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razzle-zazzle · 11 months

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Whumptober Day 29: i only sink deeper the deeper i think

Scented Candle + "What's happened to me?"

2886 Words; Sit Still, Look Pretty

TW for forced drug use, forced helplessness, doll whump, emotional abuse

AO3 ver

“Hold still, darling.” Carrie tittered.

Dion huffed. He couldn’t even move if he wanted to; he still didn’t understand why this woman insisted on making that joke. It wasn’t funny.

Carrie finished up the eyeliner, leaning back to examine her work. “Oh, it’s coming together so nicely.” She hummed, putting away the eyeliner. She removed the headband, setting it aside and grabbing the brush. She hummed as she worked, some soft tune that Dion had never heard before meeting her but had long since grown to intimately hate. The brush was gently carded through his curls as she worked, in a way that only served to remind Dion of his mother.

Dion’s eyes pricked. He swallowed those feelings down. If he cried, it’d ruin the makeup—and while Dion would love that, Carrie wouldn’t. So he shoved the ache down as far as it would go, begging his mind to latch onto a safer topic.

The notebooks flashed in his mind. Good enough.

Dion needed to remember them, needed to keep Carrie’s past victims in his mind at all times. He had to stay strong, had to remember what awaited him.

Esperanza. Felix. Vera. Callum. Lesley. Tobias. Alicia.

Seven names. Seven notebooks.

Seven neat little graves in Carrie’s backyard.

Dion couldn’t let himself become grave number eight. He couldn’t. So even as Carrie braided back his hair, even as her touch both burned under his scalp and reminded him of his mother—

Dion wouldn’t fall for it. He wouldn’t let Carrie get to him. He wouldn’t.

Esperanza. Felix. Vera. Callum. Lesley. Tobias. Alicia.

So what if he’d lost his one good chance to escape that night? Carrie fell asleep long after he did—it was hardly a chance to escape. Just a movie night, upstairs, out of the diamond-wallpaper hellroom. So Dion hadn’t failed, or anything—he had just learned more about where he was, which would make his escape easier.

Carrie carding her hands through his hair as the movie played, humming softly under her breath, Dion leaning into her touch—

That night—that was a fluke. Dion was just tired, that night, too emotionally spent to fight Carrie’s hold. But he wouldn’t fail like that again, no way!

Esperanza. Felix. Vera. Callum. Lesley. Tobias. Alicia.

Dion repeated the names in his head, repeated their faces. His throat tightened. Carrie let go of the hair elastic, letting it snap into place at the end of his braid. She clasped her hands together, oblivious to the thoughts circling in Dion’s head. “There!”

She turned the chair so that Dion was facing the mirror, moving his braid to rest on his shoulder. The dress he was wearing was a picturesque blue sundress, with flowers made of bright yellow thread on the left shoulder strap. As Dion watched, Carrie added three flower hairpins to the braid.

He looked pretty. He looked healthy, like he wasn’t slowly losing his mind in this godawful hell. He looked like he’d come right out of a magazine themed around summer fashion—all that was missing was a bright smile.

Not that Dion would smile, even if he could. Grimace, maybe. Stick his tongue out like a child, possibly. Anything to ruin the perfect little image Carrie had so carefully built.

“I bought this dress the same day I first saw you.” Carrie commented. “Isn’t that neat? Just hours after getting this beauty and I’m finding the perfect Doll to put it on!” She smiled, bright red lips like a bloody cut around bone-white teeth. “Must have been destiny!”

Dion snorted, a low sound in his throat. It was the most he could do, really.

Carrie ignored his obvious disdain, instead gently pushing his mouth into a smile, splitting his face. She fussed around a bit, trying to get the shape just so—

She pulled away, presumably to get her camera, leaving Dion staring at the mirror. Smiling at it, like he wasn’t absolutely furious—

A sunhat landed on Dion’s head, Carrie staring into the mirror as she contemplated it. She tilted the hat this way and that, murmuring over which way would be the best way to angle the dangling blue ribbon tied. All that was missing was a convenient little breeze, and Dion really would look like he came straight from a magazine, pretty and perfect and fake.

Bile rose in the back of Dion’s throat. He was going to be sick.

Maybe that’ll show her, if you vomit all over this stupid dress, Dion thought viciously. He grabbed onto his anger and held it fast, as though it might shield him from falling apart at Carrie’s touch.

Carrie finally settled on how she wanted the hat positioned. Dion’s cheeks were starting to hurt. She smiled, dragging Dion’s chair over so that he was in front of the wallpaper. “Such a gorgeous doll.” She hummed, lifting the camera.

Click!

+=+=+=+=+

Dion curled up under the comforter, breathing slowly. The cuff around his ankle was a familiar pressure.

His throat tightened. His eyes stung, and Dion let the tears fall—there was no makeup to ruin, not now.

He stared out into the darkness, out into the hellroom that he’d grown so used to. How long had it been since he’d seen the sun? Since he’d been outside of Carrie’s house?

He didn’t know. He didn’t know.

Quietly, he mumbled to himself.

“Esperanza. Felix. Vera. Callum. Lesley. Tobias. Alicia.” he muttered. “Esperanza. Felix. Vera. Callum. Lesley. Tobias. Alicia.” He needed to remember them, needed to keep their names alive in his head for when he escaped.

When he escaped…

Dion’s chest ached. He missed home so badly—how long had it been? How was everyone doing? Were they missing him? Were they okay?

Dion didn’t know. He wished he could, wished he could leave this room and go home where his family was.

Esperanza. Felix. Vera. Callum. Lesley. Tobias. Alicia.

Dion would make it out. He had to.

He just wished it could be soon.

+=+=+=+=+

“This one will require a different background.” Carrie explained, lifting Dion from the chair with an arm around his back and the other under his knees. “So we’ll be using the upstairs studio!”

Dion’s heart threatened to pound his ribs to bits in his excitement. Yet at the same time, a sense of resignation blossomed in his stomach. He was on the full dose, tonight—his chances of getting away were next to nothing.

He was already all cleaned and dressed—another blue dress, this time, but instead of the pretty flower sundress it was much longer, nearly reaching Dion’s feet, with puffy white sleeves like seafoam. This dress was a darker blue—almost black—at the hem, fading up into lighter blue at the bosom. It looked like waves, much to Dion’s dismay.

(Water. Why was it always water? The curse wasn’t real, and yet Dion still felt queasy in this dress, still felt awful. At least when Carrie bathed him, shudder-inducing as that was, it was always short.

At least there was no actual water involved, this time. Probably.

Dion couldn’t put it past Carrie to find new levels of awful with every outfit.)

Up the stairs they went, through the green-striped halls and into a… sitting room? It looked like the living room, but it clearly wasn’t, lacking the TV. And the living room was down the other way.

Instead, this room had a chaise lounge as the centerpiece, with a large screen set up behind it. There were a few cabinets and shelves to the sides, but they were far enough from the lounge itself that any photos taken wouldn’t include them.

Ugh, Dion hated that he was already thinking in terms of the photos Carrie would undoubtedly take. He hated that he knew anything about Carrie’s process—hated that he knew anything about her at all.

Carrie laid him out on the lounge, arranging one of his arms to rest his hand on his forehead like he’d just fallen dramatically onto the thing. Dion snarled in the back of his throat, but Carrie was already fussing with the train of the dress and how it flowed off the edge of the lounge onto the floor.

Carrie hummed, moving over to the shelf on the left. There were candles sitting on it, though Dion couldn’t see the labels from where he was sitting. Carrie opened a drawer, pulling out a box of matches.

The candles started to burn, setting the area aglow. Dion watched as Carrie lifted one up to set on the small drawer next to the lounge, the scent wafting over to him.

It was kind of… citrusy? But also a little spicy-sweet. It was kind of familiar, the way it tickled Dion’s nose.

Carrie was still puttering around, setting up the scene for her little photoshoot. She draped a green sheet over the screen, straightening out the wrinkles and folds.

Dion’s arm was starting to hurt. The candle continued to burn, the scent sharp against Dion’s nose. It was a little lemony, too, he realized. Really familiar.

All at once, it hit him. That scent—

Dion’s eyes stung and his throat tightened. He knew that scent. That was… that was magnolia. That was the scent of his mother’s perfume. He could picture her now, coming out of the caravan after getting herself ready for the day, the scent yet to be washed away by the daily toils and struggles. He could even picture his father pressing kisses to her neck, and picking up the scent as well, until both of his parents smelled like magnolia perfume—

Dion’s breath hitched. His throat tightened. A fresh wave of homesickness washed over him, squeezing his chest. How long had it been? How long had it been since he had seen his mother’s face, heard her laugh, felt her hands carding through his hair? How long before he would ever see her again?

(What if he never saw her again? What if his last memory of her was her reminder not to dilly-dally when he walked off for the nearest payphone?)

His face was wet. His eyes burned.

At once, Carrie was on him, dabbing at his eyes with a handkerchief. “Shh, shh,” She murmured gently. “There’s no need to cry, Doll. You’ll ruin your makeup.”

But Dion couldn’t stop. And he couldn’t explain, either, couldn’t tell Carrie that he was crying over a scented candle because it reminded him of home—

Not that he wanted to tell her anything. She didn’t deserve anything from him, so even if he wasn’t utterly unable to move he still wouldn’t tell her why he was crying.

(He wouldn’t be able to through the tears.)

Carrie huffed. “Really?” Her lips pursed, and her hands fell to her hips, like Dion was somehow the one in the wrong. “Dolls don’t cry, darling.” She huffed.

But Dion wasn’t a doll!

Still, Carrie persisted, even as Dion’s sobs became audible. After a while, she gave up, letting him cry and ruin his makeup.

He wanted to go home. He wanted to go home.

(He wasn’t certain that he ever would.)

Carrie watched, tilting her head. “Wait…” Her frown disappeared, and she made a frame with her fingers. “Oh, that might work!”

Dion sniffled. Carrie went back to fussing around with the room, then left it entirely. Dion’s sobs were the only sound in the silence, muffled by his inability to open his mouth.

He wanted to go home.

But more than that, he was tired. Eventually, he ran out of tears to cry, his eyes stinging and his throat raw. He wanted to go home. He had no idea how he’d ever accomplish that, how he’d ever get away from Carrie.

Carrie came back, the camera around her neck and a case in hand. She looked Dion over, for a moment, then smiled. “Yes! Oh, doll, I should have known you had something special up your sleeve!”

Dion wanted to vomit. He didn’t cry on purpose!

“This will look so much better, with just a few adjustments…” Carrie leaned in, opening the case and pulling something out—more makeup? “Just a few little touch-ups…” She mumbled, re-applying the lipgloss and redoing the eyeliner. “Oh, this will look so lovely!” She closed the makeup case. “Your makeup running from the tears, the tragic posing… it’s perfection!”

She stood back, lifting the camera. “Absolutely perfect, darling.”

Click!

The candles continued to burn.

+=+=+=+=+

Dion walked a circle around his room, moving purely for the sake of it. The chain attached to his ankle dragged behind him, scraping along the floor—Dion didn't care. He was too tired to care.

He had turned on the bathroom light, after the lights in the room had flicked off, if only so that he wouldn't feel like he was being swallowed alive by the darkness. The bright yellow light cut into the room through the doorway, allowing Dion to see in the gloom.

He continued to pace, restless energy buzzing in his limbs.

How long had he been here? How much longer did he have? The notebooks flashed through his mind—Esperanza, Felix, Vera, Callum, Lesley, Tobias, Alicia—he had a year and a half at the most, four months at the least. He really didn't want to be stuck here for more than a year—but would he make it out in less than four months? Could he make it out?

He didn't know. He didn't know, and that frustrated him more than anything else.

Dion passed by the vanity, only to stop. He turned towards it, looking at the mirror, looking at this reflection—

What had happened to him? Where was the death-defying acrobat, where was the confidence? The longer he stared at his reflection in the gloom, the less it looked like Dion. He could so easily picture the makeup Carrie might put on him, could so easily imagine away the signs of stress on his face. That man in the mirror—that wasn't him. That was someone else, someone who Dion could never be but was getting ever and ever closer to—

Dion wrenched his gaze away from the mirror. He resumed pacing, continuing in his lopsided circle until exhaustion dragged him to the bed.

He ended up pacing for quite a while.

+=+=+=+=+

“Thanksgiving is coming up…” Carrie hummed, digging through the wardrobe.

Dion started. But—if that was—

He’d been taken on October 3rd. If it was already close to the end of November…

Oh god. Oh god.

Dion’s breath hitched. But he was still spent from two nights prior, still too tired to summon any new tears. He’d been here for nearly two months. Two months!

The notebooks flashed through his mind. The dates—Carrie never kept a doll for less than four months, never longer than a year and a half. If Dion could trust that she’d be the same with him, then…

Then he had two more months to get out of here, minimum.

As tired as he was, Dion wanted to cry so badly right then and there. Two months, and he’d only left the hellroom twice. Two months, and he still had no idea how he was going to get out of here.

Two months, and his resolve was already slipping—

Carrie started to dress him, oblivious to Dion’s crisis. Black boots went on over dark red pants. A loose white shirt with buttons at the neckline went on next, though it was quickly covered with a stiff red button-up jacket with flared sleeves.

Carrie buttoned up the jacket with care, straightening the collar. She smiled, grabbing the headband to hold Dion’s hair back. “Hold still, doll.”

Dion huffed. Oh, how he hated her. It wasn’t funny the first time, and it wasn’t funny now. But it did yank him right out of his spiral—two months!—so, as much as he hated it, he was at least a little thankful. But not really.

He didn’t pay attention as Carrie carefully applied makeup—this song and dance was long past the point of familiarity, at this point. Two months! Two months of being dolled up in this shitty little hellhole! Dion wanted to scream—

But he wanted to get slapped even less.

Carrie finished, removing the headband and moving onto his hair. She used a comb to pull it back, teasing out the ends and then pinning them in place with hairspray. She was letting it hang loose, this time, brushed back in a way that looked windswept, with just a few locks hanging forwards to frame his face. The moment she was done, she turned his chair so that he was facing the mirror—

Dion’s blood ran cold.

“See?” Carrie beamed, “Oh, I just knew you’d look lovely in red!”

Dion stared at his reflection with rising horror. At the dusky red eyeshadow and liner, at the red jacket with the folded collar—

At the bright red lipstick on his lips, the exact same shade as Carrie’s. At the bright red lipstick like a bloody cut, on his face and hers.

Carrie was already moving him away from the vanity, arranging him on his chair for her photos—

Dion was going to be sick. The image stuck in his mind, of him and her with matching red lipstick, of red red red around his eyes and on his body like so much blood, like one big danger sign—

Click!

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kleefkruid · 2 years

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Every fun post on here that encourages people to have hobbies/be creative always gets an avalanche of "Some people are poor Karen" type reactions and respectfully, you're all super annoying. I've never lived above the poverty line and this is a list of hobbies I have that were cheap or entirely free:

Read books: Go to the library, lend a book from a friend

knitting, crochet, embroidery: Get some needles from the bargan store and ask around, people have leftovers from projects they'll happily give you. Thrift stores also often carry leftover fabric and other supplies. And talk about your hobby loud enough and an old lady will show up and gift you their whole collection, because there are way more old ladies with a closet full of wool than there are grandchildren who want to take up the hobby.

Origami/paper crafts: get some scrap paper and scissors, watch a youtube tutorial

walking: put on shoes open door

pilates/yoga/etc: get a mat or just use your carpet, watch a youtube tutorial

Houseplants: look online for people that swap plant cuttings. There are always people giving out stuff for free to get you started. If you're nice enough you'll probably get extra

gardening: You're gonna need some space for this one of course but you can just play around with seeds and cuttings from your grocery vegetables.

aquarium keeping is a bit of an obscure one but I got most of my stuff second hand for cheap or free and now I have a few thousand euro worth of material and plants.

drawing/art: You get very far just playing with bargan store materials. I did my entire art degree with mostly those.

writing: Rotate a cow in your head for free

cooking: again one you can make very expensive, but there are many budget recipes online for free. Look for African or Asian shops to get good rice and cheap spices.

Join a non-profit: Cities will have creative organisations who let you use woodworking machines or screen presses or laser cutters or 3D printers etc etc etc for a small fee. Some libraries also lend out materials.

candle making: You need some molds (cheap), wick, two old cooking pots for au bain marie melting and a ton of scrap candles, ask people to keep them aside for you.

a herbarium, flower pressing: Leaves are free, wildflowers too, ask if you can take from peoples gardens.

puzzles: thrift stores, your grandma probably

Citizen science: look for projects in your area or get the iNaturalist app

And lastly and most importantly: Share! Share your supllies, share your knowledge. Surround yourself with other creative people and before you know it someone will give you a pot of homemade jam and when you want to paint your kabinet someone will have leftover paint in just the right color and you can give them a homemade candle in return and everyone is having fun and building skills and friendships and not a cent is exchanged. We have always lived like this, it's what humans are build to do.

And all of it sure beats sitting behind a computer going "No stranger, I refuse to let myself have a good time."

Anyway I'm logging off bc I'm making some badges for a friend who cooked for me and then I'm going to fix some holes in everyones clothes.

#hobbies #mental health

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oreo-creampie · 5 months

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𝐡𝐞’𝐬 𝐝𝐲𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐥𝐚𝐜𝐤 𝐨𝐟 𝐚𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬! fluff, suggestiveness - talking about/hinting towards satoru fingering/eating you out but nothing happens, kissing, satoru fondly makes fun of you a lil, he also carries you around, collage au, collage student!reader, collage student!gojo

fey: I’m still gonna be on hiatus for a little longer but in the mean time have this fluff nugget inspired by my hubby

Satoru huffs and pokes your cheek till you swat his hand away. He flops on the bed next to you, the soft breeze and movement disturbing your carefully placed papers.

You whine “Satoru!”

“Sweet pie! You’ve been studying and working in that essay all day for the past three days please!” He throws his hand across his forehead, clutching his chest. “I beg of you feed me attention before I starve. I’m wilting away before you! How cold hearted can you be.” His eyes are with tears.

Tossing your throw blanket over him, ��This should keep you warm.” You take you eyes off the screen to read the open text book next to you. Before referring to your notes then glancing back up at your computer screen.

He pops his head out from underneath the blanket with gasp. “No I’m not cold! You’re cold hearted!” He sits up and wraps his arms around you. “Please just an hour, we can order some food, take a shower get you out of your funky funk.” Pinching his nose and waving his hand in front of his face.

“You’re foul.”

You can hear the smile in his voice. “Like your armpits! Study starting break now! I your wonderful boyfriend refuse to let you be stinky.” He slowly closes the lid on the rough draft of your paper.“I’ll help you write some more after, if you don’t give your mind a break you’ll fry it and make it useless.” He kisses the top of your head.

“Let’s go lil’ stink!” He drags you off the bed, your feet dangle in the air as he holds you to his chest.

Squeezing you whilst you protest, “Hey you can’t steal that! I don’t wanna hear it from the one with the stanky attitude making me take a break for my health how dare you.” He carefully sets you down in the bathroom.

He waves a hand in your direction, “Yes yes, how dare I care for my beautiful girlfriend and rub her naked body down with my large soapy hands in a warm shower, that I as her perfect boyfriend know the temperature of.”

He lights some of the candles arranged around the bathroom. And starts the heater that he insists your bathroom needs. After not stepping into another cold bathroom after a hot shower you can understand why.

You rid yourself of your clothes, throwing them into the hamper. “Do you need to toot you own horn?” Relieving yourself then washing your hands.

Turning around and watching him strip. His arms flex as he pulls his black shirt off. His v line peeks out of his sweatpants, which he pushes down. Your gaze lingers on his soft cock and large balls before you glance up into his sparkling blue eyes.

He corners you against the counter, booping the tip of your nose with his long finger. “You’ve been neglecting me for days I might need to remind you what a awesome boyfriend I am! What if you’ve forgotten!” He pouts.

You slide your fingers through his soft silver white hair. Pulling him in, your lips close to his, “I could never forget, you won’t let me, but I suppose it’s part of your charm. I guess it’s kind of cute when you’re cocky.”

Satoru smirks into the slow passionate kiss he gives you. Lifting you up, reflexively you wrap your legs around his waist. It’s easy to forget everything when you’re kissing him. There is the safety of his arms, the sweet passion of his soft lips on yours.

When he breaks away Satoru suggests, “After our shower would it be too cruel of me to give my girl a happy ending? As some stress relief and reward for all her studying of course.” He massages your cheek. His large warm hand feels wonderful targeting your sore spots.

You softly groan, “Please! I don't know if I wanna ride your face, fingers or cock.”

“Why not all three one after another? I can suck on your pretty clit and let you cum on my fingers then I can fill you up.” He carries you into the warm shower, supporting you with one hand. Closing the curtain behind himself.

He stands underneath the warm water, steam billowing off it. “‘M sorry for not texting for three days, you know I’ve missed my amazing boyfriend, you’re just so talented at so many things like distracting me when I need to study.” He helps you onto your feet, placing your backside facing towards the rushing water.

He protests, “I can behave and help you study.” Pouring some of his favorite strawberry and sugar scented body wash onto his hand.

You close your eyes tilting your head back. Soaking your curls and letting the water wash over your face. The water melts away some of the tension building in your neck and shoulders.

You rub your right shoulder and winch whilst insisting, “You tell me that every time.” Turning around and stepping out of the water, closing your eyes. It’s relaxing knowing he’ll take care of you, from washing your body, to treating your curls to applying your face care.

Rubbing soap over your back and ass, leaving soapy white bubbles. He massages your shoulders whilst pleading his case, “Please lemme help you study! We have the same essay due and test to take. Our study sessions is how we got together I miss them.”

You softly sigh and cave in, “I miss them too, ok you win can stay, you’re too charming.”

He playful croons “I always win.” Kissing the top of your wet head. “You won't regret it I'll be the best study buddy!” You widely smile, the delight in Satoru’s voice is heartwarming.

#jjk #jjk x reader #jjk x y/n #jjk x you #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen x y/n #jujutsu kaisen x you #jjk fluff #gojo fluff #gojo x reader #gojo satoru #satoru gojo #gojo satoru x reader #satoru gojo x reader #satoru gojo fluff #gojo satoru fluff #satoru gojo x you

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amuromi · 9 months

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★ ₊ ⊹ ⋆˙ ┈ 𝐑𝐘𝐎𝐌𝐄𝐍 𝐒𝐔𝐊𝐔𝐍𝐀 X ᶠ!ᴿᴱᴬᴰᴱᴿ

✦ ⋆˙ 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓 ┈ 9.9k

✦ ⋆˙ 𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐒 ┈ NSFW! heian era!au, concubine!reader, true form!Sukuna, unprotected sex, established relationship (married), canon typical violence, era typical misogyny/gender roles, unhealthy obsession, mentions of death, mentions of cannibalism and blood, (Sukuna is a lunatic), Sukuna is referred to exclusively as “Lord Sukuna”

✦ ⋆˙ 𝐀!𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄 ┈ I got a bit carried away with this one. My love of psychological horror was clawing to be free but I think I kept it pretty contained…

✦ ⋆˙ 𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐓 𝐈𝐈

✮ 𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐎𝐑𝐒 & 𝐀𝐆𝐄𝐋𝐄𝐒𝐒 𝐃𝐎 𝐍𝐎𝐓 𝐈𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐀𝐂𝐓!! ✮

𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃𝐒 𝐓𝐎 𝐊𝐍𝐎𝐖 ✦ ⋆˙ engawa ┈ a hallway-like path surrounding the house ⋆ shoji ┈ a sliding door/divider ⋆ koto ┈ a Japanese zither/stringed instrument

The winter storm has leached everything into bleak shades of black and white, like ink on parchment. The trees are thick black strokes against the deep gray clouds, dusted with a thick layer of snow as flurries fall like stars through the courtyard. In the moonlight each snowflake shines like pearls, soft and lustrous as they dance on the wind. From the edge of the engawa it almost looks like staring into the great gaping mouth of a beast that’s swallowed the world, spears of ice hanging like jagged teeth from the edge of the roof, the wind shuddering through the estate in howling gusts. The cold night is scented with dreams of spring, sweet smelling coal burning in braziers, wafting gray wisps of floral-scented smoke into the wind.

It’s quiet aside from the sharp whistling of the wind and the hissing of snow melting over hot coals, then, somewhere within the estate, a bell tolls for the Hour of the Rooster. Nightfall, despite the veil of darkness already laid out by the storm clouds. Suddenly there’s the sound of footsteps soft as summer rain, pattering through the estate and the shoji begin to blossom with the warmth of firelight as candles are lit throughout the sprawling house. More snow gathers in soft sheets over the courtyard before there’s a gentle knock to announce a soft-footed servant coming to renew the braziers and light the lanterns. The scent of lavender is renewed as the coals are sifted and replaced and the engawa is streaked with blushing shades of gold as the pink-tinged paper lanterns are lit in turn.

Of all the rooms in the vast estate, yours is the most adorned. Which is to say, it looks as though your room is used for more than sleeping. There’s a modest desk with inks and paper, a small table for combs and perfumes, and a trunk for miscellaneous things beside the chest of drawers filled with kimono. When she’s lit the last lantern, you ask the girl to send for your personal maid. A dowry servant, though not originally one of yours. Life in this estate is fleeting in that way.

An unbalanced teacup had been the undoing of the girl your father sent to accompany you in your marriage. Stained silk and scalded skin, later soaked with splatters of blood. But the tatami were changed and the kimono and girl were replaced. Your new maid is a bit older–a few years your senior–originally belonging to a woman that came before you. Certainly not First Mistress because she would loathe to see you even look upon anything of hers. No, she served a less honored concubine that wasn’t worthy of the title “wife,” even if it’s a hollow honor in itself. Still, your maid had belonged to the unknown mistress before she perished. It all happened before you were brought to the estate, but the haggard weight of the loss still sits heavy on her shoulders. Her face always looks like a crumpled piece of paper that someone tried to smooth flat, creased with hidden worries. She arrives quickly, kneeling to await her orders.

“I’m happy,” you tell her. “A new Mistress is joining the family tonight, isn’t that right? Happy news.” The maid hums something to the tune of affirmation, long since grown used to your unflinchingly jovial disposition. She once asked if you wear a smiling mask throughout the day and take it off once you sleep. It’s a silly question, of course, but you like to imagine that you smile even in your sleep. There is nothing to be sad about. Living a life such as this is no different than a deer grazing in a meadow. There is nothing beyond the grass. Nothing farther than the horizon or higher than the tallest tree. What is there to be sad about when the world has been folded into something small enough to hold in your hands, a piece of origami meant to be appreciated and not pondered. There’s happiness in the simplicity that this life provides, though you seem to be the only one to realize it.

The other two Mistresses of the house say that you should be locked up in a rice chest and left out to die. That it’s cruel to let you live in such a state of delusion. How little they know, yet it’s still too much. At times, it seems that they are far deeper in their minds than you’ve ever been. Caught up in worries and tribulations that haven’t plagued you in a long time, since you let go of your humanity. What use is pretending to be human when you’re treated like a pet. Treasured and pampered but still inferior to the master of the house. Because your husband has no true use for human brides. In keeping the three of you, he has honored each of your families with the knowledge that their blood has produced something too intriguing to kill off just yet. Perhaps if he desires an offspring to assume his legacy he’ll have a true use for one of you.

Other brides have been offered and had their families culled like squashing bugs. It made you feel some air of superiority, knowing that you were chosen from a dozen women to be honored as a new wife to the King of Curses. It only took a few months for you to realize your place in all this and the last thread of your humanity snapped like a frayed koto string. Thinking of yourself as a person is useless when the person that holds your life within his hands sees you as no more than a doll to be toyed with as he sees fit.

“I’m happy.” You always mean it when you say it. Happiness is all you have left when faced with the truth of how finite your existence is. There is no world beyond the walls of this estate. No people beyond its residence and staff. No purpose outside of serving your husband with unwavering loyalty. In that regard you are the most precious of his wives. The others, their devotion wavers. You’ve seen it in the way they still hesitate to follow simple instructions, still tremble and shrink in Lord Sukuna’s presence even as you bloom like a flower in the light of the sun. He is your sun. There is no life without him. Which is why you are happy to simply exist in this small world that he’s made for you.

His power has greatly uncomplicated your existence, turned it to something purposeful, something that will end when you’re no longer of use. And Lord Sukuna will always tell you when you serve no further purpose to him. How many underlings has he executed because they were no longer of use? You imagine they must’ve felt great pride in the moments before their demise at the hands of their King. Pride in knowing that they did what they were made to do. As a child you had scoffed at the idea that your only purpose was to be wed and serve your husband as a proper wife should, but that was when the husband of your future was set to be someone unremarkable. Lord Sukuna is greater than any man that’s ever lived. Perhaps even ascended beyond the concept of a man to become the strongest sorcerer to ever live. As the daughter of a highly regarded family known for birthing remarkable sorcerers, you take pride in your small but purposeful place in all this. The culling of clans, the clashing of factions trying to unseat your husband. History will remember you because you will play your part until the very end. An end you’ll greet with a smile if it should come by your husband’s hand.

“Will the Fourth Mistress be here soon?” A new deer to join the herd, a new flower planted in the garden.

“By the Hour of the Bird, the last message said.” Your maid agrees. Soon, a new Mistress will be here. It’s been so long since another woman has joined hands with Lord Sukuna. The last being yourself nearly two years ago. First Mistress had been collected three years ago, and Second Mistress came along only a short few months behind her. Lord Sukuna had waited half a year after that to marry a third wife, and you must’ve served him well because there’s been no need for another until now. It makes you wonder if death is close at hand. A raven had come earlier in the day, before the snow began to fall, announcing that Lord Sukuna would be returning from his excursion by nightfall. Perhaps he wanted to arrive home in time to greet his new bride.

Fourth Mistress. Unlucky number Four, terrible number Four. Blowing into her marriage with a snow storm. It’s all terribly inauspicious, but Lord Sukuna has reason for everything he does. Nothing is without purpose. Even death has cause when dealt by his hand. Even if it comes tonight you will go towards it fully satisfied. The snowfall looks beautiful, and the cold isn’t so terrible with the legion of braziers burning around you and the thick furs draped over your shoulders. It’s a wonderful night to die if it should come to that.

“Shall we go welcome her?”

“First Mistress insisted that you need not be present for Fourth Mistress’ arrival, your highness.” First Mistress, Jurina, whose hatred towards you cannot be quelled by any manner of platitudes.

When you first arrived, you’re sure it was mere jealousy that compelled her to act out against you. A multitude of wives is not uncommon among high ranking men, but rarely is it expected that they should all live together. Most wives are left in their parents’ homes to be visited whenever their husband deems it fit. To walk the hall of your home and come across the woman your husband sees when he is not with you must be jarring to the first woman he married. Jurina seemed adamant about dispelling you from the family upon your first arrival. Now, her animosity isn’t borne of jealousy, but discomfort.

Your happiness makes her nervous. She’s said it herself. Snapping and raging at you for your unflinching smile even as she and Second Mistress have slowly begun to lose themselves in the monotony of this life. Sitting and waiting, then serving when Lord Sukuna comes home. To them, your complacency, your happiness, is something eerie and othered. Akin to the curses your families seek to eradicate. Unnatural. Inhuman. Though it hardly matters what they think of you. They are not your reason for being, and Lord Sukuna seems to find your smile charming.

Despite the chill, you find yourself reaching for a fan. A gift from Uraume. They’re strangely doting towards you in a way that they aren’t to Lord Sukuna’s other wives, bringing you gifts when they accompany Lord Sukuna on long trips away from the estate. A set of calligraphy brushes, a jade bracelet, a new kimono. You’ve amassed quite a collection of possessions by Uraume’s spoiling, though the fans are your favorite. All made a beautifully lacquered wood, some painted with gilded designs, the folded paper painted by the hands of careful artists. Crashing waves and blossoming trees decorate each of your fans and you take great pride in keeping them all in pristine condition because you’d hate to perform a dance with a damaged fan.

Of all of the things filling your room, your koto is the most precious. It had belonged to your mother and she offered it with teary eyes as your wedding gift, absolutely bereft that she had to marry her daughter off to a monster to appease the head of your father’s clan. But such was your purpose in being born into a highly acclaimed sorcerer clan. Take your blood and lend your body to another clan so that you might make more powerful jujutsu users. Your father had complained of the waste in sending you off to quell the King of Curses, insisting that sending you to Lord Sukuna would be a waste of a bride. Curses have no use for brides nor, truly, does their King. Still, Lord Sukuna keeps all of you alive and well in his home. To what end? It’s hardly your concern.

“Bring my koto,” you hum. “I want to dance.”

The maid goes about carrying the large stringed instrument to the edge of the room where the opened shoji separates the warmth of your room from the chill of the engawa. It is a happy coincidence that your maid had been taught to play the koto some years ago when she was still an eligible maiden. But her father grew ill and when he passed her mother sent her off to find work to support herself because she couldn’t afford a dowry to marry her off properly. So she sits and serves, waiting for you to name your song of choice with her fingers poised over the strings. The song you choose is one of comfort, the first your mother ever taught you when you were learning to dance and play. There’s a practiced grace to your movements, smooth as a flowing river as you dance with your fan. The song is short but it is always your favorite to perform.

A rare beauty in the north, she’s the finest woman on earth. A glance from her, the city falls. A second glance leaves the nation in ruins. There exists no city or nation that has been more cherished than a beauty like this.

Flecks of snow melt against the bare nape of your neck, so cold it feels like burning, but you want to keep dancing. The weather has no bearing on your mood. Rain or shine you are happy to sing and dance, amusing yourself as you wait to be of use to your lord husband. Perhaps he has already returned home along with his new bride but without the order to accompany him you will stay in your room, performing to your heart’s content. Your maid begins to pluck out the notes of your next song request, fingers stuttering over the strings as if she’s forgotten how to play the melody. That’s alright, you will dance even without proper music, swinging your fan with practiced poise as your voice contests with the howling of the storm. It’s a song of longing and melancholy. Fitting for a woman separated from her husband.

Are you going away? Leaving me alone? How could I live if you’ve gone away? Are you going away? Leaving me alone? I want to keep you unhappy with me. I fear you may never return. Sadly, I will let you go–

“Stop whining, I’m here.” A voice interrupts your singing, a smooth timbre that rumbles like a roll of thunder. So please, come back soon after you leave. In a heartbeat you’re on the floor, kneeling before your husband. Lord Sukuna is soiled from his travels. Kimono stained and torn, the scent of blood lingering heavily around him, along with the buzzing aura of excess cursed energy leaking into the cold air around him.

“Welcome home, Lord Sukuna.” He purrs at how you prostrate yourself at his feet, always so satisfied with your absolute submission. He once told you your lack of fear was something intriguing, your unwavering adoration far more interesting than submission borne of fear. It’s something he’s found in so few of his followers and you imagine it’s why he shows such preference for Uraume’s company. Of all of your husband’s subordinates, they are by far the most devout. Perhaps even more than you because they know what Lord Sukuna is trying to achieve with all the calamity he causes. Your lord husband has never made you privy to that knowledge, and as a good wife you remember it is not your place to ask. If you are meant to know something, he’ll tell you.

“Get out.” His voice is thick with something akin to revulsion, though you don’t bother to raise your head. Lord Sukuna hasn’t spoken to you so gruffly since you first proved your devotion to him. Behind you there’s the sound of frantic movements as your maid assumedly makes herself scarce in the presence of her master. When she’s gone Lord Sukuna gives you permission to lift your head. In the low light, you can hardly see his face. It’s hard to tell Lord Sukuna’s mood even in bright lighting. He hardly changes from his stoic expression unless there’s blood being spilled, then a smile–more like a deranged baring of his fanged teeth–finds its way onto his face.

“Come bathe with me.” He doesn’t wait for you to react, already halfway down the engawa by the time you gather yourself enough to stand. Lord Sukuna traverses the estate with practiced ease, as if this was his childhood home and not all place of residence usurped from some affluent family. Though the perks of Lord Sukuna’s minions commandeering such a luxurious home for their leader and his family are the accommodations afforded to only the highest nobility. Because only families with more money than time to spend it can afford to build their home large enough to encompass a hot spring along with all the other necessary land. The air is humid around the bathhouse, curtained with steam as clouds of warm air seep out of the secluded space.

Lord Sukuna stands expectantly at the edge of the rocks surrounding the steaming pool, waiting for you to fulfill your wifely duties. With great haste you begin to undress him. His kimono is ruined beyond repair, delicate white silk tattered and stained with browning patches of blood. Still, you take great care in folding each article as it’s removed from his body. There’s no added layers despite the inclement weather, no added underclothes beneath the outer layer of clothing. Your hands reach skin sooner than you expected, flinching away from the warmth of his muscles as if his skin were an open flame. Despite your status as his wife and your consequently intimate knowledge of his body, you still err on the side of caution when it comes to touching Lord Sukuna. He had only asked you to undress him, not to run your fingers over the corded muscles of his arms. Luckily, your husband seems unconcerned with the wayward touch. Instead of snapping at you he rolls his shoulders as if the layers of clothes had been restricting his movements. In all likelihood, they probably have.

Lord Sukuna is something that is no longer human. A higher being ascended beyond the physicality of a normal man, as if his body could no longer handle the brunt of his power and needed to evolve to fit the newly emerging shape of his soul. Once, before you first laid eyes upon him, Lord Sukuna had the appearance of a mere man. An unremarkable face and body. But now he has become something beyond the shape of a human. “A two faced demon with four arms,” as the members of your clan had called him when talks of appeasing the great King of Curses began whispering through the halls of your maiden home. Of course his rumored differences held no bearing on whether or not the clan would be willing to sacrifice a bride to satisfy the Disgraced One. His four eyes and black markings make no difference to your devotion. He is still the husband you’ve dedicated your life to.

Tentatively, you try to strike up a conversation as Lord Sukuna settles himself in the warm pool. “Has Fourth Mistress arrived yet?”

“Yes, she arrived before I did. I expected you to be with the others, fawning over her. Why weren’t you?” His tone is calculated as if he is trying to decide if there is cause for punishment. Your next words are chosen carefully.

“First Mistress did not think–it was requested that I not attend to Fourth Mistress’ arrival.”

“Are you not my wife?” Lord Sukuna asks, annoyance thick in his tone. Of course you are. In this life you are nothing if not his wife. “I expect that you’ll act your part. The lady of the house is meant to greet guests upon their arrival. I don’t care what Jurina says. You’re of noble birth. You know the rules on how to conduct yourself. Act like it.”

“Forgive me for speaking out of turn, my lord, but I am not the lady of the house. That is First Mistress Jurina’s title.” To go against your husband’s word is wrong, reason enough for him to lash out at you, but it is the truth that Jurina is always reminding you of. She is First Mistress, the matron of the estate. It is you that is a lowly concubine in comparison to her status as a legal wife. Lord Sukuna bristles at your insolence and you duck your head to receive your reproach. He’s a short distance away, submerged to his waist in the warm water, but Lord Sukuna can move like a striking snake. It would only take half a beat of your heart for him to reach you and tear it from your chest if he so desires it.

Tonight’s admonishment is far less violent. Coming in the form of a disparaging growl before he snaps at you to undress. You do so with the same care that you disrobed your husband. As his wife, you are an extension of him, and you dare not mistreat his items in his presence. Once your clothes are folded you approach Lord Sukuna with hesitant steps. You’ve discovered that drowning and burning are the worst means of death and the boiling water of the hot spring is a combination of both. Still, if tonight will be wasted on death, at least it will come in Lord Sukuna’s arms. He reaches to help you into the water, drawing you close while his second pair of arms stay splayed on the rocks behind him. He moves you as he pleases like a doll being perched on a shelf, positioning you to straddle his thigh.

“Look at me, woman.” His tone doesn’t sound angry, but that has never been a successful way to guess at Lord Sukuna’s intentions. He can execute someone with a smile. You hope he’ll offer you that same cruel grin when he pushes hot beneath the bubbling water.

“I do not care what order I married any of you in. It should be clear by now that you are the woman of this house. First or third, it doesn’t matter. Jurina’s words hold no weight over you. Do I make myself clear?” There’s a franticness to the way you nod your head, chirping out a pinched “yes, Lord Sukuna!” as he holds your chin to keep your eyes on his.

“You’re the only wife that matters to me, stupid woman. The rest,” he scoffs, “I wouldn’t spit down their throats even if their lungs were on fire. Even the new one. Jurina is nothing and no one. I will kill her right now if it will please you.”

And that had been the original crux of Jurina’s jealousy. The priority with which Lord Sukuna always seemed to treat you. There were always rumors about the estate that you are the favored wife, the one that truly matters, but it is hard to believe rumors when Lord Sukuna hardly does anything to validate them. Though his constant quelling of his temper in your presence should be evidence enough. It’s a rare thing for your husband to lash out at you, but you always assumed it was simply because you were careful with your actions. Never giving him any reason to turn his ire against you. It’s plain to see now that the reason for your persisted well treatment is simple. You are his favorite wife.

Possessive as he is, Lord Sukuna has favorites in everything. Cursed weapons that he favors over all others, and servants that he calls on more often than the rest. To know you hold weight among his most precious possessions is dizzying. Of course, to Lord Sukuna, a favorite thing is a useful thing. It’s easy to imagine that you’re the most useful of his four wives. Neither of your seniors have remarkable cursed techniques despite hailing from quite notable families in the hierarchy of the jujutsu world. And any technique they do possess is woefully untrained as is expected of women in the world of sorcery. Women of jujutsu-laden clans are meant to be vessels from which the next generation of male sorcerers are born, not taught to be sorcerers in their own right.

It was only by a terrible coincidence that you were able to train your own technique. A jealous cousin and a well. A harsh push to your back after she whispered about how she should be the one to marry first despite her inferior talents as a homemaker. She got her wish, the husband she so covetously desired. Last you heard she’d been returned to your family’s estate after being set aside for a more fitting woman.

When she pushed you, falling felt like flying and dying felt like burning as your lungs filled with water. In the end you’d spent nearly a week at the bottom of that seldom used well, floundering for your life as your cursed technique kept you in a constant loop of dying and reviving, bursting back to life stronger than when you died. Chrysalis is what your family had taken to calling your ability when you were finally fished out with a bucket of water. Death was something impermanent to you, though the manner of which you passed holds bearing on how long you’ll be stuck in your “cocooned” state. You imagine being killed by means of jujutsu would kill you properly, forever, but no one has been bold enough to try. Certainly not now that you are a treasured wife of the King of Curses. Though you’re sure Lord Sukuna will kill you eventually, when your purpose has been served. For now, it seems your purpose is to provide him with the comforts a wife can offer her husband.

“Kiss me.” He commands, hand on your jaw already pulling you towards him. There’s never been anything delicate about Lord Sukuna as far as you could tell. He’s always had an air of harshness to him, something wild and untamed that bleeds into his every movement. You’ve decided it must be because he lives the same as you, unimpeded by the world around him. The King of Curses bows to nothing and no one, so why should he govern himself by the laws and morals of humanity. Kindness, restraint, it doesn’t seem to exist to your lord husband. The same way fear no longer exists to you. So when Lord Sukuna’s hand–large enough to hold your head in his palm–pulls you towards his fanged mouth, you feel nothing but unadulterated lust. It’s unbecoming of a woman to find herself so lost in her bodily whims but you’re no longer just a woman. You’re Lord Sukuna’s woman, and within the walls of his home, shame no longer exists. You melt against him as his sharp teeth find the softness of your lips. Blood spills between your open mouths, dripping down your bodies before dripping into the water with a soft tinge of pink.

“Sweet,” he hums.

It’s no secret that Lord Sukuna is prone to fits of bloodlust so blinding he’ll tear his teeth into anything soft he can find, no matter the origin of the flesh. Animal or human it’s all the same when he’s tearing his claws through a warm body. He’s mentioned sampling your body once. How he’s thought about tearing off bits and pieces of you to taste. Of course, he told you that he would only maim you in such a way as punishment for misbehavior–it hardly matters when death would only find you mended and made anew–though it hasn’t stopped him from sinking his teeth into you when he’s wrapped up in another kind of lust.

Usually imperceptible if you aren’t looking for it, the only sign of Lord Sukuna’s arousal stands proudly between your legs, so large they breach the surface of the water as he holds you steady in his lap. His upper arms are still splayed out on the stone behind him as he reclines as if he is seated on a throne. He’s shown you what a throne fit for the King of Curses would look like, but only once. In his domain. An infinite wasteland bathed in blood with a single shrine standing at its heart. A corrupted chinjusha of flesh and bone. All gaping maws and cracked skulls. A shrine dedicated to the only higher power Lord Sukuna will ever respect; himself. The strange mouth splitting a seam between his muscles always reminds you of his Malevolent Shrine, of the four grotesque mouths that stand where the four doors of a shrine would be. Its tongue is strangely textured, like that of a cat’s as it lolls out of his stomach to lap at your skin. Sometimes you find yourself wondering if Lord Sukuna has control over the appendage or if it acts of its own volition each time the grainy feeling drags over your body, but it isn’t your place to ask. Who has control or not, it doesn’t matter. Lord Sukuna is your husband and you relish even the smallest touch whether it’s intentional or not.

“Are you going to please your husband?” He asks. The answer is always simple. Yes. It is your sole purpose now that he’s taken you as his wife and torn your world into the smallest pieces until only this single scrap remains. It’s becoming so precious no matter how small and defaced it becomes. Sometimes you wonder what would happen if you stepped out of line. Tried to leave the estate, tried to defy Lord Sukuna. In truth, you’ll never know. Your husband is your world and your world is your husband. Of course you will do everything within your power to please him. He seems satisfied with just the look in your eyes as you stare up at him, waiting for his next command. If it would please him you’d slash yourself open, spill your innards into his lap and watch him feast on your flesh. His true wish is far more gentle, something a more humble husband would ask of his bride.

“Touch me.” His clawed hand is already guiding yours to his stiffness, wrapping your fingers over the length of him. It’s so strange that curses can bleed, but Lord Sukuna isn’t exactly a curse nor is he a human. He’s something more but his heart beats just the same. You feel it in your palm as his cock twitches in your grip, thick veins thrumming under his skin. Perhaps it’s the water or more likely it’s something innate to your husband because he always feels hot to the touch, his skin is nearly scalding as you wrap your hands around his twin cocks, fingers spread too wide to touch around his girth. Lord Sukuna looks pleased as he leans back, eyes watching you as if to catch a flaw in your presentation. A rogue frown or unintended scowl that would prove your supposed dedication false.

Even after so long he’s waiting for you to break, to truly realize what you’re doing and be disgusted enough to shrink away. The only thing you feel at this moment is heady arousal. It pools like molten lava deep in your stomach, seeping between your legs and into the water. There’s been no permission given so you remain still, but your hips ache to shift against the strength of Lord Sukuna’s chiseled thigh, to relieve a bit of the tension his lingering gaze has caused. But his hand hasn’t strayed from your hip, in fact his grip has tightened with each stroke of your hands. There’s a stinging bite as his claws dig through your skin, burying deep enough to draw blood despite the composure still set in stone on his face. He is still a man in some regard. Still a husband enjoying the touch of his wife. The thought blooms sweetly in your chest, lifting a soft smile to your lips. Lord Sukuna notices in an instant, four eyes still trained on your face. He snatches your chin up, straining your neck with how quickly he guides your eyes towards his.

“What are you smiling about, brat?” Another attempt to catch you in a lie, to find some falsehood in your contentment. Even your lord husband finds himself questioning if your happiness is true. You thumb over the head of one of his cocks, bringing the taste to your lips. And because he is watching you so intensely you make a coquettish show of dragging your tongue over the pad of your finger, gasping when Lord Sukuna’s fingers bury deeper into your delicate skin. There will be cuts and bruises when he’s done with you. There always are. Then your maid–or, on some occasions, Uraume–will come to tend to your body marked by your husband’s touch. You like the way your body burns when he’s through with you, memories of his touch simmering in your mind. He scoffs when you wrap your lips around your thumb. With a cruel smile he hooks his own thumb into your mouth, talon scraping against your tongue as he pulls your jaw until your mouth is as wide as you can bear with only the slightest twinge of pain.

Drool pools in your mouth, dripping out of the corners as they sting with the strain of Lord Sukuna’s strength. He sneers, looking pleased with the mess you’re making as he leans down to lick it up before spitting it back into your open mouth. You nearly choke and rush to swallow with a rattling cough. It tastes like blood, likely your own though you wonder if your husband sank his teeth into something before coming to you. The blood on his clothes looked dry, though you can never be certain with Lord Sukuna. You banish the thought, thrilled with the way he no longer seems to be dividing his focus.

Before he had looked uninterested, as if his mind was elsewhere even as he looked at you servicing him so happily. Now he’s leaned in close enough for you to see his eyelashes, a rare treat with his immense stature. He’s nearly all you can see, all you can feel and you revel in it as your world shrinks to this tiny pinprick. There’s nothing outside this bathhouse. Only the infinite nothingness that surrounds a domain. The world could come apart outside these four walls and you wouldn’t care as long as Lord Sukuna keeps you in his arms. As if he knows your thoughts, the very deepest desires of your heart, Lord Sukuna drags you up his leg by the hand still embedded in the fat of your hips and the feeling sings through your body as your clit catches against the firmness of his thigh. Your hands tighten around his cocks still pulsing in your hands, though his only reaction is the slightest twitch of his lip.

“Am I doing a good job, Lord Sukuna?” You ask around his thumb, truly desperate for approval. If you were any more pitiful he might’ve pet your hair like a loyal hound. Instead he laughs, something short and sardonic as his teeth nip at your cheek. Warmth blooms then drips down the curve of your face and you know he’s broken skin once more.

“Enough with the stupid questions. If you want my praise you know how to earn it. Show me how badly you want it and I might reward your efforts.” You slip from his lap, mourning the loss of his leg pressing between yours as you kneel in the water. It’s up to your neck as your knees meet the bottom of the pool, steam billowing like a veil in front of your eyes as you center yourself at the apex of Lord Sukuna’s thighs. He’s spread out above you like a proud effigy, a statue meant to be worshiped. You feel a transcendent kind of devotion kneeling at the feet of your lord husband. The taste of him lands heavy on your tongue as your lips tease at the head of his dick, swallowing him in slow increments. Despite the harsh preparation of your mouth, you still wish to savor every moment spent servicing your husband.

His face is clouded in shadows again as he leans back, head tilted towards the ceiling. The lanterns flicker playful shadows across his body, highlighting and shrouding pieces of him as you bow to take him into your mouth in earnest. Your jaw still aches from the way he nearly unhinged it, but it works in your favor as your lips wrap around his length.

There’s nothing dignified about the way you’re swallowing his dick, little focus being allotted to your own comfort as you take him as deeply as his size will allow. His body is strange, of course, but it’s all you’ve ever known of a man. Aside from Lord Sukuna you’ve never seen any man bared beyond his chest, although you know innately that humans aren’t meant to have the endowments he does. His second cock presses against your cheek, dribbling over your skin as you hollow your cheeks until Lord Sukuna’s thighs twitch. Muscles seizing tighter as the head of his cock meets the tightness of your throat. Breathing is far from your mind, a need secondary to pleasing your husband. It’s a messy endeavor and you loathe to think of how terrible you must look. It’s always been a point of pride to preen yourself to perfection because husbands like their women to look beautiful when they arrive home, or at least Lord Sukuna seems to prefer it. Though he never seems bothered by what is surely a horrid display as split slicks down your chin and tears dot along your lash line as you gag around his dick.

Lord Sukuna flicks your forehead after a while, likely drawing another scratch between your brows. It’s a fraction of his power. It’s likely he could take your head apart as easily as squashing a peach under his heel yet he hardly puts effort behind the reproach. Only enough to draw your attention as he drags you, coughing and drooling, off of his cock. They’re both gathered into one fist so he can drag the taste of his leaking precum over your parted lips.

“You know better.” Lord Sukuna does not take things in half measures. His intentions are clear. If you’re going to pleasure him, do it right and do it well. Your jaw pops open again, wide enough to take his twin cocks into your mouth. He stretched and strained your mouth but there’s only so much that can be done with the sheer size of him. And while he does well to shield his thoughts at the best of times, you imagine he must be gleaning a fair bit of pleasure from your messy sucking as his hand remains in your hair. His claws scratch against your scalp, gentle enough to keep your skin intact as he keeps your mouth wrapped around him. A burning type of exertion settles painfully in your jaw but you’ll endure. Lord Sukuna never likes to keep you like this for long. With both of his weeping cocks tangled between your lips you can hardly take more than the head of each. In the end, his preference will always be the wet heat brewing between your legs. Another bout of pain sings through your scalp as Lord Sukuna pulls your mouth away from him, leaving threads of spit dripping between your bodies. His thumb brushes over your bottom lip, pressing against the grooves where his teeth bit into your skin until they begin to bleed anew.

He manipulates your body as if you’re merely a puppet dancing on strings. A flex of his arm and you’re lifting off your knees, hips stretched wide to accommodate the width of his body between them. His spit-laden cocks are pressed between your bodies, grinding into the soft expanse of your stomach as he pulls your bleeding mouth to his. He suckles at your torn skin, humming at the taste of your blood seeping onto his tongue. His hands find your hips, pressing into the marks he’s already left there as he hikes you higher against his body. The tongue lolling out of his stomach finds its way between your thighs, lapping at the mess that’s left after the water washed away the first wave of your arousal. It’s nearly too much with how textured the wide appendage is but you welcome any type of relief you can find as Lord Sukuna pulls your head to the side quick enough to send a stinging twinge up the column of your neck. The pain is only intensified as he noses against the soft curve where your neck meets your shoulder, as if he’s looking for something.

His tongue sweeps over your skin before his fanged teeth make a home in it. There’s a rippling groan that thunders in his chest as a true taste of your blood spills into his mouth. Before long, your head is spinning from blood loss. Lord Sukuna must feel the change in your pulse as it turns slippery, harder to catch beneath your skin. He pulls away with a satisfied groan as his hands press your hips deeper into the expanse of his lower tongue.

“Enjoying yourself, brat?” Lord Sukuna sneers, and because you have no sense of shame you find yourself nodding earnestly. He’s hardly touched you and what touches he’s shared have been steeped in equal parts pain and pleasure, yet you’ve enjoyed it all the same. It’s awkward and teasing because there’s no tact to the way his lower tongue moves between your legs. It’s like striking a flint without starting a fire, dull sparks of teasing pleasure that leave you wanting more. You’d rather have his face between your legs and a more dexterous tongue teasing you to the edge, but it would be presumptuous to make any kind of demands of your husband especially when he’s a man like Lord Sukuna.

In most regards, your pleasure is incidental. Secondary to his own. So when his teeth snap over his claws, biting the sharp points into flattened nubs, you feel your excitement growing. He’s learned from experience that his rough treatment of your body should not extend to certain places. After only a few times he pressed his clawed fingers inside you, Lord Sukuna learned that it would better serve him if his nails were dulled before he went poking them inside you. And they’ll be grown back to full length by night’s end. He can manipulate the shape of his body as easily as fire melting snow. His hand smooths over the side of your body, sliding against your ribs and hips as he makes his way between your legs. His fingers plunge inside with little warning, forcing you open with a swiftness you could almost call desperation. If something so undignified could ever be said about the King of Curses.

Lord Sukuna is a behemoth, dwarfing you in every regard, and his hands are no different. His fingers reach deep inside you, stroking over the place that has your back bowing as he makes space for himself inside you. He hums at how easily you take his fingers, sounding somewhere between amused and approving. It flutters through your chest and settles atop the arousal already building inside you.

“Give your body to me, woman. Open yourself to your king.” You try to say something as he slips another finger inside you but it comes out as little more than a breathy whine. This is already too much and yet it can’t compare to how full you’ll feel when he gets his cocks inside you. His fingers are a luxury offered in preparation for his true reward and you take it happily. He smirks at the way your thighs strain as you try to grind against his touch. The heel of his hand is pressed tight against your clit and you buck your hips against the feeling. Lord Sukuna’s skin is thick, nothing like the softness of your own and it feels just the right amount of rough against your clit. One of Lord Sukuna’s hands finds your hair again, yanking hard until you’re looking up at him with tears shimmering in your vision.

“There’s my spoiled brat. This is how you act. This is how the wife of a king is meant to be. Take what you want, woman, take everything I give you.” A dark laugh booms through the room as you whine and paw at Lord Sukuna’s chest. He adds another to the litany of scratches decorating your skin as his teeth nip at your neck, distracting you from the sting of another finger finding its way inside you.

“You were made for this,” he reminds you. “Made to be mine. My bride. You can take it.” He sounds almost patronizing, voice softening to a teasing lilt as his thumb presses against your clit. Like with everything, Lord Sukuna is harsh, forcing you to the edge quicker than expected. Each curl of his fingers yanks at the string tightening inside you, pulling you closer and closer to the edge as he moves his hands with inhuman speed inside you. Everything is hard and fast and your thighs start to tremble in his hold, body shivering as Lord Sukuna all but wrings the orgasm out of your body. You clench hard around his fingers, pussy dripping down your thighs as you try to steady yourself with your hands on Lord Sukuna’s shoulders. He allows it, revels in it as he pulls you into another bloody kiss. But even as you tremble in his arms, Lord Sukuna doesn’t stop. His thumb is still circling your twitching bud even as you try to whine out a plea for mercy. It only brings a fanged smile to his lips.

“Take it,” he grunts, “I know you can.” It really feels like you can’t. The tension brought on by your orgasm hasn’t dispersed and you feel like a knot being pulled ever tighter, back curling until your face is buried against his chest. He smells like the bath. Like sweet oils and wildflowers as your nose is buried against his scalding skin. With your forehead pressed against his chest your eyes have nowhere to look but down. Down at the way his cocks are straining to be touched, flushed and leaking just out of reach. You look up to distract yourself with the black markings etched into Lord Sukuna’s chest. Your kisses are sloppy, wet and open-mouthed as your tongue peeks out to trace the shape of each tattoo. It’s not until your teeth begin to nip at his chest that Lord Sukuna scruffs you once more.

“Trying to leave a mark on me, brat?” As if you could. Your teeth are likely no different than trying to pierce his skin with a blade of grass. “What a greedy little bride I have. So eager to defer to another wife’s authority when you’re this possessive of your husband. Isn’t that right, woman?” You try to shake your head. Of course, you aren’t possessive of him, you know your place. You are the Third Mistress. Perhaps you are his favorite but there is a hierarchy that must be upheld in the household. To so brazenly try to claim full authority over your lord husband would be lunacy. There is no higher authority than the King of Curses himself. You’re simply a pebble lingering in the shadow of the highest mountain.

“Yes you are,” he grins. You whine as he pulls his hand from between your legs. “Look at the mess you’ve made trying to mark me up like a bitch in heat.” There’s no sense of embarrassment welling at his degrading words. What sense is there in hiding how well your husband pleasures you? And Lord Sukuna seems proud as his tongue licks up the mess you’ve made on his hand before pressing a kiss to your parted lips. You taste yourself on his tongue. Your blood and your pleasure.

“You’re going to take me so well, aren’t you?” It’s hardly a question. Simply an ordered phrased as if you could deny yourself the feeling of being split open on Lord Sukuna’s cocks. He starts with one, always. Dragging the leaking head through the mess he’s made of your cunt, tapping against your clit until he finally presses inside. His body is a marvel and you’re blessed to be so acquainted with it as the length not pressing inside you grinds against your clit as he makes you take him as deep as your body will allow. Lord Sukuna has been known to be rash and unpredictable, a being of pure chaos when the mood strikes him, but when he’s with you like this everything he does is deliberate.

He’s rough but not destructively so. Yes, you’re bleeding as he bounces you in his lap, drawing a litany of breathless sounds from your lips, but he’s always intentional when drawing blood. You’ve been trained well in these years of marriage to take him. To weather any storm Lord Sukuna throws at you. His hands are bruising on your hips as he drags you up and down his length, hands that could shatter your bones with the slightest bit of effort and yet he only uses enough strength to hold you close. You’re not deluded enough to think that Lord Sukuna loves you, certainly not in the way a lover should, but he cares enough to treat you with a level of gentility.

“Thank you,” you babble it like a prayer, over and over. Worshiping at your husband’s altar for even the briefest thought given to your safety, your pleasure. It can never be said that Lord Sukuna is a neglecting lover, at least not with you. He’s everywhere all at once. Hands on your hips and at your breasts, pinching at the aching peaks of your nipples. His face is buried against your throat, teeth surely raising welts as his tongue laps at the taste of blood and sweat dampening your skin. You cling to him in turn, nails digging into the thick muscles of his arms with no hope of ever drawing blood. Still, he grunts out a laugh as you drag your dull nails across his skin, leaving nothing but the whisper of claw marks behind. An arm slips out from under your grasp, unbalancing you, but Lord Sukuna is quick to steady your boneless body as he reaches between you to take hold of his second cock. It’s thick and straining, leaking against your skin as he presses it in beside the first. The stretch is harsh, a stinging pinch between your legs soothed only in part by his thumb drawing shapes against your clit. He hushes you when your whining gets too loud, hands clamping tight to your hips to keep you from squirming away from taking all of him.

“Be a good wife and accept your reward.” Lord Sukuna hisses as he presses deep inside you. The weight of him settles like molten heat inside you, his hand pressing over the shape of himself through your stomach. “Hush, you can take it.” He hisses, biting at your cheek as tears well in your eyes once more. It doesn’t hurt, but it’s a strange feeling to be so full all at once.

“My pretty wife.” He’s only this sweet when he has you close to breaking, teetering on the edge of insanity from the way he’s taking his pleasure from your body. “Look at me, woman. Keep your eyes on your king.” It’s hard to look anywhere else. He isn’t sweating, this is hardly more than a leisurely stroll for him, but the humidity has left his skin beaded with moisture. It makes him shimmer in the torchlight like the divine being that he is, wasting his time on a creature as lowly as you. It’s your blessing that he’s so enraptured with you at the moment. Your eyes slip shut, tears streaming down your cheeks as every corner of your body feels lit aflame, the heat only made worse as Lord Sukuna’s hand finds your jaw.

“I said, eyes. On. Me.” He growls. With a bit of resistance, your eyes flutter open, white light swimming at the edge of your vision as Lord Sukuna drags you to the precipice of insanity. He’s close. Far less careful and coherent as he drags you up and down his lengths with startling strength. He’s pressing against every sweet spot inside you, igniting a thousand flames at once that threaten to swallow you whole. There’s a pitchy mantra of “wait, wait, wait” playing on your tongue but it only seems to further entice your husband.

“You gonna sing for me, woman? Go on, let me hear something pretty when you come for your king.” He’s taunting you, laughing at how shrill your voice sounds. It nearly does sound like you’re singing as you wail his name, back bowing as he rips another orgasm from your spent body. It’s as quick as a lightning strike and nearly as blinding, eyes clouding white for a moment as you fight to keep your eyelids from fluttering. From taking your eyes off Lord Sukuna for even a moment. You feel yourself clawing at him, clinging and grasping to keep yourself grounded as pleasure shatters through your body. Vaguely you can hear Lord Sukuna laughing, something tinged dark with amusement as he works you through your orgasm. He has no patience to wait for you to regain your breath, to see the light of coherence return to your eyes. Instead, his hands grip tighter to your waist, nails biting into your skin as he works you faster over his cocks. His voice dips low, a rasping gravel as he grunts, squeezing every bit of his own pleasure from your body. It’s barely a change, just the slightest shift, but you’ve done this so many times that you can almost sense when he gets close.

Lord Sukuna gathers your loosening muscles back into some semblance of an embrace, holding you tight to his chest as he pushes your hips low enough for your bodies to meet in earnest. The feeling is a wet slide of skin against skin, the mess of your joined pleasure slicking up your bodies. It nearly feels like choking as he holds you still, the shape of him pressing every so slightly against the softness of your stomach. He’s more gentle now, but only by a hair’s breadth, as he thumbs over the shape of his body making a home for itself inside yours. There’s always a hint of softness at the edges of moments like this. A bit of the darkness bleeds from Lord Sukuna’s eyes as he guides your hips to grind against him, thumbing where he sees himself beneath your skin. Lord Sukuna has always been smart, his intelligence far exceeding that of your woefully undereducated mind.

There’s never been a time where you were certain of his thoughts, but in moments like these you think there’s a hint of curiosity sparkling in his eyes. Something desirous of the unknown and intangible. He moves in shallow thrusts, thumb dancing lazily over your puffy clit for only a moment more before he’s spilling inside you with a satisfied groan. But, still, he keeps you there. As if forcing your body to take to everything he’s given you. If it were up to you, your womb would quicken to give him a child; proof of your devotion. But even the fantasy sounds impossible. Lord Sukuna has shed his humanity and with it, you assume, his ability to continue his legacy by way of heirs. Though he hardly needs them.

Lord Sukuna is a shining beacon of the height of jujutsu, proof of what greatness can be achieved when you’re willing to go beyond the standards set out by society. He’s immortal, indomitable. Children would only be another jewel in his crown, more pawns to serve his greater will. And it’s unlikely such children of greatness will ever come to pass. In all your years of marriage, there’s never been a single moment where you thought for even a moment that Lord Sukuna’s seed took. And it likely never will. It’s wasted as he lifts you off of his softening length, everything he gave you dripping out into the spring water. The light flickers and for a moment it almost looks like there’s a spark of disappointment in his eye, then the torches shift again and the shadows are gone.

“You did well, woman.” He hums, running his hands over the length of your body. The heat of his palms and the babbling water works to soothe the aches and pains of being so thoroughly used by your behemoth of a husband. “Who do you love, wife?” He asks after the breath finally returns to your lungs. Of course it’s him. There is no one else. No man could compare, like a pebble being compared to a shining jewel.

“Good girl.” He says when you’ve finished your babbling. Like a true king, Lord Sukuna loves to hear his own praises and you’re more than happy to sing them. Sometimes it’s startling how perfectly the two of you exist together. He’s the sun and you’re a flower turning your face to gaze upon him always. Which of his other wives could ever share in a fraction of your devotion? No one will ever love Lord Sukuna as you do, save for maybe Uraume. Perhaps they don’t love him, but there is a fine line between love and admiration. The loyal servant comes bustling into the bathhouse after Lord Sukuna has had his fill of soft caresses and breathless praises.

The fact that both of you are bare makes no difference to Uraume. They lift you from Lord Sukuna’s arms with startling strength, hands frigid against your skin as they guide you to sit and go about drying your body and combing your hair. It’s always strange to be tended to by someone other than your personal maid, more so when it’s by the hands of Lord Sukuna’s most trusted servant, but it seems Uraume sees you as an extension of Lord Sukuna as much as you do. They dry and dress you, sending you back to your room so that they may speak privately with your husband. Some time later when the bells of the estate are tolling for the Hour of the Dog, the strumming of your koto is interrupted further by screaming. Something bloodcurdling terrified as it rings through the house, echoing into the snow speckled night. Vaguely you think of how the screaming sounds like First Mistress Jurina.

#sukuna ★#sukuna x reader smut #sukuna smut #sukuna x reader #jjk smut #★ mine!

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sukirichi · 2 months

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[ DUSK ‘TILL DAWN : 015 ]

“we who bear the burden of the crown do not need to love. you only need to stay here, with me, in power, in greed, in lust – in victory.”

cw. modern royal au. angst. physical violence (not to the reader.) manipulation. lying. angst. hurt and a little bit of comfort ig??

notes. feedbacks / reblogs/ comments are appreciated <3

wc. 10.4k

series masterlist

[ FIFTEEN ] scattered ‘cross my family line, i’m so good at telling lies – that came from my mother’s side, told a million to survive. . . i can’t forget, i can’t forgive you. ‘cause now i’m scared that everyone i love will leave me

“This was a mistake. We should get divorced.”

The tranquil song of the sea was deceptive. A vast expanse of silver under the soft glow of the full moon caressed Rintaro’s face, his handsome face heartbreakingly heartbroken. The moon hung low in the sky, casting a serene, almost ethereal light upon the two of you. On the distant coast, a lighthouse flickered, its beam briefly piercing the darkness before vanishing. The momentary light was enough to let you see – the truth, the split-second show of vulnerability within his eyes before it left only the memory of its glow.

Rintaro stood in front of you, at an arm’s length away but your heart worlds apart. The long line of spray marked where the sea met the land, its boundary evident. There, where the moon’s loght turned the sand into a luminous carpet beneath your feet, the waves lulled your racing hearts into quiet murmurs swallowed by the breeze.

You listened to his words – words that carried the weight of an ending unforeseen. Disbelief clouded your mind. You refused to accept what you just heard. Turning your head the other way, you bit down on your lip, hard enough you tasted the coppery tang of blood.

The rhythm of the sea was like the lilt of your heartbeat, steady yet trembling. It began, ceased, and began again, each cycle mirroring this endless round of circles you and Rintaro ran in – to loving, to hurting, to forgiving. Was this how ended? In a poorly-timed farewell?

You always knew this moment would come. Someone would have had to say goodbye. You just never thought the words would come from his mouth.

Your feet rooted deep in the sand, you listened to the melancholy refrain of waves crashing against each other. The moonlight reflected in the water, a silver path stretching into the unknown. You stood there, letting the sea speak the emotions too deep to be said out loud.

And what a moment it was – with the beauty of the night, the serene majesty of the sea, and bittersweet flicker of candles behind you.

It would’ve been easier if the sea held your sadness, with the moon as your witness in your quiet despair, the cliffs holding onto their stone each memory you knew you’d keep for many years to come. The night air, sweet and cool, carried away and brought with the wind your unshed tears.

This was a mistake. We should get divorced.

Rintaro’s words echoed in your mind, a cruel reminder that some stories, no matter how beautiful or tragic, all had its end.

“What did you say?” you licked your lips, forcing a smile despite the wobbliness of your knees. It couldn’t be, right? The night was going well. Fate couldn’t be so cruel – he’d just begun to love you. “I must have heard you wrong.”

Your husband turned away from you, his grip on the bouquet tightening. You watched as the flowers crushed between its force, its beauty drained with one just hand.

“You didn’t. I meant what I said – we should end this.”

“Why?”

His head snapped your way. “What do you mean, why?” he hissed, the bouquet slammed on the ground as he gestured to the air. His eyes were blown wide, frantic and desperate. “Look around you. Don’t you realize none of this feels right? Let’s drop the act, Princess. Neither of us truly want each other, and don’t tell me I’m wrong when I see the way you look at me.”

You reeled back, unknowingly clutching at your chest. “And how do I look at you?”

“Like you’re thinking of ways to get rid of me,” he spat out with a laugh, “Like-like you’re looking for the man who courted you two years ago, the one you truly wanted to marry. Well, I’m sorry to disappoint, because you’re not going to find him. He never existed in the first place. Whatever it is you’re looking for, you won’t find it in me,” his eyes blazed with fury, but then, as if the fire within him had been doused, his hands fell limply at his sides. “But you may find him in someone else.”

Rintaro’s gaze dropped to the floor. Sorrow filled his eyes, his expression softened before he spun on his heel. Turning away, your husband stepped forward.

“Take one more step–” you threatened him, hands balled into fists. “–and I will make you regret it.”

“Do your worst,” came his tired reply, his shoulders slumped. “I couldn’t care less.”

His steps were quick, as if he couldn’t waste any more time in getting away from you. It made blood boil within your veins. Before you could notice, you’d already crossed the distance in one breath, furiously grabbing him by the elbow and spinning him to face you. You were certain you look crazed – your face flushed, your cheeks damp with tears rolling down. He must’ve seen it too, his face falling at the sight of you.

“No! You think you can walk away from me? You think you can do all this–” you gestured to the beach around you, finding it harder to breathe with each word you spoke. “–buy me a house, tell me you envisioned a future with me, made love to me, and even prepared this dinner–”

“I didn’t do it for you. It was Kiyoomi who came up with this idea because he wanted to make you happy.”

Shaking your head, you shoved at his chest. “He wouldn’t do that. Kiyoomi wouldn’t be so cruel!”

“Oh, but I am for going along with it?” he snapped, closing the distance until his wrath enveloped you. “Get out of your head. Just because I did all those things for you, doesn’t mean they meant something. Are you forgetting I spent two years of my life trying to win you over, and I never once felt something for you other than tolerance?” When your face fell, triumph washed over his features. “That’s right. You remember now, don’t you? She’s the one I want. Everything I do is for her. Don’t forget your place.”

“My place? I am your wife. It’s my ring that you have on your finger. What place should I be forgetting? All of this is for me, you did this for me–”

“Oh, wake the fuck up, Y/N!” he bellowed, grabbing at his hair before he turned to glare at you. “I’m so tired of you going around acting like everything I do meant something. Has it never crossed your mind I could have just been bored? It didn’t, did it? Because you’re honestly foolish enough to let your guard down and believe that I wanted you!”

“Then why do all this if you didn’t?” you retorted, “You could become King as long as you married me and I gave you a son. You didn’t have to buy me a house, o-or act like you cared behind the cameras–”

“Well, are you? Are you with child?”

“No, but why does–”

“Then you have no hold over me. Marriage means nothing. This ring? This stupid fucking thing?” You glanced at the gold band at his finger, the one you watched roll over the floor on that day you gave it back to him. Rintaro hadn’t taken it off since, but now he looked at with resentment – like it suffocated him, choked him. “It means nothing. You cannot make me King if you don’t give me a child. And as long as you’re walking around without a baby in your belly, then you mean nothing to me. You have no purpose in my life.”

“So that’s what this is, then? Because she’s pregnant and I’m not?”

Rintaro’s face morphed into despair for a fleeting moment, so quick you questioned if you saw it at all. But almost as quickly, Rintaro’s posture straightened, his eyes hardening with steely resolve. Your breath caught in your throat – your suspicions confirmed.

So it was true. He knew.

And all of this – this house, that mocking conversation of building a family with you – it had been nothing but a cruel joke.

A strangled gasp escaped your lips. Stumbling back, your hands instinctively clutched at your chest as if desperately holding together the pieces of your shattered heart. The attempt was all for naught. The weight of betrayal crashed over you like a thundering wave. Each thought was a daggered stabbed to your soul as the pieces fit together – your husband, the one you loved, and his true love, now carrying his child.

Tears welled up, blurring your vision. You tried to hold them back, refusing to let him have the satisfaction that he’d succeeded in hurting you.

And it had been so easy, wasn’t it? He knew you so well, knew you like the back of his hand, that it came without too much effort that it was so easy to have you wrapped around his finger. One kiss, one tender touch, one proclamation of his so-called affections, and you would’ve broken your back bending to his will. He knew. He knew how easy it would be to win you over, and time and time again, you fell for it like the fool you were.

Everything burned. The pain was too raw, too overwhelming.

“You are cruel, Suna Rintaro. I regret the day I danced with you,” you gritted your teeth, digging your nails into your palm. Hard. “Perhaps you are right. We should get divorced.”

Rintaro sighed. “It’s for the best, even if it’s not what you think.”

“Because you can finally be with her, right? Your dream life is already coming true. You’re going to be a father, you’re going to spend a future with the one you love, and I’m hopelessly in love with you enough that I’ll just let it happen,” you smiled for him, clapping your hands together slowly and mockingly. “Congratulations. It’s everything you wanted. Things are finally going accordingly to plan. Should we open a wine to celebrate?”

He narrowed his eyes at you. “Stop acting like a child. You knew what you were getting into when you caught us together and still proceeded with the wedding.”

“You still blame me for that after everything I did for you?”

The silence hung in the air. Somehow, his lack of response already spoke a thousand words.

Unable to help yourself, you glanced at the beach house behind Rintaro. It stood proudly against the backdrop of the setting sun, its white walls glowing warmly in the fading light.

The memories came flooding all at once – the laughter you shared, the stolen kisses when he thought no one was looking, the whispered promises of a life you’d never life. You could almost see them dancing in front of you, like ghosts of the past, lingering in the shadows of the porch and taunting you with the fact it had been too good to be true. So many dreams built, so many dreams shattered.

Your heart ached in ways it shattered you bone-deep. It echoed from your chest and reverberated down to your feet as you recalled the nights you spent wrapped in his arms. His hands on your cheeks, a small smile on his face – when he still looked at you like he loved you and meant it.

But now? Now, that love felt like a cruel illusion – a beautiful dream turned into a living nightmare. The betrayal cut deep, deep enough it left behind the harsh hand prints on your soul. The wounds stinging hard that it might never heal. You forced yourself to tear your gaze away from it – from the swing on the porch swaying gently on the evening breeze, the window that once framed your silhouettes when you welcomed the sunrise together. Each detail was a stab to your already broken heart.

A stray tear fell on your cheek. Brushing it away, hands trembling, you took a deep breath – forcing the salty air to fill your lungs. “Was… was any of it real?”

Turning away from the house was the hardest part. Each step felt heavy, as if the weight of your memories were trying to pull you back. You cast one last, longing glance over your shoulder, your heart silently breaking anew.

Deep down, you already knew his answer. Still, it did not soften the blow when the words left his lips. It didn’t hurt any less when regret crossed his features, like somehow; a part of him wished it had been. “No. None of it was.”

“Okay,” you resigned, your body turned away from him, so he wouldn’t have to see be so pathetic anymore. When you finally spoke again, your voice came out as a breathy whisper. “You should go.”

You heard a slight shuffling behind you, followed by his mumbled words. “I never wanted to stay, anyway.”

When Rintaro walked away from you, each step he took was daunting, final. You didn’t know what hurt you more – the fact he never looked back, or the fact he never hesitated. But there was one thing that was made crystal clear to you now: it was never going to be you. How deeply unfair it was, that a man could say things he did not mean, do things he did not want to. How he could marry you and buy a house, and then turn you away at the next moment.

Love truly was a dangerous thing. It made you break down your walls, hopelessly and blindly handing your heart in the hands of someone, all while silently hoping they wouldn’t break it. And when it did, who would pick up the fallen pieces? Who would gather the shattered shards of your soul as it spilled like blood through his fingertips?

You didn’t have an answer for any of these.

Knees buckling, you fell into the sand, your palms sinking on it with its weight. You cried your heart out – the skies hearing your anguish as it echoed in the dead of the night. You screamed, begged, and called out for a God who never listened. The betrayal left a bitter taste on your tongue, a relentless ache that gnawed at your insides until it felt like nothing was left. As if you’d been hollowed out, bled out to dry, and discarded to the side.

You laid there for who knew how long. The flames of the candle had gone out, the food forgotten and cold. Sand had made its way into your joints and your hair. Your cheek felt crusty and hard from the dried tears. You cried and cried until there were no more tears left – watching from the horizon as the skies deepened into a darker shade.

Just then, a jacket fell on your bare shoulders. Stiffening, you raised your head from where you rested it on your drawn knees – blearily blinking at the figure before you. The man stood tall even with his legs bent, the faintest hint of spice mixing with the breeze.

Behind you, the Second Prince stood, his face devoid of any emotion. Yet, his eyes said it all. You are briefly shocked by how much you saw of yourself within him at that moment. The longing, the sadness – Kiyoomi wore his grief proudly. At the sight of you, his face softened. He offered his hands, one you took with no hesitance, and allowed him to pull you up to your feet. You two stood like that for a few minutes – unspeaking, and just staring at each other.

Kiyoomi was the first to look away.

“You’re cold. You shouldn’t stay out here,” tightening his jacket around you, the Prince suddenly pulled you in for an embrace. It happened too fast, faster than you could react. Before you knew it, your face was pressed against his chest, his heartbeat – strong and mighty – the only sound audible aside from the howling breeze. And you sunk into his hold as your tears stained his shirt, realizing a little too late how much you needed this – to be held so tightly like he feared letting you, like he could squeeze you hard enough and it would hopefully – eventually – piece back together the heart his brother had broken.

“Shhh. I got you, Princess. I’ll always be here for you.”

You’ve gone past the point of believing such flowery words. But when it came from Kiyoomi, you never doubted he’d keep the promises he’d made.

The once-vibrant beach house, filled with laughter and endless conversations, now stood in silence. Its walls held the unspoken truth that forever was not going to last. The gentle breeze that had always carried a promise of endless days spent in joy now whispered farewells through the rustling palms.

Rintaro had begun his farewells. Now, it was your turn to leave everything behind.

The Princes and their companions moved with quiet efficiency. Ever since that dreadful night, things hadn’t been the same anymore. No one spoke about what happened, but it didn’t take a fool to understand that romantic dinners weren’t supposed to end with you and Rintaro returning to the house hours apart – both miserable and mum. One quick look at you two, and the Princes began packing up.

Everyone knew their time had run up.

Casting a final, longing glance at the house, you breathed in the salty breeze one last time. The memories clung to you, each step you took feeling like a betrayal to the woman you could’ve been – the wife he could’ve had, and the mother you would’ve been. With a heavy heart, you watched as everyone loaded their luggage back to their respective vehicles, each one of them driving off. Their movements – along with yours – had been mechanical, as if the finality of their departure had numbed everyone to their core.

You looked out the window. The sun had began to greet the world with its morning kiss. The sea, once shimmering and glistening with spark-like waves, now seemed to mourn with you. The beach, scattered with the footprints of a happier time you’d said goodbye to, would soon be swept clean by the tides.

Any traces of the memories you made would be wiped clean by the world itself. If only it could give you a new beginning, too.

The journey back to the palace was somber. The rolling hills and distant forests passed by in a blur of muted colors – the world passed you by, in both the literal and metaphorical sense. If anything, the ride back felt like walking into your own death. A death march of duty and purpose. Speaking of duty… your hands cradled your belly. You weren’t pregnant, nor were you experiencing any symptoms. Rintaro knew this, too, otherwise he wouldn’t have thrown it in your face that you were merely nothing but a breeding mare for him – and a failed one, at that.

The palace loomed ahead, its grand spires and imposing walls reminding you of your reality.

Back at the beach house, your emotions were valid. There, you were a brokenhearted person who longed for true love. Here, though? None of that mattered. The Palace was not a place for emotions. It was a pillar, the foundation of what the Crown held – power, victory, wealth, control. Here, you were a Princess, and a Princess should always hold her head high.

You couldn’t do it. Bile rose up your throat each time you pictured yourself walking down its grand hallways, the gold shimmering and blinding you. Just the mere thought of the Queen studying you with her observant gaze made you squeamish.

You turned to Rintaro. “Can we please head to my parents instead?”

He looked at you like you’d grown two heads. The Palace was already in view. Still, his gaze darted at you, and back at the Palace, as if seriously considering it. Then, he pinched the bridge of his nose and slumped against his seat. “If you are doing this as an act of revenge–”

“I’m not. My parents truly did want to see us.”

Rintaro contemplated. Absentmindedly, he spun the ring on his finger, gazing down at it with an unreadable expression. His voice was light, and whisper-like as he said, “You cannot tell them about the affair.”

You pursed your lips. You never planned on doing so in the first place. Crossing your arms against your chest, you huffed. “Don’t worry, Your Highness. I never planned on ruining your perfect image.”

Rintaro didn’t bother with responding. Instead, he asked the driver to head back to the Yuzuru Estate, and quickly informed Her Majesty on the detour. It didn’t take long enough before you were surrounded by the familiar grove of trees that led to your place. The sound of wheels on cobblestone mingled with the soft murmur of the midday breeze. Outside, the manicured gardens and stately mansions blurred into a comforting embrace, their elegant silhouettes nostalgic. You couldn’t help but feel the need to reach out, to run your fingertips over the freshly mowed grass, or admire the shapely bushes designed to perfection.

You missed your home very much – one of the few places you felt solace in before your life turned upside down.

Pulling up into the driveway, your butler immediately opened the doors for you. There was a round of warm welcomes and joyful smiles. You’d missed them, too – all the loyal staff who took turns watching over you, even when they remained hesitant to properly acquaint themselves. Nevertheless, it was home. You greedily breathed the fresh air in, letting it fill up your lungs as you breathed out the darkness pooling at your chest.

The double doors opened, and the two of you were ushered in. A few minutes later, your mother came rushing past – a shawl drawled at the curves of her arms. A smile instantaneously, rising up from your seat to meet her halfway.

“My daughter, oh, how I missed you!” she laughed, the sound of it light and coloring up the room. Pulling back from the embrace, she cupped your face with her gloved hands – all her previous smiles slowly wavering. “My goodness, have you been eating well? Sleeping well? You look… different.”

You winced. It would be hard to hide things from her, but you had to try.

Leaning into her palm, you gave her the biggest smile you could muster – teeth flashed and all. “I’m okay, Mother. The Palace can just get a little exhausting sometimes.”

“Does your husband not help you with your duties?”

It was your father who spoke this time. He must’ve come straight from trimming the bushes; a sunhat covered his head, and he wore gardening gloves that were stained with grass and a miniscule of dirt. You didn’t miss the way his gaze leered at your husband. Rintaro was stiff behind you, having stood up as well as soon as your mother entered. “He does most of them, so I believe he is more tired than I am,” you supplied, pointedly ignoring Rintaro’s relieved sigh. Clapping your hands together, you walked towards your father with open arms. “But let’s not discuss any of that – how is everyone doing? I feel like it’s been forever since I last stepped in here.”

“Ah, no,” your father complained as he held you at an arm’s length away, “My clothes are soiled, and you are pristine. Do not bother yourself with getting dirtied.”

You pouted; your mother giggling behind you.

Being back at home was an instant medication. You hadn’t been here in months, yet the effect was evident – your shoulders felt lighter, your smile more natural. You’d stopped trying to think of Iris, too, yet you remained warily aware of your husband. And it was clear Rintaro was unsure of himself. He lingered longer on the doorways, his interactions with your parents more formal than it had been compared to the first time he called upon you. You couldn’t blame him for his discomfort – the question of his affair lingered on the air.

It was only a matter of time before someone addressed it.

A few hours later, with your stomachs filled with warm, homemade meals, you all moved out towards the back gardens. The garden stretched out in a lush expanse beneath the golden glow of the setting sun, each corner rich with the memories of your precious childhood.

Winding stone paths meandered through vibrant displays of blooming flowers – roses in shades of crimson and blush, peonies in soft pastels, and clusters of fragrant lavender. Elegant statues and an ornate fountain stood in the middle of it, their waters cascading beautifully. Majestic oak trees, their branches spreading wide in a serene embrace, provided cool, dappled shade – your signature reading spot from your teenage years.

You’d made many memories here; time spent with your father chasing you and your mother around as your gurgled giggles echoed through the air. It was also where your father taught you to use weapons (much to your mother’s distaste), and eventually, even a date spot when Rintaro wanted a reprieve from the public eye.

Rintaro and your father went ahead. Your father claimed he hadn’t properly worked out in a while, and that perhaps your husband could help him warm up. Beside you, you and your mother watched as the two men rolled their sleeves up to practice sparring. It’s a silly thing, but one you knew Rintaro enjoyed. He often spent time with your father like this when he was still courting you. They toyed with weapons, hunted birds, and sparred with one another. It was your father’s way of gauging Rintaro’s strength at first. Now, they simply did it as a way of bonding.

You smiled despite yourself.

You could still remember those times vividly, where warmth crept up your neck upon the knowledge your parents liked this boy you adored. You appreciated all his efforts, never once backing down from an absurd request from your mother, or another challenge from your father. Rintaro had proven to them, without fail, that he was dedicated in winning your heart.

He’d succeeded. It would be impossible if he didn’t.

He came every day, always at seven in the morning, with a bouquet of flowers that led you into reserving a room just to turn it into an indoor garden. He’d brought flowers for your mother, too, and you knew the moment she shed a tear at his sweetness, that he’d also won their hearts. The sweet ‘yes’ he’d been working hard finally came a year during the courtship. It was on that memorable night he’d driven you out for dinner – no drivers, no servants, no anything. Just you and I, he’d said with a smile, placing a kiss upon your knuckles.

It was the first night you’d kissed him, and the first night you stayed up awake as you lost the battle of trying to calm your racing heart.

If you’d known that early that his heart had already been occupied… No.

Even if you knew, even after you knew, it was too late. You were doomed from the moment he’d picked you out from the crowd. You’d resigned yourself to your fate when the throng of people parted for him as he made his way to you, wearing the most dazzling, lazy smile befitting for a Crown Prince.

You didn’t stand a chance.

You might’ve fallen in love the moment you stepped on his toes, and all he did was laugh.

“My dear,” your mother’s silken voice pulled you out of your trance. Smiling at her, you turned her way, silently sipping on the tea the servants had prepared. Before you, your mother twitched, playing with her fingers splayed on her lap. “I don’t mean to suddenly spring this up on you, but surely you’ll understand a mother’s curiosity and concern. So, tell me. Is it real? Is it true the Crown Prince is cheating on you?”

Your body froze. You’d seen this coming – known she would’ve asked one way or another.

“No, Mother,” you shook your head, dropping your gaze onto your lap in the hopes she wouldn’t see right through you. “His Highness would never. That article was already proven to be a hoax.”

“I see…”

You shared an uneasy silence. Seated across from each other, you stirred your tea absentmindedly, gaze drifting over the manicured hedges that framed the secluded nook. Your mother, poised and composed, sipper her tea with deliberate slowness. You could tell without looking at her that her inquisitive gaze searched for answers on your face. For signs of the truth you struggled to conceal with each passing minute.

The gentle clinking of porcelain and the soft rustling of leaves did little to alleviate the tension, the silence between you two growing heavier with each unspoken word.

Finally, your mother set her cup down and sighed. “I still remember the day the Crown Prince came to call on you,” she began, her words delicate and careful. Her gaze flitted to the two men before you, still elbow-deep in their sparring. “Your father and I didn’t want to believe it at first. You were always beautiful, of course, but you were such a shy, little thing. We worried you might grow old without striking a conversation with any man, but a Prince? A Crown Prince, no less? We were over the moon,” she shook her head at the memory, a small smile playing on her lips. “But then your father and I both agreed you didn’t deserve any lesser man. There couldn’t have been anyone else for you. The Crown Prince was perfect.”

He was, you wanted to agree, he used to be.

“I remember that day, too,” you mused, the image of the Prince with his slicked-back hair and three piece suit flashing in your mind.

You’d expected he would look out of your place in the Estate, whatnot with the royal crest on his chest, yet he never looked more fitting – surrounded by your family portraits and delicately gazing at your childhood photos.

“He was especially handsome – I’d say even more so than when he showed up for the Palace’s royal events.”

“Well, I wouldn’t be surprised. It was clear he wanted to impress us, and you, especially,” teased your mother with a slight poke of her elbow, her face softening. “I remember it all, my dear. How he would always share with us his plans for the dates he’d take you on, how he always took you home at the exact time he promised he would. He was a perfect son, the perfect addition to our small family. And I could never, ever forget how you changed when you met him.”

“I changed?” your brows furrowed, before you shrugged in agreement. “I suppose I have. Being with someone like him… I had to be conscious and aware of everything I did. Do you remember that, Mother? When I begged you to come shopping for clothes for me when you knew I never was interested in any of it?”

Your mother giggled behind her hands.

“I was so happy that day when you asked me to come with you! I thought my sweet girl was finally growing into a mature woman. But that wasn’t the change I was talking about,” she continued, sliding her chair closer to yours. Her palm landed on top of your knee, and she slowly caressed there – just like how she did when you first scraped your knees. And how healing it was, a mother’s tender touch on top of your wounds. It made you want to rip your heart out and shove it between her fingers, to silently beg her to make it all okay.

“…When you met him, you became radiant. In love. You smiled more often, and you opened up a whole new world that the Prince showed you. There wasn’t a day you didn’t speak fondly of him. And you had that look on your face, sweetheart–” she ran a finger down the side of your face, her eyes glistening with tears. You couldn’t understand why she looked so broken. “–it was in your eyes. Everyone could tell how much you loved the Prince.”

You swallowed, the smiles you wore becoming more and more faded. “Mother, I still love him.”

“I know, sweetheart, I can tell,” she cooed. Prying the cup from your hands, she immediately held your hands in hers, her warmth soothing as it seeped through her gloves. “But I also know you’re not happy anymore.”

Your resolve began to crumble.

“Mother…”

Your eyes began to glisten with unshed tears that you struggled to keep at bay. Despite your best effort, the façade of composure slipped. A single tear escaped, trailing a path down your cheek – and just like that – a dam had opened. The door holding your secrets unlocked. It was hard – painfully so – to pretend everything was okay when it was not. You felt like a little child again. A little girl craving her mother’s soothing embrace, and you couldn’t help it – you launched yourself into her arms, burying your face in the crook of her shoulder as your body shook with each sob.

“Oh, sweetheart,” your mother patted your back. Judging by the way her body quivered under you, she’d been crying, too. “It’s okay, I promise. Please, tell me what’s wrong. I can’t handle seeing you like this.”

“Mother, it’s…” you bit at your lip, trying to muffle the whimpers that passed your lips. “I’m sorry, it’s true. I didn’t want to lie, or have to hide it from you, but Rintaro loves you both a lot and I was afraid you’d hate him–”

“Oh! Oh, my poor baby. Never apologize, okay? It wasn’t your fault.”

You clutched her tight, her dress balled into your fists. A part of you told you that you should feel pathetic, that your actions weren’t Princess-like. That Her Majesty would frown at the sight of you and tell you to act your age. But you couldn’t muster the strength, not when your mother’s embrace was the only thing keeping you together – the only thing that told you it was safe enough to fall apart. And so you cried, your tears soaking her dress and the fabric wrinkling under your grip.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

Your mother’s sniffles was the last thing you heard before the sound of a fist connecting with skin resounded in the area. Pulling back, you gasped at what you saw.

Rintaro was lying on the ground, your father on top of him. Your father grasped Rintaro by the collar, delivering blow by blow to his face until blood spattered to the grass. Somehow, you managed to scream. The sound was ear-splitting as your heels hit the ground, clutching the ends of your dress as you ran for him. Rintaro wasn’t putting up a fight – his arms limp by his side, his head swaying with each merciless punch on his face.

“Stop!”

“You cheating bastard,” your father glowered, rearing his arm back for one final blow. “How could you do that to my daughter?”

“Father! Please, stop!”

The commotion caused servants to pour from every corner. The guards arrived, pulling your father back by the elbow as he struggled to free from their restraints. Meanwhile, your mother stood beside him – crying and dabbing her handkerchief at his blood knuckles. And you? You fell on the ground, uncaring that the grass had stained your dress, and loomed over your husband. “Rin,” you called out. A low groan was all you received, but it was enough. You breathed out a sigh of relief, immediately calling for the servants to bring some ice and towels.

“Get out of here! You aren’t welcome here anymore!” your father kept kicking and screaming, the sounds of your mother’s pleas falling on deaf ears. “I swear by the Gods your title won’t keep you safe, boy, you will regret it–”

“Get up,” hooking your arm around Rintaro’s elbow, you grunted at his weight. “Rin. Come on. Let’s go.”

Still dazed from being beaten, Rintaro’s legs wobbled underneath him. He groaned, finally wrapping an arm around your shoulders as you limped back to the house. Your father was still a screaming mess, but you knew your mother would calm him down eventually. For now, you needed to tend to his cuts.

You brought Rintaro up to your room. A servant had left an ice pack and some towels there already. Making Rintaro get rid of his bloodied shirt, he changed into one of your father’s – his wince displeased yet left with no choice. Once he’d changed into something clean, he sat at the edge of your bed, shoulders slumped and his handsome face bloodied and bruised.

The air was thick with uneasiness in the dimly lit confines of your room.

The soft glow of your candlelight flickered across the ornate furnishings and Rintaro’s wounds. You worked quietly before him, finding there was no need to speak. His face, usually lacking in interest and graced with slow, lackadaisical smiles, was marred by a collection of bruises and cuts.

Your hand trembled slightly as you carefully dabbed a cloth soaked in cool water against a swollen cheek. The Crown Prince, despite his physical pain, looked even more vulnerable under the soft lights – his usual demeanor replaced by quiet resignation.

With delicate movements, you applied salves, ensuring your touch remained tender and soothing. It wouldn’t erase the hurt from his body, but maybe your care would make it ache less. Each gentle stroke of your fingers served as a silent apology for the pain he endured. And the room, filled with the faint scent of healing balms and the soft rustle of fabric, suddenly felt all too intimate.

The silence between you was heavy, punctuated only by the occasional rustle of the bandages and the soft sighs coming from him. As you finished tending to his wounds, your eyes met, and for a moment, it felt like he was that young man from two years ago – fresh-faced, and red-cheeked upon entering a maiden’s room for the first time. He’d been so nervous back then, his hands clammy and drenched with sweat. In reality, that man was just a fragment of who he truly was now – your poor, bruised husband who winced at every tender, caring touch. As if your love wounded him, and cut him in ways he couldn’t heal from.

As if he just waited for that finishing blow to come from you instead, to be his final damnation.

But it never came.

In that fragile moment, Rintaro closed his eyes, leaning into the caress of your palm as it hovered beside his face. This gesture you remembered – of him accidentally cutting his palm open with a letter opener years ago, and when you’d wrapped bandages around his wound. He did the same thing and leaned into your touch, only to kiss the insides of your wrist. He’d looked up at you from under his lashes, his lips full and ready to be kissed. And kiss him you did, because then he’d been yours, and you’d been his.

You didn’t pull away then. You couldn’t pull away now.

Using your thumb to stroke his swollen cheek, you sighed, the sound tired and heavy. “Did you tell my father? Is that why he beat you up?”

“No. We barely spoke during the spar,” he informed, tongue darting out to lick the dried blood off his lips. “But he kept looking over at you and your mother. I reckon he was just waiting for you to reveal the truth eventually,” just then, Rintaro chuckled, wincing when the motion made his cuts split further apart. His smile remained, however, and you drunk his features in – the way he tipped his head to the side, his eyes hooded, with just the barest hint of a playful smile. “You were never a good liar, you know that?”

“Is that so?”

“Hmm,” he hummed, “On our second date, you told me you didn’t want to watch the movies because you were worried people might crowd us. But it was written all over your face how much you wanted to.”

That, you remembered, as well. You found it impossible how a Prince – a Crown Prince – could simply saunter to the theaters like he was any regular man. He was right; you did want to. You’d never been to the theaters since it was always crowded, and you never did well in the dark. But you soon learned the dark wasn’t so scary when he had his arms wrapped around you. If anything, it felt elating – having the Prince play with your fingers, his gaze never really focusing on the movie.

Rintaro’s jaw clenched, more so in thought. “You always kept things to yourself, always did things for me even when it made you uncomfortable. Was it because I’m the Crown Prince that you felt you couldn’t be honest with me?”

“Not entirely. I guess I was just afraid that if I didn’t do what you liked, then you would lose interest in me.”

“That would never happen,” he interjected, “The moment I laid my eyes on you, I knew you were the one I wanted to marry.”

The realization dawned on him a little too late. His words carried weight with its double meaning, and he winced. The moment was broken. The thread snapped right in front of your eyes. Pulling away from him, you quickly gathered the bloodied towels and set it aside. You made yourself busy, fully aware of his eyes on you, but you wouldn’t dare look back. You had a feeling that if you did, your mind would run rampant again on the last time he’d been here in your room, when your sheets still smelled like him, and he’d fucked you hard enough on your bed that your bodies left an imprint.

You wouldn’t look at him. You couldn’t.

“I’m sorry about what my father did.”

“It’s fine. I deserved every punch,” he shrugged it off, then smirked. “Although I’m probably less appealing in your eyes now. Bruised and all. I don’t look very Prince Charming-like.”

You snorted. “Since you wish for my honesty, then I’ll tell you now the whole Prince Charming act never suited you.”

“Really?”

“Yes. I liked you better when you finally became more comfortable around me. You weren’t as poetic as when you first started courting me, but you were more… yourself. You were funnier, and a lot more charming when you weren’t trying so hard,” you broke that rule all too easily, and you did look at him. You looked at him, even if you could never see through him. “To me, it felt like I wasn’t dating the Crown Prince at all. I liked the unfiltered version of Suna Rintaro better. The one who enjoyed silences, instead of filling it with flowery words to get my heart fluttering. The one who preferred phone calls over texts because you wanted to hear my voice before going to sleep. The one who I considered my closest friend, the one I knew I wanted to marry, too.”

He was beautiful like this – his shirt hanging loosely at his broad shoulders, his arms slightly leaning back as it dipped with his weight on the mattress. His hair was tousled, the dark locks beautifully framing his face. And his eyes – hazel and more brown than green as the orange ember glows kissed him – were something you could lose yourself in for hours. For forever, even.

Suddenly, you wanted the world to end this way. You wanted time to stop if it meant picturing him like this, frozen and unguarded, beautiful and smelling like your perfume. You would’ve died a happy man if it meant this would be your last moment. With him on your bed, his clothes on your floor, and your ring on his finger.

You yearned for him so badly your body ached.

“Princess,” he mumbled after a pregnant pause, his voice coming out small as he said, “Why don’t you hate me?”

“Who says I don’t?”

The smile you pulled from him is lighthearted; unresevered. “Let me rephrase my question. Why do you still love me?”

Because isn’t that what love is? To know someone’s flaws, and to accept them as who they are? To see all your bad mornings and watch you stumble into the bathroom, clumsy and hazy. To see you at your worst, to choose arguments with you than silence with you. I thought that’s what love meant – to see the ugliness in another and to defy the impulse to turn the other way in search of another, the ‘someone better.’

You don’t tell him that. Instead, you offer another truth. “I wish I knew how to answer that myself.”

“I’m afraid,” Rintaro admitted, voice vulnerable and small. “I fear that one day, your hatred of me will consume you, and you will forget why you ever loved me.”

The candles cast soft shadows off his face, flickering like the fleeting time of the time you had with him. Each flame pulsed with the restless ache in your heart as you recalled the moments of closeness and intimacy that was half-heartedly reciprocated.

Your gaze drifted toward the space where he’d once lain beside you, the indentation in the sheets a painful reminder of the absence that now filled the void. You wanted to tell him you hadn’t changed the sheets since he last slept here. The scent of his cologne still lingered in the air, he still had his own pair of socks in your drawer, he’d left a wristwatch or two behind. He was here everywhere in your room, even if his heart wasn’t.

And it was so hard – so fucking hard – to accept that he didn’t love you.

Want me, you pleaded silently, at least want me. Just a little bit.

With slow, deliberate steps, your hand rested lightly on the bed’s edge, your fingers brushing against the cool, smooth fabric, as if permanently pushing the warmth of his presence back to the bed. Your heart ached with a bittersweet yearning for a heart that was never fully yours, a yearning that clung to you until it wrapped its fingers around your throat.

He was here now, wasn’t he? He wasn’t leaving. He said he would divorce you, he said it was always going to be her, but he was here – in front of you, in your room. If you dared to reach out a hand and crawl close enough, you could fall into his lap and cradle his head to your chest. And it was exactly that passionate longing that would ruin you – because you couldn’t resist. You couldn’t resist from trailing your fingers up his arm, all the way to his face. His eyes were unreadable; his pupils dilated and his lips pulled apart.

God, you wanted to kiss him.

So you pulled him close. Grabbed him by the collar, and slid yourself into his lap until Rintaro was forced to scoot backwards to balance you both, his large hands coming to rest on your hips. You breathed hard, shaking your head at yourself before your forehead knocked with his.

“Rin… Your Highness,” you corrected, rasping out the words. “I’m sorry. I know it’s wrong, and I know I could never have your heart but could you just – could you please hold me? Just for a minute, please. Pretend that you’re in love with me, I just–” your breath hitched when he squeezed your hips, to stop you or encourage you, you couldn’t tell. “–I just want to feel it again. That happiness I had with you.”

Rintaro hitched you up higher on his lap. Your chest crashed with his, and his lips followed. He tasted of blood and sugary biscuits. His taste, and his scent, flooded your senses until there was nothing to perceive but him.

And the kiss? It isn’t gentle. It isn’t soft. It’s desperate – lips bruising lips, teeth knocking with teeth, and tongues passionately grasping at one another. Your hands fly everywhere after that. Tugging at his hair, grabbing him harder by the collar to deepen the kiss. He swallows every sound you make, breathes them in like he needs them to live. So you give all you can and moan out his name – not Your Highness – and revel in the way he keens. He melts like snowflakes in the heat of your palm, like your touch burns him. You’re seconds away from dragging him back up on the bed when Rintaro suddenly shoves you off him. He flings himself upright and crosses the other side of the room in quick strides, the quick rise and fall of his back facing you the only thing visible from the dimly-lit room.

He didn’t need to say it out loud.

He’d regretted that kiss. Your heart broke once more as you sat at the edge of your bed. His rejection stung, even more so when he wiped his lips with the back of his hand. Rintaro was shivering now as his head knocked against the window. Each breath he took seemed labored, as if even the act of drawing air was a struggle against the overwhelming sorrow that enveloped him. The air around him felt dense with the gravity of his internal torment, and your heart sank as you finally voiced out what he could never say out loud –

“…You really don’t love me.”

The silence falling over the room wrapped around the space like a heavy, suffocating shroud. the absence of sound was deafening. It pressed in on the walls and made each breath feel louder. Every creak of the floorboards or distant murmur from the outside was amplified, heavily echoed in the thick air. And when Rintaro finally spoke, it came with a tone of finality and unconcealed regret.

“I’m sorry.”

You swallowed, blinking back the tears as you fixed your appearance. “Pardon me for a moment,” you began to exit the room, your hands hovering on the handle before you you’re your decision. “Your Highness… is it okay if I stay here at my parents? It’s just for a few days. I don’t think I can handle returning to the Palace anytime soon.”

“Of course. Take all the time you need.” Rintaro did one final sweep of your room with his eyes. Something unreadable passed over his face. In the next moment, he cleared his throat, and opened the door himself. “I should leave. Goodnight, Princess. Please tell your parents that I left already, and I truly am sorry for the mess I caused.”

Rintaro was gone before you could say anything.

Just before his back disappeared from your line of sight, you saw something you thought you would never witness – Rintaro took two steps at a time on his way down, his frown pronounced as he wiped the tears off his face.

It unfolds like a badly written tragedy.

One moment, Rintaro is standing in the confines of your room, his heart racing with a desperate urgency that pulsed through every fiber of his being. He’d wanted to keep kissing you. Pulling away, and resisting his desire had to be one of the greatest pains he’d experienced, but he had to. He couldn’t keep doing this to you. His conscience wouldn’t let him.

That’s why he had to resort to doing the only thing he could think of in that moment – to run away and leave you behind.

Storming through the stately halls and out the grand doors of your estate, Rintaro pushed through. The weight of his regrets made each step harder to take, a burden that dragged him toward the waiting car parked outside the chill beginning to settle.

He jumped into the vehicle, ignoring his driver’s confused queries before slamming the door shut behind him. Inside, the car felt like a confining cell, its leather seats and polished surface now an inescapable prison of his own making. His hands, trembling with a mix of frustration and despair, gripped the steering wheel with a white-knuckled intensity.

In a sudden, raw burst of emotion, his fist struck the steering wheel with a deafening thud. The impact reverberated through the car and sent a shiver down his spine.

Still, he kept going – each strike of his fist minimal in comparison to his anguish. He reveled in it, the sharp pain in his knuckles a fleeting distraction from the deeper, more consuming agony that began to eat away at him.

His breaths came in ragged gasps, each inhalation a struggle. The air inside the car felt stifling, thick with the heavy scent of leather and the acrid tang of the remnants of blood at his face. His tears began to flow uncontrollably, streaming down his face and mingling with the sweat that dampened his brow. In the suffocating silence, his mind raced through a myriad of memories – from when he’d first kissed you, when he first held your hand, and the tender embraces he held you in. Each memory served to remind him of what he had now – nothing but a fractured connection, a strained marriage, and your fragile heart which he couldn’t protect.

Each image passing through his mind were tinged with bitterness. He recalled the warmth of your presence, the way your smile could light up the room, and the feeling of your hand in his.

He wished he could take it all back – to start from the beginning, to re-introduce himself to who he truly was. But he couldn’t. He knew he couldn’t. It was too late.

He’d gotten Iris pregnant.

Rintaro hadn’t mean to. Sure, he was careless and never used protection, but he thought little of it. Iris’ cycles were irregular and they never worried if she missed her period. She was always on the pill – all because of him, since Kiyoomi wouldn’t have touched her anyway. In another lifetime, Rintaro might’ve felt happy. Instead, he was filled with crushing dread. He couldn’t be a father, he didn’t want to be like his father.

And why hadn’t she told him? All this time… he foolishly thought she’d began ignoring him because it was a mutual, unspoken feeling that they’d just gotten tired. He never handled the media’s criticism well, and Iris wasn’t any better. She cared about her image and reputation more than anything – so why hide this from him? If he had known sooner…

What? his mind taunted, What would you do if you knew sooner?

Rintaro’s head dropped to the steering wheel. The voice in his head was right. He wouldn’t have done anything. Had he known four months ago, he would’ve celebrated. Had he known two months ago, he would’ve been upset, but choose to take responsibility in the end. But now? Now his decision was clear. Without giving it a second thought, Rintaro pulled out of your driveway and headed straight for the palace, dialing Iris on his way.

She picked up on the third ring.

“So it’s true,” he spoke to the phone, driving past the other cars on the highway in full speed. He should drive more carefully, but his blood was pumping loud in his veins – your touch lit a fire in him, and he needed that fire stoked. “You’re pregnant.”

A pause came from the other line. “How did you know?”

Rintaro gripped the steering wheel tighter, glaring at the phone even if she couldn’t see. “You’re heartless, Iris. How could you let my wife find out about it first before I did? Why did she have to tell me?”

“She told you – what? I never planned on letting you know about it, Rintaro. I don’t even know how she found out!”

“What, you were going to use that baby against me? Is that what you planned?” he growled at her, “You’re not keeping that damned baby – you’re getting rid of it right now. I’m not letting you fuck up my marriage.”

“I wasn’t going to keep it anyway! You’re absolutely insane if you think I’m planning to give birth to your filthy child–”

“Shut up!”

Rintaro ended the call. He’d had enough of her and her greediness. How dare she keep something like that from him, aborting his child before he even knew of its existence?

He stepped harder on the gas.

The engine roared in defiant response to his intense, almost reckless driving, its powerful growl a stark contrast to the stifling silence that enveloped the car. The air inside the car was thick with the acrid scent of tension and frustration, each breath he took feeling heavier and more labored as he fought to keep his rage contained.

His thoughts raced with the echoes of the argument, each harsh word and biting remark replaying in his mind like a relentless loop. The sting of her anger gnawed at him, fueling the fire of his own resentment. The images of her face, twisted in frustration, seemed to haunt the darkened windows of the car. Iris seemed to do that often – haunting him both in his dreams and a nightmare.

Rintaro couldn’t fathom why it was too late when he realized she’d never been a good person to begin with.

She was never his friend.

She only approached him because Rintaro was malleable. He was a blank canvas of a man, a lost Prince. He was nothing but an experimental toy for her. She’d kissed him, stolen his heart, and fed him lies that she’d give him what he wanted if he did what she liked. And he did – every fucking time. He drunk himself wasted, because Iris didn’t like drinking alone. He smoked packs of cigarettes for her even when he hated the taste of nicotine, because Iris got antsy without smoking. He fucked her hard and deep, and spent countless nights in her bed, because her husband never wanted to touch her. And what did he get in return?

Fake smiles. Sarcastic, mocking comments. A dry reply from his enthusiastic texts. A quick, good fuck if they were bored enough.

Iris never wanted him. She only ever wanted one thing: security. And when she was married to a Prince, and had another wrapped around her finger? She could do no wrong in the eyes of the throne.

As he drove, the powerful beams of the headlights cast fleeting shadows across the road.

The palace loomed ahead, its silhouette a distant promise of refuge that seemed increasingly out of reach. The anger that coursed through him was a force unto itself, a seething urge that refused to be quelled.

As he approached the grand gates of the palace, his emotions were spilling all over the place. He only had one place in mind: Belleview Manor.

Rounding a corner in the dimly lit hallway of the palace, Rintaro came to an abrupt halt. The reaction of his body was instantaneous: his breath caught in his throat, his muscles locking into place. Before him stood the Queen, her regal presence magnified by the soft, flickering light of the sconces lining the walls. Her silhouette, framed by the rich, opulent draped and the gleaming marble floors, seemed almost otherworldly.

She stood there, unmoving, like she’d somehow known he would be coming any minute now.

Rintaro’s head pounded in his chest. Cold dread washed over him, an icy hand clutching at his insides. The Queen’s serene yet inscrutable expression was nothing but an act, that he knew. In reality, her expressions were alien and foreboding. Her eyes, deceptively warm and reassuring, stared back at him like dark abysses, their depth hinting at the hidden complexities and secrets Rintaro had never cared to consider before.

He felt as if the ground beneath him had shifted, his already unstable world rocked by the revelation of a hidden side to his mother that he never perceived.

He stood frozen, a tangible sense of fear and anger enveloping him as he confronted the unsettling truth: the queen, his mother, was a mystery he had never fully unraveled.

The secrets she harbored, once a vague notion in the back of his mind, now loomed large and menacing, casting a long shadow over his perception of her. The fear that gripped him was profound and disorienting, a jarring contrast to the reverence he had always felt. His whole life, he’d only wanted one thing – to please his mother, to make her proud, to be a Queen’s son worthy of becoming the next King. His whole life he’d only done what he was told.

But in that moment, he was consumed by the chilling realization that the mother he had known and loved was a stranger, and the weight of her concealed truths left him trembling with a profound, unsettling fear.

“You,” he breathed out, his fear now overtaken by his sight going red. He felt mocked, humiliated, used. “Why did you never tell me?”

The memory of that night on the beach was seared into his mind.

He could never forget it – Iris’ sneer, the way her lips curled in contempt, as though he were something beneath her. Her words had cut deep, bleeding into his every being until the truth pounded at his veins. She had looked at him with disdain, her eyes cold and unfeeling, as she spat out how she’d never wanted to be with him, how she’d used him to cure her loneliness. A rejection born from a sick, twisted confession.

And now that he’d fulfilled his purpose in the bleakness of her world, he was nothing more than a disposable distraction. She’d called him worthless, a joke, someone unworthy of her attention – a prince in name but never in her eyes. The wind had whipped around him, cloaked around him like a glacial storm, but it was her biting words that had left him feeling exposed and small.

She’d delivered a stab to his heart that no amount of time could erase.

I never wanted to be with someone like you in the first place.

Didn’t you know, Rin?

You were never the King’s son.

#suna x reader #suna x you #suna rintaro x reader #haikyuu x reader #suna rintaro angst #suna x reader angst #haikyuu angst #kiyoomi x reader #kiyoomi x reader angst #kiyoomi sakusa x reader #sakusa x reader #sakusa kiyoomi x reader #suna rintaro x you #kiyoomi x you #haikyuu x reader angst

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theglamorousferal · 4 months

Text

Persephone's Binding Part 1

Hardcover/Anger Management ship Sacrificial Bride au

AO3 Prompt Part 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12

Fuck me, that's what I get for not wearing my helmet tonight. Jason came to with numb hands and legs, burning shoulders, a gag tight in his mouth, and a pounding headache. His ears rang and a groan escaped his throat before he could keep quiet. He slowly cracked an eye open and when he wasn't blinded took stock of the situation he was in. He was kneeling, tied to a post behind him and in the middle of what appeared to be a magic circle of some kind. At the edges of the circle there were candles, a bright Lazarus green, and beyond that were robed figures.

Great, cultists. Perfect. The ringing in his ears started to fade as chanting filled the room. After the first repetition of unfamiliar words the flames of each candle one by one turned black, and once it came around, the edges of the circle started to glow bright green. The glow followed the path written in what Jason assumed was blood until the entire thing was glowing bright enough that Jason had to squint to try and make out any of the symbols and commit them to memory, any little thing could be a clue after all.

As the chanting got louder and louder, the glow shone brighter and brighter. He could feel a build up of energy and his hair began to stand on end like lightning was about to strike. The light became blinding and the pressure in the air built up until he felt he couldn't breathe, he could smell ozone in the air and suddenly the light returned to normal, he collapsed forward and his cheek hit carpet.

"Oh my Ancients! Are you alright?" He heard a feminine voice say and let out a pitiful groan. "That's probably a dumb question, one second let me grab something to cut those ropes and I'll help you up."

He heard shuffling and opened his eyes to a purple shag carpet with the magic circled burned into it and registered the ozone scent shifted to a burning smell. He tried moving his arms and yelped in response. He heard a thud and a quiet curse as his apparent savior stopped rifling through their drawers with a quiet "Aha!" He turned his head towards the sound and his mind stuttered to a halt for a moment.

Stood there, with a sword at least as long as the Demon Spawn is tall, was a woman Jason would expect to find in Themyscira. She stood almost seven feet tall with long red hair pulled back into a high ponytail braid, a helm-like crown adorning her head. Muscled shoulders had a black capelet from one and a pauldron on the other. She wore golden bracers like Wonder Woman on her forearms and armor similar in shape, but black with a symbol blazoned across the chest, under the armor she wore a teal toga. He turned his attention to her face and found a sheepish expression in those teal eyes.

"I absolutely forgot I had my sword with me today because of the council meeting. Let me just-" she quickly strode forward and cut first his feet and then his hands free, and after giving up on the knot, carefully cut the gag from his mouth. She knelt down and helped him to sit more comfortably. "Do you think you can make it to the couch? it's very comfy, I use it when I need a break between council meetings."

Jason tried standing and his legs protested feeling like pins and needles and tv static. He shook his head and she nodded thinking to herself. "Okay then, here."

Jason blue-screened as he realized he was suddenly being held in a bridal carry by this woman like it was nothing. He blushed from his neck to the tips of his ears as she carried him to her honest to god fainting couch and placed him upon it like a swooning maiden.

"So, um, hi, my name is Jasmine, please just call me Jazz regardless of whatever you hear anyone else here call me. Do you need some water? I'm gonna order some water, and some painkillers maybe? Honestly, I'm just gonna ask them to send one of the yeti healers to take a look at you and I'll need to ask someone who can read ghost speak to translate whatever brought you here." She rambled and made her way to one of the doors and spoke with someone just outside.

Jason laid there for a moment, staring at the ceiling and trying to get himself focused on the situation at hand. So facts so far: he was just used as a sacrifice of some kind, he was teleported somewhere unknown to him at this moment, and whoever he was sacrificed to seems to be some form of royalty and was arguably the most attractive and so far kind woman he's ever met. He nodded to himself and carefully pealed the red domino mask from his face.

"Jason." He said to her as she turned back to him after closing the door. She stopped for a moment, eyes wide. "My name, it's Jason."

She blushed a moment. "Right, yes, nice to meet you Jason, I wish it was under literally any other circumstances." She said walking forward to shake his hand.

"So, uh, where are we?" He asked, gesturing to what Jason assumed was a window, but wasn't certain because the sky was green and purple and had floating doors and islands in it.

She closed her eyes and seemed to take a fortifying breath. "Right. What do you know about the supernatural, besides the obvious that apparently magic circles work?"

Jason thought about what he could say here. Should he bring up his time in the All Caste? Should he bring up the Lazarus pits? I don't know enough about the situation yet. "I know that magic is real, kinda hard not to what with heroes like Zattana and Raven making headlines and the fact the city I live in is hella cursed."

He watched some tension leave her shoulders, but not all the way. "Good, I won't have to go over that particular world-shattering revelation, though I'll probably ask you more about those heroes you were talking about, I haven't heard of them." Jason was stunned for a moment, but she continued. "We are in a sort of, Between. We are in the Infinite Realms, the existence between existences. The Infinite Realms is the space between the dimensions of the multiverse. We are currently in the castle of the ruler of the Infinite Realms, more specifically my office." She hesitated before continuing. " I'm, sort of, the Queen Regent actually." She said embarrassed.

Jason processed that for a moment, and she let him. So, the multiverse is real, and he was apparently just sacrificed to the ruler of the dimension between dimensions. She let him sit with that information, letting him come up with his own questions, when there was a knock at the door.

"Excuse me your majesty, you called for a healer and scholar? I had not left yet from the earlier council meeting and figured I could be of assistance." A tall yeti with ice for one of his arms and frozen horns atop his head appeared in the doorway. What also appeared seemed to be a literal skeleton that pushed a tea cart with a pitcher of water and little finger sandwiches on it into the room and left again.

"Frostbite! Perfect, first, can you take a look at Jason, he was apparently sacrificed and judging from the blood in his hair he at least has a head injury. Then the circle he appeared in burned itself into the carpet, I'm still not great at reading ghost speak, especially in an older dialect, I can't figure out what it says." Jazz spoke in a rush as she walked toward the cart to get some water for Jason.

Frostbite had a kind smile as he turned to Jason and pulled out a first aid kit from seemingly nowhere. "Yes, hello, you must be Jason. How are you feeling? What hurts in particular?" Jason went along with the examination, and gladly accepted the glass of water from Jazz as she handed it to him. "Well it looks to me like you mostly just need to rest and maybe take some painkillers. Here," The yeti carefully handed him a small cup with two over-the-counter pain pills in it. "Alright, now let's take a look at this circle!" He stood to his full height, carefully ducking to avoid knocking his horns on the chandelier. He observed it for a moment, humming to himself from time to time. "Right, so this appears to be a binding ritual, somehow tied to the Solstice celebrations. Typically it entwines the soul of the sacrifice to the being they were sacrificed to. Somewhere in the archives there is likely more information about it, but you'll probably have to spend quite some time searching."

Jazz looked pained for a moment. "Okay, do you think it can be broken?" Her face showed hope, but with an underlay of resignation.

Frostbite thought for a moment. "There are some, though most are permanent. I can send over some of my scholars to help locate the correct ritual, I would suggest asking the Master of Time as he would know for certain, but you know how they can be." He straightened before bowing to both Jazz and Jason. "Now, if you'll excuse me, Queen Regent and Lord Jason, I must make my way back to the Far Frozen to gather those to help your search. Good day." With that, the yeti left the two of them alone.

Jazz sighed heavily and put her face in her hands. She growled, frustrated, before she straightened after having made a decision. "Okay, so you're probably going to be staying her for a little while while we figure all this out. Let me show you to a room so you can rest a bit, and I'll have one of my aides bring you some clothes so yours can get washed too."

She led him through the passageways of the gothic castle, it's black stone bricks and tapestries of silver seeming to glow. They stopped at the third of a row of doors and went inside. The room was large, twenty-foot ceilings and a bay window with a sitting nook framed by two large bookcases stood across the room. A massive bed with an intricate quilt portraying what seemed to be a battle between supernatural entities was braced against one wall with a grand fireplace on the opposite wall.

"The door to the left of the fireplace leads to the bathroom, the first thing I did when I took over was make sure there was hot water and large soaking tubs in all the bedrooms here. There should be bathrobes of varying sizes in the closet that offshoots the bathroom. If you need anything, I'm probably going to be in my office for the next few hours and there is always the bell by the door for stuff like, food or whatever. Um, I guess I'll leave you to it?" She shuffled nervously out the door, leaving him standing there, hand half raised in an awkward wave goodbye.

He chuckled to himself for a moment before striding over to the bed and sitting down to start unstrapping his body armor and boots. Once stripped to his boxers, he made his way to the bathroom and was pleasantly surprised to find not only a large soaking tub, but also a shower with a bench to sit. He quickly showered all the grime from the last few hours from his body, careful to get the matted blood in his hair untangled. Once finished, he started filling the tub before walking towards the closet where he found not only bathrobes, but also bath salts and bath bombs. Deciding to indulge, he grabbed one of each in similar enough scents and dropped both into the bath tub before easing himself into the hot water. He hissed at the temperature before it started easing the aches across all his muscles. He shut off the faucet and then leaned back and allowed himself to think.

So, he thought, I am in an alternate dimension, in the castle of the extremely attractive Queen Regent of said dimension, and my soul is apparently bound to her for the foreseeable future. He thunked his head on the walls of the tub contemplating the facts laid before him. He startled, shooting forward with his back straight.

"Wait a minute!" He said to himself. "Wait a god damned minute!" He smacked his forehead with his hand and ran it through his hair. "I'm in a romance novel plotline! Bound to an entity of unknown power against my will, but the entity is actually a kind and beautiful woman! Holy shit! I can't screw this up!"

Decision made, Jason Peter Todd, closeted romance novel enthusiast, began to plan.

#dpxdc #fanfic #dp x dc #dcxdp #dc x dp #sacrificial bride au #i have no idea where this came from #it burst forth from me #like alien spawn #anger management ship #hardcover ship

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ningvory · 10 days

Note

yaaaayyy congrats on hitting 2k this is big!!! <3 <3

I was thinking maybe we could get a massage parlor AU with pervy mausseuse!julie being obsessed with her new client's ass to the point where she can't keep her fingers to herself and decided to give reader's ass a "deep tissue massage". So some dubcon and anal but feel free to add other things too! <3

⋆. 𐙚 ˚ 1,383 words • 2k event

a/n: anon this has gagged me..and i was lowkey feeling like reader with the major back problems..might need to go to a massage parlor myself..

CW: dubcon, g!p julie, ass play, anal, degrading, readers first time with anal, julie takes advantage of how oblivious reader is, belle is readers cowokers and recommends it to her, not proofread!

your back has been killing you for what seemed like forever, and being hunched over looking at a computer screen for over five hours doesn’t help you one bit. it’s probably the reason why your back is in the state it it.

normally you don’t have such an awful posture but it’s almost physically impossible to keep a straight posture the whole day. then you only have a thirty minute lunch break and a fifteen minute break.

“y/n~ fix your posture!” the voice of your coworker, anabelle pulled you away from the screen on your computer. when her words finally registered into your head, you slowly fixed your posture.

“it’s just so hard to keep a good posture, my lower back is killing me..” you mumbled, trying to ignore the pain from your back.

“luckily for you, i know someone who works at that new massage parlor down the street from our apartment area!” anabelle quietly squealed, almost like she’s been dying to tell you this information.

before you could even ask her anything she answered your questions almost immediately, “her names julie, she’s a few years older than us. i’ll book your appointment and text her that you know me!” she smiled before dragging a guest chair to the side of your chair.

she pulled the booking website up, doing all the work for you like shes worked at a massage parlor before, only letting you pick your favorite oils and candles for you. “done! your deep tissue massage is booked for 6:30 pm today, i got you the deluxe package so don’t forget to remove every single clothing, including your panties~” anabelle smiled your way, it was currently 6:00 pm, exactly an hour away from the time so you and anabelle began to pack up your things.

“you must be y/n, right? you’re our last client of the day!” the woman asked, you confirmed her assumption with a meek ‘yes’.’ “i can tell this is your first time at a massage parlor so i’ll guide you where you need to go.” the receptionist came from behind the counter to lead you the way.

she stopped in front of the changing rooms, “here’s your white and gold robe that come with the deluxe package, along with matching slippers.” she handed you it, allowing you to change in it.

once you got in the changing room, you stripped all your clothes, placing it in the bag your brought. you silently thank yourself for carrying extra clothes in your trunk in case of an emergency. you were slightly nervous, you’ve seen the videos of their hands going all over the client’s body and the noises that unexpectedly come out.

you opened the door, handing her the bag with your clothes and letting her lead the way to the room which was right around the corner, “ms. julie is already waiting for you in there. enjoy!” she lady said walking off, giving you a small smile.

you opened the door, to see julie sitting in her chair scrolling on her phone until she heard the door close, eyes falling on you and smiling. “ahh you must be y/n~ i’m julie.” she smiled at you, extending her hand for you to take. her personality relaxing you quickly.

“hey nice to meet you!“ you smiled, shaking her hand, “first time here?” she asked, noticing your nervousness, removing your robe for you and sitting you down on the table. “yeah” you said breathily, your nipples began to harden from being exposed to the atmosphere. you didn’t noticed her smirk when she took a look at your ass, “don’t worry~ and just relax..” she dragged the work out.

she began to set up the oils and candles, the ones you preferred. she grabbed the remote to the flatscreen tv in the room and played her shuffle of music to make thing less awkward for you. she instructed for you to lay down on your tummy and place your head in the hole before adjusting it to fit your body height just right.

she started warming your body up, placing the oils on your body, gently loosening you up, pulling a small moan from your mouth. “breathe, baby” she reminded you, guiding your breaths with her own. she quickly finds the tense spots, getting rid of them almost instantly, dragging out whimpers that just go straight to her cock! it didn’t help that your ass was just on full display for her and your whines makes it worse :(

when she gets to your lower back, just above your ass, she get a little rougher, massaging the most tense spot of your back, pulling out small moans. her hands slowly cups your ass cheeks, softly squeezing them in her hands and spreading them wide, revealing your cunt and asshole to her. “julie? is..is this apart of the massage?” you gasp, fighting the urge to moan. “of course, why wouldn’t it be? i’m a professional ‘ya know.” she bites her lip, responding to you.

“ah~ sorry” you replied, deadpanning yourself for asking something stupid, why would it not be apart of the massage? “no worries, sweetheart, now..tell me how this feels..” she interns her oil covered finger into your ass, earning a loud whine from you before swiftly slapping a hand to your mouth. “f-feels good..” you whine, the new sensation flooding your system.

you heard her pants unzip and her boxers fall to the ground, and that’s when you figured this probably wasn’t apart of the message, but your body felt so relaxed after she worked her magic and she was attractive. “don’t scream.” she warns your before pushing her thick cock into your ass, rendering you speechless, your eyes were closed tight trying to adapt to the stretch.

“so oblivious..it’s cute..” she grunts, pulling her cock all the way out just to plunge right back into your tight ass, you couldn’t find it in you to form a sentence, strangled moans just spilled out of your mouth.

“answer, slut.” she smacks your ass, making a loud moan come out of your mouth. the rooms were actually soundproof but she thinks it’s cute how hard you try to keep quiet. “y-yea..sorry” you reply, not really sure of what she even said.

she finds a steady pace, making you slide up and down on her table from the force of her thrust. “m-more please..” you beg and she smiles behind you before her hand found your hips and began ponding into you with her other hand toying with your clit, making you squirm under her touch.

after a few more thrusts and her degration, you felt something unfamiliar bubbling in your tummy, “julie.. i think i have to pee?” you questioned, not even sure yourself what this feeling was.

she giggled at your words, “silly baby, you’re about to squirt.” she explained, rubbing your clit quicker, as you thrash around on the table, back arching deeper into the table as you squirt all over her, legs shaking under her.

“fuck!” julie whines, shooting her thick spurts of cum into your used ass. “your appointment is all done!” she chuckles, pulling her spent cock out of you and zipping her pants up, and helping you get situated.

“should we schedule your next appointment? from now on my services will be free!” she winks, washing her hands off at the sink in the room. “uh huh..” you breathe out, still trying to collect yourself after that orgasm. “see you soon then!” she slips a paper with her phone number on it in your bag, and bids you goodbye for now.

you looked down and read the paper,

‘need to fill your other holes up too.. call me! <3’

#♡.kiof #♡.julie #kpop smut #wlw smut #g!p #kiof smut #kiof julie smut #julie smut #kiof x reader

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beomiracles · 14 days

Note

omggg can I pllsss request for some pretty sub prince soobin he’d be soo cute ☺️

「 𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐈𝐓𝐀𝐋 𝐃𝐔𝐓𝐈𝐄𝐒 」

DREAM RECALL He carefully reaches for your wrist, letting his fingers clasp around it as he guides the palm of your hand to his groin, pressing it against his undoubtedly hard cock with a shaky sigh. Bold. “Does his majesty not think of it improper? Such a vulgar place, not even in his bedchambers?” But the prince only shakes his head, his breath shallow as his eyes beg for you to give in, to give him what he wants.

wc. 3.5k

pairings prince!soobin x maid!reader (fem) warnings handjobs, tiny bit of cum eating, unprotected sex + creampie, sub!soobin, dom!reader, inexperienced!soobin, loss of virginity, class difference, tiny bit of nipple play, vaginal fingering, degradation, semi-public.

#serene adds ✎ every time I say I'm done writing royal au's im lying. this ask is genuienly from like the beginning of July, I am so sorry for taking two decades to get around to it love >.<

not very proofread

“Hush now, wouldn’t want the other maids to hear us would we?” You drawl, watching as Soobin’s gaze flickered toward the door of his grand bedchamber. The prince swallows thickly, his prominent adam’s apple bobbing against his sweaty and flushed throat as he shakily exhales. — The smug smirk that creeps onto your face is barely concealed by the dim light of the wax candle, slowly dripping on his bedside table. “I am merely tending to changing the Prince’s bed sheets.”

“Am I not?”

He hastily nods, bottom lip caught between his teeth as he tries to muffle the whiny sounds threatening to slip off his tongue as your fingers wrap around his hard cock. — His thigh twitches in response to the squeeze your hand gives him and Soobin throws his head back, exposing his flushed neck. It was tempting to litter it in kisses, bites, ones that would surely linger the following morning. But that was of course, impossible, for the Prince couldn't possibly be seen in such a state, not when the other maids came to dress him. The thought of their flimsy hands on his body made you cringe as you tried to pry the image from your head, instead focusing on the man before you.

The Prince.

The silk robe has slipped down his body, exposing his pointy shoulder, his collarbone, the skin of his chest and his pretty pink nipple; your free hand reaches for it. Twisting and pinching the hardened bud between your fingers you draw a strained groan from him as his hips jerk forward, cock nearly slipping from your loose grasp and you tsk.

“So impatient”, you mutter, thumb sliding along a prominent vein. Soobin swallows a small cry as he nods, lips now parted as he lays panting. “I have waited for you all day- no, all week”, he protests between hissed moans. — Biting the inside of your cheek, you regard him with fabricated sympathy. “All week you say?” The inquiry is followed by another squeeze to his throbbing cock and Soobin whimpers. “But it has been but a fortnight since our last encounter, no?” — “Tell me, do you serenade all your maidens like this?”

He gasps, whether it was from the way you leaned down to give his tip a gentle lick or the blunt accusation, you didn’t know. — “N-No never!” He huffs, fingers curling around the soft duvet beneath him, doing his utmost to keep his hands to himself. “Only you…There’s only you.” He says the words so shyly, carefully peering up at you through batted eyelashes.

You hum, tongue flat against his wet cock, soaked in his built arousal. Your hands are on his thighs, he’s tall and lean, delicate, as if he’d never worked a day in his life. And he’s eager, inexperienced and longing. It made you feel powerful, having the soon to be reigning king, groveling at your feet as he pleads for a release only you could grant him. — “Please.” The soft caress of his voice carries out into the air, his eyes are wide and glossy as he blinks up at you, doe-like. — You know what he wants.

Soobin is beautiful when he climaxes, lashes fluttering as his vision grows hazy, pink lips parted in such an endearing manner as he makes a noise of ecstasy. His face becomes all red, and mixed with the sweat lingering there, he looks near glazed. — The warm essence of his cum stains your hand, and you let him clean it up, tongue enthusiastically darting out to slide over your fingers as he keeps his gaze on you.

Despite his high status and important title, he’s utterly pliant before you, someone so lowly viewed by the rest, yet he worships you. Stored away from the dangers of the real world, the prince knows nothing but what you’ve taught him, and you’ve taught him good. — He rarely gets to touch you though, even so, you catch the longing in his eyes as his hands clench by his sides.

When you slip out of his room, late at night when the castle is asleep, things return to how they were supposed to be, formal and proper. But the prince is far from bright, and he lets himself linger by your side even when not required, his eyes stray a little too long, his attention torn between his duties and his desires.

The other maids gossip, but the room falls silent whenever you enter. They all speculate about you and the prince, about why he was so adamant on calling for you whenever he needed something, and why no one seemed to know of your whereabouts at night. — But a maid’s rumor can only get her so far, so you pay them little mind.

Though one night, he takes it too far.

For it was one thing to have his servant run errands, as they usually did. But when Soobin’s large hand suddenly finds place on a shy maid’s shoulder, your eyes narrow. — She’s your junior, and blushes furiously under the prince’s gaze, asking over and over if there’s anything she can do for him. All to which he merely shakes his head, thanking her for her services as he promises to call for her soon again.

He lets himself linger by her fidgety frame, and with the small twitch of his lips does his eyes find yours. The squeeze he gives her shoulder makes her practically jump and your jaw clenches as you watch the prince dismiss her with a far too warm and inviting smile. The maid bows so low her nose might as well kiss his shoes, then she scurries off, though not before throwing a glance or two in the prince’s direction.

You do not visit his chambers that night. nor do you the night that follows.

It goes on like that for a few days, the fleeting glances, the subtle touches to his servants, and you avoiding him. His motive was beyond your imagination and with a frown etched onto your face, you move through your duties for the day. — It is not until well past dinner, when the kitchen is nearly empty, that there is a small shift in the air.

The initial confusion had slowly flared into anger, resentment, jealousy. You had clearly made him aware of the boundaries he wasn’t to cross, the way his arms had to lay so perfectly still by his sides, unable to move, unable to touch and caress. — It seems he’d grown tired of waiting, tired of tiptoeing around. And now he was taking without shame. He was being careless, and soon he would get caught.

Your feet drag across the stone floor, reaching the small pantry as you push the wooden door open with the help of your hip, arms cradling jars of conserved foods. Taking your time, you organize the cramped space, fitting the new bottles and pots amongst the existing ones. — Behind you, the old door creaks, the rusty hinges make a squeaking sound and upon turning around you’re met with a tall and looming shadow.

Soobin leans against the doorframe, arms neatly folded across his chest as he studies you with an otherwise absent expression. “It’s a little too late for the prince to be up and roaming the castle walls still, no?” You wonder, though turning to give a small bow, nearly dropping the jars in your hands. — Soobin is there to catch them, easily fitting two in his large palm as he reaches for the shelf behind you, caging you against it.

“Your majesty I am perfectly capable-” — “That’s not my name.” He interrupts your dismissal of his help, warm eyes flitting down to yours as his now empty hands come to rest by his sides. He seems torn, fingers curling up into fists as he holds back from reaching out, not because he shouldn’t, for he seemed to have little care for the way he’d touched his maids the previous days, but because you’d forbade him to do so.

“I..” He bites the inside of his cheek, swallowing as he stalls for time. It was unusual for the prince to initiate something like this, as he would so pliantly wait on his bed for you each night. Suppose something had changed within him, because he was being careless now, reckless, just like he’d been with the other maids, undoubtedly in the hopes of garnering your attention.

“You haven’t visited me”, he finally huffs and you can’t help but grin, hoping that the small glimmer of satisfaction couldn’t be made out in the dimness of the cramped pantry. “Should I have visited you, your majesty?” The low drawl of your voice makes his brows knit as he bites back a noise of frustration. Pathetic, but endearing.

Soobin nervously nibbles on his bottom lip, gaze flitting between you and the door leading out into the kitchen. When his eyes return to you, he gives an almost unnoticeable nod. “Yes”, he breathes, his face so close to yours that the puffs of air he emits hits your cheeks.

With the cock of your eyebrow, you scoff, “I see.” You weigh your options for a minute before you let your knees drop to the cold and hard floor with an exasperated sigh. Soobins mouth parts in a small gasp as your hands caress his thighs, legs quivering under your touch. But it isn't long before he halts you. — “N-No, not like that..!” He urgently whispers, reaching out to pull you back up but stopping himself, fingers mere inches from your arms.

Confused, you peer up at him. “Is this not what his majesty wants?” You drawl to which he sheepishly shakes his head. It was an undeniably unfamiliar setting, the prince was used to such events taking place within the four walls of his bedchambers; even so, he had initiated this, hadn’t he? So why was he hesitating now?

You stay where you are, hands stilling against his thighs as you let your head fall to the side. — “There’s more…I want that”, he croaks, his voice sounding near strained as he swallows a ragged breath. “More?” You ask, sounding almost surprised at his sudden request. But the prince eagerly nods, fingers tentatively flexing when you rise to your feet.

“Yes”, he exhales, “You. N-Not just me..” Oh if only he knew how delectable he looked right now; nervously fidgeting as he awaits your verdict. — “Your majesty, those are marital duties, it is not something you engage in with a mere maid.” Your words make his eyes widen in shock, his breath hitching in his throat as he blinks dumbfoundedly.

For a moment he doesn't say anything, and all that can be heard are your mingling breaths. Then he licks his lips, almost absentmindedly as his gaze drops to your chest, the standard uniform all maids wore wrapped loosely around your body. — “I do not care”, he finally states and your eyebrows raise. “Perhaps your majesty doesn’t realize the severity of the matter.”

“I do”, his eyes find yours, and they’re filled with determination, a determination you had yet to witness, ever. “I know that it cannot be undone but I…” He hesitates, teeth catching the inside of his cheek as he exhales through his nose, lips drawn into a thin line, “I want to do this.”

The urgency laced within his words made your heart stutter in a most unfamiliar way and you have to hold your tongue in fear of letting something slip. He wanted to? Did he even know what he was asking for? — It was most improper, but then again, there was little proper about the way you snuck into his room each night as you made him cum on your hands.

Suppose a little practice couldn’t harm. It would be an absolute disgrace for him to disappoint on his wedding night.

“If that is what his majesty wants..” Soobin’s eyes light up at your words, a hopeful smile spreading across his face as he nods. “Then I shall see to the matter tomorrow night-” — “No”, he cuts you off, taking a step closer, his chest nearly brushing against yours. “Not tomorrow. Now. Please.”

He carefully reaches for your wrist, letting his fingers clasp around it as he guides the palm of your hand to his groin, pressing it against his undoubtedly hard cock with a shaky sigh. Bold. “Does his majesty not think of it improper? Such a vulgar place, not even in his bedchambers?” But the prince only shakes his head, his breath shallow as his eyes beg for you to give in, to give him what he wants.

It was nearly impossible to say no.

With a small squeeze of your hand, he emits a strangled moan, hips bucking up into your grasp as he seeks your touch. He whines when you pull away, eyes shooting open in confusion as his brows furrow. — “You will have to please me too, it is part of your marital duties.”

Soobin’s lips part, then he seems to catch on, swallowing a gulp as he shyly nods. “Then I will be able to touch you?” He hesitantly wonders, fingers practically itching to graze your skin. The rules you had once so clearly set were on the verge of crumbling all together, but with the way the prince was looking at you, it was impossible not to let them.

“You may — But I will let you know how it’s done.”

Your arm drapes around his neck, pulling him flush against your chest in one flat move. Soobin nearly loses his balance though quickly catches himself against the shelf behind you. With a small tsk you regard his flushed frame, “You will have to hold me up, can you do that?” — Without hesitating he nods, murmuring a quiet ‘yes’ as his hands reach for the back of your thighs.

The strength he hoists you up into his arms with takes you by surprise, and with your back pressed against the crammed shelf you let yourself relax in his grip. Your fingers reach for the hem of your skirt, pulling the fabric along your legs. Soobin’s eyes remain glued to the movement, hungirly roaming your now exposed skin as you bunch the garment around your hips.

“This as well”, you say, motioning toward your undergarment and Soobin only wavers for a second before gently tugging it down your thighs. — The sight of your glistening cunt makes him let out a small noise from the very back of his throat, fingers mindlessly moving to touch you. “Wait.” Your hand is on top of his, redirecting him to your inner thigh. “You need to start slow.”

He nods like he’s understanding but you know better. Instead you let your own fingers drag across your folds, spreading them for him to see as you slowly circle your clit. Soobin squirms uncomfortably against you as his teeth catch his bottom lip, biting down hard enough to where he might draw blood. — Letting out a content sigh, you breach one finger inside, curling it to reach the spot that made you clench.

Soobin watches you like he’s entranced, eyes occasionally darting up to catch a glimpse of your expression before hastily returning to your cunt, focusing on the way your finger slid in and out of you so effortlessly. — You catch his own hands twitching as he holds back from touching you, desperately waiting for your permission. It was endearing.

With a small moan you withdraw your finger, coating the rest of them in your arousal before bringing them to his face. Not having to be told twice, Soobin’s lips part as he lets you slide them inside his warm mouth, tongue carefully wrapping around them as he gets a taste of you. The whine he gives shouldn’t have made your heart flutter like that and your cunt clench, but it did, and you knew that you’d need to feel him inside of you, and soon.

You pull your hand from his mouth, earning a displeased grunt from the prince before he realizes where you’re heading. “Touch me like I showed you”, you instruct, shivering as the pad of his thumb timidly presses against your throbbing clit. — He nervously awaits your response, moving as if he’s walking on glass, as if one wrong move ought to make him come crumbling down.

But when all he receives is a melodic moan as your head falls back against the shelf, he continues. Long fingers spreading your wet folds just like yours had moments prior, middle finger hesitating above your fluttering hole, he bites the inside of his cheek. — Soobin’s hands are bigger, they’re delicate and large, an odd combination, but a blissful one. His fingers reach deeper than yours ever could as he sinks them inside.

He moves slowly, cautiously, his brows knitted together as sweat rolls down his forehead; entirely focused on making you feel good. It felt powerful to have him like this, if only the others knew. — Your arousal drenches both his fingers and hand, and Soobin is near panting as he eyes the way your cunt wraps around him.

It’s not nearly enough, you need more and so does he.

Soobin reluctantly lets you guide his hand from you, hands reaching for his dress pants as you undo them, just like you had so many times before, except tonight everything is different. “You’ll have to be slow this time around as well”, you say as you give his painfully hard cock a few gentle strokes. His grip on you immediately falters as you touch him, hips bucking up to meet your hand as he staggers against you.

“Focus”, you snap, making him jolt as he swallows, gasping out a meek apology, fingers digging into your thighs as he holds you tightly. “If you can’t even please a mere maid, how will you do on your wedding night?” You scoff, jerking him off with rougher strokes, thumb flicking across his flushed tip as you draw a small cry from him.

“I-I can please you!” He breathes, eyes piercing yours with determination. Your lips stretch into a grin, letting go of his cock as your hands come to rest atop his shoulders. “Prove it”, you drawl, watching as his face morphs from determination to shock to desire. — He’s been waiting for this, longing for it, and there’s no way he’s backing out now.

His hand squeezes the base of his shaft, and Soobin nibbles on his bottom lip as he carefully slides his tip along your folds, breath hitching as he hears you moan. — He pushes past the tight rim of muscle slowly, just like you’d instructed him to, and you immediately clench around him. The sensation is so foreign, so… It’s everything, and he knows he won’t last long, you know it too.

Gently easing himself inside, your face contorts into one of pleasure, short nails digging into his shoulders as you bite your tongue. — “Perfect”, you murmur, chest slowly rising and falling as your eyes flutter open, only to find his already locked on yours. His face is pink, the tip of his ears a bright red and his lips parted as he feels you wrap around him.

“Move.” Your command makes him shiver and he nods, hips slowly rocking against yours. The stretch of his thick cock was unlike anything you’d ever felt before and you find yourself lost between wanting him to go even faster and savoring this moment, just like it was. — “I-Is this okay?” He breathes, his voice is meek, shy, and you grin. “It’s more than okay, your majesty.”

The formality makes him frown, a small whine slipping from his lips. “Don’t call me that. Please”, he pleads, hot breath fanning across your neck as his head lulls against your shoulder, the sounds of his sloppy and uncalculated thrusts filling the small pantry. — Rolling your eyes, you let your hands travel to his hair, fingers intertwining in the blond strands there before tugging on them. The action causes a spark of pleasure to ripple through his body and Soobin moans against the skin of your neck.

Upon feeling him twitch, your grin widens, “About to cum already?” He nods, a small whimper pulling at his lips as his hips stutter. “Your pathetic cock can’t even last a mere five minutes”, you scoff, and Soobin moans at the harsh words. So much for a soon-to-be reigning king you thought. — And though you can’t see his face, you’re almost certain that it’s scorching red.

“Please.”

Oh but you loved to hear him beg. Begging as if he didn’t have the world at his feet already. And you could never deny your prince, it was your duty after all. — You let him finish deep inside of your aching cunt, cock twitching as it fills you to the very brim. Soobin always looked beautiful when he climaxed. It was a sight you’d be late to forget, especially as he pulls back with a flustered smile, eyes dropping to where your bodies joined.

You grab his hand, sliding it along the base of his cock before reaching your clit. “You’ve got to make me feel good as well”, your murmur, pressing his thumb against the swollen bud with a small moan. — “It’s part of your marital duties.”

taglist ✎.. @lunesdesire @jjklvr9 @beomies-world @hyukaaa @ninoshome1 @gardnhee @babymochibeargyu @lunathewritingcat @duckywuckypookiepie @naoristerling @oddracha @soohashits @junimoa03 @sendhelpiloveyeonjun @beomtasticc @gudboibeomgyu @flowzel @hwanghyunjinismybae @inkigayocamman @sthwaaberry @izzyy-stuff @silentisle @itaehynz @blossommi @sunghxxnie @shuporanporang @beestvng @unknowzzn

(if your tag is not working please check your settings to make sure that your blog is not hidden!)

#beomiracles ₊˚⊹ ᰔ #binnie's dreams #soobin x reader #soobin smut #txt smut #soobin x you #txt x you #txt x reader #Choi Soobin x you #Choi Soobin x reader #Choi Soobin smut #txt hard hours #txt hard thoughts #soobin hard thoughts #txt imagines #soobin imagines

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risuola · 4 months

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ENTRY #9 ♡ F. READER X GOJO SATORU // I know you're lost, please take my hand.

contents: arranged marriage!au, fluffy — wc. 672

a/n: i wrote it before jjk261, let's pretend the chapter never happened oki? oki.

series masterlist

“When you look at me, what do you see?”

He asked and you hummed.

You were looking at him and his eyes were fixed on you — studying, searching, questioning. Despite the faint light of a candle that danced across his features, the intense blue stood out as beautiful as ever and there was hope lingering inside of it, floating on top of the crystalline surface. You touched his face, his cheekbone and nose. You touched his lips. Your gentle fingers were exploring, admiring, because he was a piece to admire.

His features were neutral, almost relaxed, but there was a shadow of vulnerability that the world didn’t see often. Satoru wore a mask in his life, he learned at the earliest age of his life that emotions are there, bubbling inside his chest and that’s where they are supposed to stay, never reaching outside of his heart. He was taught that weakness is bad, that what he feels inside is not for the others to notice. That fear and love are death. But you—

“I see a boy.”

—you made him want to push the doors that for nearly three decades of his life were closed shut and very carefully locked away. Meticulously, you made your way through the difficult labyrinth of his personality and knocked, and pulled the handle, and rung the bell. You got there and stood, tall and confident, waiting for him to open, determined to see what’s inside.

And he let you.

“I see a boy who’s lost. Who cares so much about the others and so little about himself. Someone, who despite the fearless exterior is petrified to feel, to attach himself to someone, to open up and be vulnerable and weak. When I look at you, Satoru, I see a man who’s carrying a baggage of very difficult events that no person should carry alone and yet, he’s too stubborn to allow anyone’s hand to help him,” you were talking, letting your thoughts out and he was listening. Those eyes, full of blue and sparkles, were fixed on you, on your eyes and lips. He kept your hand to himself, brushing idle circles over your wrist and holding you near his face where your fingers were soothing his skin. “I see a boy that craves touch and love, longing masked as indifference and wit.”

“Perceptive, aren’t you?” He mused, but despite the teasing comment, his voice was soft and gentle, barely above whisper.

“I also see a sweet tooth like no other.”

“Alright, that’s enough.” His chuckle vibrated against the heel of your hand where he pressed his lips. “So, that’s who I am if not the strongest? A lost boy in need of attention?”

“To me, you are Satoru. You are my husband who blushed and got flustered each time I as much as brushed my fingers against you. Who got so lost in your own infinity that a simple touch startled you.”

“I can’t help but feel like you’re teasing me right now but I don’t mind it,” he said, nuzzling into the warmth of your hand and then, his arm wrapped around your middle, pulling you closer until there was no space between you and him.

He exhaled and relaxed, securing his grip around you and he melted with his nose against the top of your head, in your hair. Your breath tickled the bare skin over his shoulder, your fingers found the lines of his back and he wanted more. Satoru felt a rush of warmth shot throughout his body, he could smell your skin, a scent of the tastiest of desserts that filled his nostrils and it sent a shiver down his spine.

You felt perfect in his arms. As if you were meant to be there and your frame was carved out by gods just so you could fit against him like a piece of puzzle.

“You make vulnerability seem less scary,” he whispered into your hair and you hummed softly, allowing him to continue. “And I’m grateful for it.”

taglist: @kinny-away @anan-baban @lotomber @netflix-imagines @kawliflo @nishloves @ghostfacefricker6969 @thejujvtsupost @yozora7154 @cherrycolabarbedwirebedpost @stuckinmoilalaland@ae-mius @ropickle @chokesonspit @lansy-4 @mo0sin @just-pure-trash @foliea @bakarinnie @big-booty-joe

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flarebean · 2 years

Text

maybe i should figure out organisation for stuff i want to come back to eventually. not sure how to do that from mobile though. stuff like uh

(hk-ut) quirrel falls down a hole

(hk) to carry a candle au

(hk) it's hollow's turn to be a hero again

(valo) zero/volt friendship stuff

maybe i should also tag my rambles if people want to like... filter it out lmao

making a stab at that. might miss some.

[30 Nov 2022]

starting to tag reblogs as 'reblog' as well, i guess?

[11 Apr 2023]

#Quirrel Falls Down A Hole #to carry a candle au #it's hollow's turn to be a hero again #zero/volt #if you want to filter out the rambles (except the old ones) they're 'flarebean.txt'#what a desperate fool he is!#over the horizon

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oceanreveuse · 2 months

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‘ 𝓱𝔂𝓭𝓻𝓸 𝓭𝓻𝓪𝓰𝓸𝓷 — neuvillette x gn!reader ’

★ sub!neuvillette, dom!reader, canon!au, two dick!neuvi send tweet!! overstimulation, orgasm denial, handjob(s), dacryphilia, forked tongue!neuvi… pet names (baby, mon amour - my love), not proofread, pronouns not used so can be read as gn!reader!!

‘hydro dragon, hydro dragon, don’t cry.’ you remember the rhyme as clear as day, like you’d been raised with it carved into your mind. it’s chimed like a chorus on the streets of fontaine by the children, small and innocent - and adherently unaware of the world around them.

the room fills with another choked sob, whimpering into the pillows of your shared bed. the bedsheets, silk and shiny, are sodden by numerous liquids; tears, drool and if you’re kind enough to your beloved husband, cum. if only that was the circumstance, dragging both of your lithe hands up and down red tipped cocks in languid strokes. you never lose your rhythm and as much as NEUVILLETTE has always held a candle of admiration to your resilience and dexterity, by the archons he wishes you would let up for just a moment - just for him.

neuvillette can feel himself slipping away, crumbling in the palms of your hands the longer he attempts to endure your torture. his cries seem to fall on deaf ears, drowned out ironically by children innocently on the streets of the court of fontaine, outside the window as they chime happily in the downpour, “hydro dragon, hydro dragon, don’t cry!”

there’s a smug look on your face, eyes glittering as you lean over the iudex’s muscular body, decorated nicely by those white hairs that almost pale in comparison to the man’s skin colour. plush lips linger by his pointed ears, breath fanning over his skin that’s warm to the touch. neuvillette has never been one for sweating but it feels like hours since you started and there’s beads glittering on his forehead and neck, threatening to run down crevices untold.

“how sweet of them, don’t you think baby?” you murmur and neuvillette chokes on a noise that gets caught in his throat, his adam’s apple bobbing as he tries to swallow the lump. his whimpers are so light and airy, almost as dainty as the way the large man carries himself - as if he’s fragile porcelain.

“m-mon amour— hhnngh— p-please—” you cut off the male by capturing his lips in a searing kiss, messy when he arches his back in order to press more against him. he uses it as an escape to muffle his moans that get louder, threatening to breach the walls - and windows - of the bedroom and reach the ears of unsuspecting bystanders. you use it as a means of silencing the otherwise loud dragon, saving yourself the time of hearing his pathetic attempts at begging you for mercy.

he ruts his hips into your hands, forked tongue slivering to fight against your tongue in a hopeless battle of dominance. he wants so badly to finish, for thick ropes of white to paint his abdomen or the back of your throat but you’re relentless and he should have known this from the start. crystalline tears run rivers down flushed cheeks and sharply carved jawlines, rain battering against the windows as the citizens of fontaine call for their children, ushering them into shelter.

the chorus of rhymes end but it doesn’t stop you from filling the silence with a symphony of neuvillette’s desperate whines and delicate whimpers, his moans breathy as he pants to catch his breath. you swipe a thumb teasingly over the tip of one of his cocks, collecting treasured drops of precum and eliciting a sharp hiss from the parted lips of your husband.

your hands pick up pace, watching the way he claws at silken sheets to grasp anything - literally anything. there’s a fire in his abdomen, heavy balls tightening when he’s finally climbing those precious stairs to climax. he’s ready, he’s oh-so-ready for your praise and the soft aftercare you’ll spoil him with, that he’s very much deserved. the poised man prepares himself, rocking his hips into your fists as he chases his high, only for your hands to pull away just at the precipice. his hips stutter, cocks needy and twitching from yet another denial as he chokes out a sob.

your amused voice chides into the hot air of the bedroom, soothing your palms over his tense thighs, “hydro dragon, hydro dragon, don’t cry.”

[ her lady is affiliated with @houseofsolisoccasum ]

#( whispers in the waves )#( haiqueue !! )#neuvillette smut #neuvillette x reader #genshin smut #genshin #genshin impact #genshin x reader #genshin neuvillette #sub genshin

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haruchi-slit · 2 months

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"EXTRA CANDLES!"

synopsis: it's your birthday, with your two lovers toji and sukuna how'll it go?

warnings: MDNI! + threesome + double penetration + ooc (massive ooc) + modern au + pwusyy licking + modern au + sukuna is not a curse so no 2 pps :[ + use of toys + mentions of: biting, drool, blood (caused by sukuna biting your lips) + reader being refered as: "girl"/"woman" + they're mean!

a/n: i might've gotten carried away with this one...uhmmm hehe i hope you enjoy it!

"c'monnnn, please sing happy birthday for me!" your lips formed a pout as you gave the men puppy eyes batting your eyelashes on them, toji rolled his eyes as sukuna cringed and clicked his tongue, "sing it yourself, dumbass" the man snarks

"oh come on!" you forced, "it's literally my birthday!", "ugh! fine what ever girl." toji huffs, before sukuna gave him a "what the fuck" look, "just sing her the b-day song, it won't hurt your damn pride" toji remarks nudging sukuna's shoulders. "tch-" sukuna growls in irritation, you smirked on your victory, while clapping your hands.

"ok on 1 2 3!"

"Happy birthday to you"

"come onnn i need more energy!" you teased, laughing uncontrollably on how their low voices struggled to hit the high notes.

"Happy birthday Happy birthday, Happy birthday to you"

they sung in sync with fiery glares shot directly on your soul,

"i hate you, so damn much" toji sighs,

"shut up I'm making my b-day wish!" you murmur, while your eyes closed and your hands pressed together, you opened your eyes smiling "thank you guys!", "oh- yeah...we got a present for your bratty ass, get that box right there..." sukuna points the box on the edge of the bed, "awhhh, you guys got me a present? I love you guys" you excitedly rushed on the bed grabbing the box before going back to them.

"open it" the two men mumbles in sync smiling ear to ear with a hint of devoir in their voices,

"you guys shouldn't have," you placed the box beside the cake before reaching to sukuna's lips, "love you" you smiled, then heading over to toji's lips,"love you too" you let out a cheeky giggle then heading over to the mysterious box once again, "is it another cake? or is it gonna be a teddy bear?" you inquired, but only to receive shrugs from them. you rolled your eyes proceeding to open it, you opened the box but only to be surprised with a another box but this time it's smaller, and it's tied with pink ribbons, "are you guys pranking me?" you chimed but only to receive their shrugs once again. you knitted your eyebrows proceeding to untie the ribbons off.

"oh-" you gasped, with your eyes flickering "do you like it?" sukuna asks, "i hand picked that lingerie for ya', and sukuna here choose that toy" there was atleast a 10 seconds of silence before these men pounced your body down the bed, "w-wait!" you yelp but it's too late... you're now their meal, and you're not coming out alive.

you lay down as your breath hitched while they slowly stripped off your clothes, exposing your sensitive areas, "y'know why i ordered icing cake instead of a normal one?" "i-i don't-" you'd stutter, "heh...i guess not" sukuna's chuckle echoed across the room, before he stood up to grab the cake, "sit up, girl" toji groans as he sat you up on his lap, "are you liking our b-day surprise, hmm?" toji murmurs against your flushed ear, fanning his hot breath on you, while sukuna smears icing all over your body, causing your body to shiver, from the sudden contact.

toji adjusted his posture whilst grabbing the vibrator they've got for you, turning it on a bearable level to stimulate your clit, "hngh-" a gasp wrenches out your throat as the vibrator came in contact on your clit, sukuna licking off the smeared icings on your body so lustfully and with a hint of carnivorous intent at the same time.

sukuna unfurls his white polo, letting it slope down his defined arms, while he devours your plumy lips, he tilts his head and bit your lower lip to let his tongue in to assert his dominance while he plays with your nipples, with toji burying his head on the crook of your neck at the same time nibbling on your skin, leaving marks that turns purple the next morning.

sukuna let's go of your lips, leaving it red and glossy and a bit of blood dripping down your lips. you sucked your lower lip in to collect your blood, sukuna then lays flat on his stomach preparing to lick off the icing from your inner thighs.

"what a splendid meal, shall i dig in?" he looks up to you with a smug grin, "y-yes, please..." you stammered, he scoffs, licking his lips...he wasted no time and latched his tongue on your inner thigh, licking off the sweet, sweet icing off and it just made you lose your sanity, sukuna's just so good with his tongue.

you felt his drool drip down your thighs, you placed one arm on toji's neck and reached for his lips in which he responded to, the atmosphere was hot, scorchingly hot even. you felt toji pressing the vibrator hard on your swollen clit as his tender lips converge yours, lips hovering from each other, you can feel your stomach burn with a pool of pleasure with the aspiration to release, you're so close...sukuna nibbles your inner thighs leaving his signature, breaths weaving in different patterns, toji's free hand creeped up to your perked breast and starts to fondle it with his pudgy and calloused fingers, earning a pleased whimper from you.

the bedsheets was drenched by your sweet fluids, while your cunt spasms and clenches around nothing, your feet curled while your waist squirmed as your stomach rolls in pleasure ready for your release..."'m close- agh-am close!" you swallowed, warning them for your release.

with the stimulation they're inflicting you only tipped you over the edge, it was so good, they're so good, and it drive you to your high, "ahnn- hgh!" you mewled reaching your frenzied high... "f-fuck..." you murmur, basking at the bliss of your release.

"you gotta bottom us out too, birthday girl" toji reminds you, while nibbling your ear, "you've gotta blow this candles out too, brat...heh" sukuna bantered, while toji stood up and sat beside him, they stripped all their clothes off slowly putting up a show for you, such a tease aren't they? letting their clothes fly across the room as they stare at you with voluptuous and lewd desires.

you are truly not getting out alive...cause at the meantime you were instantly folded in half by toji, letting your pussy eat his cock in, sukuna behind you pounding your ass like a animal in heat, "ughm- ugh- ugh!" you groused punctuated with each thrust, "so fucking- tight!" toji grumbles as he pushes your thighs to your chest, fucking his cock deeper in your cunt, "such a good woman aren't you?" sukuna laughs, moving his hips in a heart-stopping speed.

"agh-so fucking augh good so so- gosh!" you moaned so shamelessly with your tongue lolled out, drool dripping down the sides of your mouth, while your eyes rolls to the depths of your skull, you were full off ecstasy and full of relish, you could feel the familiar pool of waves reaching your core and on their thrust you came... you were in cloud nine, and as well as your lovers, toji sweeps away your hair from your face, tucking it behind your ear, looking straight into your doe eyes "such a good slut yea? taking our cocks so good?" toji snickers, putting your leg on top of his shoulder pushing his hips so meanly on you. "s-too musch!" you gasped as sukuna spreads your ass cheeks even more bucking his cock deeper, you swear you almost saw the whole galaxy..."sososo gooood" sukuna grumbles bitting the crook of your neck, and in the last and final thrusts he shooting his load in you, bottoming out all off his seed, as toji came soon after.

you could feel their cock twitching inside of you, you catched your breaths before toji pulls out, he looks at you with a soft smile, while your pussy oozed out his cum,

"we're gonna use the lingerie i bought you in some other day" ...

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gladiatorcunt · 6 months

Text

summary: aemond targaryen x afab childhood friend wife!reader

cw: intentional heavier valyrian usage (i used translators so if i’m wrong, please just pretend that i invented the language and i’m right), slight breath play-ish, reader isn’t related to aemond in any way (they’re just from a different royal family from elsewhere , visited as a kid and met aemond), pregnant!reader, the breeding and praise kinks aren’t explicitly stated but they’re more in his actions, flashback mention of teen aemond having a typical teen boy reaction and getting a boner bc he saw his crush bent over, aemond drinks reader’s breast milk like a vampire and cums, this au-ish storyline has been a long standing maladaptive daydream but this is just a kinktober post, stuck in the wall was also supposed to be included but i cheated and just mentioned it/same with the waxplay lmao, implied wax play later on, kinda unsafe and unrealistic sex (obviously), written with no thoughts

wc: 1.4k+

block & move on if uncomfortable !!

do not repost, translate, or give ai my works

kinktober masterlist

It’s been six moons since you discovered that you were with child. Your husband, Aemond Targaryen, had been smug beyond belief when the maester estimated that you conceived on your wedding night.

You were not prepared for how your body would transform in the coming months. You have to empty your bladder more often than not and a burning in your chest keeps you awake. One of the more annoying problems was the tremendous ache in your breasts.

Aemond awoke to your quiet groans, sitting up in bed was not easy for you these days.

With a yawn, not even bothering to put on his eyepatch, he sat up in bed beside you.

“What have I told you about making good use of me if you need something, raqiarzy? (beloved). You should still be resting.” He chides you.

“How can I sleep when my tits are full to bursting, Aemond?” You reply with a slightly bratty tone, and he gives you a brisk pat on your behind to settle you. It was gentler than his strikes usually are, he considers your health with every action after all.

He sighs and lumbers out of bed to light a candle, as naked as he was when he succumbed to slumber. The newfound influx of hormones guides your attention to hone in on his cock flopping in the air as he walks back to bed. The dried wax from your love making last night still stubbornly clung to both of your bodies. You would definitely need to take another bath in the morning.

“Ao līs daor emagon ryptan issa se ēlī jēda, issa jorrāelagon. (you must not have heard me the first time, my love)” Aemond reminds you, unable to stop you from getting up and sitting in front of your vanity.

If your husband did not know better, one would think that you were opposed to any night time…. activites. The tired amusement in your eyes beckons him forward, but he stays lounging on the bed and watching you run your fingers through your hair. Aemond resorts to teasing to obtain your attention, adoring how you always fall for it hook, line, and sinker.

“It feels as if it were only yesterday that we reunited all those years ago, you had gotten lost and ended up falling in a hole in the city’s walls on your visit.”

Your hands pause on their way to grab your hair brush, casting a weak glare towards him out of the corner of your left eye. You clear your throat but you make no attempts to hide your embarrassment at the thought of the past. Aemond holds eye contact with you through the mirror, resting the hand not holding his head up on his hip.

“I was six and ten, wallowing in nausea and nerves. Do not pretend that you were faring much better, husband. We had not laid eyes on each other for nearly a decade.”

You do not mention the sizable tent in his trousers he had carried around after he helped you out of the wall.

“At that time I was convinced the way I would see you again would be in death, there was only relief for me.” He says firmly, and you shyly peel your gaze away from the mirror.

As exhausted and drained as you are, your heart melts at the unwavering affection in his words. Aemond clearly grows bored of playing cat and mouse, because suddenly his torso is pressing flush against your back.

“If you can’t sleep, at least allow me to distract you from your discomfort.”

He cups the front of your neck and gently squeezes, you huff but understand his unspoken request and arch your back against him.

“Refrain from teasing me, valzȳrys (husband), for tonight at least.” You lean your head back and look up at him as his other hand drifts down to tug the bodice of your nightgown down.

Your slip of Valyrian earns you another quick squeeze. You gasp and Aemond seizes the opportunity to gather enough saliva in his mouth to spit into yours. Your throat bobs under his hand as you swallow and he pinches your nipple in appreciation.

“Hmm. I will do my very best, darling.”

You have learned by now that such assurances mean tragically little.

Aemond takes stock of your chest, sliding the hand cupping your throat to be able to grope at both of your breasts. He rolls them around in his palms and kneads them as if he were in the kitchen handling dough. You moan at the sheer relief and his sapphire eye seems to sparkle at you in some kind of wink.

“These heavy tits must be remarkably sore, so full and with no one to drain them of their milk.”

You nod helplessly, more than ready for him to abandon his games and do just that.

One of his hands temporarily abandons your breast to push your head back down so you’d look at the mirror. You sit there, enraptured in the sight of milk beading to the tips of your nipples and leaking out.

Aemond catches it as well and groans, pinching at your nipples a bit meaner and squeezing your tits tightly to coax more milk out.

“Gevie (beautiful) , all this food for our future dragon. You are glowing brighter than any moon, raqiarzy (beloved).”

Your cheeks heat with embarrassment, never being able to take compliments with grace, and gaze down at your lap. A firm hand sinks into your hair and pulls it so you return your gaze to your sticky tits. Aemond swipes his fingers through the milky trails running down your tits. He whorishly brings them to his mouth and sucks them dry, smirking at you in the mirror as he grunts.

Your ornate vanity chair is swiftly turned around, and your lap is drowned in white hair when he falls to his knees before you.

“Aemond, what are you-“ Your words are cut off by a greedy mouth latched around your right nipple. Your husband is being mindful of his teeth and starts to rapidly suckle.

His free hand pets at the hair above your mound absentmindedly. An agonized groan floats through the air as his sucking picks up speed. You clutch onto the back of his head with both hands and run your fingers through his fine hair.

“Gods, Aemond, thank you thank you thank you. Such a devoted husband, I love you.” You do not say it often, your shy nature comes into play regarding that sort of thing, but the immensity of it must take a toll on your husband.

His groans are muffled by your teats and you have to swipe away stray drops of milk that dribble out of his mouth as he drains you.

Somewhere along the way he switches to your other breast when the previous one had nothing more to give. Your cunt howls in need for additional stimulation but the feeling of your chest pain fading away urges you to let your dearly beloved have his fill of your body. There are times in which you say it is his right.

You notice that Aemond has been grinding his weeping cock against the floor. He appears to have synced his thrusts to his suckling, and seeing how drunk he is off your milk meant for his future child makes you just as ravenous as his cock is for a hole to fuck.

Your arms wrap around Aemond in a fierce hug, surrendering yourself to your cunt’s way of thinking. Even if he wanted to pull away, your grip gave him no means to do so. His face is squished into your tits and his eye rolls back, continuing his suckling and writhing.

He rips his mouth away from you to loudly exclaim, and you are startled by how his mouth forms an ‘O’ shape and his form locks up. Aemond weakly thrusts his hips through his apparent peak, the burst of fluids spewing out onto the floor. A few spurts of it lands on your legs, and in the depths of your depravity you eagerly scoop it up to shove in your mouth.

You run your fingers through Aemond’s hair again to assist him in coming back down, and once he does you are quickly swooped up in his arms and delicately thrown back onto the bed.

“Do not confuse a curse for a blessing, issa dāria (my queen). My cock is likelier to grow wings and take flight than it is to run out of seed to stuff this puffy cunny with. Sir sagon nykeā sȳz ābrazȳrys (now be a good wife), and endure it for me, hm?”

You will be greeting the approaching dawn with countless more pieces of dried wax.

#this is so bad jace's was better #hotd #hotd x reader #hotd x you #aemond targaryen #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen x you #aemond x reader #aemond x you #aemond #aemond targaryen smut #aemond smut #aemond fanfiction #aemond targaryen fanfic #house of the dragon #house of the dragon x you #hotd smut #house of the dragon x reader #tw pregnancy

934 notes · View notes

naffeclipse · 8 days

Text

Charm Brought It Back

Reader x Witches!Sun, Moon, & Eclipse

Commission Info

I am so excited to present this Hocus Pocus inspired AU requested by the lovely @jackofallrabbits! The boys star as the witchy brothers who return once a fated reader lights the starry candle. They simply must show their gratitude! And what better day to post such a spooky and fun fic than on Friday the 13th?!

Content Warning: Suggestive themes, heavy kissing, and heavy touching.

———

You turn the key and cut the engine of your car. With a flick, you turn off the headlights. The beginning of a sunset swoops down onto your ill-adjusted vision. The horizon is drenched in purples and oranges as shadows begin to crawl off of trees and their yellowed leaves. It will take a minute or two for your sight to adapt, but you have tilted and revolved the structure waiting just at the edge of the forest within your mind’s eyes for days now. It’s beyond the dirt road you’ve pulled onto the shoulder of.

Blinking slowly, you find the house’s dark silhouette through the boughs of clustered trees, and you sigh at the beauty of its preserved history.

The building is an artifact dating back roughly to the 1630s. A post-medieval English-style home, it contains two stories with an overhanging jetty and stunning clapboard siding that has survived a little under four centuries of existence. Your eyes catch on the windows and your heart sings at the sight. Diamond-paned casement. And there, decorative pendants of celestial bodies, including iron-casted suns, moons, and overlapping symbols of the two. The steeply pitched roof is common for the era and is more renowned in its descendant the saltbox form, but this style boosts its spooky aura.

The Puritan colonists were the ones responsible for importing the style to America as they landed here on the eastern coast.

It’s no stretch of the imagination to think of witches and execution trials while gazing over the beautiful home. You’re particularly intrigued by the history of the Salem witch trials, and as a historian, you couldn’t deny yourself the chance to enter the building and feed the gnawing need to stand within a piece of history.

Stepping out of your car, a gust of wind carrying the bitter edge of autumn cuts through your brown sweater. You shiver and shut the door as quietly as you can manage. This is hallowed ground. This will supply your ever inquisitive mind which is always looking to the past with a curiosity most insatiable.

You face the home. A footpath lightly serpentines between the trees. Hooligans with destructive tendencies and teenagers on dares will venture here for a spooky, fun time, but are usually caught by the police because the building sits on private property. You asked for permission from the owner of the hundreds of acres of forest land that includes the so-called “Witch House” if you might enter the premises. Given your credentials, you were certain the owner would trust you with exploring the home.

Much to your relief, the owner agreed.

You look up, arms clutching your knitted sleeves to fight the chill of an October breeze, in awe and reverence.

From your pocket, you slip out a wrought-iron key with the symbol of the moon overlapping the sun to form a black eclipse and marvel again at the intricacy of ancient beauty. Your fingertips grow chilled in the late hour. The sun shifts from orange to dark, bleeding red like blood from a heart spilled across the horizon. You walk towards the home.

Perhaps you should have arrived sooner. You were caught in another historical journal depicting the specific timeframe of when this home would have been occupied by its original inhabitants.

The rumors even now speak of curses and cursed artifacts within the building. Some of it is true—you have confirmed with your own scholarly sources. The original owners were a trio of brothers. They were accused of witchcraft and hanged for the crimes. That much is historically documented and verified.

What is fantasy is the tale of the brothers casting a curse with their dying breaths, declaring they would one day return if a virgin lit a starry candle on the anniversary of their executions.

Superstition. Most likely, the fear of the townspeople transcended to their children, and their children, down and down until it became a tale to spin on Halloween night around these parts.

The door is black as you approach it. A stray branch catches on your sweater, pulling on a thread, and you yank yourself free and silently mourn the roughen fabric before returning your attention to what really matters. You must be careful. This entire place is iconic and in need of preservation.

You slip the key into the lock hole and turn it with a thick, heavy click before the black wood door groans and slides inwards as if inviting you into its sphere. You take a breath. Your boots cross the threshold and you enter the home.

As is typical of some homes built in the early seventeenth century, an open hall greets you. In the far back is the fireplace with a cauldron still sitting upon an ashy bed. An original wood-carve table and chairs are set to one side as a staircase climbs up into the darkness of the second level. What little red light leaks inside is narrowed and cut up into diamonds by the panes. To one wall, shelves contain dusty and forgotten cooking utensils, once glimmery copper pots, and dinner dishes with designs considered much too gawky in the Puritan era but it causes you to softly gasp.

Your hand covers your mouth as you gaze around you, overwhelmed with the beautiful intricacies of metallic chandeliers holding half-burned tallow candles, and to the other wall lies a bookshelf covered in cobwebs as if the spiders refuse to let anyone examine such precious reads. Your fingers already itch to gently pry out one manuscript and gaze at the original script of whoever wrote it.

But the light—it’s far too dark now. The red has given way to blue and pale indigo. You squint. You reach into your other pocket for a lighter and flick it on. The tiny flame spouts a delicate light. Never would you dare admit this out loud to a living soul, but you so desperately wish to see the home in its authentic state, lit only by the technology the brothers had at the time: fire.

There are thick, yellowed candles lying on the table and clustered together on the narrow window sills. You have no hope of reaching the metal chandeliers but you do spy a candelabra positioned near the bookshelf on a small end table. You light it first with a careful touch of your lighter flame. The wick catches, even after all of these years. You smile softly, your heart warm within your chest as you bask in the essence of this beautiful place.

A few more candles should suffice.

You slip to the table to light the thick and tall candles. The flames bloom and warm the space in rich light, casting thick shadows from support beams. You almost set your lighter away when you spy one last candle set upon a golden candle holder. The fashioned metal twists and twines with elaborate engravings of shooting stars and slices of sun rays were placed in the corner of the room almost out of sight. The curiosity within you urges you to take a step, then another, and another. You stand in front of the almost forgotten candle.

The tallow is black as midnight. Strange. How did they color this? Embedded within the darkness are speckles of white, splattering the candle like an array of stars. Your eyes stray in search of constellations before shaking your head.

It’s true. There is a starry candle. Perhaps the brothers did dabble in the occult, playing with cards and fortune telling, and being punished with death for their interest in unholy magic.

The wick is dark and untouched as if it were never lit before. You bring the lighter flame closer. Superstition might worry another, but you concern yourself with logic and reason—explanations of humanity rather than inexplicable forces beyond comprehension.

Something stirs from a nearby corner shelf. Two long ears twitch. You catch a glimpse of a rabbit with creamy white fur just before it leaps off of the shelf and directly onto your arm. You yelp. Nearly dropping the lighter, you scramble back as the rabbit hits the floor, collects itself, and sits on its haunches.

Green eyes glare up at you. The rabbit, small and bunny-like, stays firmly between you and the starry candle.

You stand with your chest heaving and your lungs scraping out air, almost burning your thumb on the lighter flame before turning around yourself. Where did the woodland creature come from? Did it crawl its way inside like a rat and become trapped within the colonial home? The shot of adrenaline still flowing through your veins leaves your hands shaking.

The rabbit is still watching you with uncanny eyes. Prey animals so rarely stare back at bigger, larger threats. Perhaps it’s a pet. A runaway pet that somehow ended up here, of all places.

You slowly offer out your hand, keeping the lighter away in your other, as you take a step towards it.

It thumps a foot once, as if in warning, then bounds away. You watch it disappear into the house, still reeling from the fright it gave you.

If Michael was here, he would have laughed and told you to leave with him, now. He never wanted you to go here, especially alone, but you shake such ominous warnings away. He said curiosity killed the cat. You disagreed. This house is a part of history, not a curse. Witches are mere stories, conjured out of historical unrest and the longing to blame bad luck and tragedies upon an individual or three.

There’s always an explanation for fear superstition or mistrust. It’s far more sad than it is spooky.

You shake your head, smooth out the creases in your sweater, and face the starry candle again. The lighter flame flickers softly as you draw near it.

It is the anniversary of the brothers’ executions. You remember now as the shadows from other candles drape over you like a veil. You are also a virgin.

You laugh to yourself, covering your mouth as you do so. Look at you! You’re getting so worked up because a rabbit jumped at you.

It’s only hocus-pocus.

You tilt the lighter until it engulfs the wick. The flame catches, and you at last snap the lighter shut and return it to your pocket. Your eyes squint slightly at the candle. The wick snaps and bursts into sparks. The flame is not yellow or orange or even blue—it’s pure white like a comet streaking across the sky.

A crack of thunder splits the night sky with a bellow so monstrous, you feel like a child again, fearing a storm. You drop low to the ground, shielding your head as if the very world was going to fall upon you. A spark cracks in the fireplace, conjured out of ash underneath the cauldron before it burns hot and bright. The cauldron immediately begins roiling and bubbling with water. Laughter, great and terrible, and filled with the most jester-like joy sweeps over the room.

The pulse in your ears drowns at any sense but the need to hide. You scramble into the corner, tucking yourself behind the stand of the starry candle and hunker down. Holding your breath, you grab a fistful of your sweater while clutching your chest, and watch the door to the almost 400-year-old house fly open.

Three figures stride inside, looking about the place with wide eyes and disk-like heads framed in jutting adornments not unlike sun rays or shrouded in a heavy, dark blue hood.

“Brothers! We’re home!” The first one, tall and dark with deep red hues to his form, accent in sharp orange sun rays and an eclipse upon his face, turns to face his brother with bright, cat-like yellow eyes. “Isn’t it glorious?”

Another figure steps forward, yellow and off-white. Pale eyes beam. His head is crowned in bright sun rays as well. His spindly fingers twindle together in exuberant energy while he glances about the room eagerly. “Oh, yes, yes! More than anything! It’s as if we weren’t gone for more than a day—though the dust and cobwebs beg to differ.”

He draws a claw—you suck in a sharp breath—along the table’s edge and rubs his taloned fingertips together in disappointment.

“We must get to cleaning at once.”

“No,” the last figure fixes his hood with silvery digits. Golden jewels hang down the back of his unusual skull, the last and most prominent adornment a thick, golden star pendant. His eyes cast around the room, scarlet, and searching. “We must thank the little mouse who lit the candle.”

He flashes sharp teeth within his wide mouth, shaping it into a hungry grin. You gulp.

“Where are our manners?” The red and dark one twists back to the room with a flourish of his arms. His yellow gaze sweeps over the shelves and floors with a blade-like glint. “Of course, we must thank one so lovely.”

A dark cape drapes about his person. Underneath, a white flowing shirt hangs loosely to his lithe and slender figure, causing you to balk upon staring at such an exposed chest. The other two are no different, wearing similar shirts and dark trousers, but the hooded one bears a thick, longer cape while the sunny figure shares a cape similar to the first.

The yellow one lifts his wrists and frowns at the red ribbons tied around them. Golden bells jingle softly in an ominous chord.

“How terrible a reminder of our current impermanence,” he growls low in his throat, all cheerfulness lost and causing you to squeeze your ribs in fear.

“Patience, Sun,” the red one speaks, though he too casts a narrowed glance to the black ribbons and golden bells adorning his wrists. “We will affix ourselves back to this world in due time.”

“Eclipse, what a delicious creature I smell.” The hooded figure steps deeper into the home. Blue claws scratch at equally blue ribbons knotted to his hand bones but his attention is terrifyingly fixed on the candle stand just above your hiding spot.

You shrink further into the corner.

“Yes, Moon? And how lovely?” Eclipse, you assume, asks. His yellow eyes flash.

“As lovely as the stars,” Moon answers.

You watch claws curl around the wooden side of the candle stand, scratching deeply into the wood before a half-moon face emerges from behind, teeth set like a predator’s upon the sight of a wounded animal. Your heart flutters like a bird with a broken wing.

“Hello, little mouse. Won’t you come and play with us?”

You scream as he leaps behind the candle stand, takes you by the arms, and pulls you to your feet. You struggle to free yourself, crying out as he grabs hold of your wrists and fixes you firmly in place.

“My, how sweet,” he purrs in a dangerously low voice that rolls in the back of his throat. “You are the darling virgin who lit the candle, no?”

“Let me go!” You thrash but Moon grins in delight, as if you’re simply too precious.

“You deserve proper thanks,” He lowers one hand, forcing you to submit with slightly bent knees. “Here is my gratitude, little mouse.”

You freeze as he brings your hand towards his mouth, and a hundred, horrifying visions of him biting your fingers off or sinking his teeth in your palm send your blood into a frozen sludge of fear.

The witch, however, presses a kiss to the center of your palm. The softness catches the gears in your mind and jerks them to a halt.

“Thank you for allowing us to return once more,” he rasps. His scarlet eyes find yours between the space of your thumb and forefinger, and a strange stirring takes hold of your middle.

“This isn’t real,” you breathe. Dizziness begins to take hold.

This must be a dream, a thought gone wild, or inhaled bacteria triggering hallucinations.

Moon’s grin widens. He lowers your hand, loosening his hold for one precious moment. You rip your hands free of his grasp. A low growl escapes him but you’ve already slipped away, your eyes upon the door and spilling with the need to rush out into the night, away from the impossibilities standing before you—

Arms snatch your waist and lift your feet from the ground. You gasp.

Held in the air, you squirm before a hot breath dusts the shoulder of your sweater. You fall still, your throat bobbing as a mouth presses into the corner of your neck and lays a kiss on the sensitive spot. Gooseflesh prickles up and down your body.

“I assure you, I’m very real, little mouse,” Moon purrs. His hands squeeze your hips once. “And as nice as this… attire is, I would dress you in blues and silvers. You would look proper and powerful, like my brothers and I.”

A squeak escapes you. You shrink against him, caught in his embrace.

“Brothers?” The word rattles out of your throat.

“This is our home,” Moon whispers. “And you are our most honored guest.”

You manage to pry off his hands from your waist. With a sinister chuckle, the blue and silver hands release you. Without looking back, you run, ignoring the twinge in your stomach that whispers it was too easy to get away.

You hardly get a few steps before the sunny one—Sun—steps into your path. He catches you in his arms and spins you in a waltz at breakneck speed, your feet never touching the ground, before stopping without warning as he dips you low. He looms above you, his smile filled with sharp teeth.

“Let me get an eyeful. Oh, yes, you look good enough to eat,” he simpers. His hand splays along the small of your back and you gawk up at him, still trying to regain your balance after the sickness-inducing whirl. “You have no idea how long I’ve waited for you.”

“I just want to leave,” you whimper. “Please, don’t hurt me.”

“Hurt you? Sunshine,” he laughs, and it echoes with all of his heart—do once-hanged witches have a heart? There is no historical journey to give context to this very moment, you fear.

He lowers his sultry gaze to you. “I wish to only thank you. And I intend to.”

He pulls you back to your feet. You’re still clasped in his embrace like lovers on a ballroom floor. His hand hooks tight to your hip, and his other catches the side of your face. Heat spreads through the marrow of your bones.

On the tabletop beside you, something white moves across the plane of its surface, hunkering behind the thick stack of candles still burning.

His head lowers to your neck. You stiffen as he tilts your head away, opening you to his parting teeth. A tongue, dark and sinuous, flicks out of his maw. A gasp slips from your lips at the wet lick up the column of your throat. Eyelids fluttering, you start to sag as weakness fills your knees. He drags his tongue higher to taste your jawline and finishes at your cheek with a swipe for good measure.

Your hands find him and clutch tightly to his slender arms. He presses his lips to your ear and with a misty warmth, whispers.

“Thank you for—Gah!”

The white rabbit leaps up from the table, squirming directly between you and his chest, breaking you apart. Instinctively, you jump away just as Sun snarls. The heart-wrenching sound shakes your entire frame as he snatches the rabbit by the scruff before it can scramble back from his wretched claws.

“I’ll boil you alive!” he thunders. He steps towards the cauldron, back where Moon leans against the wall, watching the spectacle with an amusing twitch of his grinning maw. Behind you, Eclipse stands at the door like a sentinel, his eyes still hungry and even furious as he follows his brother’s movement to the cauldron.

Sun dangles the rabbit, now struggling and kicking but unable to find purchase against the witch’s hold, above the boiling water of the caldron.

“No!” you cry.

Sun’s eyes widen. He turns back to you just as you close the distance and scoop the rabbit in your arms. His claws, pale-boned and wickedly curved, clench around emptiness. Without thought, you turn and run again though there is little hope as you come to the door. Your boots stamp against the wooden floorboards.

The rabbit in your embrace turns its face up to you and mutters in a woman’s voice, “You have no idea what you’ve just done.”

You gawk, stunned before hands catch you by the shoulders. You’re brought to a dead halt. The rabbit leaps from your arms, drops to the floor, and races away into a shadowy corner of the room with only one glimpse of its fluffy tail before you’re left alone.

You twist and face the eldest witch’s attention. Eclipse. His yellow eyes go up and down your body, and you watch in muted shock as two additional arms emerge from the shadows of his cap. He forces you backward, one step after the other until your back is pinned against a dusty wall.

You stare into his eyes, chest rising and falling rapidly. Your pulse pounds in your eardrums.

“I don’t believe this is happening,” you utter.

The witch tilts his head with a wicked grin.

“We’ll make you a believer yet.” He promises, and his deep cords vibrate through your form. “My dear, we simply must thank you for all that you’ve done for us.”

His claws slip over your collarbones. Your breath quickens, a stirring you cannot name unfolding deep within your middle. His extra set of hands fall to your hips and begin caressing the bones. Daintily, carefully, his warm fingertips slip just underneath the hem of your sweater, touching your bare flesh. A shiver runs down your entire body, leaving you to squirm.

“Be a good little comet,” he says softly, “Let me pour my gratitude all over you.”

“I didn’t—I didn’t know it was true,” you stare into his face, marked with a red crescent over a dark shadow, and his eyes pierce into the very nature of your being. “You’re back.”

“Because of you,” he rumbles softly in his chest. His grin pulls higher at the corners.

His claws slip over the nap of your neck and card gently into the small, sensitive hairs at the bottom of your skull. You breathe in. His eyes brighten in pleasure before he slips his sharp but controlled talons over the shells of your ears and follows the arch of your cheekbone. His gaze drops to your lips. Your heart thumps and thumps against your sternum so powerfully, you fear he may hear it.

His lips pull over his razor-sharp teeth and you stop breathing.

His other set of hands begins working up the sides of your torso. He rubs slowly and gently, but you squirm despite this. He touches you far too intimately when you have never experienced such affections before. A mewl escapes your lips. You wriggle as he refuses to relent.

In answer, his upper hands lower and capture your hands together in one, and pin them above your head to hold you in place. He coos, chastising. A great roil starts in your stomach and expands upwards until your face becomes pink and flushed.

“Hold still, little comet,” he chuckles, and you whimper. “I’m not finished with showering you in all my adoration.”

“Eclipse,” your breath is harsh and hot.

“It is good to hear my name upon such lovely lips,” his voice lowers, husky and scorching. “I knew a virgin would light the candle. I swore it to my brothers as they set us on the gallows and draped nooses around our necks. You are our light, our savior. How could I ever thank you?”

In his words, his burning stare that singes with sincerity, it clicks into place. All at once, you believe what you are seeing with your own two eyes.

It’s true. He’s back. He and his brothers have returned with magic.

“I have questions,” you say hesitantly in your demureness, “I want answers.”

“Of course,” Eclipse agrees easily. “But first…”

A dark claw brushes your hair back from your face. The flutter in your heart can’t seem to hold still. Eclipse’s grin widens and his eyes soften.

“You have freckles like constellations,” he murmurs in the manner of one gazing at the night sky or one studying an ornate painting.

Before you can shape words to reply, to say anything that might free you from his grasp, his mouth is upon yours. A sound softly catches in the back of your throat. You fall still under his caressing hands still moving below your sweater. He traces the row of your ribs. You have just enough mind to wonder if he feels your skin prickle in your sensitivity. His other hand clasps your wrists tighter. You gasp against his teeth.

He pulls gently, hungrily, taking you as if a bite of honeycomb. You become melted honey, easily malleable between his teeth and then molded by his mouth. His tongue invades you. You moan softly at the claim he lays upon you until you become weak in the knees and almost fall. His kiss seals your fate.

He releases you from his maw. You sink slightly, and his arms fall out from under your sweater to properly catch you. He lowers your wrists, returns your hands, and brushes your hair once more from your face.

A chuckle emits from his lips, and you burn.

“You’ll stay with us, won’t you?” he asks, but he waits for no answer as he scoops you into his arms. Feet dangling, you have no choice but to cling to his shoulders and endure his brothers’ attention as he twists around and faces them.

The rabbit’s right. You are in trouble. Michael warned you. He said curiosity killed the cat.

But charm brought it back.

#naff's writing commissions #witches and rabbits and candles oh my #if michael was there he would be so mad at you for lighting the candle smh #hocus pocus au my beloved #witch!eclipse #witch!sun #witch!moon #charm brought it back #naff writing

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nhaaauyen · 20 days

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⋆ ˚｡ ⋆୨ The Ghost of You ୧⋆ ˚｡ ⋆

"This thou perceiv'st, which makes thy love more strong // To love that well which thou must leave ere long." -William Shakespeare (Sonnet 73)

PART V: ‘CAUSE I CAN’T TAKE THIS PAIN FOREVER

zombie apocalypse sevika x reader au!: sevika was the super soldier; a killing machine driven solely by survival. you were nomadic, constantly searching for something in whatever was left of the world—till you met her.

series masterpost: part I // part II // part III // part IV

wc: 8.3k cw: smut (MINORS DNI!!!) author's note: thank you to everyone who read/comments + i see your tags on the reposts you guys make me gay and sappy with all your support tysm 💗 (also im so sorry if the smut is so mid I’m not a smut writer and it’s my second time writing smut ever smhhh)

Fifteen died. Including Grayson.

Daylight is spent in a daze of cleaning up, tending to the wounded, and trying to process the magnitude of what's happened. People are trying to piece together what little they can salvage, but the damage is more than just physical.

As night falls, the community gathers for a final farewell. The loss is too great, too much to be exposed under the harsh light of day. The night offers a semblance of protection, a cloak under which everyone can mourn and where grief can be private.

Candles flicker in the hands of those gathered and the atmosphere is thick with sorrow. Families huddle together, some on their knees beside makeshift crosses, others standing in silent clusters. The candles illuminate their tears, turning them into tiny rivers of gold that glisten in the darkness.

You stand by Grayson’s cross, surrounded by those who knew and loved her. Vander, his broad shoulders tense and Ekko clutches his candle so tightly that the wax has begun to drip onto his fingers. Powder leans into Vi, who wraps a protective arm around her sister. Caitlyn stands close, her face a mask of composed grief, but her eyes are red-rimmed and distant. Ren holds onto your hand tightly, her small fingers interlaced with yours.

Your gaze keeps drifting to the shadows, searching for one face in particular.

Then, as if conjured by your thoughts, you spot her. She’s standing under a tree, half-hidden in the shadows. The candlelight doesn’t reach her, leaving her face partially obscured, but you can tell it’s her. She's motionless, almost statuesque, her expression unreadable.

There’s something in the way she’s watching the scene before her that sends a shiver down your spine. It’s almost as if she’s already a ghost herself, a spirit haunting the edge of the gathering. There’s an emptiness to her, as if the life has been drained out of her and what remains is only a shell, a figure standing over a world she no longer belongs to.

A heaviness resides in your chest, a deep, aching sadness that mirrors the grief of those around you. Grayson’s loss is a wound that cuts deep. She was the heart of this community, the one who held everyone together. And now she’s gone, leaving behind a legacy that feels too big, too important to carry on without her.

The vigil continues, but you feel a shift in the air, a quiet, unspoken understanding that it’s time to go, that there’s nothing more to be done here tonight. Slowly, people begin to leave, one by one, their footsteps soft on the grass. You hesitate, your gaze lingering on Sevika one last time. She hasn’t moved, hasn’t acknowledged your presence or anyone else’s.

As your family and Ren head to a neighbor’s house, seeking comfort in numbers, you seek solace in solitude instead.

The silence is almost deafening in your room. You close the door behind you, leaning against it for a moment as you let out a shaky breath.

There’s a soft knock at the door, and for a moment, you think you might be imagining it. But then it comes again, and you push yourself away from the door, your heart pounding in your chest as you reach for the handle.

When you open the door, Sevika is standing there, but she’s not the woman you remember. There’s a hollow look in her eyes, a deep exhaustion etched into every line of her face. She’s hunched over slightly as if the weight of everything has finally broken through her defenses.

For a moment, you just stare at each other, neither of you knowing what to say.

"What's going on?" you ask, your voice barely above a whisper.

Without a word, she steps into the room, her movements slow and almost hesitant.

"Sevika..." you start, but the words die in your throat as she looks at you. Her eyes, usually so guarded, are now pools of raw emotion.

"I could have lost you yesterday," she says, her voice cracking. "I almost did."

You step back and fall onto the edge of your bed, overwhelmed by the intensity of her gaze, the weight of her words.

Sevika falls to her knees before you, burying her face in your lap. Her body shakes, hands clutching desperately at your clothes. The sight of her kneeling before you sends a shockwave through your system. This is Sevika, the woman who’s always stood tall, who’s never shown weakness.

“Please…” The word escapes her lips in a raw, broken whisper, her voice laced with a desperation you’ve never heard from her before. “Please… I can’t take this pain forever.”

Your hands hover uncertainly over her. She’s seeking you, but you find yourself instinctively pushing back, your fingers gripping her shoulders to keep some distance between you. The urge to comfort her wars with the part of you that’s terrified—terrified that if you let her in again, she’ll leave, and you’ll be left with nothing but this overwhelming pain.

Why now? your eyes ask, the ache in your chest tightening. Why now, when I don’t even know if I can trust you not to leave again?

Sevika looks up, her eyes red-rimmed and filled with vulnerability. She reaches for you, but you flinch away, your body betraying your inner turmoil. I won’t, her eyes seem to respond. her hands clinging to you as if you’re the only thing keeping her from falling apart completely.

The push and pull become physical - Sevika's hands grasping at your clothes, trying to draw you in, while you resist, your grip on her arms keeping her at bay. You see the realization dawn in Sevika's eyes as she understands your hesitation. She doesn't speak, doesn't try to persuade you with words. Instead, she simply holds your gaze, her hands loosening their grip but not letting go entirely.

The tension between you is palpable, a living thing that fills the space between your bodies. You can feel it gnawing at you - the fear that she’ll pull away, that this moment will shatter like glass.

Slowly, almost imperceptibly, Sevika's resistance fades. She doesn't try to pull you closer anymore, but she doesn't move away either. She simply kneels there, her head bowed, waiting.

It's this surrender that finally breaks through your defenses. Your hands, which were pushing her away, now tremble as they cup her face. You tilt her chin up, meeting her gaze fully for the first time.

What you see there takes your breath away - it’s a steadfast devotion that silences your doubts. At that moment, you understand that she's not going anywhere.

Your hands finally move, your fingers threading through her hair and letting it fall from its ponytail. The moment you touch her, she lets out a shuddering breath, her body sagging against you as if the weight she’s been carrying has finally become too much.

Sevika sees the hesitation in your gaze, the lingering fear, and something shifts inside her. She surges up, pulling you into a desperate kiss—a plea for you to trust her. The kiss is messy, frantic, filled with the need to feel, to connect, to hold onto something real amidst all this.

You respond immediately, your hands drawing her near—even though parts of you want to stop and shield yourself from the possibility of losing her again, you can’t bring yourself to let go.

Her lips are pressing against yours with a need that makes your heart ache, and you both finally give in to the emotions you’ve been holding back for so long. It’s not like the kiss you’ve shared before—this is different. It’s a commitment to each other that you’ve both been too scared to acknowledge until now.

You both fall back onto the bed, your bodies tangling together as you lose yourselves in each other.

Your hands are never leaving her, your lips never straying too far from hers. Her bionic hand presses into your back gently, pulling you closer until there’s no space left between you and you can feel the steady beat of her heart against your chest.

She suddenly pulls you onto her lap. One hand slides under your shirt, causing a shiver to run down your spine, while the other lingers on the small of your back. With a swift movement, she removes your shirt, leaving you feeling exposed and vulnerable under the moonlight cascading through the window.

A blush creeps up your cheeks at the sudden exposure.

"You're beautiful." The moonlight dances in her eyes and her voice is filled with sincerity and adoration.

Your breath hitches as she leans in and presses a kiss onto your chest, her lips travel lower and lower until she forces a nipple out of your bra. Your gasp quickly turns into a moan as her lips wrap around it and her tongue is swirling, her teeth teasing and biting at the sensitive bud.

Your hands find their way into her hair and shoulders, grasping at something to stabilize a desire that feels like it could push you over the edge. As her lips dance across your neck, her tongue tracing the curve of your jaw, you feel your hips surge forward, seeking the friction that will bring you relief. Your hands, still fisted in her clothes, tug her closer, the fabric straining against the pressure. Sevika's fingers, still tangled in your hair, pull your head back further, exposing your throat to her hungry mouth. Her breath is hot against your skin, sending shivers coursing through your veins. You grind into her fingers, a low, desperate moan builds in your throat, and you hear yourself repeating her name like a mantra.

"Sevika, Sevika, Sevika please."

Your legs tremble as you press into her, the thin fabric of your panties rubbing against her fingers, which are still wrapped around you. The pressure builds, a crescendo of need threatening to consume you whole.

She teases you, her fingers occasionally dipping inside you before pulling back out to rub against your sensitive nub. Each time you’re on the brink of release, she stops and kisses you deeply, driving you crazy with need.

But finally, when you can’t take it any longer, she plunges two fingers inside you. Your fingers dig deep into her shoulder as she sets a steady pace with her fingers, hitting just the right spot inside you that has you writhing in ecstasy.

You’re panting at her touch, your hips bucking into her hand as she moves her fingers in and out of you, her thumb rubbing circles over your clit. Each touch sends jolts of pleasure through your body, making you crave more and more. She whispers sweet words in your ear along with wicked promises that make you wetter than you could imagine.

You grasp the edge of Sevika's shawl, the delicate fabric slipping through your fingers as you slowly pull it away, exposing her bionic arm to you. The shimmering metal catches the dim light of the room, contrasting beautifully with your warm hands. You can’t help but admire the way it seems to glow, each curve and joint blending seamlessly into her skin.

Sevika’s breath hitches at the sight of her exposed arm, and a flicker of vulnerability passes over her face. The vulnerability in her eyes makes you want to show her how incredible she is, and how every part of her makes you feel alive.

You lean closer, your lips brushing softly against her bionic arm, feeling the coolness against your mouth as you press gentle kisses along the sleek surface. It’s smooth, almost soothing, and you feel her relax into your touch. Your breath quickens, merging anticipation and a hunger to worship every part of her.

She changes your positions, laying you down gently on your bed till your head sinks into a plush pillow. You can feel the heat radiating off of her body as she begins to kiss down your body. Her lips leave a trail of fire as they make their way down your stomach until they reach the waistband of your panties. She easily removes them and throws them aside. She starts by lightly kissing and licking your inner thighs, slowly making her way towards your center. You can already feel the heat pooling between your legs as she gets closer and closer to where you want her most. Her gaze locks onto yours as her head hovers over your soaked folds.

“Just focus on me,” her voice comes out hoarse and commanding.

Sevika buries her face between your legs and you gasp at the sudden sensation, gripping the sheets tightly. She flicks and sucks on your clit while slipping a finger inside of you, matching the rhythm of her tongue. There’s a sense of urgency in the way she looks at you – a primal need that mirrors yours perfectly.

Her fingers dig into your thighs, holding you down firmly. You feel yourself getting close, but before you can reach your peak, she stops abruptly.

You whimper in frustration, but it’s quickly replaced with adoration as she climbs up to kiss you, tasting yourself on her lips.

“You got such a pretty body,” She bites teasingly at your ear. “Prettier when it’s a mess for me.”

A course of desire jolts through you at hearing her low and raspy voice whisper those words. Your fingers trace the curve of her shoulder, moving down her arm until you reach her hand. You intertwine your fingers with hers, feeling the coolness of her bionic hand. Sevika blows a hot breath over your glistening mound and you instinctively close your legs around her head.

The room immediately fills with the sound of heavy breathing and the soft, wet noises of skin against skin. Her finger curls inside you, causing your back to arch off the bed in pleasure.

With each thrust and lap of her tongue, she pushes you closer to the edge. You can feel the tension coiling within you—she intensifies her rhythm, sucking and teasing in perfect harmony with your body's responses. The sensations build higher and higher until they finally explode within you.

You release with a loud cry, shuddering in ecstasy as the waves of pleasure wash over you, leaving you breathless and utterly consumed in bliss.

When you finally break apart, it’s only to catch your breath. Your bodies are still tangled together, a sticky, wet mess, but neither of you cares. Sevika holds you tightly, her face buried in the crook of your neck.

The room is bathed in soft, silvery moonlight filtering in through the window. The sounds of your soft breathing fill the space, mingling with the faint rustle of the sheets. Everything feels tender, and fragile, like you’re both holding on to something delicate and precious, something that could shatter with the slightest misstep.

Your fingers trace the scar on Sevika’s cheek, the roughened skin contrasting the softness of her lips. She looks at you, her eyes searching yours as if she’s trying to read the thoughts that you’re too scared to say aloud.

“I don’t want to lose you,” you murmur, your voice trembling with emotion.

“You won’t,” she whispers back, her lips brushing against yours in the softest of kisses.

“Promise me..” Your voice falters, struggling to grasp the idea of not being able to feel her, see her, or touch her like this again. “I don’t know how to exist without you.”

“I’d spend the rest of my days searching,” Sevika replies quietly, her gaze unwavering. “Even just for the chance of seeing you again.”

She cups your face with one hand, her thumb brushing gently over your cheek. “I’ll always find my way back to you.”

You rest your head on her chest, listening to the steady rhythm of her heart, the sound soothing in a way you hadn’t realized you needed. Your fingers trace gentle patterns on her skin and a quiet peace settles over you, a sense of calm that you haven’t felt in what seems like forever.

As you lie there, holding each other in the darkness, the world outside seems to fade into insignificance. You close your eyes, letting yourself finally rest, knowing that she’s here with you, that you’re both in this together. It’s a fragile peace, but it’s yours, and in this moment, it’s more than enough.

⁺˚⋆｡°✩

One Year Later…

The kitchen glows in the warm light, sunlight streaming through the window and illuminating the marble countertops. The sweet aroma of cinnamon and vanilla fills the air as you stir a pot of rice pudding on the stove.

Ren bursts into the kitchen, twirling in her new outfit - a pretty blue dress with matching ribbons in her hair. "Look!" she exclaims, eyes shining with excitement.

You smile warmly. "You look beautiful, honey. Are you ready for dinner at Vander's?"

Ren nods enthusiastically. "Can I go over early? Please?"

"Of course," you reply, giving her a quick hug. "I'll see you there in a bit."

You watch her go, a fond smile lingering on your lips. Ren has become such a central part of your life, switching between living with you and Sevika, and some nights, staying over at Vander’s with the rest of your family. Dinners at Vander’s have also become a tradition, starting as a semblance of normality for the kids until you realize that sometimes everyone just needed a family meal too.

You turn back to your work, carefully measuring out the sugar to add to the pudding. You’re so focused on getting everything just right that you don’t notice when Sevika slips into the kitchen. She moves quietly, her steps almost soundless as she approaches the stove. It’s only when you glance up and see her broad back that you realize she’s there, her figure blocking the light from the window.

"Hey, you're home," you start to say, but then you spot the spoon in her mouth. "Sev!" you exclaim. "I'm not done with that!"

Sevika turns, the spoon still between her lips. "Tastes good," she mumbles around it, a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth.

“It’s supposed to taste good when it’s finished,” you retort, gently pushing her away from the stove.

Suddenly, you feel Sevika's arms encircle your waist, her body warm against your back. She nuzzles into your neck, placing a soft kiss just below your ear. "Mmm," she hums, "doesn’t taste as good as you, though."

“Don’t think you can sweet-talk me into letting you try more,” you say, trying to stay focused despite the distraction she’s providing.

She chuckles again, her deep voice rumbling against your back. “Can’t blame a girl for trying.”

You smile, the familiar banter easing you into a comfortable lull. The gentle pressure of her arms around you, the way she’s so casually affectionate now, fills you with warmth.

"Hey, did you bring home any fruit for the pudding?" you ask, turning in Sevika's arms.

You feel her tense slightly, her smile faltering. "We’re having a bit of a dry season," she says, her tone careful.

The words hang heavy in the air. You know the reality - supplies have been tight lately, with produce struggling to grow and the scavenging teams venturing further each time.

Before you can dwell on it further, Sevika leans in to kiss you, clearly trying to change the subject. But as she does, you catch a whiff of something less than pleasant, and you instinctively pull back, wrinkling your nose.

"Babe, you fucking stink," you blurt out.

Sevika's eyes goes wide in shock, then narrows playfully. "Oh, really?" she growls, trying to pull you closer.

You dance out of her grasp.“Go start a bath,” you say between giggles. “I’ll join you in a bit, okay?”

She lets out a noise of disapproval but obeys regardless. “I wasn’t that bad,” she mutters as she turns toward the bathroom.

“Yes, you were,” you call after her, still grinning as you watch her go. “Go on, I’ll be there soon.”

With Sevika finally convinced, you head to your bedroom to grab some towels.

The bedroom has changed over the past year, becoming more of a shared space than it ever was before. Sevika's red shawl drapes over the back of a chair, while your jewelry glitters on the dresser. The wall above the bed is adorned with colorful drawings - Ren's artwork, depicting your entire makeshift family, the sight of it never failing to warm your heart.

It had started casually enough - a few items of clothing left behind after hurried encounters, a toothbrush appearing in the bathroom. You and Sevika were sneaking around, stealing moments together whenever you could.

When you finally told your family about your relationship, they celebrated, of course. It wasn’t a surprise to them—they had seen the way you and Sevika gravitated toward each other, the looks you reserved solely for one another. You found yourself practically living at Sevika's, though neither of you had officially acknowledged the change.

Then came the day you noticed the difference in her dresser. The already sparse drawers had been reorganized, creating a dedicated space just for you. Your scattered belongings were neatly arranged, claiming their place in Sevika's life.

You remember standing there, staring at that drawer, your heart swelling with emotion. It was such a small gesture, but it spoke volumes. Sevika, always more comfortable with actions than words, had found her way of saying "stay".

A small smile forms on your lips at the memory as you close the closet. Gathering the towels, you head towards the sound of running water.

You settle onto the stool beside the bathtub, watching Sevika relax in the warm, soapy water. Her broad shoulders peek out from the bubbles, her head tilted back slightly as she rests, eyes half-closed in contentment. The sight of her—this tough, unbreakable woman— soaking in the bath like she has nowhere else to be, makes you giggle.

"You look adorable."

Sevika cracks one eye open, giving you a playful glare that’s nowhere near as intimidating as she probably hopes it’ll be. "I’m not adorable," she grumbles.

You reach for a washcloth, gently running it over her back. Your fingers work out the knots in her muscles, and you feel her relax under your touch. The bathroom is quiet except for the soft lapping of water and Sevika's contented sighs.

"Don't get me wet, Sev," you warn as she shifts in the tub.

“I thought I always did,” she shoots back with a sly grin, and before you can react, she splashes a handful of water at you.

The warm water hits you square in the chest, soaking your shirt. You let out a small gasp, and Sevika just laughs, clearly pleased with herself.

“Now I’ve got no choice but to join you, huh?” you say, feigning annoyance as you peel off your damp clothes.

Sevika's arms wrap around you as you settle between her legs, your back pressed against her chest. "No funny business," you remind her. "We've got dinner later."

She groans, burying her face in your neck. "Do we have to do that?"

You intertwine your fingers with hers, squeezing gently. "Yes, we all need it. Even you, Miss Grumpy."

Sevika huffs, but doesn't argue further. It's rare to see her act so petulant, and you can't help but find it endearing. You lean back further into her embrace, savoring the warmth of her skin against yours.

A chuckle escapes you as a memory surfaces.

"What's so funny?" Sevika murmurs against your ear.

"I'm thinking about us," you reply, still grinning. "Remember the first time you came to family dinner?"

Sevika groans again, this time in embarrassment. That first dinner had been spectacularly awkward. Sevika, sitting at Vander’s table, towering over everyone, her presence so imposing that no one knew how to break the ice. You could feel the discomfort radiating from the others as they tried and failed to strike up conversation. Sevika, never much of a talker herself, hadn’t made it any easier.

"I thought Caitlyn was going to have an aneurysm trying to make conversation," you laugh.

"She kept asking about the weather," Sevika recalls. "As if we don't all live in the same damn place."

“But my family loves you now.”

Sevika raises an eyebrow. “They’re still nervous around me though.”

“True,” you admit, chuckling. “But now they know you’re not going to kill them if they say the wrong thing. Well, most of them know that, anyway.”

”I like to keep them on their toes.” Sevika smirks, her lips brushing against your neck. “Can’t let them forget who I am.”

You turn in her arms, facing her now. "I don’t think they would be as afraid if they saw you in a bubble bath right now."

She narrows her eyes at you. "I’m still scary."

"Is that so?" you challenge, your faces inches apart.

Instead of answering, Sevika closes the distance between you, capturing your lips in a kiss. You sigh into it, brushing a damp strand of hair behind her ear.

You're nestled against Sevika, the warm water lulling you into a peaceful state when a sharp knock shatters the moment.

"Who the hell..." She's about to call out, likely with some choice words, when a familiar voice filters through the door.

"Sevika? You in there?"

It's Ran. Sevika's expression immediately hardens.

She gives you an apologetic look as she carefully extracts herself from the tub, wrapping a towel around her body. You remain in the bath, straining to hear the muffled conversation. Snippets reach your ears—"Silco... needs to see you... scouts..."

By the time you've dried off and dressed, Sevika is already changed, her face grim. She's heading for the door, and you follow.

Out on the streets, the usual bustle of Zaun seems subdued. Sevika turns to you, her eyes softening slightly.

"It's just a quick meeting," she assures you, though her tone lacks conviction. "I'll be back, okay?"

You look at her, worry evident in your gaze. She must see it because she adds, "Family dinner is still on. I promise."

You watch Sevika disappear down the street, her words echoing in your mind. Despite her assurances, you can't shake the feeling of unease that settles in your chest. Instead of heading home, your feet carry you to a familiar path.

The old target practice area comes into view, untouched since Grayson's passing. The targets are weathered now, the paint faded and peeling. You moved the practice area after... after everything, but this place still holds a piece of history you can’t forget.

You settle onto the worn bench, you could almost hear Grayson's patient voice, the sound of gunfire. Now it's quiet, a ghost of what it used to be.

Lost in thought, you barely notice the approaching footsteps until a shadow falls across you.

"Quite the view from up here, isn't it?"

A man’s voice cuts through your reverie. You look up to see him, his usual sly smile in place.

"Mind if I join you?" He doesn't wait for an answer before settling onto the bench beside you.

“What do you want, Finn?” you ask, your guard instantly up.

“Just wanted a place to admire Zaun,” he replies. "It’s getting a bit crowded down there.”

You remain silent, wary of engaging. Instead, you’re both gazing out over Zaun—The community sprawls below, a patchwork of light and shadow.

"You know," Finn begins, his voice casual, "I used to come up here sometimes, watch Grayson train the new recruits. She had a way about her, didn't she? A real vision for what Zaun could be."

You nod, unsure where he's going with this.

Finn continues, his tone thoughtful. "Things have changed a lot since then. More people, less space. Resources getting tighter." He glances at you sideways. "Makes you wonder what Grayson would think of it all."

There's something in his voice that puts you on edge, a subtle challenge. You choose your words carefully. "Grayson always believed in Zaun's potential."

"Ah, but potential for what?" Finn leans in conspiratorially. "It looks like things are starting to fray at the edges. People are getting restless, hungry. And when that happens… well, who knows what might come next?"

You feel a surge of anger, but you keep it in check, refusing to let him get under your skin. “Zaun’s strong,” you say firmly. “So if you’re trying to stir up trouble, you can take it somewhere else.”

Finn holds up his hands in a placating gesture. "Of course, of course. I'm just thinking about the future, you know? But hey, I'm sure Silco's got it all figured out."

Finn stands, brushing off his pants. "Give my regards to Sevika," he says lightly.

"Tell her... we're all counting on her to keep us safe."

⁺˚⋆｡°✩

You and Sevika walk side by side through the bustling streets of Zaun, the rice pudding cradled carefully in Sevika’s arms. As you approach the door, you can already hear the sounds of laughter and chatter from inside. Before you can even step over the threshold, a blur of blue barrels into view.

Just as Powder rounds the corner, she nearly collides with you, her eyes wide as she skids to a halt. “Oops, sorry!” she exclaims, a sheepish grin spreading across her face as she steadies herself. “Sorry, double for last time,” she adds with a knowing look.

It had been a few weeks ago, when Sevika was trying to grow out her hair, a fact she was oddly self-conscious about. You guys were standing in the courtyard, watching as Powder excitedly showed off her new contraption, a slime trap shooter she cobbled together from spare parts.

The demonstration started off well enough, but suddenly a glob of viscous slime shot out wildly, landing with a wet splat right in Sevika's hair.

Powder's enthusiasm instantly turned into fear as she realized what she's done.The look on Sevika’s face had been priceless—a mix of surprise and horror as she reached up to touch the mess clinging to her hair.

“I’m gonna kill that kid,” Sevika grumbled, her voice low and menacing. “My hair looks like shit.”

You’d barely managed to suppress your laughter when it first happened, but now in Vander’s bathroom you couldn’t hide your amusement.

“So, that’s a no on having kids, then?” you joked as you reached for a pair of scissors to help trim the slime-covered strands.

Sevika had turned to look at you, her expression one of shock and something else—something deeper that neither of you had wanted to confront. It was just a small joke, but it carried the weight of a conversation you hadn’t yet had, and might never have. Sometimes, you couldn’t avoid the fact that this was it for you two.

But you quickly brushed it aside, focusing on the task at hand. As you carefully trimmed the damaged hair, you leaned in close, whispering in Sevika’s ear, “You’re sexy already. No amount of slime will change that.”

That had earned you a reluctant smile from her in that moment.

"No harm done.” You tell Powder, inconspicuously kicking Sevika’s feet to agree.

“Yeah.” She grunts, and you hold in a snicker at the obvious grudge she held.

As you enter the kitchen, you're greeted by the sight of Vander attempting to wrangle a massive pot of stew.

“There you two are,” Vander says, looking up from his cooking. “Thought you might’ve gotten lost on the way here.”

“Not a chance,” Sevika replies, setting the rice pudding down on the counter with a grin. “This one would never forgive me if I missed dinner.”

“Damn right,” you reply. “You need any help, Vander?”

“Nah, we’re about done here,” Vander says, wiping his hands on a towel. “Just need to get everything into the living room. You know how these animals are when they’re hungry.”

You laugh, grabbing a tray of bread rolls while Sevika grabs a platter of roasted vegetables. She follows you out into the living room, where the rest of the group is already making themselves comfortable. Ekko is lounging on the floor, watching Powder and Ren as they buzz around him. Caitlyn and Vi are chatting quietly in one corner, Vi’s arm casually draped over the back of Caitlyn’s chair.

“Hey you two,” you greet, setting the tray down on a table near the center of the room. “Food’s here.”

Vi reaches for a roll, and Caitlyn swats her hand. "Wait for everyone, you brute," she says affectionately.

"Come on, cupcake, I'm starving!" Vi whines dramatically.

Soon, everyone settles in various spots around the room, grabbing plates and piling on food. Vander passes around mugs of ale, the rich, amber liquid sloshing slightly as he hands it to the adults.

Sevika sits down beside you on the floor, her back against the couch, and you hand her a plate, watching as she loads it up with a bit of everything. Powder's regaling everyone with a tale of her latest explosive experiment, complete with dramatic reenactments.

"You guys won't believe what I made today!" She exclaims, barely touching her food as she launches into her story. "So I took some wires from that old TV we found, and I connected them to a car battery. Then I rigged up this pressure plate..."

"And then - BOOM!" she exclaims, throwing her arms wide and nearly knocking over Ekko's plate.

"Watch it, Pow," Ekko grumbles, but there's no real annoyance in his voice.

The two of you eat in comfortable silence for a while, the sounds of laughter and conversation filling the room around you. As the meal winds down, Powder's eyes light up with a new idea. She bounds over to you and Sevika.

"Hey, hey! You guys wanna play Nerf guns with us?" she asks, her eyes wide and pleading.

Sevika raises an eyebrow.

"I modified them. They shoot further now, and I added a cool light-up feature, and-"

"Modified?" Sevika interrupts, looking slightly alarmed, she was already thinking about the last mishap with Powder’s “modifications”.

You laugh at the expression on Sevika's face, she couldn’t hide the suspicion and concern written all over it. "Come on, Sev," you nudge. "Could be fun."

Powder's practically bouncing now. "Please? Pretty please? I promise there’s no slime this time!"

Sevika sighs. "Fine." she concedes.

"Yes!" Powder cheers. "You won't regret it!"

Powder herds you, Sevika, Ekko, and Ren onto the couch, squishing you all together as she stands before you, eyes gleaming with excitement.

“Alright, listen up!” Powder announces, pulling out a set of nerf guns. The colorful plastic weapons are covered in stickers and doodles, clearly customized to her liking. She hands one to each of you.

Sevika takes hers with a skeptical look, turning it over in her hands. “You can’t shoot shit with this,” she mutters, the derision clear in her voice.

“Oh, yeah?” Powder smirks, clearly prepared for this. She whirls around, aims at a water bottle perched on the windowsill, and fires. The nerf dart flies across the room and smacks the bottle dead center, sending it tumbling to the floor with a satisfying thud.

Sevika raises an eyebrow, impressed despite herself.

“Now that we’ve established these aren’t toys for babies,” Powder continues, pacing in front of the couch. “here’s the game: upstairs, there’s a crown stashed somewhere by Vi. The goal is to retrieve the crown and bring it to Vander downstairs. Upstairs is a no-shoot zone, but downstairs, if you’re hit with a dart, you’re out.”

She claps her hands together, clearly relishing her role as the game master. "Now, we need to split into teams," Powder continues. "Sevika and Ekko, you're one team. And-"

You all glance at Ren, the youngest of the group at just eight years old. There's a moment of awkward silence as everyone tries to figure out how to handle this diplomatically.

"You should take her," you say sweetly.

Sevika’s eyes narrow playfully, already sensing where this is going. “The kid likes you more." Despite being dubious of the game at first, you could tell Sevika’s competitiveness was taking over.

“I thought this was just a kids’ game?” you tease, leaning in slightly with a raised eyebrow.

Sevika gives you a sheepish look, clearly caught between her competitive streak and her soft spot for Ren.

Feeling a bit guilty, you suggest, "Why don't we let Ren pick?"

Ren beams up at both of you, clearly delighted to have the choice. "I wanna be on your team!" she exclaims, pointing at you and Powder.

“You’re gonna be our secret weapon,” you whisper, wrapping an arm around Ren’s shoulders.

“Alright then,” Ekko chimes in, finally managing to free himself from the couch. “Let’s do this.”

Everyone grabs their nerf guns and heads outside. You can't help but chuckle at the sight of Sevika, usually so intimidating, clutching a bright orange plastic gun with a determined look on her face.

"Alright, teams start at opposite ends of the house," Powder instructs. "When I give the signal, the hunt begins!"

You crouch behind a bush with Powder and Ren, all of you trying (and failing) to look serious with your toy weapons.

"Ready?" Powder calls out. "Set... GO!"

And with that, you all come barreling into the house. Powder darts ahead, her movements quick and erratic. You follow, trying to keep an eye on Ren while scanning for potential ambush spots.

As you round a corner, you come face to face with Sevika. For a moment, you both freeze, nerf guns pointed at each other.

"Sorry, babe," you say, not sorry at all as you pull the trigger.

But Sevika's reflexes are faster. She ducks, the foam dart whizzing over her head, and returns fire. You barely dodge, and you take the moment to sneak onto the stairs.

Upstairs, you quickly begin your search, darting in and out of rooms, peeking under beds and behind curtains for any sign of the hidden crown. Ren’s small size gives her an advantage as she slips into tight spots that you and Powder can’t quite reach.

But despite your efforts, it was nowhere to be found. "How?" you mutter, bewildered.

Powder's eyes narrow, scanning the area. "Ekko," she hisses, pointing to an open window. "He must've climbed up from outside!"

Quickly, you formulate a plan. Ren is dispatched to keep watch with Vander, ensuring Ekko can't make a sneaky victory while you and Powder hunt down Sevika and Ekko.

With that, you guys head back downstairs, moving quietly as you scan the house for any signs of the other team. As you move through the house, you and Powder eventually decide to split up, hoping to cover more ground.

It doesn’t take long before you spot Sevika, her broad frame moving stealthily through the hallway. She hasn’t seen you yet, and you quickly close the distance, pressing yourself against the wall to remain hidden. When she finally turns the corner, you’re right there, catching her off guard.

“Drop the gun,” you command, your voice low and teasing as you pin her against the wall, your body pressing into hers. Sevika’s eyes widen in surprise, her hands instinctively going up in mock surrender, though there’s a glint of amusement in her gaze.

“And what if I don’t?” she murmurs, her lips quirking into a playful smile.

“Then I’ll have to make you,” you reply, your tone equally flirtatious as you lean in closer, the game momentarily forgotten.

"Ewww, get a room!" Ekko's voice breaks the spell. You spin around to find Ekko aiming at you, the crown tucked under his arm.

But before you can react, Powder emerges from a doorway behind Ekko, her nerf gun raised and ready. Without missing a beat, she fires a dart that hits Ekko square in the back. “Gotcha!” she shouts triumphantly.

Ekko’s eyes widen in shock as he instinctively drops the crown, clutching his back where the dart hit. “Hey, what the fuck, Powder?!” he exclaims, his tone incredulous.

“Language, Ekko!” Vander’s voice booms from the kitchen, echoing through the house.

Taking advantage of the distraction, Sevika quickly knocks the nerf gun out of your hand. But before she can fully capitalize on her victory, you kick the crown down the hallway, sending it skittering toward the kitchen.

“Move kid!” Sevika barks as she grabs Ekko by the arm, dragging him behind a couch. Ekko, still nursing his mock wound, yells out dramatically, “Man down! Man down!”

There's a moment of tense silence, then Ekko's voice pipes up again. "I'm getting healed by a health kit!"

“What the hell?” Powder says with a look of utter disbelief. “There’s no health kit in this game!”

"Yeah, 'cause I took it!" Ekko retorts, popping up from behind the couch and unleashing a barrage of foam darts.

The living room erupts into chaos. You dive behind an armchair, Powder taking cover behind another couch. Foam darts fly in every direction, peppering the air with colorful streaks.

You peek out, catching Sevika's eye across the room. She winks at you before ducking to avoid a well-aimed shot from Powder.

"Cover me!" you shout to Powder, making a dash for the hallway where the crown disappeared.

Ekko leaps over the couch, trying to intercept you. "Oh no, you don't!" he yells, unleashing a volley of darts in your direction.

You slide across the hardwood floor, narrowly avoiding his attack. Sevika provides covering fire for Ekko, keeping Powder pinned down.

As you scramble to your feet at the kitchen entrance, ready to grab the crown and make a triumphant dash to Vander, you freeze. The crown is gone.

A throat clears behind you. You turn to see Vander, sitting calmly at the kitchen table. Beside him stands Ren, a victorious grin on her face and the crown placed neatly on Vander's head.

The chaos in the living room dies down as everyone realizes what's happened. Ren's giggles fill the sudden silence.

"I believe," Vander says, his eyes twinkling with amusement, "that we have a winner."

For a moment, you're all too stunned to speak. Then Powder bursts out laughing, followed quickly by Ekko. Soon, you're all in stitches, the absurdity of the situation hitting you all at once.

As you catch your breath, you feel Sevika's arm wrap around your waist. "Can’t believe we were outsmarted by an eight-year-old," she murmurs in your ear.

You lean into her, watching as Vander lifts Ren onto his shoulders, parading her around the kitchen as the victor. Ekko and Powder are already arguing about a rematch and new teammates for next time.

As the excitement of the game winds down, Vander glances at the clock. "It's getting late."

You nod in agreement, glancing over at Ren. “Do you want to stay at Powder’s or with us tonight?”

Ren's eyes light up. "Stay with Powder!" she exclaims without hesitation.

Before you can even respond, Powder and Ekko are already shepherding Ren up the stairs, their voices a jumble of excited plans for a sleepover.

Caitlyn and Vi exchange a knowing look. "Ooh, you two are finally getting some alone time," Vi teases with a wink.

You feel your cheeks flush with embarrassment, but Sevika seems unfazed.

"So, how are those new recruits doing on the walls? Getting the hang of things?" You ask, trying to get the attention off you.

Caitlyn's face does a complicated dance between diplomacy and honesty. "Well, they're... enthusiastic."

Vi snorts, unable to contain herself. "Come on, cupcake. Tell 'em the truth."

Caitlyn's facade cracks. "Alright, fine. Their aim is absolutely atrocious. I've never seen so many missed targets in my life. We had one recruit who managed to shoot his own hat off."

You all burst out laughing, the mental image too ridiculous to resist.

Vander shakes his head. "Everyday I’m thankful that’s not me, I'm getting too old for that kind of headache."

Sevika raises an eyebrow at him. "Not too old to keep experimenting with your homebrews though, are you?"

You all laugh at that. It's true - besides overseeing the community's agriculture, Vander's taken to crafting various meads and ales in his spare time.

"I'll have you know that my brewing skills only improve with age, unlike my patience," Vander puffs up his chest in mock indignation. “And I'm taking back the ale from tonight, can't have you lot disparaging my other talents.”

Vi grins. "C'mon, Vander. You know the community needs that alcohol. How else are we supposed to cope with Powder's 'experiments'?"

This sets off another round of laughter, but your conversation is suddenly interrupted when Ren comes downstairs, looking shy and hesitant.

"What's wrong, sweetie?"

Sevika seems to understand before you do, her voice softening as she reaches out to Ren. “Come on, kid. Let’s get you tucked in.”

The three of you make your way upstairs, the house now quiet as the night settles in. Ren leads you to the bedroom she’s sharing with Powder and Ekko.

Sevika moves to the bed, pulling back the covers and helping Ren climb in. Ren looks up at you both, her eyes wide and a little sad, as Sevika tucks the blankets around her snugly. “Can you get it?” Ren asks quietly.

You follow her gaze to the small play tent in the corner of the room, where she likes to spend her time during the day. You walk over, crouching down to peer inside, and that’s when you see it—peeking out from under a pile of toys. Your breath hitches as you recognize it instantly: Grayson’s yellow armband.

You carefully pull it out, the fabric worn but still vibrant, and bring it over to Ren. She takes it from you, her small hands wrapping around the band as if it’s the most precious thing in the world. “I miss her,” she whispers.

Your heart breaks at the sight of her holding onto that small piece of Grayson. You kneel beside the bed, brushing a strand of hair away from her face. “I know, honey,” you say softly. “We all miss her. But she’s always with us, in here.” You gently place a hand over Ren’s heart, offering her a comforting smile.

Ren nods and she clutches the armband tightly, her grip strong for someone so small. Sevika’s expression is unreadable, a mix of emotions flashing across her face as she watches the scene unfold.

After a few moments, Ren’s eyelids start to droop, exhaustion finally taking over. You lean down, pressing a gentle kiss to Ren’s forehead. “Goodnight sweetie,” you whisper.

You and Sevika quietly bid Ekko and Powder goodnight as well, sharing a few last words before heading back downstairs. The house is much quieter now, the energy from earlier having dissipated into a peaceful calm. You say your goodbyes to Vander, Caitlyn, and Vi, thanking them for the evening.

As you step out into the cool night air, the streets of Zaun are mostly quiet. Sevika’s hand finds yours, her grip warm and comforting. “You okay?” she asks.

You nod, though your mind is still on Ren and the armband. “Yeah,” you say softly, squeezing her hand. “It’s just… it’s hard sometimes, you know? Seeing how much she misses Grayson.”

Sevika doesn’t respond right away, but you feel her thumb brushing gently over your knuckles, a silent gesture of understanding. “She’s a tough kid,” she finally says. “She’s more resilient than we think.”

You wordlessly agree, falling into a comfortable silence as you guys listen to the hum of the surrounding houses and your footsteps on the pavement. For a while, neither of you speak, simply enjoying the quiet together.

You find yourself stealing glances at Sevika, admiring her profile in the dim light. She catches you looking and raises an eyebrow, a small smirk playing at the corner of her lips. You playfully bump your shoulder against hers, and she returns the gesture, a bit harder.

You smile, a soft chuckle escaping your lips as you bump her again, just to see what she’ll do.

Sevika doesn’t say anything, but you can see the corner of her mouth twitching upward, that almost-smile that she gets when she’s trying to keep her cool but failing just a bit. She bumps you back, a little more firmly this time, and you laugh, the sound light and carefree in the stillness of the night.

You nudge her again, and this time, she stops walking altogether. Before you can react, she grabs your hand, pulling you toward her with a gentle but firm tug. The sudden movement catches you off guard, and you stumble slightly, your hands instinctively reaching out to steady yourself.

But Sevika’s already there, her strong arms wrapping around you, holding you close. There’s a brief moment where you just look at each other, the playful teasing of earlier fading into something softer, more intimate. The distance between you disappears, and you feel the warmth of her body against yours, the steady rise and fall of her chest as she breathes.

She doesn’t say anything—doesn’t need to. The look in her eyes, the way she’s holding you, it says it all.

Without a word, she leans down, her lips brushing against yours in a kiss. It’s sweet and gentle, and it fills you with a warmth that spreads through your chest, making you feel like you could stay here forever, wrapped up in this simple, perfect moment.

You melt into the kiss, your hand sliding from her shoulder to the nape of her neck.

When she finally pulls back, it’s only by a fraction, her forehead resting against yours as she breathes out a soft sigh. You can't resist leaning in to place another quick kiss on her lips, delighting in the way it makes her smile.

"What was that for?" you ask softly, not that you're complaining.

"Do I need a reason?" she asks, her voice husky but tender.

You shake your head, smiling. "Definitely not. Feel free to do that anytime."

She chuckles softly, pulling you close as you resume your walk home. Her arm wraps securely around your waist, and you lean into her, feeling safe and cherished.

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