#crudelibus

[cercandodiscrivere]

Stat vindicta potens | emperor geta x reader.

word count | 2.4k

warnings | 18+, NSFW, concubines, demeaning terms, dark themes (dubious consent, violence, blood, mentions of war), porn with too much plot, unbeta'd.

synopsis | When the twin Emperors had entered the room—filled with musicians and dancers and food you had dared not touch—you had stood as rigid as stone. It had been the same visceral feeling as when you had first seen the Romans approach your home: a deep, clawing desire not to be seen.

Except now, you had to be seen. You were part of the spectacle.

gifs by @batty4steddie

Stat vindicta potens, et adhuc crudelibus ausis respondet poena.

[Vengeance stands powerful, and still punishment answers to cruel deeds]

There had been no pain.

No.

There had been pain—so much that it constricted your lungs and scratched your throat—but not enough time to feel it.

Once, your father had praised the gods for his wealth, a fortune earned through the trade of fine goods; he had adorned you with corals and pearls, a living testament to his success.

Still adorned with the rich jewels he bought, you had walked into Rome wearing a stola stained with his blood.

You had thought an Emperor would choose his gifts himself—or rather, you had never thought about it at all, not until it was you who had been chosen.

It was a strange way to begin a new life: not through the predictable choices of your father, but through the whims of strangers in a far-off land. Your brothers, dead in battle, had been of no use to you as their wealth crumbled and the last of their possessions were taken. General Acacius had claimed what little was left—and he had gifted you to the Emperors. 

A token of friendship. 

A spoil of war.

Tuis nec parcitur umbris.

[Your shadows are not spared.]

Another servant had dressed you in a woolen tunic and had styled your hair.

You would have to learn how to do it yourself in time, she had warned, but first they had  to gauge your worth — after all, there would be no point in teaching anything to a gift that had no use.

"What should I do?" you had asked her. 

"Serve wine”. 

Dread had filled your loins as soon as you had set your eyes upon the imperial palatium. Shining in the sun, the marble stairs had welcomed you—not like the arms of a mother, but like the open doors of an adorned crypt.

It was then that you had come to understand another truth: General Acacius had been nothing more than a weapon wielded by others. When a sword cuts through your flesh, it’s not the blade you fear, but the pair of hands that guide it.

"How?" you had asked again, but she refused to answer.

Non impune feres: seris venit aspera pœnis retributio. 

[You will not bear it unpunished: a harsh retribution for your crimes will come in time.]

When the twin Emperors had entered the room—filled with musicians and dancers and food you had dared not touch—you had stood as rigid as stone. It had been the same visceral feeling as when you had first seen the Romans approach your home: a deep, clawing desire not to be seen.

Except now, you had to be seen. You were part of the spectacle.

You had served wine before—to your father, your brothers and their guests. You had poured before the same kind of deep red wine: but the hands that had to do it now had changed, and the weight of the eyes on you had pressed harder. 

You had approached your captors carefully, your gaze lowered in deference—but unseen, as they had sat on their adorned thrones, draped in robes of golds and reds, without sparing you a glance.

At the time, you had not known how to tell them apart; both could have been either Geta or Caracalla, as their names had meant nothing to the terror they equally inspired.

The first you poured wine to had ignored the cup, his attention fixed on the man seated to his left. Once, you might have sneered at the lack of a compliment - now, the gift of being nothing to him had washed over you like fresh air (but still stung like a silent mockery). To the man, it had been as though the wine had fallen into his goblet by the gods’ will alone.

Then, you had moved on to his brother — and instead his gaze had lingered, sharp and unwavering. 

"Is there a trick to it?" he had mused, his voice low, almost to himself. You had frozen in place, as still as the statues scattered around the room. For a moment, you had almost believed the Emperor had just asked you how to pour wine — and your gaze had flicked upward, an instinctive mistake. 

His face had surprised you: it was not an imposing man who owned you, not a fierce general or a quiet sage — but a rabid dog, sick and weak in his silks. His eyes, red-rimmed and glazed with white, remained unseeing.

"How does one keep something" he had murmured, "when it feels as if it may slip away at any moment?".

But yet again, it had not been you he had been asking. Was it treason to leave an emperor’s question unanswered, when he posed it to the air?

And then, through the suffocating fear, a streak of something darker had twisted in your chest—rage, hot and sudden. You had had men and women alike ingratiating themselves to you, hoping for nought but a smile: and now an ill animal, with his teeth stained in gold and spit and blood, could bite your neck and move on without a thought.

You had measured your words, then. "As the poet says, fortune is like the winds: fickle, but a friend to those who know how to steer."

And if he had truly understood the meaning of your words—that you did not think him a steerer, not a good one—you could have signed your death with feigned servitude. 

But the Emperor (Caracalla, as you would learn later) had just blinked and chuckled. Shrill and sharp, it had not been a laugh born of humor, but something else: as if he had found mirth in you speaking at all, not a thought spared to the words you had used.

He had then drunk from his goblet as if nothing had happened—and yet, seated next to him, his brother had heard and not laughed. 

Emperor Geta’s gaze had lingered on you: no amusement in his eyes, no warmth.

Fatis pendebis, ficta modestia. 

[You will hang by fate, with feigned modesty.]

You once thought an Emperor would choose his gifts himself—and that’s what Geta did with you.

No hope for burning passions, no overwhelming closeness: this time someone thought it fit to have you learn about your role, because a concubine must please more than a servant.

“You’re less talkative than before”.

Emperor Geta lounges on his lectus, cushions surrounding him. In the soft light filtering through the curtains, his ginger curls seem molten gold—a physical extension of his crown, a birthright to power.

Your started your private encounter like you had started the first: not draped in a rough wooden tunic, but still pouring wine into his cup.

You spent more than one night wondering what had caught his attention, and how he must have heard your exchange with his brother: and whether it was the words he understood, or the venom laced in them, the result still has you in his bedchambers.

“I don’t want to spill a drop” you lie.

He observes you pouring his wine as if it were a religious rite. You try not to care: you pour and pour —and by the time the cup is full, you have emptied your head of all the thoughts and the dread that filled you.

“You won’t” he says. It’s endearing, almost like a compliment, but not quite. “Drink with me.”

He’s not asking.

Drinking in front of him (taking a quick gulp that barely registers the taste) feels as much a part of the ritual as the wine he offers: a play to show you what he can give you, should you continue to play his game.

"How does it taste?”. Geta's voice is as soft as a caress: it’s unsettling, how sweet he is choosing to be. 

You stare down at the large goblet you just filled with thick, red liquid: wine, herbs, and honey—the kind you would have enjoyed in another life. "It's great."

"Only the best for us" he says—and you know, by instinct alone, that us means him and his brother. The remark almost makes you raise your goblet in a toast, but you fear it might come across as mocking. All the rage that Caracalla ignited in you, Geta suppresses with dread.

He watches you as you pass the goblet back, because he is always watching.

Your eyes, your chest, your hands. You know you barely look like your old self now—before purple silks and face paints and ornati crines. A shiver escapes you: if you had thought of his brother as a rabid dog, you don’t know how to describe the quiet madness behind Geta’s gaze.

A predatory smile twists his lips, the kind that reveals his teeth and narrows his eyes with a hint of delight. You try not to let any old rage show on your face, knowing he would easily pick it up—but every pass of his eyes screams satisfaction.

His head cocks to the side as he regards you. “Your lips are stained" he observes instead.

When he rises from the lectus, his movements are deliberate. Even in the privacy of his own rooms, servants dismissed and gone, he still carries himself as if an audience is present—so much so, you wonder what kind of untold he feels the need to hide in the presence of a concubine.

Emperor Geta pauses before you, and you let him taste the flavor of the wine off your lips. His kiss is almost too sweet—and his command comes next.

“Undress me”. 

Someone must have started the task, for he wears only a linen tunic; a servant must have helped him with that, while others lit the incense that now thickens the air in the room. It's an oily smell, suffocating—mixing poorly with whatever herbs had been added to the rich wine.

“As you wish, domine”. The term makes his eyes roll toward the drapes above your heads.

You know some concubines call Caracalla Carus as an endearing term. A bold young man had boasted to you how he called him regina once —going into detail about how much the Emperor liked it, though few had believed him.

You dare not try the same with his twin.

After the tunic falls to the ground with a soft thud, you let Geta guide you to sit on his bed. You let him undo the braids in your hair and take your own tunic off your shoulders; the multitude of bracelets and anklets he had his servants put on you stay on.

He does not turn you to face him when lays you down on the bed, as your own nails dig into your palms and his head bows low into your hair. 

You don't say no. You could not say no if you wanted to.

So when your knees are firm on the mattress, and you feel his weight behind you, you take the small liberty of parting your own legs. If he appreciates the gesture, he does not say: with a palm he pushes on your back until your bare chest is touching the linens, his hand sliding slowly back to your hips.

It is not the first time you’ve lain with a man — a stain on your pudicitia that your father would have abhorred, and one that Geta does not even question.

Your sigh is one of relief when you feel him push into you, because this is what you have been waiting for since you had been brought to his bedchambers: not the his little scene with the wine, not his feigned sweetness, not his long stares.

“I suppose that’s all what you wanted” he grunts, his lips caressing your collarbone. His hips trusts into you so hard that the anklets on your legs clash against each other, creating a soft  and clinking sound. 

Tink-tink-tink. You don’t give him the satisfaction of an answer. 

The soft kisses he peppers behind your neck are nothing like the way he thrusts into you. As he moves you grip the pillows, the linens, your own arms—whatever you can find to steady yourself.

"This is what you wanted" he continues, his deep breaths coming out fast. “When he gifted you to us”.

Faster, he's going faster. The meaning of his words is not lost on you: that he may have taken your hatred for lust, your insult for a praise. That if Caracalla had shown the same interest he would have left you to him —because you were equally one’s and the other’s. 

But Caracalla hadn’t cared for a servant and her poets; and his twin was not one to let a good gift go to waste.

Your thighs squeeze around him —and even if you command yourself not to say a word, it’s like the small yes escapes on its own. Let him believe whatever he wants; let him give you thought and purpose, as long as he keeps moving. 

He growls his approval — and then he throws himself to the pillows that had been your anchor up until that moment, and pulls you on top of him. 

At this angle and lighting, he looks divine.

Everything about him turns to gold under the sunlight: it serves to remind you of what he is, and what his people allow him to do. You loathe how much you admire the view as you sink down onto him, cataloging all the ways the muscles in his face shift when he is lost in pleasure.

“You were such a good gift to us”. 

Your skin crawls at the praise and you push up on his chest, bringing your hips down quicker and quicker ad quicker. 

The lingering presence of Caracalla in the rooms — even if only through the us Geta keeps referring to—ignites you, and you are furious once again. The heat of it washes over your naked skin, waking you up from your subservient slumber. 

You feel Geta twitch within you as you slam into his hips one final time, his fingers sinking deep into your hips. You cherish that feeling: it’s sobering, for it means tomorrow you will still be alive—not as a servant but something more, the future the three Fates have woven for you clearer and clearer. 

As he comes and grunts, your thoughts wander. 

Geta on his knees, his throat slit. Blood gushing from him, as dark as the wine he had you taste.

Geta scared: you over him, not as an object of pleasure, but as the extension of Nemesis herself.

Geta powerless.

Geta defeated.

Geta enslaved—and it’s with that last thought, with that image, that you come.

Quis dabit exitio tantos, scelerate, triumphos?

[Who will give such triumphs for your destruction, wicked one?]

[cachinnavi-a]

[pellecebrae]

♤     "Say, Junichi." How blunt and without any regard towards pleasantries and formalities. It was indeed much easier to hold conversations when that one specific obstacle was not around, was not in the way. How quaint to think about it, that both men already knew that, upon the mayor's return, they would be greeted with sole displeasure upon the knowledge that they had merely talked. It's hilarious in its own ways - that Ikari Ren had no reach nor control over either of them.

♤     And that the doctor, indeed, turned out to be so favourable with the bodyguard's presence. It's amusing enough - for certain - even though he finds little to no entertainment in violence and discard. But that to a later time, when he walks throughout lightened up office-space and makes to sit just across the other. "For how long have you known - Ren - for~? I'm just curious, given that he would rather not that I converse with you~"          || @crudelibus ♡~

[inter-se-solus-blog]

     ◆ So that was the one he had heard about before. Arriving punctually, now waiting patiently at the entry of the Studios for whatever order the Mask Maker had to fulfil in means to his latest 'client' that had been sent here to entertain and become a laughing stock for those who were in illustrious circle of even knowing about it all. He had to admit, this man was an interesting juxtaposition to all the falsely placed behaviour in front of himself, while Uta could see through it as if gazing through crystal clear glass.

    ◆ "You can come a bit closer, you do not seem quite so averse in being here as your 'superior' had been~" Heard enough about things here or there { not from the major, of course, but from others close enough } to issue and offer conversation to pass the time. With a flick of the wrist here and a few adjustments there. He was nearly done. "Junichi was the name, no? It's quite a pleasure to meet~"          || @crudelibus  ♡~

[chillpotato]

"nam ventis quoque sum crudelibus usa"

[Translation: for I too have been used by cruel winds]

- Ovid, from "P. Ovid NASON'S EPISTLE OF HEROIDVM // X. Ariadne and Theseus"

[somnulentus-blog]

@crudelibus - we cool right

“So, uh,” a brief pause as a few small puffs of smoke exited from his nose, “yer... Junichi, right? I dunno if we’ve ever officially met, considerin’ the... well, y’know.” Hand did a weak sort of gesturing to nothing in particular, Katsuro purposefully evading looking the guy in the eye all the while.

“’Nyway. What do ya do ‘round here?” Though, he could easily place a guess and probably... would be correct. “Make sure no one breaks in? Make sure no one hurts everyone’s favorite mayor?”

(pffft. as fuckin’ if. guy deserves hell and more.)

It’s not that he was afraid of Junichi but, rather--

“O-oor... what? Somethin’ else?”

--okay, actually, he was scared shitless. But he hoped he was good at hiding it.

[duritiarum-blog]

@crudelibus - random starter brigade :^ )

“Hmm.” It was a simple noise, a soft hum as he kept his eyes low (not out of fear but, rather, because he feels it is not necessary to observe yet.) towards entwined hands upon his lap. “... If you do not mind me asking--” though, he knows it’s a potential for trouble but finds himself curious nonetheless, “--what is your relationship like with your superior? It seems... that you take to him when you have a want for comfort.”

Only then does he look up and offer forth a little smile.

“Does he aid you when these thoughts, these, hmm, moments occur?”

[white-reaper]

love language.

CLICK HERE FOR THE TEST.

Your Scores.

      10 Physical Touch       8 Quality Time       6 Acts of Service       5 Words of Affirmation       1 Receiving Gifts

Physical Touch ; This language isn't all about the bedroom. A person whose primary language is Physical Touch is, not surprisingly, very touchy. Hugs, pats on the back, holding hands, and thoughtful touches on the arm, shoulder, or face – they can all be ways to show excitement, concern, care, and love. Physical presence and accessibility are crucial, while neglect or abuse can be unforgivable and destructive. Physical touch fosters a sense of security and belonging in any relationship.

TAGGED BY:  @re-no [ thank you ♡~ ] TAGGING: hmmm 8| 

@diiablerie | @executare | @knightstrayed - @ergebenheit | @unheimlig | @huchal - @daturida - @cachinnavi | @lichsent | @mentiuntur | @lacrimoso - @soulcleft - @rk-silverknight - @uccisore | @jigokude - @crudelibus - @finalsinner - [ and uuuh whoever wants to 8| ]

[plhuref]

Et si fata deum

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In Fata Deum there are many different ways to achieve this. You’ll need to use more traditional means to provide your suggestions, though – no influencing the developers through their dreams. Fata Deum - With the power of a god who will you become Who will you become Equipped with divine powers it is your goal to gain as many mortal followers as possible, to grow stronger and stronger. So, if you like what you’ve seen so far, consider funding Fata Deum and influencing where the game ends up. And if you’re godly enough, they’ll even build monuments in your honor.Ĥ2 Bits chose Kickstarter so it could get players involved in the development of the game early on. The style of the people and their buildings changes depending on which god they follow. Then, at night, you can influence the dreams of mortals to suit your divine plan. During the day, you can perform miracles to earn followers. The game has some interesting mechanics that will make god-gameplay more engaging. So, you’ll need to make sure your image resonates with your target market.įata Deum will feature a single-player campaign with four unique AI god opponents. As your influence and your number of devotees grow, so does your power raise armies, summon demons, and wield the forces of nature to alter the land, smite your enemies, and bless your followers.

Et si fata deum download#

Fata Deums demo will be available for download on Steam Next Fest on February 21-28th, and a trailer showing gameplay can be viewed on YouTube: Fata Deum puts you in the role of a god of a fictional land. Verwalte dein Mana, um deine Siedlungen, Anhänger und die. Fata Deum takes us to a fantastic universe. The game was developed by the independent studio 42 Bits Entertainment and was successful funded on Kickstarter. Quem si fata virum servant, si vescitur2 aura aetheria neque adhuc3 crudelibus occubat4 umbris, non metus.5. Fata Deum is a real-time strategy representing a sub-genre known as 'god game'. Je mehr Anhänger du in Fata Deum um dich versammeln kannst, desto mächtiger wirst du. nec pietate fuit, nec bello maior et armis. That can be inconvenient for a god whose power grows with more followers. Fata Deum puts you in the role of a god of a fictional land, competing with other gods for the faith of its inhabitants. DALLAS 14th February 2022 Hooded Horse announced it will publish Fata Deum, an ambitious god game developed by 42 Bits Entertainment. Mit der Macht einer Gottheit wer wirst du sein Eine Göttersimulation, in der du nicht nur Siedlungen baust, sondern auch mit anderen Göttern um Einfluss konkurrierst. Just remember, mankind has a will of their own. Or you could appeal to people’s base instincts and promise them blood and debauchery. You can choose to be a benevolent god that performs miracles and rewards its followers. But from the trailer, it does look like it has a good sense of humor layered in. Fata Deum is no different in this regard. God games offer players unlimited power that they can use however they like.

DOWNLOAD NOW Et si fata deum

[mentiuntur-blog]

@crudelibus​ - ★!!

Truth be told, Yori’s found it... difficult to fully trust Junichi.  It’s been done, but he’s a bit ashamed of how long it truly took to accomplish.

From a bystander’s perspective, the man was an underling to a mayor, after all. He’s done all he could (for what it’s worth.) to remain neutral to the happenings within the Ninth Ward, purely for the sake of Nori. He kept his mouth shut regarding his feelings about Ren. He always held his tongue when, otherwise, an opening displayed itself fully and proudly to him.

It was all, primarily, under the guise of not wanting to enrage Junichi. He wasn’t a particularly unpredictable sort in Yori’s eyes, but there was definitely that underlying feeling of... threat. Junichi was a threat to Yori, but it wasn’t in the sense that most would expect.

“Sir Junichi! I wasn’t expecting you! My deepest, most sincerest of apologies!!”

Rather, it was out of knowledge knowing that Junichi could rip him limb from limb if he wanted to.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry! You must’ve been waiting for what felt like centuries! Haha!” He stopped to push long, draping curtains aside to reveal himself formally. Once it’s become manageable, he poked his head out and gave his best smile. “What can I do for you? Whatever it is, consider it done!”

“And alas! My curiosity is ravenous! How is... dear Nori, by the way?”

[cachinnavi-a]

@crudelibus​ - ♡

“So, um... You’re hired and are now working for me.”

He’s doing this on purpose (the forced awkwardness. overall, he’s forcing all of this.) with hidden intentions. Seated within his plush, office chair, Ren’s glancing from other’s head down to his toes. It hasn’t quite hit him yet that this... this was Junichi.

“Your first day... uh, how was it? I assume it was fine, if a bit boring.”

(WHERE HAVE YOU BEEN? IT’S BEEN SO... so... SOOO LONG.)

“It’ll pick up in pace eventually! I’m a lot older now, so...”

It’s evident there’s a lot of pent up energy tightly locked up within frail body. He’s been trying to remain in a comfortable lounge within seat yet would gradually lean forward with tensing shoulders. Hands would come together in professional’s clasp as head tilted in meager curiosity.

How long has it been? Days? Weeks? Months? Years?

Ren preferred not to think about it.

“--Haha. We have a lot of, um, catching up to do, don’t we?”

[cachinnavi-a]

absently plays with his hair while ren rests his head against junichi’s chest. a rare, serene moment for the often chaotic couple. odd, but not unpleasant in junichi’s opinion. it felt... nice to simply /exist/ sometimes. especially when ren is also content to allow the tranquility of the moment between them. junichi allows his eyes to close and his guard to lower, shifting to wrap an arm around thin waist and pull said body closer to his. a nap, he thinks, is in order.

@crudelibus​- ❤

For once, he didn’t bother.For once, he didn’t try to provoke.

Any little thing (though, to ren, they were magnificent. works of art.) that Junichi had done, Ren allowed for himself to simply sink and melt into it. Fingers brushed against scalp. Own hands rested against larger man’s chest, the mayor silent and forgiving towards the peace. It was like a gift– a gift that he simply didn’t want to push away. It felt nice, admittedly, to let time tick by, to shamelessly waste time, and to worry about nothing but the present.

Lips parted, murmuring remnants of what could have been “I love you” and “JunJun” yet could only retain their selves at soft, mumbling levels. He felt content. He felt blessed. It was as if nothing else mattered.

In a way, it didn’t.All that mattered now was that Junichi was here.

Light sound of pleasure escaped, Ren seeing no point in silencing himself once arm had coiled around him. He let himself be pulled closer, Ren shifting once or two before reacquiring his own piece of comfort in this shared position.

Head raised seconds later, eyes catching glimpses of Junichi’s now shut eyes and the lessening of breathing. Ah… he could almost cry at the very sight of it.

Attention removed itself (he couldn’t stare for too long. it would’ve been too tempting to kiss him otherwise. he had to resist. had to resist for junichi’s sake.) moments later, the smaller man trying to huddle closer and stretching one arm out to wrap loosely around Junichi. Fingers lazily clasped at shoulder, procuring a barely there grip as Ren allowed for his eyes to shut.

[cachinnavi-a]

crudelibus

Junichi’s lip threatens to curl up into a snarl, but he ignores it like he ignores Ren’s mocking tone. “Do I really need a fuckin’ reason?” A scoff. “One, he’s your son and you’re actin’ like a schoolyard bully and two-, because I fuckin’ said so.” Clearly, he’s irritated.

“Yes, you do. That’s usually how things go around here!”

It’s almost mechanical, the way Junichi has Ren responding. He’s not exactly scared (maybe a bit. maybe just a little... bit... it’s hard not to be.) but, rather, finds himself at a brick wall. Finally does he dare to look up at him with numbed expression, finished off delicately with a pure, little smile.

“Oh...? Oh, okay. I see!”

(i... don’t want to...?)

“Ummm... Okay, how do I go about saying this?”

“I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear that, alri~iiight?”

[cachinnavi-a]

"Would you kill for me?" Junichi's fingertips trail, a barely-there touch, across Ren's jaw. It's almost a caress, faint echoes of warped love in his touch. Ren goes to speak & he hushes him. He already knows. "I know you would--you did earlier, didn't you? Killed that fucker who kept touching my arm and talkin' his head off. Such a good boy." Praise rarely escapes him but he lets it, just this once. "Always such a good boy for me, aren't you?" He loves him. "Does my good boy want a reward,hm?"

@crudelibus - ❤

Lips part to answer (it’s an instinct. an undying want. the creeping urge.) only to be quickly shushed. He’s got his hands on Junichi’s chest, fingers pressing and lightly clawing at him through the fabric. He just needs to touch a little bit… just a little bit, just a little bit, just a little bit just a little bit–

(i’d do anything for you.)

–but the time will come.

He’s casually seated within his lap, leaning against him from one of his sides and legs dangling off of one of Junichi’s legs with eyes never leaving his. This position was a favorite of his, allowing for both of them to remain comfortable and for Ren to silently live out his dream. There came a swallow, shallow yet distinct. Should he nod? Should he speak? He wasn’t sure, but that’s what made it so exciting.

Palms press firmly down onto other man’s chest at compliments, Ren’s eyes struggling not to flutter shut at the mere mention. He’s been doing a great job at holding it all in, remaining as still as he could without chasing towards the prize prematurely. Fingers began to curl, eventually fisting into soft material of clothing as he canted his head slightly.

It’s so joyous! Him– a good boy!He loves it. He loves, loves, loves it so much.

Mouth hangs open, loose and slack with every intention to speak yet, at the same time, uttering not a single breath. Meager sigh escapes, and he’s leaning closer. Body twists and turns, Ren reining himself back just enough to manage a light smile as chest presses against chest. He hates it, the way he’s reminded of that wretched maggot touching Junichi without consent. Yet, he loves it, the way he’s being rewarded and praised for taking care of it without much of a fuss.

Junichi could ask him to do anything, and Ren would do it.No questions asked. No reluctance whatsoever.

He’d even do it with a big smile on his face if that’s what Junichi wanted.

“He made me mad,” he whispered, head tilting further into his protector’s touch. “He made JunJun mad.”

It was an unnecessary addition, but he had to. It was a weird, obsessive need that compelled him to do so. It’s grotesque, but Ren loves it. To him, being with Junichi was the only thing he needed. It was perfect. It was lovely. It was so very tender.

He doesn’t want his hands to leave, but he wants to hold onto Junichi’s arm. Body tenses up for briefest of moments before it swiftly fades into a slight shudder. One hand dropped away, raising to wrap slender digits around wide wrist. It was a loose, almost lazy coil around limb as if he didn’t want to fully commit. He simply didn’t want to hold him still.

(you could slap me, and i’d be so… so thankful.)

The mere thought–!

He’s shuddered again, but not once did his eyes shut. They’ve come close, but he’s denied them that ability to disrespect (disrespect? who? junichi? yes!) and disengage. He couldn’t break it. He couldn’t ruin this. He couldn’t let this moment get away. Legs slide over one another to eventually settle for crossing at the ankles. He’s rubbing his thighs together, squeezing and tensing at every single breath he caught escaping Junichi’s lips.

It was hard to silence Ren, but Junichi’s managed to do so in a matter of seconds. He loved it. He loved this. He loved him. It would be futile for him to deny these feelings, these wants, and these needs.

“I’m always good for JunJun,” he murmured back, nearly breathless. “I wanna– wanna be good for you.”

(always always always good. i wanna be the BEST for you. only you.)

The slip into informality wasn’t lost on him, but what did it matter? He doesn’t care about appearances. All he cared about was Junichi.

(you’re like a gift from god. you’re so good to me.)

Thoughts were hardly a flurry, managing to comprehend and remain competent.

(a reward? for being good? shit.)

He’s silent for but a moment. It was comfortable, being like this, and it has him contemplating on what he wanted. What had Junichi been planning on giving him? Gaze flickered, blinking away from Junichi’s gaze (god he’s like a horny teenager. this is so shameful, but he doesn’t care.) to looking at his hands only to peer back at him.

“Yes, daddy,” he finally breathed out, fingers wrapping a little more firmly around other’s wrist, “I want one. I’ve been… I’ve been really good.”

Ren’s so needy, but there wasn’t a hint of shame to be found. Mouth hung open for what felt like hours, the mayor contemplating whether to continue or to cease. Junichi’s taken control so easily, and he should have been uncomfortable by the implications but he’s not. This has happened betwixt the two of them many times, and it will only continue to happen in the future. There was no way to stop it, and Ren’s so… grateful for it.

He could ask for it. He could beg for it. He could try and make Junichi give it to him.

Instead, though, all he would do is wrap his other hand around his bodyguard’s wrist. He’d slowly lead it away from its spot (he already misses it. the spot burns– aches for the physical intimacy.) and pause once he could feel the tip of Junichi’s index finger lightly poking against his lips. Without leaving his gaze, Ren pursed his lips and softly pressed them to the tip, mouth gradually curling into a smile seconds later.

All he wanted was a kiss. Nothing more, nothing less.

[cachinnavi-a]

crudelibus 

“You’re acting like a child.” A sigh–an irritated one, too–escapes him. “Whatever, my shift’s over. Night, /boss/.” His tone is sharp enough to /kill/.

For a moment, he thought he had won. Expression remained cheery, even after the annoyed sigh touched his ears. He’s crossed one leg over the other to further emphasize his triumph before it finally hits him--

“Er... Boss? Don’t you mean, um...”

Ah, and there it was. That tone that he’s always hated, because Junichi wasn’t afraid to use it on anyone. Ren swallows, clearly nervous suddenly as foot began to tap itself impatiently against floor.

“... Okay, um, haha... Night!~”

[cachinnavi-a]

@crudelibus - ♡

“JunJun...~ I don’t know what’s gotten into you!!”

With chin perched (no. no, no no no. it’s resting.) upon entwined hands, Ren observes him with a sort of... enamored gaze. It’s painfully obvious. He’s hopeless, madly, and disgustingly in love. Even as he played-- no!

(i don’t see the big deal. ... ah... maybe?)

Even as he toyed with emotions, trying to dig and dig like an anxious, perturbed parasite into Junichi’s skin, Ren’s remained as calm and relaxed as ever. Today was a new game, a new play, and a new try. Lowering his hands down onto his desk, he gave a small child’s tilt of the head.

“It’s over and done with, you know! Um... I mean, you did kill them, didn’t you? Specifically, you... ah... well, I guess it doesn’t matter anymore.”

(TOLD ME TO STAY OUT OF THIS. LET YOU HANDLE IT. AND I DID.)

(and i did.)

“You got all of that, um, anger out, didn’t you? You should be done with throwing this tantrum, huh?”

Head juts out ever so slightly, taunting and mocking (he’s poking. prodding. prying. licking at an already open wound.) towards the very man that could both save and kill him in a heartbeat.

“Ri~iiight?”