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wileys-russo · 2 months

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Matildas content has me in a chokehold for my fav aussie girlies! Would you consider something with kyra x r where the girls notice how easily r stops kyra’s annoying little sister behavior (rip mother steffy) maybe something along the lines of r being sleepy and Kyra being loud, a little “baby, im tired” and kyra’s basically 🤐 and the girls are just like this is all we needed for her to not be a menace lol!

around her little finger II k.cooney-cross x reader

"mate she's killing me, i really don't know how you put up with her." caitlin grumbled with a huff, shoving kyra away who tickled at the back of her neck with a grin, all of you exhausted after a long day of travel.

"patience and practice." you smiled bumping your shoulder into the older girls who sighed and grabbed her bag, heading into the hotel before kyra could catch her.

there wasn't a need though as of course kyra's attention was on her most favourite person to annoy, steph.

"kyra get off you rat!" steph laughed, shoving kyra away where she tried to clamber onto her back, smacking the younger girl in the back of the head as she reached for her bags.

"ow! babe did you see that? she abused me." your girlfriend turned to you with a pout. "baby you abuse her on a daily basis, you asked for it." you patted her cheek softly as steph laughed loudly in her face and slung an arm over you.

"and this is why you're my favourite child." steph sighed happily as you shot your girlfriend a grin over the older girls shoulder whose pout had shifted into a grumpy scowl as she grabbed her bags and yours.

"not fair! you've known each other longer." kyra grumbled moodily, steph having played alongside you since your very first pro season in the a-leagues, having taken you under her wing from day one. "i'm also significantly more tolerable than you ky." you teased as your girlfriend rolled her eyes and mocked you under her breath.

"thats the understatement of the century." steph agreed with a hum, yelping as kyra kicked at the back of her legs and sent her stumbling forward nearly taking you down with her. "kyra!" steph growled as your girlfriend beamed and sprinted into the hotel.

"you can do so much better than her, you know that right?" steph sighed taking your face in her hands as you rolled her eyes. "you love us together stephanie don't lie, you meddled about to get us with one another in the first place!" you wagged a finger as she grinned and let you go.

"i do, i really do. she might be a massive pain in the ass but you two are adorable together!" steph cooed and pinched your cheek as the two of you stepped inside the lobby.

"yeah and you've got her on a leash! whipped." you turned around at the new voice as your face lit up. "lani!" you launched at the taller girl, wrapping yourself around her in a hug as the defender squeezed you tightly.

"no longer wanting to punch me now are we baby t?" the blonde teased as she dropped you back to your feet and you pushed her shoulder with a scoff. "one; i hate that nickname. two; it was a dirty tackle and you deserved a yellow!" you warned as the older girl simply grinned and pulled you into her side, the two of you catching up as you wandered toward check in.

"also you might hate it but you're branded with that nickname for life now." alanna warned patting your head as you pushed her away, the nickname in general being a shortened version of 'baby tillie' which you'd earned the day you rocked up for your first senior camp at only fifteen with boots one size too big and your training bib on backwards.

you made your way around saying your hello's, your girlfriend waiting patiently by check in with your bags at her feet already having said her greetings.

"so you finally did it then?" steph looked up and her face broke out into a grin at the sight of hayley, embracing the shorter girl in a very tight hug. "did what?" steph frowned a little as hayley nodded over her shoulder toward kyra who was watching you with a lovesick pining stare.

"oh yes! finally manipulated them both into admitting their feelings for one another." steph smiled victoriously, you and kyra only having been officially together for a few months now after clearly crushing mutually for years.

"i give it a couple more weeks till she gets sick of that." hayley grinned, nodding to kyra who had grown bored of waiting for you, now wrapped around caitlin trying to pull her into a headlock.

"oh that isn't a problem with them. in fact, its a solution! just you wait."

sure enough, the others didn't need to wait long to see just what steph meant.

with word of you and kyra spreading rapidly around the team it wasn't long until the teasing started which you just brushed off with a roll of your eyes and a smile.

kyra however took the opposite approach, bragging on and on about how much you were whipped for her and how you were the biggest 'simp' she'd ever met, a charming recount which really no one but kyra actually believed.

after a grueling morning of fitness testing in the hot abu dhabi sun and everyone was cooling down in the ice baths prepared by the coaching staff, protein shakes in hand as time was spent catching up.

"on your left darlin." you looked up with a grin as ellie jumped in beside you, inhaling with a slight hiss at the change in temperature and clenching her top in her teeth, slowly sinking down into the freezing water.

"well well well if isn't little miss le clean sheet!" you teased with a smirk, ellie shoving your head to the side as the media team started their rounds with the mini mic having already cautioned everyone about camp content being needed.

"who would play you in a movie about your life?" you oohed as it was your turn, ellie already answering as you paused to think about your own. "natalie portman?" you laughed, unable to really think of an answer.

"you wish!" ellie scoffed with a grin, a few of the other girls adding onto the teasing as you mocked them and pulled a face. "because you look so much like margot robbie!" you threw back at alanna whose face dropped as your girlfriend hopped into the ice bath with her.

"fuck off kyra!" the blonde groaned, shoving her away as kyra stuck her finger in her ear with a grin. "anyone else want to babysit?" alanna grumbled, huffing and smacking the midfielder who continued to poke and prod at her.

"ky!" your girlfriend paused to look over her shoulder toward you as you raised an eyebrow.

no further words needing to be said the brunette sank down a little deeper into the water, sipping on her shake and stopping pestering alanna who looked on in surprise as you returned to your conversation with ellie and claire.

hayley got to see everything first hand a little later in the day, everyone gathering together for a session in the gym now it was a little cooler and everyone had eaten lunch.

"kyra! you're fucking killing me here." caitlin groaned as the girl clung onto her leg like a child, refusing to let go so she could continue her workout. "kyra please go finish your own reps, burn off some energy or something." steph tried with a roll of her eyes as kyra ignored her and continue to cling on.

a few others tried but kyra just ignored them, caitlin trying desperately to shake her off and even threatening to drop a weight on her head had no effect on the midfielder.

"mini man help me out!" caitlin whined pointing to kyra as katrina held her hands up. "she doesn't listen to me!" the older woman laughed, knowing the younger girls willingness to annoy others much out drove her willingness to listen to them.

"ky, can you spot me please?" you appeared suddenly with a drink bottle in hand, kyra dropping from caitlins leg and immediately jumping up to her feet, following loyally after you like a puppy.

"well, would seem she does listen to someone." hayley scoffed, all of the girls bar steph's faces written with shock, watching as kyra raced off to fill your water up for you after loading up the bench press insisting you not touch a thing until she returned.

"see? told you ras, baby t's got her wrapped right round her little finger." steph smirked somewhat proudly, the girls all shaking their heads and returning to their own workouts, kyra hovering protectively above you watching like a hawk as you did your lifts.

if word spread quickly about you and kyra just simply finally being together, it spread even faster about just what an impact and a grip you seemed to have over the rambunctious midfielder and her pestering antics.

"no way! she's that much of a pain." mackenzie scoffed in disbelief at alanna's words about what happened in the gym yesterday and in the ice baths, caitlin adding in several experiences of her own from back in london.

like the time kyra was caught tying katie's shoes together and with one disappointed sigh from you she immediately untied them and raced to katie with an apology.

or the time she wouldn't stop spraying alessia with her water bottle for the entire training until suddenly you were thirsty and she was barreling over toward the taps to fill up about five of them which were ran right over to you.

or the time she stacked up a whole heap of the big black foam training blocks to prove to teyah she could in fact touch the roof.

but with one mention of her name and a raised eyebrow from you, the midfielder was clambering down and putting the blocks back, showering your face with apologetic kisses as you scolded her and warned she could have been seriously hurt had she fallen.

"you are lying! look at her she's a menace." mackenzie rolled her eyes pointing to where kyra was currently rolling around on the rec room floor wrestling with charli as teagan egged them on.

"what are we talking about then?" you hopped over the back of the couch they were sat on, wedging yourself between alanna and mackenzie. "comfortable?" the blonde raised an eyebrow as you tucked yourself into her side and stretched your legs out over mackenzies lap.

"very, thank you lanz." you grinned patting her knee as the older girl rolled her eyes affectionately but moved her arm to drape across you. "how you've got kyra wrapped round your little finger." caitlin chuckled in answer to your previous question.

"oh yeah, absolutely." you nodded with a serious expression as mackenzie scoffed. "there is no way, she's too much of a stubborn pest to listen to anyone." the goalkeeper shook her head as you shrugged, unbothered by the disbelief.

"game of uno?"

"ha! draw four, again." alanna smirked toward mackenzie who was fuming, yanking another four cards up and mumbling angrily under her breath.

"relax mac you're gonna burst a blood vessel in your forehead, at your age that could cause some serious winkle damage." you teased, both you and caitlin down to one card each as poor mackenzie now had at least twelve.

"unless you would like me to hang you upside down by your ankles again, shut it." the older girl warned seriously as you held hands up in defence. "that was so good i've gotta find the video of that again." alanna snickered as you pinched her leg with a glare.

"i didn't even deserve it considering i was framed and both of you knew and didn't say anything!" you huffed at the memory of the goalkeeper indeed hanging you upside down by your ankles when she thought you'd put honey in her gloves.

but really it was of course a much younger sam who didn't even come to your defence as you swore black and blue it wasn't you, mackenzie only letting you down when your face went bright red since the blood had rushed to your head.

"i said i was sorry and i threw sam in the ice bath, don't be a baby about it." mackenzie shrugged finally getting alanna back with a draw four of her own. "you never said sorry!" you argued with a scowl which quickly turned to a victorious smirk as you slapped down your final card with a whoop of success.

"three in a row, unbeatable." you grinned happily, all three girls around you moaning in annoyance and throwing their cards down. "i'm tapping out, leaving as a winner you know?" you flexed with a confident smile.

"goodnight!" you hurried to dart out of the way of alanna's hand which grabbed for your top as you wiggled your fingers at them over your shoulder.

your girlfriend in the meantime was on a winning streak of her own only it wasn't just her opponents whose nerves she was rapidly grating as she sat on a beanbag playing mario kart, yelling and jeering and poking at poor steph who was stuck in dead last.

"nah this is rigged! what have you done to it?" she shot the brunette beside her a fierce glare as kyra let out an over dramatic evil laugh causing a few heads to turn to her with scowls of annoyance at her volume in the shared space.

picking up on the rapidly frosty mood building in the room and not wanting your girlfriend to make too many enemies on her first night, as kyra crossed the finish line in first you decided to step in.

"ha! loser loser looser." kyra leapt up and chanted repeatedly at steph beside her who scowled and threw the remote onto the now vacant beanbag beside her as kyra continued with her obnoxious celebrations.

"anyone else game enough to face the champ?" the midfielder smiled smugly looking around the room but clearly missing the looks of disdain thrown back at her, even charli looking ready to call it a night.

"nobody? everyone too chicken?" kyra made a loud squawking noise and grinned. "just go to bed kyra! you are giving everyone a headache." caitlin groaned from the sofa as your girlfriend started to argue.

"ky." your hand grabbed softly at her bicep, cutting her off mid sentence as she looked to you with a raised eyebrow, the brunette now consumed entirely in giving you whatever you wanted.

"baby, i'm tired. lets head up?" you asked with a raised eyebrow, kyra nodding and immediately tossing the controller onto the beanbag without another word, grabbing your hand and following you right out of the room.

"see? around. her. little. finger!" caitlin smirked at the look of utter shock on mackenzie's face, most of the team looking on in surprise at yet again just how easily kyra would bend over backwards to meet your needs.

"ow! what the hell was that for?" steph huffed as hayley dropped down in the beanbag beside her and handed her one of the abandoned controllers.

"for not getting them together sooner!"

#woso x reader #woso #woso community #woso fanfics #kyra cooney cross x reader #kyra cooney cross #woso imagine #woso blurbs

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khurooai · 9 months

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insatiable desires pt. 1

leon s. kennedy x f. reader

warning: EXTREMELY DARK SMUT. NONCON, DUBCON, CNC. possessive behavior. praise & degradation. master-pet/slave relationship, size kink, corruption kink, jealousy, vaginal penetration, unprotected sex, cunnilingus, tummy bulge, dacryphilia, slight bdsm, hair pulling, slapping, spanking, brat taming, dumbification, manipulation, overstimulation, marking, love bites, branding scare.

this part is purely smut and i guess a bit of introduction to their relationship (?), the plot and story begin in part 2.

(not proofread & lowercase intended)

note: the following content contains explicit and adult-oriented language and themes. this piece is fictional and solely intended for the reader's satisfaction and imagination. the author does NOT condone or endorse any real-life activities that may be depicted. reader discretion is advised. mdni.

please bear with me for a bit, as i haven't written for a while. however, i intend to improve my writing with every part of this series.

you've tried everything. exploring every possibility in your relentless pursuit of pleasure, yet it remains unfulfilled. you want—no, you need the real thing — a real cock. not a cold silicone dildo or a vibrator but a genuine connection with a man who can satiate your deepest desires. someone who not only comprehends the hidden desires that you are yet to find in the corners of your mind, but also your current fantasies. a man of experience, confidence, and the ability to surpass your expectations, while respecting your boundaries and limitations.

driven by this longing, you made a bold decision one fateful day. you set your sights on a formidable individual, a man whose reputation precedes him. with unwavering determination, you sought to approach leon kennedy, a figure who held the key to unlocking your satisfaction, as they say.

and so, he invited you to his penthouse, seated comfortably behind his wide desk, he reclined his swivel chair. his piercing blue eyes alternated between the document resting before him and the person who stood before him—you.

leon smirks, leaning back further in his chair, his fingers steepled together. his piercing blue eyes lock onto yours, his voice smooth and confident. "let's go over the agreed-upon rules one last time." he reaches forward, picking up the paper and clearing his throat before reading out loud.

rule number one: you will address me as "master " at all times, without exception. disobedience will result in punishment.

rule number two: your body is mine to do as i please. you will obey any and all orders given to you immediately and without question. failure to do so will result in punishment.

rule number three: you are to be completely submissive and obedient at all times. any displays of resistance or defiance will be met with consequences.

rule number four: trust and honesty are crucial. you will communicate your desires, limits, and boundaries clearly and openly.

rule number five: "red" will be our safe word, a word that will signify the need for an immediate halt to any activities. and for situations when you cannot speak, a double tap from you shall serve as your signal for me to cease.

rule number six: consent is given and assumed between us. we have entered into this agreement willingly and with a clear understanding of the dynamics at play.

rule number seven: any physical marks or bruises left on your body will be solely at my discretion. i may use them as a reminder of your submission and my ownership.

rule number seven: you will wear the collar i have provided you with at all times when we are together. it symbolizes your submissive status.

rule number eight: aftercare is of utmost importance. i will provide care and comfort after each session, tending to your physical and emotional needs.

rule number nine: limits and hard boundaries will be respected. any acts or requests beyond those limits will not be entertained.

rule number ten: discretion is crucial. our arrangement and any activities that occur between us will remain strictly between us.

rule number eleven: i shall provide for you as long as our contract is in effect.

rule number twelve: communication is key. if at any time you have concerns, questions, or suggestions, you are to bring them to my attention.

rule number thirteen: exclusivity is expected. you will be mine and mine alone. you will not engage in any form of sexual activity with others without my explicit permission.

rule number fourteen: this agreement is subject to periodic review and amendments as we see fit, but any changes must be agreed upon by both parties.

rule number fifteen: above all, remember that your role is to serve and please me. your submission and obedience will be rewarded, but disobedience will not go unpunished."

leon finishes reading the rules and proceeds to enlighten you now with the punishments in order for disobedience and failure to follow the contract. the severity of the punishments depends on the nature of the transgression.

"for minor offenses, i may choose to administer a spanking, using my hand or other implements of your choosing. a whip, a belt, or even a paddle. the sting and the marks they leave will surely remind you of your place.

for more grave offenses, i might decide to deny you pleasure, subjecting you to a period of denial and frustration. teasing you, torturing you with pleasure until the brink, only to leave you unsatisfied.

for severe transgressions, humiliation. i will expose your deepest, darkest secrets, making you feel vulnerable and exposed. in front of me, or perhaps even in front of others, if i deem it necessary. the shame you feel will be a harsh reminder of your place.

another form of punishment i enjoy is forced orgasm. i will push you to your limits, overstimulating your body with pleasure until you are begging for mercy. but i will continue, without pause, until you are broken, trembling, and completely at my mercy."

and, of course, there is always the option of physical pain. whether it be through flogging, caning, or even more extreme methods, like branding.

the act of marking you permanently, etching my ownership into your very flesh. it would serve as a stark reminder of your place and your commitment to our contract. for the location, i have chosen the upper back, just below the neck. it is a prominent yet easily concealable area, allowing you to exhibit your mark when desired or to hide it under clothing when necessary."

"as for the design, a simple symbol of my choosing will suffice. an intricate "L" intertwined with a fierce dragon, symbolizing power, dominance, and the unbreakable bond between master and slave." leon's voice lowers, his gaze intensifying as he locks eyes with you.

"and now, the method. we shall proceed with scarification, using a heated branding iron. the sensation of searing pain, the sizzle of flesh meeting metal, will etch the memory of my ownership permanently into your being."

setting the paper back down on the desk and swiftly sliding it across the table towards you. he studies your face carefully, waiting for your response.

after thoroughly reviewing the contract and deeming it satisfactory, a surge of confidence coursed through your veins. without hesitation, you grabbed the pen from his desk, eager to finalize the deal with a flourish of your signature.

"done."

without wasting another precious moment, leon reached for his desk, deftly pulling open a drawer to reveal a thick and vibrant pink collar. with a determined gaze, he rose to his feet.

his fingers idly toying with the collar's texture as he approached you. then he pressed his lips tenderly against your forehead, a gesture filled with affection and a hint of dominance. it sent shivers down your spine, amplifying the anticipation that already hung in the air.

circling behind you, his hand delicately brushed your hair over your shoulder. with a confident yet gentle touch, he wrapped the collar around your neck, securing it in place. the buckle clicked, its snugness striking the perfect balance between leaving a mark and allowing you to breathe freely.

"who owns you, pretty thing? tell me,"

"you do, master. all for you."

"mmm, such sweet devotion," leon purred, his voice dripping with satisfaction as his hands trailed down your body, his touch both possessive and tender. he gripped your waist firmly, his fingers digging into your skin just enough to elicit a gasp from your lips.

leaning in, his lips ghosted over the shell of your ear, his voice a low, velvety whisper. "you belong to me now. your body, your pleasure, all for me." his words sent a jolt of desire coursing through your veins, your body growing more submissive under his commanding presence.

leon slowly guided you towards the bed, his hands never leaving your body. he sat down on the edge, his gaze fixed on you with hunger in his eyes. "strip for me, pet. show me what's mine," he commanded, his voice laced with an intoxicating blend of authority and desire.

your hands shook slightly as you began to undress, the vulnerability and anticipation electrifying every movement. leon's eyes drank in the sight of you, his gaze washing over your exposed skin, appreciating every curve and contour. his lips curled into a wicked smile, his own arousal evident.

as you stood before him, bare and vulnerable, leon's hand snapped out, the sound of a sharp slap resounding through the room. a mixture of pain and pleasure ignited within you, your body responding to the delightful sting. "you've been such a good pet, haven't you?" he taunted, his voice laced with mock sympathy. "but we're just getting started."

without warning, his hand tangled in your hair, roughly pulling you towards him. his lips claimed yours in a fierce and possessive kiss, his tongue dominating yours as he explored the depths of your mouth. the taste of him consumed you, his taste lingering on your tongue as you gasped for breath.

breaking the kiss, he pressed his forehead against yours, his breathing ragged. "you're mine, and i'm going to make sure you never forget who you belong to," he growled, before pushing you back onto the bed, positioning himself above you.

leon's lips crashed into yours once again, the hunger and desire intensifying with each passing second. his hands roamed your body, exploring every inch with a possessive grip. as your tongues danced together, the room filled with the sound of your muffled moans, consumed by your shared lust.

his fingers trailed down your spine, leaving a trail of goosebumps in their wake. with a firm yet gentle grip, he squeezed your ass, the sting of the slap still lingering on your skin. "you like it rough, don't you? tell me," he demanded, his voice filled with a mix of dominance and eagerness.

a shuddering breath escaped your lips as you mustered the words, your voice a mere whisper. "y-yes, master. want it as rough as you want," you admitted, your submission fueling the fire within him.

in response, he threw you onto the bed. leon gripped your wrists and pinned them above your head, holding them firmly in place. his kisses descended from your lips, trailing down your neck, leaving a trail of love bites and marks in his wake. the combination of pleasure and pain sent waves of electricity through your body, leaving you trembling with anticipation.

his hand slipped between your thighs, teasing your slick folds with his fingers. with a wicked smirk, he leaned in close, his breath hot against your ear. "do you want me to claim you, pet? to make you mine in every way?" he murmured, his voice laced with a sadistic edge.

desire surged through your veins as you nodded eagerly, your voice barely above a whisper. "y-yes, make me yours completely," you pleaded, your words punctuated by a moan as his fingers slipped inside you, expertly exploring your depths.

leon's eyes gleamed with satisfaction as he felt your wetness coating his fingers. he moved them in a slow and calculated manner, curling them to find that sweet spot that would elicit delicious moans from your lips. each movement of his hand was designed to bring you pleasure, to make you crave more.

keeping his eyes locked on yours, he pulled his fingers out, only to thrust them back in, setting a rhythm that matched the growing heat between you. each stroke was deliberate, leaving you on the precipice of pleasure, but never quite pushing you over.

his voice was a commanding whisper as he spoke, hot breath cascading over your ear. "so obedient and responsive," he growled, his voice dripping with authority. his fingers quickened their pace, plunging deep into your core, causing you to arch your back in pleasure.

leon's smoldering eyes bore into yours, relishing in the sight of your submission. he pumped his fingers in and out of you, curling them just right to hit your most sensitive spot. your moans filled the room, echoing the pleasure that surged through your body like an electric current.

with a flick of his wrist, he removed his fingers from your dripping entrance, making you whimper in need. he brought them up to your lips, the scent of your arousal filling your nostrils as he traced your lips with his fingertips. "open," he commanded, his tone demanding your unquestioning obedience.

as your mouth opened, he slid his fingers inside, fully coating them with your taste. "suck them clean, pet," he ordered, his voice laced with the promise of retribution if you disobeyed. without hesitation, you wrapped your lips around his fingers, your tongue swirling around them, cleaning off every drop of your essence.

satisfied with your obedience, leon withdrew his fingers from your mouth, a glimmer of sadistic pleasure dancing in his eyes. "perfectly made just for me," he declared, his voice filled with lust and dominance.

a cruel smile tugged at the corner of his lips as he unbuckled his belt, the sound of leather sliding through metal sending a shiver down your spine. holding the belt firmly in his hand, he let the leather coil against his palm before he loomed above you.

his strong hands gripped your hips, flipping you onto your stomach. "you're going to feel every strike of this belt," he warned, his voice filled with a mix of authority and sadistic pleasure. yet, he paused. "color."

"g-green."

without further delay, leon brought down the belt, the leather hitting the exposed skin of your backside with a resounding crack. the sting and burn left you breathless, each strike toeing the line between pleasure and pain. your moans filled the room as he continued his relentless assault, marking your skin with red welts that matched his voracious desire.

he leaned in closer, his voice husky and dominant. "such a good girl," he praised, his lips brushing against your ear. "you're already so wet for me, so eager and ready to get fucked rough."

he released his pulsing cock from his pants, his touch sending a jolt of anticipation coursing through him. his hand moved with a purpose, stroking his length firmly, the sight and sound of his hand gliding along his throbbing shaft filling the room.

leon's cock throbbed in his hand, the veins pulsating with anticipation. each stroke elicited a soft grunt of pleasure from his lips, his grip tightening around his shaft. it was a sight to behold, his arousal on full display.

with a teasing smirk, he pressed just the tip inside, relishing in the way you gasped and writhed beneath him. "you want it, don't you, pet? beg for it," he commanded, his voice a low growl of dominance.

an intense desire coursed through you, driving you to please him even further. "please, n-need you inside me, master," you pleaded, your voice dripping with desperation.

leon's dominance ignited within him. before you could prepare yourself, he shifted his body, his throbbing length pressing against your slick fold and without warning, he thrust himself inside you with a forceful intensity. pleasure mixed with pain as your body adjusted to his size, and a guttural growl escaped his throat. he set a rhythm, his movements powerful and relentless, his grip on your hips leaving bruises in his wake.

you gasped loudly, your hands gripping the bedsheets, nails digging into the fabric. "o-oh fuck, leon," you moaned breathlessly, your voice filled with a mix of pleasure and surprise.

suddenly, leon's hand came down hard on your ass, the sound of the impact echoing in the room. the sting of the slap sent a jolt of pain and pleasure coursing through your body, a reminder of your place and the rules you should follow.

"address me properly, pet," he growled, his voice filled with a potent mix of warning and desire.

tears glistened in your eyes as the pain radiated through your ass, your skin tingling from the impact. "i-i'm sorry, master," you whimpered, your voice laced with both regret and desire. "please, forgive me."

leon's hand ghosted gently over the now reddened flesh, his touch contrasting the previous harshness. "you know better," he chided softly, his tone a twisted blend of affection and dominance.

with a shift of his hips, he resumed his forceful thrusts, his cock pounding into you with a relentless pace. each stroke brought a mix of sensations driving you further into submission. as your body trembled against him, you vowed to never forget his title again.

leon smirked, relishing in the sight of your desperate and needy state. "hm... you liked that, didn't you?" he taunted, his voice filled with a mix of sadistic pleasure and satisfaction. "of course you do, fucking slut."

with each forceful thrust, he drove himself deeper inside you, hitting all the right spots. his hands gripped your hips, his fingers digging into your flesh as he claimed you completely. his body moved with calculated precision, his hips meeting yours with an insatiable hunger for dominance.

the sound of skin slapping against skin resonated through the room, the bed creaking beneath you. your moans filled the air, mixing with his growls of satisfaction. his relentless pace pushed you to the edge, your body trembling with pleasure as you clung to the brink of release.

but leon wasn't done with you yet. with a sudden change in position, he flipped you onto your back. "now you're going to take it just how i want," he hissed, his voice laced with a sadistic edge.

his free hand moved to your throat, hand gripping the collar firmly but not enough to cut off your oxygen. "look at me," he commanded, his eyes locked with yours. "i want to see you. look at me in the eyes as i claim you as mine. fill you up with my seed, you'd like that, wouldn't you?"

"y-yes!" you exclaim in ecstasy, tears welling up in the corners of your eyes, on the brink of spilling over.

as your eyes met, he could see the hunger, the desperation reflected in your gaze. his hand traveled up to your face, his thumb brushing gently against the corner of your eye, capturing a tear. he brought his thumb to his lips, his gaze never leaving yours as he licked it clean, savoring the taste of your submission.

"there it is... such a beautiful sight," he murmured darkly, his voice filled with a mix of lust and superiority. your tears only spurred him on, his thrusts becoming more forceful, more frenzied.

leon's thumb found your clit, rubbing circles against the sensitive nub, sending pleasure coursing through your veins. the combination of his skilled fingers and the overwhelming pleasure he's forcing onto your body had you on the brink of release, your breaths coming in sharp gasps.

his hand released your throat and trailed down, his fingers tracing a path along your collarbone until they reached your pert breasts. with a firm grip, he kneaded them, squeezing and massaging the soft flesh, relishing in the way they filled his hands.

with a smirk, he leaned down and took one of your hardened nipples into his mouth, sucking on it with an irresistible intensity. his tongue swirled around your sensitive bud, creating delicious friction that made you arch your back in pleasure. he alternated between gentle and rough bites, leaving love bites in his wake. the mix of pain and pleasure sent shivers down your spine, igniting a primal need within you.

"m-more, master," unable to hold back any longer, you moaned and tangled your fingers in his hair, encouraging him to take more of you. the sensations were overwhelming, a perfect blend that brought you closer to the edge.

he couldn't resist the urge to give you a sharp bite, his teeth sinking into the sensitive flesh of your breast which sent a jolt of electricity straight to your core, earning a yelp from your trembling lips. his hot breath ghosted over the bite mark as he murmured, "beautiful."

his mouth left a trail of wet kisses and love bites along your chest, marking you as his possession. he could sense your desire building once again, your body begging for release under his touch.

with a sinful smirk, he released your breasts from his mouth. his fingers circling your nipples, tugging on them lightly before sliding down your body to grip your thigh. hoisting your leg over his shoulder to grant him deeper access and allow him to pound into you harder.

with half-lidded eyes, you gaze at leon, intrigued by his furrowed brows and the intensity of his gaze fixed on your lower region rather than your face. leon's thumb grazed against the bulge in your lower abdomen, his touch sending a jolt of pleasure coursing through your body. his teasing caress only heightened your desire, leaving you yearning for more of his delicious domination.

he leaned in closer, his breath hot against your ear as he whispered huskily, "seeing my cock bulge reminds me that you exist to serve me. you are mine, my plaything. every thrust, every swell of my cock inside you... it's a constant reminder of how deeply you've submitted to me."

with a swift motion, he thrust his hips forward, driving his bulging cock deeper into you, aching against every inch of your inner walls. the sensation was both pleasurable and torturous, a sweet torment that left you craving more of his merciless control.

"do you like feeling that bulge, my pet?" he asked, his voice laced with satisfaction. "does it make you feel owned, completely at my mercy? my cock stretching you, filling you, pushing you to your limits."

leon smirked at your trembling form, relishing the power he held over you. he firmly guided your hand to press against the bulge on your stomach, ensuring you felt every pulsation and throb of his cock as it filled you completely.

"such a good girl," he praised, his voice laced with wicked satisfaction. "feel that? feel how deeply i'm inside you? the proof of our connection lies right here."

he tightened his grip on your hand, making sure you couldn't pull away, as he thrust his hips forward, causing his cock to press even harder against your hand. every movement sent waves of pleasure coursing through both of you, reinforcing the intoxicating control he had over your body.

"you'll take everything i give you, won't you? every drop of my seed belongs inside you, isn't that right?" he commanded, his voice filled with sadistic delight. "but not just yet, pet. you don't get to cum until i give you permission."

with that, leon withdrew his slightly, a sadistic smile crept across leon's lips as he held himself still, teasing you with just the tip of his hardened length. he savored the sight of your desperation, relishing in your need for him to fill you completely once more.

your whine of frustration and need only fueled his sadistic delight. with a cruel twist of his hips, he pushed himself deep into you once again, his length plunging into your eager depths. the sudden fullness made you gasp, a mixture of pleasure and relief flooding your senses.

but just as quickly as he had given you what you craved, he pulled back, leaving only the head of his cock inside you. a whimper escaped your lips, the anticipation and desire consuming your thoughts.

he studied you, his gaze hungry and possessive, as he reached down to brush his thumb against your swollen clit, applying just enough pressure to make you squirm and gasp.

he shifted his rhythm, alternating between deep, agonizing thrusts and shallow, teasing motions. the anticipation and frustration built within you, driving you to the brink of insanity. your body writhed beneath him, involuntarily seeking the release it so desperately needed.

leon began to thrust slowly, torturing you with every languid movement, pushing you to the edge of orgasm only to deny it. he wanted to see you quivering with need, desperate and helpless under his dominant control.

leon was merciless. he reveled in your torment, denying you the climax you longed for, pushing you to the edge and then pulling back. his eyes danced with sadistic delight as he watched the desperation and need etched on your face.

"master, please," you pleaded, your voice filled with desperation. "i'll do anything. please let me cum."

"no, pet," he sneered mockingly, his tone dripping with authority. "you do not get to cum until i allow it. and i must say, i'm quite enjoying watching you squirm and beg for it."

he continued his calculated torture, bringing you closer and closer to the edge with each torturous stroke. your body trembled, juices dripping down your thighs as you teetered on the precipice of release.

submissively, you spread your legs wider, silently offering more of yourself to him. you desperately hoped that your actions would be enough to convince him. finally, when he deemed you had suffered enough, leon's rhythm shifted once more. his movements became rough and forceful, pushing you over the edge.

each thrust sent shockwaves of pleasure coursing through your body, your walls tightening around his thick cock. you could feel him deep inside you, his size filling you to the brim.

as your body quivered beneath him, on the precipice of release, he continued his ruthless assault. your moans grew louder, more desperate, as you tumbled over the edge into a mind-shattering orgasm. the waves of pleasure crashed over you, leaving you gasping and trembling beneath his dominating presence.

"l-leon!" you cried out his name, your pleasure mingling with his dominance, creating a symphony of ecstasy.

as your body shuddered and twitched beneath him, leon continued his relentless rhythm, prolonging the blissful torture. with a groan, leon reached his peak. he buried himself deep within you, emptying his hot essence deep into your waiting womb. you felt the pulsations of his release, his thick, potent seed filling you completely.

his eyes boring into yours as he slowly pulled out, relishing the way your body clenched around him leaving you feeling empty and yearning for more. the mixture of his cum and your juices dripped down your ass, a reminder of the intensity of your encounter.

leon's lips curled into a dark, satisfied smile as he scooped up the small amount of leaked cum and pushed it back inside you. his finger slid in smoothly, the wetness mixing with your own arousal. "don't waste a single drop of your master's cum, pet," he whispered throatily, his voice filled with a possessive hunger. feeling the tightness of your walls around his digits, he slowly withdrew his fingers.

leaning in close, he gently wiped the tears from your eyes with the back of his hand, his touch both comforting and possessive. "mmm, such a good pet," he purred, his voice laced with mocking affection. "i can see it in your eyes, how eager you are to please me. those tears only make it more enticing. you crave my approval, don't you?"

he caressed your cheek with a gentle touch. "and you'll do anything for my praise, won't you, my little slave? you'll endure pain, pleasure, and humiliation just to hear those words of approval spill from my lips."

a smug grin on his face as he watched your teary, half-lidded eyes and obedient nod. he studied you, his gaze hungry and possessive, as he reached down to brush his thumb against your swollen clit, applying just enough pressure to make you squirm and gasp.

"mine."

#leon scott kennedy #leon kennedy #leon s kennedy #resident evil 4 remake #resident evil #x reader #dark smut #smut #leon kennedy x reader smut #leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy x reader dark smut #master leon kennedy #master leon s kennedy

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daddyslilchickenfingers2 · 5 months

Text

Slutmas Day 4

Teach me (Chris)

Request: y'all are play never have I ever and madi asks "never have I ever given a blow job" and y/n like I have never and Chris is like "I mean you can practice on me" half jokingly but then y/n later confronts him about it @ermdontmindthisaccount

Warnings: reciprocated oral, learning how to give a bj, spitting, use of ma/mama, praise and degradation, slight angst, no actual sex, (mentions of Nick getting fucked as they play Never Have I Ever)

“I mean, you can always practice your blowjob skills on me”

Y/n’s pov

I was over at the triplet’s house with Madi for our Saturday night sleepover when Nick decided we should play ‘Dirty Never Have I Ever’ for fun. We obviously all agreed, deciding to sit at the kitchen table, Chris decided to be a smart ass by starting off with a question he knew would have Nick put his finger down. “Never have I ever been fucked in the ass” he loudly laughed, earning a punch from Nick, both him and Madi putting a finger down. “Never have I ever had a wet dream about someone in this room” Matt giggled, putting his finger down along with Chris and I.

“CONCERNING BEHAVIOR!” Nick yelled in disgust, it was now Madi’s turn “Never have I ever given a blowjob” she giggled as her and Nick put their fingers down. “Bitch you’ve never sucked dick before!?” Nick asked in disbelief but before I could answer, Matt added another question. “Are you a virgin? No offense if you are, just asking” he put his hands up in defense, causing me to laugh. “I’m most definitely not a virgin, I’ve just never liked a guy enough to give him a blowjob” I laughed.

Again, Chris being Chris, decided to make an outta pocket joke, “I mean you can always practice your blowjob skills on me” he said before obnoxiously laughing at everyone’s faces. This caused my face to heat up and made my mind go crazy. “Don’t say shit like that you perv” Madi told him in a serious tone. We continued playing until Nick had to put all 10 of his fingers down, that kid is a fucking freaky freak. Once we finished with the game we decided to watch a few movies until everyone started going their separate ways to bed.

Madi and Nick had gone off to his room, leaving me to decide between Matt and Chris for whose room I wanted to sleep in. “Who are you gonna snuggle with tonight Y/n/n” Chris joked, wiggling his eyebrows, “I’m not in the mood to cuddle tonight and I want to go straight to bed. So if you wanna sleep in my room you can but it’s gonna be boring” Matt said tiredly rubbing his eyes. “Chris’ room it is then” I said before giving Matt a hug and a kiss on the cheek “Goodnight Bernard” I sang as Matt gave me an unamused look before heading into his room.

Me and Chris headed down to his room to get changed and brush our teeth, I still couldn’t get what he said earlier out of my head. “I mean you can always practice your blowjob skills on me” not only did that sentence oddly turn me on, it also made me question whether he was actually joking or not. As I was combing my hair, I stood in front of Chris who was sitting on the edge of his bed on his phone. “Can I help you ma’am?” he grinned, quirking his eyebrow at me with a little giggle.

“Actually, yes, I have a question only you can answer. Why’d you say that when we were playing Never Have I Ever?” I questioned, setting my brush down on his desk. Chris looked a little confused, “Say what?” “Uh y-you know, when you said i could practice my blowjob skills on you” I said with a deep blush across my face. He too had a lighter shade of pink paint his cheeks, “I don’t know… I thought it was funny” he tried to shrug it off like nothing. I gave him a disappointed look before sitting next to him on the bed, “Oh… okay then” I replied, causing his eyebrows to furrow together.

“Nevermind” I added on, looking down at my fingers, picking at the skin around my nails. “Huh? Come on, you know I hate when you shutdown like this” Chris said slightly annoyed, “Sorry, I was just gonna asks if you were being serious and could, I don’t know, maybe teach me how to give head?” I blushed heavily, looking back down after seeing his wide eyed expression. “What!? You want me to teach you how to suck someone off!? That’s more of a Nick question than a me question” Chris asked confused and slightly offended.

I quietly said “That’s not what I meant, but- nevermind. It was a stupid idea anyway, I-I’ll just go sleep in Matt’s room. I’m sorry” I told him, upset with myself. I let out a deep sigh, pushing my hair out of my face so I could leave his room before the tears welled up in my eyes could start falling. Chris grabbed my wrist to keep me from walking to the door “Did I do something wrong? Woah, woah, woah, wait! Are you about to cry?” he asked, now extreme concerned with my behavior.

“It’s nothing, just let me go dude” I struggled to get out of his grip, “Y/n, just fucking tell me what you meant!” he angrily stated, gripping onto both of my wrists now. “I was asking if you could teach me by letting me suck your dick! Is that better asshole!?” I raised my voice at him, my anxiety getting the better of me. I felt like a complete idiot, I should’ve just kept my damn mouth shut and I should’ve known he was just joking. Chris started blushing, moving his hands from around my wrists so he could properly hold my hands.

“Oh well… uh- I um was being serious when I said you could practice on me, I just didn’t think you’d actually want to. You know because you said you’ve never liked a guy enough to give him head so, I don’t know. I just assumed you were trying to be annoying like I was, I’m really sorry Y/n/n.” Chris said sincerely. “It’s okay” I sighed back as he let my hands go so I could sit on the bed next to him. “If you really want me to teach you, I will but I can’t just get hard like that” he said with reddened cheeks.

“Plus I’d like feel bad if I cum and you don’t, you know what I mean? Females should always cum first, in my opinion. At least that’s what I do, not that I’ve had sex with a lot of women or anything, my body count is literally three. I always have done a lot of foreplay too though so I could teach you, you’d just have to get me hard first and let me make you cum. Unless you don-“ Chris nervously rambles. “Chris, you’re rambling” I giggled, “Just shut the hell up and kiss me already!” I playfully shoved him.

“Oh trust me, I’m gonna do way more than just kiss you” Chris smirked, moving to sit up against his headboard, “Take your shorts off and come ‘ere. Want you on my lap, mama” he said lowly. I did as he said be slowly got onto his lap, “Hi” I giggled nervously causing Chris to chuckle. “Hi pretty girl” he replied back, pushing some hair behind my ear before resting his hand on my cheek, “If you wanna stop at any point, just let me know and I’ll stop. No questions asked, okay?” he said sincerely.

I nodded before l grabbed his jaw and smashed our lips together, catching him by surprise. Chris’ tongue immediately swiped across my bottom lip and I quickly gave him access, both our tongues fighting for dominance. His hands went from gripping my waist, down to my ass to help me start grinding on him. I started to move a little bit faster which caused Chris to slap my ass, resulting in me pulling away from the kiss to let out a whimpery moan.

“Fuck, I’m sorry” Chris said as his cheeks flushed, “It’s okay, I like it rough” I teased. This made Chris’ eyes go dark as he got fully hard beneath me, “What a freak” he mumbled as his hand came up to choke me and bring me down for another kiss. During this kiss, Chris flipped us over so he was on top, quickly pulling off his pajamas pants and my shirt, stopping to admire my body for a minute.

“Goddamn, you’re sexy baby” Chris groaned and he started kissing up and down my neck before making his way to my breasts. He took my right nipple into his mouth while toying with the left before switching and leaving a few hickies on them. Continuing his kisses downwards, he finally reached my panties, placing a soft kiss against my covered clit. “Mhm Chris… no teasing” I whined, “Sorry, sorry. Can I take these off?” he chuckled while toying with my panties.

“Please, I just need your mouth and fingers already!” I whined again, causing a shiver to go down Chris’ spine as he removed my panties. Chris was almost drooling at the sight, vulgarly spitting onto my pussy before slapping it, resulting in a loud moan for me. “Knew you’d like that you little slut” he growled before diving straight in to eating me out, immediately fucking his tongue into me while his fingers toyed with my clit.

I looked down to find Chris already staring back up at me, his icy blue eyes now clouded with lust. When he switched his fingers and mouth, my hands flew to his hair and gave it a hard tug, causing Chris to groan against me. “Chris please more…” I whined, resulting in him adding another finger, stretching me out some more. He looked up at me completely pussy drunk, I never knew he liked giving head so much but I’m not complaining.

“Fuck baby, s-so good!” I whimpered causing Chris to pull his face away for a second. He once again, vulgarly spit onto my pussy, “Can’t get enough of the way you taste ma! Need you to cum in my fucking mouth” he grunted before getting back to work. Chris added a fourth finger, stretching me out so nicely as he sucked on my clit while flicking it with his tongue.

“Oh shit baby fuck I’m gonna cum!” I cried out as I pulled his hair harder and started grinding on his face. Chris let out a few groans which sent vibrations through my core, causing me to cum all over his face and fingers. He pulled his fingers out of me and stuck them into his mouth to suck off my juices before catching his breath. “You look so hot right now Chris, can’t wait to learn how to suck you off” I innocently smiled.

“Yeah, you excited? I’m gonna be nice and I won’t make you get on your knees, we can do while laying down, I think that’ll be easier for you” Chris smiled back at me. “What do I do? How do I start?” I questioned while taking his boxers off, gasping at his size. “Here give me your hand…” he wrapped my hand around the base of his cock “…there you go. Now I need you to spit on the tip for me, yeah just like that” he instructed me once again.

“Now you’re going to spread it down my cock, the you’re gonna want to start by teasing the tip with your m-mouth” I kind of knew what to do because of porn so I just went straight into it, hoping I was doing it right. I wrapped my lips around the tip, lightly sucking and flicking my tongue across his slit before slowly inching more of his length into my mouth. “Holy- goddamn you’re good at this already!” Chris groaned out, already feeling the pleasure and loving the sight on me.

I pulled away for just a second to ask a question but continued pumping my hand, “Do I um start to deepthroat you now?” I asked. He let out a whiny broken moan, “If you want to y-you can, I just don’t wa-want you to fo-force yourself to do it” he said it so sincerely too. I decided to try anyways and surprisingly I was able to take all of it at once without gagging. “Good girl, just like that, oh fuck mamas” he moaned while guiding my head up and down on his cock.

“Can I- shit! Can I cum in your mouth? I’m so close please ma” he asked, I replied with a moan while looking into his eyes. I full deepthroated him as he came down my throat casing me to moan again. I sucked out every last drop until you pulled me off of him with a pop. “Mhm, you taste so good. Did I do it right?” I smirked already knowing the answer. “Jesus fuck ma, you did so good, I can’t believe that was your first time giving head. C’mer I’m fucking spent and wanna cuddle now” he panted out.

“Who knew you were such a big simp after cumming” I teased. “Shut up and give me your attention!” Chris whined, making me laugh before crawling next to him to cuddle as we both were extremely tired. “Goodnight loser, I’m going to sleep now” I giggled as I kissed his cheek, “Goodnight kid” he smiled back as he held me closed and placed a kiss on my forehead before we drifted off to sleep.

Tag List: @angelic-sturniolos111 @biimpanicking @chrisenthusiast @christinarowie332 @dev-speaks @ermdontmindthisaccount @flowerxbunnie @fionaheartswomen @kvtie444 @lustfulslxt @mangosrar @mangoposts @recklesssturniolo @strniohoeee @sturnphilia @solarsturniolo @soursturniolo

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Do not steal my work

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rainbowhao · 2 months

Text

fratboy soobin

fratboy soobin who looks innocent until you get to know him—who has everyone fooled into thinking he’s a good boy

fratboy soobin who enjoys the fact that he’s untouchable—who barely spares you a glance when beomgyu introduces you to his friends at one of their parties

fratboy soobin who secretly smirks when he sees you’re flustered by his behavior and decides from that moment on to set his sights on you

fratboy soobin who towers over everyone and everything and uses his height to his advantage

“need some help?” soobin chuckles.

you’re pathetically trying to reach a book in the library one morning

“oh. sure…” you’re kind of surprised he approaches you

“no problem.” he reaches it with ease, shamelessly leaning over you to do so and even going as far as pressing his chest against your back just enough to have you spiraling

fratboy soobin who has no problem playing up his charms to get what he wants and agrees to give you the book only if you do something for him in return

fratboy soobin who leaves the library more than satisfied with the outcome—meeting you tomorrow afternoon under the premise of helping him study

fratboy soobin who shows up decked out in a billowy white button up, navy pants, and round glasses—who pushes his hair off his forehead because he’s been told it makes him look more attractive that way

fratboy soobin who gets real close to you and does his best to appear like he’s listening to what you’re saying when really he’s thinking of all the things he’d like to do to you

you eventually notice he’s off in his own world. “did you get that?”

“no, sorry.” he sheepishly smiles. “you’re kind of distracting.”

fratboy soobin who is a model gentleman to everyone but his friends because they know just how mischievous he can be

fratboy soobin who walks you home and always buys you your favorite drink

fratboy soobin who smoothly changes tactics, going from aloof to overly friendly in the span of a few weeks

fratboy soobin who follows you around whenever you show up to his parties

fratboy soobin who whispers in your ear when it gets too loud and lets you sit in his lap when there’s no room on the couch

“it’s fine,” he repeats, gesturing for you to come over with the wave of his hand

you hesitate. “you’re sure?”

he grins. “you’re not going to break me, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

fratboy soobin who asks if you’re tired once the party slows—whose fingers tentatively rest on your leg just to see how you’ll react

fratboy soobin who kisses down the side of your neck, breath hot on your skin while he unbuttons your pants once he knows you want him too

fratboy soobin who sends you selfies when he’s bored in class or thirst traps when he can’t sleep

fratboy soobin who can never keep his hands off you and loves doing risky things in the library

“do you have any idea what you’re doing to me?” he groans.

your eyes widen when you feel him touch your thigh. “we can’t.”

he only taunts you. “you scared?"

fratboy soobin who is proud when he turns you into just as much of a freak as he is

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totalswag · 3 months

Note

okay so rafe x brat!reader with a huge attitude towards everyone around her ??? only rafe could make her calm down n behave omg the dream

attitude attitude - RAFE CAMERON

authors note pretty sure you sent me request before you sent me this one but THANK YOU for this idea. i can definitely see rafe being the only one to calm brat!reader down in these certain circumstances. just the thought of rafe doing this ugh only a girl could dream 😫.

requests are still open so feel free to send them my way. if you click on the bold red font it will take you to my ask box lovies!!!

summary brat!reader has a huge attitude towards everyone and her boyfriend rafe is the only one to calm her down.

warnings drinking, smoking, cursing, possible fight, making out, implied smut

Rafe and you were on our way to a kook party, which had been the talk of Kildcare for quite some time. The traffic lights made the drive take ten minutes. Rafe had his right hand on your thigh and the other on the steering wheel.

Rafe let out a breath, turning his head in your direction as you look out the passenger window, "Y/N before we get to the party, please be on your best behavior tonight," you turn your head around looking at him confused.

"And what if I'm not on my best behavior?" You smirk, tilting your head to the side.

Rafe laughs as he turns the corner toward the house. "You already know what will happen, princess," he says in the tone that just gets you going.

One thing about you have a bad attitude towards everyone around you. You have a short temper and become overstimulated easily. Rafe is the only person who can calm you down and behave in certain situations.

You say what needs to be said and don't care whose feelings get hurt. You have no fear confronting someone that's been talking about you or anyone you care for in a negative way.

If anything, Rafe and you are nearly the same, except you are worse.

The party has undoubtedly been the topic of much discussion during the last week. Outside, music can be heard, as can voices. Rafe held your hand as you two entered the big house, which smelled of weed, alcohol, people making out, and bodies grinding against each other. To move around the house, you have to squeeze.

A few guys recognized Rafe- calling out his name, waving, or dabbing him up.

"The fuck you looking at?" You question a group of girls who give you a filthy look as you walk past them with Rafe.

Rafe squeezed your waist after you snapped at the girls, "remember what I said princess."

You rolled your eyes as you let out a huff at his comment but on the inside you wanted to get on your knees for that man. There's something about the way the word princess rolls off his tongue.

Rafe and you parted ways after spending a majority of time together in the first half n hour. He went to hang out with the guys, while you are with some of your girlfriends. You two trust each other enough to be away from each other at parties like these.

He was out on the balcony which wasn't far from where you were. So if anything were to happen he would be there in a second.

Your girlfriends and you were in the living room, sitting on the couch with drinks in our hands after dancing for thirty minutes in the large crowd to the music which was still packed with sweaty bodies rubbing against one another.

"This party is packed," Olivia, one of your girlfriends, exclaimed while gazing around.

The rest of you are nodding in agreement with Olivia's comment.

"Josh will have a lot to pick up in the morning," you say, taking a sip from your drink, talking about the guy who's hosting the party.

You noticed the group of girls you snapped at earlier walking up to where you and your friends were seated; they stood close enough for you to hear what they were saying.

You tell your friends about the little incident. They all agreed it wasn't that big of a deal. You were wondering why they were giving you a dirty look for no reason.

"Can you believe that bitch came in with her guy earlier? I can't believe Rafe is even with that girl," the girl shouts to her friends, clearly affected by the situation. Her friends all agreed and saying their imput.

Who do these girls think they are? You think.

Thalia's jaw dropped as she heard what the girl said. Thalia rushes to look at you, but she already sees you standing up to confront the group of girls.

"This isn't going to end well, get Rafe right now," Olivia runs towards Thalia, pointing to the balcony.

Thalia sprints to the balcony to grab Rafe and the guys. Olivia looks in your direction with worry- she knows you like the back of her hand.

"Like Rafe can do so much better than that sl-" The girl was cut off when you poked her on the shoulder. She turns around about to see who tapped her but shuts her mouth when it's you.

"You wanna finish what you were gonna say?" You ask in a serious tone, crossing your arms over your chest, "because it's really funny hearing you lame asses talking shit about me over something so minor," you remark with a straight face.

Your blood was boiling.

The girl that was talking the most scoffs, putting her hair over her shoulder. "I said that Rafe can do much better than being with a slut like you" she steps close to your face.

Her little posy agreed and putting in their input.

These bitches sound dumb.

You can't help but laugh: "You sound very insecure, you all do in fact," pointing at them. "Calling me a bitch because I clapped back cause you three were giving me a dirty look when I walked in mind my business with my boyfriend?" The tone in your voice indicated that you were not messing around.

She puts her index finger on your chest, "Oh honey that's not us being insecure it's just us stating facts. Plus you are a bitch" she says giving a fake smile.

The moment her finger laid on your chest everything in you was telling you to rip her face off.

You forcefully swap her hand off your chest, taking her off guard with your strength. She glances at you, slightly afraid, but remains calm. Her friends' eyes almost fell out of their sockets.

Other's around have their phones out and waiting for something to happen. To them this is entertainment.

"Am I a bitch for calling you out for giving me a dirty look? Listen, bitch, I have never met you before in my life. I don't care what comes out of my mouth because I'll say what needs to be said." At this point, you are eating the girl up and she has nothing else to say since she knows you are correct.

After you finish your sentence, she rolls her eyes and extends her arms, pushing you back slightly, taking you by surprise. She glances at you, still wanting more. You aren't the kind to fight, but she put her hands on you first.

Your girlfriends rush over immediately. No matter what happens your girls will always have your back.

Before you swung you felt two strong arms wrap themselves around your waist, pulling you away from the fight that's about to happen.

"What did I tell you princess?" Rafe calmly asks you in your ear. He could feel the tension in your body on a hundred.

The group of girls begin giggling, "Aw, you need your boyfriend to pull you away from that mu-" Rafe instantly hushed her up, "You shut the fuck up!" he said sternly, pointing at her and gazing at her straight-faced.

Others around started laughing.

Rafe halted in front of the host, Josh, and told him to kick the group of girls out of the party. Josh nods and instructs the girls to leave due of the ruckus they created.

Rafe took you upstairs to a room for you to cool down. He knows what to do in situations like these- always gives you reassurance, gives you a cold bottle of water, telling you that everything's going to be okay and to take deep breath's.

When your body is placed on the bed carefully, you let out a frustrated sigh, running your hands through your hair, shaking your head. Ranting about the encounter that happened.

Rafe stands between your open legs, gently grasping your chin with his thumb and pointer finger, and tilting your head back slightly to make eye contact with him.

"Princess you are okay, focus on the sound of my voice, yeah?" He says in a calming tone that relaxes you, placing the front section of your hair behind your ear.

The more Rafe calms you down the more relaxed you feel. Words cannot explain how you appreciated him. You can't imagine how you could get out of this moment without him helping you out of it.

"There you go, just keep repeating that," Rafe says as you take long breathes in and out.

Once you calmed down enough you looked up to Rafe, still standing between your legs, looking at you with his blue eyes.

"Thank you for calming me down- I love you," you say, smiling with your teeth, "of course, anything for my girl. I know how you get in these types of situations and it's my job to calm you down" he says before kissing your lips softly.

When he pulls away you ask him the question, "Are you mad at me?" You asked curiously.

"No, I'm not, but it was really hot seeing you like that," he grins as he plays with the gold necklace he got you with his first initial.

You cover your face with your palm, blushing. Rafe takes your hand away, putting it back on your lap and moving closer to you, causing your back to hit the bed's comforter.

You two look into each other's eyes and then kiss. The sexual tension in the room starts to rise. You both crave each other's touch in the most intimate way.

"I want you Rafe," you moan between kisses, "so bad" dragging out the d, running your hands down his clothed chest.

"I'm all yours."

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meiieiri · 6 months

Text

water’s edge | 01

₊˚.༄ pairing: crown prince!gojo satoru x f!reader | setting: modern royal au

₊˚.༄ summary: in a world where titles define their fates, gojo satoru, the crown prince of japan, and his wife-to-be, face a tempestuous court of deception and schadenfreude. as they waltz on the edge of ruin, can their love endure the treacherous waters that threaten to pull them apart, or will the whims of the enigmatic chrysanthemum throne prove strong enough to drown them both?

₊˚.༄ author’s note: thank you so much to @angstbot2000, my awesome beta-reader for sitting through this 9.07k word count monstrosity of a first chapter! and with that, here we go~!

₊˚.༄ masterlist

He was every bit the worldly man portrayed to be by the media and that alone is enough to terrify you, even as you sit about a full foot apart from him, feeling the pinprick of his ice-cold demeanor pierce your skin like a thousand needles.

“Your Highness, how have we never heard of your relationship with Ms. (Y/N) before unlike your previous ones?”, a correspondent from the NHK Broadcasting Corporation asks from the crowd of reporters, surprisingly at their most civil and dignified behavior before their future emperor and empress, literal gods in mortal form, embodiment of unadulterated divinity on earth in Japan’s distinct imperial past, one much different from today’s democratic and liberal political climate.

Gojo’s eye twitches at that.

It was a simple question, but it struck a nerve in him, angering him more than you ever could by merely existing. Though it was a valid inquiry, all of Satoru’s relationships have always been well-documented by the media, save for one. His supposed relationship with you.

You move to clutch his hand in an attempt to calm him down, having sensed his discomfort, but he only shrugs his hand away before you could even come within a quarter of an inch of touching him.

“My apologies, your Highness,” the reporter apologizes quickly when Satoru doesn’t answer right away, turning to the woman in charge of the press conference, situated by the podium displaying the seal of the imperial family. “Sorry, may I rephrase that?”

She turns to look at the prince, subtly asking for his permission. With a slight nod of his head, Satoru doles out his merciful forgiveness towards the reporter, keenly aware that it would only take him a second to have his staff contact the NHK Broadcasting Company and have them fire him before he could even return to the office.

“Thank you,” he bows gratefully. “Rephrasing my earlier question, would your Highness mind if you share a few words about how you and Ms. (Y/N) met?”

Satoru Gojo is a man who goes by many identities, as attested by tabloids and reputable newspapers alike; they agree on the fact that Satoru Gojo is a womanizer, a card shark, and the harbinger of disaster to the imperial family. He never sleeps with the same woman more than once, oftentimes leaving a poor naive girl entangled in a mess of sheets even before the morning sun filters through the motel’s bedroom windows. The crown prince isn’t entirely heartless though, he is quite known to leave a generous sum of money tucked neatly in a small envelope as a “thank you” gift to all the women he’s been with.

Not that it dulls the sting of humiliation, of course, it still hurts like hell to be treated as an expendable commodity that’s only good for a one night stand.

Funny how that grotesque description is starting to sound like you.

Another rumor about Satoru Gojo is that he’s a reckless card shark; one who goes to fine hotels during after-hours when the bar and lounge is reworked into a gambling den for the ultra rich and wealthy, closed to the unsuspecting plebeians, only frequented by those whose morals fall within the scope of gray and obsidian black. The young prince has been rumored to religiously go to these kinds of establishments to play high stakes poker games more often than he ever visits the family shrine where his ancestors are entombed in an uneasy eternal rest. The poor Emperor Meiji must be rolling in his grave seeing the imperial family’s impending doom at the hands of his great great grandson whose only real ambition in life is to waste it on the vulgar things that high society hedonistically craves.

One last thing to keep in mind about your fiancé is that he is a consummate actor, having honed the talent of keeping up appearances since his first public appearance as a child of only seven years old, alongside his mother and father during the opening ceremony of the Winter Olympics which Tokyo had been selected to host earlier that year.

He squeezes your hand, despite rejecting the compassionate gesture earlier, and looks deep into your eyes with false fondness, fully aware that he was imagining the face of another in place of yours.

His nails bitterly dig into your skin as the cameras go off, capturing the tender moment between the two of you. To anyone outside the circle which you and Satoru unwillingly find each other entrapped in, the two of you were the quintessential picture-perfect couple, gazing at one another as if the world the two of you had found yourselves in would spiral out of its orbit had one of you dared to look away, The tabloids have even begun to call your unexpected engagement a modern-day fairytale unfolding before everyone’s eyes.

But that was just it, this entire arrangement — you and Satoru Gojo were nothing more than unwilling participants in a fabricated Cinderella story.

“Well, we met informally a few times before, during the national shamisen competition held in Kyoto two years ago and the awarding ceremony of our very own national artists where she received the title of ‘national treasure’ earlier last year–”

The many reporters scribble this information down on their bullet journals or tablets, hoping to piece together the exact timeline of this relationship. It is rather peculiar for the crown prince to suddenly reveal he is getting married, and to some mystery woman at that — not that the press was unfamiliar with you,with most of them being very much aware of your identity as a renowned traditional Japanese instrumentalist, but what eludes them is the manner in which you found yourself suddenly romantically involved with Prince Satoru Gojo of all people, whose affairs are heavily publicized by the media. The grotesque manner in which it is publicized is a different story.

“But we first met formally during His Majesty the Emperor’s silver jubilee. His Majesty is a benefactor to the Japan Arts Council and is a patron to many music conservatories in the country, and as such, is very interested in the fine arts. It just so happened that Ms. (Y/N) had been invited to play for us on the night of the Royal Gala.”

That was typical; the prince first meets the princess in a ball, looking upon her absolutely enthralled as she enters the ballroom, captivated like he was under some form of trance. His eyes would stay glued to her as she danced along to the crescendo of the string quartet, the hem of her gown fluttering about her form like a gentle stream of star-fall as she twirled gracefully under the bright chandelier lights. His lips would be parted, dazedly wondering who the girl could be and if they were ever fated to meet again.

But alas, one has to remind themselves that the age of dreaming of such hopelessly romantic nonsense, especially at twenty-three, is long over.

FLASHBACK: His Majesty’s Silver Jubilee Gala

The Chrysanthemum Throne should have died the day the envoys of the late Emperor Shōwa, Foreign Minister Mamora Shigemitsu and General Yoshijiro Umezu, ascended the gangway of the USS Missouri to sign the unconditional surrender of the Japanese Empire to the allied forces that laid waste to the Japanese islands. With the allied powers marching onwards to the capital city of Tokyo, having left nothing in their wake but the ashes of an empire that had been brought to its knees by the fires of merciless destruction that rained from countless air raids, the narrative should have moved towards the abolishment of the entire imperial system and the immediate execution of the emperor. But in a bid to refashion the emperor as a symbol of continuity for Japan, General Douglas Macarthur’s decision to not hold Emperor Shōwa accountable for the war crimes committed in his name during the height of World War II allowed the last remnant of Japan’s imperial past to survive. Save for the removal of the emperor’s political power, the oldest monarchy in the world was left relatively unharmed.

Still, despite the fact that the imperial system had been effectively humbled after the war, this was not so evident as you walked through the imposing halls of the imperial palace.The Kita-Damari north lobby you passed through earlier gave an impression of uncontested refinement; the entire floor had been constructed from the most exquisite granite from Yamaguchi prefecture, and the walls embellished with cedar wood that can only be found in Kumamoto prefecture. If the lobby was meant to portray elegance, then, the Houmei-den State Banquet Hall exuded an air of absolute power that could make anyone tremble in the face of such magnificence; you could recognize the tapestry work of the legendary artist Gakuryo Nakamura as the main decoration piece for the walls, and even more rare stones and wood from Japan’s many prefectures serving as the foundation of the gargantuan hall.

It was half past nine when you accidentally locked eyes with the crown prince that night. This entire time, you’ve envisioned the imperial family as images on your phone screen. You didn’t think for one second that they could be real and that Satoru Gojo, the crown prince of your nation, despite all the disturbing rumors surrounding him these past few years, would be so ethereally beautiful, like he had been fashioned from pure celestial moonlight.

You avert your gaze immediately upon catching yourself staring at him, knowing you weren’t supposed to as part of royal protocol which you’d been thoroughly briefed on the moment you received the invitation to perform for the imperial family. You uneasily remove yourself from the hall in search of the lavatory to touch up your makeup when you come face-to-face with the empress who also excused herself from the festivities to get some air.

She doesn’t notice you at first as she continues to take a drag from her cigarette, staring blankly at the koi fish that swam about the courtyard garden’s pond. From afar, she looked to be an ordinary woman, not the untouchable monarch you thought she was alongside the rest of her family, her ivory hair was neatly pulled back into a tight bun, several crystal hair pieces dotting her silky locks. You quietly made your way towards the powder room, your pace slowing down as you inch closer to the empress not really knowing what to do.

Should you let her be while she’s having a moment to herself or do you intrude on the hallowed ground of her presence as protocol dictates with a low curtsy?

“Your Royal Highness,” you greet her, in a soft voice, stopping to curtsy as you pass by and she kindly hums in acknowledgement.

“Ms. (Y/N),” she turns to face you, discarding her half-finished cigarette in the jade ashtray. “Forgive me for smoking in front of you, do you mind?”

Secondhand smoke.

From that statement alone, though brief as it is, sheds light into the empress’s character as being empathetic, and compassionate. You shake your head, subconsciously playing with your clutch bag. “Thank you.” She reaches into her clutch bag again to pull out her pack, slotting a cigarette between her lips. “How are you enjoying the banquet so far? I hope it is to your liking.”

“I don’t think what I say should really matter. After all, I’m only a guest.” Your meek character causes the empress to let out the tiniest of laughs. A smile plays at your lips seeing her face morph into a soft chortle, her earlier troubles seemingly leaving her mind for a bit as she speaks with you. “But, in all seriousness, your Highness, I think the banquet is going well. Most of the other guests seem to feel the same way.”

The empress nods, relieved. “That’s good to hear, by the way, I hope your performance goes well,” she says. “His Majesty and I have been looking forward to it all evening.”

A blush paints your cheeks. As the only guest artist who will be playing a traditional Japanese instrument, the tsugaru shamisen, you were the odd one out among the other distinguished national artists who will be playing Western instruments such as the piano, the harp or the violin and many others. “That means a lot to me, your Highness, thank you,” you bow forty-five degrees.

“Well,” the empress says warmly, wrapping up the surprisingly refreshing conversation. “I wouldn’t want to keep you now, I’ll see you back inside,” she picks up her pearl-embellished clutch bag, and re-arranges her diamond tiara before excusing herself. As she makes her way back inside the reception hall to rejoin her family, she thinks back to the girl she just serendipitously met with a small smile on her face. Ms. (Y/N), she thinks to herself, recalling your name with a certain lightness in her heart.

Just then, her son, Satoru walks up to her, righting his lapel and the medal of the Supreme Order of the Chrysanthemum pinned to the left breast-pocket of his full royal uniform. “Mother,” he greets her formally, planting a quick kiss on her cheek. Gojo’s face falls when he sees his mother’s watchful eyes anxiously scouring the room for a particular person. “Mother, what is it?” he asks, concerned at her expression. Suddenly, his mother stiffens when she finds the exact person she is looking for, obvious displeasure painting her features.

Satoru tries to calm his mother down, his voice as soft as a feather’s touch, “Mother…” he trails off.

“You brought her here?” the empress whispers harshly, almost in disbelief that her son would be so insolent enough to do such a thing — by ‘such a thing’, she meant unscrupulously bringing along his Machiavellian Chief-of-Staff, Himiko Zenin, who seemed to relish in the attention being gallantly given to her by the many foreign heads of state in the banquet hall.

“And what is she wearing?”

Her face contorts into one of annoyance when she sees Himiko parading around the unmistakable Akoya pearl necklace only to be worn by members of the imperial family on her neck. The empress is not one to use unsavory words even for someone she dislikes with every fiber of her being, but she could not help but liken Himiko to a bitch brandishing a new expensive collar. She swears the sight alone is enough to make her vomit. “Is she a member of the imperial family now, Satoru, what on earth—!”

“She’s not hurting anybody,” Satoru’s eyes narrowed into slits at his mother’s reaction.

“She’s hurting you!” the empress hisses, begging her son to see reason. Satoru has been made well-aware of the fact that keeping Himiko around was not good for his public image, yet, he still insists on fanning the flames that could sooner devour his pipe dream of inheriting his father’s crown.

Satoru glares at his mother, before proceeding to spare his radiant Chief-of-Staff an amused glance, a sense of pride forming in his chest seeing her alluring charm at work as she mingles effortlessly with his father’s guests. He often argues that Himiko is the blueprint of the perfect future consort — she comes from the Zenin political clan that has made Tokyo its political stronghold since the 1970s, she is intelligent in all ways from being fluent in many languages to knowing the law from inside out, charming and charismatic, and most of all, easy on the eyes. A smirk forms on Gojo’s lips when he sees Himiko sharing a laugh with the wife of the Russian ambassador as if to prove his point.

“Let’s just go,” he ignores her pleas, gently pulling his distraught mother away to take their seats next to his father, nonchalantly condoning Himiko’s brazen-faced behavior.

As long as he was around, no one could harm her, not even the empress.

“Acknowledging the representative correspondent from Nippon News Network, Mr. Nozomi. You may ask your question now,” the floor adjutant says into the microphone.

“Thank you,” Nozomi stands up, momentarily adjusting his press ID. He flips through his leatherbound notebook in search of the query he hastily wrote earlier. “This question is directed to Ms. (Y/N).” A spiteful quiet scoff escapes Satoru’s lips, sending waves of hurt in your chest. What could you possibly contribute to this already awkward conversation? And what did you even know about the imperial system’s traditions?

“Ms. (Y/N), I’d like to know your thoughts on marrying into the imperial family at this delicate time. As you probably know, many of our citizens are questioning the relevance of the imperial system now that our country has embraced democratic values over pro-imperialist ones, thus, leading to the formation of staunch anti-royalists groups. Do you believe that your marriage to Prince Satoru would bring about a positive change to Japan’s current political landscape?”

Your thoughts stutter. “Political…landscape?” you think aloud, and Satoru only smiles/smirks in cold amusement, taking a sip of his sparkling water and eyeing you from his peripheral, seeing you pathetically struggle to conjure up a coherent answer. You haven’t exactly gotten to learn about your duties yet as Gojo’s future wife and a future princess, and he was eager to see how you’ll worm your way out of this one. Of course you neither understood the intricacies of the world you were marrying into nor the unknown minefield you dared tread; most women who throw themselves at Gojo’s feet, kissing the soles of his shoes deplorably begging them to marry him, are like that — naive, unintelligent — he looks at your plain features again and rolls his eyes severely disappointed — and criminally boring to look at in comparison to the standard he has set.

“My apologies, Mr. Nozomi,” a soft smile graces Satoru’s lips when he hears her melodious voice cutting through the awkward tension in the air as you wrack your head for an answer. “But, it seems you’ve caught Ms. (Y/N) off guard there. Perhaps, you have another question that’s a bit…easier to understand? We are, after all, here to bear witness to an engagement, not a political fora.”

Himiko steps forward from her spot next to the member of the Imperial Household Agency who was facilitating this press conference, her dainty hands clasped in front of her in an immaculately proper posture befitting the crown prince’s Chief-of-Staff and his rightful future wife, or so Gojo thought. How he wished it had been her who sat next to him today, with the diamond encrusted engagement ring he reluctantly gave you adorning her ring finger instead. Gojo’s intrusive thoughts swarm in his mind as they tempt him to kiss her in front of all these cameras and single handedly destroy his engagement to you in a single, gut-wrenching blow. But he is quick to stop himself when he remembers his mother’s words earlier this morning.

“This is your last chance, Satoru. This is the last thing I can do to save you, please don’t do anything you’ll regret.”

At any point in time, he would have succumbed to his desire to expose his relationship with his beloved Chief-of-Staff, but this was a pivotal moment that could spell the end for him and his ambitions if he does so much as make a single move that could anger his father. And what’s worse was he might not be able to guarantee Himiko’s safety if that happens. Satoru, therefore, resigns himself to continue holding your hand, albeit reluctantly, his fingers finding the gaps of yours.

The reporter nods at Himiko’s backhanded request.

“My apologies, then,” he ratifies his question to make it more suitable for someone of your caliber. You couldn’t help but shrink into yourself, feeling that you are being patronized by everyone in this room — from your frigid fiancé to his Chief-of-Staff who was severely outclasses you in eloquence, refinement and sophistication and to all the members of the press that had been invited today whose reception to your engagement to the crown prince has been lukewarm at best. “My question then is—“

“—I am sorry for taking too long to answer your question, Mr. Nozomi.” Satoru’s eyes flicker over to yours, taken aback when you speak up. “I, unfortunately, am not yet that familiar with the current situation concerning these said groups, and,” you bite your lip, thinking of what to say next. “I don’t think I’m qualified enough to give an objective opinion on whether my marriage to his Highness will bring about a positive change to our nation.”

Gojo grimly scowls as he watches you make amends with your forthcoming destiny as his future wife, and heaven willing, empress of the nation.

“And I cannot promise that I will lead this country to greatness. I cannot grant laws to uphold and promote justice, I most certainly cannot lead our defense forces to defend our nation, but…”

You think back to why you came here in the first place, your heart pounds violently in your chest as adrenaline rushes through your entire body.

“But I can do this: I can dedicate my entire life to making this country a better place for our people, though, I still do not quite know the way. But I will most certainly do my utmost to try.”

FLASHBACK: His Majesty’s Silver Jubilee Gala

You don’t know how they do it — standing in front of a multitude of people under the glare of the limelight, about a thousand pairs of eyes trained on you as if at that moment, you stood at the very center of the world without cracking. This was the life they were born into, a life that overflowed with the contrasting worlds of luxury and duty, power and powerlessness, indulgence and deprivation. The women of the imperial family were dressed in the most luxurious of gowns with hundreds of precious stones sewn onto the fabric, and the men wore their dignified navy uniforms. All of the people in the hall have gathered far and wide to bring good tidings to the emperor and his family, bringing gifts of jewels, national treasures, and promises of a stronger alliance with Japan. Yet, something felt off about them — their faces, although trained and poised to smile, were pictures of discomfort.

The white-haired prince you had locked eyes with earlier, the one who watched you intently throughout your performance as you skillfully struck the strings of your shamisen with the bachi producing a sound that resonates deep within the primal past of Japan, stared at you with an unreadable expression as he clapped his hands. You offer him the smallest of smiles to be polite just like you did with the empress earlier when you found her smoking outside the banquet hall, but he does not reciprocate the gesture, his eyes devoid of any warmth unlike his mother. Standing before the crowd of many world leaders and the imperial family, you bow reverently before your public, your shamisen strapped to your body, while your calloused fingers gripped the bachi of the instrument.

The crowd thundered with applause, most of the foreign dignitaries rising to their feet, giving you a standing ovation as you finished your piece. You bow again when the applause continues for another minute or so.

Satoru grimaces when he hears his father whisper to his mother. “Isn’t she amazing?” he marvels at your performance, showering you with more praise for that brief number than he ever gave his son for the majority of his life.

The empress senses Satoru’s growing ire, and nudges her son’s arm, consoling him despite their earlier disagreement about bringing Himiko to the gala. Satoru doesn’t know what to feel. Despite all his shortcomings and his active efforts to build an impenetrable steel wall between them, his mother still does everything in her power to meet him halfway. As his hand reaches to find his mother’s, however, he spots Himiko exiting the hall, stopping mid-way to stare at him with her irresistible fox-like eyes, tempting him to follow her like a siren beckoning an unfortunate sailor to surrender to the abyssal depths.

“Satoru,” his mother says under her breath, holding onto the belief that her son could muster up the willpower to resist Himiko’s whims. The emperor was about to give his courtesy address, and having the crown prince walk out at this moment would be severely inappropriate, not to mention, damaging to his already bad reputation. “Satoru, please.”

His father ascends the steps, each stride evoking a deep sadness and longing in Satoru. Somehow, the crown prince hones in on the clicking of his father’s shoes against the granite floor, the same ones he’d have to fill someday when his father grows weary of their ancestors’ throne. The speech is pretty uneventful with his father going on and on about preserving the peace and harmony of his reign, his so-called Reiwa era, and vowing to continue his public service, which he had begun as a young man in the august of his own father’s reign, until the twilight of his days.

Harmony, Gojo thinks bitterly, a sneer appearing on his face. What did his old man know of such a word when all he’s done, so far, is sow the seeds of discord in his family?

“On that note, I’d like to express my deepest gratitude to all of you, our dear guests and to my fellow fathers and mothers of your own respective nations, who have so kindly come here today to renew our vows of selfless service to our peoples. May we all be imbued with endless wisdom in our pursuit of the greater good.”

The cameras go off like little flashes of lightning spontaneously piercing the dark, moody space of the reception hall.

What a fucking joke, Satoru scoffs into his champagne, the golden liquid staining his throat and holding back words of contempt towards his father. What did his father know of being a father when he had spent his entire life tearing apart his own family in the name of the throne? What did he know of harmony when he had done nothing but sow discord in the imperial house?

The emperor gives a slight nod of acknowledgement to the gracious applause he receives, and promptly makes his way over to his family who are in the process of arranging themselves for an official picture in front of the late Emperor Taisho’s magnum opus, his calligraphy painting that read: 永遠の恵み (Eternal grace) which is the imperial family’s personal motto and central dogma, to commemorate this momentous occasion. Satoru stands next to his father, his breath shallow as if being anywhere near his father could suffocate him.

“I see you’re still acting like the petulant child you are,” his father spat having already spotted Satoru’s little plaything in the crowd earlier tonight, despite the well-rehearsed smile on his face as the official photographer snaps photos in quick succession.

The tongue that Gojo has been holding finally breaks free from the dam that’s been holding the waters of resentment from bursting forth. “And I see you’re still an ass.” Hopefully, the photographers couldn’t hear their tense conversation lest it be the cause of another scandal;, the rumor mill didn’t need any more ammunition for yet another mudslinging campaign against the imperial family.

Oh, but wouldn’t it be interesting if Satoru made a scene to ruin his father’s special day by lewdly kissing his Chief-of-Staff for the entire world to see?

As if sensing her forbidden lover’s thoughts, Himiko saunters over to the official photographer, putting on the air of a devoted servant of the crown prince, ever present within ten feet from her master, when just minutes prior, she acted like she could replace the empress herself.

“You insolent—“ his father grits his teeth at the sight of Satoru’s tramp, absolutely furious.

“Please stop,” the empress spoke under her breath, close to tears. Why is it that whenever their family is together, which is a rare occasion in itself, it always ends in such painful conflict?

“If only we had another son-” the emperor continued his tirade against his only living son, the only legitimate child that he had been blessed with after years of trying to produce an heir with his wife. But there was not a scintilla of anger in his voice; that had long passed when the empress had effectively quelled the fury in his heart with her broken plea, instead there is only longing for things that cannot be.“-if only…Suguru had been our boy, our prince-”

And just like that, something breaks inside Satoru akin to a glass goblet imploding when it hits the floor. It was almost as if his father wished that he had never been born.

…”Fuck this,” the white-haired prince moves to leave, but his mother’s delicate touch catches his arm.

“Satoru, my little light.”

Satoru’s breath hitches in his throat when his mother calls him by his old childhood nickname. Little light. That’s what they wanted him to be since the moment his cerulean eyes first opened as a baby who has been unwillingly burdened with the weight of centuries of tradition on him the minute he was conceived. His name had already been predetermined to mean ‘enlightenment’; everyone wanted him to be a light for the nation, a hope for the people. The imperial family may have been reduced to mere powerless symbols of the constitution, but they are the embodiment of their people’s hopes and dreams for a better Japan. It took twenty years for the emperor and empress to be blessed with their little light, but now, it seems that everything is growing disorientingly dimmer at such an accelerated pace.

But the empress will not just stand by and watch the light get extinguished. “Please don’t do this, we need you.”

Of course he always craved to be beloved by the people, to become their bonafide and benevolent prince. It had always been his dream to inherit his father’s crown, to fill the impossibly large shoes of his ancestors. But, what is truly his dream or was this a dream unjustly forced onto him?

The wind howls more violently and the final flicker of the imperial family’s light loses the battle, as the candle that had first been set alight by their forebears is now reduced to a pool of wax. Satoru’s eyebrows furrow, utterly spent from all of this, and yanks back his arm from his mother’s grasp.

“You need your prince…but when will you ever need your son?”

And with that, he leaves, his free hand ripping off the Medal of the Order of the Chrysanthemum once he is a good distance away from the gala’s venue. Himiko stays behind for a few minutes to make sure that she isn’t giving off the impression of being so eager to follow the prince and condone his tantrum. Instead, she stares directly at the empress, emerald and sapphire clashing violently with one another, as she wordlessly celebrates her victory.

Mr. Nozomi, though known by his colleagues to be a no-nonsense kind of man, seems satisfied with your answer. It lacked some academic background, but it was a statement that was sure to bring comfort to the people. “Thank you, Ms. (Y/N). This is comforting to know,” the stout man with graying hair offers you a reassuring smile. It had been so long since many people, particularly and most especially in his age group, had ever had the honor of seeing such a warm-hearted future monarch whose words could almost easily calm others, and he dare say, even the violent Sea of Japan whose fury has long been felt in his freezing hometown of Hokkaido since time immemorial.

Satoru forces a smile at that, literally grinning and bearing it — by ‘it’, he meant your little display to outshine him, your future husband, the Crown.

“Any more questions?” the imperial house’s official speaker calls out as the room is filled with the sound of pen tips scratching on paper as the members of the press write down notes. This was going to be the wedding of the century, and they’d be damned if they couldn’t make a good story out of it. “None?”

“Actually, I have one.” Himiko gives the microphone to the correspondent from The Tokyo Times, the most reputable newspaper in the country. “I hope that this question doesn’t offend His Royal Highness, but if you may indulge me for a bit, don't you think the timing of this wedding is too sudden? I mean,” she clears her throat momentarily. “His Highness had only recently been allowed to appear before the public after he got arrested the other week, and now, he’s getting married.”

Just when you thought that the brutal questions would start to mellow out, one of the more hardened reporters all but crushes your remaining hope of this press conference ending on a good note.

All color drains from your face at that question. It was, indeed, warranted. If you had seen all this unfold before your very eyes, during your time as a commoner, the whole marriage would appear rushed, not to mention, fishy especially after the many Lesé-Majesté that had victimized the imperial family lately due to Gojo’s recent and very frequent scandals.

You look at your fiancé, heart pounding in your chest. What were you supposed to say to that? It’s not like you could be downright blunt about the whole reason why you’re getting married in the first place, that would only paint your soon-to-be husband’s family in a worse light; right now, people only challenge the relevance of the imperial family in a free democracy like Japan, you really don’t want to reach that point of no return when they start to despise the very notion of paying taxes to an institution that they feel is morally ambiguous.

Not to mention, such sentiment could put you and your fiancé in danger.

Satoru takes a deep breath through his nose, desperately calming himself before he says anything damning. How he wished he could have this petulant woman dragged out of there for such an offensive question but that would only prove her point.

Fortunately, Satoru is well-prepared for this, no matter how irritating his current predicament is. Having to be reminded of the greatest source of his humiliation is infuriating, but it could also provide him with the perfect opportunity to rewrite his public image and regain his footing in the act of succession currently being drafted by His Majesty, the Emperor.

All of a sudden, he rises to his full height, his hand not letting go of the sleeve of your white wool coat as he does. He casts you a disgusted look, seeing the expensive fabric hug your form; how is it even possible that you were wearing a high class outfit and still look like a cheap imitation of all the women he’s been with? He couldn’t begin to compare you to Himiko whose fashion sense and overall aura outshined yours; it would be like comparing rust to the Hope Diamond.

“Satoru, what are you doing?”

“Just follow my lead and drop that stupidly lost face you make all the time,” he hisses into your ear. “Now, stand up,” he commands, pretending to help you to your feet like the head-over-heels-in-love fiancé he’s meant to be and not the stone cold man whose last name will be the heaviest burden you’ll have to carry for the rest of your life. Well, by your life, you meant the snake pit that you now found yourself in with a fiancé who wishes you to fade from the fabric of existence and the prying eyes of the world keenly watching the drama that is yours and Satoru’s impending marriage.

Satoru smooths out any wrinkles on your dress before turning to the cameras. Gasps fill the room at what he does next. “Y-your Highness?” a journalist puts a hand over her mouth at the sight of the crown prince’s display of humble contrition: a bow, a plea for the forgiveness of his people. Following his lead, you also bow, your palms pressed against your thighs.

“I am sorry,” his tenor rings clear like the ringing of a shinto shrine’s suzu when a pilgrim first sets foot on the hallowed grounds of the temple. “As your prince, I understand that I have failed my family, His Imperial Majesty, the emperor, and Her Royal Highness, the empress. I have, in my recklessness, failed my ancestors, and the throne itself. But most of all, I, through my reckless actions, have failed each and every one of you who are probably watching this.”

Sincerity oozes out from each word, and you wonder, does Gojo actually mean any of this? Or was this another one of his well-rehearsed theatrics? And if this, his first public apology for all the atrocious things he’s done, is all conjured from the distorted playwright that is Prince Satoru Gojo, then, you could only pray that he takes pity on you and does not make an actress out of you.

FLASHBACK: The Imperial Palace of Tokyo (An hour after His Majesty’s Silver Jubilee Gala)

Satoru painfully eyes his mother who earlier tonight had cruelly given him the false hope that she would always advocate for him only to avert her gaze, screwing her eyes shut as if by doing so — all of this — all the undue hurt that her son had caused the family would magically go away. “Mother.” Is she even qualified to still be called that when she has proved tonight that she would abandon her son in his time of need without a moment’s hesitation?

What his father says next is so hypocritical that it makes even hardened criminals look more honest and self-aware than him. “Don’t use that tone on her, don’t even dare.”

Satoru scoffs angrily, he can’t believe this. “I didn’t know you’ve recently decided to be a devoted husband now,” he snarls but his father doesn’t budge, he was not going to entertain his foolish son’s tantrums today. The emperor only pinches the bridge of his nose, sighing heavily, desperately seeking out the reason he has been dealt the unfortunate hand of having such a heathenous son.

“I don’t even know what to say.” What can be said when face to face with such a vile predicament? Normally, his disagreements with Satoru would be tempered by his wife’s intervention, pleading with him to spare the heir to the throne of unforgiving punishments that brewed within a wrathful father’s mind; the last time was Satoru’s humiliating suspension from his public duties and the instance before that, a severe cut in his monthly salary as a public official funded personally by the people he blatantly betrays in his acts of wanton avarice. The difference between those times and this unfortunate situation is that in the past, one could still detect some semblance of remorse in Satoru’s demeanor.

All that is gone now. If one were to compare Satoru to a criminal, he is already a hardened one, desensitized to his wrongdoings.

The steel handcuffs which hugged the skin of Satoru’s wrists prove that, at this point in time, the heir to throne’s character was in serious jeopardy. “Your Majesty, you can reprimand your son however you’d like, but, please do not have him chained up like some animal.” She knows such a request is wrong. Like a dog released from a painful muzzle, Satoru would only grow more rabid with his actions. In the past, he was fueled by a desire for attention, now, after this night, he would be fueled by spite.

Other than the imperial family, three police officers who came from the Kabukichō district where Satoru had been reported to be physically assaulting a fellow gambler when a high stakes poker game had turned in favor of his opponent are in the room, witnessing all this happen with bated breath. It took at least five officers to pry Satoru off the bloodied middle aged man who had a foot in his grave by the time the crown prince was done obliterating his face, and another five to escort him into the police mobile.

All of this transpired on the night of the silver jubilee gala. Mere hours after Satoru took off.

A horrified silence had befallen the entire banquet hall when the news broke out, immediately going viral on every social media platform.

The emperor contemplates his wife’s words for but a passing moment when he decides otherwise, turning to the men in blue, his voice is authoritative and could make any devil tremble in their boots. “Thank you for reprimanding my son,” he sighs. “I can assure you that—“

The Tokyo metropolitan police officers alongside the imperial police await the decision of the emperor, but have already begun to pull out the keys to Satoru’s handcuffs thinking that His Majesty would have him released.

“—All charges pressed against Satoru Gojo will proceed accordingly and—“

And for once in his life, Satoru feels the unmistakable emotion — terror. “—What?” Satoru is livid at this point. “Father!”

He merely ignores Satoru, his eyes trained at the shocked faces of the many officers whose feet are still planted to the ground.

“—And that I will be allowing all concerned members of all law enforcement units who responded tonight to take him into custody until the date of his full criminal trial should any take place. As such, I now declare Satoru Gojo’s claim to the throne as null and void, and his title of crown prince forfeited in favor of his brother, Suguru Geto—“

It was at this time that Himiko once again barges in just as Satoru is being led away, surprisingly, she was now wearing her usual uniform of a black suit and pencil skirt. She immediately throws herself at the feet of the emperor. Where was the bravado she so proudly displayed at the jubilee gala by indirectly confronting the empress? Gone. Where were the pearls she had practically worn without authorization of the people who were permitted to wear them? Now replaced with her fake 12-karat gold necklace that she wore since childhood. “Your Majesty,” she kneels before him like her pleas would reach the emperor’s stony heart. “Please don’t do this—“

The emperor and empress angrily turn towards her, their eyes ablaze. What was she doing here? “I have half a mind to have you arrested too, Ms. Zenin!” the emperor growls. Himiko was there at the scene of the crime, after all, and having her arrested would greatly destabilize the hold she possessed on the imperial family through her illicit affair with the crown prince. “Now, drop it!” the emperor yells at the sputtering girl. “I have allowed you to lead my son astray for too long and now it is time for me, his father, to discipline him, unless, of course…you’re willing to take his punishment for him.”

“Yes,” Himiko nods frantically. “Please do whatever you want with me, I-I will gladly accept it all.”

“No!” Satoru resists against the officers, as the imperial guards begin to restrain Himiko who makes a pained sound when she, too, is given handcuffs of her own. “Don’t hurt her! Please don’t hurt her!” It was the plea of a being in love, seeing his lover take all his father’s bullets. “Father! I’m begging you—!”

“—And how long have you made the empress and I beg for you to straighten out your life?!”

“—I’m sorry, I’m so sorry!” Satoru was exhibiting signs of mental distress at this point, his eyes brimming with tears like he were a child who had been told he was grounded. “Your Majesty,” he reverts to calling his father by his official title. “Please…please. Just let her go.”

How incredibly touching: two sworn lovers protecting one another to the bitter end, selflessly taking the fall for the other, shielding their beloved from any danger that might befall them. Only problem is…this toxic partnership between a prince whose life’s purpose is to stupidly follow his heart with gross disregard for those around him and a woman whose negative influence is demolishing her beloved’s reputation.

While the country is reeling from an economic recession, here Satoru and Himiko were indulging in yacht trips, while the impoverished scrounge for food in Tokyo’s many landfills, the crown prince and his girlfriend attended lavish state banquets left and right, while the homeless sleep under a resin-roofed bus stop at the height of winter, Satoru gifts countless of properties to Himiko as if one home couldn’t possibly be enough for the woman he so desperately loves.

“Satoru,” Himiko sniffles as she is slowly taken away, defiantly calling him by his name rather than his official title in front of Their Majesties. As if by doing so, that would help hers and Satoru’s case.

Gojo shakes his head furiously, his eyes welling up with tears. “Mother, please don’t do this.”

If this was going to be the end of them, then, Satoru hoped that his family would, at least, allow Himiko to return to being a private citizen, to walk away from all of this a free woman, free to live out the rest of her life away from the schadenfreude of the imperial court. Even if it meant never having to see her again, feel her warm touch against his skin the same way the sun bathes the earth in its resplendent glow, kiss her with the passion of someone who could have been a devoted husband to her had they been born in different circumstances, he will do anything. He would count the very stars in the sky if he could, die a thousand deaths if he must, if it meant allowing Himiko to be spared the pain of being branded as a criminal and placed behind bars.

“I’ll do anything, please just don’t hurt the woman I love.”

If only Satoru put more effort into earning the love of his people the same way he’s now willing to humbly bow his head to cossett the love of his life. Akiko Gojo gasps quietly when her prideful son falls to his knees in supplication. Suddenly, she is filled with memories of a younger Satoru who was once chastised by his courtiers for tripping on his own feet while he frolicked and played in the palace gardens, and how she didn’t think twice to comfortingly lift him into her arms while his retainer had been so content leaving him on the ground, his scraped knee ailing him as he struggled to stand up.

The empress’s feet seemed to have been possessed by a mind of their own, as she took one step forward, her sorrowful eyes trained on her crying son. “Satoru,” she gently crouches down next to him. “Oh, my little light,” she calls him by his childhood nickname. “Please don’t cry,” she weeps as she wipes his tears away with her thumbs. She shouldn’t be doing this, knowing that Satoru would only take advantage of the knowledge that she’s always going to be there for him regardless of what he does and what monster he becomes.

But seeing her child, her only boy, in the thralls of desolation is too much for her frail heart. So, she makes the choice for him, standing firm before her husband who has always taken the lead in their marriage. “Your Majesty, I beg you to not make a criminal out of Satoru, and reconsider restoring him to the succession. Please have mercy on your son.” His only legitimate heir. If Suguru were to inherit the throne, it would only throw their family into more chaos, and with the events of tonight, the imperial house could benefit from letting Satoru’s recent mishap die quietly. It would be disastrous for everyone if, on the anniversary of his father’s coronation, Satoru were to be unceremoniously thrown out of the palace.

“Akiko,” the emperor involuntarily utters his wife’s name, surprised at her sudden decision to stand up for their degenerate son.

From the moment the 2.3 pound Meiji tiara first touched her head, she relinquished all sense of self to the crown — her surname, her childish desires to lead a normal life, her civilian antics, everything — but now, here she stood before him, not as Empress Akiko but the liberal-minded woman that the emperor fell in love with as a young man. She may have given up everything to forge herself anew as empress of the country, but there is one thing that she has kept under lock and key so that the crown may never hope to steal it from her: her unconditional love for her son.

“Your Majesty,” she glances at Satoru’s kneeling form, her heart clenching in her chest. I’m sorry, my little light, she silently apologizes to her son, the last thing she wants is to seek the impossible from him, but if this was the only way that his future will be secured, then, she’ll just have to be the awful mother that Gojo thinks her to be. “I have a proposition for you.”

A journalist looks up from his laptop, dumbfounded at what he’s witnessing. “…No way,” he says under his breath. It wasn’t everyday you see a monarch bow before his people begging to be pardoned, but then again, no other monarch in the world is more problematic than Satoru Gojo.

Satoru clutches the fabric of his slacks, his knuckles turning white as he does so. This was so humiliating for him, having to apologize to mere nobodies whose existence wouldn’t even make it to the footnotes of history books to be written a hundred years from now. “I know my words mean nothing after everything I’ve done and the people I hurt, but still, I am sorry,” Satoru utters the apology again as if by saying it a second time, it would hasten his godforsaken sentence that is to be locked in a vile marriage with you.

He’s made it clear earlier by his gestures that he wants nothing to do with you, but perhaps that was only because you hardly know one another, you don’t exactly run in the same circle as him, you don’t have the slightest connection to any political dynasty — not by affiliation, and most certainly not by blood — nor were you some heiress to some long standing conglomerate that the imperial family is closely acquainted with. Perhaps it was just that. All of this animosity stems from the disturbing fact that you couldn’t even call yourself friends now here you were betrothed to one another announcing your engagement to the world.

But, something doesn’t feel right.

Shouldn’t awkwardness between you and Satoru be the worst thing that could come from this shotgun arrangement? You understand that this situation is uncomfortable for him as much as it is terrifying for you but is this truly enough to warrant his hatred? It’s not like you actively volunteered for the part, after all, yet he acts as if you had been the prime instigator of this marriage. You find yourself caught between wanting to keep him at arms’ length to advocate for tense but peaceful silence in your marriage and wanting to become his true and altruistic wife to get to know him better but at the expense of your emotional well-being knowing that he’ll probably hurl new insults at you.

At this point, the former seems to be the safest option, but there is something so deeply intriguing and captivating in Satoru that you ignore all the warning signs altogether.

Satoru ends the press conference by re-announcing the date of the wedding which will take place next week. You follow him out of the hall, meekly walking three steps behind him. Suddenly, he stops in his tracks, burying his hands in his pocket, adopting a more casual posture. You expect him to berate you for some unknown faux pas you’ve committed during the press conference but instead, you are met with something else. “I’m sorry about earlier.”

He turns around to face you, he doesn’t look angry, but he doesn’t look too invested in the conversation either. He just seemed indifferent. His eyes dart around the expanse of the corridor, someone could be listening in to this conversation — the palace has eyes and ears everywhere after all — he needs to temper his tongue lest he angers the emperor or the empress, despite every nerve in his body tempting him to spew more vitriol at you.

Waving a dismissive hand, you shake your head, instantly forgiving him earlier. “No, I must have overstepped my boundaries, I understand and I’m sorry.”

Gojo sighs heavily, offering you a small nod. “Let’s just forget about it,” he says. “It’s getting late,” he notes the time on his watch. “You should probably head home to rest.” That was…surprisingly kind of him.

“A-actually,” you unconsciously play with your engagement ring. “I wanted to ask if you were free tonight so we could…have dinner together.” The empress encouraged the both of you to get to know each other, after all. “I know it must be difficult being engaged to me when you don’t even know me.”

Satoru lets out a weak laugh. He wasn’t at all interested in getting to know you, frankly, he couldn’t give two shits, but it was amusing for him to see how delusional you are.

“I see,” he notes in a business-like manner. “Well, perhaps another time since I have an urgent appointment tonight and I’m already running late.” You can’t even pretend to not be disappointed when you’ve already taken the liberty of reserving seats for the two of you at a nearby restaurant you frequently visit. He plants a parting kiss on your cheek, but something about it feels so detached and hollow, but who were you to expect more when he didn’t harbor an ounce of affection for you? You nod against the kiss, curtsying as he walks away.

“What a day.” You discard the many hair pins that neatly gathered your hair into a half-updo, grimacing at the stickiness of your locks from the copious amount of hairspray that had been applied to it. Sighing, you get into your car, removing the standard four inch pumps you’ve been instructed to wear, as per the dress protocol set by the Imperial Household Agency for female members of the imperial family when they attend public events, in favor of your more laidback ballet flats.

As you drive out of the main compound of the palace, you are surprised to see Satoru, accompanied by what looks like eight bodyguards, hastily making his way to the official car used by the emperor. He waits as his chauffeur brings the car around, but for some reason, he does not look impatient for someone who is supposedly running late for an urgent appointment, he is leisurely tapping away on his phone. Suddenly, something catches you off guard. A boyish grin appears on Satoru’s face when he is approached by a figure that looks like a woman.

An awfully familiar one.

You don’t know if it must be the heat from your car’s air conditioning unit but — you feel your heart in your throat, no, to be accurate, you feel like you’ve been winded by a punch to the gut — you understand why she would be with him given her position and all, but why was Satoru draping his suit over his Chief-of-Staff’s narrow shoulders?

…

And…why is she kissing your fiancé’s cheek?

water’s edge taglist: @dummyf @kentokaze @esthelily @mandysfanfics @strawberryjimin13 @mat71201 @snowprincesa1 @naturallyspontaneous @kooromin @gojoist @dcvilxswish @13-09-01 @peachipeachy @iluv-ace @sawendel @helloitsshitzulover @jjuniescuderia @ackermendick @starrylibras @timetobegone @heelariously @idktbhloley @jjuniescuderia

#fic: water’s edge #gojo satoru #jjk x reader #geto suguru #gojo satoru x reader #geto x reader #jujutsu kaisen x you #gojo satoru angst #gojo x you angst #geto angst #gojo x reader #jjk angst #jujutsu kaisen x reader angst #gojo angst

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mostlysignssomeportents · 5 months

Text

Privacy first

The internet is embroiled in a vicious polycrisis: child safety, surveillance, discrimination, disinformation, polarization, monopoly, journalism collapse – not only have we failed to agree on what to do about these, there's not even a consensus that all of these are problems.

But in a new whitepaper, my EFF colleagues Corynne McSherry, Mario Trujillo, Cindy Cohn and Thorin Klosowski advance an exciting proposal that slices cleanly through this Gordian knot, which they call "Privacy First":

https://www.eff.org/wp/privacy-first-better-way-address-online-harms

Here's the "Privacy First" pitch: whatever is going on with all of the problems of the internet, all of these problems are made worse by commercial surveillance.

Worried your kid is being made miserable through targeted ads? No surveillance, no targeting.

Worried your uncle was turned into a Qanon by targeted disinformation? No surveillance, no targeting. Worried that racialized people are being targeted for discriminatory hiring or lending by algorithms? No surveillance, no targeting.

Worried that nation-state actors are exploiting surveillance data to attack elections, politicians, or civil servants? No surveillance, no surveillance data.

Worried that AI is being trained on your personal data? No surveillance, no training data.

Worried that the news is being killed by monopolists who exploit the advantage conferred by surveillance ads to cream 51% off every ad-dollar? No surveillance, no surveillance ads.

Worried that social media giants maintain their monopolies by filling up commercial moats with surveillance data? No surveillance, no surveillance moat.

The fact that commercial surveillance hurts so many groups of people in so many ways is terrible, of course, but it's also an amazing opportunity. Thus far, the individual constituencies for, say, saving the news or protecting kids have not been sufficient to change the way these big platforms work. But when you add up all the groups whose most urgent cause would be significantly improved by comprehensive federal privacy law, vigorously enforced, you get an unstoppable coalition.

America is decades behind on privacy. The last really big, broadly applicable privacy law we passed was a law banning video-store clerks from leaking your porn-rental habits to the press (Congress was worried about their own rental histories after a Supreme Court nominee's movie habits were published in the Washington City Paper):

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Video_Privacy_Protection_Act

In the decades since, we've gotten laws that poke around the edges of privacy, like HIPAA (for health) and COPPA (data on under-13s). Both laws are riddled with loopholes and neither is vigorously enforced:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/04/09/how-to-make-a-child-safe-tiktok/

Privacy First starts with the idea of passing a fit-for-purpose, 21st century privacy law with real enforcement teeth (a private right of action, which lets contingency lawyers sue on your behalf for a share of the winnings):

https://www.eff.org/deeplinks/2022/07/americans-deserve-more-current-american-data-privacy-protection-act

Here's what should be in that law:

A ban on surveillance advertising:

https://www.eff.org/deeplinks/2022/03/ban-online-behavioral-advertising

Data minimization: a prohibition on collecting or processing your data beyond what is strictly necessary to deliver the service you're seeking.

Strong opt-in: None of the consent theater click-throughs we suffer through today. If you don't give informed, voluntary, specific opt-in consent, the service can't collect your data. Ignoring a cookie click-through is not consent, so you can just bypass popups and know you won't be spied on.

No preemption. The commercial surveillance industry hates strong state privacy laws like the Illinois biometrics law, and they are hoping that a federal law will pre-empt all those state laws. Federal privacy law should be the floor on privacy nationwide – not the ceiling:

https://www.eff.org/deeplinks/2022/07/federal-preemption-state-privacy-law-hurts-everyone

No arbitration. Your right to sue for violations of your privacy shouldn't be waivable in a clickthrough agreement:

https://www.eff.org/deeplinks/2022/04/stop-forced-arbitration-data-privacy-legislation

No "pay for privacy." Privacy is not a luxury good. Everyone deserves privacy, and the people who can least afford to buy private alternatives are most vulnerable to privacy abuses:

https://www.eff.org/deeplinks/2020/10/why-getting-paid-your-data-bad-deal

No tricks. Getting "consent" with confusing UIs and tiny fine print doesn't count:

https://www.eff.org/deeplinks/2019/02/designing-welcome-mats-invite-user-privacy-0

A Privacy First approach doesn't merely help all the people harmed by surveillance, it also prevents the collateral damage that today's leading proposals create. For example, laws requiring services to force their users to prove their age ("to protect the kids") are a privacy nightmare. They're also unconstitutional and keep getting struck down.

A better way to improve the kid safety of the internet is to ban surveillance. A surveillance ban doesn't have the foreseeable abuses of a law like KOSA (the Kids Online Safety Act), like bans on information about trans healthcare, medication abortions, or banned books:

https://www.eff.org/deeplinks/2023/05/kids-online-safety-act-still-huge-danger-our-rights-online

When it comes to the news, banning surveillance advertising would pave the way for a shift to contextual ads (ads based on what you're looking at, not who you are). That switch would change the balance of power between news organizations and tech platforms – no media company will ever know as much about their readers as Google or Facebook do, but no tech company will ever know as much about a news outlet's content as the publisher does:

https://www.eff.org/deeplinks/2023/05/save-news-we-must-ban-surveillance-advertising

This is a much better approach than the profit-sharing arrangements that are being trialed in Australia, Canada and France (these are sometimes called "News Bargaining Codes" or "Link Taxes"). Funding the news by guaranteeing it a share of Big Tech's profits makes the news into partisans for that profit – not the Big Tech watchdogs we need them to be. When Torstar, Canada's largest news publisher, struck a profit-sharing deal with Google, they killed their longrunning, excellent investigative "Defanging Big Tech" series.

A privacy law would also protect access to healthcare, especially in the post-Roe era, when Big Tech surveillance data is being used to target people who visit abortion clinics or secure medication abortions. It would end the practice of employers forcing workers to wear health-monitoring gadget. This is characterized as a "voluntary" way to get a "discount" on health insurance – but in practice, it's a way of punishing workers who refuse to let their bosses know about their sleep, fertility, and movements.

A privacy law would protect marginalized people from all kinds of digital discrimination, from unfair hiring to unfair lending to unfair renting. The commercial surveillance industry shovels endless quantities of our personal information into the furnaces that fuel these practices. A privacy law shuts off the fuel supply:

https://www.eff.org/deeplinks/2023/04/digital-privacy-legislation-civil-rights-legislation

There are plenty of ways that AI will make our lives worse, but copyright won't fix it. For issues of labor exploitation (especially by creative workers), the answer lies in labor law:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/10/01/how-the-writers-guild-sunk-ais-ship/

And for many of AI's other harms, a muscular privacy law would starve AI of some of its most potentially toxic training data:

https://www.businessinsider.com/tech-updated-terms-to-use-customer-data-to-train-ai-2023-9

Meanwhile, if you're worried about foreign governments targeting Americans – officials, military, or just plain folks – a privacy law would cut off one of their most prolific and damaging source of information. All those lawmakers trying to ban Tiktok because it's a surveillance tool? What about banning surveillance, instead?

Monopolies and surveillance go together like peanut butter and chocolate. Some of the biggest tech empires were built on mountains of nonconsensually harvested private data – and they use that data to defend their monopolies. Legal privacy guarantees are a necessary precursor to data portability and interoperability:

https://www.eff.org/wp/interoperability-and-privacy

Once we are guaranteed a right to privacy, lawmakers and regulators can order tech giants to tear down their walled gardens, rather than relying on tech companies to (selectively) defend our privacy:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/11/14/luxury-surveillance/#liar-liar

The point here isn't that privacy fixes all the internet's woes. The policy is "privacy first," not "just privacy." When it comes to making a new, good internet, there's plenty of room for labor law, civil rights legislation, antitrust, and other legal regimes. But privacy has the biggest constituency, gets us the most bang for the buck, and has the fewest harmful side-effects. It's a policy we can all agree on, even if we don't agree on much else. It's a coalition in potentia that would be unstoppable in reality. Privacy first! Then – everything else!

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/12/06/privacy-first/#but-not-just-privacy

Image: Cryteria (modified) https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:HAL9000.svg

CC BY 3.0 https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/3.0/deed.en

#pluralistic #privacy first #eff #privacy #surveillance #surveillance advertising #cold war 2.0 #tiktok #saving the news from big tech #competition #interoperability #interop #online harms #ai #digital discrimination #discrimination #health care #hippa #medical privacy

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cdragons · 5 months

Text

Bound by Embroidered Chains - Aemond Targaryen x Seamstress!OC x Jacaerys Velaryon - Prologue

Next chapter

Summary: Dragons have a habit in hoarding the prettiest of jewels, and pearls are of no exceptions.

Warnings- MDNI 18+ Future NSFW, Obsessive Behavior (we all knew this was coming), Childbirth, Future Sexism & Misogyny (this is Westeros), Political Struggles, Future Deaths, Dark Themes, etc. etc. Also translations for Valyrian will be added at the bottom!

Author's Note: WHO ELSE SCREAMED AT THE HOTD SEASON 2 TEASER TRAILER????? The costumes, the cinematography, the set design, FUCKING BAELA ON MOONDANCER???? But this idea was something that had been on my mind for a while, and I am really excited to share it with all of you! Shoutout to @valeskafics whose works served as a HUGE inspiration to this idea! If you liked reading this work, reblog and comment if you want to be tagged in future installments of this work! Also I apologize for any grammatical errors, I wanted to post this as soon as possible.

“PUSH!” yelled the midwife to the soon-to-be mother. “Lady Doreah, I can almost see the head!”

“Almost?” the poor woman cried out; her body had grown weary after experiencing a day’s worth of labour. Her hair clung to the sweat on her brow as the rest of her skin was soaked in perspiration from the pain. She cried out in agony as a gentle kiss from above attempted to soothe her from the torment that came with bringing new life into the world. Normally she would preen at such affection, but considering the circumstances she was in, she was in no mood for soft affections. “Ao nādrēsy! You did this to me!”

“Yes, my love,” agreed the man beside her. Unlike most husbands, Hotho Pyke refused to not remain by his beloved wife’s side during the birth of their child. He wanted to welcome the product of their love into the world with open arms. He was desperate to hold this new tiny babe in his arms as his fingers would trace over the features given to them by both their mother and father.

“You speak true my darling; I am a bastard. But if memory serves me right, it was my bastard birth that finally made you look my way after months of me begging for your attention. Well, that and a bit of my bastard tongue.” He tried to hide the wince that almost spilled from his lips at the furious grip on his hands in response of his wife. Even at the worst times, the man would never stop in his attempts to make her laugh. It was a most excellent quality in a husband in any other time but now.

“Gods help me Hotho – if this child does not come out of me soon, I will take my shears and cut out that bastard tongue of yours myself!” Doreah let out another scream as she continued to push her child out – although the pain was intense, the longing to hear the newest member of their family was greater than anything else she had felt in her lifetime.

“The baby is crowning!” exclaimed the midwife, who stood forgotten by the couple. “You are so close my lady, a few more pushes and you and your husband can welcome the newborn!”

This news filled Doreah with a newfound determination. Using every bit of her strength, she grasped her Hotho for support as she let out a furious yell as her body clenched to push out the newborn.

And after what seemed to both a lifetime and no time at all, powerful and shrill cries filled out every corner of the room. Not bothering to lean back against the pillows to rest, Doreah reached forward and demanded to hold her baby. She didn’t even care if you were a son or a daughter- you could have been a goat for all she cared. All she wanted to was to hold whomever had been growing inside her for the past nine months. She wanted to breathe in the scent of their skin and kiss their tiny faces. She wanted to love her child- her new world and her greatest love. Son, daughter, goat- Doreah knew that this child would forever be perfect in her eyes.

And perfect this child was indeed, and perfection suited their daughter.

Ten toes and ten fingers covered in blood, and kicking as hard an airborne goat, Doreah and Hotho wept as loudy as their newborn girl. It was only when the midwife insisted that she have the baby cleaned and wrapped in blankets were the two able to part with her. When you were returned to your mother’s arms, all felt right with the world as they continued to weep at the sight of the newest member of their small and strange family.

“Ziry's kesīr, īlva tala,” whispered Doreah with tears rolling down her cheeks. She looked up to gaze at her husband. “Gaomagon ao ūndegon zirȳla, ñuha jorrāelagon? Jurnegon rȳ zirȳla! Iksis ziry daor se olvie precious riña emā mirre ūndegīon!”

“I see her my coral,” whispered out her husband, whose face was soaked in tears in response to the overwhelming joy flowing within him. “Our pearl is beautiful. But most importantly, she is healthy and she is loved.”

He traced a finger across his daughter’s delicate features. Although you were currently sleeping, he knew that your eyes would take after hers, and he was ecstatic. There was a time when he believed that he would never love anything or anyone more than he loved the sea, only now there were two women in his life whom his love was consumed by entirely.

As the world slipped away into the background, the love from the new parents was so great it formed an almost impenetrable barrier surrounding them. But all peaceful things reach an end and theirs came from the knocking of a serving girl.

“My Lord and Lady…Pyke,” came a new voice, clearly disgusted by the act of referring a bastard as a lord, “if the Lady is presentable, the Queen Alicent would like to come in to see the child.”

“Oh yes!” exclaimed Doreah. “Please let her in! I would be most honored to have Alicent meet my sweet pearl!”

“My brightest coral, are you sure? You just went through birth. Queen or not, shouldn’t you recover before she asks your attention?”

Hotho Pyke was an impoverished bastard born from the Iron Islands. He knew how to predict wind patterns and navigate with the stars before he could write. His skills as a seafarer were so great that he caught the attention of Lord Corlys of House Velaryon who sat on the Driftwood Throne. But however impressive his skills were with a sail, there was still much to be desired with his knowledge of etiquette appropriate for the Royal Court of the Red Keep in the Crownlands. His raised brow and confused tone suggested that he believed his question to be one borne of common sense despite the horrified expressions on everyone else’s faces save for his wife.

“Hotho, ñuha jorrāelagon,” Doreah tiredly chuckled as she shook her head, “there is still so much for you to learn about the Red Keep. Please Jeyne, let the Queen enter. I want her to meet our pearl!”

Almost immediately, a heavily pregnant figure in resplendent green and gold came dashing into the room in hopes to be the first to reach the bedridden woman and greet the child.

“Doreah!” exclaimed out the queen, relieved that her dearest friend had survived the trials of birth with the result of a healthy child. “Let me see you! How are you? Are you sure you are well? Do you need anything for the pain?”

Doreah couldn’t help but laugh at the onslaught of questioning from her fretful childhood friend. Since they were still just young girls, Alicent Targaryen nee Hightower always worried about the seamstress’ health and wellbeing despite being a few years younger. She fondly looked back on the days when she and her would peacefully discuss about their days as they worked on their embroidery or took lessons from the Head Septa. Handing their daughter to her husband to hold, she reached out to her friend in attempt to soothe her worries.

“Alicent, I am fine. Truly, there is no need to fret so much.” Doreah reassured her friend before looking back to the love of her life. “Besides, I was never in any danger. Not with my brave Iron Knight by my side the entire time.”

Still holding their radiant babe, Hotho Pyke beamed at his wife’s tender words before laying kisses on her hands, her fingers, the top of her hairline, before eventually stopping at her lips.

Alicent, however, was less than pleased at the shameless display of affection shared between the couple.

“Ser Pyke,” – she refused to refer a bastard of all things as a lord – “surely you know that men are not permitted in the birthing room during the delivery. I thought that this was made clear to you when you first learned of your wife’s pregnancy.”

Not recognizing the insult in being referred as “Ser” as opposed to “Lord,” Hotho only took the queen’s words as a sign of worry for her favored companion.

“My mother would rise from her watery grave to string me by my feet and call me a cunt if she knew that I left my wife alone in bringing our child into the world. Besides, had I not been in the room, she would have let her vicious tongue loose on another unfortunate soul.”

“In any case, are you sure you should not be resting? You are carrying the King’s child, surely that takes priority over seeing me.” Doreah knew that this pregnancy had been particularly difficult for Alicent, recalling the many times she walked in on her kneeling before her chamber pots in emptying out the contents of her stomach.

“Nonsense,” replied Alicent, who shook her head at the statement, “there is no one more important to me at this moment than you, sweet Doreah. I just hope that your husband’s brash tongue does not influence such a young innocent.”

“Ah, no worries my Queen. The brashness of my tongue is no match for that of my wife. She proved that many a time in our quarters.”

The Iron Island-born bastard was promptly cut off by a swift slap on the arm from his wife.

Before Alicent could respond to such vulgarity, she was interrupted by the presence of another figure dressed in a gorgeous red and black dress patterned with masterful gold embroidery.

“Rhaenyra!” Doreah exclaimed in excitement, happy to have not one but two of her closest friends greet her daughter. “You did not have to come! Are you sure you are not currently preoccupied with your duties?”

“Oh, please,” the princess uttered, “what could possibly be more important at this moment than to greet the firstborn of Laenor and I’s closest friends?”

Walking over to Hotho’s side, Rhaenyra was entranced by the sight of the newly arrived babe. She could already see how you would grow to be the spitting image of your mother.

“May I hold her?” she asked with arms already reaching toward your father.

Looking back to his wife to make sure she approved of it, he carefully handed you to Rhaenyra – but not before he laid a dozen kisses on your face.

“Oh Doreah,” Rhaenyra softly cooed, “she is absolutely perfect. I can tell that she will grow up to be as kind and beautiful as her mother.”

“Oh, Rhaenyra,” tears filled your mother’s eyes at her friend’s kind words, “kirimvose.” She turned to Alicent, who was currently sitting beside the bed in a chair brought to her to ease the stress on her body from her third pregnancy. Your mother reached one arm to each of her friends as a way to show solidarity. “Thank you to the both of you. I would not be where I am now – so happy and full of love – without the both of you here to guide me through the Red Keep. I owe you two everything. I only hope that our children can remain as friends so that they will never know loneliness.”

If your mother knew of the cruel fate she thrust onto you with that wish, she would have given everything to the gods in hopes to free you.

Your father took you back into his arms before handing you once more to your mother. Although you had woken from your slumber, you made no noise. You only gazed at the figures surrounding you with wide and eager eyes. Ever so slightly, you reached out your hand to paw at the green fabric of the queen.

So young, and you already seemed to recognize the beauty in the custom-made garment.

Alicent laughed in a way that was so genuine that it seemed unfamiliar, fascinated by the fervent grabbing of her dress on your end.

“It seems that this little one will be a seamstress as well,” she stated as she reached forward to let you pull and tug at her sleeve in enraptured delight, “I can only imagine what talent she will possess.”

“What will you name her?” Rhaenyra asked, hoping that you will be blessed with a name with Valyrian roots.

But a shared glance between your parents showed that they had already decided a name for you far before this day.

“Ashirri, Ashirri Pyke” your mother confidently stated, “in honor of both our cultures.”

Your father grasped his wife’s shoulder in agreement. “We will never let our child feel she must restrict herself to one background. As her parents, we want to let her know that her world will be one of endless possibilities.”

On this day, Doreah Pyke gave birth to a child for her and her husband to raise. This child will be raised with so much love that it will not matter that you were born from two bastard parents, one from Essos and the other from the Iron Islands. No, you were born as a result of the love from two people from opposite sides of the world who miraculously found one another, and that was all that would matter in the end. Doreah would teach you an art that could only be made through masterfully crafted embroidery and needlework, while Hotho will teach you how to use the stars to navigate waters and open their horizons to an endless sea of possibilities.

And if you did not wish to become either a seamstress or a sailor, it made no difference to them. Westeros, Essos, the Red Keep, the Iron Islands – the world was your oyster, and you were the miraculous pearl.

Their child will not be like the close-minded fools of their homelands, but someone whose mind will be open to new opportunities and will never stop seeing the joy in discovering the unknown. And they would always be there to help guide you in any way the could. Nothing would ever come between the love your parents held for you.

If only the gods could allow for such happiness to last forever.

But dragons have a tendency to burn rather than create, especially ones with sapphire for eyes and strong blood in their veins.

Translations:

"Ao nādrēsy!" - You Bastard!

"Ziry's kesīr, īlva tala... Gaomagon ao ūndegon zirȳla, ñuha jorrāelagon? Jurnegon rȳ zirȳla! Iksis ziry daor se olvie precious riña emā mirre ūndegīon!" - She's here, our daughter. Do you see her, my love? Look at her! Is she not the most precious child you have ever seen?

"ñuha jorrāelagon" - my love

kirimvose - Thank you

Tagging: @valeskafics, @dreaming-for-an-escape, @asa-do-your-thing, @arcielee, @aphroditesmoon, @nighttwingg, @marvelescvpe, @nellychick, @its-actually-minicika, @biancaweasley

#house of the dragon #hotd #hotd au #house of the dragon x you #house of the dragon fic #house of the dragon x reader #house of the dragon x oc #jacaerys velaryon x reader #jacaerys velaryon x oc #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen x oc #jacaerys x reader #jacaerys x oc #aemond x reader #aemond x oc #reader insert

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sunkendreams · 2 months

Note

💳💳💳💳can I have some Marko please and thank you. Just pure playful, smutty goodness.

➾ pairing ; marko (tlb) x fem!reader.

FORMAT: drabble — requested.

WORD COUNT: 3.7K.

WARNINGS: SMUT (mdni), unprotected sex, p in v sex, bloodplay (he’s a vampire), rough sex, multiple positions (missionary & doggy), fingering (f!receiving), dirty talk, making out, biting, hair-pulling, scratching, marking, scent kink, marko is pretty rough & greedy, clothes ripping, cumplay, groping, marko is italian, implied marko/reader/paul relationship, risk of getting caught, possessive & obsessive behavior from marko, his slutty crop top is hot to me

AUTHOR’S NOTES: literally having some insane lost boys brainrot rn ,,, working on some more threesomes and just paul content (love him to death ngl), also !! adding more new characters to the muse list aaaaaand gonna try to focus on horny drabbles. just filth, no thoughts ❤️ love you all and thanks so much for your support!

The sharp, stinging scent of copper fills your nostrils, heavy in your lungs, burning away your senses with every breath. You still aren’t fully accustomed to the smell — it’s vitriolic, visceral with every breath that you take, causing you to briefly press your palm against your face.

Golden irises rake over you over the twitching corpse in the sand, appraising your state of wellbeing. Someone had gotten too handsy, too invasive in your space — and that was always enough to spell doom in the eyes of a very territorial vampire.

Despite Marko’s stature, his appetite dwarfed that of his brothers — twice as insatiable, twice as violent.

His tongue lashed across his lips, pearlescent fangs entrenched in crimson, soon to be lapped clean as he wiped off his mouth with the back of his hand. It’s just you and him on some stretch of beach, just out of-sight of the boardwalk.

Marko’s idea of an enjoyable night is hunting and fucking — in no particular order. Paul finally relinquished some of his possessiveness and allowed him to ‘take you out’, which wasn’t entirely subtle. You agreed, of course — Marko was exhilarating in the best of ways.

“Didn’t like the way he looked at you,” Marko confessed, dragging the pad of his thumb across the corner of his mouth. His mane of golden curls billowed with the oceanside breeze, body glittering in specks of red. “He was a little stale.”

To you, blood is blood — but to vampires, it has a certain taste depending on the individual, a particular viscosity and aftertaste. Marko had amusingly compared it to wine — the age, ingredients, and bouquet, an amalgamation that made blood stale or sweet.

Your gaze flickered toward the now-lifeless corpse strewn about in the sand, a Surf-Nazi whose flesh is stone-cold and pale, devoid of lifeblood. “He did reek of something awful.” You replied, stepping away from the body and toward his motorcycle, instead.

“It didn’t ruin the mood, did it?” Marko inquired, calmly stepping over his dinner as he sauntered toward you, hand grasping at your hip. Sometimes, he had a horrible habit of getting carried away with feeding, and it veered off into an adrenaline rush or lust.

“Not in the slightest.” You mused, shaking your head as you swiped away a smear of blood from his chin. Before you could pull your hand away, he snagged your thumb between his teeth, lips curling into a smirk as he sucked the digit clean of any cruor.

An excitable sigh hitched within the bottom of your throat, eyes glued to the sight of his pretty lips wrapped around your finger. His fangs scraped across your flesh, teasing you with a feather-light touch.

Beneath the cherubic features and angelic facade that was Marko, he was a demon — in the best ways, of course. His halo was steeped in blood, crooked atop his mountain of soft, golden curls. His stare was incendiary, twisted together with lust and adoration.

“Should we go back home?” You inquired, voice soft and barely above a whisper. The rest of the pack were out hunting for the foreseeable future — which meant that the cavern would be left for you two.

Marko smirked, dropping your thumb from his maw before he coaxed you in for a kiss, open-mouthed and fueled by a blistering desire. A simpering moan escaped you, feeling his tongue greedily invade your mouth, hands grasping at your hips.

The kiss was more than enough to stoke a fire within your belly, one that demanded to be extinguished. A pang of honey-sweet arousal struck between your thighs, a scent that Marko could detect from miles away.

When he withdrew, those pretty eyes of his flickered toward your stomach, sluggishly tracing your form again until he met your doe-like stare. “If that’s what you want,” Marko clicked his tongue, fingers slinking toward the pliant flesh of your thigh. “You’re beautiful.”

It was exactly what you wanted — time alone with him. You flourished underneath his compliment, spoken through his forked tongue and sweet tone of voice. “I just want you,” You uttered, gasping when he nipped at your jaw. “Wherever that is.”

Admittedly, Marko found some sentiment in that.

Love was a complex ideal to vampires, especially the boys, who’d known nothing but carnage and survival, many decades of self-preservation. People were simply playthings, food — for him to hold some affection for you, a human, was a daunting notion.

He released you from his grasp, gesturing toward the bike with a nod of his head. “I’ll be patient.” Marko murmured, swinging his leg over as he settled onto his bike, feeling you clamor in behind him.

You wrapped your arms around his abdomen, digits idly toying with the hem of his crop-top, able to feel the taut musculature underneath. It drove him crazy every time you rode with him. Judging from the way he sat, rigid and poised, it must’ve had some effect on him.

As the motorcycle roared to life, Marko unceremoniously spun the vehicle around, causing a spray of sand to fly in the other direction. He sped off onto the stretch of beach, making for the cave at dangerous speeds. The cool, oceanic breeze swept over you, tinged with the sting of alkaline.

Snug against him, your digits continued to drift underneath his clothing, icy muscle flush against the warmth of your fingertips. He shot you a look from over his shoulder, incendiary and shadowed — a warning, more than likely.

Feigning innocence, you simply forced a cheeky smile, noticing the way his body shook with a huff of laughter. He invaded your mind, perusing through your thoughts like the pages of an open book.

“Careful, dolcezza.” Marko crooned, issuing yet another warning — it wasn’t as subtle as the last. As you crept into newfound territory, toying with your vampiric paramour, you had a feeling that you were in for it once you reached the cave.

Something warm blossomed within your chest, a familiar heat that simmered with desire. Arousal pooled between your legs as he narrowly guided the bike away from a cluster of trees, grinning like a shark when he noted the little flicker of nervousness on your face.

It was adrenaline intermingled with a twinge of fear, enough to produce a unique pheromone that Marko caught a whiff of. He revved the motorcycle, pushing down on the gas pedal for a boost of speed, wind whipping throughout your hair.

A pale, silvery moon hung overhead, turning those golden curls to a shade of platinum. Marko whooped and howled, leaving behind a trail of disturbed sand in his wake, guiding the bike over a hill and fallen log.

Your fingers clutched onto him, cheek pressed against the back of his shoulder. The exhilaration of it all made your pulse quicken, excitement climbing to new levels. Marko’s cajoling laughter filled the air, the motorcycle gliding down a dirt path toward the beach.

The cave sat soundly beside the ocean, shrouded by a shadowy chasm and plenty of debris. The rest of the bikes were missing, much to Marko’s delight. As he hit the kickstand on his bike, you stepped off, letting out a strangled gasp when he grabbed your waist.

Without warning, he hoisted you into the air, snickering and teasing you with bouts of laughter as he flew into the cave, taking you right into his nest.

“Marko!” You squealed, feeling your back hit the mattress with a rather unceremonious thud, the wind being ripped from your lungs. His grin remained, pearlescent and glittering as he perched at the foot of the bed, teeth catching on the leather of his glove.

“We’re all alone,” Marko mused, and began to slink closer, abandoning his roost. He nipped at your jaw and lower lip, teeth delightfully close to your jugular. Your flesh felt velvety beneath his palms, belonging to him for the evening, much to his satisfaction. “What am I going to do with you?”

The scent of your arousal flooded his senses, throat beginning to ache with a dull throbbing. He absentmindedly licked his lower lip, hazel hues narrowing slightly as he looked you over as one would a delicious meal, but it morphed into something else.

Something more than that.

Part of him would always view you as a meal, as his thrall, his fragile little human — but the other found affection, a twinge of love that steadily grew into something possessive and obsessive. Marko understood why Paul was so crazy about you, why he worshiped the ground that you walked on.

It was the way you looked at him — smitten and enamored, as if you hadn’t seen something so beautiful before. While he enjoyed the fear, savored your nervousness, this was something else entirely.

“You’re perfect,” You exhaled, visibly charmed by his very presence, by the way he carried himself. Marko reminded you of a Greek sculpture, cold and crafted of an impenetrable marble — beautiful and stoic. Yet, he was devious, the devil disguised as an angel. “Pretty.”

Marko hummed, hands unabashedly roaming underneath your dress, groping at your breasts. “Aren’t you sweet?” He purred, listening to the erratic beating of your heart, nose skirting along your jawline as he inhaled a gust of your saccharine scent.

Your fingers reached for the nape of his neck, perusing through his golden curls as he pushed himself in between your legs. His hand hastily snuck towards the cleft between your thighs, seeking out that familiar heat as he swept his digits over your clothed cunt.

“Marko!” You whimpered, practically writhing underneath him as he dipped his fingers beneath your panties, gliding through your slick slit. He wound his fist into the thin material, shredding it apart with a brusque tug. His sneer made you flustered, shrinking underneath his stare.

“Want me to make you feel good?” He uttered, digits prodding at your cunt with a feather-light touch, enough to drive you insane. “Use your words.” Marko insisted, feeling your hands claw at his patchwork jacket. Your mind was a pool of crass thoughts, interwoven with your own embarrassment.

“Yes,” You blubbered, tugging on his curls with a sense of urgency. “Please, Marko, I — I want you!” His snickering and playful smile caused butterflies to erupt within the pit of your stomach, breath hitching as he shrugged his jacket aside. He peeled away those leather gloves, touching you with smooth, icy palms.

As soon as his mouth met yours, you reciprocated with a flurry of passion, scatterbrained and drunk with desire. His lips felt plush against yours, kiss turning sloppy as his teeth scraped across your lower lip. A gasp escaped you as you listened to the sound of fabric tearing.

Marko ripped your dress, uncouth and showing disinterest in the garment altogether. Your brassiere was next, but you were able to save it from an unfortunate fate, letting it join his jacket instead. His lips roamed over your chest, biting at your breasts, your sternum, littering you in lovebites.

He murmured something in Italian — something indiscernible, but it sounded pretty nonetheless. You felt something sharp just above your breast, the intrusion of fangs as Marko took a bite, enough to satiate. He licked his lower lip, lapping at the crescent-shaped indent before he kissed you again.

Much to your delight, his hand returned to the molten heat between your thighs, digits roaming along your slit before he pushed them forward. You shuddered, legs forced apart by his body as he deliberately stroked at your cunt, thumb teasing your clit.

The coppery twang of blood stained his tongue, which happened to collide with yours. Every kiss ripped away a wisp of air from your lungs, body prickling with an electric pleasure. Marko’s fingers found your entrance, easing themselves inside of you.

“You’re so beautiful like this,” Marko uttered, his gaze wrought with a lust-warped intimacy. You shrank underneath his oppressive stare, heart thudding beneath your collarbone. “My thrall.” He watched the way your countenance blossomed into a vision of pure ecstasy.

Your hips twitched, jolting and rolling into the sensation of his fingers. He found a pleasurable rhythm, easing his digits in and out of your tight cunt. Your hand moved underneath his crop-top, reveling in the feeling of sinewy muscle underneath.

“Take this off,” You moaned, tugging at the tattered fabric with a sense of insistence. “Please, Marko.” Your voice tapered off into a whine when he curled his fingers ever so slightly, thumb grazing your clit yet again.

With a bemused huff, he obeyed, treating you to the charming sight of his lean musculature. His flesh was cold to the touch, impenetrable and sturdy like marble, somewhat sunkissed. Paul was pretty in a different way — wild, untamed, and unapologetically himself.

Marko reminded you of a sculpture, a cherub with a carefully-concocted veil — tear it aside, and you would find a rather beautiful demon. He stared at you with a strange intensity, savoring the way your nails dug into his bicep.

Candlelight danced across his skin, producing an attractive shade of orange that only made him look painfully perfect. He smirked when you bucked forward, chasing after his fingers — he cruelly let them drift away, only for you to let out a disgruntled whine.

He showered you in a barrage of rough bites and hickeys, letting them trail from your neck to collarbone, something noticeable. They were right alongside Paul’s — though, most of his were all around your breasts.

With another careful pistoning of his digits, Marko withdrew his fingers from your slick core, crudely sucking them free of your nectar. You tasted divine, a taste that he’d begun to crave. His hand moved toward the fly of his jeans and chaps.

Marko occasionally entertained you with foreplay — that was more Paul’s forte than anything else. The curly-headed leech was much more absorbed in fucking you until you were a sobbing mess, and that was what he intended on doing.

“Don’t be quiet,” Marko crooned, grinning like the cat who’d just caught the canary. The doe-eyed, mesmerized look you gave him was enough to make him pause for a moment, letting the intimacy crackle between the both of you. He kissed you, feeling your arms loop underneath his. “Sweet little human.”

There was something unusually attractive about Marko referring to you as that — he had all the power. Knowing that he possessed the ability to rip you open and chose not to added some amorous layer to your relationship.

His cock pushed against your cunt, and he let himself linger there until you were moaning, desperately pushing your hips forward. His soft, cajoling giggle made you involuntarily smile, but it dissipated as soon as he fucked his way inside of you.

Marko huffed, savoring the stinging sensation of your nails digging into his shoulder blades, knees squeezing at his narrow nips. “Marko,” You whimpered, knowing that he didn’t have the intention of being gentle. “I need you.” You sighed with passion.

His initial thrusts were erratic and desperate, not soft or coddling. Marko wanted to find a rhythm that worked for him, and not you. Roughness and brutality were the only ways he knew how, evident in the way he began to move into you. His cock slammed away at your sensitive cunt, feeling you clench and shake around him.

A blistering heat consumed you, coursing throughout your body like a tidal wave. It was beyond pleasant, white-hot and visceral as Marko wasted no time in picking up his pace. A low growl resonated from the back of his throat, cock battering away at your cunt.

You felt his hand spread your legs apart, hips brushing against yours as he rutted into you. Your fingers left scratches behind on his back, angry-red with little pearls of crimson. The way Marko obliterated you was borderline godly — a stark juxtaposition to the vampire himself.

Despite the roughness of it all, there was an intimacy to be found within it, a deep obsession that Marko felt for you. His face moved toward your neck, lips peppering messy kisses wherever he could.

A cacophony of lewd noises filled the cavern, accompanied by your string of pleasured moans and needy whimpers. “Marko!” You cried, unabashed as you yelped into the abyss of the cave.

When he pounded into you with the force of a battering ram, you swore you saw the heavens themselves, lips agape as you clawed at his musculature. Marko didn’t care whatsoever — in fact, it only added fuel to the fire as he nipped at any inch of available flesh.

“I’m close.” You panted, listening to the sounds of his heavy huffs and soft grunts. You were ensnared, trapped between his insatiable jaws. Clamoring forward, you attempted to kiss him, only to be met with a flurry of dizzying desire and teeth.

Marko’s lips curled into a grin, scent of your arousal stinging his senses again. It turned him into some feral animal, fueled by the primal need to rut. You savored this, drunk on his passion and ferocity. You felt his mouth press along your jaw; wherever he could reach.

You threatened to tear Marko asunder, digging into his flesh with such force that a human would find it painful. Thankfully, your paramour was supernatural — he was indomitable. Your throat burned from the constant barrage of sound that escaped you, lips swollen from the flurry of kisses.

He brusquely pulled himself out of you, cock oozing with beads of precum as he grabbed at your hips. “Just a little more, dolcezza.” Marko murmured, biting at your shoulder as he put you down onto all fours, bringing you right back against him.

You gasped, choking on air as he pounded back into you, cock hitting new depths as he hunched in close. You could feel his hand tangling into your hair, breath fanning out across your back.

A series of desperate whines left you, face buried near the pillows as Marko fucked you through your orgasm. That familiar rush of white-hot pleasure made you feel as if you were floating, hot and heavy between your thighs. Your stomach churned with molten heat, flesh crawling with fire.

You felt like you were going to collapse, carried away within the sea of ecstasy. Marko didn’t stop for anything, his pace voracious as he consumed you completely, cock buried deep inside of you — as far as it would go. His core felt tight, body snug against yours.

Marko’s grasp on your hips was ironclad, hard enough to leave behind imprint-shaped bruises. His chest erupted with a grunt, his noises subtle compared to your symphony of delight. You shuddered, body spasmodic in the wake of your release.

“Good girl.” Marko purred, finding amusement in the way you attempted to push your thighs together. He began to rut into you again, the intensity climbing to new heights before he pulled out, painting your back in ropes of sticky seed. That was his favorite.

He used the torn remnants of your dress to clean you up, pressing a string of kisses along your spine as you settled back down, body quivering. Marko was more than happy to gather you into his arms, smirking all the while as he pressed a kiss against your brow.

“I’m sorry for scratching you,” You mumbled, visibly sheepish when you noticed the marks you’d left behind. It wasn’t pretty — his cruor was drying underneath your fingernails. “I got carried away.”

Marko giggled, head canting to one side. “Apologizing for scratching the vampire,” He clicked his tongue, absentmindedly biting at the corner of his thumb before he cupped your chin. “You know how much I like it.” He reminded you, tracing your lower lip with the pad of his finger.

A sigh of relief escaped you, body damp with a layer of dewy perspiration. “So does Paul.” Paul enjoyed it when you choked him, too. Sometimes you worried you’d hurt them — even if it was an outlandish thought.

“He does love it,” Paul’s voice reverberated from the makeshift doorway, coat splattered in fresh bloodstains. Even his chin carried faint remnants of crimson, but his grin was more present than ever. “Are you gonna make it happen?” He asked.

You gawked at your mate, but Marko had some sly expression on his face. “Maybe when she’s done resting from us.” Marko interjected, careening into the sensation of your fingers perusing through his curls.

Paul huffed, letting out a soft ‘pfft’. “As long as you don’t break what’s mine, bud.” He mused, and sauntered away from the nest, leaving you and Marko alone once more. Much to Marko’s delight, you leaned into him, feeling his teeth snag along your jaw once more.

“I might break you,” Marko uttered, lips ghosting above the shell of your ear as his hand snuck in between your legs. You shivered, unable to bite back the throaty whimper that left you. “Just a little bit.”

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