#to host family banquets

[chimaerakitten]

The house you grew up in had secret passages?? 👀

technically only one was truly a secret passage, but I like to count the easily visible trapdoor-accessible loft anyway because unlike a typical trapdoor-accessible attic the loft was two parts on two sides of the house and the only way to the second half was an honest-to-god indoor wooden bridge.

The true secret passage was actually the door to the only bathroom, which was a sliding bookcase. It was a tiny house and when it was being built the options were "will we use this space for a bookcase, or a bathroom door?" and the answer was "yes"

#I grew up in a very strange and mildly illegal (nobody told the city it was being built) house #in later years everyone claimed it had been on the property since before the family bought it in the early 70s #in the winter we'd wrap the porch in canvas and use space heaters to turn it into another room #to host family banquets #we had a 26 person thanksgiving on that porch once #the backdoor of the house was also in the bathroom but we didn't use it because it was a straight four foot drop into stinging nettles #and the stairs has been removed years prior #the whole house was wood-heated #I have a lot of nostalgia for that house even though it was much too small for our family #and it was best we got a place with more than one bathroom #and that didn't have the bathtub in the pantry #ask #okayto

[alienaiver]

family weekend has begun! they all remember me somehow

#my bonus family hosts like. a giant familt weekend (40+ people attending) #every year and theyve tried to invite me for many years #last year was the first time i went and it was actually so much fun (however tiring it also was) #and they all remember me p distinctly im surprised #theyve rented out this small boarding school and then we're all together until sunday #rn we're making the prep for the cake for tmrw's banquet :') #when i say 'we' i mean by friend whos the ultimate baker. im support KSKSKSKS #nohr.txt

[eraenaa]

The Prince's Prize

Aemond Targaryen x Riverlady Reader AU

Synopsis: After his victories in the Riverlands, Prince Aemond Targaryen sought for a trophy— his spoils of war. He sought for you, the daughter of the lord who hosted him whilst he wagged his war.

Warnings: Barely any plot; just smut, Mature, 18+, Oral Sex (F & M receiving), Fingering, P in V sex, Choking, Not Proofread 

Word Count: 2, 720

Inspired by my Original Fic on AO3, Rivers of Fire

“The… the prince calls for you in his chambers, my lady.” Your handmaid hesitated to say as you were readying yourself for bed. It was a scandal to say the least, the prince humiliating you in a hall where a banquet commenced, all of his family’s supporters in the Riverlands in attendance and witnessing as he declared that you will be his “Beautiful, shinning prize.” As if you were some common whore. But you suppose you were one now. You could no longer keep him at bay. For weeks, you’ve felt his eye linger, his presence growing nearer and nearer. You’ve tried your earnest effort to avoid him— to keep him at arm’s length, but the prince could no longer be denied. He wanted you, and he had made it known. Subjecting you to a fate that no maiden nor respectable noblewoman should ever be subjected to. You were now Prince Aemond’s bedmate. You are now his trophy. His spoils of war.

You gave your handmaid a nod and took in a shaky breath. Wiping your clammed palms against the silk of your robe. Your graceful steps felt heavy as you walked down the halls of your home, your body leading you to the way of the prince. You took in a deep breath to calm your heart at what the night will bring. Your trembling hands managed to knock on the wooden door, waiting for a reply. “Come in,” you hear the prince’s silky voice; the voice that had been haunting you ever since he’d arrived in the Riverlands. You hesitantly opened the wooden door, your steps uncertain and your gaze on the floor as you entered his chambers. 

Aemond watched as you demurely stood by the door. Eyes shielded from him, frame rigid in uncertainty. “Come here,” He ordered as he sat on an armchair, he had been battling himself throughout the night if he should ask for your presence in his chambers. But he could no longer be patient, after moons of restraint, he needed to have you. You took slow steps and stood before the prince. He motioned for you to step closer, to stand at arm’s length and you mustered all of the courage in you to do as he asked. To be obliging as your father had instructed to save you and your land from the destruction of the prince when things do not go his way. A sacrificial lamb of your house to appease a dragon.

Aemond hummed and let his fingers feel the fabric of your robe, the silk fabric hiding you from him. “Take it off,” he ordered. Watching as your eyes grow wide and your cheeks flush. Aemond clenched his jaw as you started to do as he said. He knew it was wrong to take advantage of his position of power. He knew it was damnable to take a maiden to his bed and dishonor her— the gods will condemn him, but he could not find care. The moment he saw you in walls of your home, he knew he wanted you. Your indifference and defiance did not matter— you had been resisting him, denying him, but the prince will always find a way to get what he wanted. 

Your robe fell to the floor, leaving you in your shift, but the prince still nodded his head and motioned for you to take it off. The cover that your night dress provided pooled to the floor and left you completely exposed to the One-Eyed Prince. 

Aemond took in a sharp breath as his eye scanned the whole of your body. His cold, callused hands place themselves on your hips. Indulging himself with the feel of your soft skin that was riddled with gooseflesh at his touch. You took a sharp breath and you feel the prince nuzzle his face on your torso, his nose caressing your skin and taking a deep breath to savor your scent. Your stomach pitted as the prince finally stood, and your eyes locked. His hold was still on your waist as he guided you toward his bed. His hands trailing upwards as the back of your knees hit the soft fabric of his mattress. He guided you to sit, and you gazed up with his as his hand ghosted upon your bosom. His eye held trepidation but as you bit your lip in anticipation, the lilac of the prince’s gaze turned dark and he finally let his cold hand cup the flesh of your tit. Feeling your softness and ampleness and resisting the urge as the simple act of touching you already brought him pleasure. 

You swallowed thickly as your eyes gazed downward and saw the prominent bulge in the prince’s trousers as he continued to fondle your breasts. His finger pinching the sensitive bud, causing a jolt of pleasure to run through your body; pushing your luscious thighs together as you felt your sex grow with shameful need. You dismayed upon yourself— you should not feel pleasure by his touch. You should not enjoy his focused and wanting gaze. You must never relish at the fact of being a prince’s whore. But as a moan finally left your lips, you knew you could not abide by common sense and propriety.

Aemond smirked when he finally heard the pleasured moan escape your lips and as he saw the way your thighs pressed together. “Such a beauty you are… you have been tempting me since I’ve had arrived.” You frown at the prince’s words. “I—I had no intentions to do so my prince— believe me, it was unconsciously done,” You said and Aemond hummed and let his hand trail upwards to cup your warm cheek. “Unconscious or not… you have still tempted me.” He said. You palms growing cold as the prince sank on his knees so you two would be at eye level. “You have tempted your prince to sin and desire a maiden…” A chill ran through you as his thumb swiped across your plump lips. 

No reply was made as the prince captured you into a kiss. Finally, claiming the lips he had been dreaming of for moons. The prince snaking in his tongue and smirking at himself as he had correctly guessed that kissing you would feel like heaven. His hand took yours and guided it to the bulge that was angrily straining in his trousers. “Do you feel what you do to me, little flower? You had your prince desire you… to ache for you so, and you must be the one to relieve me of this torment.” The prince rasped against your lips. You closed your eyes and let out a moaned breath as his lips nuzzled into your neck, and his hand guided you to stroke his length faster. 

You gasped as the prince moved you to lie down. You raised your head to look at him with wide eyes as you were sprawled exposed in his bed, and he simply looked at you with desire and a smirk on his thin lips that were growing swollen by the minute. “So fucking pretty.” He said as he was still on his knees. His hands found your thighs and forced them to part. “My prince—“ You called as you were surprised that he’s subject himself to such actions. But your call was left on deaf ears as the prince was in a trance as your glistening cunt was presented before him. 

You let a small startled sound leave your throat as you feel Prince Aemond’s lips place a light kiss before your sex. The prince enjoying the way you tensed before him— the way you tasted before him. It took moments before you finally succumbed to the pleasure that you tried hard to deny— that you felt entirely guilty to feel. You were defiantly resisting to acknowledge how skilled the prince was. Lapping and sucking your cunt, his nose nuzzling against your pearl whilst his tongue darted in and out of your entrance making you cry out in sheer pleasure. 

“You were so quiet the days before… who knew I could make yo scream so loudly,” Aemond smirked as he gazed up at you whilst his fingers continued the torment on your nubbin. Admiring the way your back was arched and how your lips parted with the sound of the pleasure he gives. “Why have you resisted me for so long, little flower? Why have you denied us of such pleasure?” Aemond returned his lips to your cunt, palming himself as he tasted your essence; sweet and tart and entirely mouthwatering for him. Aemond groaned against your cunt as he felt your soft hands grab the roots of his hair, making him feel the pleasure you were lost in. 

“My prince— I—“ You mumbled as you were blinded and dazed, uncertain of what was to come. The teaching of your septa only enlightens you about the pleasure the man would feel in consummation, you were not aware that women would feel pleasure as well. “You will call me by my name when you come,” The Prince ordered and his hold on your thighs are tighter, his eye drew upward and watch you mindlessly nod as your enchanting eyes rolled back. 

“Aemond— Aemond!” You cried as a flick of his tongue had you peaking and writhing on his face. The prince only watched still as your cunt writhed against him, his skin scattering with gooseflesh at the way you called and cried his name. 

You were still dazed from your high when you noticed the prince pulling you sit once more. His lips that tasted of you against your own. His cold, callused hand around your neck whilst the other guided your hand back to his length once more. Lost in pleasure, you boldly slipped your hand in his trousers. Letting your skin finally touch him, a stifled groan left his lips. Aemond parted your lips to remove his tunic, your eyes following every movement he made while your hand were still in his trousers, striking his pulsating and large length. “Remove my trousers, little flower,” He ordered as your eyes where on his toned torso. Aemond watched in dark desire as you slowly nodded your head and removed your hand from his length. Your soft fingers brushing with the skin of his waist and your lip between your teeth. 

Your eyes widened when his length sprang free. Gods, he was beautiful. You never thought that you would find something so phallic to be so… appealing. Your hand gripped the base of it once more and your eyes locked with the prince who watched you expectantly. “Put it in your mouth,” The prince gritted. You froze at his order, uncertain how to do as he asked. Aemond took hold of your chin and his thumb pried your mouth to part. “Put it in.” He ordered, voice deeper and harsher. You licked your lips and took the tip of him into your mouth. Startled as the prince let out a groan leave his lips and his hips thrusting forward, urging you to take more of him. 

You didn’t realized that hearing the prince spew out moans and groaning your name would elicit such a reaction from you. That his sounds of pleasures made your core twist painfully yet pleasurably so; that your nipples would pebble and tighten uncomfortably yet you enjoyed it. You crossed your legs as you feel your essence drip down and your cunt wanting to feel the pleasure that a dragon prince could provide. 

You gasped as the prince removed his length that had been hitting the back of your throat. Aemond dipping down and placing his hand around your neck, kissing your lips, uncaring that it had been recently subjected to pleasure his cock. “I do not know if I liked you better defiant or obliging, little flower,” Aemond whispered against your lips and you crossed your legs tighter as his hold on your neck strained your breathing— oddly adding to your desires.Aemond pushed you to lie down once more, laying his wight on top of you, his length resting on your thigh and you could not decide if you felt fear or excitement. 

Fear that after this moment you will no longer be a maiden— that you’d be tarnished and be the Prince’s whore. Excitement that this moment would bring you pleasure— that you would have your desires tamed. 

Heavy breathing, whines, and groans mixed as the prince tore his way through you. Your legs wrapped around his waist and your nails digging on his shoulders. “Your highness, it’s too much— I can’t,” You cried as the pain did not wash away and pleasure was far from reach. “Aemond. You will call me Aemond.” The prince grunted as you clenched around his length. He watched as the tears spilled from your eyes and your breast heaved in pain. Was it so bad that he enjoyed the sight of it? That he relished at the idea that he was the one to take your maiden head. That in the eyes of men and the laws of the gods, you were now bound to him. 

Aemond was slow with his actions, waiting for you to grow accustomed to him. Waiting for you to bless his ears with your pleasure moans once more. The prince dipped his head down and captured your tit into his mouth whilst his finger drew circles on your cunt. It was entirely difficult for the prince to hold back— with the way you clenched around him and the way your hand would grip his hair every time he dared to move… he could’ve come right then and there— filling you with his seed and ruining you to another degree. 

But he could do no such thing— not yet at least. He needed to feel how your cunt would tighten around him as you came. He needed to hear the way you would scream his name as he filled you with his seed. He needed to feel you in pleasure more than he needed himself to feel pleasure. 

“A-Aemond,” You called when finally the excruciating pain faded away and was replaced by the pleasure you felt moments ago. “Oh…” You sighed as his length was met with a spot in you that made your toes curl, and your eyes roll back. Never had you felt so full— so oddly complete. The prince tucked his head in the crook of your neck and would nip your salted skin that glistened with a thin layer of sweat. “You’re mine, little flower,” Aemond grunted as his thrust grew deeper and your moans louder. “Say that you are mine.” Aemond removed his head from the crook of your neck to look at the state of you. 

Your tits bouncing with each of his thrust. Your eyes rolled back, and your hands fisted the sheets. Your lips parted and spewing his name in satisfaction. Aemond placed his hands around your neck once more, delighting in the way that your cunt clenched tighter around him. Surprised and thankful that you’d enjoyed roughness, for that was the only thing the prince had ever known. “Say it.” He spat and you cried as his thrusts were harder deeper. “I’m… I’m yours!” You cried and took hold of his hand that was around your throat, urging him to grip tighter as you were nearing your peak. “Fucking hell,” The prince said harshly as he realized you wanted him to grip you tighter when his cock could barely move by the way you clamped around him. 

“So fucking perfect,” The prince praised and shifted his weight for your lips to meet. “Come for me, my flower… come for your prince,” Aemond cooed against your lips, and you were quick to obey as you finally let your tightened core loose. The prince was quick to follow you in pleasure, him grunting your name as he filled your cunt with his seed. Uncaring of the possibility that he’d create a bastard for himself. “I should have claimed my spoils of war sooner,” The prince mumbled and kissed you again. Your brain battling with your body as you could not find care that he’d call you his spoils of war— that you were reduced to his prize.

If you enjoyed the premise of this story, you might like the inspiration for it!

#aemond fanfiction #house of the dragon #aemond one eye #aemond targaryen #aemond x reader #hotd aemond #aemond smut #prince aemond #prince aemond targaryen #aemond targaryen smut #house targaryen #prince aemond fic #prince aemond x reader #hotd ao3 #ao3 fanfic #ao3 writer #ao3 link #fanfiction #ao3 fic

[faexoxoxoxo]

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐁𝐋𝐎𝐎𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐑𝐎𝐒𝐄

PAIRING: dark! coriolanus snow x capitol citizen! reader

SUMMARY: coriolanus has always loved you finally after years of paining and planning he finally has you . . .

TW: 18+, obsessive behaviour, smut, baby trapping . . .

You were an only child, a sole heiress to one of the oldest, and most affluent families in the capitol.

Given the position, it had always been expected you would find a husband of equal, if not higher standing. much to the delight of your parents, you'd found one; more specifically, he, the newly appointed president of Panem, had proposed to you .

It was during new years . . .

Over the years, your family had made a habit of hosting a large banquet to celebrate the holidays. Everyone received invitations, from academy faculty to business tycoons.

Of course, President Snow had been there too, talking to your father, clad in a black suit, his lips curled into the fakest smile you'd ever seen . . .

You could feel his cold, icy eyes following your every move throughout the evening, sending a shiver down your spine, as if at any moment a beast would pounce on you.

Any other time you could have feigned some sort of sickness and retired back to your room, but this was a special night, and as such, keeping public appearances and mingling with guests was a necessity, so you did what you always did: put on a fake smile and braved through.

Then something unexpected happened.

He proposed.

The fucking bastard proposed to you.

Just as the clock struck twelve, Coriolanus Snow got down on his knees in front of you, surrounded by the hundreds of guests, and he uttered the two cursed words.

“Marry me.”

Your cheeks felt hot, no doubt to onlookers; it seemed as if you were perhaps flattered. Who wouldn't be in the face of a man like Coriolanus Snow asking them to marry him?

No, you weren't flattered you were angry . . .

He'd cornered you he knew you couldn't reject him, not in front of all there people, not in front of your parents.

“Yes.”

Few moments passed before the three letter word came out of you, and your new fiance slipped the ring on to your fingers, it was pretty you would've admired it if not for who it was from.

There was no joy in your heart a strange feeling of numbness settling in when people cheered and came to congratulate you.

“Cheers! To the president and his lovely bride-to-be!”

“My my what fabulous pair!”

“Your children will be absolutely adorable!”

Their comments didn't help; no doubt, if not for the smirking Coriolanus holding you close to himself, your legs would've given out, leaving you a crumpling mess on the floor.

In contrast to your gloom, Coriolanus felt zealous; his smile for the first time in forever became genuine, softer even.

It was no secret. He had always fancied you from afar, ever since he saw you dancing at a gathering for the upper-class society of Panem.

You were beautiful—a purebred, a rose in full bloom.

No one deserved you—not the lowlife with his hand around your waist guiding your movements with the music, not the scum suitors your father planned to introduce you to—no one could have you except Coriolanus Snow.

He swore he'd restore his family name, swore he'd become the president, and then make you his wife.

Now, he finally, finally, had you.

It was worth it, every single drop of blood he'd spilled, to get to this point was worth it.

He knew you hated him, saw the fear in your eyes when he sought you out after his rise to power.

You had rejected him then, knowing full well that under all of his charming smiles there was something dark and twisted. It was true. Coriolanus was a monster, a monster with no intention of giving up. You would become Mrs. Snow, even if he had to force it on you.

What better way than a public display of affection . . .

His plan was a success; even if you weren't happy, Coriolanus was convinced that with time, he'd win you over. You couldn't hate him forever, not when he'd be your husband and the father of your children.

Your fiancé was a charismatic man, no doubt; he'd easily charmed your family. So much so that neither of your parents noticed your strained smile and reluctance when faced with your intended.

No one did, not your father, who'd been thrilled; he would be the president's father-in-law, which came with privileges, while your mother boasted endlessly to her friends of how you'd effortlessly captured the heart of President Snow.

Trapped, you were absolutely fucking trapped.

~~~~

The wedding was planned to be a grand affair, not that you'd cared much what flower arrangements the venue had or if they used silver or gold plates; it was all the same to you.

“Nothing but the best for my bride.”

Coriolanus, or Coryo as he insisted you call him, had told the wedding planners you never thought he'd be so invested in the wedding details, but he was, specifically in your dress. He had you try on at least fifty pieces before picking one.

“Can't wait to rip it off you,” he whispered into your ear, right before the staff guided you to the changing room.

After that, you avoided him at all costs.

Until your wedding day.

~~~~

You cried during the ceremony.

Reporters titled it as “tears of joy” and “happy bride.” If only they'd known . . .

“You may now kiss your bride”

You froze when Coriolanus's pulled up your veil, tear-stained eyes, meeting his blue one.

Then his lips met yours. It wasn't soft or sweet; it was hungry and possessive, like he wanted to show everyone how he owned you, and he did your fiance-no, your husband would never let you leave him, never.

~~~~

Coriolanus Snow was a man of his word.

He did, in fact, rip your dress off. The sound of tiny pearl buttons hitting the marble floor made you flinch, gasping softly as the cold air surrounded you.

Not giving you a chance to flee, he kissed you again, his hands wandered around your bare body.

Your husband had been insatiable during that night, not giving you a moment of rest as he made you take his cock over and over again, whispering sweet nothings and praises into your ears.

“You're so fucking tight, my good girl,” his hands gripped at your hips as he pushed himself into you, ignoring whatever tears or silent pleas you'd whimper out. “Who knew you'd be such a whore for my cock...” his face buried in the crook of your neck, leaving bites and marks.

At this rate, you'd have to wear a scarf tomorrow.

“Coryo- slow d-” His brutal pace doesn't stop, not even when your nails dig into his flesh, drawing blood that only seemed to spur him on.

“Gonna fuck you full of me until it takes...”

That makes you cry harder. “Nooo, Cory pull-out...” it was one thing to marry him, but children? you weren't ready... but he doesn't stop, not until he's cum as many times as possible deep inside your weeping pussy.

“It's necessary,” he tells you the morning after, when you're lying in bed, limbs tangled together, as he rubs circles on your naked back.

You stay silent, knowing what he meant. Coryo wanted you to get pregnant, not just out of love and desire to have an heir, someone of his blood, to carry the Snow name; his true purpose was to eliminate any room for escape you might have.

A child, a child, meant you'd forever be bound to him.

~~~

When you found out about your pregnancy, you secretly hoped it'd be a means to dim Coryo's interest in you.

“Husbands tend to cheat when their wives are pregnant ,” one of the ladies told you during a gathering. She'd meant it as a friendly warning to keep an eye on your husband and keep him interested.

But as it turned out, Coryo wasn't like other Capitol husbands. If anything, your pregnancy had made him more feral, constantly finding ways to bend you over any surface in your home, telling you how good you looked swollen with his baby.

“My pretty wife -fuck, so damn adorable with that little bump of yours - all mine—fuck, I did that”

It wouldn't end. Even after your daughter was born, Coryo told you he wanted more.

“She wants a sibling, don't you, Adeline?” he'd smirk, watching your face go pale, holding your daughter in his arms as she blabbered something and giggled, unaware of her father's plans or your unwillingness to indulge him.

Try as you might, your husband will always get his way, a fact that never changed over the years.

After all, everyone knows, “Snow lands on top.”

rewriting and reposting all my old works.

likes, comments and rebloggs are very appreciated ♡

#fae.xoxo #a ballad of songbirds and snakes #abosas #coriolanus snow #coriolanus snow x reader #coriolanus x reader #coriolanus x you #coriolanus snow x you #coriolanus smut #coriolanus fanfiction #coriolanus snow fanfiction #coriolanus snow x female!reader #tbosas #young coriolanus snow #coriolanus snow smut #coriolanus snow fluff #coriolanus snow fic

[edenesth]

The Way to His Heart [15]

Pairing: general!Seonghwa x wife!reader

AU: arranged marriage au (Joseon era)

Word Count: 3.5k

Summary: Life has been hell ever since your mother's passing many years ago. Despite being from a prominent family, you've never received the privileges associated with it. It only got worse with the arrival of your stepmother and her daughters. When the intimidating General Park was in search of a wife, your father seized the opportunity to dispose of you, simultaneously securing a connection with the powerful general—killing two birds with one stone.

Part 14 | Fic Masterlist | Part 16

"I still don't understand why you had to creep around instead of just approaching her and introducing yourself properly," Jongho remarked, rolling his eyes as Wooyoung clicked his tongue in frustration, "Oh, come on! Can you blame me? She's so beautiful, I got nervous, alright?! I've never had to talk to her before, and I just... I panicked!"

The assistant squinted at his friend, "You do realise if the general catches wind of any of that, you'll be out of a job. Don't tell me you have a crush on our mistress..."

"And you don't?!" The private investigator squeaked, eyes widening in disbelief as Jongho shook his head, unamused, "That's inappropriate. Don't you ever suggest such a thing again."

Wooyoung kept his mouth shut, realising that his friend would be the last person interested in hearing him gush about how pretty he found you. He was fully aware that you were his employer's wife and therefore off-limits. Still, it wouldn't hurt to indulge in the innocent fantasy of being a secret admirer.

Besides, he still valued his life, and it wasn't as if he was actually in love with you or anything. Deep down, humans are all visual animals, and he found his tiny crush on you completely justifiable.

Turning serious, Jongho inquired, "So, what did the mistress need help with? She's been secluded in the study ever since Prince Yeosang's departure and hadn't spoken to any of us until you showed up. Something must have happened."

With a smug nod, Wooyoung responded, "Ah, it seems I already know more than you. How does that feel, senior assistant Choi?" His grin disappeared when the younger man did not react as expected, only staring him down intimidatingly, as if daring him to continue with his playful shenanigans, "Ugh, fine, sheesh. The fourth prince invited her to his birthday banquet happening next week. She's really anxious since it's her first royal event and without General Park. She wants guidance on dealing with the royals."

Head shooting up at the revelation, the assistant knitted his brows together in concern, "The fourth prince... invited her to his birthday banquet? Did he say why?"

The private investigator shrugged, a hint of nonchalance in his tone, "He mentioned that since General Park is away, he hoped Lady Park could represent him this year."

A troubled expression clouded Jongho's features as he processed the information, his mind racing with possible implications. The idea of His Highness extending such an invitation seemed out of the ordinary, sparking unease within him.

Noticing the younger man's troubled demeanour, Wooyoung nudged him on the shoulder, concern evident in his voice, "Why do you look so bothered, man? What's on your mind?"

Jongho's stomach churned as he mulled over his thoughts, his voice tinged with apprehension as he responded, "I wouldn't have been surprised if it had been any of the other princes. But Prince Yeosang? He hasn't hosted a single birthday banquet in years. And besides, his connection with the general is minimal at best. So... what do you think he wants with our mistress?"

That revelation made the private investigator sit up straight, suddenly grasping the complexity of the situation. If what his friend said held true, it meant the fourth prince was plotting something. A surge of protectiveness for you washed over him, wanting to ensure your safety and not let his role model down.

Turning to the assistant, he asked, "Damn, I don't like the sound of that. So what's our move? Should we warn her?"

Jongho shook his head adamantly, "Absolutely not. She'd panic, and that's the last thing we need. I'll fetch the dressmaker; he's one of the general's closest friends, and along with Physician Jung's help, we'll try to figure this out."

"Oh, one more thing!" Wooyoung interjected, grabbing the younger man's attention, "Lady Park did mention that it would be great if she could somehow get in touch with Royal Secretary Choi. It seems she believes he's the only one who can offer helpful advice for navigating the royal event."

Pondering this information quietly, the assistant nodded, "Fortunately, I've corresponded with him on behalf of the general several times. I should be able to reach him easily."

Jongho furrowed his brows, noticing the unsettled expression on the investigator's face, "What's bothering you now?"

Wooyoung sighed, his expression clouded with uncertainty, "The lady also expressed her doubts about whether the royal secretary would even consider helping her. She's unsure if someone as busy as him would take the time to assist her."

Shaking his head, the assistant offered reassurance, "Don't worry. Royal Secretary Choi is genuinely one of the kindest people you'll ever meet. He shares a friendship with the general and will certainly lend a hand to our mistress if she needs it."

That would soon be clear to them all when San arrived to grace everyone in the general's estate with his presence in just a few days, leaving Hongjoong, Yunho, and Wooyoung in awe as they watched the handsome man with an exceptionally fit physique—perhaps a little too fit to be a mere secretary—walk past the three of them, who were sitting in the living hall, with a respectful nod and courteous smile.

Jongho exchanged knowing glances with them as he ushered the royal secretary into the estate and towards the study, where you awaited his guidance with your studies.

"Am I the only one who thinks that guy seems more suited for the battlefield than the royal office?" Wooyoung quipped, prompting a reluctant nod from Hongjoong. For some inexplicable reason, he found the private investigator mildly annoying, almost like a younger brother, "As much as I hate to admit it, you're right about that. He does give off that vibe."

Yunho, known for his wisdom and maturity, offered a shrug in response, "We shouldn't judge someone solely by their appearance. Perhaps the royal secretary excels in matters of intelligence rather than physical strength."

Rolling his eyes, the dressmaker fired back, "Obviously, we're just joking. Lighten up a little, Yunho, or you'll never find a wife with that boring ass attitude."

The physician pursed his lips at the jab, while Wooyoung watched with amusement as the banter between the two friends unfolded, "Says you? You're older and still single. Perhaps the problem lies closer to home."

Hongjoong scoffed in disbelief and placed his hands on his hips, "Excuse you, I'll have you know there are plenty of women vying for my attention every day. It's not my fault I have standards."

"I could say the same." Yunho retorted.

Before the banter could escalate, Jongho intervened with a heavy sigh, "I leave for a minute, and you're already arguing. How is it that all of you are older than me?"

"I agree, assistant Choi. Their behaviour was rather immature," The investigator remarked, feigning innocence when the doctor raised an eyebrow, "You're the one who instigated the whole thing."

Just as Wooyoung opened his mouth to defend himself, the assistant rubbed his temple wearily, "Oh my god, enough. Let's not forget why we're here today—to figure out the intentions of Prince Yeosang regarding our mistress."

"Is that the purpose of this gathering?" Eunsook queried as she appeared by the entrance of the living hall.

The four nodded in confirmation, and the head maid sighed before joining them, "If that's the case, I believe I may be of help. I was with the mistress in the palace on the day the master discovered he had to depart for war. Something happened with the prince while we awaited the general's return from his emergency meeting."

As she recounted the incident at the cherry blossom garden, a dawning realisation settled over all of them. Suddenly, it all clicked into place: why Yeosang, known for despising his own birthday due to its reminders of his painful existence, was now planning a celebration and extending an invitation to Lady Park, of all people. It was clear to the group that the prince had set his sights on the general's wife, and this elaborate scheme was likely his attempt to lure you away from Seonghwa.

"I understand we're all concerned about what His Highness might attempt to win over our mistress, but I believe we should have a little faith in her. Her devotion to General Park is undeniable. I don't think she would easily forsake him after all he's done for her." The physician suggested, hoping to ease the tension in the room.

As the others visibly relaxed with the reminder, the dressmaker appeared to be the only one still troubled, "Yeah, about that..." The dread in the room heightened at Hongjoong's uneasy expression.

"What is it?" Jongho inquired cautiously.

With a frustrated expression, the eldest man among them ran a hand through his hair before recounting the recent encounter with Jinjoo, your stepsister, and the doubts you were starting to entertain about your husband, "I'm sorry, it's all my fault."

The elderly woman's stomach sank at the revelation, but she shook her head to reassure the dressmaker, "No, Hongjoong, it's not your fault. You couldn't have known her stepsister would be there. No matter how much we deny it, the truth has a way of surfacing. We can't hide it from her forever."

The others nodded in agreement, though filled with worry at the implications. They knew Eunsook was right. Eventually, you would likely discover the truth. They just hadn't expected it to happen so soon, especially with Seonghwa away at war. The thought of you being possibly swayed by the fourth prince's charms sent shivers down all their spines.

Well shit, that's not good at all.

"San, you're an absolute lifesaver. Thank you so much." You expressed with gratitude after the lengthy crash course he had just given you on dealing with royal figures when attending such events, offering a smile that didn't quite reach your eyes.

Returning the smile, the royal secretary noticed the fatigue and stress evident in your expression. He sensed there was more to your distress than just the fourth prince's sudden invitation to his birthday banquet. Perhaps his close relationship with his elder sister had sharpened his perception of women's emotions.

Observing your troubled expression, San gently inquired, "Are you feeling quite alright, Lady Park? If you're worried about the general, I can assure you that he is being partnered with only the best military strategist in all of Joseon. They have yet to lose a single battle thus far, I'm sure this time would be no different."

A wave of conflicting emotions washed over you at his words. On one hand, you appreciated his attempt to ease your worries about your husband's safety. On the other hand, a nagging curiosity gnawed at your mind, Jinjoo's words still lingering, urging you to delve deeper into the mysteries surrounding your family's punishments.

San's position as the royal secretary and his close friendship with the general made him an ideal source of information. Surely, he would know the intricate details of the case and could provide you with the answers you sought. However, the thought of uncovering the full truth filled you with trepidation.

What if reality's more than you could bear?

You wrestled with your inner turmoil, unsure of whether to broach the subject with Royal Secretary Choi. Part of you yearned for closure, to finally understand the events that took place without your knowledge. Yet, another part hesitated, fearing the potential consequences of unearthing Seonghwa's carefully buried secrets.

As you glanced at San, who was patiently awaiting your response, you grappled with your decision. Would you dare to confront the shadows of your fears, or would you continue to dwell in uncertainty, afraid of what truths lay beneath?

To hell with it.

Taking a deep breath, you responded, "Thank you for your reassurance regarding my husband's capabilities. However, that's not precisely what's weighing on my mind..."

He arched a curious eyebrow, intrigued by what other concerns could possibly be bothering you besides Seonghwa's safety, "I'm all ears, my lady." He offered, inviting you to share your thoughts.

Lowering your head, you recounted your recent encounter with your stepsister and the unsettling doubts it had stirred within you. Then, with a hesitant tone, you inquired, "May I seek clarification from you regarding my husband's role in the Jang family's punishments?"

San maintained a composed smile, betraying no hint of shock at your revelation. With a calm demeanour, he laced his fingers together before him, "I empathise with your concerns, Lady Park, and I want you to know that they are valid. While the details of the case are confidential, I can offer some clarity to ease your worries."

You held your breath as he continued, "The truth is, His Majesty was responsible for determining your family's physical punishments, but the general took charge of overseeing the entire process."

So, it's true.

Your heart sank at the confirmation.

"Understandably, you may find his involvement frightening. However, you need to know that this has always been the nature of his job. If you think him cruel, remember that every drop of blood shed was in service of this nation's security. He's doing what only a few have the guts to do. And in this case, it's out of love for you that he was determined to ensure that those who harmed you and your mother faced justice. My lady, can you truly fault him for that?"

His words struck you like a boulder, and you realised he might be onto something.

The royal secretary grinned as he observed your expression, knowing his words were making an impact, "Besides, you've been here long enough to witness how good he can be to those he cares about. That includes you, all the staff in this estate, as well as his loyal friends currently seated in the living hall. Surely, there must be a good reason why these people choose to remain by his side, wouldn't you agree?"

Noting your silence and contemplative expression, San understood that you needed time to digest everything. While he hoped he had made a valid point, he knew that your conflicting emotions wouldn't dissipate so easily. Nevertheless, he had done his best to encourage you to keep an open mind and speak the truth.

Ultimately, the next steps were up to you.

"As much as I'd like to stay and chat, I have another appointment scheduled in an hour, so I should probably head to my next destination." He announced, rising from his seat opposite you.

His words snapped you out of your reverie as you got up after him, "Ah, yes, of course. I can't thank you enough for everything, San."

As you escorted him towards the exit, he smiled warmly at you, "You're most welcome, Lady Park. Don't fret too much about the royal event next week. I'm sure you'll do splendidly, especially considering you've already managed to impress the fourth prince. He's not an easy royal to handle, so that's quite an achievement."

Prince Yeosang is... not easy to handle?

Before you could ask him to elaborate, the royal secretary was already boarding his carriage. With a defeated sigh, you waved at him as the vehicle began to pull away.

Heading back inside, your mind reeled from his words. His Highness had never seemed difficult around you, so you struggled to comprehend what San meant. Besides his slightly playful demeanour, you didn't find the prince hard to handle in any way.

Before you knew it, your head began to throb with the endless thoughts swirling around. Eunsook rushed over in concern when she saw you swaying, your hands pressed against your temples.

"Mistress! Are you feeling alright? Oh dear, you look exhausted," She exclaimed, her worry evident in her voice, "That's enough studying for today. Go and rest. I'll bring you dinner when it's ready."

Throughout the rest of the week, Jongho and the others couldn't bring themselves to warn you about the potential advances of the fourth prince. They noticed how visibly stressed you were, dedicating all your time to refining your ladylike etiquette and practising formal speech with the head maid. Your determination for perfection in your debut at a royal event was clear as day.

After receiving all the help you needed, you were finally ready for the banquet. Standing before the mirror, you inspected yourself, admiring the delicate red flower the dressmaker had once again helped you paint on your forehead, perfectly complementing your new hanbok, "Are you pleased with the look, Lady Park?"

You nodded enthusiastically, "Absolutely, Hongjoong. You never disappoint, and you know that."

With newfound confidence, you departed from the general's estate, accompanied by Jongho and Eunsook. Mentally reviewing the list of potential royals in attendance, you appreciated Wooyoung's efforts in the past week as he assisted you with retrieving specific books from the public library and studying the royal family tree.

The private investigator lingered near the estate's entrance after seeing you off, his jaw slightly agape. He had always found you pretty, but seeing you all dressed up and with the flower on your forehead, he was struck by your ethereal beauty. Just as he was about to entertain the thought that Seonghwa must have saved an entire country to deserve someone like you, he realised that might actually be true.

"Excuse me, Jung Wooyoung. That's not your lady to be ogling like that. Behave yourself, or I'll have to whoop your ass on behalf of the general." Hongjoong warned, rolling his eyes as the younger man pouted before sulking back inside the estate.

As your carriage approached the familiar high palace walls, Jongho and Eunsook exchanged determined glances. They had agreed to stick by your side at all times, wanting to protect you from whatever schemes Prince Yeosang might have planned for the event.

"We've arrived, mistress." The assistant announced as the carriage came to a stop.

With the head maid's assistance, you stepped down from the carriage with slightly less ease than when your husband carried you, feeling a pang in your heart as you were reminded of him. Despite your complicated feelings, you couldn't deny the longing for his presence. You hoped he was safe and well while you attended the birthday celebration of another.

Approaching the grand entrance of the hall hosting the fourth prince's birthday banquet, you noticed that the palace staff responsible for announcing guests had recognised you immediately, sparing Jongho the need to introduce you. As you reached the entrance, the staff announced in a loud voice, "Miss Jang, eldest daughter of the former Minister of Military Affairs, has arrived."

Your shock was palpable as the announcement rang out, your eyes widening and your stomach sinking at the unexpected introduction. The last thing you wanted was to be associated with your father, especially not at such a prestigious event. You had been specifically told by the prince that you were here to represent your husband. So why would they announce you like that, using your past title, when you now held a new and official one as the general's wife? The discrepancy left you feeling uneasy and out of place as you stepped into the grand hall.

What's the meaning of this, Your Highness?

« Preview of Part 16 »

"General Park! Letters for General Park!"

The messenger's urgent cry echoed through the camp, drawing attention to the main tent where Seonghwa typically conducted his affairs between battles. Bursting into the tent, the messenger gasped for breath, his eyes darting around, "Sir, may I enter?"

"Come in," A deep voice replied, but it wasn't the general's. Officer Song, the military strategist, sat alone inside, his gaze fixed on the newcomer, "General Park is uhh... preoccupied elsewhere at the moment. What brings you here, soldier?"

Handing over the stack of letters he carried, the messenger answered, "The general has received a few missives, one from his assistant and another from His Highness, the fourth prince."

Mingi's brow furrowed in confusion, "The fourth prince?"

The messenger nodded vigorously, "Yes, His Highness mentioned it's regarding an urgent matter and should be delivered to the general as soon as possible."

Officer Song nodded in acknowledgement, "I see. Leave it to me, soldier. I'll ensure it reaches him as soon as he's available."

As soon as the messenger departed, Mingi's curiosity overwhelmed him, and he unfolded the letter from Prince Yeosang. His breath hitched as he absorbed the concise yet weighty message. The prince started off by conveying gratitude for Seonghwa's service to the nation and extended well wishes, reassuring him not to worry about returning.

However, the content took a surprising turn with his final paragraph.

'Out of respect for you, I am writing to inform you that I will be proposing to Miss Jang. I believe she deserves the freedom to choose her own husband. Perhaps what she needs is someone who can remain by her side and not cause her any worry. If you truly care about her happiness, you would understand.'

Once again setting the stage for the main event HAHA sorry for the (sorta) filler chapter, but I promise there will definitely be drama in the next part.😈

Also, thank you so much for 1.3k followers! As always, thank you for reading and please let me know your thoughts! <3

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#edenesth #the way to this heart #ateez #ateez fanfic #ateez fanfiction #park seonghwa #ateez seonghwa #arranged marriage au #joseon era #seonghwa x reader #seonghwa x you #ateez fic #historical au

[kreumiya]

★・fever dream part 1

taking care of the leader of Penacony while he's sick

Well, the leader of Penacony may seem like he doesn’t have any weaknesses, however… getting sick a day before a banquet the two of you were meant to attend was definitely one. 

“Excuse me,” you said, pushing your way through the crowds of servants that had gathered outside of Sunday’s door. Maids, doctors, tourists, everyone of the sort was piling in. After all, not everyday did you hear the news that someone from The Family would get sick, even if it was just with an ordinary fever, they were quite closed off. Why do so many people have to be here? you thought, making it to the backdoor and letting yourself in, knowing that the bodyguards were already all too used to this occurrence. 

“You’re here?” 

Sunday looked up at you, smiling with a cloth half falling down his face. You walked towards his bed, noticing how intricate all the architecture seemed to be in his room. Plush velvet decorated his room in the farthest layer of the hotel. Taking a seat next to his bed, you took the cloth off his head, grabbing the basin and wringing out the water.

“You don’t have to–” he interjected, reaching for your hand. His hand was abnormally warm, especially so for someone like him, who you were so used to having hands cold to the touch.

“Well, I do have to so you can get better for the banquet,” you frowned and took the wet towel, placing it gently on his forehead. “If you don’t get better, who’s going to the banquet and hosting everyone? Surely you won’t let me, your poor assistant who’s only meant to accompany you, do it all by myself?” you let out a sigh, resting your head on his chest, hoping that you being dramatic would somehow cure all of his illnesses. He let out a small laugh and ran a hand through your hair. 

“Of course not, I’m sure I’ll get better in no-time, don’t worry much,” Sunday smiled, his wings moving slightly. “And even if you were to host a banquet by yourself, I’m sure you’d be able to anyway. But I doubt you’d be able to deal with the Nameless, I myself aren’t sure about them either.” 

You two lingered in silence for a few minutes before something crossed your mind. 

“Oh right!” 

You ran to the other bed, which was what took you to the Golden Hour dreamscape. Of course it was exactly as you remembered it, drunks and tourists of the like littered the place. And oddly enough, the bright lights of the city reminded you of how you had met Sunday – although that’s a story for another time…

Taking in the sound of the bustling city for another moment, you ran towards Sunday’s favourite shop, a cake shop that he had visited many times. Letting yourself choose the freshest cake with the great excuse that “Sunday would be eating this.” Soon you returned to the room, shoving the cake in between his hands.

“How’s it taste?” you grinned. It was his favourite food after all. 

“Not bad….”

And soon you tucked him back into bed knowing that tomorrow would be a long day with a sick leader of Penacony and a large banquet that hosted everyone from all around the universe. You just couldn’t wait to be overworked, at least it was with Sunday. 

Fever Dream Part 2

i have so many pulls for this man, probably ooc idk we've barely known him in story

#sunday hsr x reader #sunday #sunday hsr #penacony #honkai star rail #honkai star rail x reader #honkai #sunday x reader #fluff #hsr #hoyoverse #star rail #domestic fluff #ooc

[screeching-bunny]

Yandere! General Hcs

Warnings: Obsessive Behavior, Yandere Thoughts, Bad Writing, Stalking, Possessive Behavior, Reader is Referred as ‘You’

🌟 Yandere! General is very controlling and likes order. He has a specific way of doing things and doesn’t like seeing things out of line. Will be very demanding and forceful things don’t go his way.

🌟 Yandere! General who is insanely scary when pissed off. He basically triggers everyone’s fight or flight response no matter who they are. Can easily break every bone in someone’s body if he really wanted to or was pissed off enough.

🌟 Yandere! General has many scars on his body due to his many battles in war. He enjoys it when you run your fingers down on them. His battle scars are extremely thick and run all over his body. They symbolize his strength and resilience.

🌟 Yandere! General would write the world's most romantic letter to you everyday while he’s out at war. He feels guilty for leaving you alone and wants to finish the battle as quickly as possible just to get back to you. Every minute apart from you is torture and would always carry a picture of you in his uniform chest pocket.

🌟 Yandere! General gives you the juiciest French kisses when leaves or returns from war. He expresses his emotions mostly through action and rarely verbally expresses himself. Will also bring back jewels and clothes for you once he gets back.

🌟 Yandere! General met you at a banquet hosted by a member of the royal family. You were an aristocrat and he couldn’t help but be enthralled by you once you introduced yourself to him. He spent the entire night by your side getting to know you and currying your favor.

🌟 Yandere! General on the next day is meeting with your parents to demand for your hand in marriage. They most likely will say yes due to his high social standing and his incredible wealth. However, if they say no he won’t hesitate to kill your parents or use any form of intimidation to make it happen. Would kill a suitor he’s most threatened by and chop their head off. Then mail them to other suitors as a warning sign for them to stay away from you.

🌟 Yandere! General would betray his country and kill all the royal family members in a heartbeat if you wanted him to. Although he has a cold exterior and aggressive way of dealing with you, your wants are what he chooses to prioritize. Don’t ask too much out of him all the time though, if he feels as if your being to demanding he may spank you.

🌟 Yandere! General is incredibly hard to run away from. If you somehow manage to do so, he’ll use his position to scour the entire world until he gets his hands on you again. When he manages to do so, he’ll permanently break your legs and disabling you. This would cause you to rely on him for everything and he lives for that. You can scorn him all you want but in his mind you deserved it.

🌟 Yandere! General grew up as an only child. His mother died when he was young due to a sickness and was left with his father. Killed his father with his own bare hands which caused rumors to swell that he is a savage. Nobody knows why he did it but no one is willing to ask why due to their fear of him.

🌟 Yandere! General was forced to join the army as a child soldier in order to survive and make a living. Climbed up the ranks and is now the most respected man in the military. Over time he’s hardened a lot and the sight of blood does not bother him, in fact it excites him. The thrill of a dangerous battle gets his adrenaline going and wanting to smash someone’s brains in.

🌟 Yandere! General loves it when you read a book to him while he cuddles with you. It’s the peaceful times that he yearns for the most. Being out in war all the time and having to fight battles since a young age really traumatized him. A change in scenery is really like a breath of fresh air. He can only really feel at serenity when you’re in his arms.

🌟 Yandere! General has a very unique and strange sense of humor. He likes to make a lot of pun jokes which most of the time leave the room just silent. Thinks that he is extremely hilarious and gets proud of his jokes. When he tells a joke to you, you usually just ignore him but he will keep repeating that joke until he gets a reaction out of you. Usually it’s a pity laugh or a really tiny awkward chuckle.

🌟 Yandere! General keeps weapons hidden from you. Does not trust you enough to handle them and doesn’t like you holding them. Why would you need them when he can protect you himself? Won’t allow you to learn how to properly use weapons because he believes that it isn’t needed with him around.

🌟 Yandere! General is very strict with you. He doesn’t like seeing you do things that he deems as “out of line” such as escaping. Has a daily routine that he likes for you to follow and won’t hesitate to demoralize you if you don’t. Although he can be very mean to you at times that doesn’t mean he’ll allow others to do the same. If he ever sees a maid bullying you, he’d gladly hang them in the middle of the city for everyone to see.

🌟 Yandere! General has so much power that at times, not even the royal family can stop him. He’s very influential and the only thing they can do is look at him in horror. Many successors in line for the crown will try to curry his favor in order to stabilize their position as the next ruler. His say is the most powerful out of all the noblemen combined. Absolutely no one can compete with him.

🌟 Yandere! General is very tall and extremely muscular all around. He’s the most well built person you’ll ever meet. His boobs are probably bigger than yours. Is as hard as a rock, if you ever tried to punch him you’re fist would probably break and is easily one of the most strongest people in the world.

🌟 Yandere! General isn’t as book smart as he’d like to be. It’s not surprising because for most of his childhood he’s been in the military. Most of his learning came from trying to understand important documents and make sense of them as a child. He loves to learn though and is willing to learn your native language if you have one.

🌟 Yandere! General has a lot of pent up stress due to paperwork he needs to complete. He lives to put you on his lap while he does his work in his office. Having you there just gives him delight and encourages him to complete his work faster. These days are very slow days to him and time just seems to drag on.

🌟 Yandere! General makes sure that you’re well taken care of and loves putting collars or chokers on you, it's just another sign that you belong to him. Don’t ever try resisting him because it just never goes too well for you. Just give up there’s nothing you can do.

Pt. 2

#yandere x you #yandere x y/n #yandere headcanons #yandere scenarios #yandere general #yandere #yandere imagines #male yandere #yandere x darling #yandere x reader #yandere oc #gn reader

[aldryrththerainbowheart]

Medieval knight!Jason Todd who's a long-lost son of the Wayne earldom. He took up a crusade when he was younger but was believed to be dead. Only to reveal himself several years later during the swordsmanship tournament hosted by Wayne family. Just as Dick was lying in the sand coughing up blood next to his discarded sword, his unknown challenger took off his scarlet helmet and the entire court erupted in chaos.

That was years ago now. Since then, Sir Todd made amends with his family, but they are by no means close. Jason managed to gain a title and a fief on his own, independent of his family and he takes no small pride in that. These days he and his merry group of loyal warriors take up mercenary work and guardianship if the person has enough coin.

When the local baron hired him to be a personal guard for his daughter, Jason was sure that would be an easy job for a good amount of gold. The red knight soon found out that being your bodyguard is not as easy as he thought. You were quite the escape artist. Whenever a banquet or an audience was too boring for your liking, you simply vanished, and Jason had to search for you high and low to drag you back. It made him grind his jaw and caused his temper to flare more than once.

You were thrilled and appalled that someone spoke to you so crassly and brazenly. Other soldiers your father assigned to you treated you with the utmost respect and gave up after a few months. Not the red knight. He proved himself to be just as stubborn as you, if not more. At this point, it wasn't about money anymore. He just couldn't stand the thought of some spoiled daughter of a noble getting the better of him. Jason had no qualms about throwing you over his shoulder and carrying you back to the castle, while the plate of his armor dug uncomfortably into your stomach.

After six months of this, Jason was fed up with your nonsense and was ready to collect his gold and disappear for good. You were hiding from the baroness, some nonsense about dress fitting or a dance lesson. Jason was just returning from the training grounds when he saw you sitting on the ground near the barn, playing with a fresh litter of kittens. You knew the cat and the kittens well, and judging how other animals treated you it wasn't your first time there. You met his gaze and winked at him, placing a finger to your lips. Your first shared secret.

After that day, your personal guard Jason somehow became your partner in crime. He looked the other way sometimes or followed in a safe distance. You fascinated him, and somehow, before he even knew it, he started to fall for you. He wanted to deny it. Jason reminded himself time and time again why it was a horrible idea. However, he couldn't keep himself from falling more and more for you.

Another day, another one of your daring escapes. This time was, different, though. You took some of your belongings and your horse while leaving a letter to say your goodbyes. Jason did not care for exploring the feelings of absolute horror that grasped his heart at the thought of you disappearing from his life. He immediately set out to search for you. You couldn't escape too far and he knew where to go. He knew you better than anyone.

When he caught up with you, you were residing in a tavern in a small cozy village near the edge of your father's land. You were always annoyed and scathing whenever he came to bring you back home, but this time, you were just sad, almost tearful. Jason demanded an explanation for your unusual disappearance, and the one he received almost made him shatter the pitcher in his hand. The courting season was swiftly approaching.

He knew of your fear and unwillingness to get pawned off for alliance and title. He was also aware that your parents were adamant in marrying you off before grow out of marrigable age.

Which is why your loyal guardian made you an offer. You stay in the village for its upcoming festival, relishing in last days of freedom without responsibility, before returning home. This offer served not only you, but Jason as well. He wanted to revel in your presence before returning to your old life where he was the knight and you were the noble.

In hinsight, he should've realized that was a mistake, because in these last few days he became aware of how smitten he'd become. It was all too easy to forget his duties when you were pretending to be a simple village girl.

You peroused the stalls, gawking at everything you saw and chatting his ear off. He watched you trying to eat the commoner food with your bare hands, hilariously failing. When they arrived in the square where the dance was held, you haven't hesitated before grabbing his hand and pulling him for a dance. Jason wanted to protest, but your bright smile convinced him. He twirled you amongst the townsfolk before he noticed familiar faces heading your way. The baron's soldiers, no doubt they were looking for you.

Quicker than you could react, Jason pulled you into a darkened corner, covering your body with his, pressing your lips together. He kissed you until he knew the guards were gone. He pulled away to apologize but before he could say anything you grabbed him by the lapels of his cloak and pressed your lips together again. You kissed him with sweetness and desperation that stole breath from his lungs, and Jason had no choice but to melt into you. He wrapped his arms around you, pressing you impossibly close to him, your hands slipped from his cheeks to his hair.

He indulged little longer before letting voice of reason win, pulling away. Jason reminded you that you shouldn't be doing this, reminded you of your respective postitions. You didn't listened, instead, you uttered words Jason both wished and dreaded to hear.

You loved him.

He asked of you to never say these words to him again, and without another word he took your hand and led you back home as he tried to ignore your quiet sobs.

Despite your promises, he catches you trying to climb out over one of the garden walls during your courting ball. Jason wanted to strangle you, not that he enjoyed watching you dance with all those idiot nobles while all he wanted to do was to take you and carry you somewhere where there only be the two of you. This can't go on much longer, he has to end things tonight. Jason takes on a quest, to slay creatures in the southern forest. Surely you'll understand eventually...that the distance is good for both of you.

Months go by, and the pain the red knight felt when leaving you felt bearable. The other soldiers in his unit were curious as to why the infamous red knight left such prestigious position. Some speculated it was because the position was too peaceful and the dead son of Wayne was hungry for blood. If only they knew the true reason he left, but it was for the better. No one needs to know. One day, a messenger arrived, bearing a letter that stated there was an attack on the baron's family. The baron and his wife were badly injured and you were missing.

How was this possible?! You were supposed to be safe here! Without missing even a single second, Jason rode his horse tirelessly to the city. He will find you, and whoever took you will pay for every scratch he finds on you with their life. When he rescues you from your kidnappers, you're barely conscious. Gently, he pics up your weakened body and carefully carries you over the dead bodies lying everywhere. When he brings you back home, as he always done, he is adamant to never leave your side, no matter what takes. With heart full of determination, he asks, no, demands your hand in marriage. His name, his fief, his sword and his hearth, all of it is yours.

The baron is wise enough to give Sir Jason his blessings. After all, who's better for his daughter than a man who is able to set the world ablaze to safe her?

Art: Crown; Katerina Kirillova

Tags: @thinkingofausername, @fir3flytv, @ivysangel, @cherrrysstuff, @xxgoblin-dumplingxx, @mostly-imagines , @applejuicebegood , @sanguineterrain

#jason todd x reader #jason todd x you #jason todd medieval au #knight!jason todd #knight x princess #medieval au #red hood x reader #red hood x you #jason todd fanfic #jason todd fanfiction #jason todd drabble #princess reader #the art is so cool you guys

[ladyempty]

Yandere Maegor, Daemon and Aegon I reaction to Reader running away and marrying someone else and having children?? Please 😭😭

° | This is a yandere work and may contain triggering behavior. I'm not in favor of that in real life. |

Aegon I

Aegon Targaryen I is the definition of a conqueror, courageous, intelligent and ambitious, with a friendly and captivating personality, easily lovable and admirable, but with few close friends. A certain air of enigma surrounded his figure, making people try to unravel him, attracted like moths by his light of monarchical dignity.

The king was comfortable and accustomed to sycophants, women dragging themselves for crumbs, or simply a single night in his bed. He was unfamiliar with something denied to him. He had "conqueror" in his name for a reason that went far beyond the submission of the other lords.

So it came as a complete shock when he was so bluntly denied when he approached you at one of the numerous banquets hosted by the royal family. At first, Aegon couldn't even process it, the features remained the same with a gentle smile and analyzing eyes and no words uttered. Like a person who was suddenly punched and in the first few seconds didn't understand or simply didn't know how to react. He just narrowed his purple eyes and watched you leave in an elegant bow.

The first time he was seriously denied, you hadn't done it to pique his interest, but rather to preserve your own honor, not wanting to be just another king's case knowing that he would return to Rhaenys at the end of the day. He admired this. If his plans were to push him away, you were not successful, you only made a dangerous obsession settle in your being.

He began to pursue you subtly, with gallant and courteous gestures, he urgently wanted to erase the first impression you had of him. Forcing the Targaryen to reveal his personality beyond the superficial, rambling for countless hours about some common interest and constantly summoning his presence, whether to read to him while I work or simply enjoy his warm presence.

And when his barriers were still not lowered, the king had to resort to more drastic measures, asking for her hand in marriage and making it clear that he would not accept being denied.

You would be softer when you were a wife and had duties towards him. The conqueror thought wrongly. Never in a thousand lifetimes did he expect you to run away. As soon as he found out, Aegon simply went crazy, the image made up of himself falling down the moment he threatened to destroy the entire seven kingdoms again if he didn't get you back.

Stone by stone, leaf by leaf. Everything was meticulously investigated by the countless guards spreading even through the most forgotten places by the gods. The Targaryen king became somewhat paranoid and easily irritated by his disappearance, not even Rhaenys could calm him down or change his mind. It was two years of pure torment.

Ah... When he finally found you in a small house in pentos... Married and obviously pregnant... It was like the world was open beneath your feet again. A loving feeling of betrayal. How dare you? Did you think that pathetic man could love you more than him?! How stupid.

He coldly killed her husband and none of her tears and pleas could change his mind. His heart was partially darkened by his betrayal. He won't forget anytime soon, you'll have to regain his trust to have the slightest amount of freedom. Countless guards will follow you closely, if you are even allowed to leave your quarters.

And your son? Don't worry, Aegon will assume paternity of the child even if it comes with rumors about having deflowered you before the wedding. It didn't matter. He just wouldn't let you mother a bastard or have that other man as a part of your life. Aenys was his heir anyway.

Maegor, The Cruel

You were certainly a very unlucky person to have caught the attention of the Targaryen king who was called cruel. You probably met at an event organized by him to celebrate one of his conquests, reaffirming his power and sovereignty as king, or you were one of his wives' ladies-in-waiting.

Whether you were from a big house, small house or even a commoner. It didn't matter. You were his the moment the king laid eyes on your enchanting figure.

Maegor was a man of few feelings, he didn't truly love any of his wives, it was lust mixed with the rational thought of creating heirs. But you were different, there was something special that made Maegor feel a bubbling sensation in his chest, a pleasant and addictive warmth like he had never felt before. It was something unfamiliar, one that he felt slightly hesitant to demonstrate or how to handle. But he just knew he wanted you and he would have you. At any cost.

Maegor was far from the definition of courteous, he knew little about the gallant arts or gentle love. Therefore, he had little knowledge about the courtship, the little he knew was from his mother's advice, who only knew about these things from the poets who surrounded Rhaenys.

Either way, he is not discreet. He doesn't even make an effort to appear less intimidating than he is. His eyes are fixed on you no matter the moment, his intimidating and darkening presence looming over you like a shadow. Once he even gave him a white fur coat, an animal he himself killed. It was his way of showing his interest. Something raw and rustic, without words, just proves to be worthy of you.

Either way, he wouldn't wait long. The moment he gets tired of waiting and the itch that grows in him is not relieved, he will attack. Demanding her hand in marriage from her, leaving no room for disagreement. He didn't expect you to run away in the middle of the night... Stupid little bird. Did you think he wouldn't come after you?

The man flew into a rage the moment he found out, destroying everything and everyone in his path, no matter if they were his wives, servants or important masters. Everyone should pay for his blinding rage. He turned the seven kingdoms into hell looking for you. A thick layer of blood, smoke, ash and corpse covering every corner of the kingdom.

And when he found you... Ah, dumb little bird, did he think he could hide for another year? Never.

He killed her husband the moment he saw the man, not even bothering to give him a painful death to pay for his crimes. He was as furious as a bull at the sight of any trace of red. He never thought about seriously hurting you, but he would have to punish you in a certain way to put you in your place. But his angry thoughts strayed the moment he caught sight of her swollen belly with a child.

A baby, that could and should be his. It was someone else's... It was an unforgivable betrayal. He could never fully forgive you. He would never forget or leave you alone for even a second.

He wouldn't kill the child, he would keep you away until you gave birth and then pretend that the child belonged to his lady-in-waiting, even if it was his child behind closed doors. It was a good way to keep tabs on you. Do you love your child? So better obey, you don't want something bad to happen, right?

Do not worry, dear. If you want to be a mother and wife so much, who would Maegor be to deny you that? You would be two things very soon.

Daemon Targaryen

Daemon was never a man to love madly, he fell in love a few times. He rolled from bed to bed without a fixed commitment, just looking for momentary fun and vague pleasures. He indulged in his desires without shame. Bad luck for you to have been so captivating. He was hooked on you the moment their eyes met his.

Any slight affection he ever had for other women and men was forgotten. For you he felt love. Real love that went beyond lust. After all, he had never touched you intimately and he already had such overwhelming feelings.What was it if not love? You were his only thought.The first thought when waking up and the last when going to bed.

And Daemon had no intention of hiding his affection. His hands constantly find their way to your shoulders or start from your waist, a touch that lingers on a simple handshake and a look so intense that it would make anyone else tremble in fear.

As expected, rumors were created questioning his honor and how terrible the prince was. When his father went to confront him, Daemon just smiled mischievously and just said he would marry you. To everyone's great surprise, after all, the Targaryen had demonstrated his unhappiness during his first marriage.

But you weren't like that woman uglier than a sheep. You were perfect in every aspect and in the very definition of the word. Something to be admired every day.

It was a strong, stunning blow when you disappeared during the night, your maids only finding cold, wrinkled sheets when they went to wake you up that morning.

Where in the seven hell were you? He would find you... You couldn't run away.

He destroyed, killed, tortured and threatened. He spent days flying with Caraxes to every corner of the seven kingdoms just to find you. Unsuccessfully. A long year without having your favorite addiction... You.

He drowned himself in e wine while you were gone, nursing a bubbling rage and constantly exploding at everyone, scaring even Viserys, who thought he had seen the worst side of his brother.

But nothing lasts forever. He found you. He invaded your home in Essos without hesitation. He didn't kill your husband at first because his stunned mind simply refused to understand that you had betrayed him in such a disgusting way.

But the moment she saw the little newborn baby in her arms. He understood everything.The black sister ran through her pathetic husband without mercy, blood spatter staining his robes in small crimson droplets.The cold, darkened eyes like never before were directed at you.

For a moment you feared for the baby's life, placing the small bundle against your chest to protect it.

"Don't worry, I would never hurt our son." He smiles as he says each word slowly. He would legitimize that child as his and didn't care what he would say. A good way to keep you behaved and not tarnish his bloodline with bastards. Obviously he would love his own children more with you, but he wouldn't show it so openly. You're lucky the child looks so much like you…

#yandere x reader #yandere hotd #yandere house of the dragon #Yandere Maegor Targaryen #maegor Targaryen x reader #aegon the conqueror #yandere daemon targaryen x reader #daemon targeryan #Aegon the conqueror x Reader

[boldlyvoid]

Boldlyvoid fics set in the fall masterlist

Spencer Reid x reader:

Hypothetically -- 89k | reader and Spencer were friends in kindergarten, she watched him grow up and explore the world while she was still trying to catch up to him. now that they work together, they fall in love incredibly fast.

friends to lovers, case-of-the-week style story

State of Grace -- 26k | While trying to find herself after college, Y/N moves in with her aunt in D.C for a while. Falling in love with the city, her aunt’s job and the cute co-worker she’s heard so much about

Redamancy -- 5.4k | The co-op librarian at the FBI Academy has been secretly crushing on the smartest agent in the Bureau, TA, Doctor Spencer Reid, and he’s been crushing on her too.

New Romantics -- 23k | She needs help studying for her Case Exercises at the Academy, He needs a date for the annual Banquet… they just so happen to be neighbours who aren’t afraid to lend a helping hand, or in this case, a helping kiss.

Don't Let Me Go -- 6.4k | Reader comes home for her moms funeral and ends up falling for her dad’s co-worker

Red Alert -- 2.7K | For the 55th Anniversary of Star Trek (sep 8), the local bar is hosting a Pon Farr night…

Chip Taylor x Reader:

Forever is the Sweetest Con -- 6.2k | Reader’s dad is a carpenter; sometimes he takes on apprentices and sometimes, if they’re lucky, they get his daughter’s number at the end of their training. Chip Taylor, however, hits the jackpot when her father invites him over for one of her homecooked meals.

Spencer Reid stand-alone fic:

Found Family -- 3.4k | Henry’s best friend, Taylor, is struggling to take care of her mother’s schizophrenia, Spencer knows exactly how to help and it’s by getting her out of that environment while her mother gets help.

Halloween Fics:

Spencer Reid x reader:

Hallo-ween -- 4.1k | Reader has had a crush on him for the last 9 weeks of her semester, but on Halloween night she finally has the courage to walk up to him at the local bar and offer to go home with him

The Reidd Family -- 4k | For Spencer’s 40th birthday his wife and kids want to have a costume Halloween party

Raymond x Reader:

Alone Together -- 2.4k | Raymond moves into a haunted house and ends up sleeping with the ghost who lives there… only he doesn’t know that when you fuck a ghost you also become one.

Spector Spooktacular -- 1.6k | for their first anniversary, Raymond takes his girlfriend to a cemetery for a Halloween picnic… having dinner while giving the spirits a show

Franklin x Reader:

Trick or Treat -- 3.1k | Franklin and Reader are paired up for costume bowling as their costumes accidentally match. she’s a sexy cheerleader, and he’s a 70’s porn star… they spend most of the game teasing each other instead of trying to win

Chip Taylor x Reader

Rater R for Revenge -- 6.7k (murder tw) | Chip’s new neighbour doesn’t answer to her name… he remembers settling into a new town with a new name and no friends, so he helps her settle in. learning about her abusive husband, the reason she’s on the run and falling in love with her in the meantime. he loves her so much he can’t imagine someone ever hurting her and getting to live freely, so they plan to murder him.

Wes x Reader:

House Calls -- 2.5K | Wes asks his receptionist if she’s coming to the building’s Halloween party, letting it slip that he just wants to spend time with her outside of work.

#fics set in the fall masterlist #spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #chip taylor #68 kill #raymond #suburban gothic

[queers-gambit]

When Pride Married Prejudice part two

[ part one ]

[ series masterlist ]

prompt: moments at the beginning of your marriage.

pairing: Aemond Targaryen x Velaryon!wife!reader

fandom: House of the Dragon

word count: 8.6k+

warnings: cursing, nothing but filler and fluff, marriage smut, stop giving author internet access cause literally what is this ? not edited.

Your wedding was something small by other royal comparison, but neither you nor Aemond seemed to mind; he was the one who wanted it much smaller, but the King was feeling festive. So, the whole of the court was invited - minus your family, which felt glaringly obvious.

You married in the Sept and hosted a banquet in the Red Keep's Great Hall. The King hummed along with the music, tapping his fingers in rhythm, before exhaustion set in and he was being escorted back to his rooms. The Queen departed soon after, and your new husband lead you away rapidly right after that. Behind you, there were a few inappropriate comments hurled your way; but Aemond was quick to shield you from them.

He moved his body as if to physically protect you from their vile words, an arm protectively around your waist to guide you forward; your first sign of his deep-running loyalty.

When you got to your new shared chambers, you found the room in disarray - gasping your shock and wondering if someone had ransacked his room. "Were you robbed?" You had asked.

"No," his cheeks flared, "I was trying to move things around, make room for you, but I realized I did not know what you would arrive with, so, it has come to... This..."

"So, what I'm hearing is that your room needs organized, huh?"

He smirked at you, "I'll order us some wine, but yes, if you'd like," he gestured you forward.

That perhaps was your second sign of his unwavering support of you.

The third was when, during your room-rearrangements, he promised to not share your bed, "unless you ask me to."

His hands also idly toyed with your own, the two of you facing one another; his fingertips tracing down the scar on the palm of your hand. He was quiet as he did, but you weren't bothered - he was usually always quiet.

Anyways, your marriage wasn't consummated that night, but you got to know Aemond on a much deeper level after proposing a drinking game where you each told three statements - two that were truthful, and one that was a lie. It made you both snicker gently and lounge on the bed together after the room was put in relative order.

He did not share your bed, as promised, for a full week after your wedding; but he spent time with you after his training sessions in the courtyard. Apparently, his mother thought it important you and he bond, so, Aemond was excused from afternoon lessons in favor of spending time with you. You both liked to stroll through the gardens, sometimes with a book shared between you both; other times, with an escort through the city streets.

But only eight days after your wedding, there was a rapid knock at your chamber door, and just as you rose from your vanity to answer it, your husband was entering. He swung around to shut the door and lean on it for a moment, making you smirk. "Well, hello there. Nice fo you to pop in, isn't it?"

"I'm sorry for the intrusion, my Lady," he sighed, shaking his head, "but Aegon was being his usual self and I needed to get away - then apparently he followed me and I didn't need him seeing me waiting..."

You nodded, "You know, you're allowed to stay here, too. I would not put you out."

"I do not wish to crowd you."

Your shoulders shrugged, "I think I'd like it, actually."

"Oh?" He breathed.

"Sure," You nodded in agreement. "I mean, we should get used to one another, should we not? I do not wish to put you out."

"Lady - "

"Please, stay?" You pouted dramatically. "C'mon, maybe I'll let you do my hair, huh?"

He chuckled and pushed off the door, glancing at the hand you outstretched. Aemond slowly reached for it, taking a moment to breathe before speaking softly, "I did not mean to interrupt you."

"You're not," You assured softly. "I was getting ready for bed, but between you and me, I'm kinda into this book right now."

"So, you're not tired?" He smirked slowly.

"I'm almost afraid to answer that," you eyed him up and down. "Why?"

"Perhaps you'd like to get dressed? We can sneak out," he sighed some. "Think I could use some air, thought perhaps a walk around the city would do us both some good?"

Your grin slowly stretched as you considered his offer. "All right, yeah. But we go in disguise."

"You think we'd walk around, bare?"

You shrugged and moved for the wardrobe. "I only mean to show you some places and it wouldn't be exactly proper if word reached the palace of our misdoings."

"I thought I was sneaking you out?"

"You are," You assured with a grin, "but perhaps I'll show you a thing or two while we're out."

"All right," he sighed, nodding softly and wiping his palms on his pants nervously. "Whatever gets us out of here."

"What did your brother say that upset you?" You asked, eyeing him slightly before moving for the changing screen. "C'moooon, I know you wanna tell me. I can see it on the tip of your tongue."

He chuckled some, "He's just tiresome."

"Noooo, really?" You mocked gently as you changed from your nightdress into something plain.

"We were at dinner..."

"Mhm."

"And he had choice comments about something that doesn't pertain to him in the slightest."

"Might I ask what that was, husband?"

There was silence as you laced the trousers on. "Our marriage," Aemond finally admitted.

"Hmm," you considered, situating the tunic. "And what was said? What were these choice comments?"

Aemond sighed heatedly, "Something - I don't even know. It was about how you won't let me near you, how this marriage is like all others and it's a farce, telling me to get used to you being absent - and that my one obligation is to put a babe in your belly, but it was the way in which he spoke that drove me up the fucking wall."

"Mhm."

"As if he even gets an opinion on this..." Aemond ranted as you stepped out from the screen, moving for the vanity again to wrap your hair up in a tangle of scarves. "As if his own marriage isn't some sham!"

"Is it?" You wondered gently.

"They were betrothed as children, Helaena's never known different but Aegon does as he pleases - no matter his marital status."

"So, your older brother doesn't respect you," you sighed gently, still fixing your hair to hide it. "But you know what's different now?"

"Hmm?"

"You've a wife who does," you turned to smirk at him, hands dropping to slap your thighs gently, "and Aegon can be jealous all he wants. It's not gonna be a concern of ours, we don't live the same truths."

He paused for a moment, nodding, "You're right..."

"But when you're feeling stressed," you offered your hand again with a grin, "your wife is here to sneak out with you for a bit of fun."

He chuckled and took your hand with his, "We'll need to stop at my room."

"Kinda hate that, but okay," you mused gently, letting him lead you from what was supposed to be your shared quarters. However, just as you were about to pass into his room, Amira rounded the distant corner, and your husband called for her.

"Could I ask for a discreet favor?" He asked, opening his door to lead you both inside.

"What is it, my Prince?" Amira asked, looking you up and down. "Oh, no, you're sneaking out, aren't you?"

You only shrugged with a broad smirk, making her sigh as your husband found his cloak. "Might you bring my things to our room?" He asked your hand maiden.

"Oh," she blinked, nodding, "yes, of course, my Prince. Um...?"

You smirked at her, "I didn't realize the lengths my husband went to to ensure my comfort, so, I've invited him back to our rooms."

"Oh, that is good to hear," she breathed, patting your shoulder. "All right, yes, I'll move your things, my Prince. Might I ask the reason for discretion?"

"Aegon's a dick," you shrugged, making Aemond say your name in reprimand. "What? Am I wrong?"

"Well, no - "

"So, that's the reason," you told Mira, "and we'd appreciate Aegon, you know, not knowing about this, so discretion is paramount."

"I gotcha," she winked, nodding with assurance. "I got this... Yeah, I got this... This is nothing..."

"Mira?"

"Hmm?"

"You got this?" You checked, Aemond tucking his hair beneath his hood.

"Oh, yeah, for sure," she sighed, waving you off. "Just be careful tonight, please. The city's changed, Princess, lots of crime has gone up in rate. Stay close to your Lord husband."

You chuckled, "Maybe I'll save his arse, you never know."

"You'll probably start a fight and he'll have to rescue you," she laughed you off. Aemond offered his hand silently, leading you to a hidden passage at the back of the room.

It was easy enough to sneak through the back passages of the Red Keep, and you quickly realized that this must've been common enough for Aemond - given how well he knew his way around. When you broke free of the Keep, you breathed deeply.

"All right?" Aemond checked, tightening his hand in yours.

"Mhm," you assured, needing to jog slightly to keep up with his long legs and quick pace. "Where to first, Princey?"

He chuckled dryly, leading you down around a few turns. "Perhaps a drink?"

"Hmm," you considered, peaking around alleyways.

"No?"

"I didn't say that," you chuckled. "But could we go this way?" You pointed.

"Why?"

"There's a few fun vendors this way," you smirked, leading him away. For the remainder of the night, you and Aemond crept around King's Landing - hopping around taverns, and you're pretty sure you didn't stop smiling once since leaving the Keep.

Aemond seemed different, too.

He was quiet, still. But he was relaxed, kept a hand on you at nearly all times. He chuckled when something was funny, smirked when someone made a fool of themselves, but mostly, he sat beside you all night. His legs straddled the benches to keep you close to his body, and you'd feel his idle touch as time passed.

Touches to your hand, waist, ribs, back, shoulders, and once even, he smoothed his hand over the back of your head in an affectionate gesture when you had made a particularly funny joke.

It was as if your warm touch reassured him.

So you did not mind, and in fact, found you reveled in it. It was your first real indication that his love language was primarily physical touch and while words did not come easy, his touch lingered.

And when you snuck back into the Keep, the ale you both consumed made your steps clumsy and for you both to snicker as you tried to shush each other. When you fell into your room together, you noticed Amira had, indeed, packed the Prince's things and moved them into your rooms.

It became a comfort that for each night the following five days, Aemond would read aloud from your book as you organized his belongings and clothes around the room. He liked pausing to consider the passage read, making the both of you bicker gently - even if he didn't have a varying opinion, he liked pushing you to see how far you'd go to make a point. You caught onto his game and didn't find it as annoying as when Jace or Luke did it.

Then came your first 'family' dinner that you'd attend at Aemond's side. He paced nervously by the window, watching the sun sink, and you perused your wardrobes for something to change into.

"You're nervous," you mentioned softly, laying a gown out to the bed.

"A bit," Aemond agreed.

"Is there reason, husband?"

He sighed, turning from the window with hands behind his back. "Father's not doing well..."

You nodded slowly, "He's been on a decline for quite some time now."

"And now it's enough for Mother to call for weekly family meals," he sighed, wiping a hand down his mouth.

"'S all right," you assured, "might be kinda nice."

"Nothing's really nice with Aegon around," he frowned, shaking his head to send some strands of gloriously long hair around his shoulders.

"Still mad about what he said?"

Aemond sighed, shrugging some. "In truth, I am unsure what I feel."

You nodded slowly, "That's alright. Family's a confusing matter."

"It is," he eyed what you had laid out for him.

"Yet, I must ask for your forgiveness," you smiled at him, stepping closer as he slowly turned to lower himself onto the bed. He reached for you, taking your hands to pull you between his wide-set legs.

"For what, my wife? I have not been wronged," he sighed, fiddling with your fingers.

"I have let you endure this alone the past two weeks," you spoke gently, slowly raising your hands to pet over his silver locks. "That's not what a wife does, hmm?"

He let his own hands raise to gently wrap around either of your wrists. His eye examined the one as his fingers caressed your skin, leaning in to gently press a kiss to the appendage. "It is of no trouble," he told you, "because you're here now, yes?"

You smiled at him, "Yes, I am here now. The support of a wife, something your brother does not know - should you need to use that to your defense."

He chuckled and tugged you so your hands went to his neck and his own settled heavily on your waist. "Something tells me with you there, wife, I will have little reason to defend myself."

You chuckled at him, giving his cheeks a quick squeeze, "Yes, yes, you get a wife and personal attack dog - aren't you lucky?"

"Terribly," he smirked, leaning forward slightly to rest his forehead against your stomach. He groaned, "Must we go?"

You chuckled and let your arms wrap around him in a hug, folding slightly to peck the top of his head. "Yes, we must. C'mon, it will not be for long."

He sighed, "Might I use you as an excuse?"

"Depends on the excuse used," you teased gently.

"Hm... What if I cited newlywed duties?" He picked himself up to stare up at you with a growing smirk.

"I think I'd kill over from embarrassment," you gasped, nudging his shoulder; making him grin at you. You found, each day, he loosened up - but always tensed up when others were around. When it was just you two, my Gods, he was entirely different; making you feel grateful that you could see him as such.

He sighed and let his hands settle back on your waist, "All right, maybe not. But, perhaps, I could say it to Aegon? Yes?"

You chuckled, hands caressing his jaw to force his eye to your own. "All right, yes, but do not let your Mother hear - please. Or Father. He's still my Grandsire and while I know he knows what happens in a marriage, he does not need be reminded."

"All right, deal," he agreed, sighing again.

"It will not be so bad, come now, we should change," you chuckled, gently pulling away from him. His hands fell from your body, and you instantly missed the warmth.

Though, after changing behind the screen, his hand was back in yours to lead you from the room. You swung your conjoined hands gently, smiling at him when he offered you a curious look. He ended up cracking a smile, unable to help it, but quickly sobered up when you arrived at the private dining room.

It was mostly just an outside terrace with a long table, but it made do for tonight's gathering. And with the fortunate weather, you were almost excited for the meal, if only for the location.

Aemond lead you both in stoically, and surprisingly, you were the last to arrived. Even Viserys beamed, teasing, "Well, this is a surprise."

"Apologies, Your Grace," you offered instantly. "We did not realize the time."

"No, no, no need, I was once newly married," he chuckled, waving you offer as both you and Aemond froze momentarily. You were quick to laugh at the King's joke, and with your hand to Aemond's arm, discreetly directed him towards the only two chairs left at the head of the table. Apparently, it became Aemond's common seating arrangement after the loss of his eye, but you didn't mind much.

Otto was in attendance, and Heleana greeted you happily; all but jumping from her seat when you neared her. You kissed her cheek in greeting, giving her a loving squeeze.

Aegon looked mildly annoyed but hid it behind his cups of wine, slouched in his seat; and making you ponder what seed he came from, since surely, it was not Royalty.

"Here," Aemond muttered to you, dishing something onto your plate. "You've gotta try this."

"It looks strange."

"Just a taste," he nodded, smirking at you. You sighed, eyeing the food with disinterest. "Come now, you mean to say you do not trust me?"

"Well, that's a loaded question."

He chuckled, "Let this be a test, then. Go on, just a taste. For me?"

"Well, way to guilt me," you teased him, nudging his arm before taking a taste from your fork. You pondered the feeling on your tongue, manicured hand over your lips as you chewed and considered the flavors. "It is... Strange."

"Is it?" Aemond smirked.

"I do not think I dislike it," you nodded at him, "though, I am unsure if I like it, either. Hang on," you moved for another bite, and before long, you'd finished the bit he'd spooned to your plate. "What was that?"

He chuckled, shaking his head slightly, "You told me on our wedding night you fancied those mangoes from Pentos, did you not?"

"I did," you nodded, narrowing your eyes at him at you glanced at the dish. "Do not tell me..."

"Apparently, stewed mangoes is popular over there," he shrugged a bit, glancing up to his family to ensure they were all still in their own conversation. They were.

"Would you do me a favor then?"

"Hmm?"

"Bit more?" You smirked, nudging your plate once. He chuckled and reached for the dish, dolloping another spoonful before you scooped a bit of rice to your plate and mixed them together.

"How's that?" He wondered in genuine curiosity when you tasted the new dish.

"You know what?" He nodded at you. "I don't hate it. Here, try it."

He nodded slowly and took up his own fork to try a bit, making your head cock in wonder as you waited for his opinion. "'S not terrible," he agreed with you, chuckling dryly before reaching for his goblet.

"So," Viserys boomed down the table, making you jump slightly. "How is married life treating you both?"

You smiled at the King, "You've raised your son well, Your Grace." Your eyes cut to Alicent, knowing she was who truly raised the children. "Married life is... Going well," you glanced at Aemond.

"Like a built-in companion," he mused to the table, taking a sip as Viserys chuckled.

"It is good to know you are getting along," he granted. "Surely, we'll see your face more often, Princess?"

"Of course, Your Grace," you agreed.

"Good," he nodded, smiling lightly.

"Unless my brother actually manages to get it up," Aegon snickered into his, oh, maybe, third cup in an hour? "Then, we'll never see you, will we, sister?"

"I'd mind my tongue, Aegon," you mused, taking another small bite of your meal. "Might start to sound jealous. Though, we know your brother has the injury and one less eye, you've always been jealous of him, heaven't you?"

"Aegon," Alicent warned when his face heated in anger.

Aemond chuckled a bit and let his hand drift to hang off the arm rest. You silently reached for his hand, finding relief when it fell naturally to your lap - turning over for you to hold. The other hand rose his goblet again.

"Do you think you'd like to take lunch sometime this week?" Heleana asked you, leaning over. "I've some questions of my own," her voice lowered to explain.

"Sure," you agreed easily, nodding at her with a smile.

Aegon rolled his eyes, "Oh, what questions could she answer? She's been married all of two weeks."

"I wouldn't take that tone, brother," Aemond warned.

"Boys," their Mother snapped. "Not now."

"Not ever, hopefully," You offered a sweet smile with your words.

"I'm not quite sure how it was done in your Strong Family," Aegon sneered, sitting up in his chair, "but here, we - "

"If your only means is to insult a silly rumor pertaining to my family, then, I'm afraid you might want to silence yourself," you chuckled, staring your uncle down with anger burning your gut. "You are only making my point for me."

"Please," Alicent asked of the whole table, "can we not get along for a single meal?"

Your hand tightened in Aemond's, asking him, "Surely, this is not common?"

"What, sweetheart?"

You paused at the use of the nickname, finding you enjoyed it more than you should - before finding your voice again, "Your brother thinking it is appropriate to speak in such a manner?"

He smirked at your tactic to publicly embarrass his brother, nodding at you, "You will grow used to it, sweetheart, I promise."

"Hmm," you mused, leaning into his arm more as his hand released yours in favor of holding your inner thigh instead.

"So," Otto cleared his throat, "how're you finding the city, Princess?"

"Very well, yes, thank you," you assured with a nod of your head. "Aemond and I might've gone out almost everyday this past week."

"The weather held," he shrugged a bit, cheeks heating at the knowledge that his family knew he was soft on you. It was obvious, if the time together was any indication.

"It was nice," you assured, one hand holding his forearm and giving a squeeze. "I'll have to take you sailing some time."

"You know how?" Otto asked in surprise.

"Yes, my father and his father took me out," you smiled softly. "Taught me how to fish, too, if you'd believe it. Never thought I'd live long enough to watch Corlys Velaryon fish for his own meal. But I must admit, it was incredibly satisfying. Father and I caught this sort of tuna," you told Otto - who was staring at you with the slightest amount of pity, "it must've weighed some 80 pounds." You chuckled at the memory, sniffling lightly, "Father and I nearly fell in trying to wrangle that bad boy from the waters."

It was quiet for a moment before Aemond cleared his throat, lowering his voice, "We did not yet find the time to extend our condolences for your father, my wife. And how sorry we all are for your loss."

"Mother got your letter," you nodded softly. "But thank you for verbalizing it."

With a returning nod, your husband tried to focus on his meal; but before you could, his sister was starting a new conversation. He was quiet most of the remaining meal, just content to listen; and any time Aegon got lippy, even Alicent started to sit back - because your wit outmatched all of their own. You easily fended the boy off.

Heleana simply adored you, and let that be known.

Viserys was oozing pride, as if taking personal responsibility in the match made between you.

Alicent smiled and actually asked a few questions to better know you.

Otto was just as ever - kindly, old, and soft spoken. He also knew some really good riddles that you liked to try and work out - his grandchildren giving up on most of them. Imagine your surprise when you asked, "Is it a mountain?"

And Otto beamed, "Yes! Dear girl, yes! I've been telling that riddle for months and none has solved it!"

It was an overall nice dinner, but truly, by the end, you were exhausted from keeping appearances. There were a few times you wanted to snap at your brother-by-law, but held your tongue; doing little to hide the irritation in your tone when you shut him down.

When Viserys was taken away for bed, Otto escorted Alicent away, and to your surprise, Aemond ushered you to your feet, "C'mon, come with me."

You let him pull you by your hand, jogging again to keep up with his long strides. When you were out of the dining room, you looked around and wondered, "Why're we in a rush to get to bed?"

He chuckled, shaking his head, "Got something on my mind."

"Wanna share?"

"In our rooms," he nodded, glancing at you only as he kept his quick pace - ignoring your whine of annoyance. The moment the doors opened, he pulled you in and shut them after you - pushing your body against the wood as his nose pressed into your neck.

"Aemond," you gasped in shock, holding onto his shoulders; not pushing him away.

"I-I wanted to let you come to me," he rushed, hands bruising your hips. "Yet I do not think I can wait longer."

"What changed?" You smirked, petting over his cheeks as he nuzzled your neck. You wanted to feel his mouth, but he did not dare yet - showing an ounce of restraint.

"Dinner," he sighed, sounding as if he was straining. "Watching you with them all, Gods... I know I am not who you wanted, but I think I need to start giving thanks for having a wife who can keep up."

"That got you going, did it?" You smirked against the shell of his ear; hands petting down his neck. His hands tightened and your hips rose up the wall to let his growing bulge press into you. Your breathing stuttered as his head lifted to leer over yours, your fingertip ghosting over his bottom lip.

"In truth, it's been hard to give you space," he breathed, "but yes, my wife, seeing you with my family was enough for me. You showed no fear in talking to the King and Queen..."

"Hmm?"

His lips pulled in a smirk, hands moving up to hold the base of your ribs. "It was impressive," he whispered, "and listening to you put Aegon in his place? Lady wife," he chuckled, slowly letting a leg raise to press between your thighs, "that did something to me I cannot explain nor control."

"Power turns you on, does it?" You chuckled.

"Only a bit," he nodded, "now," his thigh pressed more securely, "might I kiss you, Lady wife? Or might you haunt me further?"

You chuckled, but he clocked your nod before surging forward to connect your lips in a searing kiss. You let out a shrill whine when his hands drove you down onto him, his bulge more prominent.

"Aemond."

"Tell me, sweet girl," he spoke in your ear, letting his tongue flatten against skin that made you moan, "what it is you want."

But worry knotted your stomach.

"Wait, wait," you pulled back as much as you could, but pushed his shoulders some; making him pull away.

"What's wrong?"

"It's just," you sighed, head thumping back to the door in exasperation. You sighed through your nose.

"You can tell me," he nodded, lowering his leg to give you room to breath. His thumbs started to swirl comforting circles around your hip bones. "You want me to trust you, but it goes both ways, pretty girl. Speak your mind."

"Well, for one, in truth, I think I prefer being called pet names rather than the name my mother gave me," you chuckled some, hands drifting down his chest.

"Noted," he nodded, leaning in to rest his forehead on your own. "Come - tell me what bothers you."

"I've not done this," you whispered. "I worry it will not be satisfying."

"With the way I've been ramped up the past two weeks, there is little you can do to dissatisfy me," he chuckled. "Though, might I tell you a secret?"

"Mhm."

"Think you got me started the day you saved my life," he whispered, "and I never even thanked you for it."

"We share blood, Aemond, I would not have walked away. You needed help, and I knew how to give it."

"Thank you," he nodded, sighing. "I never got to thank you for what you did, but I am grateful."

"'Twas a dramatic night, there was little room for anything else."

He hummed before telling you, "Look, you do not need to worry, this is another learning experience for us to endure together."

"Oh, you must 'endure' laying with me?" You whined, heat flaring up your chest and neck.

"I did not mean that," he relented softly. "Only that I am no expert, either, but this is something between us - something we will learn to do together. As husband and wife."

You sighed, nodding, "Just be patient."

"I know it does not mean much now," he let his lips peck over yours, "but this is between us, sweet girl. You can do no wrong with me."

You sighed, "You say that, yet..."

"Yet?"

"I do not know of a single marriage where either, nor both, were ever happy. I fear that this could be a partnership, but not much else. I understand you've an obligation to sire children, but I am only nervous - "

"You do not need to be," he sighed softly. "It's just me."

You nodded, brows crinkling gently. "It's just you..."

"Your husband."

You nodded, "My blood."

"I am not here to wrong you, nor harm you," he promised. "And while I agree, I do not know of a marriage myself that has been... Happy... I do know that marriages are between spouses, and we get to not just make our own rules, but play by them, as well."

You sighed gently. "How you've been without a Lady all this time is beyond me. You might be the sweetest man I know, and my father was Laenor Velaryon."

He smirked against your lips, letting you gently pull his cheeks to kiss him to time. "None ever bothered to try and know me," he whispered. "You are different, pet, and you always have been."

"You are different with me," you noted, nose rubbing up his. "Why is that?"

He sighed, "You... Provide me with a sense of safety, I think. It is difficult to explain - "

"'S not," you smiled at him, "because I understand perfectly well. I fear I might feel much of the same, as well."

"Hmm," he considered, "that is good. I would hope my wife feels safe with me."

"I do," you nodded in assurance. "That if you'd like to move for the bed, I would not disagree..."

"Are you sure?" He asked, frowning.

"If you're willing to take this slow?"

He chuckled, "As slow as I can bare."

You laughed against his lips, leaning in to trap him in another kiss. "I have to admit..." You pulled back to peck his lips, "You're mildly addicting to kiss."

He grinned, licking over your lips slowly. "Might find more than my kisses addicting,"

"Oh?" You laughed, holding onto his neck tightly as his own arms snaked around your waist to hold you against him. He sighed, nuzzling into your neck as a hand pet down the back of your head before settling around you. "All right?" You whispered.

"Mhm," he hummed, "just appreciating the feel."

You smiled against his temple, laying a kiss there as the mood in the room shifted; and his hands bore the weight of the world. "Aemond?"

"Hmm?"

"Would you show me all of you?"

You felt him pause against you, but his sigh was sad, "Not tonight."

"But would you?"

He nodded as he pulled back; leaving your cheeks brushing against one another. "One day," he sighed, making your heart plummet in sadness. The abuse the boy endured was more than you were willing to admit, but you'd try to understand it best you could and offer him comfort. "For now, let me see you," he whispered in your ear, the fire crackling behind you both as the room flickered and glowed in the light. You did not protest when his hands rose to undo the laces at your back; pulling apart to loosen your gown.

You feared he would not like what he found, but your resolve was crumbling as his mouth opened against your neck. You moaned faintly as his hands easily yanked behind you, freeing more of your flesh for him to grab at.

He pulled back first but you could not meet his eye. His fingers tipped your chin up to let your eyes meet, breathing one breath as his lilac gaze raked you in.

"You're absolutely stunning," he whispered, holding your gaze, and making you feel like he was staring through you. But his eye did not drop from your own as his hands pulled at your dress, freeing your shoulders and upper body.

Your lungs shuddered in nerves as you helped pull the garment down, freeing your breasts, and then down to your hips. His hands moved, his eye did not; only bowing to his knees to hug your waist, looking to the floor, and pulling the clothing from your hips.

Your hands shot back to hold your position against the wall; keeping balance as Aemond freed your legs of shoes, stockings, then your hips of any under garment. But he kept his gaze on the ground as he rose, letting your hands mimic his from earlier, and tip his chin so his eyes met your own.

"See me," you requested in a breath; holding it then as his eye soaked in all you were.

"Gods," he breathed, taking half a step back to get the full image. When his eye met yours, it was almost as if he could not stop the words from flooding out, "You're breathtaking."

"We are married, you do not need to compliment me," you teased gently, leaning back to the wall. "Do you need a moment?"

"I might," he mused. "You're incredible... And you're truly mine?"

"That's what the law now says," you teased. "You know, standing here, naked, 's bit cold."

"You don't say?" He chuckled, reaching a hand out to sweep his thumb over your pebbled nipple. But that was it - that was all he did. "Come, lay on the bed, pet."

He turned from you to give you space, bare feet muted over the bare stone as you moved on the balls of your feet. Look - standing in the nude was one thing, but sitting in the nude? That was something entirely, and you reached for a pillow to hold against yourself the moment you reached the mattress - and climbed upon it.

Aemond turned from the window to look you over, then started to undo his jerkin. "You've never been with a man?"

"Never even kissed one till we got married," you admitted.

"So... You're all mine, is it?"

"Seems so," you chuckled. "Though, I am afraid to ask in return."

His head cocked, wincing, "Lost my virginity at ten and three."

"Truly? To whom?"

He freed his upper half of the leather jerkin, revealing a thin tunic. "A whore, no less."

You hummed in thought, watching him undress without abash. "That was it?"

"If you'd believe it," he pulled the tunic off his torso.

"And how is it you've come by scars when there is no war?" You asked, letting the pillow fall to the side in favor for drawing a single leg up and into your chest.

"Same way I came to lose an eye, pet," he sighed, now avoiding your gaze. "Though accidents - no matter how unfortunate."

Your heart weighed to your feet, slowly finding them as your fingers nervously twisted together. He was distracting himself with pouring a goblet of wine, but stiffly turned when your hands deftly asked him to. They smoothed over rigid, pink-going-on-white scars, asking, "Where did this one come from?"

He glanced at your hand on his upper arm. "That was a lancing accident gone wrong."

"Hmm," you nodded. "And this?"

Your fingertips pressed to his pectoral. "Swordplay with Aegon... Gone wrong."

You smirked, "And this one?"

He breathed uneasily as your hand pushed at the scar on his lower belly. "Hmm... That was from a spoiled organ."

"Come again?"

He smirked as your hands rimmed the hem of his pants. "When I was, possibly, oh, maybe ten and five? There is a little organ that, if ruptured, can ooze toxic waste back into the body. Maesters were quick to remove it."

"How interesting," you spoke softly, watching his throat bob as he took a drink. "And this one?" Your lips asked, nearing his ear.

"Which?" But he flinched with a laugh when you bit his neck. It wasn't hard enough to break skin, but against his pale skin, it was enough to leave a small red mark. "Oh, you devil of a woman," he chuckled, letting an arm wrap around your bare waist.

"Apologies, dear husband," you smirked, reaching your arms around his neck to allow your breasts to press into his chest without barrier.

"Perhaps I can be persuaded into forgiving you," he hushed against your lips, licking over them before trapping you in a kiss so searing, it pulled a moan from your throat.

"Just ask it of me," you whispered to him, daringly letting your hands drift when he pulled you in for another kiss; fondling his growing length over his trousers.

He hissed lightly into your mouth, muttering, "Perhaps this will be new for us both, after all... Gods."

You smirked against his mouth, feeling emboldened to now sweep your tongue over his lips and into his mouth; hand solidifying around his neck to keep tight. He blindly set his wine to the table beside him to then press both hands into your warming flesh under your rib cage. His hands pushed, and you were lead back towards the bed; where you were sat on the edge for your husband to gaze down at. His hand cupped your jaw, gently caressing your cheek; yanking the laces of his trousers at the same time.

"Let me," you whispered, mostly curious - reaching for his breeches, and keeping eye contact as you unlaced him.

You fist the material by his hips and yanked down, still staring up at him - even when his cock sprang free to gently bob in your face.

"Fuck," he seethed, reaching to pull your hair back. "Might I teach you something first?" When you nodded, he almost grunted, "You can use your mouth."

Your brows furrowed, "On your cock?"

Aemond let himself chuckle, "Yes, sweet girl. But not your teeth..."

"I think I could've figured that one out, Aemond, Gods!" He laughed with you, but sharply inhaled when your hand reached for his thick member; giving a few curious strokes. "I can ask you something?"

"With my cock in your hand, you can ask me anything," he breathed in tune to your pumping hand, twisting wrist. "What is it, pretty girl?"

Your breath fanned across his public hair, head tilted to gaze up at him and wonder, "It... Will fit?"

He snickered, "Yes, sweet girl."

You nodded, "And are they all... This size... A-And girth?"

"Perhaps not, but I'm not running around, whipping my cock out to compare it to others,"

"Pity," you pouted at him, seeing his teeth flash in amusement, and lean in to take a tentative lick. His hand tightened in your hair and you understood what he meant; slowly, surely, and very sloppily, figuring it out. What your mouth didn't fit, your hand twisted around; and Aemond's knees were slowly buckling.

"Slowly, slowly," he whispered to you, thumb sweeping a tear from your cheek when you tried to take more of him. "That's my girl, good fucking girl," you preened at his praise. "Easy, don't over do it - that's it, good girl. Use you spit - fucking Gods, that's right - there - wait, wait, less teeth, sweet girl - slow yourself."

You listened to him as you went, feeling sweat start to slowly streak down your skin as heat sweltered in the room; skin at the base of his cock turning salty from his own exertion.

"All right," Aemond hissed, nodding to himself as he took hold of your cheeks and pulled his cock from your mouth; leaving a trail of saliva. "Seven fuckin' Hells, girl, I told you I'm not fucking anyone else, you're not in competition here."

You grinned up at him, rolling your eyes right after as you understood his teasing tone. "C'mere, please," you whispered up at him, hands curling around his neck to thread into his hair when he loomed over you. Your lips met in a frenzied mess again before one of his hands held his balance and the other pushed your knees apart.

"Easy," he whispered against you, tracing slow patterns up your inner thighs. "This is where trust comes in, sweet girl. I've got you."

"Yeah?" You nervously checked, nodding at him; hands holding onto him as if a lifeline.

He sighed softly, "I'll always have you, sweet girl. Today, and everyday."

You pet down his chest and tried to relax as his lips met yours again in a frantic mess of lips, tongues, and teeth. His fingers then were dusting up your crotch, and you all but flinched as a jolt of pleasuring electricity shot through your veins.

"Aemond," you breathed as one hand darted out to wrap around his bicep; fingers sweeping up and down your wetted heat. "Gods," you squeaked when he pushed to let his face rest against your neck; arms tight around his neck for anchoring, letting a finger sink deep into you. Your legs opened wider to accept him.

"Good girl," he growled, your hand feeling his arm flex as he started to pump his finger messily through your sopping folds. "So fucking wet for me, Gods. I heard rumor virgins were wetter, but fucking hell."

"Or perhaps it's just for you," you whispered in his ear, holding on tighter as a coil slowly tightened in your lower belly. Almost on instinct, your hips moved to hump into his hand.

"Hmm," Aemond considered, "say that again, but without the perhaps."

You chuckled, pausing for a moment before telling him in his ear, "'M just so fucking wet for you, and only you, my Prince."

"Gods," he groaned, pulling his hand free to straighten up. "On the pillows, love, go on." But you paused to beam obnoxiously at him. "What? What is it?"

"You called me 'love'."

He chuckled against you, leaning in to kiss you happily. "Got issue with that, Lady wife?"

"You will not hear complaint from me, Lord husband," you assured.

"Good - back on the pillows, then." When you pulled yourself back over the bed, he was quick to follow overtop of you; pressing another kiss to your lips as he settled between your legs. "I will warn you, there might be some complaint the first few minutes."

"Oh," you nodded, "yes, I-I was warned of that. And it is common for there to be a bit of blood, too."

"Good to know," he smirked, pecking your lips. "You need only tell me if it's too painful, but it will be before the pleasure takes over. But if it's too much, just tell me."

You nodded and pet over his cheek, promising, "I will."

He smirked, "Spread your legs, pretty wife."

You both paused, shaking your heads at one another, and you deciding, "'Pretty girl' is a solid option, 'pretty wife' sounds strange to my ears."

"Strange on my tongue, too," he agreed. "Pretty girl, it is."

You hummed in agreement, bringing his lips to yours as he helped shift your hips slightly. Then, his cock's head was sweeping up and down your slick - like his fingers had - and just paused to linger at your entrance.

"Hold onto me," he whispered, slowly pushing in - and feeling you instantly freeze.

"Fuck's sake," you wheezed as he went.

"Do you want me to stop?"

"There's more!?"

Aemond was unable to fight off his laughter, leaning down to push his tongue into your mouth before pressing forward the rest of the way - pressing his hips to yours in full.

"Fucking hell," you whispered against him. "Oh, wow, okay, okay..."

"All right?"

"I don't know," you admitted. "Feels very strange."

He nodded, leaning in to kiss you softly. "Tell me when it's okay to move. This will be uncomfortable until you're acquainted, and then it'll feel better - I swear it."

You nodded, "Go ahead."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah," you whispered, moaning when his tongue swept into your mouth again. "Holy shit - Gods be good," you whined when he began to retract his hips and push forward again; the friction created something mouthwatering.

"Fuck," Aemond panted, humping a little faster. "Ah, shit, you feel fucking divine, sweet girl. Fuckin' made for me."

You readjusted your hips again and let him work at a new angle. His mouth hung open for a few thrusts, eye fluttering close as your hands gripped anywhere they could reach. And with his motions, you started moving your own hips; fucking him back, to his approving groan. His mouth found purchase against your neck, biting, sucking, licking; humming into flesh as pleasure coursed.

"Aemond, fuck, fuck, fuck, harder," you pleaded, letting your knees reach your chest as his hands pushed the backs of your thighs in a new, bruising grip. His balls slapped against the apex of your cunt, creating something of a rhythm amongst the room that met the chorus of your moans, groans, and his grunts.

"Take it," he growled, hands sliding up to hold the back of your knees. His hips were relentless. "Oh, fuck, good girl - 's my good fuckin' girl. Feel so fuckin' good, taking all of me your first time," he smirked down at you, reaching a hand for your throat when he felt your walls tightening as his cockhead pounded into that soft, spongey spot.

You whined against the pressure on your throat - not enough to constrict but enough to feel all the way down into your toes.

"Gods," he groaned when your velveteen walls stroked him for all he was worth, "look at you, so fuckin' ready for me."

"Yes," you whimpered, reaching for his neck to yank him closer. "Please, please - "

"Tell your husband what you need, Princess," he smirked, dropping his lips to stick to yours - and pull apart messily.

You whined lowly in your throat, "Wanna cum."

"Where?"

Your hands shook as you held his cheeks in your grip, "Around you."

"That's my girl," he purred, moving himself at a renewed pace. "Where do you want me, pet?"

"In me," you didn't even realize you moaned that aloud until he groaned from deep in his chest; brows furrowed, and one hand holding himself up as the other dropped to your cunt. "Wait, wait, wait - "

"That's the feeling, my girl," he promised, fingering your pearl. "Chase it, let it come for you - let it come, good girl," he praised, catching your body when you arched into him and came with a soft cry.

"Ae-Aemond," you begged still, eager to please. His hands held your hips in place, face held to your neck; hips pumping relentlessly to chase his own end now. "Please - oh, fuck!"

He came with a shout of his own, hips swooping to thrust into yours once, twice, a third time, then grinding to a slow halt as his balls contracted to release his load in your warmth.

"Shit," he panted, body giving up some to collapse into your own. It pushed his cock further up, making your mouth open in shock; arms coiled around him to keep him against you.

"Yeah," you agreed, letting a hand smooth down his hair. His breath fanned across your collarbones, and readjusted your hold on him to press a kiss to his forehead. "All right?"

"Yeah, yeah, good," he chuckled, pecking his lips up your neck. "Are you all right?"

"Mhm," you nodded at him, noses brushing together before his lips met yours - again - slowly. "So, that's what we've been avoiding?"

He smirked, "Well, you've been avoiding, Lady, and I've been dreaming."

"How'd it match up in life?"

Your husband offered a soft smile, "'S like you're a dream come into my arms. If there is a heaven, I think I've found it."

"Oh, please - "

"No, truly, Lady," he nodded, letting his lips peck yours again. "Here, with you, I am at peace."

"Then make a bargain with me?"

"Cock's still in you, so, ask anything of me - 's yours."

You giggled lightly and rolled your eyes as he fixed himself up to his elbows to keep the pressure off your chest. "Spend some time alone with me in the next few days?"

"Lady - "

"No, I mean, let us take a period of time away from everything and just," you shrugged a bit.

"Hump?"

Your eyes rolled, "I was aiming for something a little more poetic, but sure, yes, yes, stay with me and fuck me properly."

"My Lady wife," he teased, "I did not think you so brash."

"You've not been paying attention," you teased. "Please?"

He chuckled through his nose, nodding as he shifted himself towards your side - huffing a bit when his cock pulled free of your warmth. "Whatever it is you want in this life, wife, I'll give to you," he decided as he crashed to the bed beside you, offering an open arm for you to curl against his chest.

"You sound smitten, Prince," you accused gently, nestling into your new home - at his side.

"Perhaps I am, Princess," he told you, eye taking in your entirety. "Perhaps you have me enraptured, and I am unwilling to leave your clutches."

You hummed and let your lips press to his, slowly increasing the tempo as your own libido felt newly heightened. How strange, the moment you lost your virginity, you suddenly crave the action of another warm body - or perhaps, you craved the body of your husband.

None the less, Aemond let loose the faintest of moans; hand coming up to hold the back of your head, mouths moving in sync.

When you pulled back, it was only just to mutter, "Perhaps the feeling is mutual."

"Good," he whispered, licking into your mouth again. He hummed and pressed one last hardened kiss to your mouth, then pulled back. "Give me time to nap and I will spend days worshipping you. Yes?"

"Deal," you agreed against his swollen lips, breathing stuttering when your teeth caught his bottom lip and pulled.

"Devil woman," he whispered, hand wrapping around your throat. "Behave."

"You're not making the point you think," you whispered.

"My girl likes my hand at her throat?"

"Only in this sort of position," you smirked, lips catching his own again to tangle together in a frenzied dance of passion and newly found, newly formed love.

[ part one ]

[ series masterlist ]

#aemond targaryen #prince aemond #aemond the kinslayer #aemond one eye #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen x fem!reader #aemond x reader #aemond imagine #aemond targaryen imagine #aemond smut #aemond targaryen smut #house of the dragon #hotd #hotd x reader #hotd imagine #hotd smut

[gloomwitchwrites]

Spiced Wine

Thorin Oakenshield x Female Reader

Content & Warnings: brief alcohol use, dancing, fluff, romantic tension

Word Count: 2.2k

During a winter festival, you dance with a stranger.

ao3 // taglist // main masterlist // winter 2023 masterlist

Winter is knocking on the door.

There is a thin dusting of snow upon the ground. All of Erebor and Dale is out this evening with little regard for the chill. The solstice begins tonight and with it comes the changing of the season along with celebrations to mark the end of the harvest.

You stand just outside Erebor’s massive doors. A large crowd enters, seeking the warmth within the dwarven halls. King Thrór is hosting a massive feast full of food, lively music, and dancing. While Erebor is the host, all of Dale is invited, and that also includes many of the surrounding communities.

This will be your first time entering the dwarven kingdom, and you’re nervous. Sweat blooms in your palms, and you aren’t sure whether you should see this through or turn tail and go home.

But if you return home, you will be alone, and you’re sick of being alone.

Your life in Dale is pleasant, and you enjoy working in one of the few bookshops, but it is almost always only you. Most of your family is gone or dwelling in faraway places. There is only you to rely on, and over the last few years, more and more of the men in Dale have been…forward with their intentions.

Their attention is nice, but it’s also exhausting. Every time the bell over the door rings, you expect it to be a customer. Most of the time it’s one of the many single men wishing to speak with you. You have to put on a smile and get through it as best you can.

You want to enjoy yourself tonight, even though you’d rather return home. Fortunately, you haven’t noticed any of your admirers, and you’re silently thankful for it. The last thing you need this evening is to chase off your group of men. They’ll follow you around, and then everyone else will avoid you.

Taking a deep, steadying breath, you turn your nerves to steel, and walk through the massive entryway and into the main hall of Erebor. You follow the crowd, moving with them as they veer to the right, entering through several small archways.

As you near, you spot several tables. There are masks resting upon the wood in little rows, and you silently thank all the gods you know. Walking up to the nearest one, you consider your options. Before you is a beautiful assortment, each mask unique and different. The craftsmanship is exceptional. You settle on a gold mask that will cover everything but your eyes and mouth.

Securing it in place, you feel much lighter than before. With the mask, your flock of men will not find you, and even if they do, they might not realize that it is you that they’ve found. From there, you become one with the crowd, walking beneath more arches until you’re herded into the grand banquet hall.

The walls, ceiling, and floor are all made of smooth stone. The ceiling is high, and the pillars that support it are intricately carved with the images of dwarven kings from ages before. Hanging from the ceiling are strands of lights and different flora from around the area that thrive in the frigid temperatures. Those same plants are also around the room in various arrangements and displays.

The large room is separated into two sections. On one side is the food and drink. There are long tables there as well. People gather around the tables of food and near the massive barrels where people fill their cups. A good many attendees are also seated at the long banquet tables where they talk amongst themselves while they eat. The other side of the room hosts the music and people dancing.

Everything is warm and comforting. With the mask, you’re beginning to relax. You can do this. Walk the room, chat with a few people, eat some delicious food, and partake in a glass or two of strong drink. Then, you can return home, and curl up in bed with a book as the snow falls.

Starting at one end, you do a small lap, eventually making it to the large casks where people fill their cups. You delicately reach for a goblet and present it to one of the dwarves who guards the taps.

“What will it be, lassie?” he asks with a kind smile. His wrinkles crinkle when he grins.

“What do you have?”

“Well,” he begins. “There are lots of options, but there is spiced wine that just came in. It’s strong, flavorful, and filling. You won’t need much to make your toes warm.”

You laugh. “That sounds lovely.” You hand him your cup and watch as he fills it almost to the top. “Thank you.”

You take the cup and bring it to your lips. The flavor bursts on your tongue and your shoulders sag with happiness.

“Good, isn’t it?”

You nod and lightly wipe at the corner of your mouth. “Indeed. Many thanks.” He inclines his head and starts speaking with a new guest.

As you step away, you sense a change, as if someone were watching you. Pausing, you scan the room, making sure to not appear obvious in your observation. Has one of the many bachelors from Dale noticed you? Do they see you at this moment?

When you don’t notice anyone staring, you push out into the crowd, doing slow sweeps with the turn of your head. Still, nothing and no one grabs your attention. Frowning, you stick to the perimeter, stopping to chat with a few people you know.

Deja, the woman who runs the flower shop next to the bookstore you work in, leans against a nearby pillar. A man has her cornered, talking her ear off, and she’s not even paying attention. Finding your in, you saddle up beside the man.

“Deja! I’ve been looking for you!”

At first, she frowns, but then she grins mischievously and grabs your outstretched hand. The man sways a bit, and nods in confusion, stumbling off to find another woman to talk at.

“Didn’t recognize you under that mask,” she laughs, the two of you making a home against the wall.

“Trying to avoid notice,” you reply, sipping on your wine.

She snorts and leans in. “I don’t think you’re successful.”

You frown. “What do you mean?”

She points her chin to a spot across the room. You follow the direction and immediately freeze. There is someone watching you. It’s one of the dwarves and the finery he wears is a deep royal blue. Interwoven into the fabric are threads of silver and metalwork that speaks to influence. He wears a silver mask that matches all that detail work. His dark hair is neatly braided, and pulled back, but you notice the soft waves and the way he holds himself.

“You’re mistaken,” you laugh nervously, this time taking a large gulp of your drink.

Deja shakes her head. “Then why is he heading this way?”

“He isn’t,” you insist, and Deja laughs loudly.

“Hand me your drink.”

“What?”

Deja snatches the cup right out of your grasp. “He’s going to ask you to dance.”

You’re about to snap back, but Deja is right. He is right there in front of you and Deja is walking away quickly, enjoying your spiced wine.

“May I ask for a dance?” The stranger presents his hand, palm upward. The rough timbre of his voice is surprising. Your body responds to it, a small piece of you buzzing with pleasure.

Maybe it’s the spiced wine finally making its way into your system. “Of course,” you answer, taking his presented hand.

Your stranger leads you out into the group of dancers. The song that begins is slightly upbeat, and you allow him to take the lead. It is a song and dance you are not familiar with, but he makes it easy to keep up, and you don’t stumble over your feet or his.

His control is impressive. Elegant, but strong. Purposeful. There is power in every step, as if he is in battle and not moving through a coordinated dance.

“I do not know your name,” he says, spinning you into his arms.

You move away, and for some odd reason, your body doesn’t like that you do. It wants you to curl back into him. It is such a strange sensation.

“And I do not know yours,” you tease, not knowing where this sudden flirtatiousness is coming from. Is it from the wine? Surely not. You didn’t even drink half of it. Maybe it’s the fact that you’re wearing a mask, and he is a stranger. There are no stakes.

The music cuts out, and then the two of you are face to face. Mere inches apart.

The music swells and begins a slower tune.

“Another? So that I may know your name?” He asks so kindly. You cannot refuse him.

Nodding, you allow him to slip an arm around your waist and pull you close. You lick your lips, preparing to give him your name, but notice how his blue eyes track the movement of your tongue. It sends an immediate heat to the space between your legs.

You give him your name, and he hums softly like it pleases him to hear it.

“I am Thorin,” comes his reply. He looks expectant, as if waiting for some sort of reaction, but the name isn’t entirely familiar. There is a slight sense of knowing, but it escapes you.

Perhaps the wine is doing more than you previously thought.

“It’s a pleasure.” You bow slightly, and you notice a bit of color blooming near the edges of his cheeks.

The two of you slowly move with the crowd of dancers. His hand on your waist is like a brand. It is hot, as if melting through the fabric of your dress to touch your skin. It feels like a new crush, like one you had when you were younger, and your emotions ran wild.

While the hand on your back is fiery, Thorin’s strength is palpable. The way he guides you across and around the dancefloor is a testament to that. Even wearing such finery, you see the ripple of muscle underneath. Your own hand, which rests on his shoulder, also clearly picks up on his strength.

There are plenty of men in Dale who are warriors. Several of them even actively pursue you. So why is Thorin any different? Why is your body responding to him like it’s as natural as breathing?

At this point, you cannot put it all on the wine. Maybe it’s because you don’t feel pursued, nearly hunted down every day. He is not pushing, and that is a welcome respite from the many months of men wearing you down, hoping that you’ll simply give in.

“You are from Dale?” he asks, guiding the two of you into a turn.

“Yes. I run a bookshop there.”

He smiles and you instantly melt, loving the attention. “You’re a reader then?”

“Yes. Are you?”

“When I have the time, I do enjoy it. Yes.”

The people around you fall into a dip and Thorin responds in kind. When he brings you back up, your foreheads are nearly touching, and your mouths could easily close the distance if one of you made the first move.

Perhaps it’s only a second, but the two of you hang there in that moment. Close, but not closing the distance. Thorin’s blue eyes are piercing. Sharp. They are like steel swords. You are cut through, down to your core, and you are unable to look away.

The music tapers off, but Thorin does not pull away. He does not remove his arm from around your waist. And you do not remove your hands from him.

“I should go,” you murmur, but make no move to break contact.

“Should you?” asks Thorin, his head tipping to the side as he examines you.

And you do draw back from him, even though it’s painful. Thorin releases you, but remains unmoving, his hands slightly outstretched before him as if you’ll step right back into them.

“Thank you. You’re a lovely partner to dance with,” you say just as the music begins to swell again.

Thorin bows deeply, and the gesture momentarily steals your breath.

“Enjoy your books. Perhaps you may find me amongst your shelves one day.”

He turns and leaves, disappearing into the crowd. Turning on your heel, you bolt for the door, your chest heaving as your heart hammers.

Deja steps into your path and her hands grab your shoulders. “Are you leaving?”

“Yes,” and you almost choke on your answer.

She frowns, her brow creasing. “Did he hurt you?”

“No!”

She sighs, her relief spreading across her face. “Oh, thank goodness.” Deja releases your shoulders and places her hands on her hips. “I’d end up in Erebor’s dungeons for assaulting the crown prince if he had.”

“The what?” you splutter, eyes round and alert as you turn around to look for Thorin.

“Did you not know?” asks Deja skeptically.

You swallow, and don’t answer.

“By the gods,” laughs Deja. “What did he say to you?”

Gripping the front of your dress, you turn back to Deja. “He said he might come to the shop.”

Her eyes widen a moment before a mischievous grin spreads across her face. “He likes you.”

“Don’t say that,” you hiss.

Her laugh is loud as she grabs your wrist and guides you to the exit. Tucking her arm around yours, she pulls you in close. “You’re giving me detail of this encounter.”

taglist:

@foxxy-126 @glassgulls @km-ffluv @sweetbutpsychobutsweet @singleteapot @glitterypirateduck @tiredmetalenthusiast @protosslady @childofyuggoth @coffeecaketornado

#thorin oakenshield fanfiction #thorin oakenshield fic #thorin oakenshield fanfic #thorin oakenshield fluff #thorin oakenshield x reader #thorin oakenshield x you #thorin oakenshield x female reader #thorin oakenshield x f!reader #thorin oakenshield x fem!reader #thorin fanfiction #thorin fanfic #thorin fic #thorin fluff #thorin x reader #thorin x you #thorin x fem!reader #thorin x female reader #thorin x f!reader #the hobbit fanfiction #the hobbit fanfic #the hobbit fic #the hobbit movies #king thorin #prince thorin #erebor #the hobbit #thorin oakenshield #the hobbit thorin #thorin

[tulipsforvin]

Hello, how are you ?

Can I request Louis ( and Albert if it’s not too much ) with a s/o that so cute, kind and basically an angel that they forget they can and will kill for them ?

Have a nice day ! ╰(*´︶`*)╯♡

ᥫ᭡. Louis + Albert x GN!READER

╰┈⪼ ୨ You'd always been kind and compassionate to the two men, making them forget your darker natures. ୧

✧ a/n: i'm good!! thank you for asking, anon and i hope you're just as well. have a nice day or night :)

The two of you were riding a train from London to Durham, returning home after some work back in the capital. Louis had gotten used to your adorable and kind personality, always ready to help him and his colleagues. He'd always been the one to protect you in the relationship, making sure you were never hurt or in any form of trouble.

He'd begin to think that you would be this way throughout your life with him. He didn't know just how wrong he was — especially when a group of nobles began to insult your beloved.

“He's always leeching off of his brothers, isn't he?” One noble says to the other, snickering.

“Who?” The other questions, raising an eyebrow. “The adopted brother in the Moriarty family? Well, of course. That's how commoners are, them and their filthy blood.”

Louis looks down at the floor - exhaling, hearing them speak outside of your cabin.

“Don't worry, Louis!” You tell him with a cheery smile, grasping onto his hand. “Don't listen to what they're saying, they don't—”

“He should have died in the fire along with the late Moriarty's.”

You felt something inside of you snap - a surge of primal rage taking over you. Louis isn't able to fully comprehend of what's happened for the first few seconds when the door slams open, you step out and suddenly one of the nobles is on the ground - their nose breaking at the sheer impact when your fist connected with the noble's face.

“(Name)!” Louis exclaims, rising from his seat. He's holding you back, holding onto your torso and trying to calm you down.

“How dare you—” You shout at the stunned men, frozen in place as more people begin to pool the train's hallways to watch the commotion.

“It's okay! Calm down, love.” Louis tells you, pulling you back into his arms. “I'm okay.”

With a final huff you relax in his grasp, glaring at the men who insulted your other half. “Fine.” You tell Louis flatly. “But if he says anything about you again, I swear he's never going to reach his destination.”

“I-” He sighs, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “Yes.” He concedes, nodding his head.

When you two are both back inside the cabin, Louis speaks: “Thank you.” He tells you softly, his voice grateful. “For..standing up for me.”

Your face immediately softens, expression changing back to the little grin you always have. “Of course, Louis! Anytime!”

Louis blinks at the sudden shift in your demeanor, surprised, before admitting with a smile. “I hope I never get on your bad side.”

Albert's position as an Earl was always tiring — men and women alike flocking to him, asking him for favours, trying to smoodge to him; it was chaos. So whenever he returned home to you, his worries and frustrations would always immediately melt away. You were his lucky charm.

And so, for this reason, he decided to take you along with him to the House of Lords and be besides him for the annual meeting held every couple of months.

“Come to think of it,” A viscountess begins, turning her gaze towards Albert. “I don't think any sort of banquet has been held at the Moriarty residence since the earl passed away. Has the family finally lost it's luster?” The other nobles begin to murmur amongst themselves, nodding in agreement.

Albert, who opens his mouth to retort is cut off by the husband of the viscountess. “My dear, you mustn't make such baseless assumptions. The Moriarty legacy extends far beyond lavish banquets.”

"Oh, yes of course, a noble house has to have the funds to host a banquet in the first place, which I'm sure the Moriarty house doesn't have. The Moriarty name is nothing more than a relic now; forgotten and irrelevant.”

You, who had been watching this back and forth for some time now, finally feel your patience wear thin.

Grabbing the viscountess by the lapels of her dress, you pull her to your eye-level. "The Moriarty name thrives in substance, not in hollow spectacles. It represents intellect, strategic brilliance and an unwavering commitment to justice that far surpasses the superficiality of your world. While you revel in empty displays, the Moriarty shape the very foundations of society."

With a final, chilling glare, you release your grip on the viscountess and took a step back, the room slowly returning to its previous buzz of conversation after a long silence. Albert, on the other hand, kept quiet; feeling his heart drumming in his chest in admiration.

“Well, thank you - for defending our family.” Albert says after the meeting, pulling you aside to a corner. “Although I'm not sure if I found that attractive or scary. Perhaps both?” You sulk, your lips in a puckered frown. Albert pauses, silently watching you in amusement.

“..are you still angry?” He questions, voice soft as he pushes a strand of hair behind your ear. His gaze is gentle, finding you absolutely adorable right now.

“No.” You lie through your teeth. Albert laughs warmly, understanding how you really feel. He looks down at his pocket watch, humming.

“We still have some time before we have to return home. How about I take you out on a date?” He offers, wanting to improve your mood. You're quiet for a moment, weighing your options before finally mumbling out a little “..okay.”

#moriarty the patriot #yuukoku no moriarty #louis james moriarty x reader #louis james moriarty #albert james moriarty x reader #albert james moriarty #serraaphim answers #Moriarty the patriot x reader #yuukoku no moriarty x reader #albert james moriarty x y/n #albert james moriarty x you #louis james moriarty x y/n #louis james moriarty x you

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

I've been dreaming of the Benevolent Sovereign of the Oasis.

Sun and shadow. Two existences, locked in a perpetual cycle, unable to be without the other.

It hurts to part ways, but reunion is that much sweeter.

How does a moment last forever? How can a story never die?

His eyes flutter open, and the instant his awareness hits, so, too, does the lightning in his veins. He throws his covers off and scrambles out of bed. His phone is in his hand in seconds, the calendar app opened.

It's just as he anticipates.

“Today’s the day!!”

Kalim's exhilarated shout stirs the entire mansion. Various hired help glance up from their tasks—private chefs in the middle of their prep work, housekeepers tending to the laundry, gardeners watering the flowers—and tut or sigh.

"There goes the young master again," they’d murmur amongst themselves. "He's so excitable."

It's not an unusual occurrence, but this time is especially special. The notice had gone out months in advance, the most skilled laborers called in from all corners of the world for the event. He had counted down the days, cancelled all his meetings.

Just for this.

Kalim breaks into a sprint down the corridor, his sandaled feet pounding the polished floors. He skids around a corner and continues his frantic pace, almost knocking over a valet. The servant stumbles, but Kalim grabs his hands and pulls him up into a spin.

"It's today, it's today!!" he squeals, earning a blank stare from the valet.

"Yes, sir. The staff are all aware. The preparations are well underway, so you needn't be concerned."

"Gahahah, everyone's already hard at work this early in the morning!" Kalim’s boisterous laugh bounces off the high ceilings. “Is there anything I can do to help?”

“Oh no, please leave the work to us... Y-Young master? Young master, where are you going?!"

"I'm going to check up on some things, don't mind me!!" Kalim calls back. He has already taken off, leaving the valet stunned.

"... Well, he's certainly become more proactive."

Kalim sticks his head into the dining room. The table is large enough to host his entire family plus several guests, but today it is set only for two. The seats are intimately situated across from one another, their best plates, silverware, and cloth napkins set out to welcome the diners.

The centerpiece, an ice sculpture of a viper with its hood flared out, sparkles in the morning sunlight. It would be a puddle by now, had it not been enchanted to never melt.

Servants are busy setting up a banquet: crisp vegetables, steamed fish, crusted breads, seasoned meats. His stomach tosses uncomfortably when he passes the seven kinds of curry laid out in a row--but he reassures himself with the reminder that his guest is sure to love them.

The kitchen didn't skim on the beverage selection either. There are sparkling juices, rich soups, spiced coffee, and black tea, accompanied by a large pot of white sugar with which to sweeten it. For dessert, fresh fruits (no dates!), flaky layered pastries, ice-creams, and cakes dipped in sugar syrups, topped with crushed pistachios and candied orange peels.

"Care to sample, sir?" a servant asks Kalim. They offer a trey of appetizers, each with an odd stone-colored dollop.

He obliged, popping one into his mouth. "Mmm! What's this gray stuff? It's delicious!"

"The head chef's secret recipe, young master. He thought to bring it out of his recipe cards today in honor of the celebration."

"Wow, he's really going above and beyond for this!!" Kalim glances at his staff. Now the orchestra is filing in with their instruments, and a massive roast duck on a bed of fried garlic and scallions is being laid out on the table. Another team is stringing up lanterns, and a skilled animal tamer enters, hauling a crate of colorful parrots. "Everyone is. I really appreciate it.

"... Oh, hey!" He snaps his fingers, a spark in his eyes--as though he has just come up with a great idea. "I know! Since you've been putting your all into this, I think it's only fair you get to get off work early and have a chance to relax too!"

"Erm, sir--that's very generous of you, but we aren't even done setting things up yet. The decorations especially..."

"It's fine, I've got this!" Kalim turns to the rest of the workers calls out, waving his arms. "Hey, everyone! You're free to go! Grab some nice food from the kitchen on your way out. I can handle the rest!"

The staff look confused, but not one of them protests. Some shrug and immediately exit, others anxiously wait for their peers to go before they follow. Before long, the room is cleared.

"Alright, let's do this...!"

Kalim produces his magical pen and waves it in an arc. Golden sparkles rain down, animating nearby objects.

Plates, forks, spoons, and knives march to the long table themselves. Flowers settle into crystal vases. Banners and lanterns float up, pinning themselves in place.

There we go.

"Squawk, squawk, squawk!!"

Kalim follows the cacophony to the cage of parrots left behind by the animal tamer. They're scrambling around, looking longingly at the decorations that had been raised to the ceiling.

He brightens with understanding. "Oooh, I get it! You want to get out and stretch your wings too!"

Kalim hesitates, turning the choice over in his head. "'Hmm, well... Technically, you're not supposed to be released until he gets here."

A showy spectacle--that is how Kalim envisions it. A whirlwind of flashy feathers to welcome him back. But the longer he looks at the wide, wet eyes of the parrots, the more the sadness swells in his chest.

Poor little guys, bound to a cage.

"... Okay, I've decided! You can come out and stretch your wings, I'll just need you back on the ground before the big surprise. Then you can fly all you want when he gets here."

Kalim kneels, fiddling with the lock on the cage. The door easily slides open, and--

FLAP, FLAP, FLAP!!

The entire flock rushes out, sending Kalim flying back onto his bum. He braces against the powerful beating of wings, the talons and beaks nearly scraping his skin.

A voice cuts through the noise.

"Kalim!"

Someone tackles right into him, forcing him to the ground. The world violently tilts, and suddenly Kalim is staring at a ceiling swarming with golden lights and a vaguely shaped shadow looming over him.

"I thought you had matured a little since I departed, but it looks as though you still have your moments where you're hopeless without me. I didn't think the first thing I'd do when I got back was protect you, but here we are."

He blinks rapidly. His vision slowly corrects, lines drawing together and forming a crisper image.

That face.

He recognizes it.

His old friend, dressed in sandals, khakis, and a bright yellow T-shirt embroidered with pink tropical flowers. He wears a cap that resembles a cartoon character--a dog with floppy black ears. The man had entered with suitcases, which were dropped by the door the instant he jumped to Kalim's defense.

"Jamil...!"

Kalim yanks him into a hug. His face turns, tears welling in his eyes. "Y-You came!! And you came so early...!!"

"Of course I did. I promised you I'd return home after my travels," Jamil sighs, patting his emotional friend's back. "I was planning on surprising you first, but..."

He gives the dining room and its extravagant flourishes a glance. Parrots are roosting in the banners, popping the balloons, or stealing vegetables and fruit from the flatters.

"... It looks like you've beaten me at my own game," he says tactfully.

"Yeah!" Kalim sniffs, wiping at his tears. "I... I wanted to welcome you home with a huge celebration!!"

"... Idiot. I didn't come back for any of this. Not food, not music, not pets, not decorations. There's one thing that the Scalding Sands has that no other place in Twisted Wonderland does: my best friend."

"Awww, Jamil...!" Kalim's eyes wet again. He lets out a happy sob, reburying his face in Jamil's shoulder. "It's good to have you back!!"

He sighs deeply. Despite this, Jamil still manages a smile. "It's good to be back with you, Kalim."

#twst #twisted wonderland #Kalim Al-Asim #Jamil Viper #Scarabia #disney twisted wonderland #disney twst #twst countdown #twisted wonderland countdown #I've been dreaming... #twst imagines #twst scenarios #twisted wonderland scenarios #twisted wonderland imagines #twst anni #twst anniversary #twisted wonderland anniversary #twisted wonderland anni

[shibaraki]

THE WHITE RABBIT ┊ GOJO SATORU

synopsis: you’ve been instructed to begin making appearances at the pleasure district. choosing the right man to flaunt was imperative for your family's image. who better to pick than the top courtesan?

tags: NSFT, AFAB reader (called ‘angel’ toward the end), strangers to lovers, courtesan gojo (no curses au), sex work, alcohol consumption, inspired by edo period japan, sexual tension, mutual attraction, reader is a customer from a well known family, feelings realisation, other characters present, fluff + angst, loss of virginity (reader), body worship, finger sucking, bathing, vaginal oral sex + fingering (reader receiving), unprotected vaginal sex (pull out method), hopeful ending 

wc: 14k+

The dense woodland that lies between the main city and the Pleasure district appeared unearthly in the late evening. If you looked up toward the capillaries of the canopy, you’d find the trees would breathe even on a windless night. East and West, spindling arms of cedar seemed to reach for you. 

It unsettled you. The atmosphere felt polarised, as if it were drawing your rickshaw in and manipulating your direction despite having entered willingly. You thought this might be what it’s like to cross from one plane to another, a coniferous bridge between worlds. 

Such a description was befitting of your destination. The Pleasure district truly was another world in its entirety — a place wherein the rules of the mainland could not reach. A creature that laid its own law and shaped you to its own customs. You could no longer put it off. You were of an appropriate age, and it was your turn to enter the beast. 

The maw is bright where the clearing breaks, illuminated by hues of orange and red. Carmine wood with slightly curved pillars, before you stands a grand archway nestled between two walls built to encase the district. 

Large hand painted lanterns light up the wide open road as you are carried through the swelling crowds. Patrons part around your intrusion as they turn to stare, curious about who you might be. You knew that both the private escort pulling your rickshaw and the expensive fabric fashioned elegantly around your shoulders would be enough to display your family's social standing.

Still, the attention and judgement is stifling. You distract yourself with focus on the establishments lining either side of the street; the air is imbued with an amalgam of sweet scents, thick enough to feel it on the roof of your tongue as you breathe. People with delicately painted faces adorned in jewels call out to you from the balconies, the distinct and striking pluck of a shamisen ringing in your ears.

Logically this place was a place of business, yet the innocent, naive part of you felt guilt simply for ignoring their greetings. But you could not stop to contemplate their suitability or good looks, for your family had already arranged a banquet with the finest house in the district — the Michizane house.

As the rickshaw comes to a slow stop you feel tension return to your chest, wrung tight like cloth. The teahouse appears to be two stories high and quite large when compared to its neighbouring buildings. Decorating the outer walls are intricate patterns of wood lattice, the wide open entrance lit up with an inviting glow. Waiting by the door is the owner, a striking man by the name of Nanami Kento.

He steps forward and bows deeply in greeting, peering up from behind the thin frame of his glasses to where you are perched as he straightens. Not a blonde hair out of place. “It is a pleasure to meet you, and an honour to host your banquet at my establishment,” he says. His words are dipped in a rich timbre that settles warm in your bones. 

Insecure of your inexperience, you try to steel yourself as you reply, “I’m grateful for your time, Nanami-san”.

If he senses your nervousness he doesn’t mention it, rather he extends his arm to assist you down from your seat. In doing so you take a moment to contemplate his garments — he wears a grey toned hakama over his pale blue kimono with a matching haori, embellished with the teahouse crest. 

You take his open hand, habitually tugging the silk of your own kimono closer to your skin. Nanami casts his eyes toward the floor as you descend out of respect for your modesty, and while you felt it wasn’t required it was appreciated all the same. 

“I’ll be waiting for your return,” your long employed escort, Norimitsu, lowers his head to bid you goodbye. Having known the man for most of your life, it comforted you that he wouldn’t stray too far. 

Nanami remains stoic as he leads you into the teahouse. There are various open rooms housing guests of all class and background, conversation and laughter easily heard through paper thin walls. You are beckoned through a teal-dyed curtain, through which you find a large sliding door. He smoothly pulls it open for you, revealing a large parlour. You take note of the hearth built into the floor, and the small alcove of hanging scrolls that houses a single sword stand, displaying a katana. At the further end of the room, three screen doors have been tucked away to connect the space to a modest pond garden. 

“I trust it is to your liking?” 

You startle, glancing back at Nanami to find him at respectable distance. “It’s wonderful,” you answer at the end of an exhale, feeling like you had stepped into a dream. There are already a few attendants present, one knelt by your assigned seat on one side of the low tea table in preparation. 

A delicate sound reverberates through the room, and your gaze is drawn to a young man draped in a green kimono so dark that it is almost black. There are subtle gold finishes along the square sleeves, and gold flowers embroidered into his obi. Laid out in front of him is a wooden koto. 

“Please take your seat. These young men will tend to you as you wait for the Courtesan to arrive,” Nanami startles you out of your reverie, inclining his head forward as another gentle strum of music dances through the quiet. You overturn your hand to clutch the inside of your sleeve, embarrassed to have been distracted. 

“Will they take long?” you ask. 

Nanami’s expression shifts with his exasperation, nudging the frame of his glasses back up the bridge of his nose as it wrinkles. “Courtesans of The Michizane House are skilled. Their beauty is venerated and they are praised country wide for trysts with virtue and vice,” he regards you with an almost apologetic look, “what they do not excel in is punctuality”. 

You can’t help but smile at his tone. It sounds like he knows them well, as if they are children he were lovingly admonishing. “You’re well acquainted with them?”

“Unfortunately,” he meets your eyes and when the light refracts in his irises, you notice they’re the colour of earth. “Though my personal relationship with them is no reflection on their ability to service you. They are regarded highly for a reason”. 

“As is expected. In a place like this, personal and business affairs are kept separate for a reason,” you muse softly. A sudden blanket of exhaustion rests itself on your shoulders, reminded that you were here for duty and not pleasure. “I’ll take my seat. Thank you for your hospitality, Nanami-san”. 

You take your seat in silence, knees sinking into the plush silk pillow as you greet the waiting attendant. On the opposite side of the table there are three other cushions lined up and equally distanced, indicating the number of Courtesan you would be meeting with. For a patron of high standing such as yourself, a banquet was custom. Money opened many doors and the House Managers knew that well — thus you were afforded much more freedom for choice, their top earners given to you on a silver platter.

But even so, the district was fickle for tradition and rules. During the banquet you weren’t to interact casually with the Courtesans, as it was their duty to appeal to you without bias. It could be through seduction, art, music and dance; each one given an equal chance to advertise themselves in whatever manner they saw fit. 

After deciding your final pick you would meet with them a second time at the Michizane house, only in the company of their personal attendants. An opportunity to get to know one another better and cautiously test the waters. If the chosen Courtesan was not to your liking you would still be able to send for another and there would be no quarrel. 

The third visit would be your consummation. Visiting with a Courtesan three times meant solidifying your relationship, and it would be forbidden to take another. You’d heard from many that taking a partner of the night was to be treated as seriously as a marriage, some even went as far as incorporating the exchange of nuptial cups. It was supposed to be romantic, if not slightly archaic. A beautiful lie. 

You knew too well that you were not here for pleasure, but still you yearned for love, just as any other person does.

Behind you is the gentle sound of running water in the gardens, but you are taken by the koto player's song, and the fluency at which he plays it. Three ivy picks adorn his right hand, plucking with plectra on the thumb, middle and index fingers. His left hand presses and pulls the silk string behind the bridge, adding enchanting bends and vibrato to the melody.  

“His name is Fushiguro Megumi,” the boy to your side murmurs, “here. This will help you relax”. You flinch as a ceramic sake cup is suddenly offered to you, reflexively taking it with a small bow that leaves your attendant bemused. 

Bringing it towards your lips, you inhale the slightly sweet aroma before tipping the cup into your mouth, finding it a little dry on your palate. “Thank you,” you tell him. “And what is your name?”

There's a minute tilt to his head as he answers, one of confusion. With the movement, his dark hair curtains his cheek and somehow it makes him look even younger. “My name is Yoshino Junpei. I am a trainee at the Michizane House,” he replies. 

“Oh?” you smile as his chest puffs with pride at your apparent surprise, “you must show a lot of promise then”. 

“Thank you!” you think he might start to shake with excitement, a glimmer in his eyes that was not there before. He bows deeply, fingers curling tightly into the fabric of his yukata. As his back straightens he continues, “But it is not just me. Fushiguro is also a Courtesan in training”. 

You glance towards the trainee in question. He too is dark haired and pale skinned. If he sat still you thought he might look like a porcelain doll. His eyes remain closed as his fingers spin a saccharine harmony, though you can see there are smatterings of red across his cheeks. He must’ve overheard you. 

“Then I would say The Michizane House has a keen eye,” you say. Junpei smiles, his mouth strained at the corners with careful hands reaching for your empty cup. 

“I just thought it important to let you know… as trainees we cannot be chosen to service you”. 

You nod sagely. Of course you had known that before your arrival, yet as you process his words and the implication hung between them, you feel your composure slip. “Oh—! Junpei, I never intended to pursue either of you. I was only appreciating his music”. 

Your voice is low, hushed as not to embarrass the other boy any further. Junpei’s eyes widened like a fawn faced with an arrow, the bottle of rice wine almost slipping from his grasp. “Forgive me, I misunderstood and spoke out of turn I— I understand if you’d like to request another—”

Irrespective of etiquette, you cover his hands with your own to still the trembling. “There is nothing to forgive. You were informing me so that I wouldn’t get hurt, were you not?”

He inhales deeply, the air bloating his lungs, exhaling the anxiety from his limbs. Junpei bows again once you release him. “You’re a truly kind person,” he rasps. 

“As are you,” you offer him a gentle smile, hoping he wouldn’t see the fraying edges. Seeing him so frightened at the thought of displeasing you was unsettling. You knew that it could be difficult for those working in the district, but having been sheltered most of your life you never quite understood the consequences. 

Realising the sudden silence, you meet Megumi’s pensive stare across the room. His arms are held in suspension, anticipating your anger. “I assure you everything is alright,” you steady your voice in hopes he’ll hear the sincerity, “please do continue”. 

His eyes narrow in fleeting suspicion. Gradually the melody bleeds back into the room, and Junpei returns to serving your drinks. This song is different, you note. It is light and hopeful yet poignant. 

Yes, to have these two young men punished for such meaningless offences would be abhorrent. 

There is movement in your periphery, low humming voices behind the screen door. You see multiple silhouettes through the lattice frames as Nanami moves into view, the pinch in his mouth smoothing when he sees you’re watching. 

“The Michizane House is at your service”. 

You knew to expect something unearthly, yet nothing could prepare you for the picture the Courtesans painted as they entered the parlour. 

The first is a kind faced man introduced as courtesan Okkotsu Yuta. His robe is a gold silk with a pale obi, over top he wears a moss coloured uchikake made of tulle that has been painstakingly dotted with camellia blooms. His hair is dark and neatly parted to loosely frame his face; the only jewels he wears are around his wrists and neck. At first glance he seems young, but his eyes tell otherwise. 

“Come, Rika,” he calls softly. 

A small girl trails behind him, timid as she greets you but confident in her given task; once Yuta is seated she hastily kneels beside him to straighten the fabric pooling around him and makes quick work of pouring his drink. 

As he introduces the next Courtesan — referred to as Choso, a name quite peculiar to you — Nanami is forced to move slightly back in order to make room for his frame. He’s broad, bigger than most men you had seen, though you could attribute that to the mountain of garments he wore. Light ripples on the sheen black kimono, glowing along the painted gold floral prints. Dotted across the fabric are embroidered chrysanthemum blooms; the obi is hefty where it is tied to his front, and you thought it looked as if he were holding a bouquet 

You have no doubt his hair is long. It must’ve taken an impressive amount of time to comb and style it — parted into two sections and held either side of his crown with black cloth, ornamental hairpins with cascading red beads passing through each bun. 

Forged from left cheek to right, curving seamlessly over the bridge of his nose, is a line of black paint. An innate part of you flares in alarm as he seeks out your furtive gaze in passing, like you were some sort of prey animal. 

What fractures his stoic demeanour are the children at his side in simple black robes, identical in height and appearance. The only thing setting them apart was the elaborate lines painted on one of the boys' faces to match with his elder. They press their small hands flat to their obi’s and bow in a deep but clumsy manner. 

“Hi, I’m Yuji! It’s nice to meet you!”

“I’m Sukuna, we’re honoured to join you”.

Their voices overlap yet their greetings are given out of sync. You clasp your sleeve against your palm to cover your mouth, repressing a grin as Sukuna’s eyes narrow towards his unassuming twin. Not wanting them to be scolded, you quickly incline your head forward. 

“Thank you for being in attendance,” you reply. Choso visibly softens, immediately understanding your show of kindness, and extends both arms to cradle the back of their heads. In doing so he encourages them forward toward his seat.  

It’s quite brotherly of him, you think. Children are sometimes abandoned or sold to houses in the district, so you wondered if he had mentored them himself. It would explain his fondness for them. 

Finally, a man in a cascading layer of pale blue over pink. Gojo Satoru approaches gracefully and you are reminded of a crane. Fine silks hug his body and ripple as he moves, slender and beautiful, wading through pond water and rain. The ornaments tucked into his moon white hair sway with every step, creating hypnotic little sounds that announce his presence to the path he is walking on. 

He regards you with bright mirth, as if he can hear your thoughts, and perches himself on the rouge cushion directly opposite. Again, you cannot help but compare him to a doll, held together by silk and string. You thought you might tap a finger to his porcelain cheek and find it hollow. 

With the best earners now present, the banquet finally begins. An opulent spread of food is set along the tables and bottles are replenished. Lower ranking Geisha are in attendance to provide entertainment as you gauge one another. While his own attendant is tasked with providing music, Satoru beckons one of the smaller pink haired boys to his side. Yuji, you remember. You can tell that he is much more free spirited than his twin brother. There’s a youthful air about him that makes you want to pinch his cheeks. 

Choso doesn’t seem angered by it, casting a glance toward the pair but making no move to rein him back to his side. With unspoken permission, Yuji shines under the responsibility of pouring Satoru’s drink. You can’t help but watch with an endeared smile as his tongue peaks out from the corner of his mouth in concentration, slowly tipping his elbow up to fill the cup. 

Amused by the boy, you almost miss the palpable shift in atmosphere. Looking up, you find Satoru scrutinising your reactions, haunted eyes filled with unexpected curiosity. Even at this distance, you feel it on your face like spring. 

Naturally, both in asking and in passing, you had heard much about Gojo Satoru. He was renowned for his services and heartbreak in the district, and has been permanently moored to the spot of best earner. Not only was he a perfect picture of decadence, he was also skilled in conversation and the arts — a beautiful man that wielded both sword and fan. 

Your family had personally suggested him to you, while still offering their approval for any of the top three; and you were more than qualified to choose any of them. Yet being in their presence now, choosing Gojo felt daunting. Quixotic. As if, despite all his previous conquests, your inexperienced hands might finally be the ones to sully him. 

Lost in thought, you have been staring back at him far too long. His lips are salmon pink, a reflective sheen to them. They curve into a pleased smirk, like you were a naive lamb leading itself into a wolf's mouth. 

Your brows pinch then, eyes averted to Junpei’s pale hands where he steadily refills your drink. It is swallowed in full, the initial sting diffusing into a muted warmth throughout your body, and he doesn’t comment on the cup's emptiness only moments later. 

In part, Satoru’s flagrant arrogance mystified you. It was difficult to tell whether he was peacocking to impress you, or if he really was confident that you’d pick him. Frustratingly, his assumptions weren’t baseless. 

You’re aware the others are more than suitable. Okkotsu Yuta was known for being gentle and firm. Authoritative, but in a way that puts your mind at rest. For one night, his fantasy could cast off the things that plagued you, leaving you adrift and carried by the tide’s cupped hands. Thinking was not something you need worry about. 

Informants spoke of his popularity with newcomers. First timers. You understood why they’d choose him — Yuta appeared to have an uncanny command over his expression, always kind, surrounded by an air of empathy. It is present even now, as he watches Rika perform her dance. Eyes fond, following the practised flicks of her fan as the melody clothes her. 

Choso was venerated as something of a romantic, and adored by experienced customers. His large, oppressive demeanour played well into the guise of gentle giant. He was shamelessly attentive and passionate with his servicing. This kindness was different to that of Yuta’s. It was the type anyone could fall in love with, which admittedly frightened you. 

The way Gojo Satoru carries himself is different from his peers. Selection banquets provided a short window in time to leave behind a lasting impression. Unable to yet get close, Courtesans played to the best of their strengths in the hopes of planting a seed into their clients' hearts. 

Such intentions were clear when looking at Gojo. He is carefully carved porcelain. Everything about him has been curated to serve a purpose. It seemed to you that even his garments were worn not just because of their elegance, but because they were so distinctly reflections of his mouth and his eyes.

Highly experienced, widely recommended, and dutiful at maintaining professional lines. Satoru’s prestige allowed him more freedom than his fellow Courtesans. Having earned so much for the district, Gojo was able to reject clientele if he so wished, and he often ended relationships if they began to cross boundaries. Knowing he could outright refuse you — and at the very least, hold you to account — without concern of backlash, eased some of your anxieties. 

You surmised that he would be the safest option. In choosing Gojo Satoru, you might further elevate your family's standing without worry of developing unwanted feelings. Perhaps, in knowing the background you came from, he had already come to such a conclusion himself. 

Still, his confidence grated on you. 

The evening grows older, and along with it your own gusto. Limbs heavy, capillaries filled with wet sand. Alcohol has heated you from the inside out, just enough that it is a little easier to smile sincerely. Nanami returns during the late hour, as the banquet naturally comes to an end. You cannot deny it had been a success; food and sake always did taste better in company, twice as much when married with mellow ballads and delightful performances.

Custom dictates you should not exchange words directly before the second meeting. These men were products for you to choose from. Still, you make sure to hold their line of sight while bidding them a proper goodbye. One by one, their svelte bodies bend forward into a respectful bow, and you are reminded again of your place in this pocket of the world. 

Nanami escorts you to your carriage, undereyes faintly darker than they had been earlier. You can respect that through his fatigue, the man maintains perfect posture and conduct. Norimitsu awaits by the entrance, having bided his time circling the district. 

In leaving the teahouse that night with a dull ache in your knees, you continue to recall the delicate echo of Gojo’s hair ornament. 

The days are long, longer than usual. You assist in the family business as always, but restlessness threads its way into your musculature, and you can’t seem to get anything done to completion. A letter confirming your choice of Courtesan had been sent the morning after your return, and you would attend a second meeting by the weeks end. 

You endure their lighthearted teasing with a strained smile. “The men must’ve made quite an impression,” they said. “Especially that Gojo Satoru. I’ve heard he’s a sight to behold”. 

You’d heard a lot, too. Plenty. Too much. The ornate bells had followed you all the way to your hometown. Gojo, Gojo, Gojo. Gaggles of women and men had approached you, hoping for details about him as if he were a creature tied to myth. 

While it was tiresome, you couldn’t begrudge them. Gojo was not a man many could afford. Their best bet would be to attend a procession, if only to see him from afar. Untouchable. The thought weighs heavily as you watch the anxious curl of your fingers in your lap. 

The Michizane House comes into view, your body rolling with the movement of the carriage as it cradles you. Taking up much of the forked road ahead, you think the building elegantly traditional in a way that the others aren’t. Yaga, the manager, is awaiting your arrival. Known for his philosophy of letting things speak for themselves, his property is clearly not exempt from such beliefs. 

Lined with rouge lanterns, a dream of autumn-tide. It’s inviting and promises warmth, not at all salacious, almost palatial in appearance. Men and women draped in gorgeous raiment call out to passers by kindly, knelt behind iron bars, displayed for selection in latticed parlours.  

Norimitsu is escorting you a second time. While still young, he’s tall and thick shouldered with a round belly. You knew him jovial, as something of an older brother, but to others he came across as the type of man you wouldn’t want to anger — hence why he was designated as your guard. 

“Are you looking forward to seeing him?” 

No more than you are looking forward to attending to your duties the next morning. Above all, this was work. Or so you tell yourself. 

As if he’d read your thoughts, over the bustling crowds you hear, “I do hope you’ll at least try to enjoy your night”.

Presumptively, “I expect Gojo won’t make it so easy”. 

Norimitsu chuckles as you come to a steady halt, then circling the rickshaw to assist you down. Tabi clad feet kick away any stray rocks in your path, and you step down with bated breath. 

Your escort bows as Yaga announces his presence, stepping out into the road to formally greet you. It drew some attention — the manager of The Michizane House was not often seen by any average customer. “I’ll be waiting,” he tells you. 

The pip of anxiety in your chest does take root, lissome branches curling around each individual rib. Yaga is not very personable; that’s your first lesson learnt. Rumour has it that he enjoys making dolls in his free hours. You suspect such gossip is only humorous due to the man’s rough exterior. 

“We are honoured to service you at The Michizane House,” he politely recites. You nod shortly on the end of an exhale. Alongside his love of craft sits the love for his employees. At the very least, you knew that Yaga treated the Courtesan well. 

The atmosphere changes the further into the maze you go. Tobacco, sake and sex permeates the air. Drunken laughter dissolves into quiet groans, sounds muffled behind cupped hands, a sharp slap of skin meeting skin. A fog follows — clientele chain smoking between rounds, faint grey clouds seeping beneath screen doors.

While the houses found success in abiding by their traditional values, some boundaries were a tangible, malleable concept in the district as long as money was involved. Desire could be stretched, moulded into whichever form you wanted. Here, within reason, you could do as you pleased. A mandated space to revel in your desires; scratch the itch away from the rigidity of civilised society. 

In hindsight, choosing the Courtesan had been the easier part of the arrangement. While Gojo would be there to fill silences and guide the conversation, deftly covering for whatever social qualities you so clearly lacked, that would only be enough for tonight. You ought to decide upon your own itch. 

Come the third meeting, how could Gojo Satoru sate your hunger? 

“Satoru’s private quarters are just up ahead. He will be joining you shortly,” Yaga continues as he guides you out onto the veranda, where there is a beautiful garden; bamboo hedges and interwoven bushes, a winding road of pale sand lining a miniature pond. There are stones left hollow, dwarfed peach trees and azaleas. You inhale with relief as your lungs are cleared by the crisp night air.

Gradually, the awkward thud of your shoes against wood is overlapped by another’s more practised, commanding footsteps. Each step is accompanied by the quiet tinkling of a bell. A Geisha, presumably, that you’ve yet to meet walks out into your intended path, their presence overwhelming. 

Yaga regards them cordially, “Maki”. 

Long, regal fabrics that dance in lavish shades of indigo and gold. The very cosmos stitched into their clothing. Maki. They bow and the moonlight reflects around the crown of their head, highlighting a jewelled comb tucked neatly into a bun — a style common amongst well ranking women. 

“Yaga-sama,” comes the formal reply. You stiffen when her golden eyes sweep over your form. She’s notably tall, and you felt she would still tower over you even in the absence of the Okobo strapped to her feet. Maki bows to you wordlessly, then returns to her pace. The small bell housed in the hollow of her shoes begins to sing. Thud, chime, thud, chime. 

As she passes with a sidelong glance, a stream of moonlight illuminates her face. Handsomely pretty, you think. Her features are distinctive, angular. There is a fleeting thought that she reminds you of Megumi. 

You remain close to Yaga’s heel as you enter another part of the house. The screen doors are painted entirely opaque, and there are less patrons here. While these quarters appeared to be far more private, still you hear the muffled, unmistakable, sound of sex from the end of the hall. 

“Here,” Yaga’s voice snaps you out of your nervous reverie as his arm extends to open one of the rooms. It is atleast a good distance away from the other… occupants. 

Sliding the screen across, a well sized room is revealed. Pale tatami flooring, dark knotted wood panelling. There is a low table and cushions set out beside the far alcove, where you might ponder the two decorative scrolls that hang there. At the foot is a small ceramic bowl, already cradling a lit stick of incense. 

What truly demands your attention is the large wall mounted byobu, kept on the far side of the room over a large futon. It is a quiet depiction of nature, polychrome and laden with silk brocades. To the South are a small herd of rabbits, prancing through a mountainous valley adorned with blushing maple trees. North are a flock of cranes, wings spread as they glide across the skies.  

You wondered how often Gojo would find himself looking at it. Did it provide comfort, or did it leave him wistful? 

“Please be seated and make yourself comfortable. The attendants won’t be long,” Yaga gestures towards the tatami with calloused fingers, “rest assured, The Michizane House will accommodate you well”. 

“Thank you for your hospitality,” you reply, the words rolling off the tongue with ease. Formality is what you know best. Chin tucked to sternum in a placid bow, you first rush to remove your geta before entering the room on socked feet. 

The screen behind slides shut and you are left with silence. Suddenly your obi feels too constricting, and the silk of your kimono weighs heavily across your shoulders. Approaching the low table, you clutch at drapes of fabric as you kneel to be seated. This would be your final moment of respite for the remainder of the night, and yet all you can think of is how you are now set in motion towards inexorable change. 

There is a restrained knock from the door. Giving your permission, it slides open with a soft hiss to reveal the young man that you know to be named Megumi. This time he adorns deep purple, a garden of peonies both red and pink sewn into his sleeves. Balanced atop one of his pale hands is a tray of cups and sake. He bows forward, a single amethyst peony hairpin tucked behind his ear. 

Tucked at his side and falling short at the hip, is one of the twins. His clothes are slightly disheveled, as expected of a child his age, but it’s well hidden by the violet geometric pattern. Cheeks as pink as his hair, you’re presented with a wide beam. 

“Hi!” he chirps. Yuji, then.

Megumi lightly knocks his knuckles atop the boy’s crown in admonishment. As Yuji reaches to protect his head from a second strike, the trail of his sleeves pool into the crook of his arms. 

“That was mean!”

Lacking discretion, though not without trying, the older attendant mutters, “Don’t act so familiar with the customers. Greet them properly”. 

Yuji looks at you, visibly mustering up a sense of professionalism. He forces his mouth thin, and an unsettlingly placid sheen coats his once bright eyes. His head bows forward, still gracelessly. “Good evening. We are hon— honoured to serve you”. 

You become aware of the dead weight of your robes around your shoulders. A prickling of discomfort under your skin. He’s just a baby, after all. 

Kindly, you answer, “I’m honoured to be here”. 

In return, you are given a toothy grin. The two step further into the room and begin their preparations without instruction. Megumi sets the tray down on the low table, so careful that it barely makes a sound. Yuji rearranges the remaining cushions, one moved suspiciously close and the others appropriately spaced. 

Whenever Satoru arrives, a bright spark follows. There’s something different about him this time. His exuberance tempered, but still crisp; again, you are reminded of the breaking of spring. It rolls into the ambiance, and you find yourself irritatingly giddy. 

“You’re here,” he says. Tonight he’s wearing a simple, light blue yukata dotted with little white rabbits. It drapes effortlessly on his frame, loose around his shoulders and partially open at the chest to reveal a toned expanse of pale skin. 

Yuji and Megumi scramble to his attendance, while you are struck by just how relaxed he is. You can’t look away from him. There is a clink to your left, the neck of a small sake bottle meeting the rim of your cup. “…I am here,” comes your careful reply. “Thank you for accepting my letter, and for joining me”. 

He smiles at that. It is unexpected and entirely genuine. Satoru actually looks at home here. There’s still a professional air to him as he settles beside you, tactile in his touch and deliberate with his words; you parse through them but find no smarm, only that he feels warmer. 

Stilted conversation is not a thing of this world. Where words fail you, he is there to pick up the slack, peeling back the layers of your life with unassuming questions. The year you were born and the zodiac that comes with it, where you grew up, what business your family dabbled in, if you had siblings to care for — you, pleasantly light from the sake, breathing in tones of sandalwood, answer a little too freely. 

Satoru hums as though he were feigning thought. “I have no blood siblings, but I’d say that our precious Megumi here—” he reaches out to the boy with lithe fingers and tousles Megumi’s hair out of place “—is quite like a little brother to me”. 

The younger man cringes away from his touch looking suitably disgruntled. His features are sharp, but still soft in a way that betrays his youth. Yuji laughs. 

“I’ve been wondering, why is it that the other attendants make an effort to match clothing with their Courtesans, but you and Megumi don’t?” you ask, absentmindedly toying with the sleeve of your kimono. 

Satoru observes you for a moment, guileful eyes dragging from the nervous tick to your own, searching for something unbeknownst to you. You fear you might’ve offended him, but then, “Megumi dislikes the things I wear. He calls them ostentatious”. 

Satoru’s mouth twists into a childish pout as he pointedly glares at the boy in question, and for a short breath the faultless mask is gone, “He doesn’t even know what that word means”. 

Megumi snorts and quickly schools his expression, blank faced when he meets Satoru’s gaze, “I’d like to see you spell it”. 

“Oh? Trying to embarrass me infront of a customer?” If he’s attempting to scold his attendant, then he’s failing spectacularly. Voice saccharine, cloying in his throat as he tries not to laugh, Satoru says, “Yaga will have you out on the street”. 

“I wish he would”. 

You watch their interactions from behind the lip of your sake cup. The taste is sweet, fitting for the moment. Skin warming, it sits well in your stomach and has a pleasant buzz thrumming through your veins. “Are they always like this?” you whisper. Yuji nods with his whole body. 

“Don’t misunderstand,” Satoru smiles down at the two of you, his big hand reaching to cradle Megumi’s head once again. His attendant’s glare visibly softens and allows it. “We squabble like any other family”. 

The word ‘family’ stands out in your mind like a stray thread. You pick at it, tentatively, “Is it possible you have blood relatives here? I saw another Geisha here who looked quite like you, Megumi”.  

“You must’ve met Maki-san,” the younger man replies. There’s an obvious glimmer of respect at mention of her and for reasons you can’t place, it saddens you. “We share descendants. She is a distant cousin”. 

“Curious that you both ended up at the same house”. 

Satoru quietly sips his sake, licking at the inner corner of his mouth as he looks to Megumi, seeking permission to speak. Even more curious for a high ranking Courtesan. Megumi nods in silent acquiescence, and you halt when their collective attention turns on you. 

As your cup is refilled, Satoru weaves a sullen tale of a small dark haired boy born to a wanted man and a runaway Geisha. Though riddled with illness and partly malnourished from her time in the district, his stouthearted mother carried him fully to term before passing after childbirth. Left with an infant, his lover's debt and a target on his back, the man snuck his son into the district where he wouldn’t be touched and sold him to the Michizane house. 

“That boy was our Megumi. I saw his potential and took him under my wing. The rest you can guess,” he concludes fondly, though there is a tightness by his eyes. You wonder whether Satoru struggles to balance his gratitude and his guilt. 

Incognisant of the troubled atmosphere, Yuji claps his chubby hands together. Appled cheeks strain where his grin stretches wide. “It’s just like me and Sukuna-nii!” 

Megumi huffs and reaches over to pinch the swell between his fingers. The sleeve of his yukata hangs over the low table, slipping up his forearm to reveal a pale sleuth of skin. “Worm. Our stories are nothing alike”.

“No,” Satoru hums thoughtfully. “Yuji and Sukuna were left outside in a rice sack like a couple of drowned kittens”. 

Megumi shakes his cheek, and it draws the younger boy's lip up to reveal his pink gums before letting go. You listen, horrified, as Yuji giggles. “S’cause they thought Sukuna-nii was cursed. But he’s just really cranky!” 

“Is that right?” you faltered. Satoru takes your unease as a sign to lean in closer, shoulders brushing. 

“Yeah. But it’s okay, ‘cause he’s my cool big brother. Choso too! He looks a bit scary, but he takes real good care of us”.

“You really love your brothers, don’t you?”

“Choso plays temari with us in the gardens when he doesn’t have customers,” Yuji flashes the charming gap between his front teeth as he rubs at his sore cheek, earthen eyes squinted with happiness. “If you spent the night with him, I bet he would play temari with you too!”

Satoru’s hand crosses your line of sight as he reaches out to poke at the young boy's waist, dainty bangles slipping down his wrist. “What’s this, kid? I didn’t invite you here so your brother could gain favour with my customer,” he bemoans, pinching and prodding at baby fat beneath the fabric. 

Yuji stutters into peals of laughter at his theatrics, his arms folded close to protect his stomach. It’s obvious that Satoru does it to prevent Yuji from worrying — to let him act out, as a child should. The sound is so joyful it’s contagious, and the corners of your mouth curve into a helpless smile. 

None of this had been what you expected. The many whispers you’d heard before tonight tell you clearly that this second meeting is an unconventional one. You figured the younger ones were invited to set your mind to rest; not once did Satoru make a pass in their presence. As the evening wore on you felt your inhibitions slip further, anxieties along with them, and enjoyed yourself as though you were in the company of good — albeit, touchy — friends. 

Eventually, the attendants are given leave. Megumi bows deeply, Yuji mirroring him, but then you are thrown an easy wave before the shoji doors slide shut. With no boisterousness to fill the silence, you and Satoru sit quietly and listen as their light footfalls gradually disappear. 

Then, Satoru reaches for your sake cup. Stifling heat flushes through you in anticipation of what he might do. Your tongue peeks out to wet your bottom lip as he brings it to your mouth. “Here,” he murmurs. “Let me”. 

Hand poised by your cheek, you hold the decorative beads pinned behind your ear back while you bend to take a sip. The weight of his stare is unnerving, and inexplicably tempting. You release a pleased little noise at the woody aroma. It’s not unlike the sandalwood incense permeating the room. 

He leans into your space and you hear a shallow intake of breath. After a beat, he confides, “It’s my favourite”. 

You’re immediately disappointed, then you squash it. “Well. Thank you for sharing it with me,” your reflection stares dolefully at you from the bottom of the cup. “For sharing all of this with me. It was unexpectedly… fun”. 

He pouts, and doesn’t miss the way your eyes fall to his mouth. ”I’m not at the top without reason”. 

Sensing Satoru’s mischief, you hasten to deflect from your obvious slip up. “It’s a compliment! I just meant that this was different from what I was expecting”. 

“In a good way?” he coaxed. 

“Yes,” comes your ginger reply. You spare him an equally cautious glance. “I appreciate you letting them stay so long. I’m aware you didn’t have to”. 

After a long silence, Satoru sighs. “Admittedly this isn’t how I usually do things. But I knew I needed to take a different approach tonight”. 

“And what approach is that?” 

“To be myself,” his eyes sweep over your form. “Can I touch you?”

You startle. “That—! We aren’t supposed to be intimate until the third meeting”. 

“Not like that,” he reassures, the corners of his mouth slightly downturned as he fights a smirk. “Though it’s interesting that you would immediately assume something dirty”. 

“We’re in a pleasure district. What else would I assume?” you argued, directing a glare to your lap, “I just didn’t want to overstep house rules”. 

Satoru clicks his tongue, and the sound ricochets throughout your chest. If you had feathers they might’ve been on end, inflamed and splayed out in defense. 

“Are you determined to make this difficult for yourself?” his tone lowers, a warm and playful lilt to it that pulls the breath from your lungs; As if he was actually enjoying his time with you, despite how intransigent you were being about it all. The back and forth was unexpectedly natural, and you think, in part, that is what startled you. “I’m supposed to be seducing you, you know”.

Satoru moves impossibly closer, thighs pressing together. You pull your kimono tighter, feeling exposed under his scrutiny, “And you plan on doing that by aggravating me?” 

“No,” he draws the word out, ducking forward to meet your eyes. “You’re skittish. I thought I might hold you, that’s all”. 

“You want to… hug me?” 

“Hold,” he emphasises. “There’s not a romantic bone in your body, is there?”

Nettled, you lift your chin to glare at him, “I was under the impression you didn’t have any either”.

“You wound me,” he seems all too pleased by your sudden childishness. “Come here, then. Let me show you the difference”. 

You hesitate as his body turns toward you, arms raised a fraction and waiting for your consent. His kimono has loosened further, revealing the defined planes of his stomach. 

Closing the distance, you are pulled into his depths. Tense still, but as promised, Satoru does nothing besides embrace you. Heat seeps through silk garments, an arm secure and branding around your waist while a hand brushes reassuring strokes along your back. Tucked against his chest, soft redolence of floral spice coils around your nose and fills your throat like air. 

With eyes closed, you listen to the pitter patter behind his ribs. His pulse is unexpectedly quick. 

“Are you nervous?” 

It’s surprising that you would be the one to ask. He hums pleasantly. “I wouldn’t call it nervous,” one by one, lissome fingers ascend the length of your spine, “if there’s one thing I know, it’s that the body is always honest”. 

Satoru’s words are flint struck against steel, blood warm and rushing to fill the capillaries as you suppress a shudder. He cradles you securely and gently, as one might hold something precious to them, and your body is alight with it. Lured into a false sense of safety, surrounded by free spirited little white rabbits lovingly sewn into cloth. 

You think you might be one of them now, too. Prey. Lured into the jaws of a man that has eaten his fill many times before — you taste good, but you’re no different. You’re just a rabbit. 

He laughs at your awkwardness and it reverberates, tapering off into a long hum, “Breathe. Stop being so stubborn and let yourself enjoy this”. 

Exhaling at his instruction, you grimace through the obvious quiver and peer up at him. His features are sharper from this angle, cut deep by the shadows. He’s beautiful. A paste of clays moulded into porcelain with smithsonite irises. It isn’t a wonder why people flock to purchase his time — he’s a spectacle.

“Can I ask you something?” 

Then his eyes smile, wrinkling at the corners. It reminds you that he is human. “You don’t need my permission,” he assured. 

I do, you think. 

“Do you believe in love?”

You ache when he laughs again. This particular grin looks brittle up close, and there is a pervading sense of loneliness in it that you can’t shake. “Love is what I sell. Does that answer your question?” 

“Is it?” you ask, lips pressing into a flat line. You were bored of being spoon fed fairytales. “What you sell is short-lived desire”. 

He quietens, regarding you for a moment with dim eyes and you worry that you’ve been cruel. Amidst the silence you think he might be asking you the same thing — is it?

“Well, there’s no shortage of desire,” he says, though mostly to himself. The comment is wary, as if he’d fought something and lost, but his self assured veil is fixed. “They come here to fulfil a dream, one that I can give them. Same as you”.

Just another rabbit. You weren’t sure whether it was his lack of flaw or the idea of him treating you as any other customer that left such an unpleasant taste in your mouth. 

“I think you’ve mistaken me,” you reply curtly.  

“I don’t think I have,” he murmurs, reaching down to smooth over the curve of your cheek, speaking with amused cadence, “you only loathe that choosing me makes you exactly like everyone else”. 

“Gods. You are so—!”

Satoru intrudes into your space until his nose bumps precariously against the skin beneath your eye, practically gleaming with expectant amusement, “—Loveable?” 

Your fingers curl tight into his kimono, lest they find themselves around the pale column of his throat. “Irritating,” you fumed, reflexively pouting. 

“Yet here you are”. The pad of his index finger then presses to your jutted lower lip. He hums, seemingly incognisant of the way your entire body has frozen. “I think you like it,” he says, his voice warm and amused. “I think you like me”. 

“I don’t,” you reply. Too quickly. 

He laughs, “Then I’ll get you to like me over time. Think of it like slowly boiling a frog”. 

“That’s an awful idiom to use. What happened to supposedly trying to seduce me?”

Slowly, his finger skims over your cheek to the shell of your ear. You hold your breath. Close enough to count each white eyelash, to see the individual shadows they cast. He follows the curve with lidded eyes. Over the lobe to your jaw, down to the small gland in your throat, pulse quickening under his touch. 

“Hm, I don’t know,” he plucks your wrist from your lap and brings it to his lips. “It seems to me that it’s working”. 

Rocked by the intimacy, your tight fisted hand unfurls. Satoru watches intently. He begins at your inner wrist with a feather light peck, his lips softer than your imagination allowed, leaving behind a warm impression on your skin. 

He carries on over to the heel, then another, deliberate where he kisses your heart line. You remind yourself to breathe and the exhale comes like a tremor as he nuzzles into the shallow of your palm. Pink lips drag along your thumb, pressing a kiss to the pad with a fleeting dip of tongue, searing against the whorls and lines. 

The air is electric. Satoru repeats the motions for every one of your fingers, his gaze never wavering from yours. There’s heat spreading down your neck, prickling along your spine, pooling in your belly. His mouth quirks, equal parts knowing and amused. 

“What do you think?” he speaks with warm, alluring cadence. There’s a desperate lilt to it that you like. It sounds as though he were just as affected by this as you. “Will you choose me again?” 

That evening with Satoru left you feeling like a convalescent child. Fatigued, indulging in familiar home comforts. It wasn’t anything he did; not delivering gentle touches, nor his well practised whispers. More it was your own reactions — jittery and diffident as a newborn foal — that plagued you on sleepless nights. 

You realise that at some point a subconscious part of your being began to seek his approval in some way. To experience his pleasure, aside from yours. Not only in spite of proving yourself worthy company, but because you— 

A long groan builds in your chest, heels pressed harshly into your eye sockets. This is the exact opposite of what you thought would happen. 

—You truly did come to like him. Selfish as it may be, you wanted him to think of you while you were away, just as you thought of him. 

Gojo Satoru had crawled into your skin; made a home between your fourth and fifth rib. Your family are ecstatic, enthused by the arrival of a letter with his name inscribed on paper in heavy strokes. You tuck it away into your sleeve and read it later in the privacy of your room. 

He asks that you visit again. He makes a promise to kiss more than just your hand, if you permit it. You swallow thickly at the thought, the ink trembling in your grip where you hold it a few inches over open flame. How is it he beguiled you this easily? What had happened to your steadfast resolve? Diminished in a single meeting. 

You tuck the letter under your pillow with a sigh and write back. 

That fateful night begins with an awe inspiring procession stretched many metres down the main road. Your family had insisted on commissioning the event. Hand picked Michizane House attendants, all dressed to mirror one another, walk forward slowly wearing stoic expressions. Lantern bearers, apprentices and servants followed close at the Courtesan's side. 

There in the centre is Gojo Satoru, breathtakingly beautiful. His feet swooped outward in his approach and glided forward with trained precision, standing proud, tall and regal despite the many colourful, heavy robes and accessories swallowing his body. 

You stand by the shop in wonder, surrounded by the crowds reverential whispers. The passing mention of your name encourages you to stand taller, to show the same dignity and grace that Satoru has shown. His eyes stare right ahead — right at you, vivid blue and divine in the lamplight. Under all the cloth and jewellery you see vestiges of boyish excitement. He looks happy that you’re here. 

The onlookers seem to hold their breath as he closes in. Your heart beats wildly in the back of your throat, incognisant of the gentle pitter pattering rain from above. You’ve never seen anything like it. Waterfalls of red, gold, green spilling from his front. The geta on his feet are scuffed, scratch marks stark against the black. You cannot imagine the hours put into perfecting such a precise walk. 

Norimitsu hurriedly produces an umbrella and holds it above you. Shoulders already damp with rain, you didn’t mind it. Satoru peers down at you through wispy, dove feather eyelashes, and the hairs on the back of your neck stand up in ovation. 

You are ushered into the shop. 

The time between stepping into the genkan and being taken to Satoru’s quarters is a rush. Your new partner is taken elsewhere for assistance with removing his heavy garb. A young girl you’ve never met offers you a clean dry towel and leaves you idly waiting. 

Patting at the damp skin around your collar, you take in the surroundings. It is undoubtedly Satoru’s room, now lit only by lamplight. Golden, flickering shadows veil the space, creating a close and intimate ambiance. There is a luxurious futon in place of the low table covered in fresh bedding and pillows. You swallow at the sight of it. 

“This won’t do”. 

You yelp, covering your mouth to muffle the noise. Satoru stands in the doorway, leaning against the frame, hand still holding open the screen. He steps forward and slides it closed with a quiet hiss. You take in his state of undress; a thin pale robe draped around broad shoulders, tied loosely to emphasise a tapered waist, open at the front to expose his chest. Gone are the delicate ornaments and grand fabrics spilling forth from his obi. Brought back down to earth — back to you. 

Lost in your appraisal of him, you almost miss the pinch in his brow. He cups your throat with featherlight pressure, rubbing his fingers together as he pulls away. “You’re wet,” his frown deepens briefly. You witness the moment that his thoughts connect to sex, only to smother them in favour of keeping you comfortable. 

“You can say it, you know,” you offer wryly. He blinks, and the discontent melts to give way for mirth as he realises what it is you’re referring to. 

“Well I can’t now. It loses all impact”.

Satoru takes the towel from your grasp. He hooks a finger into the fold of your kimono and you exhale, feeling knuckles brush over your breasts. “I’ll have Megumi draw you a bath. I can’t have you getting sick on our special night”. 

Right, you think. His geniality and carefree air made it so easy to forget that this was little more than a transaction. “Please. Don’t tell me you got us nuptial cups”. 

“Okay,” he chimes, flattening his palm against your chest to iron out the creases he’d left. “I won’t tell you”. 

You clutch at his wrists, swimming in the loose fabric of his sleeves, “Satoru—!”

“A hot bath should help you relax. We don’t need to jump right in,” he murmurs firmly. Voice low and quiet, a pleasant hum in your ears. His hands are splayed over your hips now, stroking in small circular motions. “I’ll be gentle. Soften you up until you’re ready for me”. 

Your nerves lessen steadily into a simmer. Amusement curls in the corner of your mouth, “A slow boil?” 

Satoru grins; small, affectionate and sincere as he leans in, brushing his nose along the underside of your jaw. You feel a warm breath ghost over your skin. “Yeah,” he says. “Like a slow boil”. 

The Michizane house was prized for more than just sex. You are pointed to a darkened, private bathroom and overwhelmed by the scent of eucalyptus. There is flora carved into the walls, topped with extravagant vermillion gables. Megumi rises from his knees, a sash drawn across his chest to keep his sleeves back, his silhouette blurred by steam. He nods as he greets you and sets a small stool over the grate. Rigid, you take in the large, kiln shaped tub.

Megumi bows, staring over your shoulder when he rises. It reminds you of the man standing patiently at your heel, maintaining a short distance as you acclimate to reality. You thank Megumi and he stoops beneath the curtains to leave. 

Anxious as you were, the bath is calling to you. Tendrils of white dance on the water's surface. Wordlessly, you start to undress, loosening your obi until the neck gapes open and pools at your shoulders. The careful press of Satoru’s hands does not startle you. He helps slide the damp material over your shoulders while you untie the cotton belt around your waist.

Your kimono flowers open. Exhilaration frissons through your body and heat gathers under his fingers. All that’s left are your thin underclothing. You tremble as you reach back to undo the final knot. Satoru peels the layer back, stripping you bare. The temperature is pleasant on your exposed skin. Bumps arise over your arms and breasts, nipples perked up, senses sharpened. You can feel his sinuous movement in the air behind you, fingertips brushing the small of your back. 

“Get in,” he quietly instructs. 

The water is perfect. You dip your toes in first. Knee bending to climb in, your thighs part as you go; Satoru takes a sharp intake of breath that sparks like flint in your belly. Slowly, you sink into the depths, muscles bled of their rigidity. You sigh and tip back to rest your head on the edge. 

“Better?”

You peek at him from beneath half lidded eyes. Satoru has taken up station by the bathtub. He looks comically large on the small stool. His arms are folded by your head, and he lowers into the cradle, cheek turned to watch your face closely. Lazily, you reach to curl a stray strand of white, gossamer hair around your index finger, saturating it with water until it holds a curl. 

“A lot better,” you admit. It’s surprising how little you care that he’s seeing you naked. Maybe it was his commitment to honouring your boundaries that made this so much easier. A supposed sexual being, an ethereal creature of the night, so deliberately keeping his gaze above your collarbones. Picture perfect obeisance. “Will you just sit there?”

Mischief returns to his eyes. “Oh? Were you expecting something?”

“Don’t tease me,” you mumble. This is all so new to you. “I just thought you might…”

When your voice weakens with uncertainty, he presses. “Might?” 

“Bathe me”. 

You see his expression light up in the dim shadows. Satoru deigns to respond, rather, he turns to grab a bowl smaller than his palm. Inside it is a bar of perfumed soap and a cloth. He scoots closer with the cloth between long fingers, disturbing the water as he soaks it. You observe, hazy, as he lathers it with soap and moves to run it over your bicep. You lift your arm out of the water in synchrony, swallowing the swell of emotion in your throat as he covers your hand and gives a deliberate squeeze. 

“Did you enjoy the parade?” he asks. The question echoes in the otherwise silent room, almost as quiet as the rippling water. You nod, too lost in the delicious pressure of his hands as he washed over your shoulders in practised, comforting motions. He huffed a laugh under his breath and continued down the planes of your back as you sat forward. 

The words are cloying on your tongue. “You looked beautiful,” you tell him. “Just watching made my feet ache. How many years did it take to learn that?”

“That’s what you were thinking about?” he needled. You shudder at the innocent pass beneath your breasts, barely hearing him. “You were supposed to be enchanted by me. Not worrying about my ankles”. 

“I was,” you insist, voice slightly slurred. The loss of tension has left you loose lipped. “You were so incredible. I could hardly believe you were walking in my direction. I can hardly believe you’re at my side now, bathing me”. 

There’s a wealth of emotion in his eyes that you aren’t privy to. Satoru hums amusedly and bends to kiss your wet shoulder. He takes a copper jug from the shelf and fills it with water, shielding your face when he pours it over you to rinse away the bubbles. Eventually, he whispers for you to get up. 

“Best get out before you prune,” he smirks. Satoru snakes an arm around your waist as you stand. Uncaring of how wet his robe would get, he balances you against his broad chest, leaving behind the wet impression of your hand. You feel something warm pressed to your temple. It is only when you are dry, wrapped in a thin robe of your own, that you realise it was another kiss.

You’re perched on your knees in the centre of his futon. Legs numb under your body, skittish heart jumping behind your ribs. You feel more naked than ever before. Somehow the suggestion of nudity is far more overwhelming than the latter. 

Satoru sets a tray of sake cups on a tray, setting it beside the futon. You are awash with relief to see that they are the house’s regular cups. He must notice, because he chuckles. 

Pouring you a shallow cup, he asks, “Have you ever bedded a man?”

There’s a tremor in your hands when you receive the sake from him. Between sips you reply, “No”. 

“Are you scared?”

There is something in his voice, in the way his demeanour shifts, in how his face softens; it alleviates the panic. The waves become bearable. You can’t find it in yourself to fear what he might think of you now, not when he’s looking at you like he loves you. 

“I’m not scared,” and it’s the truth. 

You like it when he smiles. When he finds you funny and the bridge of his nose wrinkles. It’s no wonder some guests are dragged out kicking and screaming come morning. 

“Why didn’t you choose Yuta?” Satoru splays out beside you. He lay on his hip, legs angled toward you, elbow propped up to rest his head. There is little left to the imagination. His belt hangs low, showing the firm plains of his abdomen. Your sights linger on the fair hair leading from his navel, growing thicker below the confines of his robe. 

“Yuta?” you echo. 

He nods, reaching across your lap to pick up his own cup. The sake leaves behind a sheen on his lips. You track the swipe of his tongue, leaning into his heat. 

“Yuta is widely known to be a favourite amongst newcomers. Virgins especially,” he says. Had it not been for his neutral tone, you might’ve rushed to defensiveness. Empty drink set aside, his hand waves dismissively, “Apparently I’m too intimidating”. 

“I can see why people might think that. You are sort of… otherworldly, at first glance”.

“Then why did you pick me?”

After your third night together the relationship would be sealed. You would be forbidden from accompanying another Courtesan. While it was not a traditional relationship, it still spoke of a high level of commitment and dedication to one another. Pride reared its lion head and you struggled to find the right words. Telling the truth would expose your feelings like a shorn nerve. Lying wouldn’t sit right with you.

“This isn’t one sided,” you tell him instead. “You could’ve turned me away. You chose me too. Why?”

“Because I wanted you,” he says plainly. Then, Satoru, far braver than you, takes your face into his hands, sweeping over your cheeks. You can taste his breath, sweet from the sake. “My world is all about desire and I’m no different. I want you”. 

Satoru wears the warm lamp light well. Painted in strokes over every muscle and curve, it softens him. You let him take your weight, gently guiding you as you recline against the futon; thick and plush beneath, you are ensconced with his body heat as he presses chest to chest. Your thighs part naturally to make room, hooking lazily at either side of his waist. 

His lips brush your own in a whisper of a kiss. “Wait,” you gasp, instinctively gripping his shoulders. Satoru doesn’t pull away nor does he push. As you asked, he waits. “What if I’m terrible at it?” 

Blinking slow, he rubs his nose along your cheek. Eyelashes tickle you like a moth's wing. “Sex isn’t about being perfect. It’s about being present,” your fingers slide up the back of his neck, curling into his hair. Your eyes fall closed as he tilts to kiss each eyelid. “It’s about doing what feels good and letting go. Let me take care of you”. 

Satoru’s mouth is hot and softer than any silk you’ve worn. He takes his time with you. The kiss begins tenderly — unexpectedly chaste, but never parting for long.

It touches something deep within you. The feeling intensifies as he parts the seam of your lips with his clever tongue, and when your fingers tighten at the back of his skull, he moans. You shudder under him, thighs reflexively clenching. 

His hand comes up to cradle your crown as he gently coaxes your tongue into his mouth to suck on it, the other cascading the length of your bare calf to your thigh and kneading. Squeezing. Appreciating every inch of you. Satoru slips beneath the hem of your robe. You whine, trying to follow his lead. 

“Yours first,” you pant, pawing at his clothes. Hair mussed from your hands, Satoru looms above you with kiss bitten lips pulled into a grin. You stare as he opens his robe, letting it slide naturally over his shoulders and casting it aside. 

Your hands find smooth milky skin. He settles with his arms braced either side of your head and lets you touch. Fingertips trace the lines and divots of his stomach, feeling his muscles flinch under your touch. He’s a marvel to look at. But what you like best are the noises he makes — each part of his body is a new string to pluck. 

The white hair around his cock is trim and surprisingly soft. He’s pale with a subtle curve, the tip blushing dark pink. Of course his cock would be pretty, too. He’s big. You think he is. You wouldn’t know, not really, but long enough for you to worry. 

With newfound curiosity, you trail a finger from root to crown, spreading the prespend around his slit. You wrap yourself around his length and smile when he twitches, hips involuntarily bucking into your fist. Exhaling a shaken breath, “Can I touch you, too?”

“…Okay,” you hold his gaze and let him see the need there. A part of you wanted to be looked upon as an equal, rather than a fledgling; such thoughts you know to be ridiculous. Surely the power imbalance should lie with you, and yet. 

You turn your cheek to the pillow while he parts the robe. It’s different here. Hugged by a dewy orange hue, the darkness makes the room smaller and casts your body in another light. You’re relaxed, laid flat. A shadow curves around the soft, lower part of your stomach. Your breasts lay slightly uneven, no longer held in place by a bust belt. Your legs are spread and draped around his waist, cushiony next to what looks to be cut straight from porcelain. 

“Gods. You are divine”. 

Satoru sits back on his calves, palming at your own. The oil lamplight flickers in his crystalline eyes and he looks ravenous. He’s looking at you. 

“Satoru…” You ignore the urge to cover your face as he lifts your legs to hook one over his shoulder. You are already breathing heavily and he hasn’t touched you yet. He must know. 

With reverence, Satoru turns and presses a kiss to the arch of your foot, smiling when you reflexively kick. “Ticklish?” he murmurs. The next is pressed to your ankle, drawn out and warm, holding your gaze as he does it. “How cute”. 

Your hands twist in the sheets. He continues up your calf to your knee, then further, forging a path of lascivious words between your thighs. A shudder wracks through your body at the ghost of his breath over your sex. And when he blows lightly, purposefully, you can feel how wet you are. 

“Fuck,” he breathes. So quiet it might not have been for your ears. Heat spreads under your skin. You’re equally frustrated and aroused as he continues on, abdomen flexing where he brushes a kiss to your navel. “You’re so beautiful”. 

Satoru rubs his cheek over your stomach and takes a deep, contented breath. His hands smooth along your waist, kneading and squeezing at the flesh but never enough to bruise. Your heart jumps as he cups your breasts, mouthing the valley between, gently pushing them together to flick his tongue over each nipple. Wet with spit, he blows again, smiling as your skin pebbles as though it were reaching for him. 

“You’re perfect,” he continues, returning to his place over you. There’s a dazed look in his eyes, now. The kind a man gets when he’s hungry. “I love how reactive you are. Look at you”. 

“Satoru,” your voice echoes, desperate and barely recognisable. His face is warm in your hands — there’s a ruddiness to his cheeks that is unmistakably a blush. You’ve never felt so desired. His eyes watch as you wet your lips, and you try to pull him closer. “Kiss me again”. 

“Another?” He sounds so breathless. Even so, Satoru barely yields, holding rigid over your wanting mouth. “Where, angel? Here?” He kisses the skin below your eye. “…Here?” His lips press to the line of your jaw. 

You whine. Strengthening your grip, you force him to align with you, “Here”. 

And he does, licking into your mouth in teasing, practised motions. He tastes like his favourite sake. Teeth sink into the fat of your bottom lip, pulling gently and letting go, connected by a thin string of spit. Half lidded eyes fall to the laboured rise and fall of your breasts, his fingertip circling around your pert nipple. 

“Talk to me,” he pinches the nub between his fingers. Exhaling a short moan, you push up into the touch. “I want to hear all your sweet little noises. Will you do that for me?” 

“Feels embarrassing,” you confess thickly. The vulnerability is overwhelming; your body continues to betray your true feelings with glaring clarity, all while his own remains hidden. “It’s— it’s a lot. I want you to feel good, too”.

“Good?” A fair brow arches. Satoru rolls his hips down in one smooth motion. He slides through your folds, weighty and hot. The head of his cock bumps against your clit and you both groan in synchrony. “This is what you do to me”. 

“Me?” 

“You,” he answers easily. The thick baritone of his voice quakes through you. Your pulse throbs as he reaches down to cup your pussy. “I wanna kiss you here, too. Can I?” 

The heel of his hand alleviates the ache. Your hips instinctively grind against him, pleasure gathering low in your belly. “Yes,” you nod frantically, wanting more. “Please”. 

“So well mannered,” he teases, thumbing your lower lip. The playful air has you opening your mouth, tongue pressed to skin. You feel his cock twitch. His fingers shift where they’re splayed across your cheek and he taps your jaw. “Get these nice and wet for me”. 

Satoru smooths the pad of his thumb over your tongue, learning the grooves of your teeth. Heat flushes through you. The soft wet sounds of spit pooling into your cheeks rings in your ears as he pulls back, only to slide in another. Two, his middle and index, splitting them so they frame your tongue and stretch your mouth. 

“You really are gorgeous”. 

Embarrassment floods through you, yet somehow, his earnest praise only feeds your arousal. You buck against the hand that has slowly begun to grind against your pussy. Sex is about feeling good, he’d said. It’s about letting go. 

You meet his eyes and steel your resolve. Cutting free of shame you wrap your lips around his knuckles and suck unabashedly. His lashes flutter, jaw slacking with a drawn out groan. “There you are,” he murmurs, retracting his fingers. They’re coated in saliva, glistening. 

Before you can mourn the loss they’re sliding over your clit and the complaint dies in your throat. He spreads you open. Pupils dilated and gleaming, he descends your torso and rolls his tongue forward obscenely to flick the bud of your clit between the V of his fingers. 

Your hands take root in his hair. He is undeterred by the clench of your legs either side of his head. He leans forward to consume you completely, eyes falling shut in a show of pure indulgence. Covetous, he verbalises his satisfaction with a rumbling in his chest and it vibrates against your sex. 

The beat of your heart ricochets through your stomach. Satoru’s tongue glides over you, languid and soft. Wherever a pleasured sound falls past your lips he maintains rhythm and pace. “Fuck, Satoru. That’s—” you keen when he gently sucks your clit between his lips, finger hooked and pressed to your entrance. 

Satoru’s sinks into you, a careful back and forth, relaxing the tension with his tongue as he works his way in. It's foreign. He’s bigger, longer than yours. Not unlike the reverential way he treated your mouth, he pulls out when you’re comfortable and pushes in another. 

“Does it hurt?” he asks. You blink through the warm haze. There’s a sheen of spit and arousal covering his chin. 

You shake your head no, “Feels… feels really good”. 

“It’ll feel even better soon,” he promises, maintaining a delicious rhythm. Fingers curl upwards inside of you, a come hither motion towards your belly. That intense feeling tightens and your body coils in on itself, thighs flexing against his ears with hips bucking into his hand. 

“Oh—!” He angles his head to unrelentingly flicker his tongue over your clit and your heels dig into his back. “Satoru!”

The breath is caught in your throat. From your fingers to your toes, something all consuming forces your muscles rigid and your spine arches upward like a bow as you crest. Then the air is pushed from your lungs. All at once, the sensation lessens, diffuses, and warms your body from the inside out in gentle pulses. 

You hear the fond intonation of your name. It sounds so natural in his mouth. You’re awash with afterglow. Was sex always like this? You felt as though you were floating. Releasing a satisfied sound, you slump into the futon. Satoru laughs and the room glows a little brighter. 

“Done already?” he asks, massaging your calf. There is a hint of pride in his voice. “We have all night together, you know”. 

“No,” you mumble, teeth worrying your lip as you push up onto your elbows. He’s hard, you notice. Hung heavily between your bodies. You want that power at your disposal — to render him as useless as you. “I want you to cum, too”. 

There’s a pinch in his brow. Satoru shifts with you and squeezes at the fat around your hips, “You don’t need to push yourself”. 

You try and fail to articulate it, stringing together a breathless request, “No I—I want you to cum because of me”. 

Satoru laughs and the sound dwindles into a light groan as he squeezes himself. “Angel. All of this is because of you”. 

“Then fuck me,” you say. “Properly”. 

The lamplight flickers, moving the shadows on his face. He’s gazing at you from above, big, hungry. Exhilaration frissons down your spine. Satoru manoeuvres your hips, dragging your lower half unceremoniously into his lap and slipping a spare pillow beneath you. 

When the head of his cock catches, you instinctively clench. “Breathe for me,” he coaches tenderly, and you let the tension go. The stretch is unfamiliar and uncomfortable, but as you exhale the sting lessens until there is no pain at all. Skin to skin, Satoru lingers patiently in the cradle of your hips, letting you adjust to his length. 

“Move,” you rasp. “Please”. 

He pulls out with an indelible pace. You’re still sensitive, but it feels good in an odd way. Melting into the sheets to savour the drag of his cock. Your breasts shake with every rock of his hips, blue eyes enraptured and following the movement. Bending to cage you in, Satoru captures your lips in a deep kiss, groaning loud into your mouth with his hand laid flat and pressing to your belly. 

“Taking me so well,” he rumbles. “I knew you would. Wanted you the second I saw you”. 

That sensation returns. It begins like a trickle, the heady pleasure slowly seeping and growing in intensity until it’s an enormous wave. He indulges, and you arch into his touch as he continues to transverse the length of your body to tuck into the crook of your neck.

“Fuck. Feel that?” the words press against your jugular. His hips rear back for emphasis, “You keep sucking me back in”. 

Inhibitions lost, you tether yourself to him, nails embedded in the pinked skin of his shoulders. You stutter out a warning, “Fuck, Satoru. I think— I’m going to—!”

“There you go,” he punctuates the demand with a firm thrust. Eyes squeezing shut, your arms lock around the expanse of his back, toes curling as your legs seize forcefully around his waist. More overwhelming than the first, you clench down on his cock as you’re tipped over the crest. 

Satoru carries you through it with the languid undulation of his hips, peppering kisses to your cheek. His own broken whines are hot against your skin. Your arms are limp, still clinging enough to keep him close. You don’t want to let go. 

That thought passes just as his breath hitches and he abruptly pushes up from your chest. Gripping the base of his cock he pulls out, he fucks desperately into his fist and cums over your bare stomach. Satoru exhales a long moan and the sound tapers into a sigh. 

Regaining his bearings, Satoru murmurs your name again. You watch dazedly as he lifts his head. The corner of his mouth curls up into a satiated smile as he notices you’re already looking back at him. Leaning to press a kiss to your forehead, the room falls unnaturally quiet. The dregs of afterglow slowly dissipate, and reality creeps into the forefront of your mind. 

“Are you in pain?”

There’s urgency in his expression and you realise he has sensed your change in mood. “Not…” you wriggle slightly beneath him. “Wow. No pain. I’m just a little sore”. 

“You felt incredible,” his face softens with relief and glances to where your bor bodies once connected. You grimace as he drags a finger through the cum on your belly. “Rest here. I’ll fetch something to clean us both up with and have Megumi bring some water to drink”. 

What follows is akin to a lovesick haze. A memory before you can even register it. You awake to the brilliant ochre of the morning, swaddled in thick blankets and laid next to a warm body. Satoru has you cradled to his naked chest, rising and falling with shallow breath, sleeping soundly. 

The sunlight has flooded into the room and that is enough to conclude that it is long after dawn. Your ears prick at the sound of movement in the rooms around you, and the events of last night flash unbidden through your mind. Noises like that are commonplace in a pleasure house — still, you hope nobody heard you.

Cautious as not to wake him, you lift your head to survey your surroundings. The atmosphere is so starkly different during the day. All the allure and taboo is gone. It is just a man's bedroom. The only space that truly belonged to Satoru. 

It tasted bitter in your mouth. 

“What’re you thinking about?”

Satoru had roused so easily. You wonder if he always slept so light. “I was thinking that…” you pause, giving your next words some thought. “I think you don’t… belong in this place”. 

Satoru readjusts himself and meets your gaze from above, bracing over your body with one arm. His head tilts, lazing against his shoulder as he watches you, tracing a lithe finger over the swell of your cheek. 

“Oh? What will you do?” his voice is tired, lilted as if he were mocking you. But he’s smiling, too, and it is unlike the others — soft and sad. His vulnerability leaked through the crescent-shaped indentations you’d left behind. “Will you buy my freedom and deprive my other loyal customers of their fulfilment?” 

“I don’t care about their fulfilment,” you mutter, eyes falling to the space beneath the linens where your legs are still entangled with his. He laughs. 

“You’re more selfish than I thought,” his fingertips smooth along your jaw, gently tilting your chin up and forcing you to look at him. “And then what? You’ll keep me all for yourself?” 

It reveals a lot, you think, that his first assumption is you’d still expect him to serve you somehow. All Satoru has ever done in his life is give, give, give. He was beautiful, strong and skilled, and such gifts from the Gods were obligated to be shared. 

But as he said, you are selfish. When his thumb skims along the bow of your lips, they stretch into a promising smile. “No,” you tell him. “You can go anywhere you like”. 

It’s a pleasure to watch his expression wane, the push and pull of hope and disbelief. Now, his eyes are brighter than you’ve ever seen them. “Anywhere?” he breathes. 

“Anywhere,” turning into his palm, you kiss the heel and feel a tremor rush through him. “Be whoever you want. Just Satoru”. 

A brief silence stretches thin. And then he laughs again, an abrupt sound. Satoru dips to press your foreheads together; close enough that you can see the dreamer's expression on your face reflected in his own pupils, and individually count the striking white lashes along his waterline. 

“Selfish and cruel,” he murmurs fondly. Instead of warmth, you suddenly feel cold. “Even if that were possible, I have responsibilities here. Megumi, Yuji and the others are here”. 

“But—!”

���—I have influence. High ranking customers. I keep those kids safe here, and I bring in enough money that they can enjoy their youth before they’re made to work,” he continues. As it goes on, his voice is steadily harder; the cradle along your jaw firmer. 

Brows pinched, eyes fluttering shut as he pressed forward. Your nose bumps against his cheek, lips awkwardly aligned — you let him kiss you. It’s too quick, and almost punishing. 

Pulling back, he rasps, “It is my job to sell dreams. Not yours”. 

That’s right. How could you forget?

He cups your face again, as though he didn’t want to let go. The pad of his thumb strokes over your cheek, tracing a shallow crescent shape beneath your eye. You’ve never felt so helpless.

You leave the Michizane house soon after with a smile painted on your face. It will not slip, not until later in the night. You cannot allow Yaga to question Satoru’s treatment of you. A courtesan’s duty is to appease. Norimitsu scans your body, entirely lacking subtlety, and steps forward to assist you into the rickshaw without a word. You’re thankful for it. 

When you do not return to the shop, a letter arrives. The parchment is perfumed with a comfortingly familiar scent. Satoru inscribes his longing onto the page. He’s asking if you’ll visit with him again, and in the bottom corner he has cleverly convinced Megumi and Yuji to sign their names alongside his own. Your chest tightens. 

Weak, you reach for your ink stone and brush.

Satoru sold dreams — and yours had been to be loved. You wondered if that was his dream, too.

#jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #gojo x reader #gojo satoru x reader

[warwickroyals]

Sunderland's Royal Jewel Vault (16/∞) ♛

↬ The Boucheron Lattice Tiara

Another giant in the royal family's treasure trove, the Lattice Tiara, also known as the Gordon Tiara, takes some serious experience to pull off. Made by Boucheron in the early 20th century, the tiara wasn't originally of royal origin, passing from jewelry box to jewelry box for the better part of forty years. Eventually, in 1941, it was scooped up by the Hon. Mrs. Martha Gordon, a society hostess who was a friend of King James II and Queen Katherine, then the newlywed Duke and Duchess of Woodbine. The Gordons were spectacular hosts, but by the early 60s the couple had racked up a significant amount of debt, fuelled by Mrs. Gordon's expensive taste in clothes and her husband's gambling addiction. These debts eventually caused the couple to be evicted from their West Warwick penthouse, with several of their belongings being sold or repossessed. To alleviate their friends' hardships, James and Katherine purchased several pieces of expensive jewelry from the couple. The idiocy of Mrs and Mr Gordon is something to behold. Dowager Queen Anne wrote in her diary around the time of purchase. I warned Jimmmie against such an outrageous purchase, but he was adamant. Kitten and I look after our friends, he said. One wonders what those two have that's worth such a pretty penny! It's better not to indebt yourself to your inferiors, but I suppose I'm close-minded in my old age. Jim said that, too. To this day the full extent of the purchase is unknown, but it is said to have included a diamond necklace, a pair of diamond chandelier earrings, a sapphire necklace, a gaudy fringe necklace, and at least two tiaras. It was the Boucheron tiara, with its delicate lattice patterning that became a favourite of Queen Katherine. I admit, I've coveted this [tiara] for years [. . .] It never suited Martha's head, anyway. — Queen Katherine in a private letter, spring circa 1962 For the remainder of her life, Katherine wore the lattice tiara consistently. Even after her husband died in 1970, she continued to sport the tiara at high-profile events. The tiara was an interesting part of Katherine's tiara evolution, showcasing how the Queen graduated from small, light-weight tiaras, to heftier, more dramatic pieces. When Katherine died in 2018, it was inherited by her son, King Louis V, and in 2026, it was worn by Tatiana, Princess of Danforth for the first time. The upgrade in jewelry, despite the princess's widowhood, was viewed as a reformation of her status and role as the mother of the future sovereign.

HM Queen Katherine wears the Gordon tiara at the George League Gala concert on April 25, 1970. She pairs the tiara with teardrop earrings also acquired in the 1962 Gordon Purchase and Queen Matilda Mary's Wedding Necklace

HRH Tatiana, Princess of Danforth wears the Gordon tiara at a banquet for international heads of government on May 23, 2027. She also wears the Gordon fringe necklace. The banquet was attended by over 5000 delegates.

#warwick.jewels #✨ #ch: tatiana #ch: katherine #ts4 #ts4 story #ts4 royal #ts4 storytelling #ts4 edit #ts4 royal legacy #ts4 legacy #ts4 royalty #ts4 monarchy #ts4 screenshots