#sparkle's just so unpleasant

[nomohmoss]

honestly sparkle would've been fine if hyv didn't try so hard to make her "cool" and "edgy" and gave her a personal motivation

instead they made her racist, boring and plagiarized an indie studio's clip in her trailer 👍

[chuluoyi]

MARRIED ON PURPOSE

- gojo satoru x reader

"for one, i can show you incredible things!" jujutsu, madness, heaven, sin. the strongest sorcerer is sure to show you all of that during the whole duration of your six-month marriage contract.

genre/warnings: marriage of convenience, enemies to lovers, crack, fluff, slight satosugu angst/comfort, kamo!reader, very suggestive. gojo clan is portrayed as very traditional, meanwhile kamo clan is rather unpleasant here

note: the unholy amount of times i've edited this story *sigh* but okay i must drop it here or else i'm going to keep editing it and losing my mind. despite my misgivings and all, i really had fun writing this and i hope you enjoy it! wc. 5k !

a part of 1K MILESTONE EVENT

general masterlist

Some would say... marrying Gojo Satoru would be living the dream.

“Don't look that sour now, wife.”

“…sigh.”

A playful nudge at your side, a lighthearted voice— “You're going to make them question our veeery happy marriage, you know… We don't want that now, do we?”

But to you, it was more like nightmare dressed in a daydream.

It was peak comedy because why would you put marrying Gojo Satoru in your life plans? He was incorrigible, a child trapped in a man's body, and there was also the very fact that you hate him. His only redeeming trait was being born in the esteemed Gojo clan, and now held the title of the strongest.

You know you must have accumulated karma, but out of everything else, why must you end up in this predicament?

Hailing from the great clans of jujutsu society, both of you know well that marriage is the essence to make the clan greater. And when it involves the big three clans, its importance amplifies even further.

It was just that you two were too rebellious to follow it through, for one reason or another. Everyone knows Gojo Satoru was faithless to any woman, and you were not exactly thrilled with the idea of marriage as a whole.

He was the one who came to you, proposing this insane idea of a temporary marriage.

"Look at it this way," Satoru said with a wry grin, contrasting your puzzled frown on that fateful afternoon. "It's either me or Zen'in Naoya for you, isn't it? It's so clear which is the better man."

That was what grated you the most. You would be damned if you married the misogynist.

"What do you get from this arrangement, really?" you questioned begrudgingly.

His name would give you security, stop the harassment from your clan, and maybe even a better life, but you didn't quite get what he'd get from the offer he willingly extended to you.

Satoru flippantly shrugged. "Nah, you are not exactly my type, but you're still far better than the boring puppet my family have considered to be my wife."

"Who?"

"Don't remember her name. All she goes on about is that she'll be the good wife and mother of my child. Ew."

Seven hells. You scowled. Gojo Satoru and his penchant for chasing the thrill. Boring women would kill him before an actual curse would.

"And hey, for one," he shot you a smirk, visibly smug. "I can show you incredible things!"

"That's not the point! Gojo, do you even realize—" your voice rose, pulsating with righteous fury, "—how serious all of this is? My life, your life! We're going to be stuck—together!"

"Six months," he blurted, tilting his head slightly. His sunglasses slipped down just enough for you to catch a glimpse of his sparkling eyes. "It's enough time to work through our shits, and by then if you have enough, we're through."

At that time, it seemed feasible. Both of you tolerating each other to avoid a much worse match.

. . .

BACK TO PRESENT—barely a week ever since you were paraded around as his wife, now you and Satoru were stiffly poised in the studio in your formal garbs, capturing your official wedding photos.

At that time, it seemed feasible, but now, it felt like a chore, as you realized that conversing with him either spiked your blood pressure so much that you wouldn't even be surprised if you ended up with hypertension or completely sapped your energy that you were left exhausted.

"Come on, show a smiiile," Satoru said in a sing-song voice, gesturing toward the camera as it flashed for the pictures. You were beyond appalled, shooting a glare in his direction.

"I am smiling, Gojo."

"Liar. You're pouting, wifey~"

Sigh… this really is going to be one hella of a ride, huh?

MONTH ONE, and you found out that Gojo Satoru is apparently as mad as people made him out to be.

"You've got to be kidding me!" you fumed, right after he hauled you into one of the rooms in his grand, traditional estate. Your glare pierced through him, a blood vessel ready to burst. "We never agreed on ‘consummating’ the marriage!"

You wrote him a goddamn contract. And the three conditions of this chaotic marriage are: one, it would only last six months; two, no personal feelings involved; and three, nothing borderline disturbing.

And this, you concluded, was the height of what could be called as disturbing.

"We will not," Satoru replied with a hint of disdain, grimacing, as if the notion didn't sit well with him either. The audacity! "We're just going to make it as if we are—"

"And why?! Why should I do that?!"

"Why else? Because my old fart believes that we indeed haven't done so."

"Then it's your fault? For failing to convince him? Why turn it into my problem!"

"Because, dear wife," he drawled, his tone taunting on the final note. "Now we're on the same page, in case you have forgotten."

Great clans and their hollow expectations spare no one, not even Gojo Satoru. They place importance in the most banal things, such as the continuity of sacred bloodlines and such.

The only alternative wasn't appealing either. Should you be found out that you married only to divorce... sigh, you didn't even want to know how big of a scandal it would be. One thing was certain: your clan would chop you to shreds.

You really had no choice, huh?

"Five minutes," you warned, glaring at him. "Make it loud. Make it so that no one wouldn't question this anymore."

Oh and sure he would. As Satoru pulled that shit-eating grin, you were in for another ride. You waited out until several maids were nearby, left the wooden door ajar, and began the show—

His hands wrapped around your waist—the feeling was peculiar, but you ignored it—and you let him pull you near that open door. He snuggled his face on your neck—his hair tickling you in the process, but you ignored that peculiarity again—as he started making suggestive noises. "Mm, you're so pretty, darling."

You could hear those maids gasp in surprise. And to add the flavor, you faked a moan.

This is... kinda fun? A twisted part of you suddenly found satisfaction in fooling the maids. A smile tugged at your lips as you shoved him away, and Satoru eyed you in surprise and irritation.

"Husband, you're... insatiable," you worded languidly, and he immediately caught on your act, grinning. "Anyone can walk by, you know."

"Oh? But that's the point." Satoru's bright blue eyes twinkled with utter mischief, and even you couldn't deny the exhilarating rush. "I want them to know."

And suddenly you got this very brilliant idea. You swiftly moved past him and sent the books and trinkets on his desk flying to the floor, causing questionable noises.

"Oh my!" a girlish voice exclaimed.

"The master! And the lady!"

Satoru shook his head, thoroughly entertained. And you rolled your eyes. Those nosy maids would finally have enough now, and this charade would end—

"What's happening here?"

The old fart. Both you and Satoru grunted in unison. You really thought you would leave it up to the maids to spread the word, but then you were taken by surprise when he wrapped his hands around you and flung the door open, slamming you against it—and damn it hurt!—offering everyone a front-row seat to your charade.

The maids squealed. His grandfather raised a righteous, demanding eyebrow. You wanted to scream.

"Hey, gramps," he greeted jovially, breathless, his grip on you tightening and you felt heat radiating from his palm. "Ah, sorry, opened it by accident—the wife here is feisty, you see."

Your veins felt ready to burst. Was this a part of his plan all along? How would you show your face before your grandfather-in-law now that he had seen this... atrocity?!

"So, yeah, we'll resume our business!" Satoru, the idiot, said it as if it was the most normal thing in the world. "See ya!"

With that the door slammed shut, but oh no, it was not the end.

"Mmmph!?" you protested, unintentionally loud and eyes widening in alarm when Satoru muffled your mouth with his hand.

The rotten bastard! You found it nearly impossible to breathe, shooting daggers at him. "Mmmrgh! Mmmrrgh!"

"Oh... so that boy really does it huh," you heard the elder mutter in thoughtful manner from outside—and you were in disbelief at how trusting he was—before rounding the stunned maids and barked, "What are all you doing here? Go!"

You nearly sagged with relief when Satoru loosened his grip slightly, allowing you to breathe, as his meddlesome grandpa finally stalked away. Done. This horrible act was over! But wait, why did he still had his hand on your mouth?

"That went splendidly!" he snickered, appearing rather pleased with what had unfolded. "Now, if only we work together like this more often—"

This is… my life now, you lamented the reality. The feeling of his calloused hand on you made you feel things, honestly speaking, but another emotion—and impulse—currently overpowered that.

Seething with resentment, you fiercely chomped down on his hand hard, causing him to swear and pull his hand out of you.

"You—you devil! You bit me!"

"Serves you right!"

Okay, he was bad. He was insufferable. But to be frank, sometimes it wasn't all chaos.

And what's more, by MONTH TWO, you realized that being married to Gojo Satoru also comes with several perks.

"Miss, please, you're trespassing—"

You looked at the police with the haughtiest look you could muster, unamused. "Don't you know who I am?"

"No, but it shouldn't—"

"I'm that man's wife," you declared regally, motioning towards a certain tall shuttlecock a few meters away. "Is that not clear enough for you?"

For one, no one can look down on you anymore, because should they try, you have the power to raise your chin high and declare yourself as the wife of the infamous sorcerer. The very moment you did, that nosy police stopped yapping, and let you through.

The cursed boy, Yuta and his classmate had just been trapped inside a barrier a curse user pulled down, and you were assigned to look into this case by the headquarters. As much as it boggled you—because certainly, the strongest sorcerer was enough to investigate this—you still had to do your job.

“What is this?” you asked Satoru, who was observing something far beyond what your measly ordinary eyes could see. “What happened here?”

He turned to you, all with bandaged eyes. “Hmm? Oh, you’re here too?”

“Don't act surprised. Answer my question, Gojo.”

"You’re too uptight, wifey," Satoru's lips curved upwards playfully. He had taken to addressing you with pet names as of late, if anything, only to get a rise out of you. "Isn't it the time for you to start calling me by my given name?"

You let out a weary exhale, exasperated. "I'm serious, did you find anything? Who is behind this?"

"Nah, nothing for you to worry about," Satoru waved his hand dismissively, grinning. "More importantly! Let's head back and have dinner! My treat!"

You weren't that oblivious. You noticed things too.

"What do you want tonight? Sukiyaki? Sushi?" he hummed nonchalantly. "Or shabu-shabu?"

You gave him the stink eye. "Is that all you think about? Food?"

"As a responsible husband, it's my duty to feed my wife, no?"

"News flash: temporary wife."

"But still my wife, regardless. I overheard you earlier. Being Mrs. Gojo is convenient, yeah?"

You ignored how a part of your jolted at the emphasis he placed on that word, grunting. "Nah, it's meh."

Call it a feeling or hypothesis. It was similar to how he treated his students. He always said the dumbest things, but it actually served to make them feel at ease.

Then it occurred to you, could this be actually his attempt to change the subject?

"You can't cheat your way out of this." You shot him a pointed look. "You know something. Tell me."

"Hmmm? And what would I get in return?"

"Don't make this difficult. I'm on this assignment too!"

"Nah, if you call me by my name, I might consider it."

Hah. You should really read a parenting book one of these days. Taking on your husband was more or less the same as facing a kid.

"Satoru," you tested, the name rolling out of your lips far easier than you thought. Somehow, using his given name felt like some sort of a leap of faith.

He stopped right in his tracks, turning to you. His glossy lips quirked into a meaningful smile, and you felt funny.

"Wasn't that difficult, was it?" he winked, and you covered the strange heat creeping onto your face by rolling your eyes and huffed.

Needless to say, he still didn't tell you even a clue. You finally gave up, thinking that if he insisted on not disclosing it, then so be it. You trusted him on this, even as he turned your help away, and you hated admitting it, because, well…

You’d trust him with your life. He knows how to handle this better than anyone.

Being a a woman in Kamo clan is, in fact, not any better than in Zen'in—you're regarded more as a commodity than a human being.

"When will you bear the child of the bearer of Six Eyes?" in your father's eyes, you were but a tool to tie the Gojo at his hip, and your worth probably wasn't even twice of Noritoshi's. You had known he would ask this when he summoned you to Kamo ancestral home, and you weren't that naive—you had asked Satoru to join you too. But your father had insisted him to stay at the foyer, while he dragged you into his chamber.

Just because you had seen it coming didn’t mean you liked it. "Is that all? Do you really make me come here just to ask me that?"

And what came next was like a crack of thunder.

"How insolent!"

You shuddered, hating how his voice still had control over you. You wanted to stay deviant, but you couldn't keep yourself from shaking. You thought you would have to endure this shit just like you did before, until—

"Now, now... That's my wife you're talking to. I'd watch your words, if I were you."

You had never whipped your head so fast.

There stood Gojo Satoru, your husband, in all his glory. He was smiling but it was clear that he was displeased, evident from his cutting remark, and most notably, how he had unveiled his striking cerulean eyes for all to see. Truth to be told, you didn't expect him to barge in here at all.

"Gojo-sama," your father bowed his head, displaying utter respect towards him, contrasting the blatant disrespect he showed towards you just now. Satoru paid him no heed, as took big strides towards you and seized your arm, prompting you to rise to your feet.

"What is this? Why are you yelling at her?" His voice lacked its usual hint of amusement or teasing, sending a chill down your spine.

"Gojo-sama, I apologize for my tone towards my daughter earlier. I was just trying to educate—"

“My wife. She is my wife now, and it would do you better to remember that,” Satoru asserted firmly, putting emphasis in the way he addressed you, his gaze hardening. "She is an adult. There's nothing left for you to educate her." Pausing, he added, "And the way I saw it, you were just unnecessarily rude."

"Gojo-sama, there were just certain things in our clan that—"

"Please, don't call on us again," Satoru interjected decisively with a light yet firm voice. You could swear your heart was somersaulting at the sight of him staring down your natural enemy. "I'm sure you're aware, but your daughter bears my name now, and she will get the respect she is due. I will have a word with anyone who fails to treat her accordingly."

Somehow or another, Satoru whisked you away from that hellhole, your hand tightly clasped in his. Your relieved sigh didn't go unnoticed by him, as he looked back to you.

"Have you gone soft?" he teased, eyeing you with a playful snort. "Did you forget who your husband is? You've got nothing to fear. Not even him."

"Thank you," you murmured. Your heart was still pounding and your mind blanked, rendering you unable to engage in your usual banters.

His clear blue eyes widened a touch, blinking at your display of vulnerability, Then, he wore the most innocent expression, even sporting a silly smirk—the hardness from earlier gone. "I was really cool, huh? Totally made you swoon I bet."

And in MONTH THREE, you realized, as he laced his fingers with yours, as his laughter filled the air, as calmness swelled on your chest, and as you loudly snorted at his remark, that—

You felt warm, so warm, in fact, and maybe—

"Pfft, you wish."

—maybe... being with him isn't so bad after all.

MONTH FOUR, and you finally found out that it was Geto Suguru.

Everyone knew that your husband and the criminal used to be the best of friends. You saw them during your high school days, and heck, you used to think that Geto was the better man.

You could only imagine what he must feel.

. . .

When he got back to your shared house after the whole ordeal—after he ended his best friend with his own hands, Satoru honestly didn't expect that you would be waiting for him.

"You okay?" you asked him, brows furrowed in concern. It was probably one of the very few times you had displayed emotions other than contempt towards him.

It felt strange because he was used to your jabs, and he was not sure what sort of expression he should pull now, because truthfully, now he felt empty. Blank. All he comprehended was that he had killed Suguru, that he was gone, and that was something he must do.

It would be just like any other day if hadn't just committed a murder. On someone he held dear.

"Of course, who do you think I am?" Satoru swiftly replied, sounding smug—or at least tried to. "I'm the strongest. I’m unscat—"

"No, not that." You frowned, meeting his gaze squarely. "After everything."

Satoru struggled to choose how he should react, partly because most of his energy had gone after walking Yuta back and reassuring him earlier, and by default, the two of you should be hellbent on hating each other and wishing for this contract to end soon.

"Aww, are you worried about me?" he quipped with a touch of sarcasm just because he had to, to show you that it wasn't enough to ruffle him.

Because he is still the strongest, even when alone. Especially when he is alone.

You let out a sigh, looking away. "Can't I?"

"Whoa, that's sweet of—"

"Don't fool yourself," you stated in straight-laced manner, meeting his gaze with a composed expression. "You're not okay. You might be Gojo Satoru, but no one will be after doing what you just did."

You might be Gojo Satoru, but no one will be after doing what you just did.

Despite himself, his smile fell, and his chest burns. What is this? Were you sympathizing with him?

Does that mean that you don't see him as the entity... that was the strongest?

Before now, Satoru remembered you as the most uncooperative Kyoto girl he had ever met. Your first meeting in high school sealed your fate as the two of you could hardly get along. You didn't mince words, you didn't take shit from anyone else—heck, sometimes when he thought of you, what came up to mind was an impenetrable diamond.

Which was why he chose you. You were someone he could trust. You were pretty in the eyes and certainly wouldn't bore him either. His reasons were purely based on logic. And after four months with you, Satoru came to a conclusion that you indeed fulfilled all his expectations, if not more.

And he felt comfortable, or dare he say, secure even. He felt like he had gained a friend, who could see past his bravado and wouldn't judge him for it.

"You're..." you sighed, casting a sympathetic glance at him, your forehead slightly creased. At that moment, Satoru couldn't help but think you were incredibly endearing, fretting over him. "...an idiot."

"Heh." I really am, aren't I?

"I never knew him well..." you chose your words carefully, hesitant. "Did you try to convince him, before this?"

He barked a bitter laugh. "I did, we even made a scene in front of freaking KFC," he remarked with a scoff. "He didn't listen to me, until the very end."

You wanted to tell him “You have done everything you could” but the words faltered on your tongue. You couldn't bring yourself to say it when you saw the faint quiver of his lips, the slump of his shoulders—the very sight of a boy grieving the loss of his friend.

Your heart pricked too, somehow, seeing that expression on him. And you once again realized that your silly, exalted husband was just as human as anyone else who made him think he wasn’t.

"And you know what he said in the end?" Satoru's tone was flippant, as if asking the most normal thing around, but carried a trace of grief, evident in the slight drop in his tone if you squinted. "He said he didn't regret it, not even a bit."

"I'm sorry," was all you could manage.

Satoru's smile was lopsided. Now that he had finally accepted it, something inside him finally bleeds, and it freaking hurts. The pain gripped his chest like a swirling inferno.

But then, you boldly clasped his hand in yours, gently tracing soothing circles on its back.

"What?" he peered at you, feeling a ghost of a smile forming.

"Consider this emotional support."

And he chuckled softly. Despite the lingering ache, despite the gloom he was sure he would carry for the rest of his life, he felt the pain was more bearable with you by his side, somewhat.

How?

You blamed it on the alcohol, because it was MONTH FIVE and you were kissing Gojo Satoru, daringly.

"We shouldn't be doing this," you rasped between kisses, breathless, as your own sinful hands plucked the buttons off his shirt. The intoxication might have played a part, but the intense heat coursing through you made it hard to think straight.

Satoru crashed his lips against yours again, consumed by blind lust. "Yeah, we shouldn't," he replied in a rush. His breath was hot as he trailed his lips down your jaw and neck next, savoring the softness of your skin.

You two had attended a banquet for the elite, and you were unbelievably beautiful. Standing by his side as his wife, you drew admiring glances, with everyone marveling at what a remarkable couple you made. The Gojo heir who was born with the legendary Limitless and the Kamo heiress, as lovely as her clan's name was powerful.

His deft hands roamed the curves of your body, exploring every inch of you. The warmth of his hands tickled something inside you as you closed your eyes to sink into this very moment. Next you knew, his bare body was against yours and you were stripped out of your evening dress.

Lust flickered in his honored eyes, as he took in the sight of you in your undergarments.

"You're really pretty, you know," he whispered. The intensity with which his eyes scanned your form made you nearly squirm. "Shame we don't always get along."

"You're one to talk," you retorted, a hint of exasperation in your tone, as you willed all other thoughts away. Thoughts like what comes after this. Thoughts like—

Is it heaven or sin, if you feel both at once?

His thumb tenderly caressed your plush lips, a hint of a smirk on his beautiful face.

He has long been thinking about your body. He was but a man, after all. He just didn't expect that you wanted this too.

There was always this tension, only this time, neither of you could hold it back anymore. Perhaps it was impulse—hell, most certainly it is, but there was another thing, something more that even Gojo Satoru still didn't dare to say out loud.

"Eager, are we?" he taunted when you leaned in, yearning for the touch of his lips on yours again.

You huffed. “Shut up and kiss me.”

A rush of heat flooded your cheeks at the slip of those words. You were about to rectify it, taken aback by your own boldness, but then he drew you close, silencing any further protest with a gentle hush—

"Too late, sweetheart," his husky voice entered your ears, lips curling into the most wicked smile, and you were in a trance. And Satoru was once again convinced, that choosing you as his wife was the rightest thing there was.

If the two of you went with this, then there would be consequences. Things would become more complicated, harder to sort out.

But, he decided, as he captured your lips in another heated kiss, everything else can wait.

MONTH SIX, and you were dreading the day of your divorce.

You brought this upon yourself. Whenever you reminisced about that night, you wanted to smack yourself in the face and bang your head against the nearest wall.

This marriage has a time limit. And you were doing it out of convenience in the first place.

You weren't supposed to… goddammit—fall in love with him.

But what's done is done, there is no going back in time. Awkward exchanges and lingering stares had been gnawing at your insides these days, and you were sure Satoru too must have noticed them too. You two used to be more relaxed with each other, and he'd even flirt with you, but weeks ever since that night of drunken passion, you almost reverted back to your high school personas—ignoring each other.

This was tough. You didn't like this. And more than that, you were faced with a more pressuring matter...

Gojo Satoru, with everything he possessed, could have had any woman he wanted. This arrangement with you was temporary in the first place, soon he would forget you and flit to the next woman.

The thought made your heart ache, because you had involuntarily gave your heart away to him. Siiigh… What a predicament you put yourself into, huh?

With just a month left together, maybe you should just make the best of it.

. . .

If you thought that things were any better with Satoru, then you were sorely wrong because he too, was debating with himself often nowadays.

Days spent with you were fun and fulfilling. You irked expression somehow had made its mark in his heart. You were pretty, fit to be by his side publicly and preferably, behind the closed doors. With you, he didn't feel the need to carry this facade of being strong—he could be a clown tripping over his own trap and you would amuse him with your deadpan expression.

And ever since that night, he was constantly reminded by how soft your skin was against his. It almost drove him crazy now that he was deprived of it.

How was it the last month already? He wasn't ready to let you go yet.

When he got back home later after his class ended and found you in the dinner table setting the food, all he could muster was, "Hey. Haven't eaten?"

You whirled around to face him in surprise. "Oh... you're back. Just about to. Want to join me?"

Of course he would. And yet as the two of you sat down, it was so painfully awkward Satoru felt like he was dying inside.

Why couldn't he pull off a smart line or two? Where did his suaveness go? He was smoother than this, surely, with his colorful history. One night of passion was supposed to enhance the relationship, not to derail it. What happened to you both?

The salt was near his side when you reached to grab it and bumped into his hand. "Uh-oh."

Turning towards you, he found your spooked expression and your adorable eyes widening in surprise. "S-sorry..."

It was just freaking salt! Salt! Why on earth were you apologizing?!

Enough, he thought. This utter madness of being jumpy with each other. He'd start from his side.

Does he want you to keep being his wife even after all this ends? Yes.

Why? All reasons already listed above.

Does this mean he likes you? Apparently and supposedly, yes. Because if it isn't then he doesn't know what this funny feeling driving him mad is.

With that sorted out, then he only had one more thing to confirm. He put down his spoon and crossed his arms together. "Tell me the truth. Do you like living with me?"

His question obviously took you by surprise. "Huh? What brought this on?"

"Just give me an answer."

"You're so pushy," you grumbled, lips pursed, and he felt like you were finally back to your usual dynamics somewhat. Good.

"Sooo, the verdict? Do you enjoy being with me or not?"

Because to him, it was a resounding yes and more.

Ignoring the warmth that surged to your cheeks, you rolled your eyes. "Surprisingly, not bad, yeah," you admitted, mustering the courage to meet his gaze. "You're annoying, an idiot, a bit crazy—"

"Hey!"

"—but eventually you're still... manageable," you added, feeling your face truly start to sizzle. But covered it up by looking down and playing with your fingers as you still had more to go on. "What I want to say is... I'm glad that I agreed to this—with you—because I can’t imagine it with anyone else."

An unfamiliar tingling emotion rushed to his chest as his face too started to heat up, letting your words sink in. Is he blushing? Oh God. He sure is. And so did he feel hella giddy.

Then it’s sealed.

Suddenly he procured a piece of paper from his work uniform and showed it to you. You first saw his lazily scrawled signature before it dawned on you.

The contract. You almost forgot that you made him sign that looming piece of paper. You were almost dismayed, thinking that he would end this right then and there, but then—

“Well, then… I suppose we no longer need this.”

Riiip~

Your eyes nearly popped out of their sockets when Gojo Satoru tore out your contract right in front of your face, the most brilliant of his devilish grin adorned his handsome face, as he took off his blindfold to see you far clearly than ever. Heavens, you are cute, he thought.

“Soooo~ seems like you’re stuck with me from now on!”

You gaped, awestruck at the blatant meaning of it all, feeling how your heartbeat started to pick up the pace, when he pulled the rag out of your feet once more by tilting his head to the side, looking at you with a winning smile.

“Let’s start over! What did they say again? Ah, yeah. Here’s to the first day of our lives!”

[silentheiss]

It starts with Shang Qinghua, as many unpleasant things do.

“Come on, Cucumber-bro,” He whines, lying on Shen Qingqiu’s floor and eating Shen Qingqiu’s snacks. “Do you have to go? You promised you’d read my draft, remember?”

“I do.” Shen Qingqiu says. “And I will. Later. I promised I’d help Binghe with his hair before he has to leave for his trip today.”

“You gotta get all the way back to the demon realm just to do his hair before he leaves again?”

“Yes.”

“Aw, bro. I’m sorry.”

Shen Qingqiu snaps his fan shut. He doesn’t like his tone.

“Why?”

“What?” Shang Qinghua blinks up at him from his position on the floor.

“Why are you sorry?” Shen Qingqiu repeats, slowly.

“Well, because you have to interrupt your evening to placate my clingy son?”

Shen Qingqiu isn’t sure what exactly about Airplane’s wording bothers him so much, but he doesn’t let it stop his ire.

“You think I prefer your company to my husband’s?” He hisses. Shang Qinghua sits up abruptly.

“Oh, shit, bro.” He mumbles, sounding apologetic. “I didn’t mean it like that. I know you love him and all.”

Does he? Not that Shen Qingqiu cares, of course, but- does he?

“Do you?”

“Yeah, it was hard to miss with all the rage comments and well, uh. Suicides?” Shang Qinghua laughs awkwardly and Shen Qingqiu opens his fan once again. “It’s just that I get that it must be hard for you to put up with his quirks sometimes?”

What quirks! Shen Qingqiu grips his fan tighter. Sure, Binghe can get a bit sticky and is prone to crying, but what’s so quirky about it? And who’s talking! As if Mobei-jun is a completely normal choice of a partner. Shen Qingqiu scoffs and moves to stand up.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” He snaps. “Binghe’s perfectly normal. I enjoy spending time with him.”

“Of course you do.” Shang Qinghua nods hurriedly, also scrambling up to his feet. “Don’t be mad, Cucumber-bro. I didn’t mean to offend you!”

Shen Qingqiu know that. He didn’t mean to offend him, no. He meant to commiserate. Because, apparently, he thinks Shen Qingqiu must be tired of Luo Binghe.

“I’m leaving.” He says and promptly turns around and walks out of his own house. Binghe wouldn’t like it that he left his martial uncle in bamboo house unsupervised, but it’s either that or beating Shang Qinghua and Shen Qingqiu hasn’t yet formulated a reason inside his buzzing and spluttering mind for why he needs to do that.

Shen Qingqiu is still trying to understand what exactly about the conversation with Shang Qinghua addles him so much as he walks towards the designated meeting spot. Luo Binghe should be there soon to pick him up and take them both to the underground palace. When they last talked – just that night, in a shared dream – Luo Binghe asked if he could visit Shen Qingqiu in their bamboo house as he has some free time before he has to continue on his business, but Shen Qingqiu wanted to be alone with his husband for the short time that they would have, and he’s rarely left alone while on Qing Jing Peak.

“Shizun!” He hears, as almost reaches the stairs. He slows down, allowing Ning YingYing to catch up to him, but doesn’t stop completely. Binghe might already be waiting.

“What is it, YinYing?” He asks, smiling indulgently at his disciple.

“Why is Shizun leaving?” Ning YingYing pouts. “Didn’t he say that he’ll stay for a few days more?”

“Your Shizun will be back shortly.” Shen Qingqiu rolls his eyes, but his smile is still present. See, Airplane-bro? All his disciples are sticky! Luo Binghe is not worse than anyone else. Well, if only just a little. “This Shizun just has a meeting with your shidi.”

“Ah, A-Luo is back? When will this one get to see him?”

“Luo Binghe is very busy, so he won’t be coming to Qing Jing Peak just yet.” Shen Qingqiu says, stopping at the top of the stairs and looking downward. Binghe isn’t there yet.

“So he’s stealing Shizun all to himself?” Ning YingYing pouts again, but this time her eyes are sparkling with amusement. “Isn’t A-Luo the sweetest?”

And then it dawns on Shen Qingqiu. He quickly sends Ning YingYing back and starts his trip down the stairs, lost in thought. He’s taking Shizun all to himself. You have to interrupt your evening to placate my clingy son. They say it as if it wasn’t Shen Qingqiu who insisted on meeting somewhere else, so they could be alone. As if he didn’t insist on being interrupted whenever Luo Binghe had a minute to spare during his trip.

Because even if they know that Shen Qingqiu cares for Luo Binghe, they are certain that Luo Binghe cares for him more. More to the point of being annoying, even?

Shen Qingqiu sees red. He’s furious with Airplane, of course, because he started it, but most of all he’s furious at himself. Sure, he isn’t as shameless as his husband to declare his love left and right, but did he really let his cold and aloof facade lead people to believe that he is not madly in love with his husband?

Did he lead Luo Binghe to believe that, too?

Shen Qingqiu doesn’t notice the stairs end and almost stumbles, when his foot meets the ground sooner than he anticipated. A strong arm catches him around the waist.

“Shizun.” His husband breathes out and draws him closer, hugging him as if they’ve been apart for months instead of days. Shen Qingqiu is frozen in his arms.

That’s it, isn’t it? Luo Binghe never hesitates to show his feelings. But Shen Qingqiu’s thin face is not an indicator that he loves his husband less! It’s just that-

“Shizun?” Luo Binghe leans away, arms still circling his waist. His brow is furrowed, just a bit. Starry eyes are already watering from Shen Qingqiu's lack of response. How on earth could someone not love this man with their whole heart?

“Binghe.” Shen Qingqiu says, unable to hold the question back a moment longer. “Do you think you love me more than I love you?”

Luo Binghe’s arms drop. He takes a stumbling step back. His perfect, beautiful face freezes completely, not showing a single emotion. A second later tears start rolling down his cheeks.

“Binghe?” Shen Qingqiu takes his husband’s hand and squeezes lightly. “Are you okay?”

“Shizun said-” Binghe chokes, still looking at him without as much as blinking. “He said he loves…?”

Then, the dam breaks and Luo Binghe starts sobbing in earnest. Shit. Has he ever said the L word before? Shen Qingqiu swears on his own grave – on all of his graves – to never let the shame overtake him again.

“So, you do?” He asks, heartbroken and ashamed. He truly is an abominable husband.

“I do!” Binghe cries. “Of course I do. How can there be a love greater than my love for Shizin?”

How? Shen Qingqiu would love for Luo Binghe to see his old room right now. That’d show him how.

“What about my love, huh?” He snaps, fighting an urge to stomp his foot. “Why can’t it be greater?”

Binghe must realize his mistake. He hastily wipes his face and shakes his head.

“Of course this one knows Shizun cares for him! Shizun’s shown this one so much kindness, has been so generous, and-”

“No!” Shen Qingqiu feels his cheeks grow hot. “I don’t just care for you. I love you. I love my husband.”

Luo Binghe stares at him and doesn’t say anything for a very long time.

“Shizun?” He says, finally. “Did you happen to come across any interesting plants recently?”

Oh for fuck’s sake!

“I’m not under any influence!” Shen Qingqiu huffs.

“Do you mind if I…?”

“Go for it.”

A second later Shen Qingqiu feels the blood parasites start fretting. It’s not the most pleasant feeling, but if it’ll make his husband stop humiliating him, he’ll take it happily.

“Shizun is healthy.” Luo Binghe says dumbly. “But then why would he say that?”

“Because it’s the truth!” Shen Qingqiu cries. “Why is it so hard to believe? Why do everybody, including my own husband, keep suggesting that I don’t feel as strongly about Binghe as Binghe does about me?”

“Did Liu Qingge say something?” Luo Binghe asks, eyes narrowing.

“No!” Shen Qingqiu rolls his eyes. “But I’m sure he would, if he had a chance. Because apparently, I don’t look in love!”

Luo Binghe’s face is quite red, Shen Qingqiu notices.

“But they’ll see.” He continues. “Ang you! You’ll see too, Binghe.”

“I’ll see?”

“Yes.” Shen Qingqiu nods decidedly. He knows how to fanboy, okay? Binghe’s cooking and fretting and gift lavishing won’t stand a chance against Shen Qingqiu’s skill. “Take me home this instant. I have posters to paint.”

“Posters?”

“Now, Binghe!”

Luo Binghe squeaks and reaches for Xin Mo. Shen Qingqiu jumps through the portal before it even fully opens.

[hyukascampfire]

𝓐T 𝓢WA𝓝 𝓛AKE ﹐､﹒ c.bg ˏˋ੭ꠥ ¸ˎ

as both equals and opposites, white swan and black swan, it is paramount that you and choi beomgyu do not touch. the curse of your natures did not even make exception for incidental brushes. that was never an issue for you—not until the day the prince took it upon himself to break every rule you’d ever known. ⋆˛ ˛

⸺ listen to the playlist .ᐟ ‧˚

⸉⋆ ᧔ 🦢᧓ ･ 10.3k

𝒫airings ˒ black swan prince!beomgyu 𝓍 white swan princess!reader

𝒢 ‎⍪ smut ˒ fantasy ˒ forbidden romance

𝒲arnings ˒ smut, angst and longing, unprotected sex, lots of teasing, jealousy…, yearning and yearning, he cums on her, theyre both desperate, pathetically in love!beomgyu, shes all he wants, virgin!reader, loss of innocence, he talks her through it, he gets a little whiny… hmm i can’t remember if i’m missing anything. this is not proofread!! i’m gonna nap first.

✎୭ ashlynn's note @hmusunoo … baby you did your big one with this. i can not explain to you how excited i’ve been for this one. this is absolutely my favorite. it’s just so me, u know me so well and i think we should kiss. THANK U!

﹙⋞ ﹚... back to the 𝓂asterlist

Around you, mist and delicate flurries sit over white, fluffy blankets. Where it sits over the lake, it turns the horizon of the lake’s expanse into an obscured uncertainty. If you hadn’t spent so much time right here, you might think that it goes on forever. 

It’s a beautiful, clear winter’s morning. Sparkling air wraps you in sweet and crisp tendrils, every breath to your lungs almost bitingly fresh. But in all its lightness, your chest only feels heavier. You had hoped that coming here would be a little, momentary respite. The air is so free around you, though, the weight doesn’t float away with it—it just leaves nothing but the feeling for you to contend with. No skittish wildlife rustle the foliage, and a thin film holds the crystalline lake from lapping at the bank. It seems that not even the wind moves. Just you.  

It’s not your tears that you hide here. Sadness is a soft, gentle thing; an acceptable thing for a Lady like yourself to indulge in. It’s what the people expect of their princess. The demure and always prim White Swan. Always correct, always just how you should be. 

Your tears are more like scalding, molten licks of fire than the slow, darling tears that are expected of you, though. They’re angry. It clashes up against the walls you’ve built up within yourself, against the role you’ve assumed. 

That’s why you’ve come here. Coarser emotions are unbecoming of you, and it’d be a shame to feel them in front of others. It’s a shame that you’re letting yourself feel it now, even. You summon a thin sigh, funneling up all the tangy bitterness on your tongue to let it fall out into the air before you. 

It doesn’t do much for you, really. This—feeling like this, so beyond the reach of your usual ways to shove down ugliness—is unfamiliar. Your entire life has been this, why do you struggle with it now? In the center of you, mingling with that anger, it’s as though a blackness blooms. Like a wretched flowering of some invasive plume, or perhaps the floating of inky black feathers through your bloodstream, you feel painted dark and unpleasant. 

Holding the dappled fur of your shawl closer, you decide to watch chunks of crystal white ice float on the water’s surface. Or maybe the on-and-off snowflakes that float down around you. Even tracing the lengths of barren branches, lined with white fluff so still and serene, with your eyes. Anything but delving into what that tainted tug inside is, or what it might mean about you.  

Snow crunches, or maybe a branch shifting, beckons your attention. But the foliage isn’t too thick, and trees are sparse around the lake, and there is always some small winged creature fluttering between branches out here. So, you brush it off. 

A tingling about your person, some sort of whispering premonition, whisps and tugs just around your form. You straighten up at another thick step crunching in the snow from behind you. This time, you can’t explain it away.  

A figure greets you. Dark, raven strands of silken hair fallen over eyes of the same, his skin so stark against it, black shoulder cloak on his shoulder flowing like velvet water against his billowing sleeves all ruffled and enamoring. He glitters like the frost, twinkling silver threads and black crystals sewn in to catch the light and make a show of him. Standing there, looking at you, he doesn’t look caught or frozen. 

But you are. Wholly still, all of you like a sculpture of frost, you gawk right at him. You’d never interacted with the prince, the black swan. Never even seen him. It was never in the cards. Fear like ice curls clawed fingers over your heart and grasps it.  

All your life, grand warnings of terrible things of him and what might happen should the two of you ever touch fell from the mouths of those around you. It was the constitution of who the two of you are—born to be the balance to each other, never to touch. Just an incidental brushing of fingers meant turning the world’s balance over on its head. They told you that the world would begin to fray at the seams, reality would warp, and that it’d be all your fault. And they also told you plenty about who the prince was as a person, too. Not only do you fear him for the curse of your nature, but also for all the nasty things you’ve heard of him. This, meeting him, was a thing of your deepest-cutting nightmares. 

And, there, he stands in front of you. 

“What are you doing out here crying?” Beomgyu says, curious eyes darting over your face. Under his gaze, you’re not sure how to feel. But you feel every last bit of it, regardless. 

You wipe at your cheek, where he must’ve seen the wet streaks glistening in the light. Summoning some poise up from where you keep it in handy, you say, “It’s no matter. I was just looking out on the snow.” You fix up your hair and your dress.  

The prince frowns, studying your face once again. Utterly unconvinced by what he finds there, he gestures toward you. “You’ve been crying, princess,” he says. “I didn’t think that lying was in the cards for you.” 

Lying? Not in the cards for you? Lying is all you do. You lie to yourself and to others more than you are honest. “Maybe, but I’m well,” you say, and then you lift the soft skirts of your dress to step without treading it in the snow. “Really, I ought to get home before the snowfall gets heavier. It was lovely seeing you.” You try and make sure to keep a good and proper distance from him as you make for where you arrived here from. 

Beomgyu reaches out for you, only pulling back from grabbing your arm at a frighteningly slim realization. “Wait,” he says, tongue darting out to wet his lips as he realizes what he’d almost just done. “You don’t have to leave. Why is it that you cry?” 

He’d almost touched you. That close—you’d come that close to tragedy in only the first moments of your meeting. Your heart pumps out sizzling, frantic energy that has you looking at him wide-eyed and shaken. “I think you and I both are the most aware why it’s best that I leave,” you tell him, keeping it curt. You hold your arms to you.  

Strong brows knitting, he shakes his head and takes some big steps back. The snow, sat powdery and calf-high on the ground, creaks beneath them. “I’ll stay back here,” he says. “Just don’t go. Won’t you entertain me? It’s a gentleman’s duty to help a weeping Lady.” 

You falter. The words might have you blushing and offering him a modest thank you, but the way he says it—it’s rather taunting. It’s taunting in a way that gets right up under your skin and ruffles your feathers. “And why does it bother you so?” you ask him, arching a dainty brow. You’re not even sure why he’s come out here in the first place. This is the one place that you ordain your own. It seems that not even here can you be totally alone. “They’ll have a fit if they know I was here with you.” 

The prince, with his clear, ethereal features cracking into a wicked amusement that you’re not sure how to digest, says, “Perhaps they will.” He tilts his head at you, wispy strands of hair moving over his shadowed eyes with it. “But, princess, that’s the fun in it. That they will admonish you for it. Is that why you’re crying?” 

Fun? Nothing about what your people, your parents, might do should they find that you’d not only been near but spoken to the black swan, is fun. You level him wary eyes. And, though sense tugs at your feet and asks you to get going, you do not. You do not know why. 

“I think it is.” He’s got an obnoxious tilt to his lips. “I think that’s why you cry.” 

A scoff, an abrasive and distasteful sound coming from you, falls out from your mouth. There’s that awful imprudence and temerity that you’ve heard of the black swan—everything you ought not to be. “You seem the type to know everything,” you say. 

He laughs, delighted. “Is that snark?” 

Pursing your lips as though confused, you spin spiced threads of patronization into your voice. “Not snark,” you say. “Just an observation.” 

 “Hmm.” Beomgyu slides his hands into his pockets to warm his hands. “Might I make an observation about you, princess?” 

There’s interest written all over his face—you know he’s playing some sort of game. You also know that you shouldn’t indulge him in it. Still, you do. A slight raising of your brow, or maybe the interest twinkling in your eyes, too, tells him to go on. 

“I think that you are too dutiful for your own good,” he says.  

In a slight, testy step, he inches closer. Not so close that you worry, but the two of you are not even supposed to be in the same room. Anything is too close. You mirror it with a step back. “You don’t know me,” you say. Against your better judgement, though, your lips twitch into a soft smile. The kind of smile that is insistent, no matter how you refuse it. “So, I believe your wonderings to be entirely groundless.” 

Hair blowing gently in the wisps of a winter wind and his nose and cheeks gone pink, he says, “Oh, princess. Hardly. I think we know a great deal about each other.” 

Well, that’s true enough. All your life you heard of him and your curse. You’re sure it was no different for him, no matter your differences. “And what do you know about me?” you ask.  

Beomgyu’s laugh falls out in a white puff of curling frost. “I know it’s been arranged that you’ll marry a superior Lord,” he says. He observes you. “Am I right?” 

So fast, just with that, lightness falls from your face. You hadn’t wanted to be reminded. Your feet itch to be off, so that you can feel it elsewhere. Not here; not in front of him. Leveling yourself so that your voice doesn’t come out as stilted as you feel, you say, “Yeah. You are.” 

With his eyes narrowing on you, he says, “You know, it’s weird. I’ve never seen a girl excited to be wedded look like that when it’s brought up.” 

You reign in your face and shake your head. “I am perfectly excited. It’s a blessing to be married into such a family.” As much as you smooth over the furrowing of your brows, or make your expression pleasant, it’s not so easy to tame the picking of your fingers. 

Anything other than excited, you might be. But absolutely not that. In fact, you are beyond yourself with anger, and you have nowhere to go with it. It bubbles hot just under your skin and demands a release that you cannot give. 

Being who you are, it’s been a truth you’ve known your whole life. Someday, you were going to be offered like a shiny, silver pawn to the highest bidder. And you, as the world’s white swan, are quite the enticing thing to own. You thought you’d banished the hope for a union of love right where you’d left the sense of self behind: years ago. The time’s come now, but you aren’t as at peace with it as you should be. No matter how hard you try, you are more human than you’d like to be, and far too human to be what the world expects you to be. 

If you’re going to be frank with yourself: you do not want to marry him. Living as something bought, expected to live forever as this mellowed out, poised version of yourself by the side of some man who you don’t even know or love... Of any fate you might be made to live, you think that this one is the worst. 

Beomgyu begins working on taking off his jacket, a white and pretty thing with thick, winter fabric. He offers it to you. “You don’t have to lie to me about it. Maybe them, but not me.” 

You look between him and his offering hand—his perfect features that are so elegant, and yet, there’s a wildness to him in those hard black eyes. If you didn’t already know so much about him, you might still be able to see the untamed in him. Who couldn’t? He wears it plainly; without remorse. You’re not sure how to interact with it, but, in a way, you envy him. 

Reaching out, you accept the jacket from his hand. Tentatively, with great care so as to avoid touch, but you do.  

It’s nice and soft against your frost-kissed shoulders. But it’s not enough to fix the bite against the skin on your face, so you trudge through the snow over to the sparse tree line, where the trunks might protect you better from it than the flat expanse of the lake’s surface. You press your back to a tree, and he mirrors it on the tree opposite to you. Looking over the great lake, so very serene. It twinkles with an ice film like sugar crystals atop its surface. “I guess I’m just... scared,” you say. The words come out soft and uncertain. 

He nods. Listening. So, you continue. “I don’t even know him. I haven’t spoken to my betrothed once. Maybe I’ll get to know him, and maybe he won’t be bad, but...” 

“But he’s not who you want,” Beomgyu says. “Not who you love.” 

Licking your winter-chapped lips, you eye him for a moment. You nod slowly and say, “...Yeah. I suppose it’s selfish, but...” 

Ignited, Beomgyu pushes off the tree to say, “Selfish? You give your whole life to being their saint. Maybe they think they do, but they don’t own you.” 

You, not us. Frowning, you ask him, “Are you not set for some marriage of convenience?” Marrying is different as a woman, but you don’t doubt that the prince’s family intends to strengthen alliances by offering his marriage up to some optimistic, lesser family with a daughter to bargain the way yours has done with you. Every last girl and boy born as you two have been—destined to a life bigger than yourself, a force in the world as much as you are a person—have lived just the same. All of them. Each incarnation of the white swan, and you’re sure every black swan too. The people of this world paint you as embodiments of balance and life, but use you more like power plays. Even your own parents. You were born from your mother all the same as all your siblings, but as much as it aches to admit it, you are not their child. In the back of your throat, hurt and bare anger wells up thick. 

He half laughs, half scoffs. “They could try. It doesn’t matter to me. They’d have to kill me before I do their bidding. Is it our fault that we were born this?” he says. “I’m going to live my life how I want, no matter what.” 

You tuck your hands into your sides, where they warm between the jacket and your body heat. His words and how he looks at your lives, it’s everything you’re not. Sense of self and determination to live for more than just your predetermined role—while you’d surrendered it all, he lives thrashing and fighting against it. A product of your mirrored and opposite natures.  

“Why?” you say, teeth chattering a bit under the cold’s caress. “You have a girl in mind?” 

That sounds nice. Being so hopefully devoted to someone, and them to you, that you might war against destiny for it. The thought only nurses hurt somewhere deep in your chest, though. Not for you. Never for you. You could be the prettiest on this Earth, the kindest, the most disciplined, or the least even. Still, that would never be yours. You know that, so why does it taste so bitter?  

A quick look, something new, passes over him. In his eyes, you see it. He looks at you for a long minute, the morning so quiet that nothing but tranquility hangs in the air for a moment, and then finally says, “Yeah. Something like that.”  

Entirely intrigued, you ask, “Who? Is she a Lady?” 

Beomgyu nods his head, that strange look lingering. “Of sorts,” he answers, crossing his arms over his chest to lean back into the bark. “And your betrothed? Some well-off Lord?” 

A smile ghosts over your mouth. “Probably. I haven’t a clue who it is; but I’m sure he’s got enough coin to spare, if my parents settled on him.” 

The lines of his face gone playful, he says, “Not possibly more well-off than me.” 

Your nose crinkles. “What’s that supposed to mean?” you say. A husband with money is nice. You can’t pretend that you don’t think of that, especially that none of your family’s wealth belongs to you, nor will it follow you into your marriage. Your heart revolts regardless.  

Shrugging after a few beats of silent considering, he turns his attention on the lake. His face turned like that, you admire the straight slope of his nose and his eyelashes as they flutter with his heavy eyes. Like the rest of him, his side profile is a contradiction. Strong and noble, but elegant like hewn from marble. It’s perfect. With all the talk in your ears, you’d pictured something far off from the youthful, wry man stood before you. Why you’d come to imagine him brutish, you’re not sure; he’s as much swan as you. Different and mirrored all the same. 

“I used to come here all the time,” he says. 

“Here? To the lake?” You perk up. This had been your hideaway as a girl; where you’d come at times like this when you needed to bury something away. You thought it’d been just yours. “I wonder how we never ran into each other. I used to do the same. I guess, I still do.” 

When his eyes fall back on you, they’re softer. More deep brown than black, but maybe it’s because you’re closer now. He says, “Well, I came here once or twice on my own, maybe when I was five. I didn’t really start coming back until I saw you. You were crying, all snotty, and throwing bread out for some ducks.” 

Your face twists up, maybe at the memory or maybe with confusion. It seems like if he’d really come here so often, and had even seen you here, you’d have noticed. “You must have thought I was weird,” you say, the words coming out around a shiver.  

“Maybe,” he says through a wry smile that’s cracked over his lips. “But mostly, I just wished I could talk to you.” 

He’d watched you, because he couldn’t approach you? You were under the impression that the prince had never cared for the rules, not even one so paramount as that. But, it seems that his brashness came to him later. He stands in front of you now, doesn’t he? Maybe it was just that innocent trust that, as children, you levy out to those arounds you. Especially toward adults; and all of those had preached over moments like this. You imagine a young, curious Beomgyu, hiding himself away between bushes, itching to approach or play with you. But he never did; you hadn’t the slightest clue he’d even been there until now. Could you two have been friends, if not for the curse? 

“You never came out,” you say. “Or introduced yourself?” It’s all you can really think. 

His mouth twitches. “Would you have stayed?” 

No. Then, you don’t think you would’ve. Even now, you’re stricken with the innate fear of touching him, no matter how surprised you are at how different he is. Different from what they said he’d be. You think you would’ve darted, should you have known who he was. For some reason, that makes your heart ache. A dark ebbing wave of ache that you are unfamiliar with. 

A slight knowing smile danced over his features, eyes gone to sweet crescents that turn them, usually so dark, into something rounded. Not so abrasive. He tilts his head off to one side and says, “You’re freezing. How long have you been out here?” 

Cheeks long been numb, you answer, “An hour. Maybe and a half?” 

“I’ll walk you home.” 

You grimace. Arriving with him by your side, the man you quite literally were not supposed to even speak with, is the very last thing you should do. An awful idea. “I wouldn’t bother you. It’s probably not the best idea to show up after disappearing, with a man by my side. Especially not as a to-be-married woman,” you say. “But, thank you. Really.” 

He knows what you really mean, though. A muscle in his jaw feathers. “Alright,” he says. “I suppose we wouldn’t want that, would we?” 

As he begins to turn, making for wherever he’d come here from, you call out to him. “Hey, wait. Your jacket.” You pull it off your shoulders and joust it out at him. Against your skin which it had warmed, the air is bitterly cold. 

“Keep it, princess,” he says, giving you a parting nod. “Get home warm.” 

Today, you are to give your hand to a man that you do not know.

In the air, the rich nuttiness of fire-toasted chestnuts dance and mingle with the roar of chatter. Hundreds of familiar and unfamiliar faces line long tables with runners decorated by platters of plump, sugar-dusted plums and fruit pies. They’ve all come in their winter’s best—whites and reds and luxurious furs lining thick, velvety fabrics or embroidered with sparkling threads and studded with crystals that twinkle in the low firelight. It’s warm and lovely and all just for you. 

But, you don’t feel any of that. All you feel is a heavy belly. Each smile you tug over your mouth feels like dead weight. You’re familiar with this—putting on the act. Smiling in faces that you know will turn around and have something else to say about you, pretending like you don’t know that it’s all false sweetness. You’d been trained in noble propriety since you could walk and talk. 

But, considering that they’ve all come here to shower you with gifts and lovely words for a marriage in which they could really not care about beyond how they make it a profit, it’s all a bit more sour. 

You’ve met your promised. The man you’re supposed to wed and spend the entirety of your life beside. You spoke with him for... what, two minutes? Two very awkward, very awful minutes. What should you have to say to each other? You’re meeting for the first time today. At your engagement feast. It’s a real conscious effort to not take your lip into your mouth and gnaw, or to not fuss over your hair, or honestly anything that might show these people that you are anything but pleased. 

So, you relent to their gaudy pleasantries. You listen to them tell you that it’s such a blessing to be married to a man of high society—and a wealthy one, too. They tell you that they knew your marriage would bring a great dowry; that all the white swans have. That they were watching and expecting it. All you hear is the dripping of greed; all you see is hungry eyes and fingers crossed behind backs. 

You relent to it until your stomach is sick and wrought with it. And then, the older lady ahead of you singing praises of your beauty, of how she wishes her daughter might catch the eye of a husband as advantageous as yours, does something out of the ordinary. Her eyes drift behind you, her snooty, pinched features twisting up into something new. You follow her gaze. 

Dark and beautiful and his eyes trained right on you, the black swan prince stands beside you. He’s lazed, a heavy cup of some thick, spiced and wintery drink in one hand, as he does. In the clear light of morning, he’d looked so out of place. But here, soft and hard planes of his face illustrated by the flickering orange firelight, he looks so right. 

You blink. And then blink again. Never once had Beomgyu made any sort of appearance at any hosted thing by your family. You just stand in place for a moment, registering his presence.

“You look lovely, princess,” he says. His eyes fall up and down you. The way he says it—it’s liquid smooth, but it’s taunting in a way. “The perfect image of a bride-to-be.”

He can’t be here. He can’t be here at all. When you look to the side, the woman is already gone. You have no doubt in your mind that she’s whispering in somebody’s ear right now.

“Prince,” you say, gritting your teeth while also dipping into an elegant curtsy. 

“Do you feel that way?” He raises his eyebrows at you, his gaze heavy with underlying tension. “A perfect bride? Happy?”

Making the conscious decision to not look around you, because you can already feel the burning interest of the eyes that you’ll find on you, you say, “I do. Isn’t this quite the feast?”

“I told you that you don’t have to lie to me, princess.”

You shouldn’t even be standing here talking to him. They’re all watching. Stepping back to cut conversation with something witty, you stop in the onslaught of a chorus of surrounding gasps.

Beomgyu had reached out to grab you, and only stopped himself short the same way he had the first time you met him. A muscle twitches in his jaw as he brings his hand down, curling the fingers as if to wash away the urge to reach out.

He’s closer now, too. His breath smells sickly sweet with the liqueur he drinks. A sarcastic grin over his lips, he says, “Did he pay for all this?”

You do a dance of give and take. You step back, and he meets it with a step toward you, all the way until you find yourselves in a quieter corner. “He did sponsor the feast, yes.”

“Well, isn’t that just great,” he says, voice carrying over the many layered sounds of the gathering. “And that makes you happy? You feel fulfilled by that? Is that the purpose of the lovely white swan?”

You’re not sure what he’s getting at, or why your marriage is any of his business. For some reason, though, despite those rational thoughts, some faraway memory whispers that it makes every bit of sense. “He is a lovely man.”

Barking a laugh, Beomgyu says, “Don’t make me laugh. You don’t believe that, no matter how many times you tell it to yourself.”

You curl your fingers into the obnoxious, glittering material of your dress. “Seriously, what makes you so sure?” you say. “What makes you so sure you know? This is good for me. This is the way things are supposed to go. Not everybody in this world can get away with serving only themselves and doing whatever they want. Maybe it works for you, but not for the rest of us. I’m glad your life is fun, though. Really.” 

His face doesn’t sharpen into offence, though you brace for him to. You’ve never spoken to anybody like that. Ever. Shaking his head, raven locks glowing warm around the edges, he says, “Because I know. I know. Are you listening to me? You don’t have to lie to me.”

Balking at him, you don’t know how to answer. That was nowhere near the answer you were expecting from the prince, known and notorious for his chaos and fire.

“I am listening,” you say, keeping your voice measured. Thick emotion slips through the seams. “Honesty has never done me any good. This is going to happen; all honesty is going to do is hurt me. So, I’m sorry.”

His mouth opens to fire something back, but you don’t hear it. Somebody digs their fingers into your upper arm, dragging you without a word away from your conversation. You stumble, letting them take you without a fuss. This was to be expected. You shouldn’t look back. If today was already going to be the last day you ever see him, it certainly is now that you’ve been caught not only in touching distance to him, but making conversation with him.

Tossing a self-betraying glace over your shoulder, you find his figure. Hand in pocket and his lips turned down, he watches you go.

You wish you wouldn’t have. You have no explanation for the emptiness it casts into your chest.

Recently, you’ve been crying so much. You might believe that it’s because you’ve been letting yourself feel freely, but you don’t feel free.

Your palms are soaked against your cheeks, face fallen into them as you shudder with it. Their words pin and scrape in your head, forcing you to contend with them before bouncing off the walls and you hear them again and again until your stomach has gone sick. Your parents had given you an earful. That’s been your whole life; you can handle that. The moment you saw him there, intending to speak to you, you’d prepared for it. Instead, it was their contempt and sneering faces that bleed your heart like this. 

In this life, you are alone. Totally, wholly alone. Who you are—your role in life—is not the blessing they claim it to be. Is it selfish to ask to be understood? For somebody to just understand, without your pleading or begging?

Maybe. It feels that way, anyway.

“Why is it that I always find you crying?”

His voice freezes you to where you sit sprawled on your floor. Spinning to him, you say, “What are you doing?”

Beomgyu shrugs, as though he hasn’t snuck his way into your room. “I felt bad for getting you dragged off. Wanted to come see how you’re doing.”

Maybe his insisting on being around you should be annoying, but right now… You think you appreciate the company, even from the forbidden likes of him. “You can’t be here,” you hiss. “How did you get in? They’ll… if they find you here…”

His boots squeak against the polished flooring as he approaches you, and then settles down on the floor with you. The fire flickering behind him, his back to it, casts an orange light around the edges of his figure. He looks terribly inviting, like this: strewn on the floor, no holier or better than you, his face not sickly sweet nor cold and devoid of love, and his eyes curious to know how you feel. 

“I don’t care what they’ll do to me. I want to see you.” He tugs his jacket off, letting it fall on the dirty floor. Improper for a prince, but Beomgyu doesn’t care. That’s who he’s always been—that’s the one thing that was entirely true out of all the things you heard about him. “Who the hell cares about their approval? We don’t need it.”

You know what he means by they and we. Only a few days ago, you’d still believed that Beomgyu was other; that he was your total opposite, and that you should fear his darkness for all your lightness. All it’s taken is being around him the once or twice that you’ve been able to for you to realize the falsity that drips from that. When you’re around him, your soul, feathery and wispy in your chest and your veins and all the rest of you that constitutes you beyond what is physical, tugs. It’s impossible to ignore—it consumes you. Where your soul longs for him around the edges, like torn and searching for what’s been lost, you feel stuff that is beyond yourself.

Rather than your opposite, you think that Beomgyu is your other half. You think that they’ve gotten it all wrong. 

“How do you do it?” you say, back up against a white, whorling table leg. “How do you not care? I don’t understand.”

Inky eyes shining, he says, “I did. When I was young, I believed everything they told me. It’s hard not to, when it’s all you hear. Them, telling us that our purpose is to surrender ourselves to be something Saint-like. But when you catch one lie, you begin to catch the others, too. I saw their excuses and reasonings peel. Princess, it’s all lies. Everything you know is lies.” He says it with such conviction. Each and every word reaches down into that part of yourself that is missing something. “We’re not their Saints. That’s never been our purpose. I hate that shit; I hate that they’ve made you think that this is all you’re for. Marrying him? Never doing anything, because you’re scared of what it’ll mean for you? It’s not fucking fair.” He pushes himself closer to you. Now, your criss crossed knees are so close that a stray move might mean the world’s end. This time, you don’t panic. There’s no room for that among the swarm of your other thoughts. “So, of course I don’t give a shit about what they tell me to do. I’m going to live this life the way that it’s supposed to be. I wish that you could join me.”

“This life?” you blurt. It’s the one thought that appears clear to you, so it’s what comes out. Frowning, you add, “What lies?”

Deadpanned and as though he’s not delivering something that changes the world’s fabric around you, Beomgyu says, “There is no curse. There’s never been a curse.”

Your room is silent for a few moments, and then you shake your head and laugh. “How would you know that?” you say, nose wrinkling. If you don’t laugh, you’ll begin to actually consider the possibility of that. Just the very surface of the notion makes you nauseous. You couldn’t handle exploring the thought deeper. 

Beomgyu doesn’t laugh along with you. “The curse is a lie, and everything that comes with it. All of it is just excuses or justification for the hate for the other people. The whole reason that they ever decided on it was because of their hate. Maybe to the people alive now, it’s not a lie. But that’s what it started as.” His face, dark and soft as he reads your face, twists up. “Of course, we can touch. We are two halves of a whole. There is you in me, and I in you. Do you not feel it? The tug? That’s it. The black swan and the white swan were never meant to be apart and opposite. We are meant to be together. We’re meant to be the only ones that understand each other. It’s us against the world, princess.”

Your ears ring with the pierce of each word cascading out from his mouth. “Beomgyu, I don’t understand. That doesn’t… Make sense. How?” He can’t just make claims about that. Not something like this. It’s not fair.

“I know it’s hard to believe, princess. It’s all you’re ever made to believe. But you have to trust me. Do you trust me?”

Tongue darting out to wet your lips and your fingers stilling where you fuss at the fabric of your chemise, you take a good look at him. Roaming over his features, the contradiction in them and the strange familiarity that constitutes him no matter the fact that you’ve only just met, you consider it. Everything he says is absurd, and it does go against everything you’ve ever known. You should turn your nose up at him for even suggesting it; should suspect that he only has some sort of plan to coax you into bringing the world’s end.

But, you do. You trust him beyond explanation, as though intrinsically.

You nod slowly, holding his eyes in yours. “But I don’t understand,” you say. “How do you know?”

He smiles ruefully. “I saw something—had a dream when I was young. I saw us, in every last lifetime. We have lived again and again, as we are, in so many different ways. But the one thing that was always there was that they couldn’t keep us away from each other.”

The world does a few spins around you. Lightheaded, you try to stay up under the oppressive gravity of that. You want to stick your head in the ground and shake your head and yell no, but that deep tugging that has plagued you beginning the moment you’d met him, and all the emptiness before it, tells you yes. 

How poetic is that? How tragic? You, two souls born to be one, made to live apart at the interests of the world around you. Made to do it across every lifetime, and yet, in each you meet. In each, the twinkling thread of fate prevails nevertheless. 

“Do they all love?”

That soft smile still playing on his lips, his cheek to his knee as he looks at you with the veneration of somebody who might’ve loved you in a thousand lifetimes before, and perhaps in this one, too. “No. Some of us were secret lovers, but so many of those lived how you do for the entirety of their life. Halved,” he says. “And never did any of them touch.”

Heart fluttering with wings in your chest, you say, “So, how do you know that the curse is a lie? If it’s never been done before?”

“Let me show you,” he says. “That I can touch you.”

All the blood in your body pulls back. You trust him; you do. But is trust enough to risk a touch that could be the end of the world? Is trust enough to be so selfish to do so? 

Seeing you blanch, Beomgyu’s eyes go glassy. “Please,” he says, voice breaking as if to touch you might mean more than just proving something to you. As if the weight of everything he’s ever wanted rests on the back of it working—that if this works, and the world does not fall apart around you, then he can love you how he does, and how he had so many times before. Inevitably. “I would never do anything to hurt you.”

“Beomgyu,” you say, looking between his eyes and the twitch of his hand as it itches to touch you. “I don’t… I’m scared.” Your voice drops to nothing more than a whisper.

“It’s okay,” he says, bringing that longing hand up. Your heart jumps when he raises up by your face. “You can be selfish this once. I want to see you do something because you want to, not because it’s what you think others might want.”

Your throat burns and tightens. Every last sparkling bit of your being longs to lean into his touch—to do what you two have wanted to do so many times before, and finally bring your souls back together. “What if it happens?” you ask, your eyes soft and true like an animal turning its soft underbelly to receive affection.

“Then let it,” he says. “At least we would have touched. Just this once.”

Gritting your teeth and swallowing hard, your belly does itself up into knots. You don’t answer him, but your quiet speaks enough. His hand hovers beside your face with the weight of the world in it.

The first touch of the white swan and the black swan happens in a gentle cupping of your cheek. And, the world does fall down around you. The walls melt, air leaves, and the seams of everything that’s even been good or true are ripped out and sewn with something new and beautiful. It’s as explosive and cosmic as you imagined it, but it is not terrifying. It’s lovely.

Your breaths shudder, your lungs trembling as you look into his eyes and realize what this means.

“Fuck,” is all Beomgyu breathes. It looks as though that it’s all he can manage. His touch grows more solid as the both of you realize that the both of you are still very much here, and so is the world. Thumb pad grazing over the softness of your cheek, his throat bobs with a swallow. You think that if you were to press your hand over his chest, you might feel it thudding there to the same thunderous rhythm that yours beats to.

So, you do. Because you can touch him. His heart sings beneath your palm, even through fabric and flesh. You can’t help the wobbling of your lip and the hot tears that spill out past your eyes and roll down your cheeks.

The second touching is the bringing together of your lips. His mouth is soft and hard against yours, contradictory as the rest of him. He brings his other hand up to hold your face into his kiss. It’s not sweet and slow—it’s as ground-rumbling as the kiss between intertwined souls coming together after an eternity of being away. Each nip and lick and clash of teeth are like the claps of thunder of the storm that will end the world, his hand sliding up the back of your neck to card his fingers through the hair at the back of your head like the claws of a beast sent to ensure its end.

And, maybe Beomgyu is the beast that has come to end the world. You wonder how he’d waited so long to bring the truth to you, or if he was torn about ever telling you. What changed things, after so many years of him watching you from afar? Your engagement? Perhaps that’s what that drink in his hand had been: a thing to forget with.

It hadn’t worked. As he kisses you for all the lifetimes in which you couldn’t, you know that he couldn’t have accepted that and moved on. Of all the black swans that have lived and passed, Beomgyu must be the most stubborn and strong-willed. That’s why, out of every single life, this is the first that you touch. He would take the world on, or play with the existence of it, for this. Just for you. All for you—you’d found somebody who will do something just for you. Curling your fingers into the front of his tunic just over his chest, you pour the fire of that revelation into your kiss.

He roams his hands all over you, mapping your shape. You kiss and kiss, lips tugging and twisting against each other, and still it isn’t enough. Bracing a splayed palm over your lower back, he does not stop kissing you even as he lays you back onto the ground. The flooring is cold against your burning body. He supports his weight on one hand beside your head and straddles your hips to do nothing but run his fingers through your hair and just kiss you. 

Only when your lungs are too hungry to ignore does he free your mouth. His soft black hair dangles over his starry eyes as he looks down at you with them. Lips swollen and smeared with you, his chest heaves. Bringing his free hand up, he wipes your wet cheek.

“Oh my god,” you say, breathless. “Beomgyu.”

Pressing his forehead to yours, he laughs. “I like when you call me that. I think I want to make you scream it—scream it until they come breaking down your doors and see that we are each other's. Until your fiancé hears it.”

Body bursting at the seams at the prospect, you nod frantically and dip your face into his neck to dust starry kisses there, too. He shudders. “I want it so bad. Can you please?”

“Of course I can. I’m going to make love to you, okay?” He pushes off you, crawling back so that he’s sat squatted just before your knees as you pin them together. “Open your legs, princess. Show me how pretty you are—I’ve waited so long for it.” He pats on the outer side of your knee.

Thrill spiraling up from between your thighs like sparks, you oblige slowly. You let your legs fall open for him, and choke on your own heart as he begins to slowly work your dress up the expanse of your legs, and then your thighs, baring to him the plush and unseen skin there. He eats it up wildly, his eyes gone ravenous and even blacker.

“I’ve never done this before,” you say, voice trill and unsure. “I don’t know what to do.”

A wicked grin cracks over his features. “I know, princess.” The fabric bunches at your thighs, now. You tremble with the stifling anticipation. “I’m going to take care of you. It’s going to feel so good—I’m gonna make you feel so good. I have so many things I want to do to you. Lifetimes of things I want to make you feel.”

Doe-eyed and laying your trust in his hands, your thighs twitch and you nod. He reveals your cunt at last, finally catching the glistening sight of it for the very first time. And, he does not disappoint. The look that washes over his face—the twitching of his lips, the tightening of his jaw in a flickering muscle, and the fire razing your cunt in his eyes—is something so dreamlike, but lucid nonetheless.

“You just lay down and let me help you. Treat you how a princess should be treated.” He works on his pants, silver belt clinking and then loosening, and then he’s just as exposed as you when his length pops free. It’s hard already, tall and pretty like the rest of him, but pink and obscene at the tip. He leaks from the little slit at the top. “Look at you. You look like you want to taste it,” he says, laughing while collecting the liquid to pump himself a few times. “Next time, baby. I’d love to see the proper mouth of the world’s princess choking on my cock.”

The air is cold against the mess between your legs. It sends a chill up your spine—or maybe that was the crudeness of his words. You suppose you should’ve expected nothing less from him. When he goes to climb back over you and line himself up with you, your thighs twitch and try to snap shut.

He pins your hip to the floor. “Don’t be shy, baby. I wanna see that pretty pussy. It’s not fair to hide it from me.”

“Sorry,” you say, cheeks burning.

Taking that hand and sliding it up behind the back of one of your knees, pressing that thigh up to your torso, he laughs a teasing laugh down at you. “Don’t say sorry,” he says. He holds his length adjacent to your slit and then begins to slip up and down the length of it. “Just let me fuck you. I need it so bad.” He hisses in tandem with you. The drags of his length, harder than how you thought a cock might feel, is like undiluted liquor. “I can’t believe this… shit, princess. I’m about to fuck you. I thought I was going to have to sit here and watch you by his side.” 

You take your lip into your teeth when he pushes in. It stretches. You bring your hand up to cup the back of his neck and the other to dig into his tunic, mewling softly.

“It’s okay, princess. Hold on to me, you can take it, right? You cunt was built for me. Everything about you was made for me. Your heart, your pretty hands for me to hold, your sex, all of it. Do you feel how I fit right into you? How I was made to?”

You do. When he finally is balls-deep, his cock nestles exactly where it should. Not an inch too deep or an inch too scarce. The two of you were sculpted by something holy, fit just for each other. “Yes,” you breathe.

He can’t even linger sitting still  in you. He begins pulling himself out, all the way until the tip of him threatens to pop out lewdly, before shoving back in right up against that spot. He doesn’t even have to search for it. Head falling into your chest, he licks and bites. “The taste of you,” he says. Then, he presses his tall nose right over that spot in your neck where your heart’s gone wild. “The smell of you.” Wincing, he lays into you with more vigor, hips slapping against your skin. “The feel of you. You drive me up the fucking walls. How was I ever supposed to live without this?” he says. “I refuse.”

Your belly begins to tighten in a way that you’ve never known. Tears prick the corner of your ears, clinging to him as he fucks you into the floor like he’ll never have to opportunity to have you like this again. The wood cradles your back and the back of your hips, receiving each of his thrusts. You curl your toes and will back the lewd cries that threaten to spill over with each.

His voice is taut and wobbly. “Feels good, huh? I know. It feels… so good.” Dropping your thigh to cup your face, he says, “Cry. Cry for me. I said I wanted you to scream.”

Face burning and squirming against the hardwood behind you, you shake your head. “I can’t, gyu…”

“Yes you can,” he says, face twitching. “I want you to start letting it out, or I’m gonna stop. Do you want me to stop?”

Covering your face, with the back of a forearm, you grit your teeth through each punctual and yet sloppy grind up into you. Your bodies sweat and meld, and you’re sure that anybody walking by your quarters would know just by the hollow smacks of skin and grunts that you’re fucking a man. You, an engaged woman, are letting the prince turn your brain inside out.

But, there is nothing you want less than for him to stop. So, you let your mouth drop open and allow the sweet mewls to come with each rut.

“There we go. Louder.” He braces himself, digging his feet into the floor, and then he really starts driving into you. Sparks fly in your belly—each yellow and glowing and scalding. “Do I need to fuck you harder? C’mon, louder, princess.”

Thighs squeezing his hips so tight that they ache, you squirm. You struggle against your sounds—turning from sweet moans and mewls, you groan and gasp and your voice breaks. Each collision of your bodies breaks your sounds.

Curling your fingers into his silken hair, you grit out, “H—hoooh fuck, Beomgyu, Beomgyu, I feel… like…”

Bangs sticky and his eyes growing wilder, he knows something you don’t. The knowing, taunting grin on his mouth says enough. “Let it happen. Don’t fight it.  Just stay—stay right there, and I’ll give it to you. No running from it; it’s gonna feel so good.” His muscles go taut, and he doubles down on his efforts, panting through his nose and his neck sheened. He drops his head into your chest. “Fuck. Fuckkkk, I love you so much, princess. Thank you—thank you, so much.”

You don’t know why he’s thanking you. You don’t have the cognitive function to worry about that. Your mind has gone to two things: the growls and whines that rumble and tear from his chest, and the frightening tightness that only goes more dangerous. Your chest tightens—it feels as though, if he feeds that hungry beast gnawing deep down in your belly with any more of what he’s doing now, it will snap and take you down in its wake. Warbled cries crawling up your throat, you arch your back up into his chest to try and dig your hips into the floor, away from the bliss and the power of it.

“No,” he says, cursing. “No—don’t run from it. Don’t… Baby, please take what I’m giving you. It’s gonna be alright.”

Pushing back on the dark throes of the tide as it creeps up over your shoulders and sends shocks through your body, the hair on the back of your neck rising with the effort, you choke. Beomgyu takes a hand down the seam of your bodies and rolls your aching clit. They’re succinct and intentional—pressure right on the sensitive underside, sending your belly rippling as he pairs it with a few more sharp, more meaningful thrusts.

You see white. It’s white and hot. You are the sun, beaming and writhing like stardust. You curve off the floor once more, raking nails down the lengths of his back. Are you even making sound? You don’t know; you can’t hear it past the ringing piercing sharp in your ears. You shake beneath him, cunt gripping him frantically with flutters of your walls. 

He grunts, voice strained and shaking as he begins to follow his own release.  “Holy shit—look at you. You’re so f-filthy. So pretty, cumming on me.”

You bare each brush of his cock against your still twisting walls, trembling as he fucks you through your orgasm. Your thighs jump and your toes curl, and it’s all too much, but not enough. He needs to come tumbling over the edge right along with you—if he comes with you, it doesn’t seem so hard. You chant his name, smooth voice gone hoarse.

Stilling inside you, he whines, “Shi—it.” A war wages behind his eyes for a long second before he slips his cock from you with a wet, squelching pop, strings of your release breaking as he lays his cock on your belly. His stomach goes tight, and with one last slide of his length, slick with your mess and staining your belly, his cock jumps. He shoots all over your skin, pretty glistening spurts like ribbons a milky white. 

He sits back on his haunches, slowly rubbing himself off to give you some more and come down. Your room is quiet now, aside from your heaving chests and the buzz of something new in the air. Letting his head fall back, wet strands of spiky black hair dangle around his neck, a bead of sweat catching light as it rolls down it.

“Feel okay?” he says, looking down on you with softened eyes. He pulls cloth from his pocket, unfolding the fine fabric, and he wipes himself off your belly.

“I’m okay,” you tell him, leaning into the palm he cups your cheek with. “I’m okay.”

He smiles, the corners of his eyes crinkling. “The world didn’t explode, did it?” he says.

You share a stolen laugh with him, feeling every last honey wave receding from the spot between your thighs. The world hadn’t ended, and yet, in every way, it had. Savoring the abated rises and falls of his chest and the content sagging of his shoulders, your belly tightens anew. 

What happens now, when everything else has been a lie? When you don’t believe that you can survive that lie for any longer?

So many hands work on you. One of your ladies in waiting laces you up in the back, and another works on your hair even while you stand, and one bounces a wintry, snow-kissed rouge over the plush of your cheeks. 

Yesterday, your world changed. And today, you’re expected to go on living in it.

When Beomgyu slipped out from your room last night after hours of holding each other under the covers, indulging in your ability to touch, you let your heart crack in two. You shouldn’t have. Why had you let yourself think that it was going to end up anything other than like this? You, getting prettied up to be sent away with your expecting husband, and the dreams you’d let build up to the clouds in the prince’s arms all shattered on the floor at your feet.

What else can you do? Loving Beomgyu freely is out of the question. Your parents would laugh right in your face, or maybe lock you away and make even more sure that you never get to see him again.

You try to burn the image of his eyes into your memory. Black, big and round and cunning all the while. You commit the broadness of his shoulders, and the pretty straight line of his nose in profile, and the pink plushness of his lips, and the little freckles you’d discovered yesterday, and the sound of his voice in your ear, and the feel of his touch on your skin, too.

“We’ll leave you until it’s time to come collect you,” a Lady says, bowing at the waist to you as the others finish up, tying the fastening of your dress up quick and sprinkling their final touches over you before following her out.

Your room goes utterly quiet. More quiet than it’s ever felt.

Dragging your limbs over to your bed, you let yourself fall onto it despite all the care they’d taken to get your skirts right. Resting your cheek to your palm, you let your eyes fall closed as you memorize the feel of your own bed, too.

When you flutter them open, there’s something peeking out from the pillow across from you. You furrow your brows and reach for it.

The paper is folded up with haste, torn from the edge of somewhere else and scribbled on with a quick hand. How long has that been there, without you noticing? Pushing yourself up from the bed, careful to at least maintain the smoothness of your hair, you unfold it.

ℳ𝑒𝑒𝑡 𝑚𝑒 𝑎𝓉 𝒮𝑤𝑎𝑛 ℒ𝑎𝑘𝑒. 

Your soul comes back to life and seeps through your bloodstream. Sitting there for a few moments, idle at the largeness of what you’re about to do, you loose a breath. 

And then, you curl your hand around it, shove yourself up in a flurry of white, crystalline skirts, and you go.

The curious faces of the palace hands you pass do not stop you, nor does the morning’s bite as you find your way outside, nor does the almost-slip over ice, and absolutely nothing else stops you as you run. Is he still going to be there when you make it?

God, please let him be there. Don’t let this be almost.

Fists full of the abrasive fabric of your skirts and darting by barren bushes and trees, you do not stop until you clear the little tree line and the lake stands vast and frosty ahead of you.

When Beomgyu spots you, and you spot his figure against the background of the lake crisp in the morning, the sweet cooing of the birds and the rest of the bustle falls away. None of it compares.

“You came,” he says, dragging his feet through the snow until he’s right in front of you, his features elegant once more in the clear morning haze. “I didn’t think you would.”

You reach up to dust away snowflakes resting on his hair. It’s an excuse to touch him—that’s all you find yourself wanting to do, now. Brows pinching, you say, “Why?”

“I don’t know. I just… was scared.”

“No, no, I came,” you say, feeling now the bare expanse of your arms. You run your hands up and down them. Heart in atrophy all the while feeling full just being here with him, you add, “Why did you want to meet here?”

The world is serene for a few long moments as he just looks at you, his gaze searching. “Don’t marry him. Don’t leave with him.”

You know where he’s going with this already. Letting your dress fall from your hands, the one they’d fashioned you in to do exactly that, you say, “And do what?”

“Be with me. Marry me. Be my wife,” he says, the lines of his face solemn. “Let’s elope and find a corner of the world that’s just ours, so that we will never have to hear another word from them again. Let’s just… be together. Finally.”

Chest swelling with something so hopeful that it’s painful, reality comes with its pin point and pops it. “Is that really what you want? You’ll take me, even though I’m promised to somebody else?”

His lip curls as though the thought were detestable. “What the fuck is a dowry to this? To the approval of the fates? The world could try snuff that fact out with whatever they’ll try, and a man could offer your parents a dowry of all its money, and still, you’d be mine. No matter what, our souls belong to each other.” His hand is frozen against your cheek. He’s been out here waiting for you for so long. “I’d take you, promised to another man. I’d take you no matter how you are; in a thousand different lives, I’d have you each time.”

That’s all you need to hear: that you are cherished for more than just your nature, but for yourself. That he loves you unendingly and undyingly, and all you have to do is leave by his side. You’ve already left it all behind—thrown any attachment to the wind, because truly, what is that to this? You don’t know where you’ll go, and you think Beomgyu hasn’t a clue either. But you’ll find that somewhere together. 

Together, your half sings. His answers with a thrilling beat.

“This time,” he says, eyes blazing with conviction. You know he feels the tug, too. “We got it right.”

﹙⋞ ﹚... back to the 𝓂asterlist

✎୭ ashlynn's note MY SHAYLAAAAA. MY SHAYLAAAAAAA!

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[catssluvr]

𝒇𝒂𝒍𝒍𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒃𝒆𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒅, spencer reid

spencer reid x roommate!reader

in which everybody’s falling in love and you’re falling behind or you come back from an awful date and spencer comforts you. well, he does his best

warnings: kinda sad for a bit, r really wants to be loved, two idiots in love <3

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷

You take off your shoes as soon as you reach your apartment's floor, exhaustion taking over. One hand reaches inside the bag to pull of the keys and the other rubs against your face one more time. You're sure your mascara is all smudged already. Not that you would ever cry for someone like that, but you don't think you've heard someone talk about their car as much as him and it honestly made you get sleepy.

You regret accepting to go on a blind date, deeply. It's never been your thing so why did you decide it was a good idea?

The truth is that it's hard to watch all of your friends fall in love and brag about their happy relationships when you don't even know how it feels to truly be loved. It's also not great that you're in love with your roommate when it's clearly not reciprocate. You have so much love to give, so why can't you find love as well?

Besides, the guy you just went out with is a total jerk. He made at least four sex jokes before the drinks arrived and bragged about his career for about half of the time (the other half was about his car). As soon as dinner was over you practically bolted out the restaurant, ignoring his comment about a 'second desert'. It's safe to say you never want to see him again.

Unlocking the door with a sigh, you are met with the sight of Spencer sitting comfortably on the couch with a book in his hands. You curse inside your head, it's not that you don't want to see him. In fact, you think he looks absolutely adorable in a sweatshirt all curled up in his seat. But you don't want him to see you like this, it's obvious your date didn't go well.

"Hey, you're home early." His voice is laced with fatigue. He leaves the book behind and approaches you, his signature smile in full display.

"Yep." You use all your strength to give him a smile back. You don't want to be unpleasant with him just because of a not so great date. Turning your back to him just as fast to place your shoes on the shoe rack.

"How did it go?" He asks tentatively and you frown at the way he seems nervous to know the answer.

"Uh- not great." You decide to not elaborate it, all you want right now is to bury yourself in your bed covers and cry.

"Oh, i'm sorry." You can't bring yourself to look him in the eye, you really don't want his pity. What you miss is the way a sparkle of what looks like relief flashes across his eyes. Before you can dismiss yourself he adds, "You know, given half a billion potential soulmates, the chances of finding your true love on a blind date are one in ten thousand."

As much as you want to tell him that's not necessarily what you need to hear right now, you don't feel like you have enough strength to do it. You know he's mostly trying to comfort you and he's just really not an expert when it comes to emotions.

"Yeah, i guess so." You answer and it's now his time to frown. You're usually way more excited to hear about his statistics. "I'm just gonna go to my room. Night, Spence." And then you're scrambling to your room, closing the door behind you before he can have a reaction.

Exhaling deeply, you throw your bag somewhere in the room and move to the bathroom. You turn on the shower and quickly discard your clothes to the floor, feeling immediately better when the warm water hits your skin.

Stepping out, you get yourself into some comfy sweats and a large old shirt before rushing through your skincare. Not bothering to dry your hair, you slip under the covers with a content hum. You can't help but imagine how it would be better if Spencer was laying with you, it would be tempting to curl up against his sweatshirt and forget about all of your problems.

Snapping out of your daze, you grab your laptop and settle for a comfort show that you know will help you relax. Your stomach grumbles slightly in hunger and you now realize how you had barely touched your food at dinner. Ignoring it anyway because the chances of you leaving your bed for the rest of the night are very low.

A gentle knock sounds from your door and you grumble, dragging yourself to open it. But as soon as you do, regret fills you for getting annoyed at all. There stands Spencer, wide and concerned eyes staring at you.

Now you take a moment to actually look at him and not just his sweatshirt. His hair is mussed by his position in the couch, his mismatched socks peeking from his sweatpants and his lanky hands hold a bowl of mac and cheese and a can of your favorite soda - like he's read your mind. It just reminds you of a few of the reasons to why you're so head over heels for him. He can read you like a book without having to profile you.

Sometimes you wonder how you're ever even going to get over him. Since becoming his roommate a year ago, this was the first time you had gone out on a date. It's not that you didn't want to go on dates, not being the most outgoing person came with it's liabilities. But you always thought going out with someone would make you forget about Spencer. Turns out it just made you realize how perfect he is compared to any other guy.

"I-I just thought maybe this could cheer you up. I know i wasn't much of a help." He smiles sheepishly, standing awkwardly on his feet. Your heart clenches at remembering how you dismissed him earlier.

"Thank you. You really didn't have to." You smile back kindly, looking at him with nothing but adoration.

He clears his throat nervously, "You know- uh- there's a study that says hugs slow down the heart rate and decreases the level of cortisol, the stress hormone. In turn, it makes people feel relaxed and safe." He stutters along his words.

You can't help but chuckle at his peculiar way of offering a hug. "A hug would be great, Spence." You say as you take the food from his and settle it somewhere on your bed. Returning quickly to stand by him and wrapping your arms around his shoulder with no hesitation.

He visibly relaxes at that, nose burying in your head and breathing in lightly. His sweatshirt really does feel just as soft as it looks. He squeezes you, hard enough to pull a giggle out of you but somehow affectionately.

You find yourself not wanting to pull away, a dramatic pout forming in your mouth when you force yourself to do it.

"You wanna make me company while i eat? We can watch Star Trek." Your fingers move almost involuntarily to untangle his curls as you speak.

He nods eagerly before mumbling, "Yes, but we're watching Friends. Last time i picked so we should watch something you like this time." Before he's walking to your bed, sitting comfortably with the covers to his lap.

You almost blush at the thought of him wanting to watch your favorite sitcom with you.

When you join him in bed, he's already setting up the show on your laptop and your heart almost bursts at how comfortable you feel with it, with him.

You eat your mac and cheese, occasionally offering him a few bites.

You feel a weight on your shoulder and turn to see Spencer with his cheek pressed up against it comfortably. You question if he feels sleepy but his he looks wide awake, gaze fixated on the screen in front of you.

Your thoughts drift again as you look at him. You question if maybe this i all just a silly crush because he's so nice to you. But you really don't think you're supposed to be thinking about a silly crush on a date with another guy.

Or maybe you just need to tell him. Maybe if you confess it to him it'll be easier for you. It wouldn't be a secret anymore and even though he doesn't feel the same, a weight would be lifted off your shoulders. You don't really get to think much about it before the words are spilling out of your mouth.

"Spencer?" You call gently and he answers with a small hum, not moving from his position on your shoulder. "I only went on that date because of you." You admit, heart breaking when you feel him tense up and sit up.

"Why- What do you mean?" His brows furrow in confusion.

"I only went on a date because i thought it would help me get over my feelings for you, turns out i'm way too in love for that. And i'm sorry, i know it's one sided. But can we please keep being friends? I promise i can pretend we didn't have this talk- i just needed to get it off my chest." You feel your eyes grow wet as the words come out, imagining the worse scenarios possible. It's already bad enough to feel like you're never going to experience true love, you don't want to lose your best friend too.

"You think i don't love you?" Spencer seems even more confused now, but he looks at you more gently than ever. His eyes glow with the dim yellow light and you find it hard to concentrate on his words.

"Not the way i do, Spence." You breath out, eyes fully glassy now and you're sure that anything can cause you to fall apart now.

"I leave you coffee and a note every morning, i've read all of your favorite books just so i could learn about your interests, i got an email just so you could send me videos of cats and i don't feel disgusted with the idea of eating your food or giving you hugs - not at all." He pauses before adding, "You think i don't love you?" He asks again, just as gentle as before - if not more. It's more of an affirmation then a question.

"Oh." You can't help but feel like you've been blind for all this time. You were so stuck with thinking that you would never find someone you could comfortably show your love for that you didn't notice he was right there, right under the same roof.

"I'm such an idiot." You chuckle, rubbing the tears off your eyes with the back of your hands.

"You are. But i'm also a complete idiot for never doing anything about it." He grinned sweetly, moving to sit closer and tucking a strand of your hair behind your ear.

"Hm, how 'bout i kiss you, you kiss me back, and we call it even?" You play with the long sleeves of his sweatshirt, smile mirroring his.

Spencer's cheeks redden as he pretends to think before he lets out a chuckle of his own, "I'm in."

You have to contain your smile when you lean closer, lips finally touching his after waiting for so long. And now that you get to do it, you don't think you ever want to stop. His hands gently hold your face, thumbs rubbing against your cheeks in the softest way, as if you can break with anything.

It doesn't last as long as you would have wished, both your smiles getting in the way.

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷

love you,

cat 🤍

[oxymorayuri]

❞𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐛𝐨𝐲𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐫𝐢𝐚𝐠𝐞❝

Headcanons with my favorite boyssss [ Ace | Kid | Law | Doffy ] Wordcount » 1234 (lol no way... you see it? 1234...) Info » just cute things ;3

𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐈𝐒𝐓: Ace: qmech | Kid: skxviii | Law: oyasumi_mofu | Doffy: Hijiki_DaiXt

𝑃𝑜𝑟𝑡𝑔𝑎𝑠 𝐷. 𝐴𝑐𝑒

You both get partner tattoos instead of wedding rings but not something lame like a circle around the ring finger rather something small and personal. You have a little flame on the side of your thigh and he has one on his chest that has something to do with you. Maybe you have a devil fruit or a special weapon? It's up to you :p

You never thought you'd cry at your wedding ceremony because Ace let the most beautiful vows EVER leave his lips. His words were typically Ace and in between your tears he made you laugh. You were almost ashamed when it was your turn because you just wanted to repeat a sentence he once said to you but you changed it a bit… "I'm not interested in living a thousand years, it's enough for me to survive today with you." You spoke. Ace recognized the words immediately and remembered the conversation you shared in the past with a broad grin. He almost yanked you to him and kissed your lips even though the priest hadn't even given his blessing yet. But he doesn't care, he doesn't need the priest's blessings when he has you.

He definitely had his own thoughts about the wedding. For example, he has looked into various traditions… but it seems like he got something wrong… Instead of carrying you bridal style over the doorstep, he carried you all day. As soon as you set foot on the floor to get a new drink, he picked you up in his arms. His statement? "Come on love, when will I have the chance to carry you in your wedding dress again?". Okay that's smooth.

𝐸𝑢𝑠𝑡𝑎𝑠𝑠 𝐾𝑖𝑑

Kid probably would never have proposed to you on his own. You've been together for so long now and every time you've seen a married couple your mood has soured. You were annoyed and also disgusted and one day Killer asked you about it and in the conversation you ironically realized that you also wanted to get married lol… when you were with Kid in his workshop you casually mentioned, that you thought it would be a good idea for the two of you to get married as he was working on one of his new creations. He froze at the word marriage and the next second his machine caught fire because he held the welding rod on it for too long. You both panicked and put out the fire and you realized that he found the topic unpleasant and unnecessary, but you are you and you get everything you want, even if you have to force him! Luckily for you, Killer told you that Kid likes the idea of you committing to him forever, but pshht… otherwise Killer will lose his life.

He will send you away if you want to ask him something about the wedding planning or want his opinion. He'll just tell you that you can do whatever you think is necessary (ugh). You think it's a bit of a shame but you don't mind, you just want him to feel comfortable at his own wedding. After all, it's not just yours. But if it were up to him, he would simply put the ring on your finger and seal your marriage with a big smooch on the lips. But later in the evening you notice that he has circled options he likes or left little notes on your wedding plans and that's when you know you're marrying the right one.

he forges your rings and is quite proud of his work, but secretly nags Killer that he is unsure whether you like the rings. When he saw the sparkle in your eyes and heard your words about how much you love the rings, his heart stopped for a moment only to beat extremely fast. He wanted to marry you right on the spot, but he knows how much love you put into the planning. Happy wife happy life lol.

𝑇𝑟𝑎𝑓𝑎𝑙𝑔𝑎𝑟 𝐷. 𝑊𝑎𝑡𝑒𝑟 𝐿𝑎𝑤

A grand wedding with everyone (including the straw hats etc.) is planned, but he has other plans and takes you to the most romantic place to have a wedding ceremony just for the two of you. The party can still take place afterwards with everyone, you are a little social butterfly after all, but the wedding ceremony? That's between you and him <3

Law, similar to Ace, would want partner tattoos instead of real rings but rather in an intimate place where only both of you will see it… if you know what I mean ;) It's safe to say he'll shower your tattoo with kisses everytime when you're getting busy.

He has already seen you (without you knowing it) in your wedding dress. He knew exactly what was going on when you waltzed happily past him with a big package... And even if he hesitated for a moment, he followed you discreetly like a pretty good stalker… He peered through the gap of the door to the room you shared. You were apparently so excited that you hadn't even closed the door. He heard you squealing happily in the bathroom and without really realizing it, he held his breath until you came out of the bathroom. And then you stood there in your beautiful white dress. The feeling in his chest increased rapidly as he watched you twirl in front of the mirror like a princess. Your laughter makes him grin… "I guess she's just as happy as I am that we're getting married..." he thought to himself with a satisfied expression as he let go of the door and walked away. He leaves you a little moment for yourself and your joy, he'll see you walking towards him soon anyway. He is pretty sure that he will never forget that moment. The sight of you walking towards him will be engraved in his brain.

𝐷𝑜𝑛𝑞𝑢𝑖𝑥𝑜𝑡𝑒 𝐷𝑜𝑓𝑙𝑎𝑚𝑖𝑛𝑔𝑜

You want fireworks that paint your faces in the sky? A thousand white doves that are released when you kiss? A 10 meter high chocolate fountain? A wedding in pink? No problem. Your list is long and you get everything you want. Doflamingo will put together the perfect team to fulfill your every wish. Money doesn't matter, but you do.

You get a ring with a gemstone you've never seen before. Even if you express your doubts that you are afraid of losing this precious ring, Doffy reacts almost insulted. You are the rarest and most valuable gemstone in the world. If you lose the ring, he'll have a new one before you know it.

It's going to be a big big wedding BUT not many people are invited because there's a chance of someone ruining it. Whoever is invited is a big figure or part of the family. Everything is secured but not in an oppressive way. It all plays in the background, because if there were security guards everywhere it would ruin your perfect wedding picture. Nobody is allowed to ruin this day for you and him and if they do, they will pay for it. He also has the wedding broadcast live on TV so that everyone can see that he's marrying the most beautiful woman in the world. How extra.

Masterlist

I hope you enjoyed reading it. See you next time <3

𝑾𝒊𝒕𝒉 𝒍𝒐𝒗𝒆, 𝒚𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝒚𝒖𝒓𝒊 ♡

[missadangel]

The Heart of Rome (Marcus Acacius x OC)

All Chapters List

VIII. The Lust, Threat, Tension (+18, Smut, MDNI)

De omnibus dubitandum.

Everything must be doubted…

C.S.

The warmth of the morning sun hits your skin and wakes you up, freeing you from the torturing effects of the strange dream and bringing you back to reality. You hadn't opened your eyes yet, trying to start the new day happily by reliving last night's memories. You heard the first chirping of birds, then a cheerful rooster, then the murmur that you thought came from the small courtyard. Then you felt a gentle but insistent pressure between your eyebrows so you decided to open your eyes.

You were surprised to notice that Marcus had his index finger just above your face. Your head was resting on his arm so you lifted your head to look at his face, he was smiling.

"What were you dreaming about?" You felt his fingers tracing the contours of your spine.

"How did you know I was dreaming?"

"I was watching you sleep and your peaceful face suddenly changed. Was it a bad dream?”

It was not the kind of dream you'd want to talk about, especially on such a romantic morning. Despite all the unpleasant feelings, you smiled at him. "No, it was just a silly dream, I don't even remember it," you lied. 

“Hmm,” He seemed convinced. “How do you feel?”

You made yourself put the dream completely out of your mind to answer sincerely. "Reborn and grateful,” your cheeks burned as you remembered every single moment about last night.

“Reborn?”

“As if my life has just started now,” you explained." It may sound silly, but it feels like everything is better and new. The sky seems brighter, and the sun's light seems to give off a different glow. It's like my life has meaning now.”

A boyish grin appeared on his face. Every time he smiles like that, it blows your mind as if he wasn't the same man who days ago fought fearlessly in the arena, slaughtering gladiators. “Then I must be silly too, because I feel just like you.”

He leaned over and kissed you gently. Your hand went to his hair as you enjoyed this moment, running your fingers through it. You felt that the effect of your dream was completely gone now, Marcus' presence was like an invisible shield, keeping your worries and fears away.

Then, he began to kiss you more passionately, his mouth greedy and hungry for more. His hands move to grab you behind the waist and pull you closer to him. Your heart raced as you realised what he was doing. He pinned you to the bed with his muscular body, leaving no gap. His hands roamed from your hips to your legs, not hurried but eager. This time you opened your legs instinctively, without any concern but with a lot of desire. You could feel him smiling beneath your lips, his light breath through his nose caressing your cheek. You let out a moan of pleasure as he teased you with his touch, brushing against your walls. You clenched the sheets as Marcus' full length entered you roughly, sending shivers of pleasure through your body. He grasped your hand and guided it to his own neck, his eyes sparkling with desire. As his thrusts quickened, you instinctively found yourself digging your fingertips into the back of his neck and back, unable to resist the incredible sensation. Then, he swiftly changed positions, leaning against the head of the bed before pulling you in front of him, your breasts brushing his chest, and causing your back to turn towards the room so you were facing him. You gasped with delight at the sudden shift. He eagerly prodded himself at your entrance once again. This was completely new to you, and you opened your eyes in surprise and looked at him. He smiled mischievously.

"Each other's likes, remember?" he purred into your ear, his hot breath showering your cheeks.

His free hand moved to your hip, pushing you down as he led you on the awaiting shaft underneath.

"A new thing for you to learn, my love," he whispered again, his eyes alight with excitement.

You giggled naughtily. You wrapped your arms around his thick neck and gave yourself to him, feeling safe and excited. This time, it went smoothly. Your wet walls accommodated him with a slick sound while a deep groan was forced out from your lungs. Your back arched at the sight of his full length getting inside you once more, almost as if trying to ease the penetration. Exhaling pleasurably, he didn't waste time as he resumed moving, playing, licking, and sucking your breasts in the process. From this angle, he could push himself deeper with less effort, reaching your sweet spot with more precision and force. Your body bounced up and down at each thrust, eager for Marcus to have you even harder. But as this new position puts more pressure on your walls, on your sweet spot, you are overwhelmed by the sudden wave of pleasure and quickly reach your climax. As you moaned loudly, Marcus couldn't help but snicker and kiss you passionately. "So impatient?”

Your cheeks flushed, and you were pleasantly surprised that your body wanted more. You never thought you'd enjoy it so much that you'd want more every time. Was this lust? It was certainly amazing.

“Get ready for more, princess,” he cooed.

As if in approval, you felt your walls stretching with a pleasurable warmth. He gripped your hips tightly lifted and thrusted hard. He repeated, and then repeated again. He was almost at his limit, and he knew from experience it wouldn't have been long by now. But was determined to make you reach your climax once more. This time his strong fingers dug into your back down to your hips, his hot tongue running between your breasts as you took in short, sharp breaths, gasping when you felt his teeth on them. Soon he was combining his force with a faster pace. His loud moans became mixed with yours, like music in your ears.

A few more strong shoves, and he realized he couldn't hold back any longer, not matter how hard he tried. So he came hard with a wild groan which turns you on hard and thus brings you more pleasure. You threw your head back as he filled you with his warm liquid, sending you over the edge for the second time. As your breathing became regular, he kissed you again, this time adoringly. He broke the kiss, and pressed his forehead to yours, both of you still breathing heavily. "Now that you've completed your duty of pleasing your husband," his fingers slid down the curve of your spine, "Perhaps a hot bath would be a welcome treat, my lady?"

You wiped the sweat from your forehead with the back of your hand. "That sounds like a wonderful idea, General."

He kissed you one last time before getting out of bed.

Tullia and Norell had already prepared your bath, as it was the morning of the wedding night of their Dominus and Domina. The Balneum was filled with a warm, steamy atmosphere, gently blended with the subtle aromas of various flowers floating on the surface of the hot water in the tub. Marcus helped you in and then sat you on his lap. You were amused by the way he treated you as if you were going to run away at any moment. You wouldn't have changed the feeling of being in his arms for anything; it was so wonderful and simple, as easy and natural as breathing. It was as if your bodies had been created for each other by the God Prometheus.

The soft movements of yours caused the lavender flowers on the surface of the water to dance in unison. You picked one and placed it in your palm, leaning your head back against Marcus' chest and inhaling its refreshing and comforting scent. He gently lifted your hair and massaged oil into your neck with his strong fingers. As you relaxed in the tub, enjoying a blissful moment of tranquility, the only sound that could be heard was the soothing burbling of the hot water.

You suddenly felt you missed his voice and his face. It was a pretty unusual feeling, missing him even when you were with him. You turned towards him and offered to give him a massage, just as he had given you one. Your hands traveled over his broad shoulders, neck, and arms, stopping at the wound on his shoulder. It was not fully healed. You swallowed hard as you remembered how sharp the sword was that the gladiator was holding. He noticed your frown and smiled, wrapping his arms around your waist. "I've been hurt worse, so don't worry. Besides, you healed all my wounds completely last night and this morning.” He smirked.

His implication made your cheeks flush, and you smiled shyly. Marcus caressed your cheeks with his wet hand, which smelled like lavender. "You're so beautiful when you blush," he murmured.

You were sure your cheeks turned completely red when you felt him hard between your thighs, right under your hips.

He laughed. “I suppose that this is my way of blushing to you my lady.”

In one quick move, he grabbed you by the hips and lifted you up, pulling closer, causing some of the water to flow out of the tube along with the lavenders, splashing the floor.

Marcus seemed to be quite passionate, having you there, in the water. He didn't seem to tire at all; he was still as thrilled as ever. As strong and determined as he was in battle, he was just the same when making love to you. You wondered if there was a limit to his lust and how much you could keep up with it. This unfamiliar physical pace was so beautiful that you never wanted it to end, no matter how exhausted you felt afterward.

You didn't do anything different on the rest of your first day as newlyweds. Marcus had asked them to bring the food to the room, and you didn't really want to get out of bed with the sheets freshly changed. When he called you to the table for something to eat, you saw Mau at the entrance to the balcony. You realised how much you missed her and ran to take her in your arms. She was purring as she played with your damp hair with her paw.

“It seems like she's pleased to see you again,” Marcus said.

You turned towards him, curious to know what he thought about cats.

“You look like you've met Mau.”

“Mau?' Did you name it? You never cease to amaze me, my lady.” He laughed.

“I had a cat like her in Egypt, she reminds me of it,” you ran your fingers through her black fur.

“We became good friends in your absence,” he said, pouring wine into his glass.

You raised your eyebrows. “I didn't know you liked cats, General.”

Marcus took a sip of his wine. "It.. Mau, keeps our kitchen pantry rat-free. She's a hunter. I'm grateful to her."

You smiled at him, appreciating the softer side of him that he lets you see.

“Come now, sit, you need to eat some food.”

You nodded and put Mau down, she was meowing, she must have smelt the food on the tray. You took a piece of food from the tray, went to the balcony, and put it on the ground. She meowed impatiently and quickly ran towards the food and started eating.

“I'm getting jealous of her,” Marcus complained.

You let out a little giggle and moved towards him. Just as you were about to sit down in the chair opposite him, he stopped you with a flourish of his hand. “Here,” he said, opening his arms wide and pointing to himself.

As you stared at him with confusion, he reached out grabbed your wrist, and pulled you to him, and you found yourself sitting on his lap. You looked at him, batting your eyelashes. His dark brown eyes stared intently into yours, and you felt your heart flutter. “When you look at me like that with your long eyelashes, it feels like an arrow through my heart,” he said with his velvety tone. You blinked again, “Like Cupid's arrow?”

He laughed gleefully. “Like Cupid's arrow,” he repeated. He pressed his forehead to yours and kissed the tip of your nose. “Now, my lady, allow me to feed you.” He took a spoonful of food from the plate on the tray and fed it to you. As you swallowed, you realised how hungry you were. Meanwhile, he was watching you intently. Then you took a piece of bread and brought it closer to Marcus. “I should too, feed my husband, shouldn't I? Open up, General.”

He smiled and opened his mouth. You watched as he chewed, your eyes wandering over his mouth and lips. It was a delight to watch.

While you two were enjoying your romantic lentaculum (breakfast), you decided to ask him about something that had been on your mind for a while. “If I may ask you something?”

“Hmm?”

“When I first came here, I heard you'd been married and divorced before.”

Marcus slowed his mouth movements as he chewed his food and locked his eyes on the food on the tray. You regretted asking that question when the joy on his face gave way to seriousness. He nodded with a half smile. “That's correct. It was an arranged marriage. I was young and dumb.” There was disappointment and sadness in his voice.

“What happened?” you asked softly.

He swallowed slowly, then took a fig from the tray and split it in half. “My father didn't want me to join the army. He thought he could prevent it by marrying me off. He wanted me in the senate like him.” He peeled the fig and fed it to you.

“But you joined anyway?” You asked as you chewed the fig.

“I had to. It was the only way I could stay away from this villa.”

You looked at him with a hint of surprise in your eyes. Marcus responded to your expression with a smile, gently touching your cheek with his hand. “I never loved her. I tried so hard to, but it just wasn't meant to be. As it turned out, she was already in love with someone else.” He slid his hand into your hair, his fingers stroking it slowly from top to bottom as if combing it. “I tried to satisfy my unhappiness on the battlefield, and my physical needs as a man. You can imagine where.”

Your stomach hurt, but not because you swallowed your food without chewing. Suddenly you felt a wave of jealousy sweep through your body. As if the fact that he used to be married didn't torture you enough, now you were sure you will be tormented by the thought of him sleeping with who knows how many women in the whore house. Yes, you definitely regretted asking him that question.

“Did I upset you?” He put his hand on your knee and rubbed it softly.

You quickly recovered your expression, forcing a smile.

“No,” you shook your head. “Please continue, I wish to know everything about you.”

He narrowed his eyes and read your expression, then sighed and continued.

“Well, when I found out she was busy with her lover while I was on the battlefield.” His eyes darkened to black. “I killed him.” His voice was sharp, making you tense. However, you kept your expression still, locked in his eyes. “I divorced after my father died, and I had no one left in the villa. I was alone, a soldier widowed at a young age.” He forced a smile.

“It must be so hard for you. I'm so sorry.” Your voice cracked.

He placed his arm around you and kissed you on the shoulder. "There is no need for you to be sorry, my love. Everything is in the past now." He smiled gently as he stroked your upper arm. “I consider myself extremely fortunate that the gods brought me you. You have not only healed me physically but also emotionally.”

Your heart began to race with excitement as his lips traced a path over your shoulder once more. 'My beautiful Aurelia,' he whispered in your ear, his voice full of love and desire. You inhaled the delicious scent of lavender from his masculine skin, and you felt your eyes closing of their own accord. You felt his lips on yours, right where they belonged. You wrapped your arms around his neck, and you didn't care that the fork in your hand dropped to the floor as he kissed you passionately.  Marcus put one arm under your legs and took you in his arms. Without breaking the kiss, he stood up and rushed to the bed, your giggles echoing through the room.

The soft glow of sunlight that filtered through the window gently roused you from your slumber. As you listened to the birds outside, you became aware that you had perhaps lost track of time. You hadn't left the room for a day except to take a bath. You were having some pretty intense, passionate moments, and you spent the rest of the time discovering your bodies and their needs. As you yawned, you realised you were still tired. All the sexual activity between you and Marcus had made you feel more tired than ever. Your muscles were a little sore as if you had run a long distance without stopping. But it was still so good, being in this room with him, cut off from the outside world, was the best feeling you had ever had or could ever have.

When you opened your eyes and saw Marcus's stunning face right next to yours, you felt your sense of fatigue dissipate. He looked so peaceful asleep, almost as if he were a little boy. As you listened to his breathing, you found yourself wishing for a way to make this moment stop. If only you could stay in this room forever, just the two of you.

You were surprised to feel a warmth and a purring near your feet and looked up. Mau was peacefully sleeping on the sheets, curled up next to your feet. You were about to turn away so as not to disturb her when Marcus's arm reached out to pull you back. You felt his chest against your back and he buried his face in your hair.

“Are you trying to run away, beautiful?” he mumbles, still sleepy.

“Of course not, I-” He tightened his arm.

"I'll find you, no matter where you go, my love." He smells your hair, tickles your neck.

“I'm sure you will, General, I have no such intention.” You turned to him. Mau was awake by your movements, she yawned and stretched then jumped down from the bed.

“So, we’re going to stay in this room like, forever?” You ran your index finger along his collarbone.

“My lady, are you already bored with your husband?" He enquired cheerfully.

"Of course not," you said, looking at him. "How about you?"

"That's not even a possibility. You make the most delicious love noises, whimpers, giggles, and at times, little mewls. Your sweet scent compels me. You drive me crazy. I'll never get enough of you."

You snuggled against his chest contently and inhaled deeply.

He kissed your head, right at the top. "I would love to. Believe me." He said, his warm breath caressing your forehead. "To stay like this forever. I wish that it could be possible."

"Me too," you murmured.

With your head on his chest, eyes closed, listening to his heartbeat, he plays with your hair, letting a few strands brush his face and lips. You're both savoring the moment in your own ways.

Then he sighs. “Another hot bath?”

You nod without lifting your head from his chest. He smiles and sits up in bed, his hands on your shoulders.

“I'll leave afterward, I have to go to the barracks.” He leans down and kisses you on the lips. “But not without having breakfast with my beautiful wife, of course."

“Sounds great.” You smiled.

After a very hot bath with Marcus, he told the slaves to bring breakfast to the room again. Just like yesterday, you had another romantic breakfast together. Then he had to get ready, so you helped him put on the burgundy tunic he usually wore under his leather armour.

"Are you sure about this?" Marcus asked.

"As your wife, I want to dress you, including your armor. Can you teach me how?"

He pouted and smiled. “Hmm, alright then.”

He took the leather armour and came to you. "Hold it carefully, it might be heavy for your delicate arms." You stretched your arms forward with a determined look on your face. Marcus suppressed a smile by pursing his lips and handed you the armour. You were surprised by the weight of it and almost stumbled. Why was it so heavy? Marcus laughed. "Are you alright, my lady? If you want me to help you-"

“I'll manage, thank you.” You didn't want to give up, you tried to hold it with all your strength.

"If you wouldn't mind, could you keep holding it while I put on the focalia (scarf) first?"As he wrapped the focalia around his neck, you realized that he was taking too long. Was he stalling?

"Marcus," you said with a little whine in your voice. He let out a little laugh and then came over to you.

"You know, you could really benefit from building up your arm muscles a bit. They're a little on the skinny side, don't you think?"

"Are you really comparing your muscles to mine? That's not fair, General."

He leaned forward to put the armour over his head. "You just need to be strong enough to protect yourself." He took your hands and led them to the side of his armour where the leather straps were. "Make sure to tie it tight," he demanded.

“Enough to protect myself?” You asked as you tied the straps with great care. You got this part just fine. Marcus took hold of the armour as you tied it and made sure it was fitted snugly against his chest.

"Yes, I've been thinking about it for a while."

You looked at him with one eyebrow arched.

"You need to learn to protect yourself."

“Protect from what?” You asked him as you tied the other side.

He turned his head towards you. "From any danger, my lady."

"I am reassured to know you will protect me, as my husband." You said, smiling at him.

He smiled back, but it seemed as though he was pondering something. You looked at him when you finished tying. "The leather strips are next, aren't they? I'll get-“

He suddenly took hold of your wrist and pulled you towards him. "I will protect you from all harm, Aurelia. I would never let anything happen to you. But, if anything were to occur to me, or if..." It seemed as though he was seeking for the right words. "I would never want you to be left without defense when I am not there to help." His voice trembled slightly.

It was torture for him to imagine you like that.

“Nothing will happen to you, Marcus, I won't let it.” You felt a pang of sadness at his words.

He smiled and embraced you, you rested your head on his chest, feeling the surface of leather underneath your cheek. You placed your hand on the medusa, your fingers tracing her eyes.

"It would be wise for us to be prepared for anything, though. I'll teach you.”

“Learning to fight? I’m sure I'll be a terrible student.”

He laughed at your expression and kissed you gently on the lips, lovingly.

“Well, as a General, I am a good teacher.” He said, breaking the kiss.

You pouted your lips. He caressed your cheeks with the back of his hand. Then, as he was showing you how to put leather strips on the shoulder, there was a knock at the door. Cato came in and looked at him in surprise.

“Sir?”

"Cato, my dear wife dressed me in your absence.”

Marcus leaned on the edge of the desk and stretched his arm forward as you tied one of the armbands.

"I'm apologizing for that, sir." He bowed his head.

"Have you completed the task I instructed you to do earlier?”

As you tied the other armband, you wondered what it was but didn't think much about it. It was obviously something to do with his work.

"Yes sir.”

“Good.”

"Here." You said, your voice brimming with joy as you finished tying it.

"Thank you, my lady. I feel safer now that you've dressed me with your blissful hands." He kissed your hand and then your cheek, making you giggle.

Cato seemed embarrassed and looked away.

Marcus cleared his throat and stood up. "Let's get going, Cato," he said, giving him a pat on the shoulder.

You also accompanied them as they exited the room. On your way down the stairs, you observed Norell sweeping the floor in the courtyard. When she saw you, she paused and bowed her head. Cato looked at Marcus as he descended the stairs. “Sir, if you'll excuse me, I have something to say.”

“Say it,” he said without looking at him, gesturing with his hand.

“I was wondering if I could start training with the troops as a real soldier now. Since my lady can help you with the armor.”

Marcus stopped and looked at him, a frown forming on his face. "A real soldier?" You think you're ready to join the army already?

Cato gave a little nod, looking a bit unsure.

Marcus gave a stern look and commanded, "Draw your sword!"

Cato was a bit confused at first, unsure of what to do, but he reached for his holster to draw his sword. But he was too wound up, his hand was shaking, and he had just reached for his sword when Marcus, with great skill, quickly drew his own sword and pointed it at his throat. "And you're dead."

“Gods!” Cato opened his eyes wide and took a deep breath.

You and Norell laughed at Cato's expression.

Marcus quickly sheathed his sword and punched him on the shoulder with his fist as if in a warning. "You can't even draw your sword properly. How can you join the troops and fight the enemy on the front line?"

He rubbed his shoulder. "I was caught off guard, sir. I apologise."

"We'll practice sword drawing today. Now, go and wait for me by your horse. Move!"

“Yes sir!”

You stepped towards Marcus as Cato left the courtyard. "That little rascal." He muttered.

"Aren't you being a little hard on him, General?"

"It's for his own good. He sometimes has a hard time keeping up, but he's a determined boy. I should pay a little more attention to his training now. I have been very busy with the other commanders lately."

You suddenly remembered what Julia told you earlier.

"Are you talking about your legates?"

"That's right."

"Do you have confidence in them?"

Marcus narrowed his eyes. "I'd be lying if I said yes, but why do you ask? May I know?"

"When I was staying at the Domus Severiana, Julia said something to me the night before the game." You swallowed as you remembered that moment. Marcus was listening intently. "She said there were soldiers in the Legates who could take your place if you lost the fight."

Marcus crossed his arms. "I think I have a guess." Then he put his hand on your shoulder. "I appreciate you letting me know," he kissed your forehead. "I need to take my leave now," his fingers ran through your hair. "Wait for my return." He leaned close to your ear. "I'll be looking forward to the night, my beautiful wife.” He gave you a wink and a smile, then turned and left the courtyard at a brisk pace.

You inhaled deeply feeling like you missed him already, but this was the only place you felt completely relieved. His home, your home. You turned towards Norell who was still sweeping the floor and seemed a little shy, so you went over and gave her a hug.

"I've missed you a lot," you said, stroking her ginger-coloured hair.

She was a little hesitant at first, but then she hugged you back. "I missed you too, Domina, I mean my lady, um, princess Aurelia.”

You chuckled. “Please, just call me Aurelia when it's just us.”

She nodded happily.

"Where is Decima?”

"She was feeding the chickens. Um, she told me everything, I'm glad you got her out of there.”

"It's good to see you've got on so well with her.”

A little later, Decima showed up in the courtyard. You called her over, held out your hands, and she held them. "How are you doing, my lady? Is the marriage going well?" She winked at you and gave you a quick look over. "You look a little tired."

You felt your cheeks burning, and Norell let out a little chuckle.

“Because you're keeping your Domina up, let me some rest.” You joked and sat down on the triclinium (couch) in the courtyard. Tullia came running over and looked at the girls angrily. You yawned involuntarily as you leaned on the couch.

"Don't you girls have any manners? Get your Domina something to drink now!”

Norell gave a gentle nod and poured you a glass of wine, which she then handed to you. "Here, my lady," she said, offering you.

"Is there anything else we can get you, Domina?" Tullia was quite a bit older than you, and you felt it would be inappropriate to order her around.

"No, thank you, Tullia."

"Once you've finished your rest, I would like to show you something, my lady," Tullia said. "The General instructed me to do so.”

You took a sip of wine and looked at her, your curiosity piqued. “Now that my husband has instructed you, first, I would like to see what it is.”

Norell and Decima exchanged glances, they must have known already. You took their arm as Tullia led the way.

“Now, tell me, what's going on?”

“You'll see in a minute.” Norell smiled.

"I'm sure you'll like it," Decima assured you.

Tullia stood in front of a door on the other side of the small courtyard where the kitchen was. She opened it and invited you with her hand.

“Please, come in, my lady.”

You released their arms and stepped inside. The room was modest in size, with an array of shelves, a desk, and a mattress. As you perused the shelves, you were amazed to find herbs, vials, tools, and other essential items for a medicus. On the table was a leather bag that seemed similar to one you had previously owned. Your face lit up with a beaming smile. "Did the General have all these items prepared for me?”

“Yes, they are all fresh and new, and will be replenished as you need them, my lady,” Tullia replied.

How much more can I possibly fall in love with this man? You thought to yourself, your heart brimming with love and admiration.

As you were looking at the shelves, observing the herbs, you noticed a smell that immediately caught your attention. It was the same smell you had heard before, the smell of that deadly dangerous plant. Decima reached for the shelf, but you quickly pushed her hand away. “Don’t!"

“It's hemlock, don't touch it.” You looked at Tullia. “Has anyone touched this plant?”

She opened her eyes wide. “Y-yes, one of the slaves-“

“Is that why he's sick?” Norell interrupted.

“Sick?”

"He hasn't been feeling well since yesterday," Decima explained.

"Take me to him," you ordered. "And put this plant in a jar, but hold it with a cloth, don't touch it with your bare hands.”

They nodded in agreement. Norell and Decima took you to the slave boy. He was in the east courtyard with the other male slaves. Fortunately, he was in better condition than you thought. You went back to your little clinic and prepared a mixture of herbs for him. Decima helped you and Norell took it to the slave boy to drink. As you went through the shelves again, organizing the herbs that needed to be stored and dried, footsteps echoed in the courtyard and one of the slaves hurried over to you. You could tell from the look on his face that he was about to say something you wouldn't like.

"Domina, a guard has arrived from the palace. He says you are summoned from Palatine Hill.”

Decima looked at you, but you were looking at the slave. It's only been two days since the wedding. What the hell was this?

"Please tell him that I am unable to leave until my husband returns." You placed the plant you had in the jar and closed the lid. The slave nodded and promptly exited the room and returned to the courtyard.

"Could it possibly be Emperor Geta?" Decima asked.

"I am uncertain, but it does not seem to be an urgent matter. I will speak with Marcus when he returns. I might visit tomorrow.”

At that moment, the footsteps from the courtyard were louder, and it was evident that the individual approaching was clad in armor.

"Princess, Emperor Caracalla requests your presence. I urge you to accompany me," he stated in a tone that was both authoritative and ominous.

You knew Caracalla well, so it seems likely that he would have given this guard clear instructions. You felt sure that he wouldn't leave without you. You took a moment to find your composure and then stood up.

“I'll be ready shortly. Could you wait outside?”

The soldier nodded and walked out of the courtyard.

“Are you sure you'll be back by the time the General arrives?” Decima asked. She followed you out of the room.

“I hope so. Can you give me a hand with my attire?”

She nodded, “I'll come with you, my lady. I can't leave you alone.”

Norell rushed to your side. “Let me help too, my lady.”

You remembered how she dressed you back then. “Yes, please.”

Now that you were a married woman (matrona) you had to wear the stola, which only married women and Vestal priestesses could wear. Your clothes and jewellery had already been brought and placed in Marcus' room.  As you got dressed with the girls' help, you thought about what Caracalla wanted. It was tricky to know what he wanted, and there were lots of possibilities. Norell put a light pink stole over your long tunic, with gold and pearl embroidery from the shoulder to the end of the sleeve which came up to the elbow.

She proceeded to wrap a palla (shawl) of a similar hue and design around your waist and over your head. You then held the ends in your hand and adjusted it by tugging a little. She proceeded to gather your hair to one side, braid it and pin it with gold-embroidered hairpins. She then placed a jewel on top of your head, which resembled a crown. You then became aware that you had missed her dressing you; she did it with enthusiasm and seriousness. Even more so than Geta's slave girl.

“Thank you, Norell."

She smiled at you, but her expression also conveyed a hint of concern.

“We should leave now, Decima. I want to be back before dusk.”

She nodded and followed you. As you exited the courtyard, you felt somewhat unusual being wrapped in this new dress, but you liked it. The guard was waiting for you by the carriage and helped you into it, after all the stola was long enough to cover your feet. Decima sat next to you, and you held her hand the whole way, as you felt more secure having her with you.

Upon your arrival at the Domus Severiana, the sun was nearing the horizon. As you entered the great courtyard, you first paid respects to the statue of your father. You were informed that Caracalla was awaiting your presence in the great hall. You said Decima to wait there, and headed with the guard to the long hall to meet your half-brother. It was not often that they were in the private hall, which was reserved for political and policy meetings. These meetings were only convened when something of importance occurred or when documents required stamping.

However, it is clear that Caracalla was more interested in that sort of thing, whereas Geta did not take it seriously at all. As you approached the imposing door of the hall, you looked around. Geta was nowhere to be seen. You had only wanted to see him, not the other one, but still. Two guards greeted you and opened the door for you to enter. Caracalla was standing in the center of the hall with a sword in his hand. He was looking at someone on their knees with their hands tied behind their back. When he recognized you, he opened his hands wide.

"Ah, my dear sister, you have made it. Come dear, come closer." Said with a gesture that includes all ten fingers.

"I'd like to know why you've summoned a married woman when my husband is not at home.”

Your eyes met those of the man on the floor, and you realized with a start that it was Gaius. His face was rather disfigured, with a noticeable amount of blood and bruises. That was rather unexpected. "It is an urgent family matter, something your husband doesn't need to be involved in," he said, in a somewhat abrupt manner.

"Why is Sir Gaius tied up like that? What's going on?"

"We will decide his fate. I have ideas that will be fun to execute, but I wonder what you think."

You swallowed, you didn't like Gaius, but Caracalla's 'ideas' were usually the most bloody and violent ones.

“You can't do this!” Gaius barked. “My reputation-”

Caracalla hit him with his other hand. “Shut up, you cunt! If you cared about your reputation much you should never have returned to Rome!”

Gaius grunted as he spat on the floor.

You were getting tense. “Why exactly are you doing this?” You asked him.

“Why do you think he wanted to marry you? Was it because he was in love with you? Why did he retain that letter? To usurp the throne, of course." He brandished the sword at his throat. "That is what he had always intended.”

He was right, Gaius already admitted it to you before.

"Whoever threatens me will face the consequences." He then pointed the sword at you. "That includes you.”

You gasped, and stumbled back. Then you heard the sound of the door opening.

"Are you insane? What the hell are you doing?" Geta rushed through the door and stood in front of you. "Brother, we're here for this cunt, Gaius. What does Aurelia have to do with this?”

"Cease your dramatics. We're just talking.” Caracalla growled.

“Point your sword at the traitor then, not our sister.” Geta barked.

Caracalla rolled his eyes and passed the sword to the guard next to him. Geta turned to you and gave you a hug, which startled you. He pulled back and smiled. “I missed you, sorry to call you over for a filthy rat.” He turned his gaze to Caracalla. “Our brother was eager to butcher his cousin.”

"You could have managed it yourselves, then. Why did you feel the need to summon me?" You crossed your arms, trying to maintain a calm demeanor.

"So what do you say? The game?" Geta asked Caracalla, his eyes alight with excitement.

"Yes, I want that! It makes total sense."

Geta turned to you, his grin widening. "What do you think, should our cousin set foot in the arena? Oh, it's just so much fun even thinking about it."

You observed Gaius's concerned expression. “ I wouldn't say it's fun since he can't even fight.” You said quietly, surprised at yourself for feeling a little sorry for him.

“It'll be when he finds himself before the tigers.” Caracalla laughed.

Gaius swallowed hard. You tensed up, too, remembering how big and fierce the tiger was.

"Can't you just kill him?" you asked, voice cracking a little.

But your brothers had already made up their minds.

"It's two to one, the decision's been made," Geta said.

Caracalla looked at the guards. "Take this one to the dungeon. He'll be lunch for the tigers in the arena tomorrow.” He laughed so loudly, his voice reverberating off the marble walls of the hall.

"NO! YOU CAN'T! NO!" Gaius wailed.

Geta watched him dragged roughly outside by guards. Then turned towards Caracalla.

“It's so hard to wait until tomorrow.”

Their laughter hummed in your ears as you focused on Gaius' protests and shouts, it was horrible to see a man punished like this, no matter what his crime was.

As the guards forcibly led him away, you turned your eyes Caracalla. "He is, after all, one of our blood, a member of the Severan dynasty. It is unlikely that news of his execution will be well received in Leptis Magna."

A self-confident expression spread across Caracalla's face. "I am the emperor, and as such I am entitled to act as I see fit. It is unlikely that they will dare to interfere with me."

"With us, brother," Geta looked at him sharply.

Caracalla forced a smile. "Yes, of course.” Then he turned towards you. “I told you you'd be a widow if you chose him,” he said with a smirk.

“But I didn't,” you said, unsure of the implication on his face.

"Oh yes, you chose the General, although he is not entirely without fault."

You felt a shiver run down your spine.

"I beg your pardon?"

"Do you truly believe that the reason he married you was entirely innocent?"

You turned your gaze to Geta, who was crossing his arms, his expression matching his brother's.

"What do you mean?" Your voice was trembling.

"Oh, our sister is unaware of her own significance," Caracalla muttered.

“I agree.” Geta snapped.

You took a deep breath and forced yourself to calm down. "The General didn't know who I was when he met me. He married me because he fell in love with me."

Caracalla's laughter startled you. "Of course, I'm sure he did. We know of his plans with some of the legates. He hides himself well, but we can't be entirely sure. Has he told you about his plans? Perhaps you can find out for us?"

You crossed your arms, angry. "Oh so that's it, that's why you called me here. You want me to sell my husband out to you?"

Caracalla was looking you in the eye. 'Are you putting your husband before your family?' His voice was threatening.

Geta stepped between you and extended his hand.

'She didn't mean that, brother.'

You remained still. "General Acacius is my family, just like you. If he hasn't betrayed you all this time, he never will."

"He better not." Caracalla stepped back and sat back in his chair.

"Now, if you'll excuse me, I must return home." You said and turned round.

"I shall accompany you," Geta said. You left the hall together. While you two walked by the fountain, he turned his head towards you. “Do not praise General Acacius in Caracalla’s presence,” he said in a stern voice.

“What?"

“Don't make him become a threat, that's all he wants.” He warned you.

You looked at him, his expression was so weird that you couldn't make sense of it.

“What about you? Don't you see him as a threat?”

“I may not like him, but I have no intention of killing him. However, I don't trust him either.” He smirked.

You were surprised that Marcus had the same opinion about him. Geta was many things, but he wasn't the dangerous one.

“One more thing. Don't take what he says about your husband seriously, I know he loves you, otherwise I wouldn't have let him marry you.” His eyes were on you, watching you intently.

You cleared your throat and averted your eyes. Geta inhaled deeply.

“I've missed you, it's so boring here in your absence and mother too.”

“Where is Lady Domna?” You asked, not out of curiosity, but because you sensed the sadness in Geta's voice and to change the subject.

“In Syria, I think. With the other members of the Severan dynasty.”

“Why did Caracalla send her away, anyway?”

“Mother, she wanted to marry him off. You know, the emperor must have a son eventually. I'm fortunate he's the older one.” He grinned.

“But he didn't want to marry?”

“No, not yet, I suppose. It's pretty annoying that he trusts Macrinus more than our mother.”

Just then Macrinus as if he heard his name being mentioned, stepped into the courtyard. He recognised you from a distance, greeted you, and hurried over to the big hall to meet Caracalla.

“I thought this was supposed to be a family meeting?” You said sarcastically.

Geta was watching him from a distance. “As I said, sister, Caracalla trusts him more than anyone.”

At that moment, you had a sudden insight. Gaius... Macrinus was the one who brought Gaius to Rome. He put him before the council, before Caracalla, even though he knew his purpose. Then when Gaius wanted to marry you, he became an open target. But why? What did he get out of all this? Suddenly, what he said to you earlier echoed in your mind.

‘You're not seeing the whole picture.’ You felt your body froze, or was he trying to clear his path to the throne? Could it be? Gaius was the likely choice if something happened to Caracalla and Geta. Now that that option is gone, who is his next target? You looked at Geta. Was it him?

“Why are you looking at me like that?" Geta asked in surprise.

Could it be that the reason he sent Julia was to get rid of Geta? You suddenly felt a loss of balance and could no longer feel your feet. Geta quickly wrapped his arm around you.

“Sister, are you alright?”

“My lady!” Decima ran to you.

“I'm alright,” you said, gently pushing Geta's arm away. He frowned. “I'm just a bit tired, I need to go home, please.”

Decima put her arm around your waist as you walked out of the courtyard.

‘You are going to attend the game tomorrow with your husband. Make sure you inform him.’ Geta reminded you.

You looked at him with a hint of apprehension as he smiled warmly. “Have a good night, sister.”

You felt somewhat uneasy about leaving him alone under the same roof as Caracalla, but you knew there was little you could do about it.

You took a deep breath as the carriage moved off. You knew that coming here would put a damper on your mood. You hated to be right. Decima held your hand tightly.

“Are you sure you're alright?”

You smiled at her. “Yes, I am.”

The coachman let out a loud swear word and the carriage shook violently. You nearly fell out of your seat.

“My lady, forgive me, but this silly boy jumped in the middle of the road.”

“Get back here!”

Another man's voice rang out down the street, followed by the cries of a child. When you popped your head out of the car, you were pretty mad at what you saw. The man was beating the boy viciously.

You got out of the carriage, and Decima was a little unsteady in her steps as she tried to keep up with you.

‘Stop! Stop it! Now!’ You shouted the man.

The man's eyes widened as he eyed you up and down. You lifted the boy up and put your arm around him, he grasped the fabric of your dress hiding behind you.

'Why are you hitting a little boy?'

'But my lady, he stole apples from my stall.'

You looked at the boy, who was ashamed.

'Decima, could I have my pouch, please?' you asked, holding out your hand.

She nodded and got it for you, handing it over. You took some coins from it and gave them to him, which was enough to buy a sack of apples.

'Thank you, Gods bless you, my lady,' he bowed his head, squinting at the boy, then turned and walked away.

'Are you Princess Aurelia?' the boy looked at you curiously.

You smiled at him and crouched down.

'Yes, I'm Aurelia. May I ask your name, young man?' You looked at his face. He was dirty and his clothes were torn.

'I don't have a name, nobody in the poorhouse has a name.'

'Poorhouse? Oh, you stole an apple because you were hungry then?' It was heartbreaking. A little boy doesn't deserve to live like this.

'No, my mother just had a baby, but she couldn't eat anything, so I was taking it to her because the baby was crying all the time, and mother's breast milk didn't come in.’

This upset you even more. You felt your stomach tighten and your eyes well up with tears. You took the child's hand. 'Let's get some food for your mother, then.'

The child's eyes opened wide in surprise. ‘Really? Are you going to pay?'

You gave him a smile. 'Yes, my little dove.'

Decima approached you hesitantly. 'My lady, maybe you should ask the guards to do it? It could be dangerous.'

'Why? They're just poor people.'

'It's dark now, the General might be upset if he-’

'Don't worry about that, Decima, we'll be back when we're done. He'll understand.'

Decima gave a little smile. 'How can you be so kind-hearted like this?'

'They're my people, so it's my duty to look after them.'

'It seems your brothers have a different view on this.'

You gave her a look, and she swallowed. 'I'm sorry, I didn't mean-

“No, no. You’re right, they don't care about these people at all.’

When you got to the Poorhouse, you almost wished you'd done what Decima said. Life here was a different story to what you'd find elsewhere in the city. It was pretty brutal, grueling and painful.  There were a lot of people here. The situation was pretty dire. This was actually an old ruined insula, but these people had taken refuge here, living on the street and on the cobblestones. When they recognised you, they all looked a bit surprised. The kids ran over to you, looking you up and down, tugging your dress curiously, and taking a good look at the food in your hand. The boys’ mother was lying on an old mattress with the baby, and, she was really surprised to see you. The boy told his mother what had happened, she started crying with happiness. You were able to feed these people today, but you didn't know what would happen tomorrow.

The guard who picked you up from the villa came running to you a little later.

“My lady, the coachman said you were here. Did these rats hurt you?”

He looked at them angrily and pushed a boy away with his hand in disgust.

“That's nonsense! Why would they hurt me?”

You looked at the children and smiled. Decima was handing them the apples you'd brought, and they were singing as they ate. You turned to the guard.

"Come with me," you commanded, beckoning him outside. “You are to bring food supplies here every week.”

“But, my lady, they’re just homeless and poor people.”

“So? Are you suggesting that they are undeserving of life?”

“No, I'm saying-“

“Do as I say and assign two men here. One to distribute food and the other to bring supplies. I will come and check on this place every week, do you understand me?” You spoke firmly and with conviction, and it seemed to work.

“Yes, my lady.” He bowed his head.

“Good, now take me back to the villa.”

The imperial carriage arrived at the villa in the late evening. Decima helped you out and, since it had been a long day, you were feeling pretty tired. As the carriage drove away, you stepped towards Tullia, who was waiting for you at the courtyard gate of the villa. She smiled in relief.

“My lady, thank Gods you arrived before the General returns.”

“He hasn't arrived yet?” You were surprised but relieved as well.

However, just as you were about to step inside, the sound of two horses galloping was heard from down the road. All three of you suddenly became tense and looked at each other with wide eyes.

“Aurelia!”

The General's voice was loud and it came to you like ‘now you're in trouble’. You turned to look at him, he jumped off his horse and came towards you, his face stern and curious. Cato dismounted from his horse and grabbed the harnesses of both horses.

Marcus looked you up and down. “Are you going somewhere at this hour?”

You swallowed, Tullia and Decima bowed to the General and went inside. Cato and the others headed to the corral to tie up the horses.

‘I, uh-’

Marcus wrapped his arms around your waist. “Or are you dressed so elaborately for me?” He smirked. ”No need, my love, you're so beautiful already." He leaned down and kissed you. “I missed you so much, today has felt endless.” He took your hand and pulled you inside with him.

“I went to Palatine Hill.” you suddenly said. "Caracalla summoned me."

Marcus paused in the middle of the courtyard, taking a moment to collect his thoughts. His expression became somewhat stern. “What does he want at this hour?”

“Can I tell you while we eat? You just came, I assume you must be hungry.”

"That is correct,” he said and turned towards Tullia. “Bring our supper to the room.” He then proceeded to lead you by the hand towards the stairs. His grip on your hand was firm and somewhat painful, indicating his tension.

When you got to the room, he released your hand and removed the holster from his waistband.

‘Allow me,’ you demanded and approached him. Marcus stood still, his dark brown eyes on you.

'He actually called me over, earlier,' you said as you removed the leather strips from his shoulders.

Marcus frowned. He averted his gaze as you undid the strings of his armour.

'What did he exactly want?'

'He's going to throw Gaius to the tigers tomorrow.'

He raised his eyebrows, clearly thinking but not seeming surprised. 'It's not the first time for him to throw someone before animals, but I wonder why his cousin?'

'They're expecting to see us at the Colosseum tomorrow to watch the game.' You extended your arms to the other side but he stopped you by grabbing your shoulders.

'Aurelia, I asked you why.' His brown eyes piercing yours. You blinked your eyes a few times.

“He stated emphatically that Gaius had betrayed him and coveted the throne.” He narrowed his eyes, dissatisfied with your answer. He knew you well and needed to hear more. “Also he said that's why he wanted to marry me – that he'd always planned it so."

He released your shoulders and his expression softened as you began to untie the strings of the other side of his armour.

‘He didn't say anything about me?’

You paused for a moment but kept untying. ‘He suspects you're up to something. But he can't be sure, so he asked me to rat you out to him.’

Marcus took off his armour with your help.

‘What did you tell him?’

‘I said that I can't do that, of course.’ You reached for his arm to take off the armband, but he grabbed your arm first and pulled it to himself.

‘You should have done what he said,’ he murmured.

You looked at him with wide eyes. ‘Marcus, how could-’

‘To trick him, my love. You must lie.’ He wrapped his arm around your waist.

‘I see your point. You’re right. I should've. I will next time.”

He smirked and squeezed your cheek softly. “You’re just so innocent.” He kissed your cheek then.

You smiled, but you couldn't help but feel a hint of concern deep inside you. "Marcus, you know how ruthless he is. Please be careful.”

"There is no need for concern. I believe everything is going as I predicted. I found the rat among the Legates who was spying for him and Macrinus. I will take my steps accordingly.”

"Is his intention to seize the throne?”

"Macrinus? I think so, but I'm not sure how to prevent him from making his move.”

You were feeling a bit nervous that Marcus might be putting himself in danger. Macrinus was a dangerous and clever enemy. You were suddenly reminded of that dream you'd had. Your mother's voice echoed in your ears again. 'Think.' Could he be the real threat? To you? To Marcus?

Marcus was observing your face, “It bothered you, didn't it? Let's put that aside for now.”

Just then, there was a knock at the door and Norell brought your supper. 'Just the right moment,' Marcus said with a smile.

Once she left, Marcus turned towards you. "Let me help you out of that dress so you can eat more comfortably."

He helped you remove the palla and the stola, leaving you both in your tunics. You felt really relaxed.

"I'm going to have to get used to this dress; it covers me quite a bit," you said with a laugh.

Marcus smiled. "It looked good on you. I must say, though, that I prefer you undressed.”

He smiled when your cheeks flushed and pulled you closer, offering a kiss. Then he sat down next to the table and sat you on his lap again, which you got used to immediately because you liked it. You had eaten a little when Mau came running from the balcony and jumped on your lap. This caused you to reflexively pull your hand back, but you forgot that you were holding a glass, so the wine spilled on you and a little on Marcus. You looked at him with wide eyes.

“Apologies. Mau, look what you did!”

You took her off your lap, your white tunic was soaked with red color of wine.

“Too bad,” you mumbled, attempting to clean it with a cloth, but it seemed to be ineffective.

“I wouldn't say that.”  Marcus' eyes were locked on your breasts and nipples, which were on full reveal thanks to the wine. Like an open invitation for him. His breathing became heavy, and he supported you around the waist with one hand, lowering his head to your breasts. He was like a hunter approaching his prey. Your heart began to beat rapidly with a thrilling anticipation. As his prey, you stood still and waited impatiently for what he was about to do, closing your eyes. You gasped when his hot breath hit your wet skin, and you felt his tongue on your sternum, biting your lower lip hard. "Mmm, delicious. It is, without a doubt, the finest wine I have ever tasted." He smirked mischiveously.

You giggled and wrapped your arms around his neck. "I believe I have accidentally included myself on the menu."

His eyes met yours, and a spark of desire ignited in your soul. "I'm going to enjoy eating you.”

Then he kissed you passionately, hungrily. Meanwhile, Mau was enjoying the food on the tray, but you were preoccupied to pay her much attention. Marcus was holding you in his lap with one hand and undressing you with the other. His fingers were eager than ever, and in the process of undressing you, they ripped the fabric of your tunic. Which was a massive turn-on for you. Once you were completely naked on his lap, he stood up and hurried you to the bed, accompanied by your giggles.

please reblog, comment or like if you enjoyed thank you all <3

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[madridfangirl]

Needed to write a blurb to calm myself down after THOSE photos.

Plot: Jude’s girlfriend’s reaction after seeing the SKIMS photos

Jude*female reader. Posessive plus sexy. Some Nsfw language.

………………………….

‘So, you broke the internet today.’

Jude returned from the training camp to find this message from his girlfriend. Her reaction was the one he was waiting for the most.

All the lads in the team had given him enough stick since the photos dropped. Calling him a whore. He had laughed at some and just flipped off the others. But why was she taking so long to respond? He knew she was working but he had almost dialled her number to ask her to check insta.

Well, finally she had. Jude quickly changed into his sleeping shorts and climbed into bed, face timing her. She answered on the first ring.

‘Hey.’

‘Hey, doll.’

She was in bed too, in his favourite tank top. Jude’s smile widened immediately.

‘Some heads up would have been nice, you know.’

He tore his eyes away from her cleavage long enough to smirk back at her.

‘I did say it was a big one.’

‘Right. Big one. I see what you did there.’

Jude rolled on the pillows laughing, flashing his pearly whites & boyish chuckles. Eyes sparkling with charm. He switched from a sweet, young boy to a sexy boy-toy so often and in a split second - always blowing her mind.

The blanket fell down till his waist, revealing his abs.

She had experienced them from up close many times. Traced her fingers through them, felt the rough edges, bit at the skin and also licked her way through them at length. So yes, she was very very familiar with and fond of his abs but the oiled torso had disrupted her brain chemistry. That was new, and downright sultry. Slutty. Sensuous. And oh so sexy.

They looked almost the same right now, minus the oiled bit. Her eyes moved up to his perky nipples as she wondered if they had oiled them too. If he had done it himself or if someone touched him there. And rubbed the shiny liquid all over him. The thought was unpleasant yet arousing. She wondered how he would have reacted to that, knowing fully well how sensitive Jude was around his nipples. How he always moaned with his head thrown back when she sucked him there. And how he invariably returned the favour by vigorously assaulting her boobs.

He watched her reaction with amusement and glee.

‘Eyes are up here, doll.’

‘Yes and they are very pretty. But damn the rest of you….you killed people today, hope you know that. I bet some girls dropped to their knees, cried and passed out with longing.’

Jude leaned back, resting his hands behind his head. Flexing his arms and the bouncing muscles. Giving her a show.

‘That good, huh?’

‘More. And we haven’t even addressed the star of the show yet.’

He figured she was talking about his thighs. His girl was obsessed with them - having them cage her in, wrap around her, even choke her sometimes, or just her stroking & biting them.

But no, it wasn’t his thighs that had made her pant when she saw the pics.

‘They left nothing to the imagination. Everyone SAW you today. Like fully. In those clinging tights. Women have wagers going on over your size, Jude. And horny, wet dreams. You have ruined lives today, hope you are happy.’

Full-body guffaws reverberated through his chest, bouncing off the walls.

‘Oh doll, you could join in the wagers and actually win y’know. Inside info and all.’

She declined the suggestion, telling him that women would be queuing up outside his door if she actually DOES tell them the inside info. He was enjoying the ego boost massively - it was rare for her to lose all semblance of sanity like this.

But she didn’t care. Not today. He had just dropped a sexually charged nuclear bomb on the entire female population & this was the after-effects of it.

‘Women sliding into your DMs huh? Sending nudes? Broke some kind of world record for that already today or nah?’

He just shrugged casually. Couldn’t deny it coz it was true. His inbox had exploded but his team had systems to filter out such messages. Some still seeped through & he knew she knew that.

It was just her luck that he was so far away right now. Else, she would have tied him to the bed tonight, and then vice-versa. Jude anyway loved restraining & pinning her any chance he got. She would have let him toss her around anywhere, any way he wanted. However many times he demanded. But that was not to be.

‘Strip for me.’

She said without hesitation, commanding him. He spluttered the juice in his mouth, sticky liquid dropping around his face and neck. His tongue came out to lap it up. Fucking hell - temptation personified. Biblical sinful apple.

‘You too. It’s already unfair that I am shirtless while you’re still hiding your tits. C’monn lemme see my babies. Been so long since I kissed them goodnight.’

They moved the laptop angle to cover a full body view, then proceeded to strip together. Stroking themselves in unison, eyes glued to the screen. Calling out each others names. Reaching their highs together.

She looked at his fucked out naked form, & her body burned lesser for the first time since looking at the photos. Others will only get to thirst over him from afar. But she is the one who gets to have the view, the taste and the pounding from him.

[alwayscorvus]

A hug for a precious teammate

A hug for a precious teammate

malereader x Jiyan, fluff;

i already have an idea for a longer post ("normal" 4 my acc) but for now just a quick short. Jiyan can be a little out of character

He stood alone in the middle of a field, surrounded by emortia flowers. His green robes blew gently on the wind. With his back turned to you, he looked into a distance. Onto a horizon where an outline of Jinzhou city painted itself.

You approached him at a distance of few steps.

-I knew I would find you here.

Hearing your voice, chills went through Jiyan. But not the unpleasant ones, rather those of excitement.

He turned his head back, looking at you over his shoulder. Warm rays of setting sun gushed on both sides of his face, trying to escape past his figure. As a result, his face shimmered with a bright, yellowish glow of light. Messy strands of his hair (which, as always, managed to break out from not-so-perfect ponytail) flew in all directions. His facial expression represented surprise. You saw him taking a sudden gasp of breath after a spin. Yet, at sight of you, corners of his lips lifted slightly upward.

Even though an image in front of you was breathtaking, you put your focus on his eyes. They showed so many emotions. Sadness, grief, suffering. But also some sort of gratitude and relief.

A desire for touch, for warmth of another person.

You involuntarily spread your arms in an inviting gesture. And Jiyan instantly spun on his heel.

It took just a seconds. Jiyan immediately seized an opportunity. He ran into your embrace.

Before you had time to realize, your body was being squeezed tightly by a man's strong arms.

You looked down. Jiyan was stubbornly snuggling his head into your chest, avoiding eye contact.

-I'm sorry. I should be there with you.

You said with a genuine remorse. Now you deeply regretted not accompanying him today.

You knew that returning to the past by experiencing Riverside Games could be painful for your man. However, you hoped that if you let him go alone, he wouldn't be limited to only your company. And that he might be able to reintegrate with other rangers. On a different level -not only restricted to work and duties. Besides, this wasn't your festival.

That's why you decided to go to work.

However, after that decision, for a few good hours, you suffered with great guilt. You couldn't concentrate on your job. Especially after you found out that the festival got suspended. You were unable to complete any task properly. You were basically useless. To the point where your supervisor - Mortefi ordered you to leave.

Jiyan rapidly shook his head in denial. He didn't loosen his grip even slightly. You were slowly running out of breath. But you knew it was the only thing you could do for him at that moment.

-I planted a seed - he said quietly, slowly choosing his words - With Rover

-But I want to plant one with you as well - he added quickly, this time lifting his face up and looking directly into your eyes.

His golden orbs sparkled slightly with hope. Somehow like with an anticipation of approval.

-I know I know -you changed your voice to as calm and tenderful as possible- We are gonna do this

You placed your hands gently on his back and slowly began to make a circles on them. Trying as much as possible to soothe his nerves after today's events.

Jiyan dropped his head again and tightened his grip more. Even though, a second before you hardly believed that it was possible.

However, that gesture did awaken you. You looked around. And your eyes caught a glimpse of midnight rangers. Standing in the distance, guarding Knell Square. They weren't looking in your direction, not paying attention to you at all. Whether out of respect or ignorance.

But still, if this were to change, you had to do something.

Jiyan wouldn't want anyone to see him in such state. Especially his subordinates, to whom, as a general, he looked like a pure perfection. An example of someone unbreakable and with an unbelievable courage.

You were the first and last one to whom he deliberately showed his vulnerable side.

It wasn't often, because he mostly tried to play tough. Even outside of work, he felt a sense of responsibility. Though in this case, for the two of you. For your prosperity and well-being.

That just how his character was.

Sometimes, however, emotions took over him. Just like now. And Jiyan allowed himself to seek for a support in your presence.

With your right hand, you delicately grabbed his jaw and lifted his head up. His eyes were no longer glowing with ordinary sparkle. Shine came from a liquid that had accumulated inside them. Tears that he struggled hard to not let out.

-But we will get home first, okay?

Jiyan nodded and you leaned down to lovingly kiss his other cheek.

-Let's go - you said, moving away from him slightly and secondly putting one arm around his waist.

Jiyan tiredly laid his head on your shoulder and let you lead the way to your house. To your safe space.

[itsabouttimex2]

Eclipse Kings

Part Three: Wild Dawn

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

(Extra One)

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

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

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

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

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

What more could a monkey want?

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

But he still wanted more.

—-——————————————————————

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

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

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

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

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

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

“…s’it “too nice” for me?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“…do you… remember your vows?”

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

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

——————————————————————

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He takes a breath, and turns to the audience.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

——————————————————————

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

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

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

You scream.

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

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

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

“Quiet. Now.”

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

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

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

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

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

“…m’sorry. F-for yelling.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

But you still feel bad.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But you would not stop trying to survive in it.

You couldn’t.

[just-my-latest-hyperfixation]

Everything you do is perfect

Written for the @steddieholidaydrabbles, day 15

Prompt: Ornament

Rated: T

Tags: Established relationship; Post-Vecna; Everybody lives; Christmas; Steve Harrington has bad parents; Eddie Munson is a sweetheart; Making out

“Stevie. Hey, Stevie.”

Steve turns away from the giant clump of string lights he’s been trying to disentangle for the past ten minutes to find his boyfriend standing in front of their Christmas tree, sporting a shit-eating grin and what looks like a wig made of silver tinsel. He has pinned a tiny, red bauble to his sweater, just in the spot where his left nipple used to be.

“What d’you say?” Eddie says, doing a suggestive little wiggle of his hips and giving the bauble a flick with his finger. It jingles. “Think I should wear this to the Byers’ Christmas party?”

“Yeah, you could do that,” Steve says. “If you wanna sleep on the couch, that is.”

Eddie shrugs and settles back onto the floor, all in one jerky collapse of bony shoulders and gangly limbs. The tinsel wig sparkles as he pulls the box he was going through back into his lap. For a while, the only sound is that of the Christmas songs playing on the radio.

“You sure your folks won’t miss any of this?” Eddie asks, pulling more baubles out of the box and setting them down on the floor all around himself. Red and gold and silver, some adorned in sparkly white snowflakes and little winter scenes.

Steve shakes his head and goes back to tugging on his tangle of lights. “They haven’t been home for the holidays in forever. I think the last time we had a Christmas tree, I was like ten? I mean, they haven’t even noticed I’m gone, so they sure as hell won’t be missing a few dusty boxes from the attic.”

Eddie says nothing, and when Steve glances up, he’s still staring into the box of baubles. His mouth has twisted in displeasure, and it tugs on the gnarly scar on his jaw.

“Shit,” Steve says. “I’m sorry, I didn’t wanna ruin the mood.”

Eddie shakes his head so vehemently it makes the bauble-turned-nipple sway. “You don’t have anything to be sorry for, big boy. They don't know what they're missing, right?”

Steve looks at him - the bright, toothy smile and the wild hair under the tinsel wig. The baubles scattered all around him twinkle in the lights of their tiny living room. The tree they've picked is a bit on the large side, but Eddie wanted it, and Steve has found he’s unable to say no to those large, pleading cow eyes.

“Yeah,” he says. “Yeah, you're right.”

Eddie nods smugly, turning his attention back to his box. “Of course I am, I'm always- … oh, what's this?”

Paper rustles and baubles jingle as he crams his arms all the way into the box to pull something out from the very bottom. When Steve sees what it is, an unpleasant heat spreads under his shirt collar.

“Oh fuck, I had no idea that was in there,” he blurts. He reaches over, but the string lights are all tangled around his legs and before he can do anything, the room tilts out from under him. Eddie catches him with an arm around his waist and they go crashing to the floor in a graceless heap of limbs and tinsel.

“Did you make this?” Eddie asks, holding the small star up over their heads. It's made of salt dough, and all wonky and lopsided. Steve remembers being six years old and attempting to pry it out of the cookie cutter. “It's adorable.”

“Yeah, right,” Steve snorts, trying to snatch the ornament, but Eddie twists out of his reach. Steve shoves his hands under his sweater and starts tickling, and things sort of escalate from there. By the time they pause to catch their breath, Steve's shirt has ridden up to somewhere near his chest, his lips are sore from kissing, and the tree is slightly lopsided because they rolled into it.

“It really is cute, though,” Eddie says. His wig has slipped and there's a tiny hole in his sweater where the improvised nipple tore off. One of his hands is still cradling the little star between them, keeping it safe like a treasure. “Are there more?”

Steve shrugs. “I dunno. There were, but I thought we'd thrown them all out.”

He recalls coming home from school, proudly presenting the ornaments to his mom. The way she smiled absentmindedly, putting them away on top of the fridge and going back to her phone call. She never put them up, neither that year nor the following one. They had some of his dad's business associates over, and the house needed to be perfect. Soon after that, they started going away for the winter holidays.

Eddie watches his face and frowns.

“You know what?” he then says, swatting at the baubles on the floor and sending them scattering into the corners. “Fuck this crap! We should make a whole batch of these little babies, decorate the entire tree with them. We can get started right now, I think we have all the ingredients.”

He rolls off Steve and jumps to his feet, already headed for the kitchen, but Steve catches him with a hand around his wrist and pulls him back to the floor.

“I dunno, Eddie. Whatever I'd end up making probably won't look much better than this, and I sort of want the tree to look perfect on our first Christmas together.”

Eddie chuckles.

“Aw, sweetheart,” he says. The tinsel wig tickles Steve’s cheek as he leans in for a firm kiss on the lips. “That's exactly the point. Whatever you make will be perfect to me.”

They spend the rest of the night making a mess of the kitchen, baubles and lights forgotten on the living room floor. Steve can't imagine anything better.

More holiday drabbles

[bunbun-mochi]

Jealousy II - Queen of Onychinus

Sylus x MC (Fluff and slightly smut, MDNI)

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

Word Count:1360, no proofreading

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

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

"2 million!"

"7 million!"

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

"12 million!"

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

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

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

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

"We will be selling this item instead."

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

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

"2 million!" One immediately called out.

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

"25 million!"

"30 million!"

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

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

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

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

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

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

"128 million." Mucker countered.

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

"155 million."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"That damn Skye!"

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

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

"You don't need it."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Get rid of Mucker.

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

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

[katsukikitten]

"Suguru?" Your voice softens just for him, echoing in the small dark alley, "Sugu?"

The tall man swallows thickly, hand coming up to cup his nape under his little man bun. Nausea chokes out his senses but he's always keen to your voice.

"M here." He calls back to you just as softly, "I exorcised the curse."

"And you took your medicine?" Finally you come into view, grabbing onto his arm to forcibly twirl him before keeping him in front of you. Hands over his chest for any hidden wounds. Your feather light touches come up empty, Suguru thinks your hands will leave him and he's always so surprised when they never do.

He speaks away from you, fearful that swallowing the curse will make his breath smell as bad as it tastes but neither you nor Satoru turn away from him. Ever.

"You didn't!" A chide that will turn into a growl of he disobeys again, hearing you rummage in your pockets, "Here."

Producing a small, colorful hard candy. Something that will sweeten his tongue almost as much as your name does.

"Ah I forgot about 'my medicine.'" He chuckles, grabbing for the sweet. Once you overheard that swallowing curses was unpleasant you insisted he have a chaser, to have something that would fix the putrid taste that sat in the back of his throat for hours.

Unwrapping the bright blue candy, popping it in his mouth and letting it clink against his teeth as he moves it around.

"You're giving me an oral fixation." He lets his own hand rest on your ribs, lips curling into a smile when he sees you fluster just a tiny bit before your cat like smile returns.

"Hmm? Then my plan is working." Winking at him, feeding the thoughts of him slotting between your thighs but in reality he knows. Can see it just beneath your sparkling, mischievous gaze.

Sees worry stick to pretty features and he sighs. Squeezing in a silent way to tell you he's alright.

Just as long as he gets his medicine from you.

[austinbutlerslovers]

Silk & Silence 

Label Mature 18+

Summary After your celebratory anniversary takes a dark turn, you press Patrick to finally commit to marriage—but his chilling reaction leaves you speechless.

⚠️ Hardcore Smut ⚠️  Patrick having a mental break • toxic relationship dynamics •power play• name calling •gagged with a silk tie• retrained with a belt• edging • sweet talk • dirty talk •coercion• orgasms used as leverage nipple play • fingering • clit play• bj infront of a mirror•sex in front of a mirror •Patrick reaching climax seeing the reflection • orgasms •cream pie • mild aftercare

Proofreader @purejasmine 🎊 🥂 Happy New Year 🥂 🎊

Silk & Silence

The restaurant is a masterpiece of modern Manhattan opulence. Sleek marble floors gleam under chandeliers that sparkle like falling stars, while waiters glide between tables dressed in sharp black and white uniforms.

Your handsome fiancé Patrick sits across from you in the corner booth, the epitome of control.

His designer suit is tailored to perfection as he taps a manicured finger against the stem of his martini glass. His expression is distant as you finish a story about a mutual friend.

“And then she decided to wear that dress—can you believe it?” you say with a giddy laugh, leaning back against the booth.

Patrick’s sharp gaze flicks to you, his jaw tightening slightly.

-Her voice sometimes. The pitch, the arrogance of her laughter, but the way she looks sitting there…

His eyes wander as he studies your appearance. You are flawless, a trophy of the same elite world he navigates with ease, a reflection of his own carefully curated image.

His eyes fall to the Tiffany bracelet on your wrist catching the light, a shimmering token of his devotion tonight—or at least his obligation.

The Valentino dress he purchased for the occasion accentuates your body to perfection, custom-tailored especially for you—which, of course, it was.

Nothing but the best for his princess.

But then his gaze suddenly hardens, as if some unpleasant thought has resurfaced.

-Why does she care so much about things that don’t matter? The incessant talking—details, plans, nonsense—it’s exhausting.

“Patrick you even listening to me?” you ask, a hint of irritation creeping into your voice.

He blinks slowly, setting his glass down with deliberate precision. “Of course I’m listening,” he says evenly, though his voice carries a thin edge of mockery. “It’s just riveting to hear yet another story about someone’s poor fashion choices.”

Your eyes narrow. “Why do you have to be like that Patrick?”

“Like what?” He tilts his head, a faint smirk tugging at his lips. “Honest?”

“Patrick, you’re impossible sometimes,” you snap, crossing your arms. “You act like you’re above everyone. Even me.”

His smirk fades slightly, replaced by a calculating expression his eyes sharp and unrelenting. “If you’re so miserable with me,” he says quietly, his tone calm but dangerous, “then why are you still here?”

You open your mouth to retort, but his words cut deeper than you expected. The tension between you is undeniable, and the hum of conversations in the restaurant around you suddenly feels oppressive.

Tears well in your eyes as you frown, struggling to mask the hurt. You love him and you don’t understand why at times he has to be so cold.

You let out a huff, your emotions threatening to spill over as you fan back unshed tears with dramatic flicks of your manicured hands.

“I went through so much to look perfect for you tonight, Patrick,” you whisper sharply, your tone petulant, laced with just enough hurt to demand his attention.

Patrick exhales slowly, his gaze darting around the restaurant before leaning forward, his voice smooth and controlled.

“Let’s not make a scene here,” he says, his tone low and deceptively soft as his sharp gaze locks onto yours radiating a silent command of obedience.

He signals the waiter with a simple raise of his hand, and within moments, the check is handled, his black AmEx card gliding across the table. You barely have time to protest before he stands, buttoning his suit jacket.

“Let’s go,” he says, his tone leaving no room for argument.

The sleek black limo idles on a quiet side street not far from the elite restaurant. Patrick slides into the seat beside you his posture controlled as he adjusts the cuffs of his jacket.

“You didn’t have to be so rude on our anniversary, Patrick,” you say, your voice tinged with frustration as you glance at him, your arms crossed as your lips form a slight pout. “I just want us to enjoy the evening. To be together. Isn’t that what tonight is supposed to be about?” you ask sweetly, hoping to soften the tension.

Patrick doesn’t respond. He gazes out the window, his expression unchanging as the city lights blur past, casting sharp, angular shadows across his flawless face.

You try again, undeterred, launching into a topic you’re sure will catch his attention, your voice bright and animated as you attempt to regain his favor.

“Now that it’s our one-year anniversary, we should definitely hire the planner and finalize our guest list,” you say, smiling as your fingers brush lightly against his arm. “Everyone who’s anyone will want to attend. It’s going to be the event of the year,” you continue, your tone brimming with enthusiasm, completely immersed in the vision of grandeur.

Patrick listens with a vacant expression, though his mind is anything but.

-She never stops. She’s Always talking. Always planning. It’s incessant. Like white noise that gets louder and louder until it’s deafening.

-How much longer can I keep up this façade?

His jaw tightens, though he maintains the mask of polite detachment as you chatter on.

“..There should be lots of chocolate truffles. Godiva, of course. Nothing less than the best, and oysters on the half shell. Oh! And we’ll need a videographer, Patrick. It has to be perfect.” you say, your tone certain.

When he doesn’t respond you touch him lightly on his thigh, oblivious to the simmering tension beneath his calm exterior.

“Patrick, we should do it.”

His head turns slightly, his eyes narrowing as he finally looks at you. “Do what?” He asks his voice clipped, his tone barely masking his irritation.

“Get married silly” you exclaim, looking at him like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “Finally have the wedding. Can’t you picture it? Everyone would be there, it would be so chic, Patrick.”

His jaw tightens, and he looks back out the window, his voice flat. “No. I can’t take the time off work.”

You laugh, waving a hand dismissively. “Patrick, your father practically owns the company. You can do anything you like.”

He turns back to you, his sharp gaze cutting through your playful tone. “I don’t want to talk about it,” he says coldly, his voice dropping a degree.

“But Patrick,” you press, “you hate that job anyway. I don’t see why you don’t just quit. It’s not like you need the money.”

His gaze hardens, his voice quiet but each word pointed. “Because I want to fit in.”

You blink, momentarily caught off guard by his intensity.

The limo slows to a stop in front of his building, and Patrick steps out without another word, his sharp movements betraying his rising frustration.

You are quick to follow him, your heels clicking behind him as he strides toward the entrance of his penthouse.

The elevator ride is quiet with Patrick’s back turned toward you as you study him.

Something about his silence feels heavy, different from his usual cool demeanor.

Once inside his immaculate penthouses he shrugs off his jacket off, his jaw clenching as he throws it over the back of a chair, the silence between you filled with unspoken tension.

“Patrick, are you mad?” you ask carefully, your heels clicking against the marble floors as you follow him into the bedroom. “You know I didn’t mean to upset you.”

Patrick’s gaze turns to you, cold and unblinking as you enter the room.

-She never stops. Always talking, always complaining.

Patrick’s hands move to loosen his tie, his movements rushed and unfocused, each motion sharp with barely restrained tension.

“Do you ever stop to think before you speak?” he says finally, his voice low and razor sharp, each word slicing through the charged silence.

You glare at him, your brows furrowing. “What’s that supposed to mean?” you demand, your voice rising in defiance.

“It means,” he says, stepping closer, “that you’re exhausting. Your whining, your constant need for validation—do you ever get tired of hearing yourself?”

Your breath catches as your heart pounds harder in anger. “Patrick you’re such a prick,” you finally snap.

Patrick’s smirk returns, but this time it’s darker, more dangerous. “And you’re a spoiled little brat who doesn’t know when to stop.”

Before you can respond, he moves with unsettling precision, pulling his tie off and slipping it between your lips.

“Shhh,” he whispers, pulling the silk tight to stifle your protests as his cold gaze locks onto yours. “Since you don’t know when to keep quiet, I’ll do it for you.”

Your hands instinctively fly up to tug at the gag, but Patrick is faster seizing your wrists, forcing them behind your back together in his single unyielding hand.

His free hand moves to his belt, unfastening the buckle before he slides the leather free with an audible snap.

Your eyes widen in alarm, panic flaring in your chest as he wraps the belt around your wrists, pulling the leather tight and securing it against your skin.

You muffle his name against the gag in panic, twisting your wrists to break free, but it’s futile against his makeshift restraint.

Your gaze locks with his, and the devious smirk on his lips paired with the cold triumph in his eyes confirms what you already know—you’re under his control.

Without hesitation, he lifts you up over his shoulder as though you weight nothing. Your stomach presses against his broad shoulder as his arm tightens around the back of your thighs holding you firmly in place.

You kick your legs, your body writhing in resistance, but your struggle is futile against his strength. Your panic rises as he strides toward the bed and tosses you down with ease, the motion stealing your breath.

Your heart pounds as he steps closer, his hands gripping your waist, pulling you onto your back. His touch is firm, his dominance undeniable.

Your wide eyes meet his, and for a moment, you’re frozen. His gaze is unreadable, a mix of satisfaction and something far darker.

His hand slides up, lightly wrapping around your throat, the rhythm of your pulse thundering against his palm.

-I could end it right here—right now. Silence this perfect façade for my hollow existence.

The war inside him flickers briefly in his expression, shifting from cold determination to a shadow of hesitation.

Then his thumb brushes softly along your jawline, almost reverently, his sharp eyes studying your face, lingering on every detail.

-Why waste something so perfect?

-People see her on my arm, and they don’t question. They envy. And isn’t that what matters? Appearance. Power. Control.

His jaw clenches tightly, the tension flickering in his eyes before his face falls effortlessly back into its mask of detachment.

-She’s flawed, yes—but manageable. Moldable.

His hand softly trails down your chest, his eyes gleaming with barely contained lust.

His fingers splay over your breast and as he squeezes softly you pitifully whimper against the gag, his smirk deepening as his gaze flicks back to your face.

“You’re so used to getting your way, aren’t you?” he rasps, his tone dripping with mockery. “Now look at you—bound, silenced, and completely at my mercy.” He confirms, his eyes gleaming with dark satisfaction.

You turn your face away, desperate to deny his words, but his hand moves to your jaw, gripping it firmly and forcing you to meet his piercing gaze.

“Don’t fight it,” he whispers, the edge of dominance unmistakable as his hand returns to cup your breast. “You’re exactly how I want you—perfect, helpless, and entirely for my satisfaction.”

His thumb grazes over your hardened nipple, the friction of his touch through the thin fabric of your dress igniting a surge of arousal through you as your pride tries desperately to resist him.

Patrick’s smirk widens, his eyes flickering with satisfaction as he studies the flush spreading across your cheeks, the subtle betrayal of your body as your chest rises and falls unsteadily under his hand.

“You’re too spoiled for your own good,” he taunts, his thumb circling your nipple slower, coaxing soft whimpers from your lips as his touch dissolves any resistance into undeniable arousal.

Your hips shift instinctively, the slickness between your thighs exposing the desire you’re so desperately trying to suppress.

“My entitled little brat,” he taunts, his voice low and razor sharp seeing the way your body moves sensually giving itself away. “So desperate to be controlled.”

You whimper against the gag and he brings his other hand into play, teasing both of your nipples at once. He circles and flicks them with agonizing precision, drawing out your frustration and arousal until the sensation becomes unbearable.

He pinches the sensitive peaks between his fingers, pulling hard enough to send a jolt of pleasure and pain coursing through you.

A muffled whine escapes you against the gag as your thighs tighten instinctively feeling a rush of heat flood your core.

His smirk deepens at your reaction, a flicker of triumph lighting his face as his eyes lock onto yours. “See how easy it is when you don’t fight me?” he taunts, his tone dripping with dark amusement. “Your body knows exactly who it belongs to.”

Your mind races, a war of defiance and surrender raging inside you. Part of you wants to hate him for the control he wields over you, for the way he reads your every reaction and uses it against you. But another part—a part you barely recognize, craves the way he dominates you, the way he effortlessly takes your body under his control.

His hand moves lower, his fingers trailing down your stomach with maddening slowness, the thin fabric of your dress bunching beneath his touch.

His thoughts linger as his eyes roam over you bound and vulnerable beneath him.

—She’s so perfect like this. Silent. Submissive

—I want her this way forever.

His hand slides up your thigh, slipping under the hem of your dress, his thumb pressing against the soaked fabric of your panties.

You involuntary moan feeling the slick wetness of how much you crave him and your hips shift instinctively into his touch pleading for more.

His grin deepens, the dark glint in his eyes revealing just how much he revels in your surrender.

“You’ll learn,” he responds, his voice low and commanding, the faintest edge of mockery lacing his words. “You’ll learn when to speak and when to stay silent. And when you do… I’ll reward you.” His sharp gaze never leaves yours as his fingers tease the edge of your panties. Your legs part instinctively, desperate for more, but his movements are slow and methodical.

“If we are to be married,” he continues, his tone calm and calculated, “Those are the rules. Do you understand?”

You nod frantically, your breath catching as his fingers slip beneath the fabric to meet your wetness.

The soft strokes of his fingertips against your slick heat sends shivers through your body, your thighs pressing against his hand as you look at him with worshipful eyes.

He drags the pad of his thumb over your clit in agonizing tight circles making you writhe in bliss, his smirk deepening, with satisfaction as he watches you submit.

“Good girl,” he praises as the gag muffles the desperate whimpers and moans spilling out of you. “No one wants to hear a spoiled brat begging,” he confirms, his words as intoxicating as they are degrading.

The first thrust of his fingers inside you makes you clench involuntarily around them, your wetness easing them deeper as he strokes against a sensitive spot with maddening precision.

The tension in your core tightens with every thrust, the slick sounds of your arousal mingling with your muffled cries as his thumb circles your clit in perfect sync with the relentless pace of his fingers.

A sob catches in your throat as the pressure inside builds impossibly tighter. Your body trembles, the overwhelming sensation making your thighs quake as your head falls back and you moan against the gag.

“You’re already so close,” he whispers darkly, his voice dripping with sadistic satisfaction. “So easy to break. So desperate for me to let you come.”

The silk tie muffles your moans as your hips push instinctively against his hand, every muscle in your body tightening as he holds you on the edge, commanding your pleasure.

Tears prick your eyes as your thighs tremble uncontrollably, your mind going blank as you feel the overwhelming surge of your orgasm.

A broken sob escapes your lips, the sheer intensity leaving you breathless, your body arching and surrendering fully, powerless against the pleasure he’s drawing from you.

One last pitiful whimper escapes your lips as he slips his fingers from you, his eyes glinting with smug satisfaction.

“Look at you,”He grins savoring the sight of his handiwork.

“Completely spent,” he says softly, his smirk widening as his eyes trail over your trembling form.

Your chest heaves and your skin flushes, the dazed look in your eyes showing just how completely he’s unraveled you.

“My spoiled little fiancée ruined already?” he asks, his hands moving to unbutton his pristine white dress shirt. “You’re not finished proving yourself to me yet.” He confirms.

The first reveal of his chiseled torso is like a work of art—his broad, commanding shoulders tapering to a lean waist, every muscle perfectly proportioned and sculpted to perfection.

His smooth skin divots over his defined torso, the deep lines of his abs drawing your gaze downward.

With equal precision, he unfastens his dress pants, lowering them to reveal his long thick cock, the sight making your pulse quicken.

He kneels in front of you on the bed with a commanding presence, pulling you on your knees.

His sharp jawline tightens as he guides you level to his waist, his eyes dark with intent, the corner of his mouth curling into a knowing smirk.

“Now “He says, his voice low and commanding. “Let’s use that pretty little mouth for what it’s good for hm?” he taunts, undoing the silk tie gagging you and letting it fall from your lips.

His smirk deepens as his he looks to the mirror across from the bed, the reflection capturing every detail of your submission with your wrists still bound tightly behind your back.

He pulls you possessively closer, his cock now inches from your face as he watches the scene in the reflection. “Open your mouth for me,” he orders, his voice smooth but heavy with dominance.

You obediently part your lips, and he guides his cock into your mouth. The tip presses against your tongue, warm and heavy, before he pushes deeper. Your lips widen to accommodate him, your eyes lifting to meet his as he fills your mouth completely.

He hums low in his throat, his satisfaction undeniable as his hand tangles in your hair, holding you steady as he begins to gently thrust. “You should see yourself,” he rasps, his voice rough with pleasure, his eyes locked on the mirror. “On your knees, looking so eager, so desperate to please me—my spoiled little brat is finally doing something useful.”

You moan against his cock his words humiliating yet exhilarating and the reflection captures every detail; the way your cheeks hollow as you take him deeper, your bound wrists trembling slightly behind you, and the flush on your face deepening as he guides his cock smoothly back and forth in your mouth.

Patrick’s sharp jaw tightens, his breaths quickening as his hips thrust slightly harder the wet sounds of your mouth meeting him on every push.

Your eyes water slightly as he thrusts deeper, hitting the back of your throat, but you don’t pull away. Your body reacts instinctively, a soft gag escaping you and he groans, his hand tightening in your hair with a possessive grip.

The sounds of his pleasure vibrate through the air, his voice faltering for the first time as he looks down at you. “You’re so good at this—we’re finally putting that mouth of yours to proper use.”

His words cut through you, the mix of degradation and praise sending a wave of heat coursing through your core. You whimper softly, the vibration drawing another guttural groan from him as his hips push forward, rougher and deeper.

His sharp gaze flicks to the mirror, catching the sight of himself thrusting into your mouth, your bound form kneeling submissively before him.

His eyes lock on the way you take him as deeply as you can, the desperate need to satisfy him overpowering any lingering thought or resistance.

A ragged groan tears from his chest, as the tightness of your throat milks another groan from him.

His pace becomes relentless the muscles in his thighs tensing, as he meets your mouth and a deep groan escapes from his chest as his control slips for a moment.

His grip on your hair tightens, guiding you in sync with his movements, each thrust deliberate but increasingly unrestrained.

The sight of himself in the mirror—his cock thrusting between your lips, your eyes watering yet locked onto his, drives him to the edge, his breath coming faster, rougher.

His hips stutter for a fraction of a second, and with a sharp intake of breath, he pulls out abruptly, his cock glistening with a string of saliva connecting your lips to his tip as you gasp for air.

With one swift movement he pushes you onto your back pressing your bound wrists into the mattress.

His gaze never leaves yours as he takes hold of your ankles, lifting your legs effortlessly. The smooth leather of your heels brushes against his arms as he guides your feet to rest just above his shoulders, framing his head.

His hands grip the front of your thighs, the sight of your body, exposed and vulnerable beneath him, brings a dark glint to his eyes. His sharp smirk grows as he looks to the mirror, his gaze shifting between your reflection and your flushed face.

“Keep your eyes on the mirror,” he instructs, his voice low and commanding as he reaches between your legs and pulls your slick panties aside. “You’re going to see just how perfectly you take me”

You watch as he holds your legs to him and slowly presses the head of his hard cock into you, the slick tip causing a surge of arousal to flood through your core.

He watches your reaction in the mirror as your head falls back, your soft whimpers escaping freely with out the silk gag in place.

“Look at us,” he says, his voice low and laced with pride, his eyes fixed on your reflections. “We look perfect together.”

Your breath catches as his hips press forward, the blunt tip of his cock breaching you with excruciating slowness. The stretch is overwhelming, your walls gripping tightly as he fills you inch by inch.

A broken moan escapes your lips as he begins to thrust himself deep inside, the slick heat of your arousal making the glide seamless and all consuming.

Patrick’s gaze shifts back to yours, a flicker of dark satisfaction crossing his features as he settles his cock fully within you.

You tremble under him, bound and completely at his mercy, his smirk deepening with the power of your surrender.

His hands grip your thighs firmly, holding them in place as he pulls back slightly, his hips snapping forward with measured precision.

The force of his thrusts knocks the breath from your lungs, your back arching instinctively as raw gasps escape you.

You can’t help but surrender to his control, your eyes fluttering, dazed and unfocused, overwhelmed by the sensation of pleasure surging through you.

He holds your legs pinned to his torso, your heels brushing against his ears as his cock strokes relentlessly against the sensitive spot inside you.

The intensity is almost unbearable, yet you crave more, your body clinging to the overwhelming bliss.

You moan loudly, your voice filling the air as your hands flex against your bindings. The sensation of him filling you, and overpowering you making you desperate for the release only he can provide.

It’s so much—too much—but the thought of him stopping now is unbearable, your body craving each powerful thrust as a cascade of pleasure courses through you.

“Look how well you take me,” he praises, his voice filled with satisfaction, his sharp eyes locked on your reflection in the mirror desperately aroused by the sight of you together.

His grip tightens, his fingers digging into your shins, pinning your calves to his chest. The wet sound of your arousal echoes through the room as his unyielding thrusts send shockwaves through your core.

Patrick’s jaw clenches as he picks up his pace, his thrusts growing harder, deeper, each one forcing broken cries from your lips.

The glide of his cock moving in and out on every thrust sends a surge of pleasure through your bodies that builds to a fever pitch.

Your hips rock instinctively against him, your cries spilling freely as your body surrenders completely to him.

Patrick’s hands slide down to the curve of your hips, gripping firmly as he pulls you even closer, forcing you to take every inch of his cock.

The slick heat of your arousal makes each movement seamless yet devastating, the stretch of him filling you completely pushing you toward the brink.

His sharp gaze flickers between you and the mirror, his breaths coming in rough, steady pants as he watches your reflection.

The sight of your flushed face, your body arching in rhythm as the thrusts his hardest sending a thrill of satisfaction through him.

“Look at us,” he commands, his voice edged with pride, his hips thrusting against you as his hands grip your waist “Look how perfect we look together.”

You moan as his grip tightens, his fingers pressing into your skin as his pace becomes punishing. The mirrored reflection of your bodies moving together with his perfect physique dominating yours pushes you over the edge.

The tension inside you coils impossibly tight, then snaps with unbearable pleasure as your orgasm hits. Your body arches violently, a broken scream escaping your lips as waves of ecstasy crash over you.

Patrick thrusts relentlessly, driving you through the aftershocks as his sharp gaze remains fixed on the mirror watching you orgasm beneath him with dark, unrestrained pleasure.

His cock is throbbing as he glides into your fluttering walls with powerful thrusts. The slickness allows him to bury himself so deeply the stretch makes you gasp as he grips you tightly, pulling you flush against him.

The room fills with the sounds of your pleasure as his groans turn primal, his thrusts raw and unrestrained as he reaches his peak.

“So perfect—” he groans, his voice breaking as he loses himself completely. “My spoiled little fiancée… serving me so flawlessly.”

He holds you still as comes, filling you with his release in surges, his body shuddering as he empties himself into you, his hands gripping you so tightly it feels like he’s branding you.

He stills for a moment, breathing heavily, his sharp gaze meeting yours with undeniable satisfaction.

He lets your legs down gently, his hands lingering on your thighs for a moment longer, his cock still throbbing until he slips out of you.

Exhausted he lays on the bed, both of your chests heaving as you try to catch your breath.

Patrick unfastens his belt form your wrists, his hands moving to your waist as he pulls you against his chest. For a moment there’s only silence, the faint sound of your breathing filling the room as he holds you close.

His intensity softens as he strokes your shoulder, the corner of his mouth lifting into a faint smirk.

-She definitely has her uses—that mouth, she’s a natural talent, and her body, perfectly made for my indulgence.

-If she learns to stay quiet when needed, to obey without hesitation—I might keep her …..permanently

As you look up at Patrick he says nothing simply holding you against him. His heart slows, the tension between you both melting into a rare moment of intimacy.

You offer him a soft smile, and his smirk remains savoring the fact that for now the silence is perfect.

END 🔪

🔗 Masterlist

🏷️ Always Tag Me List @purejasmine @burnthheparaphilia @butdaddyilovehim99 @austinbutlerfly. @mrs-hardy-hunnam-butler-pascal @lindszeppelin @abswifey @aust-een @umika @feralgodmothers @psycheetamore @megangovier @magicovento @obsessedvibee @austiebuttbutt @faegoddessog @dunevitani @thejoywillburnoutthepain @jessica987 @slowsweetlove @hardcoredisneynerd @finley-08 @thegabbyh @thefallofthedamned @buckysteveloki-me @bucking-mustangs-with-wings @shegatsby @darlingisntit @lovereadingfanfic @denised916 @shockercoco @minispice-1@i5uckersblog @ughdontbeboring @meetmeatyourworst @avidreader73 @xxmandaveexx @mamawiggers1980 @12joeywheelerfangirl @imjustheretoreadsmuthaha @missjadesticsreblog. @gravesdiggergirl @nostalgichoya @stars-remain2

[exitpursuedbyavulcan]

Heart on a Chain (Scrooge!Aemond x Reader)

Christmas day and a recently rediscovered ring bring unpleasant and unwanted memories.

Pairing: Ebenezer Scrooge-coded Aemond Targaryen x fem!reader (second person, no use of Y/N)

Warnings: Angst :(

Author's note: The guy that played young Scrooge at the Christmas Carol I went to today was hot and the way he carried himself reminded me of Aemond so... here we are. Wrote this in less than two hours lmao.

-

Heart on a Chain

Christmas Day.

For the past two years, Aemond had not given more than a passing thought to the holiday. That thought being annoyance at having to pay his employees a full day’s wages for no work.

It was just another day. He woke, read the papers while he ate, then went to the office. He balanced the books, double-checked the work of his clerks, and inspected the warehouse’s stock. He sat with his business partner and discussed new prospects.

Even now, Cole was telling him about a potential new partnership he’d identified. A newly founded firm, desperate for reputable clients, would be almost too easy to maneuver into a contract that would heavily favor Targaryen & Cole. Ordinarily, Aemond would be eager to sink his teeth into the prospect, but now…

Now, he could not focus on Cole’s words. He could not bear to look at the pages of figures strewn on the table before them. He couldn’t even remember the name of the new firm, or what it was they did.

His entire world had faded to the ring that sat in his pocket.

Dull, cheap gold set with a pathetically small cabochon – he didn’t remember what the stone was, just that it was vaguely red. It looked ridiculous against the fine gold chain he’d purchased. That was the reason it remained in his pocket, rather than around his neck, he told himself.

It certainly wasn’t because he was afraid to see it out in the open, to be reminded of the slender hand it had once graced and the woman it had belonged to.

He hadn’t thought of her in years. Had not let himself, from the moment the door closed behind her. The same door that now loomed behind Cole, where the dented brass bell swayed slightly from the draft, just as it had three Christmases past…

“Aemond?”

He held back a sigh. Why did she have to come now? He was busy, as he told her he would be. He did not want to be disturbed, as he also told her. He had even agreed to go to Christmas dinner at her parent’s house that evening to ensure she would not bother him during the day.

Yet, here she was.

“Yes, dearest?” he called as he climbed off the ladder. Best to be sweet now, to soothe whatever mood had taken her this time. If she came all the way down to Cornhill and made it past Cole in the office, she must be in quite the state.

Indeed, as she found him amongst the massive rows of shelves, her cheeks were flushed, and her eyes shone with tears that sparkled with the reflection of his lamp. Still, she was beautiful. If only she would content herself with what he had to do to ensure the security of their life together.

She stopped, straightening her shoulders. Her furious blinking betrayed the fact that she was battling her tears to keep them from falling. “Aemond, we need to speak.”

“I assume there is something particular you wish to speak about?” He was distracted as he walked toward her, the label on one of the crates he passed catching his eye.

That order was supposed to be shipped out days ago. He’d dock Cargyll’s wages by half this week for allowing such a major error. The recipient of this shipment was very particular and would undoubtedly complain that his goods were late.

“We must discuss our agreement,” her voice, now bordering on shrill, reclaimed his attention.

What was there to discuss? He’d agreed to go to her house after he finished work at six, and… damn. When he pulled his watch from his waistcoat, he found it was already half-past seven. Still, dinner wouldn’t be served until eight. He had time. “I admit I’m running late, but with all the workers out for the holiday – ”

“Not about that agreement, Aemond. About our engagement.” A heavy stone settled in Aemond’s stomach, chill as ice. She continued, “I cannot help but feel that an idol has displaced me in your affections.”

The stone turned hot and rancid with anger. “And what is this idol, may I ask?”

“A golden one.” Her tears vanished, replaced with cold righteousness. “Wealth and power, and everything else your father denied you.”

“Is it a sin to seek security? To endeavor to escape the cruel grasp of poverty and helplessness?”

She came closer to him, setting a gloved hand on his arm. He had to resist the urge to pull away. “Your fear and resentment have overpowered your nobler aspirations,” she said softly. “Now, your only passion is gaining more and more, beyond what is necessary.”

Aemond took her hand, suppressing the urge to seize her shoulders and shake sense back into her. “Even if that were true, I am not changed toward you.”

To his horror, she pulled away, shaking her head.

“Dearest?”

She flinched as if the word struck her. “Our agreement was made long ago. When we were poor and in love and content to remain so.”

“I was a boy, then,” he scoffed.

“And I loved that boy!” She fell quiet for a moment, turning away from him when he reached for her. “But that boy is gone, and my heart aches for him. It is in his memory that I release you from our agreement.”

Until that moment, Aemond had nearly forgotten he had a heart. But her words shattered it, and pain wracked through his chest. Juvenile fear and distress took hold of him. He approached her, oblivious to her feeble attempts to move away, and took her in his arms. “Dearest, I do not understand. Have I ever sought release?”

“Not with words.”

“In what, then?”                     

She finally faced him again, and he knew he would never forget the horrible sight of her heartbreak and disdain – disdain for him. “In a changed nature and spirit. You do not look at me as you used to, Aemond. I used to feel beautiful when you looked at me, but now, I feel like a burden saddled upon you.”

“That is not true,” he begged.

“Tell me, honestly,” her gaze and voice steadied, even as tears spilled down her soft cheeks. “If you were to make the choice today, would you choose a dowerless girl?”

Aemond wanted to say no. But the world would not form. All he could say was, “You think not.”

The tension in her body vanished, her shoulders sagging and her head drooping. She looked up at him with despairing conviction. “With a full heart, for the love of who you once were, I release you.” She backed away from him, and his heart went with her. “May you be happy in the life you have chosen.”

She had only taken three steps away when he called her name, extending a hand to her.

But when she set her hand in his, he harshly pulled away.

He extended his hand once more. “My ring.”

It was her ring, he knew. It always was and always had been, even when he had forgotten about it. It was likely why, that night, he had thrown it carelessly into a dresser drawer to get it out of his sight. To forget the pain that had been contained within that strange, reddish stone.

But his maid had found it three days prior and given it to him, unleashing all that pain back into the heart-shaped hole in his chest. It was ruining him, that pain, clouding his mind and stealing away his better judgment.

“Aemond?” Cole’s voice was filled with annoyance. “Have your senses fled with the workers? What is wrong with you?”

Wrong? Nothing was wrong with him. Something was missing. She was missing. “Forgive me, Cole,” he said. “I must have eaten something odd. I’m afraid I am out of sorts.”

“Well, you’re no use like this. Go home. Come back all the earlier tomorrow, though!”

Aemond was already out the door, his coat only half-buttoned.

Home. He needed to go home, eat a hot meal, and go to bed early. Yes, a good rest would fix whatever had gone wrong inside him. He just needed to get home.

His feet didn’t take him home. They carried him to a place that he may once have called home but no longer. Equally traitorous, his hand raised in a fist to knock on the door he once would have entered without a second thought.

A cheering from beyond the door halted his movements, and Aemond moved to glance through the nearest window.

There she was. Just as radiant as he remembered. Even more so, for she smiled.

She smiled at the babe she held in her arms.

A babe who bore the same smile as its mother. But its eyes and hair were different. Those had been inherited not from its mother but from the father who stood behind the child and mother, looking on them both with unabashed adoration and pride.

Aemond had looked at her in much the same way, when he had been capable of feeling such things.

All the air left his chest. Had he ever been able to breathe? Perhaps he would die before he remembered how to. Part of him wanted to.

But somehow, he pulled enough air into his lungs to fuel his body as he walked across town to his own home. He ate his dinner, read the evening papers, and retreated to his bedroom. There, he readied himself for bed. Yes, a good night’s rest would cure him of this ailment.

He did not realize until he laid upon his bed that the cool metal of a chain rested against his skin.

If he could not bear his heart in his chest, he would wear it around his neck.

[persicipen]

𑑛 “KEEP AN EYE ON ME” ﾉ WRIOTHESLEY. GENSHIN IMPACT

performer gn reader ﾉ words 1.0k ᯽ bodyguard wriothesley. reader goes on stage — no specifics, so technically it’s still canon au and could be a singer, a dancer, an idol. very suggestive with explicit language but it’s only teased once ﾉ rewritten (old request) because i saw mooties talking about this :3 ᯽ SUGGESTIVE CONTENT ﾉ MINORS DO NOT INTERACT ᯽

Wriothesley shifts nervously from one leg to another, trying to shake off the itch of an unspecified feeling. Hand brushing through the hair, hoping to gather back his thoughts just like the matted greying strands, but to no avail. You’re not leaving his head, your mirrored silhouette sparkling in his silver eyes.

The way you move, hips swinging to the side and down just as the music gets low, makes him gulp down and blink. He has to make sure he’s not imagining it, for it feels too good to be true.

Then, with a pop, you break out of your routine, the special dance you had trained repeatedly in secret exclusively to surprise the crowd tonight, all while never going against the melody nor losing the perfect rhythm. He’s amazed by your ability to become one with the sound, something he could only dream about.

He’s just here to observe you, but other than that — any possible interruptions or unpleasant events, such as nagging fans or worse. Standing still, silent, and leaning on the wall behind the scene where he can get just a glimpse of the grand performance; he’s cautious. Only pretending to be relaxed, a small part of him is enchanted and enjoying your view while the rest is ready to act. Just in case. He never wishes for anything to happen. The less work there is for him to do, the better for everyone around him.

Yet he lets his mind wander to what-ifs. His fingers tap lightly against the metal buckle of his pants, playing with the leather strap on the side of his thigh. How would you move to a slower song? Does your body still find harmony with this kind of cadence too?

Of course, it does. It has to.

You’re so hardworking, there’s probably nothing you wouldn’t be able to do. But currently in promotion are more dynamic performances, and you have to bounce across the stage, elegant and beautiful like the sight of a deer in the forest — almost magical if not for the heavy instruments buzzing through all the surfaces.

Despite everything, the shine in your eyes and the curve of your smile remain unmoving as ever. You’re captivating, stealing hearts and bringing people to tears of joy. You’re a star that gives them all the happiness they need.

And he’s no different. He sees you as the perfect being. It doesn’t matter if it’s the persona you use on the stage or the one that becomes you when you slump against him after every exhausting performance, mumbling how proud you feel and ranting about the soreness of your body, and other stuff like that. Truly, just incoherent babbling — but he loves to hear everything, making sure at the same time that you two won’t get caught by any pair of prying eyes.

(He always thinks about that, so you don’t have to.)

As the mood slightly changes, the tunes mellow down. Not as much as Wriothesley would love to hear, that would be too good — and you bend down on your knees as you prepare for the next piece. It’s the one he called the sexy one when you were sharing the plan with him a few weeks ago, something you giggled away and shushed him immediately, not wanting to agree out loud.

But it was true. And the live dance was no better.

So now he has to endure watching you twirl on your toes, arching your back, sliding your hands along the curves of your body, all that sensual shit that drives him crazy and yet— and yet he cannot do anything about it, just taking the spectacle as it is, so thrilled to be able to see it from a different perspective.

It’s almost burning, this feeling inside, as his thoughts involuntarily drift off towards lustful imagination. Could it be possible to ask you to do the same move that you just did, but right in front of him? Or maybe even on his lap, the one where you crouch down innocently just to act provocatively once again?

Damn, that would be so hot. He has to clench his fist to calm down and return to the present moment.

When you at last walk offstage after another successful performance, your footsteps sound strangely satisfying as they click-clack down the corridor. There is no doubt about the fatigue and thirst in your expression, yet he has a feeling that you wouldn’t ask for a break aside from a quick few minutes to cool down and change your outfit.

Sweat glistens on your skin, sticking to your hair, making you sparkle in the harsh lights of the changing room. You’re beautiful like that; it’s the sweat of success and because you’re doing something you love. It’s not the same sweat when you stress over something or get sick and have to stay wrapped in hot blankets to fight off the illness.

Nonetheless, it feels nasty, so you quickly grab a towel and hug it closely, tapping gently on your face so as not to ruin your makeup. The cool and soft fabric works wonders on your excited body.

You tell the others it’s just a quick trip to the bathroom, while in reality, you glance towards your bodyguard, and that’s all he needs to know. He thinks that if you could only give him even a light kiss on the cheek, that would be enough, that would make him happy and fill him with a new surge of motivation. Oh, that would be so great.

But everything is different…

As soon as there are just the two of you, he pulls you close, failing to control his rapturing emotions. No, of course, he will not do anything stupid now — you only have a minute or so for him, but he wished for it to be untrue. His lips barely graze against your temple, leaving a tender peck there; you hear his low and velvety voice whisper right into your ear some words.

“I’m gonna fuck you so hard later tonight…”

And that’s the only praise that makes you genuinely know that you did exceptionally well on the stage.