#warring states robes

[peekofhistory]

I've seen these sorts of mesh robes being sold with the Zhiju Warring States robes and always wondered if they were historically accurate. Granted the material most shops use isn't real silk gauze so they feel (and look) 'modern'. I'm too poor for real silk, and too lazy for silk upkeep xD

I laughed really hard when I read our silkworms today (and their threads) are chonkier than 2000 years ago, lollllllll. Definitely not a problem I ever considered, I guess everything changes with time.

[moonmaiden1996]

The Monster Maomao Created Part 3

Your father had not returned that night.

Part 4

These things took time. Time to orchestrate, to implement, to get right. Time you, unfortunately, did not have.

In truth, you had seen him only in passing for weeks now. One glimpse from a corridor, another when he handed off urgent reports to aides as he rode through the outer gates. Between strategy councils and leading drills with the troops, he seemed more like a ghost than man lately. The latest dispatches from the northern border had stripped away ambiguity—rumors turned to warnings, warnings into facts. War no longer loomed like a distant shadow. It advanced—quiet, steady, inevitable.

And with it, your father had vanished into his duties, leaving you alone in the palace with your own battle to wage.

This was not the battlefield he knew—no clash of swords, no banners raised to the wind. This war wore rouge and whispered behind fans. It traded in glances, not arrows. And you had to fight it without him.

Which is why you had done the unthinkable: stepped directly into the lair of one of the most powerful women in the palace—alone.

The private chambers of Empress Gyokuyou were a place of cultivated tranquility, where even silence felt intentional. Amber light spilled through silk-paneled screens painted with cranes in mid-flight and branches of plum blossom that never faded. The delicate scent of camellia oil lingered in the air, subtle and clinging. Toys rested in artful corners—a carved rabbit, a painted drum, a silken ball—placed not haphazardly, but with care. Even innocence was curated here.

The Empress sat before you on a raised cushion of brocade, her robes a symphony of reds and pinks, her posture as precise as calligraphy. Her face was unreadable, carved with years of composure. She watched you with jade-colored eyes. Her lips curved into a faint smile—not cold, but not warm. Perfectly balanced.

"I do not want us to be enemies," you said softly, voice clear despite the weight of the moment. "My path seems already set. I must walk it, whether I would or not."

She lifted her cup and sipped slowly. The soft sound of liquid moving was the only reply for a long moment.

"I have always admired your father. He is an honorable man. Loyal beyond question. He has supported the Emperor since the beginning of his reign."

"It is true," you said, nodding. "My father respects and loves the Emperor deeply. And he holds equal respect for you, and for your children."

Her gaze lingered, searching, as though peeling layers you had thought well hidden.

"And you?"

You bowed your head, the jeweled hairpin in your crown catching the midday sun. Light glanced off it, a deliberate gleam—subtle, but unmistakable. A token from him.

Everyone knew what the pin meant. The pin had been given months before, hidden away in your dressing box, ignored. It was beautiful—carved of white jade and inlaid with white gold—a design too fine, too significant to be random. The Moon Prince's pin. In the court, such a gift was no mere ornament. It marked imperial interest. You were being chosen. Endorsed. And by wearing it now, you stated the choice you had made to the Empress herself.

"I came here because I wish to affirm my devotion to my empress. If this marriage… if it comes to fruition might cause some upset. I wish to ensure that doesn't happen" You straightened your posture as you met her gaze.

She paused. The silence was long, but not empty. Her eyes flicked once to the toddler nestled against her side, to the baby in her arms, before she turned her gaze back to you.

"Would you care for more tea?"

You had not been dismissed. That was something. A small victory, in a place where such things mattered. If you made an enemy of her now, you could very well be suffering the death by a thousand cuts.

"Yes, please." You smiled, demure and serene. A smile shaped not for affection, but diplomacy. You had long ago learned how to wield your expressions like weapons, same as the Empress in this you were equal.

At her signal, her ladies-in-waiting quietly stepped forward, bowed, and disappeared through a side door, their silk robes whispering as they moved. The hush that followed was deeper now, the room emptier. Just the two of you—and the Empress’s children, her preoccupied daughter and son, tucked against her side.

The children were the reason for everything. The reason for Jinshi—or whatever his name was to be in the rear palace, the reason for you needed to be here. Children were always sources of trouble—the need to secure their future, to keep them safe, to even have them. You did not know the Empress well, but you knew she was a good mother, and despite her kindness she would be as savage as any bear to protect her children. You appreciated that. You would be the same. But it made this even more difficult.

Then, without warning she spoke again.

"Could you love him? Truly?"

Your fingers hesitated on the rim of your cup. The question hung in the air. Did you? No. Could you? Maybe. As a young girl you might have been giddy, gushed around the Prince—but as a women you know how truly dangerous it was .

"I think… I could." You pondered. "I know I will be a good wife."

She looked down into her tea. "Jin... Ka Zuigetsu is shy after being isolated from much of court life due to his...illness. He... lacks confidence, even despite the front he wears. He is dear to me… I owe him much. I only want him to be cherished, as I cherish the Emperor."

"I can only try." You offered the words carefully, letting your tone soften just enough. A small show of sincerity—but never vulnerability.

She studied you again, not with suspicion, but with calculation—the kind that had become second nature to women like her. "You would be a fierce wife. Sharp. Loyal. Intelligent. The court would do well to fear you. And you would make a strong mother, no doubt."

Her hand moved gently, almost absently, to brush a lock of hair from her son’s face. He shifted slightly but didn’t wake, safe and warm beneath his mother’s arm. "This war comes too soon, when everything is unsettled.,. It gives people ideas," she said quietly.

You shifted slightly on your cushion. The Empress rarely spoke carelessly. But she was right, the prince was still a babe and with the war, it meant power struggles . And "ideas" could be the most dangerous thing of all in a place like this.

"They wouldn’t dare," you said, voice firmer now. You leaned forward, ever so slightly. "Your son is the only rightful choice."

Her gaze narrowed, not with anger, but with testing intent. "He is young. And there is no guarantee…"

"You will be blessed with more sons. All destined for greatness," you said quickly. It was true the young prince was young, and there were many dangers in the palace.

"And you? You want children, do you not?" Her eyes lifted sharply to yours.

Here it was—the threat. If you bore Jinshi children, they would not be minor princes to be married off to distant provinces. They would be born of imperial blood and martial lineage, noble on both sides. Children with your father's steel in their veins and your mothers connections to the western world, and Jinshi's royal blood, court-born charm and beauty and in anyone's eyes a dangerous weapon. Any child would be a threat that no amount of diplomacy could ignore.

Even now, the Empress must have seen it. How could she not? She was no fool. Her smile had been warm, but beneath it there had been calculation. The measured look of a woman who understood all too well how easily people turn.

You were not the enemy today. Not yet. But if you could establish a truce or an understanding, you and your family might just survive.

"I do." You held her gaze. No point lying. "But… these things take time. I doubt I will be blessed until there is a strong second born to bare the weight of the Emperors legacy."

You hated these layered words, this careful game of hint and half-meaning. Even if you did have a whole brood of strong boys, you would never let them near the court. It was too dangerous. You wanted a safe and happy family. Give them a childhood like you had. But that was not the game. No one would believe you. Why should they? So you played the game anyway, as all women at court did.

"You cannot know that," she said, though her voice softened around the edges. Her daughter toddled past the table, chubby legs wobbling slightly as she made her way toward her mother, giggling.

"There are ways," you replied. "Women have known them for centuries."

She understood. The knowledge passed between you, wordless but potent. Until the heir was secure—until a second son was born—you were not to conceive. It was easy enough to do. The safest thing you could do.

"It would be safer not to have children," she murmured, almost to herself.

A ripple of chill traveled down your spine, though you didn’t let it reach your face.

"I am still young. I have time to take a more leisurely approach," you said, still smiling, lifting the teacup with steady hands. "Though you do tempted me, especially when you show me your beautiful children to sway me into motherhood.'' You smiled the toddler as it chased a rather bashful cat across the room. ''Besides, I do not think you are cruel. You would not ask me such a thing."

"I would never ask that of a woman." Her voice shifted, and then, unexpectedly, laughter slipped from her lips. Not sharp, not mocking. Laughter that came too freely to be false. "I suppose that means you’ve thought about your future with the Prince… He is pleasing to the eye and kind… so kind… If he’s anything like his brother, he’ll certainly enjoy the act of making children." she teased.

Heat crept up your neck, though your smile remained composed.

"I’ll do my best."

"I'm sure you will—if the apothecary has anything to do with it. She has taught me more in keeping the Emperor happy than any other." More laughter, lighter this time. ''I am sure he wont know where or what to do with himself when he finally has you all to himself.''

You paled. For now you did not want to think about what or where he would put himself. Instead you would return home to your home. A tantrically retreat to regroup and plan your next steps. The hairpin shimmered again as you lowered your head, rising to stand.

"Then I think we understand each other. I look forward to our friendship. I will take my leave of you." You smiled and left.

Moments later, the lady-in-waiting returned with a steaming porcelain pot, blinking at the now empty spot.

"Your guest has gone, my lady. Is everything all right?" Hongniang whispered as she poured her lady a fresh cup of tea.

The Empress didn’t answer right away. She watched the steam curl from the teacup in her hand.

"I think so," she said quietly. "I hope so." Brushing her fingertips across her son’s soft cheek.

Xxxxxxxxxx

For now, you had the Empress on your side—tentative though her support might be. Still, it was something. In a court built on hidden knives and folded fans, the smallest alliance could mean survival.

Outside, the sun filtered through the latticework of the garden pavilion, tracing delicate patterns on the polished floor. The boys played among the chrysanthemums and peony bushes, their laughter echoing across the stone paths as they chased each other. When the food was laid out on the low lacquered table, the children rushed over like hungry foxes, settling onto the woven mats with eager hands.

Then—

“My lady, are you well?!”

Jinshi, his cheeks flushed the color of plum wine, his voice rising in panic. You really hoped none of the younger servants were nearby. The last thing you needed was a chorus of swooning girls gossiping about a blushing eunuch fluttering over your well-being or in his current state of dishevel. If one gushing girl saw the sight of his flushed skins you might have a riot on your hands.

“I came as soon as I heard,” he said, kneeling beside you, eyes darting over your form like a physician’s apprentice. “Should you be out of bed? Where is the physician? I—I’ll get you some congee, or ginger tea while you wait. You’re pale—too pale.”

Your brothers froze mid-bite, dumplings still in their mouths. A moment passed—then they burst into peals of laughter, delighted by the spectacle of the flustered young man circling you like a worried crane.

“I…” You blinked up at him, unsure whether to laugh or scold.

“Let me carry you to your chambers,” he continued, voice thick with concern. “The apothecary was right behind me. Apothecary! Where is she? Does your sister have a fever? I’ll send for herbs—a hot bath— maybe your father should be called he —”

Maomao entered just then, a little breathless and very irritated. “I told him not to come,” she muttered with a bow, “but he wouldn’t hear a word of it.”

“How can you say that right now? Tend to her!” Jinshi snapped, hovering so closely you could smell the faint trace of floral incense on his robes.

You sat still, trying not to laugh, as your brothers giggled behind their sleeves.

“Master Jinshi,” you said calmly, placing a steady hand on his arm. “Please calm yourself. I fear your concern is misplaced. I’m quite well.”

His eye twitched at your words. Something like frustration—or maybe embarrassment—flashed across his face.

“If you’re well… then why did you call for my apothecary?” His voice dropped. Behind him, Maomao tensed, her eyes fixed politely to the floor.

You hesitated, realizing your simple request for her to join you had been intercepted by a very nosy eunuch which could unravel far more than you intended. Damn him. You could not tell him your real desire to see his servant. 

“I… I have been having trouble sleeping,” you said gently. Not a lie, but not the truth “Yes… And I thought your apothecary might have a remedy to ease my rest. I didn't mean to trouble you… I didn’t think you would get the message.” You eyed him as he blushed bashfully at you. “Please forgive me. That was not my intention.”

You bowed deeply, and when you lifted your gaze, Jinshi’s expression had softened.

“My lady… you need not apologize. I’m only glad you’re well.”

“I’ll prepare a medicine for My Lady,” Maomao added quickly, already making her exit with swift, efficient steps.

Coward, you thought, glaring at her back.

Jinshi, meanwhile, was staring at you again—moonstruck, dazed. His beauty was… unfortunate. Smooth skin, lashes long enough to shame a courtesan, the gentle slope of his nose too perfect for a man. Even his robes did nothing to hide his physique. Too perfect for your peace of mind.

Handsome husbands cause problems. But perhaps, you considered, they were at least easier to bed—easier to maneuver once there. You had heard tales and tricks from women in the bathhouse of all the methods and positions they used to avoid looking at their husbands while they gave them pleasure. At least you would not have to deal with that. It would make taking him to your bed as a husband and a lover easier. You wondered how he would be as a husband. Would he even be interested in that? Perhaps only one way to find out.

“Please,” you said, composing your features into something soft and sincere, “won’t you join us?”

“I… I couldn’t possibly—”

“Please, Master Jinshi,” you interrupted, leaning closer. “As an apology. For troubling you.”

You smiled—not a practiced court smile, but a coy smile, not seductive, but warmer than you had given him before. You regretted it immediately.

Jinshi blushed violently and seemed to melt into his own shadow. “It would be… my pleasure,” he managed.

“Then please,” you said, bowing your head slightly, “sit beside me. Let me serve you.”

xxxxx

The food was a masterpiece of imperial luxury. Steamed buns puffed like clouds, glossy with sweet glaze. Thin slices of roast duck curled atop a bed of lotus root. Tofu steeped in a spicy sauce shimmered beside bowls of pickled cucumber, delicate and pale green. Long platters bore fish dressed in ginger and spring onion, while bamboo baskets steamed with dumplings stuffed with shrimp, pork, and wild chives. Fragrant jasmine rice steamed beside braised mushrooms glistening with soy and sesame oil.

Jinshi writhed—visibly—when you plated his meal with your own hands. He peered down into the soup you poured him with hesitant suspicion.

“I assure you,” you said with a sly smile, “the food is quite safe. All prepared by the palace kitchens, and my servants are thoroughly trustworthy.”

Your eyes flicked toward the silk screen, behind which a couple of blushing maids giggled uncontrollably.

“I… I’m sure,” he said weakly.

You lifted your spoon, plucked a glistening slice of mushroom and broth from his bowl, and slipped it into your mouth. Chewing slowly, you stared directly at him.

“I promise,” you murmured, “you are safe here. No women will chase you.”

You plucked another bite—tender chicken, still steaming—and held it to his lips.

He stared at you, eyes wide, wild, and a little glassy allowing you to bring the spoon to his lips— directly to where you put your lips. His eyes never left yours as he drank greedily, lips lingering too long on the spoon. You might have giggled had it not been so thoroughly satisfying. It would seem he was very interested in you. 

The meal continued in lively spirits. Jinshi proved himself surprisingly charming, if a bit overly fawning. But he was attentive to your brothers, which you rather enjoyed. He was good with them, he might be a good father, if the time came, if not a bit of a pushover.

“I want sesame buns!” your youngest brother pouted, lower lip wobbling, while the elder had already begun to sniffle.

“I—I will ask the kitchen!” Jinshi blurted, starting to rise from his seat in panic.

“You will get sesame buns when you finish your vegetables,” you said, voice calm but cutting. “And don’t even think about hiding them in the plant pots again like you do with Father.”

Your brothers flinched, wilting a little under your stern gaze and they weren’t the only ones. 

Jinshi  went scarlet—and then pale. A thin stream of blood trickled from his nose. It would seem Maomao was right—he did like to be told off.

“Master Jinshi—are you well?” you asked, arching a brow.

“A-ah! Yes!” he coughed, dabbing at his face with his sleeve. “A piece of sweet potato went the wrong way…”

He tried to compose himself with a cough and a dazzling smile, but his eyes flicked up—locked on your hairpin.

“That pin…” he said quietly.

You were surprised it took him this long to recognize it, but glad. If he was to interrupt the evening and spoil a chance at speaking with the indebted apothecary, you were going to make the most of it.

“It was a gift,” you replied, lowering your gaze modestly.

From the corner of your eye, you saw the bob of his throat as he swallowed.

“…It suits you,” he murmured, eye transfixed on you.

You smiled. Yes. Handsome husbands were trouble. But trouble could be useful.

So let me know what you think of this chapter and the concept in general. The reader is going to play hard and dirty but she has a way to go. I would love to know your thoughts on the reader or Jinshi

LIKE> COMMENT> REQUEST

More to come soon

@one-piecelover

[skzophreniic]

⍣ ೋ cw: explicit sexual content. use of vibrator. bit messy.

⍣ ೋ notes: hullo guest of room 801. i see you have requested a personal communication line with our general manager christoper. i'll have to forward him your request and see. don't worry though, i'm not sure he is capable of denying you anything :)

INTERNAL INVESTIGATION REPORT Filed by: Concierge Aeryn Subject: Staff Conduct – Unauthorized Use of Executive Amenities Staff Member Under Review: General Manager Bang Chan Requested by: Guest (Room 801)

[Location: General Manager Christopher's office, 2:12 p.m.]

The door to General Manager Bang Chan’s office clicks shut behind her—quietly, purposefully.

It always unnerves Aeryn, how the soundproofing works. How the outside world cuts off so cleanly, as if the very walls themselves conspire to protect him. Or hide him.

She’s holding the letter in one hand—folded precisely once, no wrinkles, no smudges—and a soft pink clipboard in the other. Because aesthetics matter, even in war.

Bang Chan looks up from his laptop, brows raised slightly, not in alarm but in a kind of cool anticipation. He’s in his tailored charcoal suit, shirt unbuttoned just enough to suggest he’s had a long morning—but not long enough to explain the state of his tie (missing) or the faint imprint of someone’s lip gloss on his jawline (left side, cherry red).

“Concierge,” he says smoothly, standing. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

Behind her, the door opens again.

“Sorry,” Seungmin mutters, stepping in with a deadpan expression and a steaming cup of black coffee. “Figured you’d need this.”

His gaze flicks to Aeryn’s clipboard. “Ah. Suite 801.”

A pause. Bang Chan exhales through his nose and reaches for the coffee, the very picture of composed.

“I take it this is about the... formal enquiry?”

Aeryn offers him a smile far too polished to be kind. “That’s correct, sir. The guest has raised some questions regarding the nondisclosure terms surrounding your last... engagement. Specifically as it pertains to any equipment added mid-stay.”

Seungmin coughs.

Chan’s lips twitch, dangerously close to a grin. “Is that so?”

“She’s also requested a formal investigation and a full reconstruction. For documentation and research purposes.”

There’s a silence. The kind that only exists in a very expensive room, built to contain very expensive secrets.

Chan sets his coffee down. Rolls up his sleeves. Unbuttons his cuffs.

And then—finally—meets her eyes.

“Well,” he murmurs, voice low and just a little rough. “I suppose I’d better walk you through it.”

[Location: General Manager Christopher's office, 12:12 p.m.]

It starts with an extension request.

A polite one. Professional. You even knocked on the General Manager’s door like you hadn’t shown up in nothing but a barely-tied robe and a mischievous smile. As if the slight sway in your hips wasn’t deliberate. As if your bare legs weren’t a test he was already too aware of.

He opens the door himself—of course he does—and looks at you like he knows. That stare of his: sharp, calculated, interested. Always in control.

“Come in,” he says, stepping aside. His tone is polite. Neutral. But you catch it—the flicker of something darker beneath the words. Something curious.

You sit. He doesn’t.

“What can I help you with, Miss…?”

You tell him your name, lips twitching.

There’s a pause. A muscle ticks in his jaw. “Right.”

You explain your request—wanting to extend your stay, preferably in the same suite. He listens attentively, nodding, folding his hands like a proper manager. But his eyes… they never leave your thighs.

“I’m afraid there are procedures for that sort of thing,” he says finally, walking around his desk. “Especially if it’s… a special room like yours.”

And then, almost casually: “Have you signed the NDA yet?”

You blink. “I—no?”

He nods like he expected that. Like this was part of the script.

“Then we’ll need to take care of that first.” His drawer opens. A sleek document appears on the desk, printed on pale pink letterhead. “Sign here.”

The pen he hands you is gold. Heavy.

You sign without reading it.

“Good girl,” he murmurs, quiet enough you almost miss it.

Then: “Would you mind standing for a moment?”

You do. Confused, but intrigued.

He circles you slowly. Looks you over like you’re an art piece. No, a luxury amenity. Then, he brushes your robe off your shoulder, lets it fall slightly—no resistance from you. He hums when he sees the lack of anything underneath.

“No undergarments?” he asks, voice silk.

You smile. “Is that a problem?”

“Not at all,” he says. “In fact… I think it helps speed up the process.”

Before you can ask what he means, he nudges you gently backward—until the backs of your thighs hit the edge of his desk.

“Lie back,” he instructs, already loosening his tie. “We’ll keep this… efficient.”

You’re halfway reclined before he reaches for something in another drawer—velvet-lined, discreet, and utterly not standard issue. He holds up a slim, blush-pink vibrator. High-end. Sleek.

“Just a small evaluation,” he says, tone mock-professional. “To assess your suitability for extended accommodations.”

And then he turns it on.

The first contact is a whisper against your clit—barely-there, maddening. He watches your hips twitch, listens to your breath hitch, and smiles like a man who has all the time in the world.

“This setting is for guests requesting late check-outs,” he murmurs, dragging the toy in slow, steady circles. “It’s gentle. Teasing. Nothing too disruptive.”

You’re already panting, your thighs falling open wider for him.

He presses a button. The vibrations intensify.

“This one’s for those staying more than three nights. More persistent. Demands patience.”

You gasp, legs trembling, fingers digging into the edge of the desk.

He leans down, mouth brushing your ear. “Shall we see what happens when we activate the ‘executive suite’ tier?”

He clicks it again.

It pulses deep. Relentless. Your hips buck, and he places a hand firmly on your stomach to keep you still.

“Now, now,” he soothes, voice low and cruelly calm. “Stay still for me. You wanted to extend your stay, didn’t you?”

You try to speak—try to say yes—but it breaks into a whine, breathless and high. He slides the toy lower, dragging it up and down your soaked folds before circling your clit again with a precision that makes you see stars.

“You’re soaking my desk,” he remarks, almost fondly. “I should write you up for that.”

You can feel it building—fast. Too fast. You lift your hips for more, chasing it.

He pulls the toy away.

Your whole body arches in protest. He tsks.

“We’re not done evaluating.”

He brings it back, lower speed this time. Draws it up slowly. Watches you squirm.

Then—without warning—he slides two fingers inside you, slow and deep. Your body shudders, clenching around him instantly. He groans low, the sound almost reverent.

“So responsive,” he mutters, pumping them in time with the toy. “You don’t even realize how much you’re giving me.”

You’re close. So close.

But he doesn’t speed up.

He keeps you right there, on the edge—over and over, until your body is trembling, sweat slicking your skin, whimpers spilling from your lips.

“Please,” you gasp.

He raises a brow. “Please what?”

“Let me—fuck, please—I need to cum—”

“Hmm.” He leans in. “I suppose we can add that to your amenities.”

And then he does it—cruel little circles with the toy while his fingers curl just right and your whole body locks up, pleasure crashing over you like a tidal wave. You sob out his name as your legs shake, thighs clenching around his wrist, your back arching off the desk.

But he doesn’t stop.

Keeps going through your orgasm, holding the toy against your overstimulated clit as you twitch and moan and try to wriggle away.

“Too much?” he asks, feigning innocence. “Then maybe we need to reconsider your extension—”

You whimper something incoherent, begging, panting, desperate.

He finally clicks the vibrator off.

Removes his fingers. Watches your slick drip down them.

Licks them clean.

“I’ll approve your stay,” he says, straightening. Adjusting his cuffs. Then, without hurry, he reaches for the top button of his shirt. Undoes it. Then another. His eyes, dark and knowing, never leave yours.

“But I’m going to need a more… thorough evaluation.”

A pause. His tongue flicks over his bottom lip, and he smirks.

“Let’s discuss the premium package.”

______________________________________________________________

🗒️ INTERNAL SERVICE MEMO From: Concierge Aeryn To: SKZotel Staff – All Departments Subject: Incident Debrief – Suite 801 / General Manager Conduct Classification: Staff Eyes Only / Group Chat Archive

Team,

Per guest request (and because Seungmin couldn’t keep his mouth shut for five minutes), below is the transcript of this morning’s staff group chat regarding the… situation in Suite 801 involving General Manager Bang Chan.

Please note: The following messages have not been edited for professionalism, confidentiality compliance, or emotional damage. Names have not been redacted because frankly, if I had to be in that room with him and Seungmin, you all get to suffer with me.

Proceed accordingly. – Aeryn Concierge, SKZotel

series taglist: @nightmarenyxx

[lanabuckybarnes]

“𝓐𝓹𝓱𝓻𝓸𝓭𝓲𝓽𝓮 𝓐𝓶𝓸𝓷𝓰 𝓣𝓱𝓮 𝓟𝓻𝓮𝓽𝓮𝓷𝓭𝓮𝓻𝓼.”

Your marriage to the hand of the king, Lord Barnes, is a rushed state of affairs. But consummating must be done. Even if it’s not what you desire, he makes it so.

-°❀.ೃ࿔*-

𝓟𝓪𝓲𝓻𝓲𝓷𝓰(𝓼): Lord!Bucky Barnes x Lady!Reader

𝓦𝓪𝓻𝓷𝓲𝓷𝓰(𝓼): 18+ MDNI, Fantasy AU, Arranged marriage, Unhappy lady, Familial pressure/Trauma, Power difference, Praise kink, Degradation kink (for safety), Breast play, Body insecurities (M&F), Dirty talk, Oral (F), PinV, Pregnancy talk, Breeding kink probably, Overstimulation — Any more lemme know!

𝓦𝓸𝓻𝓭 𝓒𝓸𝓾𝓷𝓽: 3.1K

𝓝𝓸𝓽𝓮: Everyone can blame @delicatebarness for this. This is an old piece I wrote probably over a year ago that happened to come up in conversation, it’s edited but I cannot assure it’s good.

The first flutters of snow were a comforting sight, your first reminder of home. You watched as they rested against the windowsill, thoughts of your family plagued your mind. Your sisters; they were all off on their own, betrothed to lords around the world.

Nights like this, you would cuddle around the fireplace under the thick fur blanket, your father recalled stories of wars fought in the past. Although, as his mind faded they became choppy and would mix with other memories.

Despite that, you found comfort in them. They brought you peace and serenity in an otherwise torn country — but your father’s words would not comfort you tonight. You curled further into your robes, wrapping fur-lined arms around your body; you blinked back small tears, determined not to let anyone see you vulnerable.

Your betrothal had been rushed; all you had ever dreamed of was marrying a nobleman and bearing his heirs. You and your mother had sat in the wee hours creating the perfect wedding you always hoped you’d have. The threats from the East had your family and his up in arms, tearing your ideal marriage to shreds.

The reception was small in comparison to most noble ceremonies; your families and the priest in attendance. At least the after ball was nice, you guessed.

Lord James of House Barnes, the hand to the future king and now your husband. He seemed sweet from the handful of times you’d met him — quiet and cold but he always offered you a brief smile or soft words. He brought you under his cape and celebrated the joining of your families which led to here.

The fire had been stoked for a while before you were escorted to the lord’s room, a thick robe for you to change into folded neatly beside a jug of fresh wine. With a promise of the Lord’s presence soon, the guards left you to view your candle-lit room.

You weren’t a silly little girl anymore; you knew what was expected next. A marriage was always followed by the consummating ceremony. Whenever your mother brought it up you brushed her off. You would take it in your stride, after all that was your duty. But as you stood as still as the air in the room, your nerves fluttered to life. You weren’t ready, you had no clue what to do and you were scared Lord Barnes would simply take what he wanted, discarding you after. Perhaps that would be easier to deal with.

“Homesick, my lady?” his voice sounded from across the quarters.

You turned to look at him; his long hair pulled from its loose bun, curling atop his shoulders, his dark coat had been shed leaving him in only a starched shirt and pants. His blue eyes, though almost invisible in the dim light, twinkled.

“A little my lord.” You spoke, your voice trying and failing to sound confident. Your fingers drummed against your arm as you teetered your weight on the balls of your feet. Your antsy movements did not go unnoticed by the lord’s perceptive eyes. He stepped forth, making his movements slow and cautious, ensuring he didn’t spook you with a pace and swiftness you knew he had. You appreciated that.

“Tell me wife, why do you shiver not from the cold but my presence?” His large, war-torn hands held your upper arms in a loose embrace, thick fingers squeezing the flesh. You may have feared the intimate touch to come but his hands held nothing but comfort.

“The ceremony my lord.”

He tut, his plump lips falling to your ear to kiss it softly before trailing down the length of your neck, his hands soothing over the plum fabric of your robe.

“None of that, my dear, I am your husband now and I really hate the formalities where they’re unneeded.”

An apology weighed on your tongue as his finger hooked under your chin to meet his gaze, but the flicker in his eyes had you forgetting basic human functions.

Lord Barnes was ridiculously handsome. You’d heard the jealous whispers of the rats teeming the palace because of his gifted looks.

‘He has drawn the shortest straw.’

‘Do you think after he has warmed her bed he will come to warm mine’s? A prudent little thing like that doesn’t know how to keep him full.’

Comments about your body and appearance cut you deep. You began hiding away in your chambers and, when your presence was a must, you donned thicker garments. James had never uttered a word about his distaste for you, yet you were sure he thought of it too. You were only by his side for politics, once you gave him an heir your body would be unusable to him.

“You think too much,” The young lord murmured through a huffed laugh, breath misting ever so slightly. His laugh; airy and dripping in honey was the most beautiful thing you had ever heard.

“I’m sorry, my L—”

“Ah ah,” his finger flicked the tip of your nose gently, playfully reprimanding you. “I will punish you if you say it again.”

“I’m sorry…husband.” Your body stiffened at his teasing words. You knew they were weightless, merely a prose in the wind, yet the thought of him dishing out a punishment in any way set you on edge.

You let him turn you to face him, his hands cupped your face, tilting your head back until you were in the perfect position.

“Much better,” he praised. Then his lips fell on yours, a groan bubbling up his throat as his tongue slipped out to trace at the crack of your mouth, seeking entrance. But you didn’t know, you had never kissed a man other than your father, on his cheek, this was well out of your comfort zone.

James retreated, a look in his eyes that you perceived as disappointment or dissatisfaction.

“I-I’m sorry, my Lord, I don’t—” you stuttered but he silenced you with another soft kiss.

“You should have told me, my love.” It wasn’t disappointment swirling in his ocean-blue orbs. It was guilt, mingling with an untamed amount of love.

“We will take this slow for you, my lady. The night is young and I wish to make a good impression on you.” He gripped your hands, bringing you both to the pelt covered bed. You let the thought of just how much of a great impression he’d made already melt into the wrinkles of your brain.

The backs of his knees clashed into the deep mahogany, halting his movement. You hadn’t realised, mind wandering away from you again like it always had, and you tumbled into his solid frame.

He barely moved, a quiet grunt the only evidence you had made contact with him at all, beside your dainty hands splayed across his dark undershirt.

“Have you never felt a man’s touch before, love?” He questioned, the back of his fingers ran down the side of your face, over your racing pulse point before falling just short of the dip in your robe.

“N-never.” Your cheeks flushed, the need to hide yourself, melt into the floor, rushing to the forefront of your jumbled mind. Before you could, he caught your chin again in a calloused palm, tilting you back up to meet deep blue eyes, judgment never once passed over them.

“Have you ever touched yourself?” If you weren’t blushing before you definitely were now. His laugh at your reaction dulled the embarrassment in your veins.

“It is not something you have to be embarrassed over, we all do it. I did it—a lot.” James’s smirk turned into a full face splitting smile at the sound of your giggles. God they were mesmerising, he wanted to collect them in a flask and drink them down whenever he was too far to hear them with his own two ears. A flutter of butterflies bloomed in his stomach. How had the love bug struck him down so quickly?

“I have.” You answered simply.

“Teach me.”

You blinked up at him, confusion marring your soft features. “Sorry?”

“Show me how to make you feel good. Take your time undressing, and when you are ready I’ll make you feel good.”

Lust darkened James’s stare, making you feel already bare in front of him. Yet he made it known silently that it was still your choice, letting you know that if you refused he would end it right then and there. The men that waited outside for the sounds of a successful betrothal evening would have an issue but they could be dealt with quickly. Nothing a meeting with the broadside of your Lord’s blade couldn’t fix.

Your nipples pebbled and breath bated at the realisation that for the first time in a long time you could decide your own end. You pondered for a moment, eyes tracing the lines of stone beneath your feet but the idea of your new husband watching you pleasure yourself, teaching him about your body, had you aching between your thighs.

You nodded, stepping back. James rested himself on the bed, weight on his hands. His eyes stayed on your face, studying for any sign that you weren’t doing this for you. He would hate knowing that you were giving yourself up to him out of obligation, not love. He found no such emotion.

You moved your hands slowly, fingers dusted over your clavicles before they slipped beneath the mauve robe. Each shoulder fell from your body, collecting in the crook of your arms as if to tease the man you faced. But just the sight of your bare throat and sternum arose a twitch in his nethers. You reached for the black tie holding both sides together, undoing the knot with a flick of your wrist — the fabric fell from your breasts to the floor in a pool of purple.

His eyes fell instinctively to your hardened nubs, his mouth dried as he gaped, like a fish out of water. You were stunning, Aphrodite amongst a school of pretenders. James followed your curves but each of them led back to your twinkling eyes.

“Enchanting,” he breathed, not missing the way you preened, like you had never been told it before. How dare they? This world had been so cruel to you, liars and leeches feeding off of you to make themselves feel better. It wouldn’t happen again. He made a mental note, letting himself get distracted from you for merely a second, to ask you for a list of names.

“You think?” You gazed down at yourself with wavering uncertainty. It made James’s heart clench.

“I know.” He stated firmly.

“I feel beautiful in your presence.” You said, chewing on your lower lip, confidence had begun to sprout. You moved your hands up your body, cupping your full breasts. You squeezed gently, a soft gasp ricocheted around the quiet room. James watched on as you almost struggled to handle your own body. He’d have you taught soon enough on how to make yourself as good as he made you.

“The things I would do to your body, angel.” James growled. unable to resist the throbbing of his cock, he palmed himself over his loose breeches.

Maybe it was the way he looked so uncontrollable at the sight of just your breasts or, the way his pupils had blown so wide, hiding that unique ocean colour because of you, that made you so willing to give everything over to him. Let him take what he wanted.

“James,”

“Yes angel?” His husky drawl battered at your stomach.

“I’m ready.”

He paused for a moment, making sure he heard you correctly. Then he wasted no time, bouncing from the bed and meeting you in a single stride. His lips smashed into yours, teeth clattering together but the pain dull compared to the desire you felt. His much larger hands smacked yours from your tits, replacing them with his searing palms, their roughness delightful against your nipples. Only when there was no air in your lungs did he part, peppering featherlight kisses down your front until he kneeled at your feet, his head level with your navel. A lord, on his knees for you, enthralled by you.

“You are a godsend…” he praised, his mouth securing around one of your breasts drawing a pleasured cry from you. “I will pray every night, thanking the gods for gifting me, a lowly Lord, with you.”

“Please James—” you begged, fisting locks of raven-toned hair.

“Yes, my love, call to me.”

“Would you like me to touch you here? Where you are weeping. She is begging for attention.” You choked on a gasp as he whispered, a hair from your hooded clit, his hot breath fanned over your slit.

“Please,” that word had become your new mantra. A prayer that seemed to get you anything you wanted.

“Good girl.” His mouth descended upon your folds, suckling everything they had to offer. His thick tongue dipped lower, into your untouched hole then up to press against your pearl. Your moans urged him along. Using his tongue as a distraction he slipped a thick finger into you, groaning at how tight you clung to the lonely digit.

“Gods, you weep for me. Do you like it? Your husband, on his knees for you, licking your cunt, hm? Making you feel good?” His second finger joined the first, stretched you out. With expert precision he found your internal pleasure spot, his fingers curling inwards — making you see white.

“Ohh James!” You cried. You were dizzy with pleasure, lightheadedness so strong you would have fallen if not for his iron grip on your hip, keeping you stable.

He listened to the messages your body sent out into the room; he clenching of your walls, your voice breaking. You were close.

“You feel that, my lady, the knot tightening? Don’t hold it back, let it snap.” He doubled his ministrations, humming against your clit and fucking his creamy fingers into you with abandon. Your eyes squeezed shut and your walls clenched his digits so tight he could no longer move them. A shrill yell rips from deep within you as your body jerks, reacting to wave after wave of almost unbearable release. He moved the best he could, his tongue licking you gently, the pads of his fingers rocking against your g-spot until you pulled away in overstimulation.

Collapsing in a heap of sweat stained skin, James was quick to scoop you up into his arms. “You did so well angel, so good for me.”

He kissed all over your blushed skin. It was an odd feeling, so close but so far away from everything, you had never felt anything like it, your heartbeat loud in your ears as you clung onto your husband for dear life.

The ladies of your own home often commented about orgasms and how mind numbing good they felt when you got the chance to experience one. This must’ve been it, you couldn’t have imagined a feeling more intense than now.

It was James’s cock twitching against your naked thigh that pulled you from the floaty space you rested on. Realisation set in. He had made you feel good, forgoing his own pleasure. You wanted to give him it all.

You clambered up until you met his eyes. “Take me, James, make me yours.”

“Are you sure, my love?”

“More than anything,” you reaffirmed. The loss of his warmth felt weird, your body arching up to meet him.

He laughed at your desperation as he shed the last of his clothes. His skin glowed under the dull firelight, drawing attention to the amount his body had endured through decades of war. Scars and stabs from blades, burns, and bites decorated his body. They were his biggest insecurity. One time in his life he had beautiful silky skin without a blemish in sight, after the battles he faced he returned with more scars than he could tell the stories for.

He flinched lightly as you traced the one above his heart, a stab almost fatal to him. You shuddered, thinking of a life without him brought about great sadness that clawed at your insides.

“They are ugly.” he brushed your hand off of it, lacing your fingers with his, but you shook your head.

“I think they make you look rather handsome.”

Now it was his turn to blush. He buried his head into your chest and slapped your thigh teasingly.

“I love you.” It slipped so easily from his mouth that he barely noticed it, but you did.

“I love you too, my Lord.” You said, your breath hitching as his thick cock ran through your folds, stopping at the dip of your hole and pressing in slowly.

“I told you I’d punish you for that,” James queried a brow at you, you only smirked in return.

“So do it.”

Any more teasing words died on your tongue as he split you open around him, settling deep within you. He stayed as still as stone letting you adjust to him before fucking into you slowly.

“Feels so good—so tight, angel. Can’t wait to fill you with my seed—fuck! Have your belly with our kids, our heirs.” He moaned loudly, picking up the pace. You nodded frantically, focusing on only the pleasure between your legs and his filthy words.

Your walls clenched, the head of his length brushing that spot he’d treated so well earlier. Your orgasm approached quicker than you would’ve liked, giving you only a small warning before slamming into you full force.

“Ohh fuck—” James cried out at your tightness, thrusting sloppily into you as his own orgasm took him by surprise. He took your mouth, muffling his moans with it. He spilled so deep inside of you, coating your fluttering walls. Your mind took a second to think of how easy you'd take if James made you feel this good every time he wanted you between the sheets. But those were thoughts for the future, for now you wanted to bask in the present with your new husband.

He moved slowly, picking you up with ease and bringing you both under the sheets and the throw over pelt.

“Did I hurt you?” He asked, peppering kisses along your collarbones.

You shook your head, he’d done anything but hurt you, he’d awakened your soul, quelled your fears. When forced into this betrothal, you were afraid that the man you’d marry would be like most of the lords around the world, taking what they wanted whenever they wanted. James showed you different.

“That’s good,” he sighed before kissing your lips gently. “Get some rest angel, I am not done with you yet.”

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[justsomerandomfanfic]

Irresistible Attraction - Anakin Skywalker X Female Reader

Title: Irresistible Attraction

Anakin Skywalker X Female Reader

Additional Characters: Obi-Wan Kenobi and Yoda (Mentioned)

Requested By: Anon

WC: 1,279

Warnings: Set during when Anakin's a Knight, teasing, banter, flirting, italics, Star Wars canon violence (brief), Jedi Reader, very mini angst, and fluff

The air was thick with heat and the static whine of nearby droids. Anakin Skywalker dangled from his restraints, arms burning, feet barely brushing the floor as a single bead of sweat traced a slow path down his temple. 

“This is your fault,” Obi-Wan said mildly beside him, his voice frustratingly calm for someone tied up and unarmed.

Anakin huffed, “How is this my fault?”

“You charged straight into the ambush.”

“You said split-up, I thought that meant-”

“I meant strategically, not dramatically.” Obi-Wan sighed tiredly, “Really, Anakin, must every mission end in a hostage situation?”

The younger Jedi twisted stubbornly against his binds, glancing around at the dozen or so droids posted around the room like statues, blasters ready.

Anakin wasn’t expecting this. It was supposed to be a simple mission, as Master Yoda had said. Wouldn’t even take more than a day or so to do, but then this happened. Of course, “simple” rarely meant what it was supposed to - not when Anakin Skywalker was involved.

He sighed through gritted teeth, flexing his wrists against the restraints. The metal bit into his soft skin. “You’re awfully calm for someone who just got captured.”

Obi-Wan tilted his head, unbothered, “Panicking rarely solved anything, Anakin. Besides… Patience is a Jedi’s ally.”

Anakin groaned, sagging against his restraints. “Yeah, yeah. Patience, serenity, all that Jedi wisdom.”

Obi-Wan offered a small, infuriating smile. “Exactly.”

Anakin frowned, turning his head to look at his Master as much as he could, his eyes narrowing suspiciously, ��You know something I don’t, Master?”

That familiar, maddening smile tugged at Obi-Wan’s lips, “Let’s just say… I have faith.”

‘In what?’ Anakin was about to ask, until the metal door in front of them clanged open with a violent hiss, smoke curling from its edges. Sparks rained down like stars as the silhouette of a long figure stepped into the room. The droids immediately pivoted towards the figure, blasters raised. But the figure didn’t move. They stood there, mysterious, ominous, cloaked in robes of dark grey and black that almost seemed to absorb the light around them. The hood of their cloak was pulled low, hiding most of their face in shadow. Anakin glanced at Obi-Wan, eyes narrowed in confusion. Obi-Wan’s calm demeanor was as unwavering as ever, but there was something different in his expression. Was that… Anticipation? Before Anakin could even voice his thoughts, the figure ignited their lightsaber.

The blade hummed to life with an eerie, calming hiss of blue. The sound filled the room, and then, without warning, the figure moved. In a flash, they were a blur of speed, their cloak fluttering behind them as they dashed toward the first droid. The droid fired, but the blaster bolt never reached its target. With a swift flick of their wrist, they deflected the shot effortlessly, sending it spiraling back into the droid’s chest. Sparks erupted, and the droid collapsed with a mechanical screech.

Before the others could react, they were already moving - their lightsaber spinning in a tight, rapid circle in front of them, deflecting a volley of blaster bolts with ease. One hand shot out, and a blast of the Force slammed three droids into the wall, crushing them like tin cans. They leapt forward, flipping mid-air, landing in a crouch as their blade swept in a clean arc, slicing through metal. And within seconds, the floor was littered with the smoking remains of droids. Limbs scattered, circuits sparking, and metal still hissing from the fierce heat of their blade; Anakin watched, hanging from his restraints, in a state of awe.

With a calm exhale, you sheathed your lightsaber, before clipping it smoothly to your hip. You turned on your heel, facing the two Jedi still dangling from their restraints. Jutting your hip out, hands settling on your waist, you raised a brow beneath your hood. 

“Well,” You said dryly, “Don’t you two look tied up at the moment.”

Obi-Wan chuckled, the corners of his mouth lifting as he gestured towards the restraints with a tilt of his chin. “Mind giving us a hand?”

Without so much as lifting a finger, the cuffs snapped open with a metallic click, and both Jedi dropped to the floor, landing on their feet. Anakin watched you, immediately rubbing at his sore wrists. 

You stepped forward, your cloak swaying behind you, “Obi-Wan, still getting yourself into trouble, I see.”

Obi-Wan smiled warmly, clasping your shoulder, “For the record, it wasn’t my fault this time.”

You raised an eyebrow, scoffing, “That’d be a first.”

Then, you turned toward the younger Jedi, finally pulling down your hood, and revealing your face for the first time. Sharp eyes, calm confidence, and a faint smirk tugging at your lips.

“So,” You began, eyes giving him a once over before meeting his blue eyes, “You must be Obi-Wan’s used-to-be Padawan.”

He swallowed, posture straightening slightly, “Uh… Yeah. That’s me.”

Your smirk deepened. “You’re taller than I expected. And... I gotta say, you’re kind of cute. For a Jedi.” You paused, your eyes lingering on him with an amused glint. “Reckless too, I hear. You get that from Obi-Wan.”

He blinked, a slow grin forming upon his lips at your words, “You’ve heard of me?”

“Oh,” You said, tilting your head, “Everyone’s heard of you, Anakin Skywalker.” You teased, amusement in your gaze.

“Funny… I’ve never heard of you before.”

You chuckled, stepping closer, “That’s because I’m better at staying off the radar.” Then, with a quick nod, you introduced yourself, “Name’s Y/N. Jedi Shadow. Your ride out of here.”

Before he could respond, you spun on your heel with a swish of your cloak and robes, already striding toward the exit. Anakin felt it before he could stop it, his smile growing as his gaze followed you. There was something about the way you moved, the way you fought, the way you spoke.

Obi-Wan nudged him in the side, hard enough to snap him out of it, “Careful, Anakin.”

Anakin blinked and looked over, trying to play it cool and nonchalant. “What?”

Obi-Wan gave him that calm, all-knowing look, “She’s impressive, yes. But if anything were to happen… Remember where your loyalties lie. The Order has never been fond of attachments.”

Anakin rolled his eyes, a sigh escaping his lips as he nodded, “Yeah, yeah. I get it. No attachments, Master.”

Then, suddenly, you popped around the corner of the shattered doorway, one brow raised and a playful smirk on your lips before you tossed Anakin and Obi-Wan their stolen lightsabers. “Well? You two coming, or are you planning to redecorate this lovely prison cell?”

Fixing his lightsaber to his hip, Anakin didn’t hesitate, already moving. His boots echoed against the floor as he quickly caught up with you, that crooked grin breaking into something wider, brighter. He didn’t say anything, but the way his eyes lingered on you said more than words ever could.

You caught his gaze, lips curving as you walked beside him. “Careful, Skywalker,” You spoke up, “Stare any longer and I’ll start to think you like me.”

Anakin’s smirk deepened, his eyes still fixed on you. “Maybe I do,” He said smoothly, voice low. “Is that going to be a problem?”

You glanced at Obi-Wan, who gave you a knowing look, but you shrugged it off, rolling your eyes before turning back to Anakin. You hummed thoughtfully, “Hmm... No, I don’t think it’ll be a problem at all.”

Anakin grinned, clearly pleased with your response, and as the two of you walked side by side, the tension between you felt almost tangible. Obi-Wan simply sighed, muttering under his breath, “This is going to be interesting…”

~~~

Main Masterlist | Star Wars Masterlist

[wileycap]

Beings Suffering From Extreme Sleep Deprivation Should Not Attempt Turning To The Dark Side

There he was. Anakin Skywalker, the prize jewel of the Sith... even if he did not know it yet. Sitting in the office of his friend, the Supreme Chancellor.

All the pieces were now in place, and the only thing left to do was to reveal his identity to Skywalker and let him break down. The satisfaction that permeated the form of Sheev Palpatine was so great that he nearly forgot that his parents had named him Sheev.

But not for long. Distaste prickled up his spine. Still, they were entering the glorious morning of a Sith Empire that would never see night. Or, rather more accurately, the night would be neverending. And the metaphors would be better - he would hire (and by hire, he meant enslave) the greatest poets to compose endless lamentations for the suffering he was about to unleash.

Skywalker sat in the chair, looking listless. The nightmares Palpatine had sent had done their job well - it seemed like he had hardly slept. His thoughts were sluggish, his resistance gone, and his terror absolute. Terror for his "secret" wife, who he feared would die in childbirth.

And while the "visions" were far from genuine, oh, Palpatine intended to make sure that Padmé Amidala would.

With the death of his wife, Palpatine's control over Anakin Skywalker would be perfect. And, in ten or twenty years, thirty even, the boy would become his new vessel. After all, the plans of the Sith were measured in the millenia, and Sheev Palpatine had no intention of planting trees in whose shade younger generations might sit. No. He intended to sit there himself, chasing off the whippersnappers so they might get sunburnt. (He really needed to consult a poet.)

But the creation of his Empire was a far more immediate goal, and a very worthy stepping stone indeed. And since all it would take was a push, he had better get to administering said push.

"Dear boy, I don't think I've ever seen you look quite this... disturbed," he intoned, perfectly miming the tones of a concerned grandfather. "Not - and I am terribly sorry to bring this up, but I can't help but be concerned - not even... not even when your mother died."

There. Skywalker was an easy instrument to play. A veil of concern, a dash of "you can tell me anything." A hint of his past trauma, which so neatly (almost as if by design) connected to his current fear. Even calling attention to Skywalker's sorry state served to remind him that the structures he could depend on were now shaky and unsure, ravaged by war.

Palpatine briefly entertained himself by wondering what the boy might think of the sheer amount of planning that had been put into his fall.

"Mom?" Skywalker asked, voice groggy and wide eyes betraying his shock.

And said nothing more, just gaped at Palpatine, as if he were about to pull Shmi Skywalker out from under his robes. Idiot boy.

"I'm terribly sorry for shocking you, Anakin," Palpatine said, suffusing the room with his phony concern. "I know it must be horrible to think about, especially in these... present circumstances."

Well, he'd thrown subtlety out the viewport, but that would certainly get the job done.

Skywalker did not respond. He was blearily gazing into middle distance. And Palpatine was running out of time - Skywalker needed to fall now, before Kenobi could return from Utapau and somehow pull him back from the brink, again.

So, subtlety? Subtlety would die the same death it always died in Skywalker's presence: a sudden one.

"Actually, I've called you here on an important matter," he said, injecting some urgency into his tone - no longer a grandfather, but a concerned statesman. "I now have every reason to believe that Senator Amidala and the Delegation of Two Thousand are planning a coup."

"Huh?" Skywalker said, attempting to sit up. "Padmé's planning..."

And then his train of thought appeared to slip away again, and he resumed his vacant staring.

"Yes." Palpatine gritted out. "Padmé Amidala, your wife, is planning a coup."

"Oh. Yeah, she's good at politics," Anakin mumbled, offering Palpatine a tired smile. "I'm sure she'll do a good job."

"A coup against me." When nothing more than a "hmm" was forthcoming, Palpatine continued. "And it appears she has allied with the Jedi Council."

Skywalker suddenly stood up, ramrod straight. Finally, Palpatine thought.

"What?"

"I'm sorry you have to find out this way-"

"No, no, this is great! She's finally hanging out with my work friends! Now she'll know what it feels like!" Skywalker shook his head. "Like, it's only fair, right? I've sat through a ton of formal dinners and stuff. And Bail is okay, I guess, and Mon, and Fang Zhar is kinda funny, but... they're so boring. Treaty this, agreement that, 'what do you think, Master Jedi?'"

Skywalker started pacing. "Yeah, but who's laughing now, Padmé? I hope she tries to take them out for lunch. Then she'll get to see twelve Jedi Masters meditating to discern which restaurant the Force is pulling them towards."

He turned to Palpatine, as if to explain. "And that takes hours. You wanted lunch? Sorry, it's dinnertime and also tomorrow, and the spot they picked, which, by the way, is always the one Yoda wants,-" and, to the Sith Lord's horror, he launched into an imitation, "'mmm, great darkness I sense within the Jundland Buffet, perhaps to Stewcruiser, we should instead go', but when we finally decide to go to Stewcruiser, it's closed on Taungsday, and the whole thing starts all over again!"

And at that, Skywalker sat down with a huff.

"Indeed," Palpatine said, no longer able to keep the coldness out of his voice. "The inefficiencies of the Jedi are... vexing."

"Tell me about it," Skywalker mumbled, rubbing at his eyes.

"But rather more pressingly, they are planning a coup." Palpatine said, rather icily.

"Yeah, right," the boy said, looking a bit shamefaced. "Sorry."

"It is no matter," Palpatine replied, still eyeing the Jedi. Skywalker made no move. "What do you think about the coup?"

"Oh, yeah, uh. Like I said, I'm sure she'll do a great job. Sorry, I don't really... pay attention to politics."

Palpatine opened his mouth. And then closed it again. "A coup is a bad thing, Anakin."

"Uh-huh," Skywalker said, clearly paying no attention, and that was just about the limit of Palpatine's patience. He hadn't set the entire galaxy ablaze to be uh-huhed by the boy.

It was time to go for the throat.

"Anakin, I'm going to kill your wife." He said, enunciating every word as clearly as he could. He needed to provoke the boy into fear and anger, which would feed his guilt and shame, which would lead him to the Dark Si-

"Oh, okay. Good luck."

"What?!" He hissed. "I just threatened to kill your wife!"

"Yeah, but..." Skywalker scratched at the back of his neck. "I mean, she's been in like, twenty battles. She can handle herself."

"She is eight months pregnant!"

Skywalker actually shrugged. "The med droid said she can keep doing her usual activities for as long as she feels able. And no offence, but you're kind of... old."

"Old? I am the Lord of the Sith, young fool! I possess powers your feeble mind can't even comprehend!"

Something had gone blank in Skywalker's eyes, but Palpatine was far too angry to notice. "I orchestrated this entire war! All of this is my doing! I planned for your mother to die, I corrupted the Tuskens myself, I was behind Kenobi faking his death, beh-"

And that's about as far as he got, because a sky blue blade had just passed between the spot his head occupied and the spot that was occupied by his body, and had kindly suggested to the two that it was time to part ways.

"Chancellor, Sith Lords are a specialty at the Jundland Buffet," Anakin muttered, turning off his saber. He tried to hook it back on his belt, but apparently somebody had taken his usual hook, and the handle fell to the ground. Sighing, he called it up with the Force and shoved it into his boot for safekeeping, when a thought struck him. "No, that's not right. How did Obi-Wan say it..."

And then he commed Obi-Wan, because that seemed like the thing to do. After a long wait, a small, blue Obi-Wan appeared, looking harried. Before Anakin could compliment him on his new size and color, Obi-Wan was already talking way too fast, something about killing Grievous.

"Hey, Obi-Wan, uh. I killed the Sith, but I-"

"What?" Obi-Wan's voice had a lot of static in it. He should really get that checked out. "Sorry, Anakin, did you say you killed the Sith Lord?"

"Yeah, anyways, back when we were fighting Dooku, you said something about Sith Lords and a specialty, and, uh, is it a specialty dish somewhere? And can we go there next time the Council has lunch? I'm getting really sick of Stewcruiser."

"Anakin. When was the last time you slept?"

"Oh, uh, two weeks ago or something."

There was a heavy, staticy sigh from the other end of the comlink. "Alright, Anakin. Turn the comlink around and show me the Sith, and then I'll guide you through cleaning up the pieces of the duelling droid you dismantled this time, and - oh Force, is that the Chancellor?!"

"Uh-huh," Anakin nodded, forgetting that he wasn't in view of the receiver.

"Don't uh-huh me, Anakin! Did you kill the Supreme Chancellor?"

"Yeah, he was the Sith?" There weren't any more words coming through the comlink, so Anakin figured it was safe to continue. "He said that he orchestrated the whole war and he was the Sith. Also, for some reason, he moved out here to the desert, and that's weird, because I don't think it's gonna agree with his complexion."

There was more silence from the comlink. Anakin remembered to turn it so he was again visible to Obi-Wan. Obi-Wan appeared to be frozen.

"Are you... disappointed?" Anakin asked, after a while.

"No more than the usual amount," Obi-Wan sighed. "Go take a nap."

"Oh, good," Anakin smiled. And then frowned. "Wait, what do you mean, 'the usual amount?'"

[hedwig221b]

Do you have recs for omegaverse? Or some of your favorites on hand? I've read and loved everything you've shared and written so far and I just can't get enough! :D

I love abo so much and I'm proud to say it. Here's probably the longest fic rec list I've made...

Feral Formalities by Aleandri

"There was silence as no one seemed to breath at the table. Derek had just gifted Stiles, an unmated Omega, with food. Right in front of another Alpha. Who he was on a date with. To discuss being heat partners…." In which, Stiles presents as Omega, and everyone wants a piece of the alpha-baby-making ass!

Hung The Moon by BurnItAllClean (nrnyx)

Slowly Stiles got control of himself again. His heart calmed. His breathing evened out. The anger was gone. In its place, a bone-deep weariness settled. He couldn’t do this. He wouldn’t survive this.

Meant to be One by sunhazeheart

His nerves felt like a live wire was running hot beneath his skin, hands fidgeting with the silken material of his robe. If he had the concentration to spare, he might had worried about tearing it. It was all he could do to sit there at the vanity, eyes squeezed shut, and try to give in the constricting pressure around his chest that said that he was about to fall into a panic attack. Breath in. Breath out. His own heartbeat rushed in his ears. Being mated to the reclusive king with a frightening reputation to his name, bundled away from his home and father, and then surrounded by underwhelmingly distant faces hiding secrets was not how Stiles Stilinski imagine spending his life soon after turning eighteen. He can only remind himself that it is for the good of his people, both old and newly acquired. But, perhaps first assumptions are made too hastily and a fated match can be made, even surrounded by threats of war, revenge and death’s waiting embrace.

My Wolf by Dexterous_Sinistrous

“If he wants to mate Stiles, why not let him?” Jackson asked, ready to part with Stiles if need be. “Because if I did that, I’d be demoting Lydia,” Alpha Stilinski replied. “We don’t even know how good of a Beta he is,” Lydia countered, bristling some that her status was being challenged. “That’s because he’s not a Beta,” Alpha Stilinski stated. “He’s an Alpha.”

Love's Violent Delights by Dexterous_Sinistrous

Derek caught the way the man’s eyes looked over Stiles before lingering on his ass. He waited for the clerk to place the key on the counter before he reacted. Stiles startled at the loud noise, turning away from the pamphlets in the display box to see Derek pinning the clerk’s head against the counter. He drew in an even breath, looking between the struggling man and Derek. Derek briefly looked at Stiles, hesitating before he saw the gleam of excitement in Stiles’ eyes and the hint of lust in his scent. “Ever look at him, or any other Omega, like that again, and I’ll slice your eyes out with my claws.” He shoved the man back, not caring of the commotion that was made as he snatched up the key from the counter.

All Derek Ever Wanted by Dexterous_Sinistrous

Stiles knew Derek always wanted a big family. And, for the longest time, he thought he'd be the one to give it to him. Life, devastatingly, has other plans. Prompt: "I've been thinking about omega stiles n alpha derek. They're trying to hav a baby. But one day stiles go to the doc, n he imply that stiles can't get pregnant. Stiles keep it secret and try to make derek divorce him."

Summer Contest by kits_lightning

The moment Derek stepped into the fighting ring and faced Stiles he remembered why he was doing all of this. The omega gawked at him and barely paid attention to the other competitors Talia was mentioning and Derek smiled at the thought of having all of his attention. Stiles blushed from the tips of his ears to his neck and began to run his fingers through his hair while looking away. Derek began to wonder how far down that blush traveled when he shook his head and tried to focus on the imminent battle. He caught the last of what his mother was saying. “—have a good fight and good luck.” More clapping and the horn that signaled the beginning of the fight sounded.

The Alpha and his Spark by sandyde03

Stiles is pregnant. Derek is perpetually horny and possessive. Stiles is confused. Not by Derek sexing him up. He loves that. It’s the fact that ever since he started to show that he was with pup everyone has been avoiding his eyes.

The Best Things in the World Must be Felt with the Heart by solostsobroken

The Argent family had been kidnapping and illegally selling omegas for years. When FBI Agent Derek Hale and his team go and raid their home, they find, rescue and free dozens of omegas. That was ALL Derek had expected to be doing. What he hadn't expected was to find his own mate, Stiles, chained up with the rest of them. Seeing the omega severely sick and injured, Derek is determined to nurse him back to health. As he slowly learns more about his mate, he stumbles upon a mystery from Stiles' past that may just turn into the biggest case of his lifetime. Derek is determined to figure it out, no matter how long it takes.

The Hills Call

Five years ago, Prince Derek of the Hale Empire had fallen for the son of a Baron, Genim of Stilinski. His mother had not approved, and after some time imprisoned Genim escaped to the Dukedom of the Shore, where he was taken in by Duke Christopher and Lady Allison. Now, Prince Derek is on his deathbed from a poisoning and it is up to Genim, now called Stiles, to nurse him back to health. Wary of the Hale Empire, Stiles returns with their young son to see if he can heal Derek of his illness and escape the threats he still feels from the Empress herself.

Waiting Games by Jerakeen

Being an only child and heir to the throne, Stiles had always known he may not have the luxury of marrying for love. When he’d realized he was an omega to boot, things had taken an even more uncomfortable turn for him. Omegas are rare. An omega as the heir apparent is almost unheard of. Which is why there is no wiggle room when it comes to the tournament.

Wants & Needs by MadcapRomantic

Derek Hale has been participating in the Beacon Hills Mating Run for a decade, each year coming up without a mate. His mother, convinced this is his lucky year, persuades him to run one last time. Enter Stiles, a young Omega with an unwanted Alpha nipping at his heels. Family or not, Peter is determined to have Stiles. But convinced they are True Mates, there isn't anything Derek won't do to keep Stiles safe.

When All the Pieces Fit by NARKOTIKA

"Does he even realize? With the cooking and cleaning andandand—now this fucking baby?" Isaac fumes. Said baby waves its fist in the air, and Stiles bends to haul him onto a hip. The baby babbles something and Stiles nods his head with complete seriousness, as if everything out of its mouth is perfectly sensible and coherent. Then the kid starts mouthing at Stiles' nipple through his dress and everyone goes dead silent. "I'm going to wife him so hard," Ethan announces, and they all break out into argument over who has the best chance at mating the boy in the river.

Under the Golden Moon by NARKOTIKA

Derek doesn't know how long he sits in his wolf skin, on his haunches, observing Stiles as the sunbeams slant through the trees and cast slashes of light across the omega's willowy form. The boy has his feet in the water, a babe on his hip, a bright smile on his face as the other younglings splash around and soak his garb. The creamy skin of his thighs peek out from the slits running down the sides of his draping skirt, and Derek has never wanted anything more than he wants this beautiful being of the woods.

Angel Choirs and Magic by LadyDrace

Derek has been very, very patient, and has shown frankly incredible self-control in the face of brutal teasing and flirting for two months. But now it's time for the mating run, and he's about to get his reward. Except for how maybe it's actually Stiles getting a treat. Win/win.

Where the Shadow Ends by Green

Derek goes undercover to Delphi to figure out what's wrong with the oracle. He doesn't mean to fall in love.

Pride and Place by DarkAthena (seraphim_grace)

Derek Hale, Earl of Osterbrook, has inherited, following the death of Lord Montfort, a run down house in Yorkshire he neither needs nor wants, convinced his staff are robbing him, and with the mystery of a missing ward, he manages to get himself talked into a ridiculous bet, that he cannot pass as a steward until Midwinter, nearly two months away. So can he maintain the charade? Find the missing child? and manage to turn the shambles of a house around, or will he give up and let Peter take the thousand pounds he bet.

Are You the One? by Venrajade

Derek's sister works for a television network with a dating show that claims that they are able to find someone's True Mate. Cora steals a scent sample from Derek and matches him to an Omega applying to the show with a 99% chance of them being mates. Which means Derek is now a reality dating show star. Shit.

And the Cold Pulls You Down by blacktofade

“Do you believe in ghosts?” Stiles asks Derek one night after he’s settled into bed, listening to the sound of Derek brushing his teeth in the bathroom. “Ghosts?” Derek asks, voice muffled by toothbrush and paste as he stands in the doorway to stare at Stiles. Or, the one where Stiles is 99.9% sure their house is haunted and no one believes him.

Build Us a Home by Sourwolf and Stilinski (Kitsune_Moonstar)

When it came time for Stiles to take his tour, he hadn't expected that many alphas to try and court him with the houses they built. And he hadn't dreamed Derek Hale might build him a home that suited them both.

Made Your Mark on Me (A Golden Tattoo) by writteninthewolfstar

Beacon Hills High and Lycan Heights High are well-known enemies. Derek Hale, Lycan Heights' star quarter-back, is well-known for being aggressive and arrogant. Imagine Stiles surprise when he discovers that Derek Hale is actually his soul-mate.

Knot Thinking With Your Head by KnottheWolf

The first time Sam met Stiles he had no idea who the Omega was, nor did he have any clue that the Omega was already in a series relationship. When he met Stiles, he was hungover and had a massive pounding headache that was killing him to have his eyes open. The Alpha instantly ran to the nearest bathroom to puke in the toilet, before splashing cold water in his face and sighing with relief when the pain was barely there anymore. Flushing the toilet he left the bathroom so he could make himself a cup of coffee, and then start figuring out how to make the best first impression with the other Alpha’s in the fraternity. Now all he wanted to do, when he spotted the Omega was get all up on that cute ass. A 5 + 1 things kind of fic

Empty by modestfuckup

Stiles stops listening to the words the doctor is saying, a stream of tears rolling down his face. His training taught him he has to remain calm. He uses a tissue to blot at the tears as his mind already turns to what is going to happen now. The doctor is talking about his options, and treatments he could undergo, but Stiles knows none of that will work. He’s infertile. With no way to supply his alpha with an heir, he is practically useless. Or the one where Stiles is an infertile omega, and society dictates that if an omega is unable to carry on the alpha's lineage, an alpha is allowed to take another omega. Stiles hides his condition from Derek while he copes and starts the process of finding a new omega for him.

Elskende by DarkAthena (seraphim_grace)

Stiles is an omega concubine, kept sequestered away in the city of Beacon Hills, waiting for his lord Gerard Argent when the Wulver take the city and the alpha takes the omega.

Sex and Violence by halcyon1993

Derek is a feared mafia boss. Stiles gets turned on watching him work.

The Spoils of War by halcyon1993

Alpha Derek is a commander in the Roman Army, tasked with pillaging settlements to claim them for his own people. When he comes across a pretty young Omega during his latest conquest, he can't resist taking him as his personal prize.

Cut to the Bone by standinginanicedress

“Not that it’s any of your god damn business, but my name is Stiles. Do you need something?” The alpha grins. All teeth, shiny white, straight as an arrow. He’s got this sculpted perfection to him that Stiles is sure has worked on all the omegas he’s ever encountered before, but Stiles stands his ground and narrows his eyes. “A date.” Stiles looks him up and down, slowly, from the black shoes on his feet, to his uniform khakis and blazer littered with pins, to his face. He frowns, makes a face, and says, “pass.”

Helen of Troy by standinginanicedress

Stiles can fake laugh, fake smile. He can play coy and he can be demure and barely eat anything in front of them, and he can sit still and do his little song and dance of feigning interest. But this is a little out of his scope. They want him to fully become someone else. They want him to be who everyone wants him to be, and it scares the shit out of Stiles, because he doesn’t know if he can do it for hours and hours while cameras watch his every single move. It’s a lot. It’s more than he bargained for.

And, for a cherry on top:

Yes To Heaven

Stiles ruined him. The damage was irreparable. He didn’t want the food that wasn’t made by Stiles or shared with him; the water tasted stale; the clothes were asphyxiating and scratchy; the air was wrong, wrong without Stiles’ scent in it. Fuck, what was wrong with him? How could that pretty little thing change him so much? He had an iron grip on his control before, being in tandem with his instincts, but within weeks, all of it was gone. As soon as he thought of Stiles, though, of his scent, his moans, and the little wrinkle on his forehead as he orgasmed, his mind settled. What was life before Stiles? Everything was somewhere far, far away, forgotten, bleak, and meaningless. Derek thought he knew what light was as he looked at the microscopic dots of the stars above. Then Stiles came into his life and showed him the sun.

Take Me Away From Here

Derek Hale looked terrifying. With his broad frame and muscles, with his wild black hair and thick beard, with his eyes the color of blood and fangs of a killer. Despite his kindness and his apparent attraction to Stiles, he was still a stranger, a predator, a wolf. The thing is, Stiles would deal, but others might not. People found Lord Hale horrid, monstrous and unapproachable. If Stiles stood behind him, no one would touch him. He’d be safe with the wolf. If not from him, then definitely from everyone else. And that was enough.

[masterlist link]

[loverangels]

hiii! could i please request paul atredies x fem!reader where they are arguing and he uses the voice on her?

PAUL USING THE VOICE ON YOU...

a/n: got a bit carried away with this ask and planned a whole series. I genuinely love this ask sooo much!! I also want to warn that I have yet to watch dune 2...i know I know! So it might be inaccurate in according to the movies but we'll just ignore that...

warnings: dark!paul, possessive, not proofread

You hear it before he even says your name.

Not in the words themselves — but in the way the air shifts.

In the hush that settles over the war tent like a storm holding its breath.

The way his eyes won’t meet yours.

You’re standing just inside the threshold, robes still creased from sleep, dust on your sleeves from the wind outside.

You had come looking for him — for a quiet moment, maybe, or just the comfort of his voice. But instead you walk into a ring of cold-faced commanders, a daughter of an empire gleaming like forged metal at his side, and Paul, standing at the center of it all like a man carved from stone.

Your heart folds before he even speaks.

The room feels too warm. Or maybe it’s you — heat rising up your neck like shame, like fear, like grief not yet formed.

You stand perfectly still, because you know if you move, something will shatter.

And then you hear it.

“I’ll marry Irulan.”

His voice is calm. Detached.

Like he’s stating strategy.

Like he’s not carving a hole into your chest with every syllable.

You don’t wait to hear the rest.

You don’t want to see if he glances at you when he says it.

You don’t want to know if he meant for you to hear.

You turn. You leave.

You slip out beneath the heavy flap of the tent and into the open night like a breath escaping a dying body.

And then—

You run.

The wind hits you first — sharp and angry, dragging sand across your skin like claws.

The air is dry and violent, howling against the rocks like it’s furious on your behalf.

You trip slightly on the edge of a dune, catching yourself on your hands, the sand biting into your palms. But you don’t stop. You don’t even wipe the tears from your cheeks. They’re mixing with dust now — hot and salt-heavy and blinding.

Your robe whips around your legs as you move, the fabric catching in the wind like it wants to drag you backward, like even the desert is trying to stop you from leaving him.

Your feet sink into the loose sand, stumbling over ridges and stones. The land here is endless. Barren. Beautiful in its cruelty.

And still — you run.

Behind you, there’s a sound.

The tent flap slaps against the wind.

Then — boots pounding the sand.

And his voice, cutting through the storm:

“Wait—please.”

But you don’t.

Not when your lungs are burning. Not when your whole body is screaming don’t you dare look back.

Still, he chases you. Of course he does.

He always comes when it’s too late.

He reaches you just as your knees threaten to give out —

just as the wind reaches a new pitch, shrieking across the dunes like it’s trying to tear the world apart.

“Stop,” he says, breathless.

You spin to face him, eyes wild and rimmed with sand-smeared tears.

“You’re marrying her.”

It doesn’t come out soft. It tears itself out of your mouth like it doesn’t want to be held in anymore.

He blinks, caught. His mouth parts like he wants to lie — to reframe it — but he doesn’t.

“I have to,” he says instead. Quiet. Measured.

Like that makes it better.

Your laugh is sharp and broken. “No. You want to.”

He flinches. And you don’t let him look away.

“You already have power, Paul. You already won. You have the empire, the prophecy, the people. You didn’t need to do this.”

he takes a step towards you, carefull, like you're something fragile.

“I did it for the future.”

“No.” Your voice rises, the wind rushing in behind it. “You did it for control. You did it because the throne wasn’t enough. You want her bloodline, her name, her legacy. You want to own everything.”

Something dark flickers in his eyes — not anger, not quite. Something worse. Justification.

That horrible, steady confidence that only comes from believing your own myth.

“I didn’t understand what this path would take from me,” he says.

You take a step back, your foot slipping in the sand.

“Oh,” you breathe. “So you were naive. You were foolish when you said you loved me.”

His jaw tightens. “No.”

“Then what?” Your voice breaks, finally. “What was I?”

He doesn’t answer right away. The wind gusts, hard enough to make you stagger.

Then—his voice again.

Not loud. Not cruel.

Just certain.

"stay."

And this time it isn’t just a plea.

It’s the Voice.

It sinks into your bones, stilling you.

Your breath catches. Your legs freeze. You hate how easily it happens — how quickly your body obeys.

He steps closer, looking ruined. “Please. Don’t go.”

But you don’t look at him. You’re staring out at the horizon, at the endless expanse of sand that could take you anywhere but here.

And still — you stay. Because he told you to.

Because he made you.

And that’s worse than anything else.

.

Time passes.

Not in days or months. Not in anything you can count.

It passes in moments you don’t remember choosing.

You live in the royal wing now — carved in white stone, where the ceilings echo with silence and the floors are too polished to feel real beneath your feet.

They dress you in silk now. Gold bracelets that you don’t remember asking for. Perfume that clings to your skin like a name you forgot how to say.

You never ask questions.

You don’t need to.

He tells you when to speak. When to smile. When to follow.

And you do.

Because when he uses the Voice — that impossible, low timbre threaded with command — your body obeys before your heart can catch up.

Because that’s what you are now: a creature of response, not desire.

He’s never cruel to you. Not really.

He still touches your cheek sometimes like you’re precious. Still looks at you like there’s some version of you he remembers.

But it’s a hollow thing now. A memory of love pretending it’s still alive.

You sit beside him at court, quiet and lovely and always one word away from motion.

The princess sits on his other side — radiant and cold, untouched.

The world sees a golden throne, a perfect empire.

No one sees the ghost sitting just beneath it.

At night, you lie in silk sheets, facing away from him.

Sometimes he speaks your name softly, as if it might still mean something.

Sometimes he doesn’t speak at all.

And on the worst nights — the ones where you almost remember how to want something — he uses the Voice again.

“Stay.”

“Come here.”

“Don’t cry.”

And you don’t.

Because he tells you not to.

And in the morning, you forget that you ever did.

[reality-detective]

BREAKING — Supreme Court Sides with Trump, Stripping Power from Rogue Judges!

The Supreme Court is moving to DESTROY the Left’s favorite legal weapon: nationwide injunctions. The same corrupt tactic used to block Trump’s agenda—now on the chopping block. Judicial tyranny is being dismantled. Trump is rising. The Deep State is bleeding.

THE COURT IS TAKING BACK AMERICA

For years, unelected judges hijacked the Constitution—paralyzing the presidency with a single stroke of a pen. They blocked Trump’s orders. Froze national security actions. Sided with foreign interests. All under the illusion of neutrality.

That era is ENDING.

The Supreme Court is ready to crush the abuse of injunctions—sending shockwaves through the legal elite. It’s a nuclear strike on the Deep State’s last stronghold.

ONE JUDGE, NATIONWIDE POWER — IT'S OVER

This wasn’t law. It was sabotage. A single judge halting policies for 330 million Americans? That’s not democracy. That’s tyranny wrapped in a black robe.

Now, that weapon is being torn away from them. No more sabotage. No more judicial coups.

THE MEDIA LIED. TRUMP NEVER SLOWED DOWN.

While they said he was finished, Trump was outmaneuvering every trap. His approval is skyrocketing. His agenda is accelerating. The people are rallying behind him like never before.

The regime wanted silence. What they got was a thunderclap.

THE LEFT’S LEGAL SHIELD IS SHATTERING

They lost the narrative. They lost the elections. So they crawled into the courts. Backed by NGOs, fake law firms, and Soros puppets, they tried to halt America’s rebirth through endless lawsuits.

But now, with SCOTUS stepping in, their game is OVER.

TRUMP BUILT WHILE THEY BLOCKED

While corrupt judges stalled, Trump rebuilt the economy. He brought manufacturing back. Sparked innovation. Took bold risks others wouldn’t. This is real leadership—while the Left played courtroom games.

THE STORM IS HERE.

This isn’t just a legal shift. It’s a declaration: Power returns to the people. The courts will no longer be weapons of war against a sitting president.

Trump isn’t just winning. He’s reclaiming the Republic.

But the fight continues. The saboteurs still lurk. The media still lies. And the machine won’t stop unless WE shut it down.

One president. One mission. One reckoning.

The people are awake. And we’re not backing down. 🤔

[mrypotter]

Strings And Knots

Draco Malfoy x fem!reader

Summary: Reader makes a bracelet for Draco, and, surprisingly to her, it lasts throughout all their years of Hogwarts.

Warnings: Mention of death, war, murder, suffocation, air pollution, destruction, emotional/physical damage, but overall fluff! (Until the end it’s kinda sad but it ends quite well- just a sad mood.)

Note: I know I did the whole Divination thing wrong since they do it for every month but that’s okay. And I really love this one it’s gotta be in top five favorites! Maybe top three!

Masterlist

Request Requirements

One: The Making

Year: First

Her fingers worked carefully on the thread, the rough texture feeling slightly scratchy against her fingertips. Her hands were red and almost dry, twisting them together before pulling the knot up, securing it as it joined the design she was creating.

She wanted it to be perfect, despite her just learning about a week ago, but each day she practiced a bit and she could tell she was slowly improving.

She grumbled when the strings tangled together and she once again separated the colors. She could use magic, her wand sitting on her bed on top of her Charms and Potions book, but she made it her personal mission not to use the wand, for she wanted it to be made by her very hands, that way the finishing product would be much more meaningful; to her and to him.

Her fingers burned and the tips turned red as she tied the finishing knot at the bottom, taking a pair of scissors afterward and snipping the axis thread, the extra string flying off the once was connected bracelet and landing on her robes. This time she did use the wand, pointing them at the strands and made them disappear with a flick of the tip.

-

“Good, you’re here, look what Potter is doing, hanging around that giant again; honestly, how could you tolerate-what are you doing?”

She was half listening, her fingers focusing on tying the bracelet she made around Draco’s wrist. He made a face she didn’t see, taking his arm to his eyes once she was finished.

“What’s this rubbish?” He snarled, eyes looking disgustingly at the thread on his wrist. The girl rolled her eyes, being used to his on-the-daily-attitude.

“It’s not rubbish,” she protested. “It’s a bracelet. A friendship bracelet to be exact.”

Draco still didn’t wipe the disturbed look off his face, looking down at the thread with uncertainty.

“Look, I have one too; just switched colors.” She said, showing her own by pulling up her robe sleeve, hoping to assure him that out of the two of them he wasn’t the only one wearing a bracelet.

He looked at hers, something in his eyes that she couldn’t read. “Well? What does it mean?” He asked, still looking at the strands on his arm.

The girl shrugged even though the meaning of them meant everything to her. “It represents friendship. Ya ever heard of it?” She asked, a teasing glint in her eyes as she looked at him.

He scowled. “Of course I’ve heard of friendship. We are friends, aren’t we?”

She smiled. “Yeah, why do you think I made it for you?”

Draco rolled his eyes. “Well I will admit I like being friends with you but I’m not sure about walking around with this on my wrist.”

The girl looked down at the bracelet she made herself, the strands not seeming so exciting and meaningful anymore, they seemed to be mocking her now, screaming at her that Draco wouldn’t want to wear some silly bracelet.

“Right…” She whispered, chest squeezing. Draco scoffed, leaning over and picking up her chin with his index finger. She looked at him, eyes uncertain and anxious.

“Doesn’t mean I won’t wear it- at least it matches my robes.” He stated, looking down at the green thread and then at the knitted badge of Slytherin on his chest, mouth twitching but she could tell it was his form of smiling. Her lips stretched wide, eyes sparkling. This time his grin broke, but it was small, nice and toothless.

Two: The Sighting

Year: Second

“Snape assigned another essay, I can’t believe it.” She complained with a light scowl in her voice, plopping her books down on the table beside the fireplace, sitting down on the emerald green couch, the surface silky beneath the skin of her hands. Draco grumbled in agreement to her protests, eyes scanning the paper of the Daily Prophet. She always thought it was interesting, him being so young and reading all those kind of grown up things about the Ministry. But it came with an upside: she could always get updates from him about what was currently going on in the Wizarding world. She leaned forward, finger tapping his knee lightly.

“Anything good today?” She asked, neck craning to meet his face behind the stack of papers, moving pictures all around the pages. He shook his head, folding the Prophet up carefully before throwing it onto the table, right next to her textbooks.

“No,” He replied. “And I bet there is, just wait till my father tells me. And that Chamber, he never tells me anything these days.”

It was her turn to agree with a complaint between the two of them.

“Well, there’s nothing we can do, right?” She tried to assure, but Draco wasn’t one for the ‘look on the bright side’ pep talk. She always knew that, but what she also knew was that it was worth a try.

“I wish there was something I could do.” Draco snarled, lips twitching irritably. She smiled lightly, getting off the couch and sitting the floor, pulling her parchment out with a quill and ink bottle.

“How ‘bout that essay, mm?” She hummed, voice smooth and he nodded, still looking like his head wasn’t with her. She watched him as he looked at of the window for a moment, the tallest one in the Common Room, the evening sun providing a warm glow to the space. His hand went to his head, lightly scratching his ear, when she then noticed the worn out thread on his wrist, green and slightly dirty, displaying its age. She smiled. “You’re wearing it.” She noted, and watched as his head snapped to her, eyes moving from the knotted strings to her face.

“Well we are friends, aren’t we?” He replied like it was a silly observation, shrugging half-heartedly but something brewed in her chest as he joined her, getting his things out for the essay they were about to write. It was something her young self wouldn’t be able to recognize, but it was similar to when her mother smiled at her in the morning, or how her father kissed her hair before leaving for work.

Her older self would know, oh yes, and that older mature young lady would call it love.

Three: The Teasing

Year: Third

“No.” Draco’s voice burst out as she hovered a very reactive ingredient over the cauldron, the potion brewing inside just the right temperature for him to add the alligator heart, dropping a few chunks inside. She grimaced in disgust.

“I was joking.” She then insisted.

“No you weren’t.” He instantly said, looking at her as a way to say “try me”.

She snorted, cutting up an herb he gave her. “I wasn’t actually gonna do it.” She tried to convince, yet he wouldn’t take her excuses, shaking his head.

“Yes you would; then we would end up like Seamus.” Draco responded and she chuckled, looking down at the herbs again so she failed to notice the soft smile on his lips.

“Got a friend, Malfoy? Who’s the lucky person?” Pansy’s voice suddenly broke out, and, the two Slytherins turning to her, saw her long skinny finger pointing at Draco’s wrist, a teasing glint on her face. Draco scowled at her, shooting her daggers with his grey eyes.

“Shut up Parkinson.” He spat, and she shut right up, cheeks flushing. “Not like you have any friends, bet you wish you did, don’t you?”

Pansy’s eyes glossed over but neither of them seemed to take care to it, yet the girl felt a small, very small I tell you, peck of empathy.

Pansy dismissed herself from the classroom right then, crying her eyes out.

The girl turned to Draco. “You didn’t have to be so harsh, ya know.” She whispered. She saw him look at her.

“Yeah I did. Surprised she didn’t say anything about yours.” He said softly, nudging her wrist that had the thread on it.

The girl scoffed quietly. “I’m a girl, it’s normal for us to have silly jewelry on.”

Draco’s pale eyebrow shot up. “‘Silly jewelry’?” He quoted. “So our friendship is silly now?”

The girl felt a pinch of regret hit her. She quickly shook her head. “No, I didn’t mean it like that.”

He still had an absence of a frown on his lips, but he believed the reassurance that she provided when she gave him a kind apologetic smile.

“Good.” She heard him mutter, most likely for her to not hear, but she thanked Merlin her ears picked up on it.

Four: The Admiring

Year: Forth

The Divination book was open in front of her, propped up against her bag that was lazily thrown on the table moments prior. The usual presence of Draco wasn’t met, since she was keeping herself busy while he attended Quidditch practice. The sun was still shining, though it was evening and after supper, through the green see-through curtains.

The Professor wanted them to write predictions on how their future would go, and all she came up with was that she would “experience a heart warming moment” and that “something she dearly loved would break”.

Her eyebrows were furrowed tightly, and just when she about decided to start making them up, the Common Room entrance opened, a certain platinum blonde coming into view, broomstick hung over his shoulder. His face was twisted with exhaustion, yet once his eyes met hers she saw a different expression in his eyes, relief perhaps, for she often didn’t know how to read his eyes, despite them being friends for four years.

He blooped down across from her, next to her bag so he was still in sight. His hand was now dug into his hair, eyes fluttering but he still was able to look at her. She stared longer than she should’ve, but the sight was too warming to her chest, watching his tired eyes gaze upon hers with such softness no one would ever be able to see but her.

She had her right arm on the table, flipping through the pages of the book with her other hand.

“Divination?” Draco asked, peering over at the work she had done. She nodded, and at that moment she yawn came over her.

“Yeah,” she said. “I’m about to start making it up at this point.”

Draco chuckled, reaching up and lazily rubbing his eye. “Agreed; kinda stupid really.”

She nodded once again, starting to get too tired to talk. She scanned the page that was open in front of her, spotting the sentence “you will witness a break up between two strangers” and thought that was good enough. The other predictions spoke to her but this one didn’t seem to do such, for she was at that point picking random ones out to write down. She was focused on writing, so such so that she didn’t notice Draco lay his arm down, close to her hand but the skin wasn’t close enough to brush. She also didn’t notice his grey eyes moving from his wrist to hers, the matching thread being admired scanned with his eyes.

She looked up them, feeling his finger tips brush her robe sleeve, and she met his eyes.

“What are you looking at?” She asked, eyebrows furrowing only to curve even deeper than before when he quickly responded, a little too quickly.

“Nothing.” He said shortly, taking his arm back. She held a confused expression but didn’t pry on the subject.

“Can we go to bed now?” He asked abruptly, trying to change the topic of conversation. She hummed, packing up her now finished work and putting it in her bag. She stood up, about to grab the bag when Draco beat her to it, his pale hand gripping the strap.

“Thanks.” She muttered, suddenly feeling a small flush appear over her cheeks.

“For what?” He asked, confused, like he didn’t know he just did a kind deed.

She scoffed at how oblivious he was. “For carrying my bag. You don’t have to do that.”

It was his turn to scoff, lips twitching in slight annoyance. “Well we are friends, aren’t we?”

Five: The Breaking

Year: Fifth

The Hogwarts Express seemed to vibrate underneath her, the engine coming to life as it was ready to ride on. Everyone was excited for the upcoming year, happiness flooding their features and chests.

She, however, grew worried when she didn’t have the usual company of her friend, not having seeing him yet. She didn’t spot him in the platform or while she was walking along the hallways of the train, going to their usual compartment. She was thinking he went with his other friends, perhaps he wanted to catch up with them.

But she couldn’t help but feel a little hurt, since he always at least met her before each year, in the same seats on the same train in the same compartment. Why was it different this year?

She looked out the window, miraculously thinking maybe he was running along the train’s side, yelling for it to stop so he could catch up. But of course that wouldn’t happen since the boy was always on time, so he must be on the train, just not with her.

The compartment door opened abruptly, causing her head to snap in the direction of the noise. Draco stood there, in a black suit, black tie, and black shoes. He strolled over to the seat and sat across from her, leaning his hands on the table in front of him. This all happened just in time as the train started churning, wheels turning and gaining speed as it headed off to the school.

“Where have you been?” She asked, unable to hide the worry in her voice.

“I was looking for something.” He answered simply, looking a little irritated.

“For what, exactly?” She asked, getting annoyed as well, the irritation brewing in her chest as he once again left her with no answers.

“I was looking for this.” He said sharply. He had slapped something on the table for her to see, the green thread immediately recognizable between his fingers. It was the same as it has always been, dirty as it went through the years but the knots stayed true. The only thing was that the bottom was broken, the knot becoming undone.

“Can’t wear it if it’s broken, right?”

She was half listening, still gazing at the strings that were on the table. She grabbed it gently between her fingers, caressing it like a baby and analyzed the damage.

“It fell off on my way here.” He explained, kind of annoyed that it did such thing at such an inconvenient time.

“I can fix it.” She said quietly, surprised he still possessed it. “I just can’t believe you still have it.”

“What, you don’t have yours?” He asked, looking a little hurt beneath the annoyance that she’s so surprised at that occurrence.

“Of course I do,” she started, and missed his eyes going to her arm to see if it was there, and she was telling the truth. “I just didn’t think you’d-“

Draco groaned, rubbing his head with his hand and looking at the window, grey eyes reflecting the sun’s warmth. “We are friends, aren’t we? Honestly…”

She looked down at the bracelet, the knots worn down and dirty, but the meaning stood true. She didn’t know what it was, but somehow her mind went back to her Forth Year, working on her Divination homework, and writing down “something she dearly loved would break.”

She supposed her made up predictions weren’t made up after all.

Six: The Decision

Year: Sixth

“This is stupid.” Draco’s voice blurted shortly, looking down at the homework in front of him, the essay’s words seeming to combine in his mind, creating an annoying jumble of ink.

“I know, but Slughorn insisted.” She reminded, causing his silver eyes to roll in the back of his head. He quill lazily sat on his hands, twirling it mindlessly out of boredom.

She noticed his robe sleeve rolled up at the action, wrist muscles twitching and moving as his fingers worked the quill.

The bracelet made of thread was not only repaired but still sitting on his wrist as good as ever, the green shining the meaning of it. Just looking at his made the feeling of her own on her skin a lot more noticeable, heart warming at the sight.

“Do you want me to make you a new one?” She asked, and when he turned to her she gestured to the strands that were getting older by the day.

His eyebrows furrowed deeply, displaying large amounts of confusion. “New one? Certainly not.” He replied. “This one’s just fine; don’t know what you’d think that, really.”

She smiled soft but it was unsure. “You sure? Cause I was thinking about making myself a new one.”

Draco scoffed but looked a little frustrated. “Scared of a little dirt?”

“No.” She replied. Draco then nodded towards her wrist.

“Then it stays. Mine’s as old as yours.”

Seven: The Pulling

Year: Seventh

The air was musty, ash seeping the air, suffocating the lungs of beings who breathed it in. Of course no one cared at the moment; the air pollution the last thing on their minds. The living breathing representation of evil was standing in front of them, laughing like what was happening was his dream come true. Because, realistically, it was. Deaths, damage, emotional and physical, destruction, all of it was part of his dream. To end it all and face the boy who lived, and all for what. Just so he can kill the boy who he was trying to murder ever since he was a baby?

It wasn’t that the girl was paying much attention as the living evil spoke, too busy staring at the ground that inc held healthy green grass, grass that her and Draco used to pick at while they complained about classes they had that day. Or any day for that matter. Sometimes his long skinny fingers would dig into her sides, wiggling until he heard the sound of her laughter, something he may never hear again because of the cold voice calling him.

His mother. His father. The living evil.

He stepped forward, ready to leave the cruelty of his peers and the burning stares he just knew where there. His head swam with so many emotions but he didn’t have time to look them through, just focusing on walking to the other side, the other side where evil doings were being performed. The other side that he didn’t have a choice but to be on.

He was gonna go, he really was, despite the soft tug he felt on his wrist, and, looking down, saw her index finger hooked underneath the thread of his bracelet as she pulled, the knots begging him to stay along with the maker of them. He met her eyes despite the emotions crashing his rib cage, threatening to get to his heart, but he held the gaze all the same.

“Stay.” She said softly, eyes swirling, knowing all those years with him weren’t for nothing. She didn’t last all those times with him as a child or teenager just for him to walk away.

“Why.” He muttered back, voice dry as ever so much so that he felt like his throat was filled with sand and he was speaking through the tiny rocks. She answered with a small smile, something so small making him plant his feet on the ground, making him stay away from the living evil on the other side….making him have a choice.

“Well, we are friends, aren’t we?”

[peekofhistory]

Ok, heading back in time to the Qin/Han period, we're continuing with the straight-edged robe, Zhiju (直裾) (previous Zhiju post is here).

This Zhiju robe is nicknamed the fish-tail robe as it cinches around the calf and then flares out at the bottom (like our mermaid dresses today). It's easily identifiable de to the very thick border around the bottom, and up along the side to the waist. The artefacts that were unearthed were all shorter in comparison to other Zhiju robes (easier to walk in...I should get one of these xD).

While researching for this robe I found out that the Hunan Museum (which hosts the Ma Wang Dui tomb exhibition) has an English site introducing some of the artefacts that were unearthed. If you're interested it's here: https://www.hnmuseum.com/en/content/changsha-mawangdui-han-dynasty-tombs-exhibition

[happysnowseal]

Deals and Desires (final)

Sylus x OC | Midnight Stealth!AU

genre: smut, lil’ comedy, enemies to enemies who fuck

rating: explicit

description: You fail to find the brooch within 24 hours, so the twins suggest you offer Sylus something else in return for getting into the auction—your body. Turns out, your desires are aligned, no matter how twisted they seem. 

word count: 8.8k

warnings: IMPROPER use of Evol, tentacle smut, “rope” bondage, lore from Midnight Stealth and the two chapters we meet Sylus (duh), Luke and Kieran being instigators, mentions of hentai, OC’s turned on by Sylus and his Evol and is conflicted, rough sex, breast play, fingering, oral sex (male and female receiving), double penetration, unprotected sex (this is fiction), standing 69, mirror sex, sneaky sex, electrostimulation, cum eating, multiple rounds. 

a/n: IT IS DONE. IT IS HERE! I made a post saying imagine Sylus manipulating his Evol into tentacles to fuck OC with… and voila! This was born. I incorporated a lot of the game dialogue/events but also put my own spin on it. Asks, comments, and reblogs are much appreciated! 💌

You must be sick in the head. 

Ever since you witnessed those black-red tendrils dissipate the man in black who abducted you into nothing but mere crimson specks, something strange awoke in you. Witnessing such a cruel death shouldn’t pique your curiosity, but beneath your horrified expression was a deep fascination for the leader of Onychinus’ powers. Not that you’d ever tell him.

A simple flick of the wrist or snap of the fingers is all it takes to summon those menacing black-red tendrils. The powerful mist would coil your vulnerable body, manipulate it, bind it—all for his intentions of resonating with you. 

However, as the shopkeeper had stated, you can’t resonate with him. On a subconscious level, you’re rejecting him, scared of him, or disgusted by him. So you wonder: is it possible to fear him yet desire him also?

When Sylus proposed a deal that would aid you in your quest for the Aether Core, you couldn’t resist. You had twenty-four hours to find a brooch he had hidden somewhere in Onychinus’ base. Yet despite searching every nook and cranny, you came up short of nothing. 

The first time Sylus caught you, he was reading a book on the couch. His calm demeanor didn’t match his appearance, which screamed sin. The gold-rimmed glasses on his face matched a gentlemanly scholar's, but his body was adorned in a lavish red robe, with a V-line low enough to expose his toned pecs. Seriously, who was he showing off for? 

“Get out.”

Once you were caught snooping, the same black-red mist formed make-shift handcuffs that bound your wrists. You groaned, dwelling on your loss. 

The second time he caught you was when he was dusting his shelves, his back toward you. He was no longer in his robe, having changed into a black dress shirt and matching slacks. Without sparing you a glance, one word left his lips. 

“Leave.”

The black-red tendrils were back around your wrists and you whined. “Ugh… I was caught again…”

Third time’s the charm, right? You had your gun loaded and after cocking it, you said to yourself, “This time for sure, I’ll…”

A pair of black slippers showed up in your peripheral and you slowly looked up to see the same, steeled expression in those crimson eyes and that cursed red robe again. It was like a second skin on him at this point. He let out a weighted sigh, which diminished your confidence.

“... I know. I’ll go now,” you said, defeated. He didn’t use his Evol this time, and you’re at war with yourself as to why you even noticed. Or why it mattered so much. 

The last time Sylus caught you was the worst. He was in the shower, so you seized the chance to search his bedroom. Desperate, you even sunk to the low level of animal abuse when you shook Mephisto, his crow with mechanical wings, like a piggy bank for answers. 

That’s when Sylus turned off the water and panic struck you, so you hid. There was a small window of opportunity to escape, but a phone call came in, deterring your plans. He answered, you eavesdropped, and when things were getting juicy, he noticed your presence and chuckled.

“Mr. Sylus?” the man on the call said. 

“It’s nothing. Just a stray cat who happened to barge in.”

This time Sylus not only apprehended you by the wrists, he lifted you in the air as black-red mist swirled around his left hand. The call ends as he sets you down on the bed, and you wish the floor would open up and swallow you whole. Not because you failed, but because you didn’t want to face the humiliation of how his Evol brought back a certain spark you thought fizzled out.

Sylus’ back was turned, selecting a record before placing it on his record player. 

“Have I underestimated your determination or overestimated your intellect?” he asked. You stared at your bound wrists, trying to ignore the shiver that ran down your spine.

“You’re the one who suggested a deal. But here you are making things difficult—” you said, fiddling with your thumbs. He approached you, a stern look flashing across his sharp features.

“You’ll have to work harder.”

He grabbed one of your wrists, and red sirens went off in your head. Your mind raced a mile a minute, wondering what his intentions were as he dragged you off the bed. You commanded him to let go, and he obliged, but only after he shoved you out of his room.

“Leave,” he said, his head gesturing to your right, “I’m going to bed.” 

At least he kicked Mephisto out too, so you didn’t have to face the loss alone.

Which brings you to the present. You’re scribbling doodles of the bastard as an outlet for your anger, making the stylish choice of adding devil horns on top of his head. 

It’s bad enough you’ve been trapped in Onychinus’s base for who knows how long. The man who’s held you captive should be your worst enemy, yet every encounter ignites an inferno in the pit of your stomach. Try as you may, but the dark thoughts you shove in the back of your mind are bubbling to the surface. If anything could anchor you back to reality, it’d be this—remember the mission. 

You were to get into the auction to find the Aether core, which you can’t do without his help. But you couldn’t find that stupid brooch, so you’re back to square one. You scrawl over the sketch of Sylus, the pressure harsh enough that the paper threatens to tear until only a tornado of black ink is left. 

“You’re pulling your hair out over this, huh?” Kieran says, sitting atop a table with his back towards you. He looks over his shoulder, so his voice will reach better. “If you want to do something, maybe we can help you.”

“What do you mean?” you ask, casting the notebook aside.

“If you want to conquer our boss’s heart, you’ll have to use a different approach,” Luke says, leaning back in his chair. 

“I’m not trying to conquer his heart. He’s trying to conquer mine if anything,” you retort, folding your arms across your chest as you stand. Luke pulls a book from underneath the table and slides it across in your direction. You walk over, pick it up, and drop it just as quickly like it was a ticking time bomb. “What the fuck?!” 

“Strike when he’s off-guard!” the twins chorus with Kieran leaning forward as Luke makes claws with his hands.

“Yeah, I suppose anyone who receives a hentai novel would be caught off-guard! What’s wrong with you two?!” You have to tear yourself away from looking at the erotic cover, depicting an anime girl being fucked by black tentacles belonging to what seems to be a demonic being. He had it all: horns atop his head, ebony eyes, endless tendrils, and a smokin’ hot bod like Sy—wait. No. Don’t look at it anymore. Even sparing it another glance feels like corruption and sin. 

Luke chuckles, taking the explicit material back and flipping it open to a specific page. “For some people, they get bored once they have everything. So only those who dare to challenge their authority can catch their interest,” he reads. 

Kieran’s sharp memory allows him to quote the story without having it in his hands.  "When you're dealing with such a person, you bow down and submit or take them out in one go."

“What are you on about?” you ask, exasperated they’re quoting the pornography like it’s a holy scripture. Luke shuts the book and slides it towards you again, but you grimace like it’ll taint your soul.

“If you don’t want to conquer his heart, perhaps it’d be smarter if you conquer his… desires.”

“If you bow down and submit, maybe our Boss will have a change of heart and help you get into the auction. I mean, no one’s ever offered him their body,” Kieran adds. Your hands fall to your side, balling into fists until your knuckles turn white. 

“I’d rather take him out in one go,” you say through gritted teeth. It’s not like you haven’t tried. However, the crazy bastard used you to shoot himself in the chest and you haven’t been the same since. Man thinks he has regenerative healing properties and he’s all that. Pfft. “You two are insane if you think being promiscuous is the solution.”

“In the end, Boss wants to resonate with you. You don’t have to like him, but your body can. Think about it,” Kieran insists, tilting his chin down slightly. The mask he wore shields his face, but you can imagine the impish grin from his inflection. “There’s nothing more intimate than spending a night together.”

“Read the comic,” Luke says, and you can tell from his tone he’s smirking despite the matching mask on his face. “Maybe you’ll find it enjoyable.”

“N-No. This is insanity. You’re telling me your Boss wants to fuck someone with his Evol as… tentacles?”

“Now you see why no one’s ever offered their body,” Kieran says matter-of-factly.

“This is stupid,” you mutter, clasping a hand to your forehead. “I’d rather die than fuck Sylus.”

“She might die even if she does fuck Sylus.” Kieran’s quick to elbow his brother in the side, and your heart is lodged in your throat, beating so loudly like it’s about to burst. He’s right. You could. You’ve seen what his Evol could do to a person.

But you’ve also thought about what it could do for a person. For you. 

“Just… think about it,” Kieran says, his voice gentle like he’s coaxing a kitten out of its hiding spot. “If you give our Boss his ultimate desire, I’m sure he’ll do the same for you. You’ve never once thought about him in such a way? You’re not a tad bit curious?”

Luke and Kieran were treading dangerous waters. These two instigators somehow burrowed into your subconscious, forcing you to come face-to-face with your depravity. 

You roll your eyes to maintain aloofness, but the book ends up in your possession seconds later. “I’m taking this for research. You’re sure this belongs to him?”

“Absolutely!” they chorus and you’re not sure hearing double aids their credibility. 

“Boss is least guarded when he’s sleeping,” Kieran informs. Aren’t we all?

“You only have one shot,” Luke says, emphasizing his point by sticking up his forefinger. “Don’t waste this chance. Just do it!” He gives you a supportive fist pump and you peer down at the lewd book cover again.

What choice did you have? The twins presented a rather salacious solution, but Sylus was your only means of getting into the auction. As Luke said, if you can’t conquer his heart, perhaps you can conquer his desires.

No matter how twisted.

Three hours later…

Time slips away from you as you’re engrossed in your “research.” Not only was it full of filth, but the plot (if you can even call it that), was eerily similar to your situation. The girl on the cover was a demon hunter who fucks a demon to get him to do what she needs. Every drawing is breathtaking, detailed, and graphic. The way his tentacles bent her body to his will, the various positions, how it slithered around her body—it awoke the same feelings you had the night you met Sylus. 

The dialogue instilled shame, lust, and more than enough sexual tension to charge a lightning storm. You had to pause every few pages, fanning your face until your cheeks cooled enough to continue. An earthquake couldn’t pry this masterpiece from your grasp and you were determined to finish it. 

Once you’re done, you slam the book shut. You take a deep breath, regaining a sense of clarity when a realization dawns on you.

This was why Sylus’s Evol fascinated you. How every time he manipulated your body, a surge of adrenaline coursed through your body until your heart nearly gave out. You indeed feared him; everyone did. But fear was a mask you’ve clung onto so desperately to disguise the dark truth.

Sylus could’ve killed you at any time, but he chose not to. Sure, he has ulterior motives, but the control he has over his power is undeniably sexy, and knowing he can’t kill you meant you had control over him too. 

You’ve hidden your desires under revulsion and endless banter when maybe he was right. You’re two kindred spirits, who are more alike than you want to admit. Someone created this book to satisfy the same urges you’ve been depriving yourself of and if Sylus indulged in these fantasies, then you’re not insane for wanting the same thing.

You’ve made up your mind. 

If you offer your body to Sylus, it’s a win-win. You’ll get into the auction and you no longer have to feel ashamed about wanting him. 

For the mission of course.

You head to Sylus’s bedroom, standing outside the wooden double doors. A pair of Evol-sealing handcuffs are in your possession, courtesy of the twins. You place them in your back pocket and rest your hands on the gold handles, giving yourself a mental pep-talk.

All or nothing!

You turn the handles and march in, seeing Sylus sleeping in his canopy bed with his back against the plush headboard instead of the mattress.

Is he a vampire? Eh. Red eyes, white hair, gorgeous—might as well be.

Climbing onto the bed gently, you watch his chest heave, his breathing evident but it’s so light that you’re tempted to press your ear against his chest to ensure he’s alive. 

“Sylus… Sylus?” you say, confirming his dormant status. A soft chuckle escapes you as you whip out the handcuffs, lifting his wrist and attaching it to the golden vintage bed frame. “This is what you get.”

Now that he’s immobile, you can’t help your feasting eyes from ogling his exposed skin. That red robe was both a curse and a blessing, a warning of caution, yet you choose to ignore it. You hover your finger above his abdomen, contemplating whether to make contact when a hand snatches your wrist, lifting it to eye level.

“Showing up uninvited at this hour… Want me to tell you a bedtime story?” he says before tossing your wrist aside. You place both hands on either side of his head and his eyes slightly widen, but he remains composed. This would be a lot easier if you straddled him, but patience was a virtue.

“These handcuffs nullify a person’s Evol for an hour,” you declare. He stares at the restraints, his face devoid of emotion before settling his attention back on you. “No matter how powerful you are, you’re helpless as of now.”

“Really?” he asks, the corner of his lips hinting at a small smile. It’s subtle and leaves as soon as it comes. “What do you plan to do then since I’ve become your prey?”

You remove your hands and lean back to sit on your knees. “You’re going to listen to my counteroffer.”

To your surprise, he nods like he has nothing better to do. Maybe the cuffs weren’t necessary. “I’m intrigued. Continue.”

Clasping your hands together, you clear your throat like you had prepared a speech when in reality, your brain is scrambled. What are you supposed to say? 

Hey Sylus, do you want to fuck and use your Evol on me like tentacles? It’ll help us resonate!

You might as well put a big fat sticker on your head that says “FREE $.99! FUCK NOW!” and get it over with.  

“I’m getting bored,” he states, stirring you from disorganized thoughts. You press your lips into a thin line, mustering whatever courage you have left. 

“Look… from the beginning, you trapped me here, forced me to resonate with you, and even said ‘we’re the same’...” You wet your lips out of habit to calm your nerves, and he doesn’t miss it. “I couldn’t find the brooch in time and need your help to get into the auction. And you want to be able to resonate with me. So…”

“Get to the point.”

“I’m offering you my body for the night,” you blurt out. He raises an eyebrow and his usually calm demeanor breaks for the first time as a flicker of confusion dances across his face. You would take pride in that, but his face quickly morphs, so you jump out of bed with your hands up, worried he’d deny you. “Hold on. Let me explain.”

Not like he had a choice. The fact he was handcuffed eludes you for a moment, but once you remember, it eases the tension in your shoulders. He waits for you to continue, the smug look on his face not helping to ease your nerves. 

“I don’t like you and you don’t like me. But you want to resonate with me, so if we sleep together, maybe… I’ll hate you less. Besides, we have similar desires. I’ve seen the way you look at me.”

His eyes glint a haunting crimson from the golden glow of his night lamp. “Do tell. How do I look at you?”

Your knees almost buckle from his deep, smooth voice. “Like… Like… you hate me.”

“Astonishing misunderstanding. Yet somehow you’ve concluded this means we should sleep together?”

You might as well die of embarrassment. “If it’s for the mission, I can detach my personal feelings. We do this and there’s a chance I’ll be able to resonate with you better. After all, what’s more intimate than spending the night together? It’ll work unless… you’re inadequate in bed.”

It’s brief, but you’re sure Sylus clenches his jaw as his lips press into a slight frown, his eyes narrowed on you with laser-like focus. You turn away from him, smacking your cheek like a spanking for being stupid enough to question Onychinus’ leader’s skills in bed.

“Are you done?”

You whip your head around. “Um… yes.”

An exasperated sigh escapes him. “You say you failed to locate the brooch, but your twenty-four hours aren’t up yet. There’s still time.”

You place one hand on your hip while the other waves him off, dismissing his words. “I’ve searched everywhere already!”

“Everywhere. But not everyone.”

The light bulb in your head goes off and you’re back by Sylus’ side on the bed, holding your palm out like an entitled brat. 

“Where’s the brooch?”

His smile reaches his eyes and he gestures his free hand across the expanse of his body top to bottom. “Help yourself.”

“Don’t mind if I do.”

You run your fingers along the black lapels on his robe, checking the inside layer first. The fabric is silky smooth to the touch, but you’re distracted by how hot his skin is on the back of your fingers. No brooch though.

Next, you check the outside of the lapels and sure enough, you feel a hard, circular object. Pulling it out, you see the crow brooch with a lustrous ruby in the center. You giggle with glee. 

“Do you really think I hate you?” he questions. 

“Now it doesn’t matter at all. I won!”

“Deals have conditions and my condition wasn’t met. The offer has expired already.”

“But you said…”

Shit. The handcuffs on Sylus start to glow red, similar to how blacksmiths heat materials in a furnace. The metal soon melts, allowing your once prey to become the predator.

Your attempts to escape are futile, given Sylus’ quick speed, and you’re thrown onto the bed. He hovers over you and your fight-or-flight instincts kick in as you throw a punch, but he catches your wrist and pins it down without batting an eye.

“You’re pretty good at running away.”

“Let me go. I already have the brooch.” He pins your other hand down, enveloping his large hand over your clenched fist.

“I told you. My offer has expired already, so the real question is… when does yours?”

Sylus is staring down at you with crazed, crimson eyes as the sound of your heartbeat rings in your ears. His hands are warm, too warm. Like they’ll burn you alive or maybe that’s your body heat rising exponentially from how close he was. His scent wafts over you, filling your nose with pleasant notes of cardamom and something herbal, which soothes your nerves and helps you rediscover your voice.

“I… I…”

“Use your words.”

“I only made you that counteroffer because I thought I failed. The brooch has been found. Who cares about the rules? You’re the leader of the N109 Zone. You break them all the time.”

“Careful, sweetheart. My patience is running thin. I’m only keeping you around because you’re still useful. And…” He squeezes your fist like he wants to pry it open. A warning. “I truly enjoy seeing my little prey struggle.” He brings your enclosed fist in front of his chest. “Especially when it thinks it can get away from me. Now tell me… what similar desires do we share?”

Okay. Maybe if you scream loud enough, Mephisto will fly in and—

“Answer me.”

Who were you kidding, Mephisto would sell you out in a heartbeat. That damn crow better not have seen you reading pornography. And those twins… they better start counting their days.

You pull your lower lip under your front teeth, hoping to seal your answer shut for good. But Sylus’ right eye glows red, and you writhe underneath him, turning your head to the side. His Aether Core will reveal your deepest desires if you make eye contact. 

Sylus grabs your chin and forces you to look at him, probing into your subconscious and witnessing all your shameful thoughts. Eerie voices fill your mind, their murmurs are difficult to understand, but the pain they bring is borderline unbearable—an unfortunate side effect of Sylus’ intrusion. Once the glow in his eye fades, you feel like yourself again. But the twisted smile on his face let you know things were far from over. 

“So that’s what you mean by shared desires… You want me to use my Evol on you. No… you want me to fuck you with it.”

“That’s not true! Luke and Kieran—”

He runs his thumb across your lips, an effective solution for your yapping mouth. “Such improper use of an Evol could have devastating consequences. You are too gullible, kitten.”

Damn it. Those two…!

“Don’t call me that,” you bite back. 

“Oh? You have quite the mouth on you today. First, you make a big show of offering your body to me and now you don’t have the guts to tell me exactly how you want me to take you?” He leans closer, his lips ghosting above your own with the slightest touch. “Confess your true desires, [Y/N].”

“N-No. The twins set me up.”

“That book may not belong to me, but I assure you… my desires are all my own. And they align with yours. All you have to do is confess.”

He doesn’t move and prolongs eye contact to where you feel stifled, trapped, and heated in places you shouldn’t. The leader of the N109 Zone doesn’t play around and knows what he wants and the means to get it. But you like challenging him. You like being challenged by him too.

You stay quiet because giving in too easily is what he wants. 

“That look in your eyes… Are you trying to seduce me?” You form what you believe is a scowl, but it results in another teasing smirk. “As long as you have desires, there will always be deals to make. So what will it be?”

“I want to get into the auction,” you say, uttering the same script to maintain a semblance of professionalism. “That’s all.”

He sees the brooch jutting out from the space between your forefinger and thumb, easily able to lift it from you. “Don’t move.”

To your surprise, he pins it on your shirt and sits on the edge of the bed. You sit up and lean on your elbows, tilting your head at his sudden behavior change. 

“Technically, you did find the brooch. I won’t go back on what I promised you.”

“Wait, that’s it?”

“You sound rather disappointed.” He gets up, and you follow suit off the bed like a lost kitten. “If getting into the auction is all you desire, consider it done. You can leave now.”

His back is facing you, and you can’t help but wonder if he’s disappointed too. You fidget with the brooch, running your thumb across the smooth jewel. Without thinking, your hand latches onto his like a magnetic force. Sylus spins around, glowering as you intertwine your fingers through his.

“Let me resonate with you.”

“So brash… you’re getting more and more interesting.”

He entertains you and utilizes his Evol, the black-red mist wrapping around his forearm like sprouting vines as he brings your entwined hands up to eye level. He closes his eyes as more mist envelops where you two are connected, and you watch with bated breath as scarlet specks float inward. 

Devour him… he’s yours. He’s right there before your very eyes.

Those eerie voices are back, and you’re strangely compelled to heed their words. An ivory glow shines where your palms meet before an explosive burst of energy emerges, a spiral of lethal scarlet and radiant white from your combined powers. Sylus opens his eyes and lets go of your hand, allowing ivory flakes to cascade down like confetti. 

“It’s a shame. But not a surprise.”

“We can try again. Let’s—”

“I admire your tenacity, kitten. But I think we’ve had enough excitement for one night.”

Your insides feel like an unattended kettle, whistling from immense frustration and on the verge of exploding. You can’t leave now. Not after he gave you what you wanted. There is a thing called give-and-take, and you’re not one to only take. The guilt would eat you alive. 

“I don’t want to owe you. Here,” you grab both his hands, “one more time.”

Sylus lifts his arms and pins you against the nearest wall with hands above your head. Your breath is knocked out of you when your back collides with it, the impact causing the lamp to nearly topple over. His glare is murderous and your sick mind dared to find it incredibly attractive.

“Your stubbornness is what’s going to get you killed someday,” he warns. You see him lean back and remove his hold over you, but when you try to move, you feel restrained. His powers; they’re bounding you. “Is this what you want? For me to use my Evol on you?”

“Isn’t that what you want? I don’t want to owe you,” you repeat. “So I’m ready for whatever’s going on here. You can… use me for the night.” The last part was barely above a whisper, but Sylus’ hum as he folds his arms across his chest lets you know he heard you.

“Do you know what you’re requesting, little one? My Evol is dangerous,” You feel the restraints tighten and they only stop when you yelp in pain. “Yet it’s almost like you welcome it. Even if it hurts. Do you like it when it hurts?”

The tension is thick enough to cut with a knife, so you kick in his direction with all your might. Hunter instincts, if you will. But the black-red tendrils around your ankle make you sweat as he lowers your leg without breaking eye contact, pinning both ankles to the wall.

“Feisty kitten thinks she’s a tiger now, huh?”

“Why don’t you get on with it already?” you snap, impatient. Sylus grabs your face, squeezing your cheeks until your lips pucker like a fish.

“What makes you think I won’t kill you?” Like his razor-sharp words, you feel something akin to a collar around your neck. It prickles your skin while restricting the flow of oxygen to your lungs and you gasp like you’re trying desperately not to drown. You feel light-headed, but his Evol takes mercy on you and grants you enough air to breathe, though you know it comes with the price of answering his question.

“Because you would’ve done so already,” you answer, though your voice is shaky. Sylus nods, as if satisfied with your reply.

“Do you trust me?”

“No.”

“Clever girl.” The praise sounds delicious rolling off his tongue. “One final question.” He releases your face and bends down to meet your eye level. “Do you desire me?” 

Having been inside your head, the answer was obvious. He’s looking for confirmation, a verbal confession to make whatever feelings you have for him tangible. The man is a walking red flag, and you’re about to wave a white one in surrender.

“If I don’t?” you question, challenging his authority one last time. 

“Then I’ll release you.”

“And if I do?”

“Then… I hope you’ll allow me to have you. All of you. Deal?”

A beat passes and you gulp, your head saying no, but your body and heart screaming, “Yes.”

His hand comes up to caress your face, almost lovingly. “Yes, what?”

“I desire you.”

Sylus gives you a full smile, the corners of his eyes creasing. “You’re aware of the risks, right? With the snap of my fingers, I can tear things to shreds,” He carries out the action and as promised, his robe is shredded to bits of black and red confetti. Your eyes trail down his well-developed abdominal muscles and pronounced V-line until they settle on… “Enjoying the view?”

His teasing lilt reminds you to close your gaping jaw. Hell yeah, you’re enjoying the view. Not only was this man well over six feet, his body rivaled that of a Greek God, and he was blessed with a massive cock too? Of course. Things had to be proportionate.

“I… you… that robe was expensive, wasn’t it?” That was quite possibly the lamest response you could’ve come up with.

“It seems like the little kitten is distracted. Probably needs a toy to keep her occupied.” Sylus flicks his fingers, commanding the whirl of black-red mist to rip your clothes and you shriek in surprise. The brooch falls to the floor with a soft clink, and he picks it up, gently putting it on his nightstand. His attention returns to you and your exposed body, and you take pride in how his cock throbs at the sight. “So she likes lace. Pretty.”

You bite back a scream when a black tendril with cracks of glowing red light slithers up your body in between the valley of your breasts, tearing your bra right off. Another one coils around your thigh before it rips your panties off too. The appendages seem to multiply, wrapping your body in an intricate pattern similar to shibari. There’s no pain and they feel smooth, cooling your heated skin.

“I can manipulate things at will with the flick of a wrist. My powers are pure energy meant for destruction, and you’re here wanting to use them for pleasure.”

He leans close to your ear and nibbles the shell of it. The sensation tickles, but you’re too tense to move a muscle. His voice is husky as he whispers, “I could kill you right now. It’d be so easy…”

You hold your breath when he leans back enough to scan your face, relishing the turmoil in your eyes. “I-I trust that you won’t.”

“You know…” His index finger travels alongside your neck, then to your breast, tracing your areola in circular motions. “As soon as my Evol makes contact with anyone, people would die almost instantly and experience the most excruciating pain.”

He’s now rolling your nipple in between his forefinger and thumb, pinching it enough to hurt and elicit a whine from you. “S-Sylus…”

“But that’s not the case with you. Do you know the violence it took to become this gentle?”

You don’t know why your heart swells, but his words were sweeter than any confession. “Thank you…” 

His eyes widen slightly and he stops his actions, tilting your chin up instead. “Say that again.”

“Th-Thank you… for being gentle with me.”

He closes his eyes and shudders like your gracious manners sent waves of pleasure throughout his body. A sharp inhale comes, and then he’s staring deep into your eyes like he could see your soul.

“What a good girl you are thanking me… but I must warn you. I meant what I said about having all of you. You’re not the only one with fantasies, [Y/N]. And mine are anything but gentle.”

“I can take it.”

He gives you a half-smile. “Is that so?”

“You doubt me?”

“No. But I think you might underestimate me. After all… I’m possibly ‘inadequate’ in bed.”

Shit. Maybe you shouldn’t have challenged him. But your bratty nature couldn’t leave you well enough alone. “Prove me wrong.”

Sylus’ resolve crumbles and he holds the side of your face as his lips meet yours for the first time. His pressure is gentle like he doesn’t want to scare you off, and once you two find rhythm, he deepens the kiss and you moan as the taste of cinnamon overcomes you. Spicy, very much like him.

His tongue prods its way through once your body relaxes, sliding across your own, the action far more lewd than romantic. He groans and carefully takes your bottom lip in between his teeth, pulling back in the most sexy manner. You moan and he swallows it, kissing you again with more fervor as his hands explore your body. 

First, he traces your curves and trails down until his hands cup your ass, squeezing the soft flesh. Then he brings them back up, kneading your breasts and you mewl at how rough he handled them. Eventually, the kiss breaks, leaving a thin trail of saliva that connects your lips until it eventually severs.

“Beautiful…” 

One word and you’re all heart-eyes for the man as heat rushes to your cheeks. If he wanted to tease you for it, he restrains himself and takes a nipple into his mouth, sucking harshly before releasing it with an audible pop. His tongue pokes out, swirling around the bud while his hand tends to the other. Your back arches involuntarily, but you’re quickly reminded of your immobility, which causes more arousal to drip down your thighs.

Sylus stops messing with your pert nipples to suck harshly between the valley of your breasts, inevitably leaving a nasty hickey. He pushes them together and then lets go, loving how they jiggle. 

“I wonder…” he muses, taking two fingers to tease your folds. “Oh… you’re so wet and I haven’t even put them in yet.”

You squeeze your eyes when he inserts them in slowly, your slick making the transition smooth as he stretches you out. “Fuck… Sylus, please.”

“What? Are my fingers not enough?” He stills and the lack of movement frustrates you to no end. You want to thrash around, but you’re still glued to the wall. 

“N-No. Please… please move them.”

“You beg so prettily,” He pulls them out and begins fingering you at a snail’s pace. “But it’s not enough. You can do better.”

“Please!” you exclaim. “I need more…”

“God, you’re dripping on my hand and I haven’t done much.” He moves faster, his fingers knuckle deep and curling in spots that have you clenching hard. It’s like he’s coaxing out more of your essence with each stroke and then challenges you with a third finger. “Does it feel good?”

You can hardly respond with how stuffed you feel, your lust insatiable as he speeds up.

“Yes? No? Maybe so?” he asks, amused by your struggle. 

“Y-Yes… good… so good…”

Your pussy is making obscene noises and you’re feeling a warmth building in your abdomen, especially when Sylus kisses your neck. His lips are scorching hot, almost searing as if you were being branded. You submit and let him mark you, focusing on the pressure within as your high is approaching. He uses his free hand to hold yours, interlocking your fingers together. 

“Fuck!” you shout, feeling like you couldn’t breathe fast enough to keep up with his bruising pace. “I’m going to come, I—”

He seals your words with another kiss, and your scream is muffled when your orgasm hits you like a gunshot. It’s brutal and intense, causing you to see stars for what feels like the longest minute of your life. 

At the same time, your interlocked palms glow bright red and ivory. Unlike before, this explosion caused a surge of power to pass through his bedroom like shockwaves, destroying most things that came into contact. The roar is deafening, but all you can focus on is Sylus and how good he made you feel. 

“Come back to me.”

You don’t realize when he stopped kissing you. Or when he removed his fingers. Or when you stopped being pinned to the wall. Sylus is holding you up and when you see how his eyes softened for the concern for your well-being, you’re smitten.

“I’m okay…”

His demeanor shifts, the change so sudden that it is like a phone going from light mode to dark mode. The man manipulates your body with his Evol and throws you onto the bed without a second thought. Black-red mist envelops your body again, this time cuffing your wrists in front. Tendrils wrap around each breast, your torso, and your neck, constricting tightly until you resemble a beautifully decorated present. 

Sylus joins you on the bed, settling in between your thighs as he lies on his stomach as if he were a sniper. He has his Evol pry them wider, so your pussy is exposed for his feasting eyes. His arms are secured under your thighs, an extra precaution to hold you in place. 

That’s when an untimely knock comes.

“Boss? Is everything alright?” 

“We heard a loud crash!”

Damn it. Luke and Kieran have impeccable timing. And the way the corners of Sylus’ lips tug into a smirk instills panic in you.

“Answer them. Make it convincing,” Sylus whispers. You watch as he dips down until his white hair is all you can see. His lips latch onto your lower ones and you’re choked up, trying not to moan too loudly as he tastes you. 

“We’re… We’re fine!” you exclaim, though your breathy tone is far from convincing. Sylus grunts in disapproval at your poor performance, and the vibrations are a suitable punishment. “Sylus and I have are having a disagree—ah!—ment.” 

Fuck, why does he have to lick your clit right at that moment?!

“Oh no, you two are fighting?” Kieran asks, his voice cracking slightly from his concern.

“Give up, [Y/N]! Our boss is relentless!” Luke adds with a faint snicker. Tell me about it.

Sylus continues to give you kitten licks before licking a long stripe across your labia folds. You’re bucking your hips because you want more, but you’re also trying to close your thighs to escape the pleasure. It’s no use when you’re restrained and have no choice but to let him eat you out to his heart’s content. It’s when he inserts a finger to join in his salacious tongue that your eyes are rolling to the back of your head.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” you breathe. “Sylus, if you keep going… they’ll hear me.”

“Then I suggest you stay quiet. What would your colleagues say if they knew the best hunter in Linkon is lusting over the leader of Onychinus?”

“I’m-I’m not!”

“Keep telling yourself that, sweetie,” He gives you a short break to clean your juices off his fingers, sucking them like they were a popsicle. “And oh how sweet you are, indeed.”

“Don’t kill each other!” the twins chorus. Sylus chuckles and shakes his head, pinching the bridge of his nose with his forefinger and thumb.

“Leave us,” he demands. “We have ways of… negotiating. Even if it takes all night…”

There’s some shuffling before you hear their footsteps recede down the hallway until silence remains. 

“That was mean,” you whine. He tilts his head, swiping his upper lip with his tongue ever so slowly.

“You think that was mean? Oh… you underestimate me.”

He rises from your thighs and kneels on the bed, but his large frame still towers over you. “Wait, I—”

A snap of his fingers seals your mouth shut. You see the crimson specks floating around your mouth and protest, but they’re reduced to muffled squeals. 

“Like I said before… you have quite the mouth on you today.”

Your eyes enlarge when you see a black-red tentacle rise from between your thighs. It sparks at the tip, which transforms into a cock-head to simulate a human penis. It’s not too thick, but it still makes your heart beat erratically. 

Sylus takes both your hands and squeezes the right one first. “If you want me to keep going, squeeze your right hand,” He squeezes the left one next. “If it’s too much and you want me to stop, squeeze your left.”

His thoughtfulness brings those butterflies back. You squeeze your right hand and he nods, commanding the tentacle to run its tip up and down your folds. It brushes your clit every so often, which makes you sigh in pleasure. Then it enters you slowly, your arousal making things run smoothly. 

It penetrates you about six inches deep before pulling out halfway, only to slam back into you with greater force. Your cries are muffled, but Sylus can tell you’re enjoying yourself by how your eyes roll back. The appendage thrusts into you at a maddening pace, your body rocking back and forth from the notion, and Sylus enjoys seeing the erotic sight of your tits bouncing. The tendrils around your breasts constrict while smaller ones branch off, wrapping around your nipples and teasing them too. 

The make-shift gag around your mouth converts into another cock-head tentacle, forcing its way in so you’re sucking it off. Sylus groans at the beautiful sight of you submitting to it so willingly. 

“You’re so pretty when you submit… I can’t imagine how sexy you’ll look when I take you,” he praises. 

So many parts of you are being stimulated and you’re sure you’ll come again soon with how each thrust, both in your pussy and mouth, speeds up. It’s almost like they were losing control, taking you with them. It’s not until you feel a small spark from below that you yelp. 

The sensation was like static electricity that you get if you rub your feet on a carpet. Not life-threatening, but a nuisance that stings for a brief second. 

“My Evol is energy manipulation… that energy is hard to control sometimes…” Sylus says in a low voice. “It might even shock you.”

You can’t hear much over the squelching noises from your pussy and mouth as the tentacles work into you, hungrily, greedily, until the build-up from below is enough to cause your whole body to shake involuntarily. Your orgasm approaches and then is heightened when a small jolt of electricity shocks your clit. 

The tentacle in your mouth removes itself, so you can scream until your voice gives out. The other one leaves your pussy once you stop shaking, and you are still on the bed, catching your breath. However, you feel something warm and wet on your stomach, so you lift your head enough to see spurts of cum leaking from Sylus’ cock.

His hands are still holding your own. Did he come from simply watching you?

“I’m not going to apologize,” he says without a hint of remorse. “You excite me.”

You’re flattered, truly. Especially when his cock is still erect, almost angry with need by how much it throbs. You wonder if it’s painful.

The mist around your wrists vanishes, but your body is dragged off the bed to the opposite side of the room, where Sylus’ grand wall mirror reaches the ceiling. You’re suspended in front of it and he wraps his arm around your waist from behind, twirling your hair with his other hand. 

“Do you know how irresistible you are? Such temptation… that’s why I’m taking my time,” He takes his finger, swipes across your stomach, and gathers enough cum to coat his digit before lifting it to your mouth. “Open.”

You obey and he lets you taste himself, the action so wicked. So dominating. So sexy. His cum is salty and slightly bitter, but addictive. 

“Good girl. Are you ready for what’s next?”

“Yes.”

His Evol controls your limbs and suddenly, you’re flipped upside-down with Sylus’ cock in front of your lips while your pussy is facing his. Your legs are wrapped around his neck and you’re taken aback at the extreme position. 

“I’ve always thought Standing 69’s would be… enthralling. Always wanted to try it.”

The blood rushing to your head blurs your focus and your adrenaline spikes at the thought of possibly falling. But Sylus’ powers are strong and you’ve yet to see them falter. As if he can read your thoughts, he says, “Don’t worry, kitten. Rest assured I won’t drop you on your pretty little head.”

“It’s still scary…”

“I know. But isn’t that what makes it thrilling?” He pulls you closer by placing his hands on your ass, placing a chaste kiss on your cunt. “The sooner you finish, the sooner I’ll have you right-side up.”

Another challenge you can’t back down from. You take Sylus’ cock in your mouth and it reaches the back of your throat quickly from its impressive length. It’s also thicker in girth than the tentacle you sucked off earlier, which makes you gag. 

Sylus throws his head back, panting from how soft and warm your mouth feels. He snaps his fingers to release your wrists, allowing your hands to find purchase on the back of his thighs.

“If it becomes too much, squeeze twice.”

You respond by bobbing your head up and down, which earns a sharp inhale from him. He isn’t one to fall behind, so he indulges in your sopping cunt like a glutton, moaning and grunting into it like an animal. Meanwhile, you relax your jaw so it becomes easier to adjust to his size, swirling your tongue as you maneuver up and down.

Your eyes shift to the mirror, seeing your compromised position and lewd actions. You barely recognize yourself or Sylus for that matter. He’s so engrossed in eating you out that his eyes are closed like he’s enjoying heaven on Earth. It pushes you to work harder, keeping up with his pace.

Right before Sylus is about to reach his peak, you hear another snap. He stops eating you out and you feel something bumpy rub itself against your pussy. Then Sylus’ fingers spread your ass cheeks and you feel it probing around your other hole.

Your mouth stills and your eyes widen at the sight of a black-red tendril that’s now ribbed at the tip. It slowly enters, stretching you to take each ribbed section, simulating the action of being fucked repeatedly. Sylus is back at work, inserting his tongue into your vagina in hopes it’ll distract you from the burn, but it only makes you clench harder.

“Relax…” he reminds you before diving back in again. He’s bucking his hips to remind you to continue, and you do your best as saliva pools so much that it drips down near your eyes. Everything feels too much, too tight, especially when the tentacle starts fucking your asshole. The ribbed texture only adds to the intensity and hits spots that border pain and pleasure. 

Sylus’ hips begin to stutter and you’re seconds away from passing out from the light-headedness. Fortunately, he finishes in your mouth, the thick viscosity of his cum coating your throat while you orgasm for the third time tonight. 

The noises he lets out are feral and if you had the chance, you’d record them so you could get off to them another night. You feel the pressure in your ass disappear and as promised, you’re right-side up again, but your limbs feel like jelly. Sylus wraps his arm around your waist, his hold secure as he flashes you a satisfied grin.

“Open.” You’re still in a daze, but the command gets through to you and you show him your mouth. When he sees you have swallowed, he hums in approval. “You really do hold up your end of the bargain. I suppose I’ll finally give you what you want.”

He grabs your hand and places it on his dick, which is slippery from your saliva. He’s still semi-erect but a few strokes is all it takes to get him up and running again. The man’s a beast and refuses to be in a cage.

Guiding you to the bed, he lays down first on the mattress, his hands clasped behind his head as he rests on a pillow. In the blink of an eye, you’re suspended over him, the black-red mist parting your thighs and slowly lowering you until your pussy barely grazes his tip. Your wrists are bound behind your back now and you’re like a puppet, bent to his will. 

“What do you desire, Kitten?”

“You,” you beg. “Please.”

“You wish for me to take you raw?”

You’re nodding like your life depended on it. “Yes.”

“You wish for me to use you?”

“To your heart’s content.”

He says nothing else and sinks you onto his fat cock, and despite the many sessions he’s used to prep you, there’s still a slight burn from how much he stretches you. It feels incredible as he bottoms out, knocking the breath out of both of you. 

“Oh god…” you say, trembling from how full you feel. “You’re so big…”

“And you’re so tight. It’s like your pussy doesn’t want to let go of me. So greedy.”

The mist controls your pliant body, helping you bounce up and down without pausing for a break. Sylus does a jazz hands motion with the widest grin on his face. 

“Look, kitten. No hands.”

You almost growl at his cheap jokes, but his throbbing cock deters you from your thoughts, almost impaling you from its brute force. Sylus reaches out and pulls you so your chest meets his, his arm hooked around your back to hold you in place, giving you a short moment of reprieve. 

“Raise your head,” he commands. You feel so drained, but you force yourself to do it and he gives you a quick smooch. “I need you to relax.”

The ribbed tentacle is back and you feel it gliding in between your ass cheeks, prodding your rim every so often like it’s mischievous. 

“S-Sylus, it’ll be too much,” you say. 

“You can handle it. But let me know now if you want to stop.”

You bite your lower lip, considering his words. “No. Don’t stop.”

“That’s my girl…” The tendril pushes into your asshole, taking its time as each ribbed section feels like a repeated attack, pushing the limits of your body. You’re utterly stuffed once it’s in as far as Sylus allows and you feel his cock throb in your sore pussy. 

Sylus jerks his hips first and then the tentacle joins as they pump in and out of you, alternating and becoming more violent. You’re biting down in the juncture between his neck and shoulder to steady yourself, and he lets out a strained fuck, yes, thrusting up into you so hard that you sob, tears pricking your eye. 

Just when you think there aren’t any surprises left, a second tentacle sneaks around to your lips, seizing its opportunity to enter when you gasp. It gags you and now all three of your holes are being used and abused, bringing you closer and closer to the edge. The stimulation is overwhelming, the pressure bottling, your pussy squeezing Sylus’ like a vice—you’re both not going to last much longer.

“That’s it, that’s it—fuck, I adore you,” he pants, closing his eyes and focusing his energy to give you his all. The tendril occupying your mouth releases you, allowing the mantra of Sylus’ name to fall from your lips as euphoria greets you. 

You’ve come many times tonight, but this one saturates you in overwhelming pain and pleasure. Everything is sore and you can’t stop seeing four of everything until Sylus lifts you by the hips, coming on his stomach and not inside you. You collapse onto his chest when the mist dissipates, the two of you catching your breath. 

There isn’t enough money in the world to convince you to move, not after what you’ve experienced. Yet something lifts you off Sylus and you’re about to cry again.

“No, no more…”

“Hush now,” The mist positions you in Sylus’ arms bridal-styled as he gets off the bed, his strong arms securing you. “We’re going to the bathroom to clean ourselves up. You’re staying with me for the night.”

You nuzzle into his embrace like a kitten, and a fond smile rests on his face. 

“Okay.”

A/N: You made it to the end! Yipee! Thank you for giving my writing a chance. PLEASE let me know if you enjoyed. 🌹

[thirdsaltyhunter]

Satin and Denim

Dean Winchester x female!Reader

Warnings: SMUT, fingering, oral FMR, pnv, praise, pet names: baby, sweetheart etc.

Summary: you spend some much needed "quality time" with Dean when he come back after being gone on a hunt

A/N: not proofread, all mistakes are my own

You had decided to stay behind for this hunt. Unfortunately you had gotten sick, so the boys had left you at the bunker to rest, while they took care of a pair of vetalas a few states over. In the week and a half that they were gone, you had slept off your cold and were back to feeling 100%.

It was nighttime when the boys finally got back. You were finishing up taking one of those self-care, pampering, clean-everything baths, when you heard the familiar rumble of the impala pulling into the garage.

You got done with your bath, dried your hair and pulled on your satin robe to go out and greet them. The kitchen was empty so you turned the corner into the War Room. You found Dean sitting at the map table reading something on his phone, cup of coffee in hand. You had gotten Dean to start trying to drink coffee instead of beer to unwind, still not the best, but it was a small victory.

Standing in the doorway, you admired him for a moment. His face was softly illuminated by the glowing table and he looked relaxed.

"Hey baby," you said softly to not startle him or disrupt the quiet of the room.

"Hey sweetheart." A small smile graced his lips at the sight of you. He set his mug down and opened his arms, motioning for you to come to him.

Straddling his lap, you wrapped your arms around his neck. "Where's Sammy?" you asked.

"Asleep, hunt went well but he's still beat. How are you feeling?". He brushed your hair back from your face, looking you over, almost as if he was searching for any signs of your ailment.

"Back to 100."

"Good; missed having you with us."

"I missed having you with me."

Leaning in, you gently pressed your lips to his. It was very rare that you and Dean were apart and it's true that absence makes the heart grow fonder. You had missed him terribly in the time he was gone, especially after your cold had worn off, you were just left bored.

He met you with equal passion, his hand coming up to the back of your neck, deepening the kiss.

You rolled your hips forward on his lap, feeling all your pent up desire rising to the surface.

"You wearing anything under this?" he asked, breaking the kiss and running his fingers down the silky collar of your robe.

"Why don't you find out?"

He kissed you again and you felt his hands untie the sash, allowing the robe to fall open. He raked his eyes over your body, confirming that you were, in fact, not wearing anything underneath.

A low rumble of appreciation from him had heat pooling in your core. He pushed the robe off your shoulders, letting it fall to the floor and wrapped an arm around you to lean you back so he could place kisses along your collarbone and down the line between your breasts.

"Damn you smell good." he purred.

You let out a breathy laugh. "It's that fancy body wash I have."

"Ah is that what you were doing when I got home? Was my girl taking care of herself?"

You knew what he meant, but it sounded devious the way he said it. "Mhm," you sighed at the feeling of his lips on your throat and your fingers came up to run through his hair. "I had nothing else to do with you gone, had to keep myself entertained somehow," you said with feigned innocence.

He smirked and tilted his head to wrap his lips around one of your hardened nipples, lavishing it with his warm tongue. Soft moans fell from you, filling the air of the quiet room. His free hand that wasn't supporting your body, trailed down your side to the crease at the top of your thigh, moving ever closer to where you wanted him the most.

He ran his finger through your soaking heat. "You're dripping for me already, sweetheart."

You leaned forward to capture his lips and rolled your hips over his erection that was confined in his jeans. His head fell back, your movements eliciting a soft strangled moan from him. Pressing a little harder your hips rolled again, allowing the rough fabric to graze your swollen clit.

"Bedroom...please," you whined. You thought it was pretty hot that you were totally bare before him while he was still completely clothed, but you wanted to feel his body without any barrier between you.

He stood up from the chair taking you with him. You locked your legs around his waist as he carried you through the halls of the empty bunker, still lavishing you with kisses. In the back of your mind you gave a silent prayer that Sam didn't choose to wake up right now.

Walking into your shared bedroom, he kicked the door shut behind him and tossed you on the bed. You bounced a couple times, causing you to laugh. Dean smiled down at you before kneeling between your legs.

Your back arched off the bed as he closed his warm mouth over you clit, sucking lightly and rolling his tongue repeatedly. Your hand went to comb through his hair, not guiding his movements, he knew plenty well what he was doing, but you needed to hold on to something.

"You're so beautiful," he whispered, looking over your naked body. No matter how many times he'd seen you he never failed to look at you like he was discovering the female anatomy for the first time. And no matter how many time he called you beautiful, you always melted at his praise. He kissed your stomach before settling down on the bed to wrap his arms around your thighs.

"Missed how you taste," he said and licked a line through your cunt.

He continued his ministrations on your clit, slowly sinking two fingers into you causing your eyes to roll in your head. His scruff rubbed against your thighs, heightening the sensation. You softly cried his name, almost begging, as he found the spot deep inside you that sent you spiraling, stroking your inner walls with the pads of his fingers. You didn't know what you were begging for, if you wanted him to continue, or fuck you.

As you got closer to falling apart, he made up your mind for you and withdrew his fingers from your throbbing cunt. He was teasing the hell out of you tonight. Whenever Dean got back from being away from you, he often took extra time in pleasuring you, almost as if he was attempting to relearn your body. He could play you like an instrument, keep you right on the edge of release and right now, this edging was making you desperate for him. You grabbed the collar of his shirt and drug him up your body, kissing him harshly.

"Too many clothes," you said, tugging at his flannel.

"Ok ok," he laughed, sliding off the bed to undress.

You shimmied back on the mattress to settle against the pillows and watch him. You always enjoyed admiring him as he dressed or undressed, how his muscles moved under his freckled skin. Often, you could tell he would grow a little shy under your gaze, but would respond with a quick comment like, "enjoying the show?" or "like what you see?". You would nod and remind him how amazing he is, you never wanted him to be shy of his body.

He returned to hover over you, bracing his weight on his forearms, his hips coming down to meet yours. You could feel his erection, hot and heavy agaisnt your inner thigh. Your hips rolled, trying to convey your desire.

"Needy girl," he chided, pulling back to press a kiss to your jaw, then the side of your mouth, your cheek, down your throat.

"Dean please." You tilted your head, giving him more access. Silently asking for more.

"What do you need, baby?" he whispered in your ear.

"I just need you," you answered.

"I'm here."

You felt him notch the tip of his cock at your entrance and began to sink into you. He went slowly to make sure that you both felt every inch, knowing that the initial sweet stretch of him never failed to make you writh. Your back arched and your gasp mingled with his breathy moan as he buried himself fully inside you.

"God baby, you're-". The words died on his tongue, replaced with a rumbling moan.

His hand moved to cradle the back or your head as he began to move, thrusting slow and deep, desperate to have every bit of you wrapped around him. He kept his eyes on you, wanting to watch you come undone. The feel of him, around you, inside you, consuming all your senses, was almost overwhelming. And yet you couldn't get enough, hooking your legs around his waist to pull him closer, further into you.

The rhythm of his thrusts increased and you couldn't help but squeeze your eyes shut and bury your face in his neck. With each heavy breath, the scent of his cologne filled your lungs. Every stroke had you trembling, your hands roaming his body, fingers digging into his shoulders, searching for purchase to ground you to earth.

"Look at me sweetheart." His hand curled in your hair and pulled your face out of the crook of his shoulder. "I want to see you cum for me."

A broken moan left your lips and his voice made you tighten around him. You forced your eyes to open and meet his heated gaze.

"That's my girl," he praised, voice warm and heavy with lust.

He hiked your legs further up his waist, allowing him to reach even deeper inside you and moved his hand between your bodies to stroke your clit with the pad of his thumb. An electric current shot through your body as you fell apart, pulsing around him and crying his name like a prayer.

The feeling of you tightening around his cock triggered his own release. Burying his face in your shoulder he spilled himself inside of you illiciting a deep groan from him.

You lied in each others arms, panting and unmoving, your bodies humming from your orgasms. Not wanting to move you decided that the mess you both made would be delt with in the morning and for now you would sleep, enjoying the afterglow.

[raerae2727]

Shopping with different OP characters!!

GN! reader, established relationship

warnings: stealing, doflamingo is an ASSHOLE

Includes: Crocodile, Nami, Doflamingo, Law, Kidd

My materialistic side really shows here💀

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Crocodile

You had been begging Crocodile to take a break and go out with you all day. He really wanted to get work done, but just to shut you up, he finally agreed. You get all dressed up for a luxurious private dinner and afterwards the two of you take a walk through the city for some shopping, which is always fun with Crocodile’s bottomless wallet. As you’re walking, cozy underneath his big coat, a beautiful top catches your eye. You run up to the store window in awe of the striking piece that looks like it was made just for you.

“Wow, look at this one…” you say, trying to avoid flat out asking for it. You give him your best puppy dog eyes, fluttering your lashes as you blink innocently.

He knows what you want and responds, “you have a strange taste in fashion, but I’ll tell you what,” he chuckles and pulls out his wallet, “I’ll buy it for you if you let me choose something I want to see you in.”

You feign surprise, widening your eyes as you answer, “Really?” He laughs and pats your back, leading you inside the store.

Nami

Nami always ends up spending too much Beri when she goes shopping, and it’s even worse when she’s with you because she just can’t say no. So when the crew docks at a new island, the two of you agree not to spend any money on new clothes. Of course, a high end boutique catches your eye and you give Nami a mischievous glance, communicating you were gonna go in whether she wanted you to or not.

“I only want to try stuff on, I swear!” You exclaim over your shoulder.

“Fine, but don’t even try to convince me to pay for anything!” Your girlfriend tries to act annoyed, but her wide grin reveals her entertainment at your antics. Every time you show interest in something, Nami takes it into the dressing room next to you. You thought it was weird because the two of you have fairly different tastes. When you eventually leave the boutique, She pulls you close and opens her purse with a giggle to reveal all the clothes she had shoplifted for you. “See babe, I told you I wouldn’t pay for anything!”

Doflamingo

It’s a lazy Sunday morning for you and the King, lounging in bed with silk robes and the finest quality coffee. You’re flipping through a magazine while he reads some book about war strategy. “Doffy, what do you think about this one?” You ask. You don’t even have to consider money, Doflamingo can afford anything.

“Hmm…” he thinks for a minute, “I don’t think that’s your color.” You sigh. He always has to control everything. “What about this?” He points out something much more pink and extravagant.

“Why does everything always have to go your way?” You whine, fed up with his ego.

“You need to look good next to me,” he states firmly, putting an arm around your shoulder. “I have a reputation to uphold. Are you seriously not willing to sacrifice your fashion taste in exchange for everything else I give you?” The last thing you want is a fight, so you just rest your head on his chest as he calls in an attendant to order his picks for you.

Law

You had managed to drag Law to the mall with you, promising to go to the pawn shop with him afterwards to look for rare commemorative coins for his collection. When you see the cutest, chubbiest seal plushie ever, you know you have to have it. The only issue is that you have no money. Holding it behind your back, you turn to your boyfriend. “Law,” You begin your pitch, trying to look as cute and convincing as possible. “You really, really love me, right?” You tease.

“Of course I love you,” he answers, “but what are you scheming?”

You reveal the plushie to him and squeeze its cheeks. “I need this.”

He tries to hide his amused smile from you - you look so cute when you’re happy and he suddenly has the best worst idea ever.

“No, you don’t need it. You want it.” He takes the plushie from you. “Maybe another time, sorry babe.”

After a long day with your boyfriend, you had forgotten all about the seal plushie. The two of you arrive home and when he shuts the door he turns to you with a wide grin.

“What’s that look for?” You question playfully. He reaches into the shopping bag you made him carry and pulls out the chubby seal. You grab it from his hand and give him a lighthearted slap to the arm. “Law! You liar!”

Kidd

“Kidd, look at this!” You call to him while adjusting a choker around your neck. “Should I buy it?” You immediately regret showing him when a mischievous gleam lights up his eyes.

“Buy it?” Kidd taunts, reaching over to fasten the choker for you before grabbing several more. You’re frozen in place as he decks you out in accessories.

“What are you doing?” You question, “We can’t afford this!”

“You look cool!” He ruffles your hair and grins before whispering, “Now leave quick while I’m distracting the cashier.”

“Are you crazy?!” You whisper-yell. (Even though you already know the answer is yes.)

A shopkeeper interrupts your bickering, making you jump. “No playing dress-up in the store! Either pay or leave!” He scolds.

“Okay, bye then!” Kidd says to the shopkeeper before effortlessly throwing you over his shoulder and disappearing out the door.

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Thanks for reading!! Sorry for the doffy part

[kicohana]

Maiko in Warring States robes, costume details have been adjusted.

[hedwig221b]

Do you have any good recommendations for ‘arranged marriage’ for Sterek? I love all your recommendations and the recommendations others leave under your answers but I couldn’t find any that were specifically for arranged marriage.

Please and thank you so much! You are an absolute angel for your recommendations. 💜💜

Ah, thank you! You're so kind! Here are some of my faves...

Meant to be One by sunhazeheart

His nerves felt like a live wire was running hot beneath his skin, hands fidgeting with the silken material of his robe. If he had the concentration to spare, he might had worried about tearing it. It was all he could do to sit there at the vanity, eyes squeezed shut, and try to give in the constricting pressure around his chest that said that he was about to fall into a panic attack. Breath in. Breath out. His own heartbeat rushed in his ears. Being mated to the reclusive king with a frightening reputation to his name, bundled away from his home and father, and then surrounded by underwhelmingly distant faces hiding secrets was not how Stiles Stilinski imagine spending his life soon after turning eighteen. He can only remind himself that it is for the good of his people, both old and newly acquired. But, perhaps first assumptions are made too hastily and a fated match can be made, even surrounded by threats of war, revenge and death’s waiting embrace.

what do you call a rose by the_problem_with_stardust

He sinks down on a rock near a massive tree and rests his head in his hands. Someone nearby huffs. “Looks like my secret spot isn’t so secret anymore.” Derek looks up. There is a guy seated among the twisted roots of the tree. He’s about to get up and leave when the man’s scent hits him. Mate. No wonder his instincts are going insane.

Deflowered by astrugglingstoic

In which there is a prince, a knight, sequential sword fights, and an anecdote about pressed flower petals.

The White Hart of Winter by DarkAthena (seraphim_grace)

Sent to marry the Hale Beast Stiles finds himself alone in a castle left to ruin and watched over by Kate Argent, who he thinks is sleeping with his new husband and seems determined to destroy him.

You Made Me Believe by kits_lightning

“Here he comes.” His father whispered. Stiles couldn’t look, he felt nauseous and anxious. He tried to shake off the memories of witty, sarcastic comments, broody eyebrows, and intense stares. Stiles has been promised to a Prince he's never met before and they're about to get married but he can't stop thinking about the love of his life whom he's had to leave behind for the good of the kingdom…. or so he believes.

Under the Golden Moon by NARKOTIKA

Derek doesn't know how long he sits in his wolf skin, on his haunches, observing Stiles as the sunbeams slant through the trees and cast slashes of light across the omega's willowy form. The boy has his feet in the water, a babe on his hip, a bright smile on his face as the other younglings splash around and soak his garb. The creamy skin of his thighs peek out from the slits running down the sides of his draping skirt, and Derek has never wanted anything more than he wants this beautiful being of the woods.

The Thorns of a Rose by Dexterous_Sinistrous

“You have your mother’s eyes,” Peter suddenly commented, his tone light in his observation. Stiles stiffened at the mention of his mother. “Honest eyes,” Peter added as an afterthought. “Sunlit like the golden embers of coal burning in a forge.” Stiles turned a soured expression on Peter. “Have you a point?” He asked. “Many men have struggled to have those eyes even spare them a glance,” Peter simply stated. “An honest but naive treasure that managed to fool a dragon.” He placed the crown on Stiles’ head, amused when the boy immediately pushed away from him once the ornament was in place. “Hopefully those eyes can fool the Seven Kingdoms into thinking you could love a wolf.”

The Bargain by dr_girlfriend

Time drags on, and it becomes apparent that this is not a part of the tradition. The wolves start to shift on their feet and murmur, but no one attempts to speak to Stiles. He stands, feeling the back of his neck growing red from the sun and his face growing red from embarrassment. What will happen if Derek Hale cannot be coerced to the altar? Will the bargain be revoked?

Union by bythemoonlight

On the brink of war, the union between two strong packs is the only solution. The Stilinski pack is left with an omega heir and the Hale pack an alpha without a mate. Brought together as mates but ripped apart by a long war. They have to adjust to being back together after six long years.

The Decay of a Cosmos by Dexterous_Sinistrous

The memory of Derek confessing to him in the quiet of their shared resignation sparked from her words–“A child is leverage to my mother.” Derek knew what Talia wanted. And he refused to give it to her. Stiles’ hands tightened into fists. This was a gift, but not one Derek had given him willingly. He would live with that knowledge each time he held their son close. ~*~ A tale as old as arranged marriage, with a space opera twist.

A Tale of Two Princes by AllTheseSquaresMakeACircle

Given his nature of who he was, Derek Hale, only son to Talia and Marcus Hale, never expected to be married. Hell, he didn't even appear in public. But, after the war with the Argents, their country needed stability. And a political marriage suited that. Shame it had to be the prince of their neighbors to the south. Stiles had no idea where his life would take him. But a marriage of convenience to the crown prince of one of their neighboring countries wasn't exactly on his mind. He had to admit, it would have it perks. Both for the royal family, and for his country. He just didn't know anything about werewolves. Especially ones who were cursed out the ass. Oh well, he'd figure things out as he went.

The Fox & The Wolf by Dexterous_Sinistrous

The war between the fox and wolf clans has raged for centuries, ignited in a time before anyone can remember. Now both clans—tired of the bloodshed and hate—are searching for a way to end the war. Crowned prince Stiles Stilinski—heir to the fox clan—has agreed with his father to meet with the Hales, the ruling royal family over the wolf clan. Under the counseling of the Druids, both clans are presented with a solution to the war: unite the Stilinski and Hale clans through marriage. To quell their people's anger, both Stiles and Derek—eldest living Hale Alpha—are urged to accept the other as an equal; as their mate. For the sake of their people, both houses make the ultimate sacrifice by choosing duty over love. But, out of what was first assumed to be compromised, quickly turns to be a better match than either could have hoped for. But not all is easy for either clan, as some members refuse to believe that the war could end so easily.

By Moon And Stars by kellifer_fic

"Have you heard of this Alpha?" Stiles asks, shuffling up his pallet so Scott has room to sit. Scott does with a grateful little twist of his mouth. Stefan forces him into the Stilinski ceremonial armor when they travel and Stiles can see that it's heavy and doesn't sit well on Scott. He can't shift encased in metal and Stefan knows it. "I know of him, mostly stories that seem a little fantastical. Shifters exaggerate just like common people. They like their war stories." "Tell me of him. Tell me a war story."

The Arrangement by Arver7

Through blackmail and lies, Stiles and Derek are forced into a marriage neither of them wanted. If they each want to survive each other, they must learn to coexist. But the more they get to know each other, the more they seem to care about each other. But will the lies stop them from falling in love?

The Light in the Woods by DiscontentedWinter

To honour a treaty with the people of a strange land, Derek Hale, prince of the kingdom of Triskelion, has to marry Stiles.

Until Sunrise

“You told me I would have time,” Derek said, simmering with anger. “You promised to leave the choice to me.” “The court is starting to talk,” said Peter. “We do not have a stellar reputation as it is, and your ventures into the world of simple pleasures do not go unnoticed. You do not care, of course. But you are, pardon me, too loud for it to remain discreet.” “You think if I were to have a wife, I would stop fucking?” Peter cringed his nose. “No. It would make you a proper, civilized man. You are getting too old, nephew.” “Fine. But I’ll choose.” “No,” Peter smiled. “I shall choose.” Derek opened his mouth to argue, but Peter did not let him. “We both know you will continue to fuck whomever you want. None of us will be able to stop you. Let me have a pick of a proper spouse to placate the court. That’s all I ask.”

[masterlist link]