#coil incense

[chadlesbianjasontodd]

openwork ivory kagamabuta-style netsuke of a baku (nightmare-devouring creature). the reverse side shows the cloud-like edges of a dream, with the seal mark of kokusai. 19th century.

[yandere-daydreams]

Title: Sacrifical Bride.

Commissioned by the very lovely @yanmaresu.

Pairing: Yandere!Hades x Reader (Record of Ragnarök).

Word Count: 3.0k.

TW: Fem!Reader, Non/Con, Forced Marriage, Unbalanced Power Dynamics, Emotional Manipulation, Rough Sex, Unprotected Sex, and Mentions of Kidnapping/Prolonged Captivity. Not Canon Complacent. I Have Never Met Canon But I Hear She's Very Nice.

The wedding was a solemn affair.

Not dull, because nothing that had your heart beating so violently could ever be considered ‘dull’, and not dreary, because despite the many, many things you could say about your kidnapper-turned-husband, he wasn’t one for bland affairs. No, your dress was of the finest and most vibrant silks, your veil lined with pearls and rubies and the gown’s train long enough to swell and ebb behind you as you walked down the seemingly never-ending aisle, unaccompanied by any escort. Wreaths of shining ivory lilies and blooming chrysanthemums encircled marble pillars, low-burning lanterns casting the chapel in long, wavering shadows. The pews were empty. The only guests were his ghastly servants, and they’d never once said a word to you.

There was no officiant. Hades waited for you at the brimstone altar alone, a gentle simper playing over his lips as he watched you drag your feet and fight the urge to bolt, to run, to do the very thing that’d left you trapped in his arm in the first place. It was tempting, albeit pointless. You’d always been swift footed, but there was nowhere to escape to in Helheim. At best, you’d spend a few days hiding and struggling to survive in the empty plains that surrounded his looming fortress of a home. At worst, you’d find yourself without direction and beyond the reach of his control, hopelessly lost and stumbling through fields of fading dead and gnarled beasts and things that would make the man in front of you look hospitable, in comparison. You tried to remind yourself of that as your body begged you to flee.

As you reached the altar, his smile grew into something that could’ve been convincingly genuine, had it been able to reach the pits of lifeless ice that were his eyes. Rather, the gesture only seemed to add to the coil of dread growing tighter in the pit of your stomach as you stepped beside him, clutching your bouquet to your chest in a white-knuckled grip. He’d let you pick that out yourself, at least, and you’d taken a truly irrational amount of joy in picking wildflowers and trimming roses and breaking every rule of decorum your mother had ever taught you. Now, though, the shadows of his hall seemed to dull your vision-searing colors, and it was difficult to take joy in such a simple pleasure knowing the man in front of you sought to ensure you’d never braid daisies or sleep beneath open skies again, when he was staring you down like yet another precious gem he planned to add to his ever-growing collection. It was a cruel comparison, but not quite as hyperbolic as you would’ve liked.

There was a shallow sigh, a hand brought to the edge of your veil. He toyed with the fabric for a long moment before taking the hem in both hands and pulling it away from your face. If he recognized the terror stitched into your expression, he only deemed it worth a slight shake of his head. “Oh, beloved.” His hand fell to your cheek. “You’re as radiant as the day we met.”

The day he plucked you from your mortal life and dragged you into the depths of the earth, the day he’d forced the awful seeds of that terrible fruit down your throat and promised you would never see another living soul again. You swallowed back your nerves. “Please, don’t draw this out.”

You were lucky you’d fallen into the hands of such a mild-tempered captor. He let out an airy chuckle, turning back to the altar. It was decorated sparsely; an overflowing cornucopia posed in one corner, a standing thurible slowly releasing nauseatingly sweet incense into the stagnant air sitting in the other. Between them was only a bottle of dark wine and two twin chalices, crafted of only the finest bronze and polished until they shined in the low lighting. He filled both to the brim before looking towards you, a glint in his remaining eye as he took a chalice in either hand.

You’d been wrong when you assumed they were identical. Where one had a line of aimless, curling thorns following the rim and plunging down the length of the handle, the other was embellished with roses, abstract and nearly shapeless, forming neat columns across the body of the cup. He extended the latter to you, its contents threatening to spill as you took it in your trembling hands. You’d managed to talk him out of the more elaborate ceremonies he’d suggested, but it was difficult to remember that this was a preferable alternative now that could feel the chill of his wine seeping into your palms.

You brought it to your lips, held it there for a moment, then pulled back at the hint of a more familiar scent than that of his dizzying incense. “Pomegranates?”

“I thought it would be a nice touch.” For him, maybe. He’d always struggled to see things from your perspective. “Forgive my sentimentality.”

You wouldn’t, but you were smart enough to keep that to yourself. When he raised his chalice, you did the same, mirroring him when your own will failed you. “To us, darling.”

You nodded. “To us.”

He took a long sip from his chalice, seeming to savor the rich wine, while you drained yours in a single breath. Try as you might to enjoy it, you could only seem to taste ash.

~

A few vows were exchanged, a kiss pressed into the back of your hand when you flinched away from his attempt to communicate his affection more directly. Finally, he took your arm and guided you back to your shared chambers, lingering in the doorway while you collapsed onto his bed – your marital bed, now, you supposed. You buried your face in the silken sheets, letting out a soft groan. There would be a celebration later on, a feast with all of his many gloating brothers and prying sisters in attendance, but the worst of it was over. You were bound to him, for better or for worse. All you could do was weather the consequences.

You’d hoped he would be kind enough to leave you alone while you consoled yourself, while you took all that you knew and all that you didn’t and recontextualized it with yourself as the mortal bride to the God of Death, but a hand on your shoulder dispelled that fleeting fantasy. With no small amount of reluctance, you pushed yourself upward and turned your attention back to Hades. This time, without the pretense of custom, he didn’t settle for your hand. His mouth found its way to the dip of your shoulder, then the crook of your neck, his teeth scraping against your skin as he pressed wet, open-mouthed kisses into his chosen targets.

When he started to move towards the curve of your throat, you moved on instinct – your hands finding their way to his hair as you dragged him away from you before he could do anything you wouldn’t be able to forget as soon as he left the room. “Please,” you said, not for the first time that day. “I… I’d rather be alone, right now. If it’s all the same to you.”

His smile didn’t waver. “You know that, if it were up to me, I would bend to your every whim,” he spaced the words out generously, as if worried your feeble human mind might not be able to understand. “But we aren’t done.”

Your expression fell. “I’ve done everything you’ve asked of me. I wore the dress, and—and I took your vows, and—”

“My love,” he cut you off swiftly, bringing his hand up to cup your cheek. “Our union will have to be consummated, eventually.”

You felt your throat begin to swell shut.

“I know that, but—” You laid your hand over his, trying to call upon whatever pale imitation of sympathy might’ve existed in his heart. “—does it have to be consummated now?”

You watched as his gaze softened, as his head lulled to the side in that endeared-yet-condescending manner he seemed so fond of. Slowly, with a painstaking gentleness, he brought you closer to him, ghosting over the top of your head and lingering there, even as he started to speak. “I think,” he started, his voice muffled by proximity. “that it would be in your best interest not to keep me waiting any longer.”

It wasn’t a threat, but it was posed like one, dredged up from somewhere deep in his chest and accompanied by his hand on your waist, nimble fingers slipping underneath the sash binding your gown together. When you jerked back, reflexively trying to escape his advances, he was quick to chase you, to let his softened smile spread into an amused grin as an arm wrapped around your midriff and dragged you, willingly or otherwise, into his lap. “I don’t want to hurt you.” And yet, your safety didn’t seem to cross his mind as his blunt nails bit into your waist, as he dragged you close enough to feel his chest press into yours, to become uncomfortably aware of the stiff outline against the loose fabric of his pants. “If I rely on my own self-restraint for another day—” Another kiss, this one to the tender patch of skin above your jugular vein. “I’m afraid I might end up doing something we both regret, when the time comes.”

“Less than a day,” you pleaded as he buried his face in your neck. There was a blur of movement, the ghost of his touch along the curve of your spine, and your bodice fell away in tatters, the ruined fabric collapsing to your waist. When you moved to cover yourself, Hades clicked his tongue and you froze, letting your arms fall back to your sides. Begging him to change his mind was one thing. Going against him so transparently would only make things more difficult. “Half a day. An hour. I just— Hades, I can’t do this right now—”

“My love.” Swift, blunt, merciless. You’d been a fool to ever think he was one of the kinder gods. “I think I’ve waited long enough to claim what belongs to me.”

Any protest you might’ve had died in your throat.

You’d been a fool to ever think he was anything less than the cruelest of his kin.

You wanted to scream. If you couldn’t run, then you would yell, raise your voice and tell him that he already had you, that he’d gotten everything he could’ve possibly wanted, but anything you might’ve said was torn away and ripped to shreds as his head dipped low, his teeth latching onto the vulnerable skin of you collar bone and sinking in. He didn’t draw blood, but he didn’t have to. A bolt of pure, stinging agony shot from your chest to your core, only dulling as he pulled away with a low groan. “Have I ever told you how much I adore the sound of my name on your tongue?” You felt his hand on your hip, then your thigh, the remains of your dress cut through and disposed of with little fanfare. He gave your bridal lingerie (pure white and so obnoxiously lacy, you’d had to wonder if this was all some sadistic joke as you slipped it on) more attention, his thumb running along the delicate trim before his fingers slipped underneath it, tracing the length of your slit before doing away with the barrier altogether.

Dread and panic dulled your reactions, but it would’ve been a lie to say the feeling of his mouth on your skin had left you completely unaffected. He chuckled as he gathered your slick on his fingertips, two of which were soon pressed into your clit with a brutal sort of precision. “And you tried to play coy.” He teased the sensitive bundle of nerves mercilessly, the patterns he traced into your clit too slow and too fleeting all at once. You wished he wouldn’t touch you at all, but if he was going to, it was the least he could’ve done not to draw it out. “That must’ve been why you seemed so rushed during our ceremony. If you’d asked me to make love to you on that altar, I happily would have.”

Hot, humiliated tears welled up in the corners of your eyes. You attempted to deny it, but a cracked moan slipped past your lips instead as two of his fingers were forced into your cunt and spread, splitting you apart. Your hands shot to his shoulders, trying to stabilize yourself, but he only saw your desperation as an invitation – bowing his head and pumping his fingers into you at the kind of languid pace that left you fighting not to rock against him, not to make up for the urgency immortal creatures so often lacked. “You’re a vice,” he muttered, his breath ghosting over the shell of your ear, his tone low and lecherous. You wondered, briefly, if words that fell from the lips of a god could be considered sinful. “To think my own wife would’ve had me neglect her so severely for so long.”

You shook your head. You were married to him, sure, bound to him. But you couldn’t afford to think of yourself as his wife. You couldn’t afford to think of yourself as something so limited, something so purely an extension of him. “I’m not—”

“Don’t try to spare my feelings. I can see that I underestimated just how much attention my little mortal would need.” His wrist quirked, another digit pushing past your entrance and stuffing your pussy full as his fingers curled and ground inside of you. Against your will, you felt a tight heat begin to twist and writhe in the pit of your stomach, pangs of burning pleasure coursing from your cunt to your core. Now, you cried unabashedly, embarrassment and shame burning in your cheeks and fueling the unsteady stream of tears that Hades was so agonizingly quick to coo over, to kiss away as your hips bucked unsteadily against his hand. “What a sensitive wife I have.” That word – that awful word – was enough to earn a ragged sob, but if he recognized the connection, he didn’t deem it worth his concern. “I promise, you’ll never feel so unloved in my care again.”

You would’ve given anything to be able to pull away from him, to be able to shove at his chest and swear to all the gods you’d once worshiped that there was no part of you that could ever feel loved with him, but in the end, he was the one to let you go, to throw you onto the center of his great bed and leave you whining involuntarily at the sudden loss of stimulation. He’d never been one to deprive you, though; in a moment, he was in between your open legs, one hand wrapped loosely around your thigh while the other pulled feverishly at his own clothes. His coat fell away first, then his shirt. You heard fabric shift and metal clink and, in a daze, saw him wrap his fist around something he could not have possibly planned to fit inside of you. Half out of terror and half out of instinct, your gaze flickered from his cock to his face – to the wide, fanged grin he’d been wearing for as long as you could remember.

He moved to kiss you, and you drove your heel into his stomach.

The blow would’ve been weak by human standards, but it caught him off-guard. Out of reflex, he reeled back, and you took the opportunity to scramble off his bed and towards the door, to any part of this forsaken place where Hades wasn’t. You made it a step, maybe two before something caught your shoulder, before your body buckled under a weight greater than your own. You were dragged onto your knees before you could so much as think to slip away from him, your cheek forced against the cool marble of the floor before you could hope to make your descent more dignified. You felt his broad chest press into your back, his snarling lips against the curve of your throat. You wondered if the insult would be great enough to warrant taking your life, but the thought was dismissed quickly.

Hades had never been the kind of god capable of showing such mercy.

“I would’ve made love to you like a queen,” he spat, his tone all manic venom and overdue obsession. “But, if you’d rather be fucked on the ground like a whore, I’m more than happy to oblige.”

You weren’t allowed the luxury of bracing yourself, this time. In one brutal movement, he thrust into you, splitting you open on his cock with the kind of harsh, unforgiving force better suited to a wild animal.  There was no time to adjust, no time to sob, only Hades groaning against your neck as he bucked against you, never daring to pull out completely. Whatever agony his fingers had sparked was now ten-fold. Your legs shook, your body threatening to collapse entirely, but Hades kept your ass raised and your thighs spread, his focus entirely on bucking into you as deeply and as roughly as he could.

It almost surprised you when one of his hands shot to your head, his fingers tangling themselves in your hair as he forced his mouth against yours. You tried not to cooperate, but two fingers pressed into your clit and your mouth fell open in a guttural cry, providing an opening he seemed content to take advantage of. It was a deep, lingering, messything – all tongue and teeth – but his cock ground against something soft and vulnerable and you failed to suppress the wave of pure heat that flooded through your battered body as you clenched around him, as you came undone around the cock of your kidnapper, your captor, your husband. Hades wasn’t far behind, his composure shattering no more than a second after the walls of your cunt clenched down around him. You could only choke on your misery-tinged pleasure as his hips pressed into your ass and he came inside of you – his awful warmth soon tainting every fiber of your being.

You tried to tell yourself that, at the very least, it was over - that he’d had his fill of you and now, you’d be free to console yourself elsewhere, but your hopes were once again dashed when Hades failed to release you, failed to pull out of you, failed to do anything but press himself into your back and trail his lips idly down to the nape of your neck. “Once is a pitiful amount for a king. Don’t you agree?”

You felt his hips move back, then rock against you just as quickly.

“You can forgive me when we’re done, love.”

[s3thwrit3sstuff]

❝ I could never choose to love another (maybe one day I can learn to love you too). ❞

Gojo Satoru x male!reader | angst, unrequited love, arranged marriage | NOT PROOFREAD | wc: 3.7K

warnings: minor mentions of homophobia, emasculation (r! is forced to wear traditionally female garbs due to "tradition"), angst.

masterlist; part 1; part 2; part 3; alternate ending; playlist; au's and what if's

"You were born bluer than a butterfly, beautiful and so deprived of oxygen. Colder than your father's eyes — he never learned to sympathize with anyone."

"You were born reaching for your mother's hands. Victim of your father's plans to rule the world. Too afraid to step outside, paranoid and petrified of what you've heard."

authors note: (whisper chanting) wedding, wedding, wedding *song on repeat: BLUE by Billie Eilish

Black was the colour of elegance, formality, and misfortune.

It’s resolute. Existing in carefully filtered hues of shadows. The colour swallows up everything. A sharp contrast to everything it’s put besides. Your eyes are naturally drawn to it. Then, like everything in nature, the colour black has its equal.

White was a symbol of good fortune, and innocence.

Just as powerful in the way it both lifts other around it and yet becomes the most striking. A balance in their nature.

They’re unifying colours. Opposites but equal. A dichotomy that humans have found themselves philosophizing over. Yin and Yang, they were two fishes circling each other in the pond; they belonged together just as much as they seemed totally opposite of each other.

You suppose that’s why you’re wearing white for your wedding and Satoru, black. A binding of hands, families, fortune and misfortune.

A tradition of celebrating a union of equals.

A lifelong partnership.

It feels more like a sham to you.

This ceremony was unneeded and unnecessary. You’re sure a simple contract would’ve been more than enough. But, as great clans of sorcerers, traditions were not to be taken lightly and you were marrying into the Gojo Clan of Japan. This elevates you and your family’s social standing — finally being able to suckle at the teats of High Society and their riches without having to strain your necks and stick your tongue like a runt.

You will be Gojo (Y/N), husband to the most powerful sorcerer in your lifetime and you will be grateful and content. You will be taken care of. Never worry about anything because you will be just as untouchable as your other half.

Despite these “truths,” your heart feels so heavy you’re sure it has dropped to your stomach.

Like a frenzy of snakes, your intestines have wrapped themselves around your frantically beating heart; coiling and squeezing because this feeling has not left you the second Lady Gojo had come to discuss what alterations you needed to make for your wedding garbs.

Your breath hitches as your servants carefully tighten the obi around your waist. Your arms are outstretched as the servants busy themselves with tending to you. Those dolls you’ve seen your cousins play dress-up and make-believe with, you’re beginning to pity them. The hands are invasive as they worry about the way the fabric is falling and if there are any wrinkles in sight; your hair was kept neat and out of your face for the hard wig they were putting on, they do this after they painted your face with powders and colours.

The bags under your eyes concealed delicately and your lips pampered so there'd be no imperfections in sight.

All the while, they say nothing about the grimaces of discomfort on your face. Simply nodding in approval once satisfied. They tell you they’ll place another layer of cloth on you and you tell yourself that you’ve been through much worse.

But the second that weight settles, you can smell the incense they burned at your mother's funeral. It’s strange how one's brain can make these correlations. Bridging a memory completely unrelated to now and ruining it.

The smoke glides across your face and up your nose. The burn of them makes your eyes water. That smell — no amount of flowers could ever get rid of that burning smell.

“Young Master, do you need anything?” their voice surprises you enough for tears to fall. The servants gasp quietly, suddenly concerned at the state of you.

As if you’re a doll that had just come to life in the middle of play. This servant has the most unusual hair, inky black but in a way that’s obviously fake as it shines unnaturally blue under the sunlight. You wonder what their real hair colour is, so your watery eyes look at their eyebrows.

Stained, no giveaway to the truth.

Their voice was deep but also gave nothing away. A truly androgynous individual, with the most peculiar haircut. Blinking away the tears, you shake your head and turn away.

“No, I’m alright. Just overwhelmed, and excited,” you chuckle. “It’s my wedding day after all.”

They weren't convinced. Those coral coloured eyes seemed to ripple; as if a stone had been thrown into a calm lake. The servant turns and coldly announces for everyone to leave the room. Your older servants, your mothers, squared their shoulders.

"The young master should not be left alone on his wedding day," she begins. Her voice giving you a minute sense of comfort. She was a kind woman. Loyal to a fault. She cared for you the best she could, offering you her shoulder to weep on when she told you of your mothers sickness.

"You forget your place among us, young one."

The peculiar servant regards her with a placid expression. Yet, when she moves to approach you, they extend their hand out to the side to stop her.

You look between the two of them as they openly glared at each other. They lean in to her ears, hair slipping forward like a curtain, and they whisper. Whatever it is that they murmured makes her skin turn pale. She whips her head, gasping as she stares at them in horror.

Then, you were alone.

"What was that?" your voice was heavy with trepidation. The servant assures you with a polite smile. "My job is to ensure you are alright, Young Master. The room was beginning to get stuffy. Please, allow me to dress you myself."

Themselves?

It took three people in order to create the padding around your body. Essentially mummifying you in white so your shape was not distorted. Then another two servants assisted in your wrapping, securing the padding to your body and tying everything into place.

Like a proper bride.

It was emasculating. But the elders were already unamused by the binding of two men in matrimony — they demanded the wedding remained traditional. You found it hard to care, wanting to get this over and done with already.

The servant tilts your head up, gently pressing a cotton pad to your tear line and offering another smile. They smooth out what they can of your robe, getting behind you and quietly taking off the clips around the rim of your collar. It helps you breathe, if only a little, and your shoulders droop.

You suppose there isn't much else to be added onto your ensemble. But you appreciate the care they're putting in refining the hair accessories on your wig, using the flat sides of a rat tail comb to ensure the lace front was pressed neatly.

"...It feels like a helmet," you confess dryly. "It looks like one, doesn't it?" You gesture to your head.

"A pretty one," their reply makes you chuckle.

"They dress me up like this in order to humiliate me and my clan."

Your fingers curl into fists. They tilt their heads, regarding your fists with a glance then moving to your right to check the state of the lace.

"Do you feel humiliated?"

You twist your head, your expression now warped with simmering anger.

"I'm a man." You seethe.

"A beautiful one." They remind you. Not flinching at the subtle warmth your palms are emanating. "Why should you feel humiliated when you look as beautiful as the rising dawn? Don't do that."

They lean in and your breath hitches. You're so close you can tell they've combed through their lashes with mascara, feel the hardened brush of them on your cheek as they whisper in your ear.

"Don't give those rotting old bastards sorcerers the satisfaction of looking at the top of your head."

When they pull away, you feel like you can breathe again.

"I will be placing the wataboshi for you, Young Master."

You nod, the ache in your shoulders disappearing.

Wearing white is to symbolize your bride's willingness to be dyed in the grooms colours. Satoru thinks that's a bit of a dramatic description. It sounds more ominous than it does romantic.

He grunts as his servants tie the endless seams and cords. Folding it, smoothing it out — Satoru feels more like fresh dough being kneaded than he does a groom. The servants hasten their pace. He feels worn out. A vein on the side of his head pulsing as he reminds himself to unclench his jaw.

He can see himself in the reflection of the tri-fold mirror before him. He looks proper. Dressed in a black haori, with the striking white emblem of his clan on either fold.

Willingness to be dyed in his colours?

He sighs, furrowing his brows to keep his eyes hidden away. A servant asks if he needs anything, he waves their concerns away and tells them to continue.

"Are you sure if this is what you wish to do, Satoru?" his mother's voice echoes in his mind.

"I won't allow him to be humiliated further because of my actions. I have to be responsible. I have to marry him."

"You have to marry him?" she arches a brow his way, lifting the cup of tea to her lips as she watches him.

"You're mistaken, Satoru. The only one with power in deciding if this marriage is not the (L/N) Clan. It's us. It's you."

(Y/N)'s decisions do not matter. You accepted his dowry. Refused any other, is what she's telling him. The Gojo Clan's status is leagues above yours. If you refuse to marry him, Satoru can't imagine the ridicule you'll face. Your father — and his new bride — would cast you out.

It sickens him how weak you are. Your social standing is already so fickle, your clan just beginning to shake the fleas of the lower ringed trash from its fur. You deserve better than this.

You deserved choices.

He had never seen someone more devoted to sorcerer politics than you. You were a good son, a dutiful son.

Yet, your fate is in his hands. If he rejects your hand, you'll be humiliated. If he continues this path, he fears for your happiness. You'll be forever tainted by Satoru regardless of the choices he makes.

Forever dyed in his colours.

He flutters his eyes open, straightening his shoulders as the weight of the kimono reminds him of your red-rimmed eyes. The day of your mother's funeral, your hands healing him and washing him away from grime and filth while Suguru's marks were still so dark and blooming.

What a good husband you'd be.

He can't allow you to be shunned by your family, by sorcerer society.

He has to save you. He has to honour you. He has to.

Because he loves you. He has to.

He has to.

For you.

He'd do this for you.

Satoru looked handsome. You can barely seen him from underneath the hood, keeping your gaze ahead at the back of a shrine servant's head as he leads both you and your soon-to-be-husband towards the shrine.

It rained a little earlier, the sky was no longer gloomy so it provided the scenery with a shimmering quality. The leaves of the old ginkos tree decorating the grounds with its golden and orange leaves; every sway of its branches speckling light onto the puddles of rainwater which makes it shine like a gem.

The servant with the peculiar hair, they held a red umbrella over both you and Satoru's hair as your procession continues.

"You look beautiful," Satoru says. You eyes widen. In all the hubbub, the chaos after your mother's funeral, your father's marriage, preparing for your own, missions slipped between here and there. You'd forgotten this side of Satoru.

This unabashed mouth of his. With that sharp curl and those perfect teeth and blushed lips. His voice sounds so light despite the heavy cloud that'd been lingering over your heads.

The Star Plasma Incident, Geto Suguru's betrayal, your marriage.

Your refuse to let your eyes water. If Satoru can be this strong, then you will be just as strong as he is.

"I'm sure you do to," he turns his head. Not that you can see it. Hence, the joke. Satoru smiles your way and you're glad this hood protects you from more than just wind, dust, and dirt. Because the sight of his smile would make your palms clammy and your heart flutter.

It gives you too much hope. It is your wedding day. Most would say hoping wouldn't be too egregious. You'll be performing your marriage before the shrine gods after all, praying to them for happiness and wealth in your future with your husband.

Satoru reaches for you, slipping his black sleeves through the divot of your elbow and steadying you as you climb the steps. From behind you, your step-mother awws at the display.

You're sure Lady Gojo is curling her nose at her voice behind her handheld fan. This fills you with a little vicious delight.

The gods should hate you for this, but you swallow down that guilt as Satoru hitches you closer.

You enter the Pavilion, admiring the architecture and care of the shrine masters and maidens. You feel hope building in your chest. Despite your best efforts, it begins to lift its head. This shrine has seen so many marriages. Such as the marriage of Satoru's own parents, and his parent's parents.

Despite being arranged, despite being loveless in the beginning, they seemed happy.

Your wedding robes descend on your shoulders again and the scent of incense wafts up your nose.

Your mother's final breath echoes in your ears.

You feel your throat close up.

The priest is announcing to the gods of your marriage with Satoru and all you can feel is nausea. He stands next to you and your head is held high, the elders and higher ups watch from the sides and you hope they can't see the way your mouth presses into a thin line.

Satoru is wearing black. He wore black to the funeral too and your mother, white. Your brain does that thing again — making correlations out of thin air.

You are not not a walking corpse. Satoru was not a man grieving. You are both getting married. You are supposed to celebrate. This is not a funeral. This is not an unfortunate event.

The shrine maiden before you offers Satoru a sakazuki dish filled with sake.

This ritual feels mocking. Satoru doesn't even enjoy drinking. His taste buds were akin to a child's. He prefers sweets, sometimes you marvel at how he hasn't gotten a cavity. So you wonder how his face is like when he takes his sips — despite the eyes on you, you turn to see.

He does not grimace. Not even a twitch in his brows. He takes one sip, the second, then finishes the sake.

His mother had told you that the first sip is to show appreciation to the heavens above and for their ancestors. The shrine maidens hands you a cup and you carefully hold it in your hands.

Fuck your ancestors. What have they ever given you?

Still, you bring the rim of the dish to your lips and take two sips, tipping the cup for the final one.

The second set of cups are supposed to symbolize you. The couple. It's a vow for you to care for each other for as long as you live.

Satoru's lips press over the edge, he drinks and drinks and drinks. He does not grimace, he does not falter. He closes his eyes, breathing out slowly as he hands the maiden his cup.

You watch. Entranced. Hoping to see a frown, a sign that he does not want this.

You take your cup and drink.

The third is meant for fertility. Both you and Satoru drink, ignoring the curl of the elders lips or the disdain in the others.

Fuck them, the both of you thought together.

You're offered a wooden comb and carefully wrap it in cloth before holding it between your palms, holding your pressed thumbs to your chest as you pray.

It is Satoru's turn to watch. He can see your lashes across your cheeks, the colour painted on your lips glimmering like the rain droplets on those golden leaves.

You were breathtaking.

When you stepped out of the car, he knew the old fucks were expecting a good laugh. Seeing you dressed in bridal garbs, with a veil, makeup and effeminate — they did not laugh. They drank you in, eyes widening at your beauty. It fueled Satoru with pride.

You're turning, Satoru blinks for a moment but turns to face you as well. You hold it between your palms and he cups his hands over yours. His large hands covering yours as he accepts the comb in front of the attendees.

This is a symbol of his determination, of his willingness, to make this marriage work.

He connects his gaze with yours and your lips finally part to allow you to breathe. He nods and your finger twitches for a moment but you give him the comb.

He then turns to offer it to the gods.

The sun is beginning to shine, clouds blowing away as you continue the next part; the reading of the vows to the gods.

He unravels the scroll, offering you the other end and you press your shoulders together as you both held it.

He reads;

"On this great day, before the Great Gods, we are wed. We are eternally grateful for this blessed ceremony. From today, we vow to love each other, to trust one another, to be there for each other for the good times and the bad; we promise that this will stay unchanged throughout our lifetime."

He reads out today's date. He reads out his title as your husband, then his name, and you swallow your nausea as you read out your title as his husband, then your name. You help him fold the paper back, hoping he didn't see how your hands tremble.

The shrine maidens come to your sides with a sprig of leaves. You both take it, hold the stem to between your fingers and the leaves to your head. Lady Gojo had told you this sprig would carry your thoughts and prayers through the end to the gods.

You hope they do not hear your cynical thoughts, your fears, your anxieties; you hope they can only feel the little bits of hope for happiness you're desperately wishing for.

Finally, finally, comes the exchanging of wedding bands.

Satoru's eyes softened as you slip his on. It's beautiful, intricate up close and simple from afar. The gem in the centre twinkling shyly under his gaze. You can't help but smile as he holds your hand in his, preciously slipping on your ring.

The silver glinting under the sun, as did the gem embedded in it. It was your favourite colour. He remembered.

The shrine maidens disperse, pouring sake into the cups of the guests and the both of you tenderly hold each others hands as you finally face them.

Gojo's parents watch on proudly, your father looked smug, his wife weepy as she blinks up at the heavens.

"Congratulations!"

They cheer, downing the sake, in celebration for your union and to Satoru's ascension as head of his clan.

You've done it, son. You imagine that's what your fathers expression is trying to convey. A well done nod sent your way.

You slip your fingers loose from Satoru.

"I know you're watching," Satoru grumbles as he slips his sunglasses on. The wedding was still ongoing, families dining together, and he excused himself for some fresh air while you changed into a more comfortable kimono.

"I felt it from the goddamn entrance of the shrine."

"He looked gorgeous," Suguru speaks from behind the body of a tree, twisting a gold leaf in between his fingers. "He's always been handsome, did those old fucks think putting him in white would be funny?"

Satoru does not answer. He simply stares at Suguru and yet, his wedding ring burns. He brings his gaze to it, flexing his fingers in an attempt to get rid of the phantom sensation.

"You here to give a wedding gift?" Satoru asks. Suguru turns and smiles. He had put his hair in a half-up-half-down hairdo. It suited him. A lot.

"Your hairs' gotten longer," Satoru's cheek twitch as the ring warms again. Suguru just offers a laugh, reaching into his robe and pulling out an envelope. He offers it to Satoru, who stares down at it.

"You actually gave us a wedding gift?" Satoru scoffs. Not yet reaching for it.

"It'd be rude of me not to."

"...Keep it."

Satoru tells a servant to speak from behind the sliding doors, effectively making them squeak in alarm as she stutters out that you're ready to step back into the fray.

"I'll be there shortly."

"Mah, Satoru — "

"Don't." He snaps out, glaring at Suguru.

"Don't." He says, softly now.

Suguru's eyes widen, his hurt evident as he gazes up at him.

"I'm sure your new church will need the money more than we do."

They say nothing to each other. Satoru turns to head back inside. Suguru's hands fall.

He hopes the Gods do not see this. He hopes the Gods can't hear how fast his heart is beating and how it breaks as he slides the doors close.

Satoru walks in just as you do. This kimono is less heavy, you move with a lightness in your step and no longer in stark white but instead in a gorgeous blue. The fabric dyed a darker colour at the ends to balance out the bright hues — the colour of your skin harmonizing the colours together just like your hair.

You looked at him, brows pinching at the sight of his sunglasses.

"Are you in pain?"

He should ask you that, shouldn't he?

After all you've been through, he should ask if you were hurt.

He shakes his head, smiling as he takes them off.

You're stronger then that. Pitying you, babying you, reopening the wounds you have — there was no need for that. You were his husband now, he will bare your burdens together. As he vowed to do in front of the gods.

He slips his arm through yours.

"Never. Not with you by my side, beloved."

You roll your eyes at him, ignoring how hot your cheeks feel at his lame attempt.

Maybe...maybe this could work, you tell yourself. Today went by so smoothly, it must be a sign.

Maybe you can be happy.

[flametrashiraarchive]

Hey👋🏾 ! Can I request Shinjuro x Widowed Reader who lost her husband and child to a demon attack years ago and is now remarried to Shinjuro after after Ruka passed. And how Shinjuro deals with being in love with another partner while also being in love with his late wife still grieving her after all these years. Also I’d wonder how Kyojuro and Senjuro would take to having a new mom🤔.

Hey! Thank you so much for the prompt!

So, this story ran away with itself, but I think this had to be a longer piece because there are so many emotions at play here. I wrote this as if the events of Mugen Train never happened and Shinjuro never had that moment of clarity after Kyojuro's death. (Kyojuro will never die on my watch)

If you prefer, it's on AO3 here

Content warnings for: alcoholism, recovering from alcoholism, death of a spouse, death of a child, and Shinjuro just being awful at the beginning of the story. It is kind of a slow-burn but there is an explicit sex scene so minors DNI. 

A Rekindled Flame

Shinjuro Rengoku x F!Reader

Shinjuro curls his lip as you approach. "What do you want now?"

Your husband reeks of sake and stale sweat, his yukata falling open, exposing his broad chest and thick thighs to the neighbors as he sits on the porch. 

Enough is enough.

You hold your breath, "You know what I want. I've asked you every day since the day we got married; I want you to give up the drink and be a father to your sons. Kyojuro left for his mission brokenhearted."

"So?" 

"So… what if he doesn't come back?"

"Why should I care? He's a grown man. He can make his own damn mistakes."

"You're vile. You're shameful!" You were raising your voice to him now, which you never did. You would take shit from Shinjuro all day long, but when it came to the boys, you would defend them tooth and claw. Your fists coiled at your sides. "How dare you!"

Shinjuro's shock at hearing your raised voice buys you a second to snatch the sake bottle from the former flame hashira.

"Give that back!" He growls, trying to stand. He sways and stumbles back down. "I'm not finished."

You defiantly pour the alcohol onto the earth and hand him the empty bottle. "There. You're done."

He simply stares at you, too drunk to form a reaction. "You… my…"

You turn on your heel and walk back into the house, heading to your room. Throughout the year you've been married, you and Shinjuro have never once shared a bed. Not even on your wedding night. He'd barely even made it through the ceremony before he was passed out in a drunken stupor. If not for Kyojuro and Senjuro, you might have run away there and then. Your marriage is loveless by every definition.

"SENJURO!!" Your husband bellows through the house, looking for his youngest. You know exactly what for. He's too drunk to go and buy sake himself, so he'll send the lad to do it. You step out of your room and find Shinjuro staggering through the kitchen. "Where's the boy?"

"Not here." You weren't about to tell Shinjuro, but his youngest son was at the butterfly mansion, where he would stay until he was ready to come home. You've had enough. You have all had enough.

Shinjuro closes his eyes and his throat flexes. He's either holding back from yelling or vomiting or both. "When you see him, tell him I need more sake. Some hell bitch threw mine away." And then he stumbles off to his bedroom and slides the door shut. A few moments later you hear a thud, and then snoring. 

All things considered, it didn't go too badly. 

Before you finish your chores you head over to Ruka's shrine. It has been a decade since Shinjuro's first wife passed, and you know how much he's hurting. You've lived through it yourself. 

You had thought that having both lost your spouses, you would have been a compatible match and bonded over your shared loss, but Shinjuro had only ever reluctantly accepted you as his wife. You were more of a nanny and maid. 

"Ruka… I'm trying," you whisper as you kneel and light the incense. "I'll keep trying, for the boys and for him."

~

The next day, Shinjuro is in a foul mood as anticipated. He trudges from his room and instinctively heads to the porch before remembering the events of the previous day. 

"You owe me a bottle of sake," he grumbles, his voice deep and rough. 

"You owe me a year of my life. Let's just call it even." 

His thick black eyebrows furrow. "Where's Senjuro?"

"Gone."

"Gone where? There are chores to be done…"

You take a breath. "Senjuro left here yesterday morning. He's gone to stay with friends. Kyojuro and I thought it would be best." 

"What the hell is this? My whole good for nothing family turning against me?" He shakes his head, furious tears forming in his eyes. "Why did you take my son away?"

"I didn't send him, he wanted to go," you try to keep your voice firm but calm. Your heart is racing, and as much as you want to get the hell out too, you need to do this for Kyojuro and Senjuro. "Don't you see what you're doing to this family?"

Shinjuro scoffs. "You're the one breaking us apart. The boys are all I have!"

"Senjuro flinches when you walk into the room. Kyojuro works so hard every damn day to make you proud and all you ever do is drink and tell him he's worthless. I don't want to drive your family apart. I want to fix it. I need to fix it, because you have two wonderful sons who deserve the world. And all you're giving them is hell."

He stares at you. A tear runs down your cheek and you quickly wipe it away. He knows you lost your own son, that you blame yourself for failing to protect him from the demon who killed both him and your husband. If Kyojuro had gotten there just a second later, you would have died too. 

He steps toward you, muttering the first syllable of your name before he shakes his head. For a moment you could swear he almost showed you empathy. "So… what you're telling me is that I need to quit drinking, and then I'll get my boys back."

You nod. "I know how much you're hurting Shinjuro. I know Ruka was your world and you love her so much the pain is unbearable. But the drink isn't numbing it, is it? You're still hurting, and all the drink does is spread that pain to others." You take a step toward him and lay your hand on his forearm, gazing up at him with desperation in your eyes. "Let me help you, because you truly have such wonderful, kind sons, and they deserve a father. And you don't deserve to drink yourself to an early grave."

His jaw tightens and he looks away. "There's nothing left of me for you to save."

"That's not true." Your racing heart is breaking as you look into your husband's eyes and see there's no light in them at all. "Shinjuro, we'll get you back."

"It's impossible–"

"We're Rengokus. We do not give up. Please Shinjuro… let me help you and then… then I'll leave. You'll never have to see me again. But do this for your sons."

His eyes snap toward you. "Why would you leave?" 

"Because I know you don't love me. You never have, and that's fine." A bitter chuckle leaves your lips. "I don't love you either. Let's just do this one thing. If all we ever do is get you through this, I'll consider our marriage a success."

He stares at you for a moment before his gaze drops to the floor. "Alright. I'll do it. For the boys."

~

The first weeks are hell. 

The withdrawal keeps Shinjuro up at night. He shakes and sweats, throwing his guts up and snapping at you constantly. His irritability is worse than ever and you start to doubt either of you has the strength to keep doing this. 

Every night you pray at Ruka's shrine. It's a comfort to feel like you're both trying to help. The photograph of her gazes back at you with endless patience and grace, and you try your best to draw strength from the hope that she's watching your efforts.

You wash the sweat and vomit from his clothes, you brew tea to help his nausea and let him swear and grumble at you all he wants. But he doesn't touch a drop of sake. 

One morning, three weeks after his last drink, Shinjuro emerges from his bedroom and walks to the table where you're eating breakfast alone.

"Good morning," he says, his voice as deep and growly as ever but lately it's a little gentler. 

"How was last night?"

"Better…" he pulls in a breath and walks to the pot of rice gruel on the table, ladling out a bowl for himself.

"You're eating breakfast?" You've never seen him eat breakfast in the whole year you've been married. 

He nods. "Yeah… I'm hungry."

For the first time, your husband sits beside you and eats. He doesn't smell of sweat and sake anymore, he just smells like… Shinjuro. 

"I'm going to cut firewood today," he tells you as he eats. "I noticed we're getting low, with the boys being gone."

Your eyebrows shoot up in surprise. Shinjuro has never done chores. "Oh, thank you."

"Don't thank me. I live here too. It's only fair I do my share." He finishes his breakfast and sets his bowl down. His eyes are downcast. "I'm sorry." 

Silence hangs between the two of you. 

You aren't sure how to respond. There are no words to describe the tangled web of feelings you have for the man. There's so much resentment and anger. But you're proud of him too, so very very proud. And truth be told, though your marriage exists in name only, you're attached to him. 

His hand rests on your shoulder, so big and heavy and oh-so warm. "I've been a terrible husband and an even worse father."

"Yes."

He bows his head. "I know words mean less than actions, but I will atone for what I've done and become worthy of the name Rengoku once more." He pulls in a long breath and turns to face you. "My wife… will–" He shakes his head, composes himself, and says firmly, "Can I hold you?"

His request takes you by surprise. "But you hate me."

"No," he shakes his head. "No, I've never hated you. How could I? I've watched you keep this home running while I've sat idle and useless. I've watched you be a mother to the boys and put up with the hell I dragged you through with grace and strength." His gold and crimson eyes are fixed on you. "You are a remarkable woman, the strongest I have ever known. And I know I'm unworthy of claiming the title of your husband, I'm beyond honored to call you my wife."

You can only stare. This man is so different from the one you've been married to this past year. "Shinjuro…" his name emerges as a whisper before your lips curve and you smile at him for perhaps the first time ever. 

Words are unnecessary as you lean into your husband's embrace and his strong arms wrap around you as he buries his face against your shoulder. 

And God, it shouldn't feel this good to finally feel appreciated and loved by him, but it does. You hold each other as if your embrace could heal the deepest wounds, bringing your hand up to softly stroke the back of his head and his wild fiery hair.

"I'm so proud of you," you say at last. "I know nothing has been easy these past ten years."

"It hasn't been for you either, and I've made it so much worse." He pulls back from the embrace and looks into your eyes. "I'm going to be the husband you deserve, if you'll have me. But don't answer yet. Let me earn it." 

He stands and takes your bowls to wash them. When he's done he silently heads outside and it isn't long before you hear the rhythmic thump of an ax hitting wood. 

You go about your daily routine, keeping the Rengoku homestead together as best as you can. You clean, maintain, fix, and finally cook.

When dinner is ready you head outside to tell Shinjuro, but the sight which greets you knocks the air from your lungs. 

He's still hard at work, his torso completely bare and his yukata gathered about his hips. His body is so big and burly, softened by age yet still so strong even though years have passed since he quit his hashira training. He's sweating and his cheeks and chest are flushed a warm shade of pink. He's slightly breathless. The golden sunset highlights every curve and muscle of his body. 

You just… stand… transfixed. 

Your body knows what it wants immediately.

He finally notices you standing on the porch and wipes his brow on his forearm. "Everything okay?"

"Mhm… yeah…" you nod as heat creeps across your cheeks and pools in the pit of your belly. "Dinner's ready."

He nods. "Almost done." 

The heat in your belly seeps lower as you watch him swing the ax again. 

You have to turn away. It has been years since you felt anything close to desire, and the sudden onslaught to your senses is more than you can handle. Heading inside, you splash cold water on your cheeks and add the noodles to the pot, ready to serve.

"Mmm…"

Your heart flutters as you hear Shinjuro's low hum of approval as he steps into the house a few minutes later. "Smells like miso."

"Miso ramen."

"My favorite!"

"I know." You chance looking around and instantly regret it. 

His yukata is back in place but he must have quickly washed up outside as his hair is wet and scraped up into a ponytail. And though he's clearly made an effort to be presentable, the fact remains that his yukata is hardly big enough to fully cover his chest. You can't tear your eyes from the hypnotic sight of water droplets sliding down over his skin.

"Oh~" you clear your throat and turn back to the pot, fixing two bowls of ramen. "It's a shame Kyojuro isn't back yet. He loves this dish."

"Kyojuro loves every dish," Shinjuro chuckles as he sits at the table. "Feeding him costs a fortune. But your ramen is very good." A pained sigh escapes him. "I do miss the boy. I expect he and I will have a difficult conversation upon his return. Difficult but necessary. And as for Senjuro, I can only hope he wishes to come back home."

You set the bowls on the table and sit beside him. "He will. He wants his father. And I've written to him telling him how well you're doing, though it may take a while for the letter to reach him, since Kyojuro has the kasugai crow on his mission." 

Shinjuro pauses with his spoon mid air. "You did that for us?"

You nod.

He reaches out and puts his hand on yours. "I would marry you again, you know. I know you probably can't say the same and I don't blame you for that one bit. But I would marry you without hesitation." 

His hand completely covers yours; large, firm, and warm. You rotate your wrist and turn your palm upward to interlock your fingers with his. 

"It hasn't been easy, Shinjuro, but I would do this a thousand times over to meet the version of you I see today." His stubble rasps against your palm as you reach out and affectionately cup his chin with your other hand, lifting it ever so slightly so he sits a little prouder. "I knew there was a good man beneath all those snarls." 

He chuckles and smiles at you fondly. "Thank you. Ah, I should probably shave, shouldn't I?"

"It's up to you, I quite like the stubble."

"Oh you do?" He raises a thick, dark eyebrow. "Then I'll keep it."

Your cheeks heat. You're flirting with your husband! He laughs softly and continues eating his ramen. 

"It's good. Thank you. You're an excellent cook and an even better wife."

When evening comes and it's time for you to go to bed, you stand together in the center of your house between the two doors.

"Goodnight, sweet wife," he says, squeezing your hand affectionately.

"Goodnight, husband who is trying very hard."

He laughs before he turns and heads to his room. 

~

From that point on, each day gets a little easier. You sit and eat meals with your husband and both spend the day working around your home. You become a team, a family. And every day he recovers more of himself. Every day he becomes the man his family deserves. 

When he's a month sober, you prepare a special dinner; a little banquet just for the two of you.

"Oh my!" His smile beams as he sees all your hard work. "My darling wife, you really are wonderful."

"Thank you." Your heart leaps as he leans in and gently kisses your cheek. 

"No, no, thank you." He chuckles and sits down to eat. He'll never admit it, but since he sobered up it's very apparent that Shinjuro absolutely shares the same voracious appetite as Kyojuro. "Mm… tasty."

You sit together, shoulder to shoulder as you eat, discussing the day and what still needs to be done around the house tomorrow. When he's finished eating you hand him a letter. "It's from Senjuro." 

His smile falters and he suddenly looks timid. His fingers are shaking as he opens the letter. You already know the contents, you know it's nothing but sweetness– of course it is, it's Senjuro– but you know how terrifying this must be for Shinjuro. 

You put your arm around his back as he reads and a few moments later you feel him start to shake as he grits his teeth and a sob bursts out of him.

"Senju–" he cries, bringing the letter to his lips and closing his eyes. "Oh my sweet boys. I miss them."

You pull him into an embrace,  wrapping your arms around him; one around his back, the other cradling his head to your chest as you press your lips to his hair. "It's okay. You're doing so well, Shinjuro. They'll be back soon and they'll be proud to call you their father."

He nods and wraps his arms around your waist, holding you as his tears subside and he composes himself. "You're right. They'll be back and they'll have a father they can be proud of." He keeps holding you, keeps resting his head against you. "Thank you. I can never thank you enough for what you've done for our family." 

"I would do it every day, a hundred times over." You kiss the top of his head, letting your lips linger in his hair. The scent of him is so comforting now, so you draw a deep breath.

He raises his head to look at you, smiling softly, and leaning in to  place a gentle, loving kiss on your cheek. 

His lips are soft in contrast to his stubble which rasps over your skin and stirs a cloud of butterflies in your belly. 

Your heart races as you close the space between you once more and kiss his cheek in return. Your kiss lands a little lower, a little closer to his lips.

He mirrors your gesture, exchanging another chaste kiss at the corner of your mouth. And another. And another.

The air between you grows thick and hot as those chaste kisses become loaded with a deeper need. And with every kiss your heart beats a little faster.

Your faces are just inches apart, his shallow breaths fluttering against your lips as the lids grow heavy over golden hued eyes. His gaze drifts to your lips. "Is it…okay if–?"

"Yes." 

He chuckles, brushing his fingertips against your jaw and gently clasping your chin to bring your lips to his. His kiss is soft and tender, his lips slowly and tentatively caressing yours, as if he's rediscovering a path he once knew so well. 

But once he finds the rhythm his kiss grows more intense, and a deep, desperate moan rolls through his chest and echoes in you. The moment his tongue slips against yours you're both gone; lost to the heat and the pleasant tingles shooting through your bodies.

He pulls back for a moment, checking in on you, but you quickly close the gap once more, kissing him with all the passion and adoration you've craved for so long.

Your fingers graze over his stubble as you cup his face between your hands.

"Oh, my wife," he whispers against your lips as he switches from deep, hungry kisses to feathery, gentle ones. "My sweet wife."

He presses his forehead to yours as he traces your lips with his fingertip, making you shiver. 

"I should have told you every day; you're so beautiful," his voice is low and quiet and just for you. "I want to spend the rest of my life cherishing you as you deserve." He places a soft kiss at the corner of your lips. "I never thought I'd feel this way again."

You can hardly breathe; his tenderness is lovely and overwhelming. "I know I'll never replace Ruka. I don't intend to, and I would never expect you to stop loving her."

"You're right, I'll always love her, but I love you too, and there's room for both of you in my heart." He tucks your hair back behind your ear and kisses your temple. "I would never expect you to stop loving your late first husband either. The ones we lose, they're a part of us, and they would want us to be happy." He caresses your cheek and it isn't until he wipes away your tears that you realize you've begun to cry. "Before she died, Ruka begged two things of me: to take care of our boys and to find love again. And you've made both her final wishes possible. Ruka was my first love, but you are my last."

Your heart squeezes at his words. You caress his stubbled cheek before leaning in and letting your kiss tell him everything you can't find the words to express. His lips are addictive, and every kiss fans heat through your body. When you pull away you gently suck his lower lip, pulling a deep, needy groan from him.

"Oh~" his eyes flutter closed. One of his hands is at the back of your neck, the other drifts down to your waist. "You're making me weak, wife."

You can't help but smile as you lean in again and kiss him even deeper. That you can reduce this big, strong former hashira to whimpers with just a kiss is more thrilling than you ever imagined.

His cheeks are a deep shade of pink as he gazes down at you. "We have a lot of time to make up. I want to take care of you. Tell me how to do that."

"Well, we never got a wedding night," you say as your heart pounds.

"You're right." He kisses you again, runs his fingers through your hair. It seems he can't get enough of the sensation of you. "Would you like me to make up for that tonight?"

Your throat is dry, your breath stilted as you nod. "Yes. Shinjuro, right now I want nothing more."

You can see in his eyes how much this means to him. And you feel it too. It's not just the physical pleasure, but the intimacy, the outlet, the emotional release. He carries you to his bedroom and sets you down on the bed, his lips curving into a genuine and grateful smile as he kneels between your knees and leans forward, pressing his body against yours and kissing you. 

It's been so long since you felt anything like this, and your body drinks it in. Before long you're kissing like teenagers, both flushed, your bodies heating. You wrap your legs around him, grinding your hips against his, seeking friction as his tongue strokes yours. 

He chuckles softly. "Easy, little spitfire. I said I'd take care of you and I want to do it thoroughly." His fingers make short work of your clothing, laying you bare as his breath catches in his throat. "Beautiful," he whispers, his voice thick with reverence as he gazes down at you.

He kisses your neck, your collarbone, your breasts, latching onto your nipples with a wanton moan. 

There's so much time to make up for, and he loves you. He desperately does. Never once during that year of lonely hell did you ever suspect that Shinjuro was a man who loves to fuck, but as he kisses his way down your belly and over your hips, he can't hide the curve of his lips or the gleam in his eyes. 

His stubble rasps against your inner thighs as he teases you with hot, hungry kisses, inching closer and closer to where you so desperately need him.

"Just relax," he tells you in that soft, growly voice as he lies between your legs, his lips just inches from your pussy. "Let your husband take care of you."

And God, he does just that. Shinjuro eats your pussy like it's his first meal in forever, licking, sucking, groaning as he devours you. He's experienced; he knows exactly what he's doing, and he's enthusiastic about it, wanting nothing more than your pleasure and your fingers tangled in his fiery hair.

He listens to your moans, he pays attention, figuring out what works for you. Hooking a large, warm hand behind your knee, he lifts your leg and puts it over his broad shoulder and seals his lips around your clit, softly sucking as his tongue flutters. He's spurred on by your cries, your gasps, the way your legs tremble.

"Shinjuro…I'm close." 

It's music to his ears. He doesn't stop, he keeps the same pressure, the same pace, letting your pleasure build and build until you fall apart, bucking against his skillful mouth as he laps up every drop of your essence. When your trembling subsides he gently and affectionately nuzzles your clit with the tip of his nose. 

"God." You lie there panting as he kisses your inner thighs once more. 

"Do you want more?" He asks, lifting your leg and trailing kisses down your calf.

"I never want it to end."

He laughs quietly, shifting his body so he can lie on top of you. You kiss him deeply, tasting yourself on his lips as you run your fingers over his back. His muscles flex and relax beneath your touch.

"Do you want me to fuck you?" He whispers in your ear. 

"Yes." There's so much desperation in your voice. 

A low, approving moan emerges from him before he rocks up onto his knees and stands to undress. His body is just as strong and burly as you remember and just the sight of him makes your breath catch. His cock is hard and standing straight out, curved slightly upward toward the tip, and thickly veined.

His eyes are soft as he looks down at you, but the shallow rise and fall of his chest tells you he's anything but calm.

Raising up, you sit on the bed and put your hands on his hips, pulling him toward you. He smiles and obeys your silent command, stepping closer to you to lay back down on top of you.

"I can't tell you how good it feels to know you want me," he whispers close to your ear. "My God, I have such a beautiful wife."

He trails kisses down your neck, pressing his lips to your throat as you run your fingers through his hair.

"You feel so good, Shinjuro."

"I want to make sure you're good and ready for me first." He reaches down between your legs, his fingers gliding over your overstimulated clit and down to your entrance. He gently pushes his finger inside, gasping at the wet warmth of your pussy squeezing him. "Ohh~ my girl, you're so wet already."

You're out of your mind with desire and pleasure as he finds the exact spot to curl his fingers against. "Shin… oh…"

"Hm? Is that good?" He adds another finger, circling your clit with his thumb and watching your every reaction. 

He fucks you with his fingers deep and slow, stretching you out in preparation, enamored with your whimpers and the way you moan his name.

Lowering his head, he takes your nipple into his mouth and laps at it with his tongue. "Are you going to cum for me again, my love?"

"Y-yes."

"Good girl, I know you've got at least one more for me." 

You're damn near feral as he keeps coaxing out your pleasure, that big, warm body of his pressing you down against the mattress. Your inner muscles flutter and clench around his fingers. 

"That's it, my love. There it is. Let's get this pretty pussy all wet and ready for me." 

Your orgasm tears through you and you cry out in pure bliss as he keeps on praising you in his deep, rough voice. 

"That's my girl. Oh you look so beautiful; so ready for me. You want it now, huh?" 

All you can do is nod. He chuckles and pulls out his fingers, bringing them to his mouth before he sucks them clean. "Mm~ I'm never going to get enough of your taste."

"Shinjuro," you moan as your hips involuntarily buck toward him. Your need surpasses all other sensation. You need to be fucked and you need it now. 

Shinjuro's lips curve into a grin. He strokes his cock between your folds, coating himself in your slick essence before he presses his tip to your entrance. 

"God, you're so big," you gasp as he pushes into you. Even with all his preparation there's still a little resistance. 

"Nice and easy, little spitfire," he grunts, his brow knitting together as he slides slowly deeper. "Ohh, you feel so damn good."

He buries his cock to the hilt inside you,  leaning forward so his chest is pressed to yours and he can rest his weight on his forearms as he caresses your face and strokes your hair sweetly while grinding his hips against yours.

"Look at you, my pretty wife, taking my cock so well."

As your passion grows, his vocabulary dwindles to nothing more than grunts and gasps. He rolls his hips, aiming to hit every pleasurable spot with each slow thrust. He's patient, savoring the sensation of you as he kisses every inch of your face.

His restraint starts to fray as you rock your hips beneath him, hinting that you want more. 

Those golden eyes of his flutter shut, and his lips part around a silent gasp. "If you keep that up I'm not going to last, my love."

You kiss him, deeply, your tongue dancing slowly with his as you keep on rocking your hips. As much as you want this to last forever, you want him to feel good too. Watching him start to lose his composure is a beautiful feeling.

He groans against your mouth. "Do you want to get on top?"

"Yes." 

He rolls you over and lies back, letting you align yourself properly to ride him. Putting one arm behind his head, he reaches out with the other and touches the base of his cock, sliding up until he touches your pussy, tracing the seam where your bodies meet, with a deep, approving moan. "So perfect." 

You place your hands on his belly for balance and start to roll your hips, taking him slow and steady, rocking forward so your breasts are just a few inches from his face. 

"Ohh~" He's in bits as you ride him, his cheeks flushed, his eyes heavy-lidded.

Ever-desperate to please you, he strokes your clit with the pad of his thumb, watching the way you move like he's bound by your spell.

As your pleasure grows you start to move faster, taking him harder and deeper until you're riding him with desperate abandon. 

Your backs arch in sync as the pleasure becomes too much to bear, as waves of pleasure wash over you and you fall apart, he cries out, gasping, thrusting his hips up into you as he finishes. 

And then you collapse, fucked-out and blissful in the arms of your husband. Finally, finally after all this time.

You both lie there gasping for air, exchanging soft laughter and gentle kisses.

"I love you, wife." He pulls you to him, wrapping his strong arms around you as if he intends to protect you from the world. 

And finally you speak the words you've longed to feel since the day you married him. "I love you too."

You mean it. You truly do.

For the first time in your marriage you and Shinjuro fall asleep holding each other. And that's how you sleep every night thereafter. 

~ 

~A year later~

"YOU'RE HOME!" Senjuro is only fifteen and probably only half Kyojuro's weight, but he barrels into his older brother with enough force to knock the man flying onto his ass. The boys' loud, contagious laughter rings through the house. 

"Careful! Careful!" Shinjuro chuckles, ruffling his youngest son's hair before helping the eldest up from the ground.

"Thank you father," Kyojuro beams as he dusts off his hashira uniform and places his hand flat on Senjuro's head, measuring his height against himself and widening his eyes when he finds Senjuro is at nose-height. "Goodness! When did you get so tall?! You must stop growing. I'll be the shortest in no time."

"Then I'll call you 'little brother' instead." Senjuro grins.

A laugh shakes Shinjuro's chest as he places his hand on his eldest son's shoulder. "You may be the shortest soon but I'm still proud of you. I'm proud of you both. I have fine boys." He smiles affectionately. "How was the mission?" 

"Successful." Kyojuro lifts his chin proudly. "We prevailed, and the demon's would-be victims are safe. He won't hurt anyone again."

A moment later, Kyojuro is damn near swept off his feet a second time as his father pulls him into a tight embrace.

You can't help but smile from the doorway before heading into the kitchen. It's late spring, the air is fresh and pleasant, and everybody's home. It's as good an excuse to prepare a feast as any. 

Getting to this point took some work. There were many tears and long conversations. But in the end the family has come together and emerged from the darkness stronger. The Rengoku house is once again filled with love and laughter.

Kyojuro walks into the kitchen and wraps his arms around you. He knows what you endured throughout his father's recovery, and he'll never stop showing you how grateful he is. 

"I'm so glad you're home," you say softly as you hug your stepson back. 

He pulls back and his smile is beaming. Both Kyo and Senju have their father's hair and eyes, but Kyojuro is the spitting image of Ruka; his presence just as calming and comforting as the picture on her shrine. 

"How is he?" he asks. 

"Your father?"

"No, no I can see he's well. I mean…" his eyes dart downward to your stomach. 

You laugh, "Oh, you're so certain you have a new little brother?" 

"I'm positive, there hasn't been a girl in our family as far back as records go. Could you imagine a little girl with these eyebrows??" He laughs loudly. 

There's nothing wrong with our eyebrows," Shinjuro interjects as he enters the kitchen too. "Now, if you don't mind, your stepmother and I have a feast to prepare. You and Senjuro have a lot of catching up to do, I'm sure."

Your husband rolls his sleeves over his muscular forearms and gives you a wry smile as the boys head off, chattering between themselves. 

"We all love you, you know?" he says quietly as he begins chopping vegetables. "You brought this family back from the brink, and I can never thank you enough." 

"You thank me plenty."

"It's still not enough." 

He sets down the knife and stands behind you, wrapping his arms around your waist and leaning around to place a dozen little kisses on your cheek. 

You laugh– as you do so often these days– and kiss your husband, proud to be his and proud to love him so openly. Because Shinjuro Rengoku is a man to be proud of. 

The end

[perlelune]

Oxytocin | Coriolanus Snow | iii.

One act of kindness from a peacekeeper may be your salvation or your doom. Possibly both.

Warnings: NON-CON, Blackmail, District 8 Reader, Stalking, Kidnapping

This is a dark story. Heed warnings before reading under the cut.

𝖘𝖊𝖗𝖎𝖊𝖘 𝖒𝖆𝖘𝖙𝖊𝖗𝖑𝖎𝖘𝖙

Staccato breaths mingle with the wild drumming of your heart as Coriolanus takes you to a place unknown, so far from where you live on the outskirts of town.

The freezing air sneaks under your skirt, causing your legs to tremble. Wherever you look, you’re surrounded by darkness, a cluster of clouds cloaking the moon now.

It reminds you how utterly alone you are.

Your tears soak the blue shirt of his uniform but he doesn’t seem to care. In your current upside down position, you can’t see his expression and it scares you even more. 

You wonder what he’s thinking, why he’s doing this and, most importantly, what his plans are for you.

“Where are you taking me?” you inquire, your wavering voice dripping fear.

“It’s a surprise,” he announces, readjusting you on his shoulders.

You don’t like his tone, not one bit. It’s taunting with a sliver of resentment. 

Somehow, you pissed him off at the bar and he wants to make you pay for it. Punish you for…for what exactly? It eludes you. All you did was dance with some guy and Coriolanus saw red.

You knew the peacekeeper was strange, but this is a step beyond that. He stole you. In public. It’s insane, deranged.

Lights finally pierce through the veil of the night, twinkling through the hazy obscurity. A faint shred of hope glimmers inside you. If there are people here, maybe you could shout for help, appeal to basic human decency. Back at the bar, no one would help you.

Part of you understands. This is the kind of fear the Capitol has instilled in everyone in Panem.

Still, a hint of bitterness lingers inside you. Not even Yara lifted a finger to help you. You thought she was your friend. But you suppose even that is asking for too much for someone like you. Even that is a luxury far beyond your means. 

You confine tears. You do not wish to give the peacekeeper the satisfaction of seeing you fall apart. 

He enters a building with bright lanterns scattered at its front. The smell of incense, cigarette and expensive perfume engulfs your senses, so overwhelming you can hardly breathe. A woman appears in your line of sight. She’s strikingly gorgeous. Glossy, raven curls frame her heart-shaped face and heavy makeup adorns her delicate features. She wears a low-cut red dress that must cost at least two months of your wages. 

You frown, dull remembrance tugging at your brain.

Something about her is vaguely familiar. 

Then it dawns on you, and your stomach coils in dread.

You’ve seen her before, at a bar in the northeastern part of town. She was working her charms on a man who slipped her a bag of coins before they disappeared together.

The urge to puke tickles the back of your throat. A brothel. Coriolanus has taken you to a brothel.

“Is our room ready?” he addresses the woman, impatience bleeding through his tone.

“It’s all been prepared like you asked, Mr. Snow,” she trills.

“Help me, please…” you beseech. 

She tilts her head, a wide grin unfurling on her crimson-painted lips. 

“She’s a pretty thing, your lass. Almost as pretty as you.”

Coriolanus reaches inside his pocket. The clinking of coins resonates as he drops a tiny purse in the woman’s hand.  “Don’t disturb us,” he instructs.

She grabs the purse and beams at him.

“Wasn’t planning to.” Her cheerful inflection makes your stomach sink. “Our clients’ privacy is of the utmost priority.” 

“Let me go you mon-”

The woman giggles. “She chirps an awful lot, that bird of yours.”

He heaves out a deep sigh, both weary and resigned. “She needs discipline, which is exactly why we’re here.”

His words do nothing to reassure you. You thrash again, legs flailing and hands reaching for any parts of him you can. He groans but doesn’t release you. He stomps upstairs.

Your mind runs wild as your fear grows. Soon, the blond reaches an ornate black door. He kicks it open with his boot. Once inside, he tosses you onto the canopy bed in the middle of the room. He slams the door closed and locks it. Your blood runs cold.

Without much thought, you clamber off the bed, awkwardly getting to your feet and heading straight for the door.

He grabs the back of your neck and yanks you away from the door. A strangled shout leaps from your throat.

Coriolanus peers down at you, bent in an uncomfortable position beneath him.

A look of mild annoyance decorates his handsome face.

“Still trying to run away? You never learn your lesson, pretty bird.”

“Let me go,” you croak, your pleading eyes searching for pity in his icy gaze. But you’re only greeted by contempt. Tears swell under your eyelids. “Why are you doing this to me?”

He snorts, like he can’t believe you’d ask something so ludicrous. He narrows his eyes at you, the fingers clamped around your nape squeezing harder.

“Why? Because you’ve been ungrateful,” he hisses.

Befuddlement trickles within you. “Ungrateful?”

Coriolanus’ jaw ticks.

“I help you, I save you.” A storm gathers in his enraged tone. “I do so much for you but you bat your lashes at some pathetic district scum?”

You cower beneath his accusing stare, in disbelief at what you’re hearing. Your lips clamp shut, your mouth quivering before you retaliate, “I’m district scum too.” You squint at him. “I’m district scum too so what do you even want with me, Coriolanus?”

He chuckles darkly, wrenching your head so far backwards, your neck starts singing in pain. He sinks to one knee, scrutinizing your shaking form on the floor. 

“What do I want with you?” he echoes. His hold on your neck loosens to latch around your jaw instead. His scorching blue gaze dives into yours as his voice dips, whisper-soft. “Tell me, sweet bird, am I that repulsive to you?” Puzzled, you blink. Why does he even care what you think of him? 

Your silence has him jostle your frame, as if trying to shake a reply out of you.

“Answer me,” he growls.

An hasty, breathless response tumbles out of you. “No.”

You hardly had to think, needing to simply utter the truth. Of course, Coriolanus is handsome, a feast for the eyes like a prince from a fairytale, with his smooth skin, free of any blemish, bright blue eyes and angular features. It’d be hard to deny how beautiful he is.

…But he’s not a prince, and you're not in a fairytale.

As your eyes lower, his fingers dig harshly into your cheeks.

“Look at me.” There’s a sharp edge of authority to his words. You lift your gaze, too terrified to dare divert your attention from him. He continues. “Do you find my face disgusting, my voice unbearable?” His mouth twitches. “Maybe it’s my smell. Is it atrocious?”

Tears dangle at your lashes as you mutter, “No.”

“Then why?” A blend of dismay and anger paints his features. “Why do you always run away from me? Why don’t you just let me take care of you?”

“I don’t need you. I never needed you.”

His orbs flare dangerously. You shriek as he hauls you from the floor and hurls you on the bed. 

“This is where you’re wrong. You live because of me. Your cousin lives because of me.” He begins removing the blue vest of his uniform, his motions irate and rushed. A lump nestles in your throat as you watch him zip down his pants next. “You owe me, and it’s about time you show me some gratitude.”

This time your attempt to flee is curtailed by a steely grip on your ankle. A knife-like sensation pierces your limb as he twists it cruelly. The pain knocks the wind from your lungs. You freeze and go limp over the sheets.

The blond’s forehead puckers, a contrite look flickering over his features.

“You’re making me do this. I don’t want to hurt you, but you’re making me.”

He squeezes your shoulder and forces you to sit up at the edge of the bed. The air chills around you as he tugs down his white boxers, revealing his long, thick girth, glistening at the tip. You gulp the lump in your throat.

Your fingers clasp around the end of the bed as you gape at his erect cock. The vein along the shaft seems to taunt you. Cupping the side of your face, he nudges his tip against your wobbling lips.

“Open up,” he orders. He sneers when you don’t move an inch, “So stubborn…I can’t tell if I love or hate that about you, pretty bird.”

“Please…” you mumble, your glistening eyes rising to meet his.

He purrs, lust clouding his sky blue orbs. His thumb skims over your bottom lip.

“You’re even prettier when you beg me, birdie.” His tone mellows as he offers, “Open your mouth and I’ll make sure you never want for anything.”

Your mouth remains adamantly sealed. 

Studying you, he ponders, “I’ve always found the punishment for thievery needlessly harsh.” He unleashes a dragged out, ponderous exhale. “For shame, I’m not sure your cousin will last very long here without you.” Your heart threatens to spill from your chest. A wicked, lopsided smile blooms on his lips as he fondles your cheek. “It’s a tough world, especially for a little girl all on her own, wouldn’t you say?”

Your chest collapses at his blatant threat. Even if your own fate mattered little to you, you can’t imagine Tilly fending for herself here. You’re all she has now and if she can’t rely on you, who will she be able to rely on?

Besides, she might be better now but she always had a fragile health. Someone needs to look out for her. And it has to be you.

It’s as if Coriolanus could hear every thought bouncing in your head, smugness oozing off him as he observes you. 

Your lips part slowly. Victory illuminates his features.

He pumps his shaft, excitement bouncing in his orbs.

As he pushes his tip into your mouth, a hum of pleasure vibrates in his chest. You feel it through your own body and a shudder passes through you. 

You quiver as you swirl your tongue around his leaking tip, silently wishing he’ll be quick about it. Maybe if you do it well enough, it won’t last long and he’ll leave you be.

Still, embarrassment pools in your gut. You’re letting a peacekeeper treat you like a common whore. You doubt your dignity will ever recover from this ordeal.

He grabs both sides of your face, impatient, pushing more of himself down your throat. Your mouth aches at the corners, the size of him nearly too much to bear. 

“Fuck, your mouth feels good,” he rasps, his Adam’s apple bobbing. 

He slides his entire length down your throat until it tickles the back of it. You fight your gag reflex. The salty taste of him spreads on your tongue as you choke on his cock, air flailing in your lungs. He licks his lips, gently stroking your tear-stained cheeks.

“Good girl”, he praises.

He starts fucking your mouth, bruising your throat with each forceful thrust. Tears and spit mingle around your mouth as you take him as well as you can. You grow numb, eyes half-seeing as you let him use you.

Coriolanus’s throaty moans fill the room. The echo of his blunt thrusting reaches your ears. You feel sick. 

You close your eyes, hoping to forget, but all you can see is him, hear is him, feel is him.

You wish you could climb out of your own skin.

His pounding turns more feral. Cradling the back of your head, he shoves himself more urgently inside you. His chest ripples as he grunts.

You weep, suffocating on his length. Your stifled cries join the lewd sounds he makes. Your fists tighten around the sheets as your vision dims.

His motions become sloppier as he snarls, a look of sheer bliss decorating his handsome face.

His cock twitches, his eyes rolling back. A warm stickiness glazes the inside of your mouth. A groan leaves him as ropes of him pour down your throat. When you try to pull back, he firmly keeps you there, framing your face so you can’t escape.

The excess trickles on your chin and neck.

You shudder, quaking sobs wracking your body.

A wet sound resonates when his softening cock finally exits your mouth. You inhale a wide lungful, thankful to be able to breathe again but disgusted by the bittersweet aftertaste still coating your tongue. You wish you could bleach the inside of your mouth many times over. 

He collects your tears with his thumbs, his smile growing as he basks in the sight of the mess he made on your face.

“I’m going to take such good care of you, my sweet bird,” he croons.

You plunge your hands in the frigid water, roughly rubbing the clothes against one another. You focus on a willful beer stain that won’t come off no matter how much you try. Frustration blooms inside you as the brown lingers on the beige fabric.

You grimace. This was one of your nicer blouses. Now it’s forever ruined, tainted beyond recovery.

Yara wrings her skirt above the bucket, her attentive eyes clinging to you. When she offered to do laundry together this morning, you expected a plethora of questions. Instead, she spent the last hour mirroring your silence.

You’re grateful. While her presence soothes you, there are many topics you’d rather not broach. One in particular. A memory you went to great lengths to bury but won’t let itself be erased. You feel branded, like you don’t belong to yourself anymore.

It’s a ghastly prospect, one you have no desire to mull over too deeply. 

You’d rather focus on laundry today. Washing, rinsing, drying and repeating. The tedious routine keeps the scary thoughts at bay. At least for a little while.

“Tilly’s doing a lot better.”

Yara’s abrupt words stagger you. Your head snaps up. Your focus veers to your younger cousin. She’s sitting by the fire playing noughts and crosses with her friend. The two little girls are wrapped up in the thin lines they’re drawing with white chalk on the stone floor, concentration etched on their small features.

She has been doing better. Much better than she has the entire year, though it guts you to admit it. She can laugh, play, run and be a normal kid.

…And you have the little care packages Coriolanus has been dropping on your doorstep to thank for that.

It stuns you that he even found out where you live so easily. You thought you were careful.

Now you don’t even feel safe in your own modest home.

There is nowhere to hide from the peacekeeper.

While he hasn’t shown up in person, his presence hovers over every aspect of your life.

You live because of me.

“Yeah,” you reply tritely.

Hands going still in the water, Yara observes you for a while, hesitation wrinkling her features. 

Eventually she dips her head, averting her gaze as she mumbles, “I shouldn’t have let him take you away.”

Guilt bleeds through her tone. Sighing, you peer at her. While you resented being on your own, you’re also keenly aware there is nothing she could have done.

“It’s not your fault,” you reassure. “I’d be scared too. I am scared,”

Though sadness still glistens in her eyes, she nods.

“Did he…” She trails off, sucking in a deep breath as if to gather the courage to speak again. Her gaze meets yours head on. “D-Did he hurt you?”

Goosebumps erupt at the base of your spine, spreading outward as your mouth trembles. 

“In a way,” you answer belatedly.

Shock covers her features.

“We should tell Commander Crane…”

You scowl. “We can’t.”

Not only does the ruthless Commander of District 8 harbors little to no sympathy for anyone’s plight, he may be more concerned about your thievery charges than any misdeed carried out by one of his Peacekeepers.

Such are things in District 8. Unjust and bereft of any morsel of hope.

“But we have to do something, report him,” she insists.

Irritation nips at you. You wish she’d drop it. It’s not like anyone will come to your rescue. You’re not some damsel in distress, a precious lady from the Capitol in trouble. 

You’re no one. Some might even say district garbage.

“Yara, he’s some rich kid from the Capitol, and I’m…we’re just…” The words shrivel on your tongue, hopelessness cresting within you. “It’s best to leave it alone, trust me.”

“But…”

“It'll only get worse if I fight him,” you snap.

A puzzled expression appears on your friend’s face. “Worse in what way?”

In what way indeed? You’ve no idea how far Coriolanus Snow is willing to go to torment and toy with you. There’s a glint of madness in his blue eyes which haunts your nightmares.

You go quiet. 

You pick up the drenched blouse from the bucket of water, wringing it until your hands start to hurt. 

Yara’s soft voice rises, encouragement laced in her tone.

“Hey, I’m sure he’ll get bored at some point, move on,” she says. “I mean he has to, right?”

She smiles at you and you return it.

“Right.”

But deep inside, you’re not so sure, dire thoughts of pretty boys with devilish smiles swaying in your mind.

[crystalflygeo]

Last of her kind Emperor!Alpha!Zhongli + Omega!Dragoness!Reader

cw/tags: This chapter has no smut but still contains highly suggestive themes and sexual implications. Mentions of slavery and past sexual abuse on fem!reader, A/B/O dynamics and heat mentions. fem!reader suffers with self-worth and bad memories, including past insults and abuse.

notes: After so long finally part 2!! EEEEEEEE I am so excited but also so nervous pls ;w; like if you want the first part can be read as a standalone and have a "happy ending" but now I am committed to the emotional roller coaster, A/B/O dynamics and LONG BURN PINING so yep >:3c hope this does justice to everyone's expectation tho. And hope you like it and accompany me on this tale hehe

As a lil sidenote brackets [] now indicate past actions/words and bad memories, regular italics for emphasis, inner thoughts or the little pinyin I sprinkled here (which btw is taken straight from genshin wiki so...).

<- Part 1 Part 3 ->

Being precious all of the sudden was… different.

Your hand subconsciously kept touching your bonding mark, as if to make sure it was still there, to soothe you.

After a quick meal just between Zhongli and you, consisting of some soft rice buns and delicious minced meat packaged inside a crispy pastry shell, you were then offered some new clothes. It was much more elaborate and certainly more layered than anything you’d worn before: a long skirt and flowy sleeves in a silky soft fabric, beautifully embroidered and hastily modified to make a hole for your tail to slip out. A sash keeping everything in place while accentuating your figure. You immediately loved it although it felt a little heavy and restricting.

Now, you quietly follow Zhongli as he leads you around the palace. He’s back to his former fully-human appearance, wearing an elegant attire, and everywhere you go, people bow at him and cast curious silent glances at you. It was rather unnerving.

It’s fine, you are used to being stared at, judged. You hold your tail up close for comfort.

The place is huge and you quickly get lost trying to map it out in your head, simply following along until you reach a large room with a few simple beds scattered around. Bookcases and cabinets stacked the walls, filled with all sorts of books, papers, jars and things. A pungent smell present in the air.

A green-haired man leans over a desk, glasses perched on his nose as he frantically scribbles some notes. What seems like powders and plants litter the space around him, along with a few more glass containers, incense, and a tea set with a steaming fresh cup.

“Baizhu.” Zhongli’s voice calls and you stiffen a little, hearing it again after a while of silence. It is still warm and deep but with a more reserved and regal tone like when he first met you.

The green-haired man (a Beta, you recognize) looks up and blinks in surprise, then smiles brightly and says some words you do not understand, you shuffle in place.

“Yes, this is her.” Zhongli replies. “I will ask you to speak in in common tongue so she can understand as well, I don’t want to unnecessarily unnerve her.”

Well, that is… very considerate. It eases you a little.

“Of course, your majesty.” He turns to you, his eyes were a bright amber, also with slitted pupils. Was it common in liyuens? “My name is Baizhu, the royal doctor and apothecary, pleased to meet you, empress.”

Empress?!

“E-Empress?!” You can’t help but blurt out.

“Why of courssse.” A high-pitched voice hisses and you almost jump when a white snake peaks her head from her coils at the desk, staring up at you. “You’re mated to hisss majesssty the emperor, sssso, it would be underssstood you’re now the empresssss.” Her split tongue flickers.

Baizhu chuckles. “Changsheng, be nice.”

You don’t know what to answer, mostly because you’re still reeling from the fact that you’re apparently now an empress, and because there’s a talking snake.

Liyue is weird…

“I decided to bring her here exactly because of that.” Zhongli turns to you and suddenly holds one of your hands, softly, staring at you with such affection it makes you melt. “Darling, would you let him check your bonding mark for a moment?”

You’re a little nervous, but it is not like you can refuse… right? You nod quietly.

Baizhu approaches and examines your neck and you fight the urge not to flinch or growl. No Omega likes it when a stranger is so close to such a sensitive spot. He hums and tilts his head but doesn’t touch you. “It seems it’s already healed due to her illuminated beast blood but the scar is present. I’d say the bond has been properly established, congratulations your majesty.” He smiles warmly.

A grateful bubbly feeling creeps up your chest. Properly established. So, it’s true.

You feel Zhongli’s hand squeeze yours lightly and look down at it, then back up at him. “Thank you, Baizhu. I will not keep you any longer. We still have a lot to do and I’m sure you do as well.”

Baizhu bows at him (at both of you, you realize) and then you’re on your way. Not before hearing the snake’s hissy whispers again

“A fine yin, hm…?”

--------------------------------------------

This is… your new home.

Zhongli shows you around some of the areas in what he called the “inner court” of the palace complex. Everything is so… large and open and lavish it has your head spinning, your eyes darting in every direction trying to take in all at once, walking fast on your new clothes. He guides you along the dining hall, a small temple, crosses through an enormous main hall where he explains audiences are held, and then a gorgeous outer garden that completely takes your breath away.

The wooden gilded architecture in golds and reds, the fresh wind and gentle sun. All sorts of new sounds and smells. The painted walls and high ceilings. The new plants and flowers. The chatters in a different language… everything is so distinct from the desert.

You soak in the new environment. Inhaling deeply.

It is both terrifying and exhilarating.

Finally, he guides you to another room, it looks similar to the nest room where you’d first been at, but larger. It is sparsely decorated with a large and comfy looking-bed, a desk, mirror and a small table with a couple chairs and a tea set. It smells nice enough.

You peek up at Zhongli.

“This will be your room.” He explains.

…What?

“We kept it simple for now but you are, of course, free to furnish and decorate it however you’d like. It’s close to my own room and anything you might need.”

Wait what?

Your ears lower down and you seem to deflate a little, disappointed. “H-Huh? But… I-I won’t be sleeping with you?” You ask softly.

Mated pairs sleep together, don’t they? They share living chambers and mix their scents together to symbolize their union. That’s what you’ve always been told. You are to always be near your Alpha, at his beck and call, warm up his bed and be ready to please.

Maybe things are different in Liyue? Or maybe it’s because he’s an emperor. Master didn’t tell you anything, so maybe you are just making a fool of yourself right now on your-

Zhongli clears his throat and looks at you a little surprised “I simply thought you’d be more comfortable having your own space, we… don’t really know each other very well yet, and I wouldn’t want to impose.”

Impose? As in order? But he’s your Alpha! “B-But I want to! Please! I-I mean… I thought that since we’re b-bonded…” You mumble shyly.

His cheeks turn a little pink, you like when that happens, he looks a lot less serious. He cups your cheek and you inhale looking up at those gorgeous golden eyes. “My dear dragoness. I don’t want you to feel forced to do anything you don’t want to. I know you were raised… differently, I cannot claim to understand your experiences, but listen to me: you are safe here.” He says the last part slowly, enunciating each word. “No one will scold you or punish you, least of all me. I want you to be free to speak and choose what you want.” He sighs. “Though I know it’ll be difficult...”

Furnish, impose, free… you don’t know any of those words.

But no punishment, to choose what you want, to be safe… it sounds surreal even.

What do you want?

His eyes soften at your nervous silence. “Let’s try this… do you really want to share my room, or would you like to stay here? I won’t be upset if you do.”

“I…” Your tail curls around you. “I want to stay with you. Sleep together. Like mates.” You mumble.

“Then it would be my honor, however, this room will stay ready if you change your mind, alright?” You glance around at the room again, and nod. “Now that that is settled, I have one last thing to do. I need to introduce you to a few very special people before I leave to-”

“Leave?!”

You didn’t mean to yelp like that.

“J-just to do my duties, I am not leaving you, I promise.” He corrects, a little taken aback. “I am sorry my dear, but as much as I’d like to spend every moment by your side right now, I have a few pressing matters to tend to. I know you’re nervous, everything is new and scary and overwhelming but I promise I’ll leave you in good hands and be back as soon as I can.”

You nod, now feeling a little embarrassed at the whole ordeal. You’d been feeling so at ease with his presence, showing you around, listening to his voice name and explain everything you saw that you’d almost forgotten. “You’re the emperor, I’m sure you’re very busy. No need to worry about me, I’ll behave, my lord.”

He frowns a little at that but says nothing, and you choose to say nothing else either.

Going back to the main hall, you immediately spot three people lined up looking at you with a mix of the already expected curiosity and excitement. One of them in particular immediately catches your attention, he’s an Alpha and you can’t help but feel a little nervous…

“Allow me to introduce you, these three are my most loyal and closest council members: Ping, Ganyu and Xiao.” Zhongli gestures at them and all three bow lightly. “Like you and I they all have the blood of xiānshòu, and you can ask them for anything should you need help or have questions. I hope you learn to trust them and feel at ease.”

You nod quietly, still a bit fixated on the other Alpha.

“Xiao, or general Alatus, is one of Liyue’s strongest, most resilient and skilled warriors. He usually keeps guard at the palace to ensure my wellbeing and now yours as well, if you ever feel danger call out his name and he’ll come.”

Ah, did they notice you were staring…?

With a gesture of his hand Xiao manifests a gorgeous Jade spear, crystalline green shards reflecting light as he taps it by his side, standing firm, you flinch in surprise. “My spear shall now serve you too, empress.” His eyes too are golden and sharp, filled with a certain rigidness and determination you can’t quite put your finger on.

“Thank you, Xiao, dismissed.”

Xiao hums quietly and promptly disappears in a burst of black and green smoke, you stand there a little startled, your hand clings to the brown fabric of Zhongli’s sleeve.

“He might be an Alpha as well, but I promise you he’ll cause you no harm.” Your alpha murmurs softly towards you.

“O-okay…” You squeak, a bit embarrassed.

“Ganyu here is one of the most reliable people in the palace, perhaps the entirety of Liyue. Everything of importance reaches her ears and passes through her eyes. She’s able to organize meetings, events, report, compile information and assist every negotiation and decision of this palace with stunning efficiency. She too will help you with anything you need and might be in charge of a little logistics regarding you settling in for the next few days.” Zhongli smiles.

The young woman with long blue hair and… horns? chuckles and blushes a little. “Your majesty, you're too kind, I merely love doing my job.” She puts her hands together and beams at you, sunset eyes bright. “I’m so honored to meet you, rest assured I’ll take care of anything you need. I hope you feel comfortable and welcome at the palace!”

That sounded like a lot. You weren’t used to people coddling you like this. You didn’t want to give anyone trouble or work. “T-that’s alright, thank you.”

“Now, Ping is probably going to spend the most time with you, she’s very knowledgeable in culture, history and the inner workings of the palace amongst other things. She has graciously offered to teach you liyuen and anything else you’d be interested in.”

Unlike the other two Ping has a certain calm aura to her, contrasting Xiao’s seriousness and Ganyu’s excited energy. You can tell she’s a gentle old soul as she approaches you with a soft wrinkled smile and graying hair.

“Don’t worry young empress, while Lord Morax here is regrettably busy with a work-packed schedule,” She gives him a playful side stare “You and I will have some fun. I’m sure we’ll get along just fine.” She takes your hand and pats it comfortingly. It’s kind of an awkward gesture for you, but you still welcome the warmth and good intentions.

Zhongli chuckles quietly. “In that case, I’ll leave you in her care and see you at night for dinner, alright?” He seems to hesitate for a moment but then cups your face in his hands and places a soft kiss at your forehead. The unexpected gesture has you blushing scarlet and your heart speeding up like crazy. His thumb brushes at the scales under your eyes, so affectionate in the smallest ways… “I know it’s not ideal, but it’ll be fine, yes?”

You stare at his golden eyes, the red lines, his handsome face framed with dark hair, his serene smile.

You don’t like this. You don’t want him to leave. The idea makes you uncomfortable.

But it’s not like you can say no.

You nod.

“Thank you, Ping.” Both of them exchange a glance and then he turns to the blue-haired woman still in the room. “Ganyu, if you will.”    

“Right away your majesty!” She scurries after him, talking quickly in foreign tongue while both walk away.

You stare after him for a moment longer.

“It’s a little difficult, isn’t it?”

You quickly turn back to Ping and then look down, ears folding back.

She laughs softly. “No need to be ashamed dear, it is understandable that you are unsure with all this, it’s a lot of changes for such a short time and you bond is still fresh, but let’s take it easy.”

Your hand brushes at Zhongli’s bonding mark again. “O-Okay…”

“Are you hungry? Tired? Perhaps you want to rest a little?”

You want to scurry away to your mate’s room and curl up there, that’s what you want, but…

“Um, aren’t you… going to train me?”

Ping blinks a little taken aback “Train? Oh! Teach?”

Same thing.

“Well, yes. I did offer, but only if you’re feeling up to it young empress. You can take your time, we don’t have to start right away. And like I said, take it easy, it's only your second day here.” She explains. “You won’t be absorbing any information if you are uncomfortable and jittery like this.”

“S-sorry-”

“No need to apologize at all. Now tell me, is there anything you’ve seen or heard today that you’re curious about, anything you want to do?”

What you want…

You think back a few hours earlier. The infirmary, the small temple, the grand hall, and…

“The garden.” You speak. “Can we go outside and see?”

Ping smiles brightly. “Of course! I’m sure there are a lot of things there that will catch your interest and cheer you up.”

Your tail sways a little after you as you follow the old lady along the corridors.

------------------------         

The garden is breathtaking.

More than a garden it feels like a whole different world. Bright and exciting and colorful, full of life. It reminds you of an Oasis, but just… more!

A grand pond with multicolored fishes and a couple of turtles sunbathing. Walk paths made of stone, plants everywhere you see: in trees with vibrant yellows, oranges and all shades of greens, in flowers with soft colors and small petals, in thick bushes. The light filters through the leaves and there’s the soft tweets of small birds.

“It’s… so pretty!” You exclaim happily.

“I’m glad you think so. Gardens like this are carefully cared for and preserved to impress, but they also represent beauty, abundance a sense of harmony.” Ping explains as she is now the one following after you, skipping along the path. “These trees you see are sandbearers, and that one is a ginkgo tree, you can tell the difference by the shapes of their leaves.” She points at each one and you follow with your gaze, picking a small leaf from the floor, golden and fan-shaped.

“Ooh…”

“See those smaller fishes? They’re goldfishes. The bigger ones are kois.” She gestures at the animals freely swimming around. Some of them are huge!

“What do they eat?” You blurt out.

“Well, usually algae and wheat. We can get some another day and you can feed them.”

“Really?!”

“Of course.”

“Oh! Is that a koi too? It’s so… long and pretty.”

“Ah, that one is a golden koi. Lord Morax has a few of them here. They are also called Jīnchì Jiǎlóng or ‘false dragons’ you know? For the small horns and long bodies. They do resemble your tail a little, don’t they?”

You move your tail forward and stare at it, then stare at the serpentine fish.     

“Yes, sort of… Jin chi… jia long.” You mumble.

“Here, I think you’ll like these ones. Come with me.” You eagerly follow after Ping as she rounds the pond and guides you towards a few red bushes. They’re dotted with pink round flowers. “These are silk flowers, Nícháng-huā, usually harvested to make clothes, but there are many special ornamental variants and between us both, your dear mate has a weak spot for these so he has quite the collection.” She chuckles.

“Orna…metal?”

“Ornamental, it means mostly for decoration.”

“Oh!” Suddenly you feel dumb, you’d thought for a second that was a liyuen word too. “I’m sorry… I don’t even know common tongue very well.” How could you even expect to learn liyuen?

“No worries, dear, learning a new language is a daunting task, it takes a bit of work every day. If you keep learning, using and practicing words, you’ll get there.”

You smiled softly. Ping was so… patient and supportive.

So much different from…

[You have to try harder.]

[Tch that is not good enough.]

[Are you stupid?!]

[Useless omega.]

You looked at the budding silk flowers and blinked. Once. Twice. Why was your vision blurry now? What was this feeling?

“Oh, oh young empress please don’t cry. It’s alright” Ping’s alarmed remark helps you understand. She fusses over you. “Are you ok?”

You wipe at your tears and smile, a genuine bright smile.

“I’m fine.”

And this time, you truly mean it.

----------------------------------------

After a rather fancy bath (the kind of like you used to take before being presented to Alphas, with bubbles and scented oils...) and a good dinner Zhongli and you headed over for his chambers for the night. You couldn’t help but be a little… nervous.

This is stupid. He’s your Alpha.

He’s been nothing but kind to you.

What if he wants to… d-do things?

Then you’ll do it. He’s your mate. It’s your obligation.

You were the one who chose this anyway.

Your heartbeat was loud in your ears, anxiety creeping up your chest. Were your fingers trembling? Was the room suddenly cold?

As expected, the bedroom was quite matching his style. Golds, browns and a bit of red and black here and there. Dragon imagery adorning some of the walls, a tea cabinet with a small table and shelves filled with all sorts of trinkets from precious stones and books to a beautiful fan and a tea set.

And then there was the bed.

A large canopy bed, enough to probably have your body and tail fully stretched across and still fit in the mattress, beautifully decorated and filled with fabrics and pillows.

The scent of Zhongli’s Alpha pheromones was definitely strong.

He yawns and runs a hand along his forehead, combing along his hair before pulling out the clip on it, letting his long dark locks spill free. He takes off his robe revealing his naked torso and you jolt.

It’s fine. It’s fine. It’s fine.           

You undress as well into your light sleeping clothes and gingerly slip into his bed, curling up around his pillows, surrounded by his scent.

His.

You are his.

It’s fine, it’s fine, it’s fine-

“Darling, is everything alright? Are you uncomfortable?” He asks concerned, climbing on the bed as well and reaching out to touch your arm. You squeak. “You’re… terrified, what’s wrong?” Then Zhongli’s eyes widen a little. “Oh. The scent… I completely overlooked that, my apologies. Is it too strong? Are you ok? Should have given you some things earlier for you to scent and include them here. This is no good…” He rambles a bit to himself as he sits up and crosses his arms thoughtfully.

You stare at him, anxiety still surging through your veins but now mixed in with confusion.

“Would you like to sleep in the other room we prepared for you instead?” He sighs.

“I… t-this is… you… would just let me leave?”

Zhongli tilts his head slightly, now he looks confused.

“I promised you that the room would be available-”

“So, you don’t want to mate?”

Silence.

He stares at you for a moment as you grip at the bedsheets, still tense.

His eyes widen as realization settles in.

Ah. The pink dusting in his cheeks is back.

“Y-You thought that… no! My dear, no, no, no…” He coughs into his fist awkwardly. “I apologize if I gave you the wrong idea. A-As I said before I want you to be comfortable and feel safe. No Alpha will force you to do anything you don’t want. Not even me. And you don’t have to feel forced to do things you don’t want to, either.”

You look down. Although you feel slightly more relieved.

“I want to stay here. A-and if you want to, I’ll service you, my lord. I was just… nervous, sorry.”

“I assure you there is no need for any of that.” He says softly. “Here.”

He pulls the covers and slips them over you both, lying down facing you but still keeping a little distance. You do the same, curled up face to face with him.

He’s so effortlessly handsome.

And kind.

And you like him.

But he’s still an Alpha.

“Is this alright? We’re just going to sleep, I promise.” He brushes some hair away from your face.

You nod.

“Is there… anything you want to talk about or ask me?”

You... don’t know.

You shake your head.

“Hmmm. Want to share about your day? What were you up to with Ping?” He gives you a playful smile. Suddenly he feels less like an imposing strict emperor, or like a scary Alpha. He’s just your Zhongli.

“She… showed me the garden. I wanted to see.”

“Ah, the royal garden has many fascinating sights and it’s a beautiful landscape to retreat to and ease one’s mind. I had the feeling you’d be interested.”

“There were so many beautiful things. She taught me about the silk flowers, nícháng-huā. And all the trees and fishes and birds.”

“Oh? Are these your first words in liyuen, my dear?”

You giggle. “I… suppose they are. She also showed me your turtles Jiàn and Fù and told me what their names mean, they are so cute. Oh! And we saw the liúlí bah… bai… bǎihé! I sang to them and they bloomed! It was... amazing.”

“I see. Not everyone can achieve that, I’ll admit I’m quite hopeless at singing.” He chuckles “What more did you learn?”

Feeling much more content and at ease you continue retelling all the new things you had experienced and the vocabulary you had learned including how to introduce yourself and some greetings and basic words. Talking for what felt like hours until weariness and sleep claimed you both.

Zhongli simply listened and stared at you, captivated. He seemed content as well.

It made you happy.

------------------------------------------

For the next couple of months, you established a sort of routine.

You’d wake up early alongside Zhongli, even though you didn’t need to, you simply enjoyed having some morning tea and breakfast with him. Afterwards he’d go tend to some of his official duties and you’d stay with Ping Lǎolao, learning more and more each day. By now you could even follow some basic conversation (provided the other person didn’t speak too fast) although reading and writing was still extremely difficult.

You’d expressed interest in some gardening and even headed to the kitchens to prepare some food by yourself. The maids claimed there was no need for the empress to do such ‘menial tasks’ but as an Omega you pride yourself in certain things, and cooking for your Alpha was something you’d yearned to do.

You were overjoyed when Zhongli praised your Jade parcels.

You’d always have lunch with him and some days he’d accompany you for a stroll or you’d stay at his study for some leisure time, or even at some meetings. It had been a little unnerving at first but you also knew it was important to know others and be known in the council, as well as understand Liyue outside of the palace walls. After all, you are an empress now.

At night, you slept close to him. The initial awkwardness of sleeping at opposite sides of the bed soon traded for a much cuddlier approach, often with you curled up to Zhongli’s chest or him spooning you, tails often intertwined together. The bed and the entire room now have a mix of your combined scents, like true mates.

And so, life was good…

------------------------------------------  

You’re slowly pulled out of your sleep as Zhongli stirs in the bed. You grumble a little and yawn, already missing his warmth. It was so pleasant…

“Good morning, my dear dragoness.”

“Morning…” You mumble, not opening your eyes and instead blindly reaching for his pillow to hug and cling to. “Can we stay for longer?” You whine.

“You definitely can, but I have to go.” He kisses your forehead “Rest, my dear.”

You pout but say nothing. Squeezing at the pillow and burying your face in it.

It smells so good…

------------------------------------------  

“Hmm… is it warmer today?” You wonder aloud as the maids help you up with the layers of your hanfu. The clothes still hot and heavy in contrast to what you used to wear at the desert, but today seemingly more so… the sash feels more constricting than usual. “I-I think I’d like to wear something a little lighter… if possible.”

“Of course, your majesty, no problem.”

You smile at them, grateful.

 --------------------------------------------

Sitting at Zhongli’s study room you practice some basic liyuen calligraphy while he seemingly goes over some important documents. The silence is comfortable and a warm cup of Qixing tea steams at both desks. Yet, something keeps bothering you.

You huff lightly, scratching and picking at the scales of your tail, irritated with the uncomfortable feeling. Why is it so itchy? A couple of them fall off, revealing new glossy ones underneath.

“Ah…” So that means…

You stop for a moment. The feverish feeling, scents being stronger on your nose, the urge to nest and cling to your mate.

Hmm… part of you is a little excited. And yet, there is fear.

------------------------------------------  

“You have quite the appetite today, dear. Eat slowly, the food won’t go anywhere.” Ping chuckles as you practically pick a little of every dish while still trying to keep some modicum of elegance. Chopsticks weren’t that easy after all.

“Yes… I think… I think it’s my pre-heat hormones.” You sigh before munching on a shrimp ball.

Your heat…

Your first heat with Zhongli. With any Alpha to be honest. You’d always had to endure them on your own (Master couldn’t have you get pregnant) and they were excruciating and debilitating, crying out for days with your skin burning and itching, trying to sate yourself with your fingers and humping pillows. But now… you’re happily bonded.

Would it… feel good again?

Like, that first time you two mated…

You feel your cheeks heat up.

“Excuse me?”

“Hm?”

You’re brought back to reality to see Ping staring at you seemingly a little alarmed.

“Pre-heat? Young empress, are you going into heat soon?”

“Y-yeah? Probably um, tonight…? Or tomorrow.” The onsets are always so quick, and your cycle has always been more or less stable.

The elder places her chopsticks down. “Have you told Lord Morax?”

“Um. N-No, not yet. But… m-maybe he already caught on...” You tilt your head.

…Right?

Then again even you took a couple of days to identify the signs, and now for sure you were at the brink of it. Maybe he’ll mate you tonight…

Hm… how will Zhongli react to your heat scent?

You have to do your best!

[Be a good omega.]

Ping stands up, her expression still gentle but with a sort of urgency to it, your instincts catch the feeling she’s worried about something.

“I have to inform about this, please stay here dear.”

Now you’re nervous. You nod slowly.

Why does it feel like you did something wrong…?

------------------------------------------

After that, things get… chaotic.

It’s only a while later that you find yourself at the infirmary. Ganyu and Zhongli are also there and everyone’s anxious pheromones in the air do not sit well with you (subtle as they are, your nose is hyperaware right now).

“I’m sorry the symptoms are already settled in. At this point it is simply not feasible to give her suppressants, she has to go through this heat.” Baizhu says, looking troubled.

Feasible? Suppressants? More unknown words but…

Is there something wrong with your heat?

Ganyu scurries off and Ping starts talking with Baizhu on the other side of the room. You cling to Zhongli’s robe, trying to soothe yourself with his presence but his scent is… agitated.

You whine to call out to him. You’re scared.

“Did I do something wrong?”

Zhongli pulls you close, cupping your face again, staring straight at you. “No… no my dear dragoness, of course you didn’t, it’s just…” He steels himself searching for the right words, it doesn’t ease you in the slightest. “We didn’t expect your heat so soon. I should have known, noticed… I’m sorry.”

Why is your alpha apologizing to you? That is ridiculous.

“Is it a bad thing?”

“It’s… not the right time.”

You’re so confused.

Don’t Alphas like it when Omegas are in heat? Soft, pliant, warm, needy and ready to breed.

“I just don’t want you to feel obligated to do this…” He says. “And… you could trigger my rut, you could end up pregnant. I don’t want to… scare you, or hurt you. It’s much too soon for us to share your heat. I thought we’d have more time for you to get acclimated to Liyue or…” He shakes his head. “Nevermind. For the next few days you’ll be in a separate room, yes? No one will disturb you during your heat, I promise.”

“B-But then… I… what…?”

Alone?

“Usually omegas take suppressants, like a type of medicine, to stave off their heats so they don’t have to face these risks or suffer them alone, and then when they’re ready, when they want, they choose to share heats with their partners.” He explains.

“But I want to! I… I’ll be good!”

Zhongli sighs. “Darling you are good, you are precious to me. You don’t need to prove anything or do things because they are ‘expected’ of you.”

He’s not listening!

He asks you what you want. He says you can choose. But now that you tell him, ask him, beg him even… he denies you?

How come you’re always making the wrong choice?

Was it all a lie then?

“But I- T-then- Why-… YOU’RE CONFUSING ME!!” You yell, tears stinging in your eyes.

There are a few gasps and you see not only Baizhu and Ping, but Ganyu and some of the maids staring at you in shock. You cover your mouth, eyes wide at the sudden burst of fierceness and emotion.

You yelled at him.

You talked back.

You should be punished.

He stares at you, frozen like a statue for a few moments. You stare at him, pitiful, your eyes begging. A whimper leaves you and Zhongli lets out a shuddering breath.

Oh, your Alpha wants you, you know it.

"Please..." You mumble, voice so small.

"I'm sorry my dear, it's better this way." His hand moves towards you, to cup your face again or brush at your hair you're not sure, but he stops himself before you can find out. He sighs, averting his gaze and looking conflicted, and then turns around.

This is your punishment.

"It'll be just a few days, you'll be well-cared for. This is for the best." He says sternly, voice pinched.

And then he leaves.

Your heart shatters.

Everything is a blur after that. You’re gently guided along towards an empty nest room, the same one you'd first met him at, there are some things with both your scents on it but they feel sterile, washed anew.

Your hands start trembling. Your eyes start to water. Your lips quiver. Your throat feels tight, choked and dry. Your body feels feverish, hot and restless.

Zhongli rejected you.

“Your majesty please calm down."

[Useless.]

[Moron.]

[Whore.]

You could no longer breathe, hear nor see. You feel like you're drowning, unable to process what just happened. Your mate…your precious mate…he…he…

He abandoned you.

“Your majesty…?"

You scream.

[notyixiangs]

i’m thinking about mu qing saving feng xin from the fire all the time. do you think mu qing runs through the heavenly capital frantic and desperate, heart caught in his throat and burning coil in his stomach, all whilst the buildings are writhing like broiled liquid around him but he’s simultaneously confused as to why he even *cares* so much about a man who’s been nothing but bigoted and cruel and suspecting of all his intentions. but he cares—with spite, and in spite of everything—and inordinately so, thus he searches every palace anyway to find feng xin and cuocuo and he thinks, maybe just maybe if he saved feng xin this once feng xin would finally be able to forgive him for leaving and to understand he’d never truly meant harm even though he does have a sharp exterior that makes him almost intolerable.

do you think he sees feng xin in the fire and notices the scorched holes in his robes and the singed tips of his hair and his half-torn ribbon and immediately feels his chest lurch & he’s half-ready to let all his feelings & vulnerabilities climb up his throat & pour out of his mouth only for it to get stuck at the back of his teeth because he’s lived so long without voicing his thoughts that it’s thoroughly unnatural, so instead he just tugs at feng xin’s sleeve & clutches at the fabric & hopes the crazed look in his own eyes is enough to convey that he doesn’t want fx to die but fx just slaps him away with the most furious look on his face and mq’s eyes are just. wide. bare and open and glittering and aching.

so then he tries a few more times and screams at fx to get out but every time fx only gets more incensed and in the end slaps mq across the face, fingernails grazing his ear, and mq’s earring falls out with blood dripping from the lobe and he is stunned silent. fx carves a path further into the crashing debris & the ultraviolet sun & he thinks he’s lost mq but mq still doesnt give up and keeps chasing after him but this time he has no choice but to just sneak up from behind and pray that fx forgives him for this and strikes him unconscious

only for fx to say, later on, that he recognizes mq’s shadow and that mq is working for jun wu because he ambushed him. even though it’s literally one of mq’s only acts of kindness (at least thats what mq thinks bc he doesn’t think he’s ever been “good” many instances in his lifetime), let alone an act of kindness directed towards fx

sorry this is wall of text

[iliveforyouilongforyouvesuvia]

The Arcana HCs: When MC turns into a small, wounded animal

~ this was inspired by a short conversation in the server lol ~

You're not sure how exactly it happened, but one moment you were strolling quietly along the tree line, and the next moment in a flash of magic you were a fraction of your size and completely overwhelmed by the shift in sensory input. What had been knee-length grass towered over your head like densely-packed trees. You took off in an awkward, four-footed run when you sensed massive footsteps nearby, but your unfamiliarity with your new form quickly had you landing wrong on a small, fuzzy paw with a nasty twist. You flop on your side in shock and discomfort as the shadow of a fully-grown human looms over you, hoping that whoever they are, they'll be kind.

Julian

Saw you running away as he approached you and (in typical fashion) blamed himself for what was clearly a sprained paw

Good thing he's a doctor! He'll take you home and get you all set up and treated for your injury, no payment required

His hands are surprisingly cold when he scoops you up, but his grip is steady and gentle. He bundles you in his large woolen coat (which smells like leather and salty air) and carries you back in the crook of his elbow like you're a human baby and not a small animal

Oh, and he talks

He talks to you the whole way across the field, into town, through the streets, and into his clinic. (pausing to say hello here and there)

He wants you to know that you're going to be just fine, that he's going to make things "right as rain", and that he has an excellent pillow in the corner of his office that you'll love snoozing on

As he gets into town, he wants you to know all sorts of other things. That person mixes the best (strongest) drinks. That person is the best at darts. That person can get you anything for a price

The clinic smells like stress and pain, but he's very quick to give you some soothing scritches behind your ears as he takes you back to his office, sets you down on his table, and starts bandaging you up, distracting you with soothing comments

He has given you name already and going by how often he checks in to give you pets, he is going to take you in, he just doesn't know it yet. His raven appears shortly after to stand guard over you

Accuses you of "petnapping" when you poof back to human form

Asra

Approaches you to help, not because they feel guilty for what they can tell is partially their fault, but because they're picking up on a pretty intense enchantment that's piquing their curiosity

Takes a moment to hold out his hand and let you approach him before picking you up, and does so very carefully and gently. Has really warm, soft hands and smells like freshly burned incense

Talks to you a little bit just in case you can understand them, mostly just to let you know why they're picking you up and that they noticed magic on you and they have good intentions

Talks at you a lot more. He's mumbling and muttering on and off the whole way back to his place, idly petting your head and nose as soon as he notices you like it, spouting off ideas of what's going on

Faust opts to wait until you're back inside a safe room on a cushion before she makes her appearance. She's well aware that she looks like a predator to you right now and doesn't want to scare you

That, and she needed to convince Asra to make a proper introduction and reassure you that you aren't about to get eaten

If you're able to settle in she'll stick right next to you, coiled around your pillow to make sure you're not lonely or scared

Asra, on the other hand, is following several trains of thought at once, all out loud both to themself and to you and Faust

He's juggling the source of the spell, the solution to the spell, the fact that you'd make a good pet, and - oh yes- your injured paw

Slightly disappointed they didn't have time to solve it when you poof back to your human form

Nadia

She fully intends to just keep walking, assuming that you (the small animal) will be able to figure it out on your own, but her deep-seated sense of responsibility forces her to check on you

Oh dear. You're limping, and clearly scared and alone

This won't do. She'll have to take you to the nearest vet, or animal shelter, or maybe to what's left of Lucio's old menagerie ...

Very firm and polite about how she approaches you. You get two seconds to sniff her hand (which smells like the world's most heavenly and expensive flower garden) before she picks you up

It's clear she's not very used to carrying small living things, because as intentionally as she's marching you back to the Palace, her hold on you is very stiff and awkward. It's hard to balance

She doesn't speak much beyond giving instructions to her carriage driver and the guards as she enters the Palace. Once the two of you are alone, though, she sets you down carefully for a talk

You seem like a very sweet creature. She must admit that she's grown rather fond of you as she's carried you around. She apologizes for scaring you and for any discomfort as she held you

Now that she's considering it, she may wish to keep you. She can promise that all of your basic needs will be met, and that she will find at least five minutes to half an hour to spend with you daily

Her talk is cut short when the vet arrives, and as soon as you're bandaged up she's sweeping out of the room to get back to her duties, leaving Chandra to keep an eye on you if you need anything

Asks you where the lovely creature is when she returns that night

Muriel

Oh he's not hesitating for a second, he's carefully approaching to help as soon as he sees that you're hurt and quietly reassuring you

It's clear this man knows what he's doing. He gives you as long as you need to approach his outstretched hand, and sits unmoving for minutes on end so you can be completely familiar with him

The biggest, warmest hands you could imagine when you're finally ready to be picked up. Your whole body easily fits in just one of them, but he's snuggling you to his chest to keep you safe anyways

Will cover you with his cloak for extra comfort

Gives the best pets and reassurance. Sure he could crush you in one fist but he is scarily good at giving you scritches around your ears and chin and speaking just enough to calm you down

Sets up a very comfy spot for you at just the right distance from the fire with exactly the types of food you need to eat

Takes care of your paw so gently and expertly that you barely feel a thing, and then praises you for staying calm and calls you brave for letting him help you. Does not stop petting you at any point

Does have to leave a few times for the rest of his day's tasks, but not before he takes his time introducing you to Inanna and making sure you feel comfortable and safe around her

And goodness gracious, you're the safest little creature in the world once she's decided to look after you. She'll sit guard over you with a paw on either side of you while she watches the door

Yes, Muriel is in the hut when you poof back, and yes, he's immediately bright red at all the words you heard him say that day

Portia

Rushing over to look at you, not because she can tell you're injured, but because you're a small, cute, fluffy animal and what else is she supposed to do when she sees those? Walk on by??? Never!

A little surprised when you don't run away, and very pleased when you willingly approach her outstretched hand to get to know her. Which is when she sees the way you're limping and figures it out

You're hurt! That's awful! Don't worry, she'll take care of you!

Drapes a soft shawl around you that smells like detergent and fresh bread and snuggles you up. She carries you like a baby and it's the warmest, softest, safest experience you've ever had

Has the perfect nails for scritching and is giving you the royal treatment the whole way back to her cottage (she'd take you to see her brother, she tells you, but he's probably overworked as is)

Keeps accidentally flicking her hair into your face - there's so much of it, and as nice as it smells, the curls tickle you dreadfully

Doesn't like the idea of making you feel imprisoned inside, so she pulls out a basket and fills it with rags and old blankets and puts it on the porch for you to snooze in while she finds some food for you

Ends up pulling a bunch of produce from her garden and slicing it up into little pieces on a plate for you to pick and choose what you like. The whole time you eat she's petting you and listing off different names to see if there's any in particular you respond to

Has to run off after an hour because she was on her break, but she calls Pepi over to meet you before she goes to keep you company

Almost cries when she comes home to an empty basket

Lucio

Fully intended to keep walking past you. He wasn't even looking in your direction when you went sprinting off because he was too busy navigating a root and pebble filled path in heels

Mercedes and Melchior, however, noticed the tall grass rustling right away and came sprinting over to investigate. You were not prepared for how scary those teeth would look up close

The two of them can tell fairly quickly that you're not a normal small animal, and they're both so intrigued and excited that they start bouncing back and forth around you with whirlwind tails

Lucio, noticing the commotion, finally walks over to see what they found and notices you. Hey, you're kinda cute. He'll keep you.

Scoops you up without a second thought, tucks you into one arm, and keeps walking with the dogs trying to jump up and sniff at you on either side. It smells like dog and cologne and you are stressed

He does talk while he walks, but not to anybody specifically. He rambles from his ongoing train of thought to tuneless whistling to barking at the dogs to stop getting pawprints on his trousers

You'd hope for pets, but he's holding you in his human arm and the other spiky metal one with the sharp claws on the end don't look ideal for gentle comfort. Thankfully, he's pretty warm

He doesn't realize that you're injured until he gets to where he's staying and puts you down. As soon as he sees that you're limping, he's panicking and trying to figure out how to take care of it

Ties it up with a handkerchief and calls it a day. You'll be fine

Asks you if you can turn back at will when the spell wears off

[nerdycanible1]

Heyo! Anyone want some Lin Fanart? :D

Here you go!

I'd like to think this is right after Suyin hurt her and Lin may or may be blinded 👀💧

I'm not exactly good with expressions but I wanted to show Lin in both pain but also the anger and hate in her eyes.

All art belongs to me. If reposted plz credit!

Accidentally written a little one shot that's horrible. I meant to take a nap but just sat in my living room typing this and munching on food!

Enjoy- tho I doubt it'll be good 💀

Suyin would undoubtedly be upset she hurt her sister, but wouldn't be prepared to see this expression. An expression she's never seen on Lin before and is possibly ingrained in her mind forever.

Suyin would go to help Lin but Lin would refuse to let Suyin any closer and literally build a wall preventing Suyin from getting close.

Toph shows up and asking what happened, comforts Suyin upon feeling the little ones erratic heart beating all before Suyin tells her mother she's sorry and that Lin's hurt.

Toph goes to see what happens and all she hears is Lin barking at the healer to just do what they can and a slam of a door closing. Toph could sense something is wrong with Lin and can tell she'd faint at any moment if she don't step in only for Lin to hold her hand up at her mother and tells her, "Not now."

Before Toph could say anything Lin tosses her metal coils down on the ground and telling Toph that they'd need to be upgraded and that it's best for everyone in the facility to get them reworked.

Lin's face begins to swell up, the blood is trickling onto the ground and the healer helplessly following Lin around as she's barking orders but is starting to sway and almost faint.

Toph ends up freezing Lin in her place with her metal armor just to help the poor healer out and demands Lin to tell her what happened.

Lin straining too much and only just begins to fall to her knees as she can't fight against her mother in the state she's in, her heart aches, her face feels in agony and she feels ready to fall asleep.

The next thing she knows, she wakes up in a dimly lit room. She could smell the incense and the sandal wood and the light smell of spring in the air. She could hear yelling down the hallway between her aunt and mother, Suyin screaming that it was Lin's fault and of course the numbing pain on Lin's face.

She knew what happened and knew how bad the wound was. She didn't need a healer to tell her how bad the wound was because she felt it, could already sense her other senses strengthening.

With a sigh the metalbender slowly turned her head which made the blood in her head pump and practically caused her brain to ache as she tried to look out the window.

It took too long for Lin to focus and could see the sun had set a bit ago. She'd sit up and leave if she could but just the thought of it hurt Lin's head and she didn't want to go through that pain.

"We don't arrest family!!"

"And look what happened! Agni Toph, Lin got hurt and Suyin's in shambles! I'm not asking you to arrest Suyin I'm just asking you to help her. Ground her! She needs a mother Toph, not an absent one!"

"If I need any advice from you I'd ask! It's just a scratch, Beifong's don't get hurt!-"

"Mom?-"

"-And what do you know about raising kids Sugar Queen? Your two oldest couldn't wait to leave you and where are they now?!"

"-Aunt Katara?-"

"-That's not fair and you know it! They're grown up! Let them do as they and ex- you know what? Forget it! Since you're blind to see what's in front of you I'll tell you! Lin hates you and you don't know why! You're so concerned about your job, about your name, about your position, about metalbending that you forgot what's important!"

"And what's so important huh?!"

"That Lin is important too!"

The silence is what stung Lin the most. Maybe it was the hesitance or maybe the fact that her mother took a whole 10 seconds to finally respond. It was enough for Lin to realize her mother never saw Lin on any level of importance in a very long time.

"So what. She's a big girl, she doesn't need me. She didn't need me when she started tying her shoes, she don't need me now."

Lin sighed felt tears prickle in her eye before quietly crawling out of bed and out the window. She made her way down to the beach and sat down mauling over her aunt and mother's words.

Maybe her mother was right. Maybe Lin was the first to start pushing everyone away. Maybe she forgot what family was. It would make sense why her mother and younger sister were close and how she wasn't. Maybe Lin stopped being apart of the family once she realized she was nowhere near the same as them. When she was the one ruining their fun and becoming a "party pooper."

And even if that was true, even if it were very much apparent, it didn't hurt any less. People used to tell her how much her mother and her were alike. Nicknaming her Little Toph or Tiny Beifong. That she was going to be just like her mother and become a great metalbender.

She thought that since she looked like her mother, became an officer like her mother, bent the same stones as her mother, that she and her would share a bond. A bond that no one would understand but them.

It hurt her once Suyin was born, it was like Toph and her clicked right away and suddenly Lin wasn't Little Toph anymore. She became Miss cranky pants or miss you're-not-Suyin's-mom. She was no longer little Chief but an annoyance to her and her mother. A nag that ruined the fun.

The more people saw Suyin and Toph together the more they said Suyin was exactly like her. Rough, abrasive, strong, stubborn and a powerful metalbender.

A metalbender. Lin just realized why her mother favored Suyin over her. It was because Suyin was a great metalbender. Maybe that's why she loved Suyin more than her.

Lin ran her fingers through the coarse sand and stared up at the moon. Was she always this different? Was she ever in the spotlight to begin with? Lin didn't know but she knew she'd have to accept that she'll never be good enough. Even as she thought these things, Toph was probably taking care of Suyin because she was upset.

Maybe one day Lin would be a true Beifong and everything will be fixed. One day where she was just liked her mother and sister and they could be happy. One day where she didn't become a buzz kill.

Maybe one day she'll be a great metalbender that was worth her mother's time. She just hoped it was soon rather than later. She didn't want to be the only one left behind.

[trickstarbrave]

i was rereading the book of the law to make comparisons to the 36 sermons of vivec and came across this one passage where i was like "omg. this is so azura" and i immediately pictured this in my head and had to run to recreate it

"But to love me is better than all things: if under the night stars in the desert thou presently burnest mine incense before me, invoking me with a pure heart, and the Serpent flame therein, thou shalt come a little to lie in my bosom. For one kiss wilt thou then be willing to give all; but whoso gives one particle of dust shall lose all in that hour. Ye shall gather goods and store of women and spices; ye shall wear rich jewels; ye shall exceed the nations of the earth in spendour & pride; but always in the love of me, and so shall ye come to my joy. I charge you earnestly to come before me in a single robe, and covered with a rich headdress. I love you! I yearn to you! Pale or purple, veiled or voluptuous, I who am all pleasure and purple, and drunkenness of the innermost sense, desire you. Put on the wings, and arouse the coiled splendour within you: come unto me!"

also other ppl were posting their azura designs. here is. smth of mine. i dont think she has a set look if im being honest but i think pink and purple are pretty as is her whole queen of the night sky and lady of twilight deal

i still need to figure out what exactly im doin with her in my long morrowind fic but. i guess i'll figure it out

[klutzyroses]

IkeVamp HCs: Their Pregnant S/O Fighting

How do they react to their s/o fighting with someone while pregnant?

Suitors: Napoleon, Arthur, Theo, Jean

Napoleon

Being four months pregnant did not mean Y/N would let anyone disrespect her emperor in her presence.

Napoleon's wife had joined him and Isaac at their little school, chatting away with a few of the children, who gazed at her with wonder- for her general beauty, and her cute round belly.

It was a bit tough for either Napoleon or Isaac to get the kids to concentrate when they kept insisting on touching Y/N and unfortunately for Isaac, he was on the receiving end of "Where do babies come from?", to the amusement of Napoleon.

However, the pleasant atmosphere didn't last as, when school was out, Napoleon was dealing with the angry mother of one of his students. He remained civil and calm, but the incensed woman kept poking him in the chest and getting in his face.

This of course, sat about as well with the emperor's wife as one would expect. Next thing anyone was aware of, Y/N was by his side, shoving the woman away from him.

"Don't put your hands on my husband! Apologize to him!"

"How dare you, who do you think you are?!"

The angry mother stepped forward again, only to get shoved back again by the expectant woman.

"I think I'm the one who's going to put you in the hospital if you don't apologize and leave right now."

Livid, the mother shoved Y/N right back, causing her to fall backwards. Napoleon moved like lightning, catching her with ease. He sent a reproachful glare to the woman, who stood frozen, as if shocked by her own actions.

"Isaac, keep an eye on Y/N."

Y/N reluctantly stayed by Isaac's side while Napoleon dealt with the woman until she left. Later, he took her in his arms, sighing as he lifted her head to lock eyes.

"Don't do that again, nunuche. You can't just get into fights with people. Not in your condition."

He felt a chill up his spine when he thought of what could've happened if she had actually fallen and he wasn't there. He instinctively pulled her closer to him, her head between his neck and shoulder.

He was touched that she had stood up for him, but the last thing he wanted was for her and his baby to be getting into any fights at all.

Arthur

Sometimes, his former flings just...didn't quit, even when he was married with a child on the way.

One such brazen woman had approached Arthur while his wife, who was 4 months along, was with him.

The sheer audacity of it- unabashed flirting with a married man in front of his pregnant wife?

Honestly...

Arthur had no time to rebuff her advances before his scandalized wife moved in front of him and confronted the little viper right there.

"Are you really so desperate you're going to pretend I'm not here, or are you stupid?"

The argument only got more heated from there, finally reaching a tipping point when the spiteful woman made mocking comments about Y/N's body, and even further by implying that she trapped Arthur using the baby.

Neither Arthur or the shameless troublemaker saw the slap coming. Y/N threw the fastest slap ever thrown and the other woman found herself suddenly looking the other direction, her cheek stinging.

Y/N for her part, was slightly red faced and teary eyed and was ready with another slap when the woman righted herself. And another. And another.

Arthur was too stunned at first to react, but he jumped into action when the former fling, infuriated, raised her hand to retaliate.

He caught her wrist in a second, his other arm coiling around his wife as he tugged her back towards him, his hand on her stomach protectively.

"Enough! You don't touch her! Y/N, come with me, darling."

Not wanting her to spend anymore energy on this, he maneuvered his upset wife out of there and somewhere more safe.

His heart ached when confronted with her pretty face flushed and streaked with tears of anger and humiliation. He gently wiped them away.

"Come on now, luv, please don't cry. It's alright..."

He pulled her into his chest as he rubbed her belly, his own pulse starting to slow. His heart had almost given out when he had seen the woman about to hit Y/N.

"Darling, please don't put yourself at risk like that. I can't stand anything happening to you...either of you."

He rubs circles on her stomach as he kisses her cheek.

Theo

Theo is used to dealing with L' Academie by now, but he was not expecting that his hondje would ever have to do so in her state.

And yet, he found himself in said position when one of them came to do their usual shenanigans, but this time, Y/N was with him.

Theo felt more exasperated than nervous, until his wife, four months pregnant with twins, stormed up to the man in the middle of whatever nonsense he was spouting and faced him head on.

"Can't you do anything other than bother him? Go find something to do!"

"It is the duty of L'Academie and he is nothing but an upstart allowing riff raff into the art world!"

Indignant, and hormonal at that, Y/N decided to put the man, and the Academie, in his place once and for all.

"How dare you, you don't get to decide what's art and what's not, my husband is better than any elitist highbrows and you know it, that's why you keep harrassing him! But I won't let you anymore, leave. My. Husband. Alone."

She punctuated her words with a slap so fast across the man's face that it makes her stumble a bit as she holds onto her stomach for balance. Theo had never moved so quick in his life, the second the man's eyes flashed with rage, the younger Van Gogh pulled Y/N to him, his hand on her stomach, both to keep her at bay and to just reassure himself that she was out of harm's way.

Y/N covered his hand with hers, both to reassure him she was alright, but also to show her solidarity to him.

"Don't even think about it. You won't like what happens if you try to hurt her."

The dark look in Theo's sky blue eyes, sends the man retreating wisely on his part.

Y/N was indeed scolded for her recklessness later, even if he thought she was the sweetest for it. She still put herself and the babies in danger. He hadn't liked the look in the man's eyes in the slightest.

"Hondje, what you just did? Never again, understand?"

He tugged her close to him, holding her from behind, resting his head against hers as he ran a hand over her swollen stomach, speaking softer.

"I don't want you in that position again, let alone while you're carrying my pups, got it?"

He wouldn't have known what he would have done if that man had dared to hurt her. Just that it wouldn't have been good.

Jean

The fact anyone had the audacity to attack or threaten a visibly pregnant woman sent a wave of distaste through him.

A customer was being difficult to Y/N who had been seated in the front of the shop while Jean was at the back of the weapon's shop so that Y/N was away from the weapons, because he was very wary of the sharp objects near his 4 month pregnant wife.

She had got up and confronted him alone before Jean could deal with him, pushing the rude man away herself, to the surprise of both men present.

"Get ahold of yourself, this is a place of business, not a schoolyard!"

"Why, I never!"

"Never what, learned proper manners? You don't come into my husband's shop and kick up a fuss, not on my watch!"

The man, galled, took a step forward threateningly, and that was all it took for Jean to immediately move from the other side of the shop to pull Y/N behind him.

His visible eye twinkled with something dangerous at the prospect that he was about to threaten Y/N.

"I suggest you keep your distance from this woman, lest I be forced to make you."

Nobody threatened his wife and child.

After the customer left with intimidation from Jean, the soldier turned to his wife, placing his hand on her stomach, searching her for any signs of distress.

Y/N placed her hands over Jean's on her round belly with a small smile, assuring him she was fine but Jean shook his head.

"If there is a problem like that again, let me handle it. That was dangerous."

Brave as it was that she faced the man alone, he would prefer that she be safe, after all, who knows what he would have done to her, regardless of her delicate state.

His gloved fingers caress her belly as he remains diligently beside her the remainder of the day, just to make sure she remained unharmed and unbothered.

🌸

[whorediaries-09]

for kinktober, please please PLEASE do edging kink with sirius black and prompt no. 16 - "keep your hands where they are. or do i need to tie them up?"

anon the way this request took me out- AHGHAH????

art deco

pairing-sirius black x reader warning(s)- 18+ content. a/n- if you think i'm mentally deranged after reading this, then you're right i am.

prompt- edging + 'keep your hands where they are. or do i need to tie them up?'

masterlist kinkotober rules kinkotober masterlist

'you're crazy all the time, put your life out on the line'

his kisses heated over your skin, your back pressed against the door of your hotel room. alcohol ran through your veins, the smell of smoke and incense infusing with your brain. you close your eyes, enjoying his touch. he sinks his teeth into your neck, and your fingers intertwine with his hair. his pushes his knee between your thighs, placing it just underneath your clothed core, allowing you the tiniest bit of friction on your clit.

'sirius...' you slur, biting your lip as his thin fingers work on the zipper of your dress. he acknowledges you with a hum, his tongue rolling over the area he had bitten. you grind your hips against his knee, as the dress rolls down your body, falling on the floor.

'you're so fucking pretty,' he rasps, his eyes hiding a lidded look that he desperately tries to hide. his rubs his knee against your core and your mouth falls open at the friction. you grab his shoulder for support, your hips grinding against the fraction of pleasure he's providing you. his sheer shirt reflects the dark ink of his tattoos upon his toned body, the silver chains dangling on his long neck, visible through the gap the undone buttons leave. his trouser hangs so perfectly upon his narrow hips, for a moment you think you might drool.

your finger curls into his belt loop and you pull him closer to you body, his chest pressed against your naked one. you kiss him fervently, undoing his belt, letting it fall on the floor with a loud clank. you bite his lip and he moans into your mouth, feeling your teeth sink into his skin. his lip gashes, and you taste the sweet metallic liquid drown in your mouth. he wraps his arm around your waist, sharing his split blood, tantalizing a dance with your tongue and his, and you open the button of his trouser, letting it hang upon his thighs. he lowers his feet, kicking away the piece of clothing. you moan as his fingers wrap themselves in your tendrils, the mixture of his blood and your saliva divine upon your tastebuds.

he carries you to the bed, pushing you, on the mattress, his breath shuddering inside his chest. he tears apart his shirt, lulled in by your beauty and he falls between your legs. his finger curls with the fabric of your underwear, pulling it down your thighs. he rubs your swollen clit with his thumb, his mouth attaching itself with your throbbing core. you squeak as his tongue divulges between your folds. he tastes you from within, consuming you fucking raw. his fingers curl into you perfectly timed with the lap of his tongue and you bite your lip, arching your back, the coil of your orgasm begging to be released.

'please,' you say, pushing your hips closer still onto his mouth, grabbing his hair, pulling his face closer. he laps at your clit, and a numbness overcomes you. he feels your wall clench around his fingers, and just as you're about to let the pleasure of orgasm wash over you, he pulls away, his teeth flashing his sirius black grin. you look at him quizzical and he tuts,

'you made me wait too long to taste that cunt. you've to wait for it,' he positions himself against your pussy, swollen, at the displeasure of having an orgasm being snatched away. his cock throbs with the lust painted onto his eyes, and he bites his lip before pushing himself into you. the both of you gasp, as you try to adjust his cock in the warmth of you core. it's maniacal how he stares at you, slowly pulling out. the throbbing nerves on his cock drag on the walls of your cunt and you try to swallow a moan.

'fuck,' you swear as he pushes himself into you again. he takes upon a pace, rough and wild as the bed creaks underneath both of your body weights. he hovers above you, his cock pulsing in and out of your throbbing hole, his chains dangling on your face. you grab the cold metal with your mouth, snarling as he increases his pace. your clit begs for a friction, and your hand travels down between your legs before being slapped away-

'keep your hands where they are. or do i need to tie them up?' he rasps, pushing into you with much force and fervor. your arch your back at his words, spitting out his chains, swallowing your throat with the moans you curse out.

'sirius-please,' you beg, your stomach curling into a ball with the need of escape. he tuts, pulling out his cock lazily.

'nuh uh; good girls beg for it, aren't you my good girl darling?' you nod your head, your orgasm denied to you again. he drags his cock into you again, his jaw tightened with the fervent of your tight cunt. the vein on his forehead popped up as he focused on the image of your cunt engulfing his cock whole. it consumed him, tempted him, made him fucking crazy.

the orgasm erupted, boiled in you again. he had hit your sweet spot, and you were deranged, broken, ruthless with the way he discovered your darkest heights. he explored you from within, and like a lunatic, you were ruined. by his words, by his movements.

'sirius-oh my fucking god don't stop-' you screamed, your nails digging into his back. he pulled out once again, denying you your pleasure.

'no?' he chuckled darkly. his fingers lurked over your swollen clit, rubbing it with the slightest, silkiest touch. he murmured, his voice haunting you like a ghost,

'beg for it,' he pushed into you once again, slamming into your guts with all his might and speed. his words tickled your brain and your lips spilled out profanities and his name like a pretty echo, like a fucking chant,

'please sirius let me cum-shit-' he pinned you to the mattress, drilling into you, and the orgasm bubbled into you so hot, like a ferocious fire which gobbled your senses your sanity.

'tell me you're a slave for my cock,' he demanded, sweat trickling down his pectoral muscles. you spluttered with your words, the delicious wave of orgasm hitting you, as you painted his torso with your juices,

'i'm a s- i'm a fucking slave for your cock,' his hand striked against your pussy, as he chased for his own release. his hot seed filled you, your head light as he kissed your hotly, letting you swallow his moans and gasps of pleasure at the way your walls gripped him so tight.

'yeah that's right isn't it?'

[divine-misfortune]

Mushy May, day 9. Warming them up.

Rating: E

Pairing: Ifrit/Dewdrop

Words: 865

Summary: Dew knows true warmth for the first time, and he can't get enough. Neither can Ifrit. Or, Ifrit and Dew fuck for the first time post Dew's transition.

Thank you @forlorn-crows (the beloved) for doing this as always :)

Head dropping into the pillow, Ifrit knew he was inches away from unraveling and no amount of measured breathing would save him from that fact. 

He could have laughed at himself, should have cursed at himself, but all he managed was a shuddered sigh as the freshly made fire ghoul sank down the length of his cock. Slowly, with his skinny thighs trembling where they bracketed his hips. Dew was struggling just as much as he was. It was a familiar but impossible stretch, always was, but it was different this time. He was carving out a spot for Ifrit and Ifrit alone, giving himself and this elementally changed body to Ifrit. Dew had been set on it, on Ifrit being the first - on Ifrit always being his first. Having barged into his room, skin still steaming, smelling of incense and salt, he wasted no time. 

Ash certainly dirtied his sheets, still smeared on Dew's body and now on his own, but Ifrit couldn’t find the concern for linens within himself. Not when the embrace of Dew's walls were both molten and velvet, too snug around his poor cock to leave room for anything in his head. All he could focus on were the multiple, searing points of contact between them and the heat. 

He was used to the heat. A fire ghoul forged from an eternal flame within the endless pits of sulfur, Ifrit found home within hellfire but Dew was beyond it. Well past burning and Ifrit wanted to bear the scars of the blaze he was becoming. 

Literal sparks crackled around Dew's head like some strange halo when he abruptly forced himself down those last few torturous inches. Impatient as ever, a changing of element would never take that from him. It knocked the wind from both of them. 

His eyes nearly rolled up into his skull but he did all he could not to fold and admit to the coiling sensation in his belly. If he ignored the way his balls ached maybe he could hold out. 

Dew wasn't fairing much better, clearly. His mouth had fallen open in a silent cry, chin tucked to his chest, steadying himself against Ifrit's broad chest. The red in his cheeks practically glowed, a striking hue against pale cool-toned skin. He was burning up from the inside out, a flame trapped and flickering under his skin, and Ifrit didn't want to blink lest he miss a second of his lover or the fruit of this long awaited rebirth. The head of his cock was just as flushed. Angry and leaking profusely against Ifrit's stomach, a water ghoul trait his vessel stubbornly clung onto much to Dew's apparent chagrin.

Palms sliding up Dew's thighs, feeling the twitching muscle beneath the weight of his hands, it all felt too real. A day he'd been waiting for. Suspended in anticipation, counting down the seconds until Dew and him were alike at the deepest parts of their being. Made kindred flames at the behest of the morning star himself. 

Ifrit squeezed at his hips to bring Dew back to earth with him. They both deserved to exist wholly in this moment. His fingers nearly touched around his waist. 

“I'm here” Dew rasps. The first words he'd spoken since before he was whisked away by clergy members to a place Ifrit could not follow. The first words since he'd punctuated their temporary goodbye with a kiss too chaste to savor the meaning of. His voice was deeper or perhaps his vocal chords were stripped raw. 

“You're here.” Ifrit whispered, smile crinkling the corners of his eyes. It's big and a bit too goofy for the position they found themselves in but it makes Dew's heart flutter and his cock jump. They both notice the latter. “How does it feel?” 

Dew lifted his head, soot stained hair curtaining his face. Carefully placed shadows on his sharp features. His tongue darted out to wet his lips, not yet bruised but pinker than they'd ever been. Everything was new down to the very sensations. He struggled to find the words, clearly. Ifrit could see the tangled threads of thought behind those copper tinged eyes. 

“Hot.” The word practically dripped off his tongue, sighing out wisps of smoke as Ifrit tucked his hair behind his ear. He wanted to bottle it and save it. “Never felt this warm before,” his shoulders shook with a breathless laugh. “S'weird.” 

“Bad?” 

“Good, real good…Is it always like this?” 

“Oh firefly,” the pet name somehow makes Dew feel tighter around him and Ifrit was forced to admit defeat. He couldn't last like this. “You'll never feel cold again. Don't even need me to keep you warm anymore.” 

Something a little like panic, or even disappointment flickered in his eyes. “But - But you still will, right?” 

Ifrit pulled him down. Chest to chest where they could both feel the steady beating of their hearts falling in sync. The short lived tension in his body melts away. Evaporates like steam, unseen and forgotten immediately. He thinks Dew might have finally found a way to crawl under his skin and stay there with how he clung to him. 

“Always, droplet.” 

[monstersandmaw]

A Star in the Dark - A retelling of the Minotaur of Crete story (m. minotaur x f. character, 3rd person, Chpt. 1, sfw)

Since there was some interest on Discord in seeing this WIP, here is chapter one in its entirety for Patreon supports of all tiers. 

Content: A young woman is given by her parents to be sacrificed to the monster in the labyrinth, and finds that maybe there's more to the Minotaur than she'd been led to believe. Passing mention of the death of a close friend in the past, and the practice of human sacrifice to the gods. 

Wordcount: 4161

Looking forward to your thoughts on this one! I'll probably put the whole story up on Tumblr at some point in the future, and so far I've got two and a half chapters, plus a few snippets, written. 

A salt-fresh wind swept in off the sea and set the flames of a hundred bronze braziers dancing across the flagstones in the fading light.

Those small fires guttered and roared in the gusting wind, and the young woman’s grim pretence at courage wavered. Ahead of her on a wide, half-moon platform that stretched like a stage devoid of all its players, seven shallow steps led down into the earth.

The walls of the narrowing staircase were faced in smooth, pale masonry, and the downward path seemingly ended at a sheer, vertical wall facing the steps, with no door or entryway onwards. Instead, the end of her journey would begin at the square of utter darkness that waited in the floor where an eighth step would have been, gaping and blank like the maw of a newly dug grave.

Barefoot, the grit beneath the soft soles of her feet dug into her skin, and the same wind that made the flames dance pulled at the folds of her undyed, linen peplos to send undulating ripples through the thin fabric. Goosebumps prickled along her arms and legs. The gold bracelets that adorned wrist and ankle did nothing to warm her and the wind snuck its fingers into the elaborate coils of her long, dark hair, unwinding them and freeing them from the golden net that had held them all in place.

She’d been made up to look like a bride, but instead of a wedding, she walked through the pageantry of her own funeral. She wished bitterly that those coils of hair atop her head would turn to snakes and strike at the two men walking three, silent paces behind her with their bronze spear tips levelled at the small of her spine.

Overhead, a line of ochre-red smeared across the sunset sky like a bloody finger painting, and the copper disc of the sun stained the sea a dark, murex purple as dusk gathered around the cliff-top palace, and her last moments in the light of Helios drew to a close.

The monumental limestone masonry of the royal palace shone out of the dusk like pale bone, and a woman with a kithara wailed shrilly to the insistent beat of seven great drums, their rhythm a second heartbeat in her ears.

Incense, thick and cloying, twisted through the air from the braziers and it burned her throat and lungs and made her eyes water as she passed them. She blinked away the tears that formed; they were not for these people, and she would not let them see her afraid. Behind the incense, the faint scent of jasmine and honeysuckle floated past her from a distant palace garden that she would never see.

Upon the top step of seven, she faltered to a halt, shaking despite her desire to be brave; to bear the humiliation with stoic dignity. Hurt and grief curdled inside her with the last of her sputtering courage, and on impulse, she turned sharply to look back over the gathered folds of material at her shoulder, dark eyes wide and glassy with terror. The searing lance of betrayal that had been broken off somewhere in her ribs was now lodged there forever.

There, among the onlookers, she could see her stoop-shouldered father, with his wildly curly hair blowing around his head, and his tanned skin like leather after so many years under the fierce Cretan sun, his hands rough and strong and always gentle. He’d shown her how to hold a chisel and a mallet, how to split seasoned timber with wedge, mallet, and axe, how to pull the draw-knife across its surface, how to use a lathe to turn wood, and how to cut the joints in a chair so they would fit together perfectly. He’d even shown her how to carve winged sirens into the prows of the new ships and how to tease the shape of a spoon out of a section of wood without slicing her own thumb off.

She’d played in the shipwrights’ yard since she’d been old enough to toddle away from her mother and bring her father his midday meal. She’d laughed and learned along with the apprentices, outshining some and learning from others, until the day she’d nearly lost her index finger to the careless stroke of a chisel, and her mother had called her back to the house to spin and weave instead. In the wavering light of the braziers that lined the short path to her own personal Tartarus, she glanced down at the pale scar in her sun-bronzed skin and ran the pad of her left thumb over the silver line at the knuckle of her index finger where sensation existed only in her memory.

She willed that numbness to bloom out across her body, but her pain burned too brightly and too hot to be doused, and she ground her teeth. Her father couldn’t meet his daughter’s dark eyes across the empty stretch of gritty ground between them, but her mother held her gaze, unflinching.

The music seemed to fade as mother and daughter stood locked in distant, grim, resentful silence.

King Minos and Queen Pasiphaë stood on a raised dais somewhere off to her right, wreathed in embroidered, purple silks and dripping with gold, but she had no eyes nor time for them. It was because of the conceit and hubris of King Minos that she was being sacrificed to the monster below the palace, and because her mother had refused to take a ship and sail away with her that she was standing there now.

Cold, hard eyes spoke only of the desire for her daughter not to shame her. To go with dignity to a death that was, after all, to honour Poseidon. Of course, her parents would be well compensated by the king for their ‘gift’, but as all the misty possibilities along the path of her life were snuffed out like so many tiny candles, she couldn’t muster anything but contempt for her parents.

“I’m your daughter!” she yelled at her mother, her voice cracking as she fought the urge to double over against the pain. The agony of their betrayal clutched and clawed at her insides, the imaginary blade twisting deeper. “How could you? I’m your daughter!”

She hardly recognised her mild-mannered father as he just lowered his gaze to stare at the stones beneath his sandals. Beside him, her mother just kept on staring, her face like a statue at a shrine to discipline.

“I’m your daughter,” she whispered, the words inaudible to all but the two guards who began to steer and poke her down the steps like a cow to slaughter. “That’s all I am to you people,” she said, the words lost. “I’m not even human.”

The men exchanged a look as they neared the end of the stairs, but she couldn’t read it; couldn’t think.

She was about to die, to be torn to bloody shreds by teeth and monstrous hands, perhaps impaled on the horns of the bull-headed monster that rampaged below the palace, foaming and furious in his own imprisonment, and all while they held their stately banquet above and congratulated themselves on their own cleverness for appeasing Poseidon with a little virgin’s blood. And all for an insult dealt to the god almost three decades ago.

Well, at least she wasn’t a virgin.

Would the monster know? Would Poseidon care? Would the god even notice when the thread of her life was cut?

At an impatient flick of the king’s fingers, the two guards stepped forward as one. Their glinting, bronze spear points finally made contact and jabbed through the fabric at her hips, pricking two bloody points in the skin that bloomed like red eyes in the pale linen. She felt nothing. Her heel missed the lip of the opening into the earth, and she toppled backwards with a wordless shriek. Her arms and limbs flailed, and the shadows of the labyrinth reached up and consumed her.

She had promised herself she wouldn’t scream.

When she’d sat in the painted chamber in the royal palace, its walls adorned with lurid frescoes of figures leaping bulls and topless women emptying black amphorae into channels in the earth that had made her think of the runnels of blood in a butcher’s shop; when her hair had been combed and oiled and placed in its glinting net; when she’d had perfumed oil dabbed at the hollow of her throat, the inside of her wrists, onto her nipples, and, especially repulsive to her racing imagination, down between her legs; when she’d been told it was an honour to be deemed a worthy sacrifice to the monster stalking in his unending paths of dark nightmare: she had made an oath to herself that she would not scream. She would shame them with her silence. One last act of defiance.

Yet as she plunged backwards through the rush of foetid black emptiness, she screamed long and loud.

The sound tore itself free from her throat, raw and ringing in her ears as she plummeted down and down and down through the darkness that filled the shaft. The sky became a square of distant starlight that diminished as she fell.

You can read the whole 4k word chapter on Patreon right now for just $3, or for $5 you can have access to everything pre-2020, plus an additional, exclusive monthly story and lifetime membership to our chill Discord server.

[lilbittymonster]

Day 22: Itch (Free Day #3)

Read on AO3

Estinien walked down the hallway with the bundle of bathing supplies in hand. Kitali had left her coat crumpled on the floor next to one of the doors, and he smiled to himself at the courtesy. At this time of day, the place had been deserted, but better to avoid unnecessary accidents all the same.

He knocked softly on the door frame before sliding in, closing the door quickly behind him. The rest of her clothing was on the bench with room for his. The room was silent except for the steady burble of water flowing through the bathing tub. He stripped, folding the underclothes as neat as he could before stacking his armour into a precarious pile, and dug the linkpearl out of his ear and placed it in the palm of one of the gauntlets.

Kitali was already mostly submerged, staring vacantly at the mosaics of the wall. A stick of incense was burning somewhere and there was a light haze that settled over the water. It was vaguely reminiscent of a hot spring. Estinien slid into the water, trying not to look too hard at the mottled green-black scales out of the corner of his eye as he moved. With a plunge, he ducked his head underwater and wet his hair to begin scrubbing.

As he watched the suds slowly drift away on the current, Kitali floated herself over to him and bumped her head into his arm before sitting up.

“They had lavender,” he said as he handed over the small bottle of shampoo.

With a small hum she took it, and he slid a bit away from her to give her space. Taking up the bar of cheap soap he began lathering his own torso. Haltingly Kitali poured some of the liquid into her hand, and got about halfway through running her hands through her hair before she stopped, staring at something invisible to him in the water’s surface.

“Did you forget how to wash?” he joked.

“Hmm?”

“You just...stopped.”

She sighed, almost going to rub her eyes before catching herself. He frowned as he rinsed the soap from his skin.

“You alright?”

“No.” The word was barely a whisper.

Straightening up again, he took the vial from her and poured a small amount out.

“Here. Turn.”

She obeyed and Estinien worked his hands through her hair until it was full of foam. When he reached her hairline she winced and pulled away. He immediately froze, worried.

“What’d I do?”

“I don’t-” She felt gingerly at her scalp before huffing a laugh and pulling his hands back to touch it. Beneath his fingertips he could feel two symmetrical bumps, small though they were, on either side of her head.

“...are you growing new horns?”

“I think so.” She still sounded distant.

He gently withdrew his hands and scooped some water into them to start rinsing the suds from her hair. Wordlessly she tipped her head back, letting it run clean, and he couldn’t help but remember Aymeric doing this for him on so many occasions. It was obvious he still did it for Kitali. Without stopping to think, he turned to grab the jar of conditioner and smoothed it through her hair as well.

“Did you leave enough for you?” she asked idly.

“I don’t use it.”

“And you wonder why your hair gets tangled so easily,” she said, almost nearing her usual self. Kitali twisted her hair into a simple rope and coiled it on her head. “We’re supposed to be luxuriating, remember?”

Sighing over-dramatically at her, he turned and scooped out the remnants of the jar and applied it to his own hair, mimicking her topknot. “I suppose.”

She was present enough to smile at that, at least, and she had picked up the bristle brush that was included in their bundle as well as the bar of soap. He watched as she worked up a thick stiff foam with it before scrubbing at the scales on her forearm.

“You should get one of these,” she said, shaking the brush in indication. “I’m sure there’s plenty of places in the bazaar selling them.”

He curled his hand self-consciously over his left shoulder.

“It’d look a bit odd, wouldn’t it? An elezen buying a brush meant for scales.”

“Or your more than willing auri friend could buy one for you,” she countered pointedly. “I doubt anyone would look at you twice anyways, coin is coin.”

He hummed in agreement as she contorted to wash her sides and back.

“Do you want some help with that?” he offered.

“If you don’t mind,” she said, handing him the brush and turning her back to him once more.

He accepted it from her and dragged the bristles across the center of her back in slow circles, like how she had been doing. The more he worked, the more he could see the tension bleed out from her as she slumped forwards, letting herself be moved with the motions.

“These scales look new, as well,” he commented, tracing a finger around the several small patches of dark blue-black scales along the edges of the more established patches.

“Probably are. I don’t think they ever really stop growing.”

Estinien dipped the brush in the water, shaking the bubbles from it, and smoothed the lather from her skin. The bubbles swirled past him on the surface of the water on the current. Kitali turned and held out her hand towards him expectantly.

“Your turn.”

“For what?”

She tilted her head at him. “You helped me, it’s only fair I help you.”

“You and your debts,” he sighed.

Still, he handed her back the brush and let her handle his arm. As the soap bubbles slowly turned a faint brown, he distinctly looked anywhere but her face. Her scrubbing circles became tighter, the soft scrape of the bristles against scale growing louder than the sound of the bath water.

“These must itch like hell.”

Estinien shrugged. “No more than the rest of me after being in armour all day.”

“Yeah, I’m getting you one of these brushes,” she muttered with finality. He didn’t argue.

He sat patiently as she moved to his shoulder, angling down so she could reach. Her fingers ghosted searchingly over where the infections were.

“These healed well,” she murmured, closer to him than he expected. “No scarring.”

“I’m sure Alphinaud’s healing took care of them.”

“More than likely.”

As she worked at the expanse of scales capping his left shoulder and down his back, he turned over the newly gleaming scales on his right arm. In the warm candlelight, they almost looked like gems. Almost pretty. Water ran down his back and over his chest as Kitali rinsed the suds away and sat back from him. She slid forward into the basin and submerged entirely, shaking out her hair in a wide cloud beneath the water. Behind him, Estinien heard the linkpearl chime.

“We should get back,” he said as she resurfaced. “Before they send out a search party.”

“They won’t,” she said. “Thancred knows better.”

“As if Thancred is the only one making decisions for all of them,” Estinien responded wryly.

Kitali grumbled under her breath as she stood to exit the bath, still wringing her hair out. He averted his eyes, staying in the basin as he heard her drying off and dressing again.

“Don’t forget your coat,” he reminded her.

“I won’t.”

The door slid open and shut as she left. The linkpearl chimed again from the gauntlet. Estinien closed his eyes, and listened to the sound of the water running.

“What are you doing, Varlineau?” he said softly to the empty room.

[exitwound]

my oyster shell cups the incense like a terrified lover, touching in only two places, the embers elsewhere, if i believed in god i’d have to believe even my hairdryer was alive, at least a little bit, worming its ventilated head inside the mortal coil at the last moment before you turn it off, but in my godless heart it stands sourly in the heavens, like rotten lemons on the store shelves, if you say anything i start to weep, and i bring the river back, desiring the way the cold air of the fan is colder on my damp hair, but how do you know how cold it is before it touches you there, its because it touches you somewhere else too and it’s warmer, you’re made of the same physics as that cloud, and if you’re seeing a pattern, it’s real, but so are you