extend from his middle eyes and circle back. the tips of these horns are tainted white. strands of his hair sometimes drape over these horns ( yak-like horns )

a broken halo of amber gemstone

diamond-shaped opals encrusted into his forehead

three pairs of arms with his hands extending long white claws

clawed feet

long pointed ears with gemstones encrusted

two elongated tongues

lots of gold chains hanging from him, along his horns and joining to around his wrists

robes that hang around his waist and just cover what it needs to

gold veins that are visible along his forearms and legs

tiny opal and amber jewels encrusted along his chest

 

꒰ personality ꒱

valerius is serene and elegant, graceful in many ways and is one of his biggest charms, along with one of the most deceiving parts of him.

has a very eloquent way of talking, like he’s weaving in charms into his sentences and words — quickly catching the attention of the person he speaks to

refined yet charming, he gets to most people by just his presence.

artistic and considered to be quite creative, especially in terms of painting

masks as a sweet and kind person, both in expression and voice

is actually quite callous, cunning and borderline cruel. his serene appearance is what throws people off and also makes those who know better fear him.

patient, but only so he can let his temper grow and see how far it pushes, until he eventually compulses and lets out everything that has been kept inside. it gives him a thrill, to see the faces of fear when he does.

can be quite sadistic and doesn’t mind hurting a few people or more for his own amusement

forgiveness is not his strong suit, even if he alludes to it. he can be particularly vengeful

can be perceived as vain, especially given his consideration in his looks and the jewellery that adorns him

deceitful. but it’s not something one would expect especially given his honeyed words and acting skills. he knows how to break things or people.

if his anger shows in the typical way, run. it takes him a lot to get there — and you don’t want to be an innocent nor guilty victim of it.

apathetic when it all boils down to it, whether he be carrying out his deeds as a rhytaari or a demon. almost bored yet of course, this is masked

the only exception is the rare people that he cares about

 

꒰ with a lover ꒱

so very sweet and tender when it comes to you, his voice much more soft-spoken and calm around you and his hands leaving tender and gentle touches on your face and back to help soothe you when you become overwhelmed.

acts of service are a big thing, he always helps you in any way that he possibly can. In any way he possibly can — if you ask him for help, he will come running immediately and assure you are given the help needed.

at first glance, one wouldn’t think this man could not let a single tease roll off of his tongue. but as a matter of fact, he is extremely teasing with you. though usually in a way where he makes sure you feel alright with it.

loves drawing or painting you. has so many illustrations of you in his temple and will at times sigh as he stares at all of the art. nothing could ever replicate you or the beauty you carry inside and out, not even his art.

despite being calm, and usually a very held together man, it is important to remember that Valerius is both a rhytaari and a demon. which can set off quite the protective side, along with a certain hint of repressed possessiveness. when you are caught up in something, he is always the first to be there.

at times, he may be a bit self sabotaging. this is caused by his heart thinking that you are way better off with someone else that is not him. yet at the same time, he wouldn’t forgive himself if he let you find another.

once again we skip back to the possessive tendencies, and as he is a demon, he has an urge to mark you up all pretty to assure people know who you belong to.

gives you lots of kisses, especially around your hands, shoulders, your back — places that leave behind that loving tingle of his kisses after. leaving the touch of his lips lingering.

puts his jewellery on you sometimes, sometimes to show you off with it on. sometimes to show people who you belong to — jewellery is important to him, it has always been, and what’s better than putting it on you?

holds you through the night because he loves spooning. the second you leave bed, he’ll try to pull you back in and cuddle you closer. groaning quietly into your shoulder, to wait just a bit longer before going.

very verbally affectionate! he adores giving you new nicknames and leaving your head spinning with all of his poetically beautiful paragraphs and sentences as he holds you close or sits next to you, whispering into your ear.

 

꒰ strengths ꒱

hexes and curses: as his rhytaari name suggests, he is a rhytaari of hexes and curses, a master of it. getting a curse or hex from him is nasty

demon physiology: the attributes and abilities of a high-ranking demon

dark magic: specialises in dark magic, due to his origins with the realm of the abhorrent

light magic: despite all of the dark curses and magic, valerius does know quite the light magic as well, though, rarely shows it.

curse lifting: it is required that anyone who throws curses and hexes must know how to lift them. otherwise they will be frowned upon heavily.

the rhykana: the magic that flows through all rhytaari and make them as powerful and as destructive as they are.

 

꒰ weaknesses ꒱

. . . 

 

꒰ relationships ꒱

xra’fei: boss, or as valerius would say, his plague

lucía herrera 781: girlfriend

rishen herrera 781: lucía’s older brother, classmate, bully

alessio arias 781: classmate, bully

zhào talisen 781: classmate, bully, talisen’s onesided rival.

zhào yŭ xī 9948e: best friend, also lucía’s best friend.

jìngyí ( verse-less ): forced work partner, enemy

 

꒰ extra ꒱

he really enjoys reading

is also very into art and music

he has a temple in the abhorration

he disguises himself as a student in the university of elritea and goes by the name “vale” instead

really likes butterflies.