#arranged marriage
Text
The Color Blue - Chapter 2
image taken from @ lovevivianne on pinterest
Synopsis: As the only daughter to the leader of the Kamo Clan, you were trained and protected to one day bring your father honor through your marriage to the heir of the Gojo Clan. However, your husband ended up being something that your family never prepared you for. As you come to navigate a new world of politics between the clans, your husband convinces you that there is nothing wrong with honoring yourself too. MDNI WITH THIS CHAPTER.
Warnings and Content: fem! reader, slightly ooc! (?) gojo, mostly fluff with a hint of angst, smut (gojo fantasizes about fucking the reader, body worshipping, marking, fingrering, fem receiving! oral, taking reader’s virginity in mating press), mentions/anxieties of marriage consummation, themes of arranged/forced marriage/familial expectations, cursing, themes of mentally abused/anxious reader, male masturbation
Author's Note: Chapter 2 woo woo! Had a lot of fun writing this one. Please keep in mind that there is smut in the chapter so minors dni! I will add that reader's father in this series, along with other family members, are not canon and are created for the purpose of the story, as well as the beliefs/dramatization of the Kamo clan. If you have yet to read the prologue or chapter one, please do so!
Word Count: 7.3k
___________________________________________________________
Satoru folded his arms as he stood before your father, waiting for him to say something. Instead, the man held Satoru's gaze while sitting on the foyer's couch, not breaking it even when one of the household staff set a cup of steaming tea on the table before them and left.
Arao Kamo was a gruff man, and stupidly proud. His clan was the largest of the three major jujustu clans. Where Satoru and now you were the only Gojo members, the Kamos had dozens interwoven into their bloodline, and Arao oversaw them all with an iron fist. Just as Yaga had said, this was a family rooted in deep tradition, and Arao upheld it just as the other Kamos had done for centuries. Though he was past his prime as a sorcerer, wrinkles dotting his once handsome face just like the gray in his hair, he was widely respected across the jujustu community.
"Where is my daughter?" Your father asked lowly, clearly tired of waiting. Waiting for you, Satoru realized.
"She's sleeping. She had a pretty bad fever this week, so I'm making her prioritize her rest. I was just about to make her breakfast when you arrived, actually," Satoru replied with equal calm, cocking his head and giving him a smirk. "Though, I'm assuming you're not here for breakfast."
"I came to see (Y/N)," your father grumbled, now taking the tea into his hands. "I messaged her this morning notifying her I would be here, but it seems she didn't see it. That girl can be so insolent sometimes..."
That set Satoru off a bit. No wonder you were always so focused on pleasing him if you had to cater to this prick. "Well, forgive me, sir, but like I said, she's asleep, so she wouldn't have been able to read your texts. Maybe next time give her a further notice. And, contrary to your definitely valued opinion, I find your daughter quite charming and very polite. But hey, what do I know, she's only been living with me for a month and a half," Satoru shrugged, firing at him with his usual attitude. He was peeved to even refer to this man as his father-in-law, so he avoided it as much as he could.
Satoru almost snickered when he saw a vein fire off in the Kamo leader's head as he gripped the ceramic cup so hard it almost cracked. What was even more fun was knowing that the man couldn't even tell Satoru to watch his tone. They were equal in position, but Satoru greatly outweighed him in power, even if your father was a retired special-grade.
Your father only released a breath, trying to calm himself before saying, "Right. Well then, since she's preoccupied, I'm sure you wouldn't mind telling me that you both have consummated your marriage?"
Satoru tried and failed to hide the disgust on his face. Why would he need to know that? You being his daughter or no, he had no right to know what went on in your marital bed. Satoru decided in that moment that he wanted your father out of this house before he made him leave. "Oh, yeah, definitely. Don't know why that's any of your business, but of course we have," Satoru lied, though the smug grin on his face made it look like he was telling the truth.
"Well then, I congratulate you both," your father said, now standing. "I expect good news in the coming weeks. I suppose I'll be taking my leave now."
"Oh, please do," Satoru replied wittily, moving a little too quickly to open the front door for him. "I need to get back to breakfast before my poor dear wife starves."
Arao gave Satoru a sneer before walking out the door. "Oh, and the lawn care guy should be outside if you need help getting down the stairs!" Satoru shouted as he watch the man leave, closing the door and laughing to himself.
He stood at the door for a moment, sighing and running a hand through his hair, all while trying to ponder the reason why your father felt the need to show up in the first place. Suddenly, Satoru felt a little guilty for not trying to move up the marriage date himself, now getting a more vivid image of what you probably had to deal with.
Speaking of you, he needed to get back to cooking. He turned to walk back up the stairs, but you were already standing at the top, looking down at him. He smiled at the sight of you, your usual silk robe covering your nightgown as you folded your hands in front of you. It seemed like you had just washed up, too. Satoru jogged up the steps to greet you.
"Satoru-" you started, a small pout on your face.
"Don't worry, (Y/N), I took care of it," Satoru interrupted, putting his hands on your shoulders to usher you back to the kitchen. "By the way, your father is a lovely individual."
"I know it was him you were talking to. I just saw his texts and rushed down to greet him, but you got there before me," you explained. "I was listening to your conversation, but I should have showed my face. Forgive me?"
"That's perfectly okay. You have nothing to be sorry for. You don't have to talk to him if you don't want to," Satoru reconciled. "To be honest, I was already ticked that he just invited himself over."
"Well, he is my father. He should be able to see me when he wants to," you replied. Satoru looked at you and furrowed his brow as the two of you walked through the doors and towards the kitchen.
"(Y/N), that shouldn't mean anything. You're his daughter, sure, but you're also an adult and someone that's capable of making their own decisions, so you have a right to refuse him, especially in the state that you're in. Not to mention, you should be in bed," Satoru argued. Did you really stop resting to go downstairs and see him? How much of a hold did this man still have on you?
"But as your wife and the matron of the house, I should be the first to greet guests-"
Satoru only snickered and shook his head. "(Y/N), just because that was something your father taught you doesn't mean you have to do that. You realize how ridiculous that statement sounds?"
He suddenly regretted his words when you gave him a worried look. "But, that's my responsibility-"
“But it doesn’t have to be!” Satoru interjected before you could say anymore. He sighed before continuing. “Look, I didn’t mean to raise my voice. What I mean is that… you’re recovering from an illness, and we both know you need rest. So, since something like this came up and because I’m the one taking care of you, I went to go answer the door because you’re still in bed. I was happy to do it, (Y/N)…”
After a few seconds, he added, “I understand what you think, and please don’t take this like I’m trying mansplain something to you or what not… but the whole husband-wife relationship dynamic that I think you have in mind… it’s not… healthy, so to speak. At least, I don’t think it is. You don't always have to break yourself down trying to handle so many things. The same goes for me too. So we help each other, right? You don’t even have to think of it in a married way either. Just see it like I’m doing you a favor, yeah?”
"Still... he won't be happy with me," you murmured as the two of you walked the rest of the way to the kitchen in silence. The ingredients still sat on the counter, the batter ready but unused. Satoru decided to get started on that right away while you watched from the entryway.
"Satoru?"
"Mhm?"
"Why did you lie...?" The stove reached a crescendo of sizzles as Satoru poured the batter onto the pan, his back turned to you.
"Because he has no right knowing about private stuff like that," he replied, his shoulders moving slightly under his t-shirt as he fiddled the batter with the spatula. "And because I knew he would be furious with you. I knew he would find a way to blame it on you... as if it was your fault that I decided not to force myself on you because you were obviously nervous and scared and we had practically just met. I would never do something like that unless you wanted me to."
"But I do."
"Do you? Or do you want to because you know it's what your family expects of you?"
A beat. "I don't know."
Satoru moved the done pancakes onto a paper plate and poured more batter on the pan. "(Y/N), what do you want us to be?"
"You're my husband-"
"No, just... putting all that aside for a minute. Disregard what I want, what your family wants, what jujustu society wants... what do you want us to be, as two human beings?"
You didn't answer his question. In fact, you didn't say anything until he had used up all of the batter and made a semi-okay stack of blueberry pancakes for the both of you. Maybe you have never been asked something like this before. After all, your whole life you were told to be dedicated to your father and your family name, and then eventually to him. Your opinions thus didn't ever matter in any situation, so no one probably bothered asking. Did you even know then what it was like to want something? To want to have a goal or a sense of identity that was truly your own?
It wasn't until he opened the silverware drawer to grab forks that you spoke up.
"A friend. I want us to be friends."
Satoru smiled, shutting the drawer before handing you your plate. "You got it, pretty girl."
___________________________________________________________
"So what do you like to do for fun?" Satoru asked, observing you as he sat backwards on one of the many chairs of the library.
"Read," you replied, not even looking up from the book in front of you.
"Yeah. I gathered," Satoru grumbled. Whatever you were reading, you seemed really immersed, pages in your face and curled up all nice and comfy on the couch. He reached forward, barely able to put the tip of his finger on the top of the cover to pull it down a little and look at you. "What else?"
"Have we not had this discussion before?" You moved the book back up, a placid expression on your face.
"Yeah, but there's a difference between hobbies and things you do for fun..."
"Okay then. I do my hobbies for fun."
Satoru sighed. "So you're telling me you've never like... gone to the movies? An amusement park? Maybe a club or something?"
He barely saw you shake your head as you said, "Aside from going to see a movie once or twice, I've never done any of those. There are more ways to spend my time that do not involve spending money or wearing indecent clothing around indecent people."
Satoru chuckled at your response. You did seem like the type of person to frown upon things like parties and alcohol. "Hmph. Now that has me thinking... what is the most rebellious thing you've ever done as a teenager?"
You set your book down at his question, gently marking the page as you hummed. "I was able to procure a romance novel when I was 16..." you murmured.
Satoru only raised an eyebrow, shifting in his seat. "And? What did you do with it?"
"I read it of course," you replied matter-of-factly.
"That's... it? What, was it like hardcore porn or something?"
"Goodness no! It was... just a romance novel..." You picked up your book again, clearly flustered.
Satoru snickered, moving a chair around to sit on it normally to look at you as you read. "Well then, what was so bad about it?"
"Well, the fact that it was a romance novel," you shrugged.
That made Satoru pause for a moment, considering what your words were implying. "So... you weren't allowed to read romance novels? That seems kinda harsh... Is that why you read so much non-fiction type stuff?"
"To begin, I do read fiction, just not a lot of fiction prose. And secondly, yes, I was not allowed to," you explained. "My father believed reading stories of that nature would give me fanciful ideas to go out and try to experience romance and tamper my chastity before my marriage."
That stunned Satoru to silence for a moment. "Wow. Not gonna lie, your dad's a dick."
Your brow furrowed as you looked at him from over your book. "Satoru, that's rude."
"What? He's not in the room with us. And besides, it's not like you were shooting heroin up your arm and getting pregnant at 16 because you read a romance book," he argued, crossing his arms over his jacket. "What was it even about anyway?"
You sighed, setting down your book again. "I don't really remember. Something like... a girl running away from her kingdom to escape marriage, and she somehow ends up falling for the man she was supposed to marry anyway." You leaned back against the couch, setting your book on the table nearby. "I never read it again. I was too afraid someone would find it and tell my father."
"What was the book called?"
"I don't... I don't remember," you muttered, looking down in your lap.
"Did you like it?"
You only shook my head with a smile. "You ask a lot of questions, Satoru."
He only smirked and raised his arms up in a 'guilty as charged' motion. "Well, forgive me for just trying to know more about something that you obviously enjoyed. But seriously? Your dad wouldn't let you read something like that?"
"N-no..." Your eyes wandered before landing on the clock on the other side of the room, standing when you realized what time it was. "I should start on lunch-"
"Ah, ah, ah," Satoru ticked, standing up to stop you. "We're going out for lunch."
"We are?" you asked, looking up at him confused. "Did I forget?"
"Nope, I just decided," Satoru chirped, now putting a hand on the small of your back as he led you out of the library. "We're gonna go to lunch, and then we're going shopping."
"But we have food here... and what do we need to shop for?" you inquired, a puzzled look on your face. "I had just run to the market this past weekend..."
"Well, dontcha think it's kinda odd that we're married yet we haven't really gone out to do something fun together? I think it'll be nice. And you can't shop for books on an empty stomach," he replied, patting his own stomach for emphasis. "You can get any romance book you desire, all on me. It doesn't even have to be a romance book, either! I can tell you've been reading those same poetry collections over and over so you must want some new ones..."
Your silence was a clear indicator of your hesitation, making Satoru look at you for a moment. You were biting the inside of your cheek, eyes trained down, second guessing. "Hey, if you don't want to, we won't go," he said, voice softening. "We can make lunch here and find something else to do later, if that's what you'd rather do..."
"I... I'm just..." you started.
"What's on your mind, pretty girl?"
You looked sheepishly off to the side, now stopping in the center of the private living room in both you and Satoru's shared part of the estate. "It's just... my father visited here less than a week ago trying to see me, and I didn't even greet him. And now... now what you're proposing is... something he most definitely wouldn't...uhm..."
Admittedly, the first thing Satoru felt was frustration. How much of your life did your father dictate before he married you? Too much, Satoru knew now. Too much to the point where you're thinking of his approval long after you were grown and married. Too much to the point where your father could have demanded an answer to the same question he asked Satoru a few days ago, and you would've answered him truthfully despite the fact that you knew you would suffer. What more could this man want from you besides your total devotion?
However, that frustration melted to empathy and heartache when looking at your face. Now, because of your consideration of rejecting his offer, you looked guilty. He felt the urge to reach out and hug you; to hold your head to his chest and tell you it was okay, and that he understood; to let you know that he didn't take any offense to what your concerns were or what you were feeling. After all...
He can't blame you for knowing any different.
"(Y/N), I understand that you may feel that way but... I'll tell you the same thing that I told you before: I'm not your father. I don't plan on being like him, either. You can do whatever you want when you're here. So, if you want to stay here and not go get anything, that's fine. But, I want you to know that I would be very happy to take you to go get a few books and some food, and I think you'll be too. It's your decision."
You swallowed, picking at the skin of your fingers, likely a nervous habit. Your eyes darted to a few different spots: the carpet, his socks, the wooden wall, the window. You tried to calm your breaths, your chest rising and falling, rising and falling...
"Maybe... maybe one new thing on my bookshelf... wouldn't hurt?"
___________________________________________________________
One new book turned into two, two into three, and three into ten. Of course, Satoru got a few for himself too. He wasn't a big reader, but he figured he'd try a few to keep him occupied when traveling.
Traveling was part of the reason he took you out today. You both already knew that he had been assigned an upcoming mission for a while now, one that was going to keep him away for about a week. He wanted to do something for you before he left, and he couldn't have thought of anything more perfect.
After your shopping, the two of you went to a little café tucked between the stores of a nearby shopping center. You both talked for roughly two hours, enjoying baked sandwiches and coffee and muffins. It was the first time he had ever seen you talk so openly with him, like he was having a conversation with any of his other friends or colleagues. But it was so... different at the same time? You had this grace to the way you spoke, which he had already noticed, but what was new was your cute mannerisms: the way your eyes looked upward when you tried to think of something, or the way you smiled nervously when you suddenly forgot what the two of you had been talking about...
And if that wasn't icing on the cake, there was what he was now referring to in his head as The Miracle. A little blonde girl, no more than five, had been running around the café with her other sister, friend, whoever, for most of the time the two of you had been there. However, amidst trying to run away from the other girl she was playing with, the little blonde had run into the chair you were sitting in, causing her to fall over. Satoru choked on a laugh while you just bent over in your seat to help the girl up.
However, when you helped the girl to her feet, a hand on her little wrist, the kid just stared at you, starstruck. When you asked if she was alright, the girl only answered with a dazed, You look like a princess.
And what he witnessed was the best part of his day. You laughed. Loudly. Eyes crinkled as your cheeks expanded from a wide smile. You thanked the little girl, told her she looked like one too, before the kid ran back over to her parents.
He had laughed too, of course. Usually kids give him weird stares, but seeing it happen to someone else was funny for a change. Satoru couldn't have agreed more with the kid, though. You did look like a princess, even if you were wearing just a typical floral dress, and he had the fight the urge to rub it in the kid's face. She's my princess that I get to see everyday because she's my wife, so eat it.
That laugh was a broken record in his head the entire drive home, replaying over and over. It was so... unlike you, in a sense. You were so timid, yet your laugh had come out loud and roaring up from the pit of your stomach like a long awaited eruption. What he wouldn't give to hear that again...
And that's what led him to your bedroom. The two of you just got back 30 minutes ago and he was craving your presence again already. He stood in your already open doorway, leaning against it with his sunglasses slung low on his nose as he watched you put your new books on your bookshelf. You even rearranged some of the ones already on there to make a different section for your three new romance novels.
You seemed content, fulfilled. Satoru considered that a mission accomplished.
He spoke up when you were done. "Tired of me yet, or do you want to find something else to do?"
You turned to face him from where you were sitting on the floor before standing and straightening out the skirt of your dress. There was something... extremely attractive about your modesty, your adorable and considerate manners. He knew they must have been drilled into you since childhood, but the way you did it- the little bounce when you stood, the slight shift of your weight from one foot to another, your wide eyes looking at him- that was all you. He loved it.
"Uhm... if you don't mind me asking, Satoru..." you began, one of your hands picking at your fingers- a nervous habit, he now knew. "Why did we go out today... or why did you take me out? I don't think I did anything to... necessarily deserve this-"
"Let me stop you right there," he interrupted, a small chuckle as he took his glasses off and placed them on the collar of his button-up shirt. "You don't need to do anything to deserve something like this. I just wanted to hang out, have fun, take your mind off of things that might be worrying you. After all, you're the one that said you wanted to be friends, am I right?"
"Yes, but... I didn't know that that would entail shopping sprees..." you replied, a mix of bashfulness and thankfulness crossing your features.
"Well, it does when you're friends with me. And don't forget, my money's all yours anyway, so really then you don't even need me to take you out to splurge. If you end up hating me enough, you could buy your own house on the other side of the world and never see my face again," he shrugged, smirking a little.
That smirk grew when your face changed from bashful to worried. "Why would I do that? And... and how do I have access to any of that?" you exclaimed.
Satoru stepped off the doorway, making his way over to you. "Well, you're legally my wife, so my money is also yours. And as for hating me, while I will do everything in my power from getting you to do so, I know I can be a lot for people to try and handle. So if you end up disliking me, that's totally understandable."
You only looked up at him anxiously. "I think it would be rather crude of me to dislike you after everything you've done for me..."
"I guess you're right, but you're still allowed to from time to time. I'd rather you express yourself than cover it up," Satoru replied with a smile, crossing his arms over his chest. "So then, based off of that logic, how do you feel about your father?"
You opened your mouth, but then shut it, looking away. "I can understand why you feel loyalty to him and your family, but from what I can gather, he treated you terribly. And while I don't clearly know everything, I can tell. Really, I can. Were you happy to let him... indoctrinate you like that?" he asked, eyes soothing into something more comforting.
"I..." you started, as if trying to find the words. Then your breaths rose and fell slightly faster, your bottom lip began quivering. Satoru's eyebrows raised as he took note of what was going to happen-
His arms shot forward to steady you as your body seemed to cave in a little, a small no cracking from your throat before the tears started. His heart broke to pieces.
"Hey, hey, hey... shh, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have asked you something like that without warning you..." he whispered, ushering you to sit on the bed while he stood in front of you. "Hey, talk to me. You can talk to me..." Satoru raised his hands, one placing itself on your shoulder, the other wiping the tears that trickled down your face.
Through your sobs and shaky breaths you were able to get out, "Scared... I was always... so scared and frightened by... by the thought of what... w-what he would do... if... if I... but I had no choice-"
"Yeah... and you shouldn't have to feel that way around your own father. What he was teaching you, and how he treated you, was wrong," he consoled, brushing more tears and stray strands of hair away from your face. Snot began to drip from your nose. "Shit, uh... here."
You grimaced as he held up his forearm for you to blow into his sleeve. You just pouted and shook your head.
Satoru chuckled lowly. "C'mon, it's fine. I can take it off and wash it later. Unless, you want me to take it off now?" he added with a wink and wiggled eyebrows shot in your direction.
That only caused your face to redden a little, giving him a sniffle as you moved you head forward and used his shirt as a tissue. "Don't be afraid to blow. I got another sleeve too," he quipped, smiling weakly when you eventually did as he adjusted more of your hair behind your ear.
"(Y/N)..." Satoru moved to sit next to you on the bed. "I'm not going to make you tell me everything about yourself. What you want to share is up to you. But, I'll promise that you'll never have to be afraid of me... okay?"
You nodded once, your breaths staggering as you forced yourself to get calm.
"And... can you look at me please?" he whispered, gently cupping one side of your face to turn your attention to him. "You can come to me for anything. Even when I'm not here, you have my number."
You only sighed. "I'm sorry..."
"Sorry? For what?" Satoru retracted his hand from your face.
"For... for that. For feeling like you... for having to... coddle me like this," you muttered. "It's... deeply unfair to you..."
"It's really not..." he tittered. For a moment, he considered telling you just how much he had been wanting, waiting for a moment like this so he could show how much he cared for you. He wanted to tell you that he would rip his whole shirt to scraps for you to blow your nose in to prove it. "Emotions... aren't meant to be something transactional between people. Trust me, I know. If you want me to go to you for something, I gladly will, but right now it's not about me..."
"Are you sure?" you voice cracked, brows furrowing.
"Sure that's it not about me? Well, perhaps not everything can be. But I guess it's okay to give away my spotlight once in a while," he sighed with his usual sarcasm, causing you to giggle a little.
"I meant... are you sure that... that you'd be okay if I... talked to you about... anything?" you questioned again, trying to find your words.
"Absolutely, 's what I'm here for," Satoru assured. "And each time I'll remind you that you're a wonderful, talented, kind, and good-looking individual," he added, giving a little boop on the tip of your nose before continuing with a flare in his voice. "And that-" that I love you "-that, well, I think everything is going to turn out just fine. After all, I'm the strongest sorcerer alive. I can handle anything you throw at me."
You smiled softly, looking down in your lap, your eyes caught between melancholy and meditative. "I suppose you're right about that..."
"Oh, I know, pretty girl. A little therapy session is nothing compared to a special grade curse," he sniggered. "But that doesn't mean I take it more lightly."
You only hummed in response. Satoru just continued to look at you as you stared forward into the carpet, probably thinking about something to say. Even after you had just finished crying, you looked so lovely. Hell, he could never catch you at a time when you weren't that. Or maybe he just saw you that way no matter what.
When you looked back to him, he prepared himself to listen. Instead, all you said was, "Have you packed a bag for your mission?"
He just laughed. "Yeah, I should probably get on that..."
"I'll... probably just get ready for bed early, then," you stammered. "And... uhm..." You turned to him, breathing in as you brought an arm close to his side, making a motion as if you were going to wrap it around him, before ultimately deciding to rest it on his elbow. "Thank you..."
Satoru gave you a knowing smile. He could tell what you were about to do, but chose to not say anything about it. What was important was that he at least noticed. "Anytime..." With that, he opted to leave you alone while he returned to his room.
He could see you were trying. He knew you were, and he knew it was hard. Your whole life, you had been terrified of messing anything up. Hearing you say that set off something deep in him.
As he packed, he realized he had been stupid, so idiotically fucking stupid. He had the power this whole time, for years, to take you to be with him earlier, yet he never acted on it. And those years that he had figured it was best to keep his distance from out of fear of what you would think of him were years you had spent in literal fear of your father and family. Even if he technically would have had to strike an agreement with your father for an earlier marriage date and there was no guarantee that he would agree to it, he could have at least tried.
Someday, Satoru knew he would have to apologize for it.
___________________________________________________________
Satoru got up to leave at 4:00am for his morning flight to Osaka. Once his bags were securely in the trunk, he got in the backseat as his driver took off.
He immediately noticed the container already in the middle seat, a sticky-note on it with your perfect cursive written in blue pen:
Couldn't fall asleep last night, so I made these for you.
- (Y/N)
Satoru grinned, lifting off the cover to be greeted by the smell of fresh, mouthwatering butter cookies. As expected, they tasted just as good too.
He took out his phone, taking a quick selfie with one of the cookies in his mouth, and sending it you with his thanks.
For good measure, he also sent you Suguru's number, saying that if your father came back or if you needed anything that he couldn't get there right away for, you could call Suguru and he would be able to stop over. You texted him back in the middle of his flight, glad that he liked the cookies and letting him know you would call Suguru if the need arises.
A few hours later, you sent him a picture of yourself smiling in the garden, hand marking a page in one of your new romance novels as you sat on your usual bench between the cherry trees.
Satoru made it his lockscreen in a heartbeat.
___________________________________________________________
This mission was by far the hardest he had ever had, and not because of the curses themselves.
Normally, Satoru would repeat the same thing throughout a mission week: wake up, go investigate the site of a supposed curse, find it easily, beat it with no sweat, spend the rest of his day sightseeing and buying food to splurge on back at his hotel suite, and then pass out.
However, this was the first mission he had ever spent away from you, which made the seven days ahead feel like a year. As much as he wanted to to finish all the curses off and go home, he knew that he had to take it easy and let his cursed energy replenish each day for a possible worst case scenario. Not to mention, the longer he was out, the more he was likely to get paid if it made it seem like he was actually trying.
Needless to say, Satoru did text you a few times throughout the day to check on you, seeing what you were up to and how you were entertaining yourself. You both would occasionally send photos back and forth. Satoru would send you a selfie of himself with a thumbs up and a defeated curse, and you would reply with whatever you were doing at the moment.
Because of your photo exchanges, he now had a small album in his phone titled Wifey (^ω^). His favorite so far was actually a video you sent of you playing the grand piano in one of the few estate galleries. He would play it over and over before bed, not to listen to the Debussy piece (thought you did a marvelous job playing it), but to watch you as your fingers floated across the keys with a pleasant, satisfied smile on your face.
He was imagining that face now as he was laying in bed, waiting for exhaustion to overtake him. He wished he could reach into his phone screen, brush the curve of your lips with his fingertips, trace along your eyelashes with his thumbs, and place kiss after kiss on your forehead until he got that smile of yours to come out.
Better yet, Satoru wished you were right here next to him.
He wished he could pull you close to him. He already knew your body would fit perfectly against his. Your head would rest against the crook of his shoulder as he wrapped his arms around your waist. He wouldn't leave any inch of your face untouched by kisses, especially those delicate lips, the same lips he had to try his best not to stare at when you spoke, but would catch sneaky glimpses of...
They always looked so soft, and he knew they would feel that way against his own. He thought about what it would be like to kiss you for the first time, how shy and nervous you would be, but that is what would make it so much more enjoyable. He would guide you through it, one hand tangled gently in your hair while the other squeezed your waist closer to him.
And the two of you would lay there, the only sounds being the ones you exchanged between one another and the slight rustling of the sheets. Maybe if he got far enough, he would test the waters a little, barely teasing your lips with his tongue as his hands would start roaming against the silky fabric of that lavender nightgown he thought and a little too often, and then-
Satoru groaned, now staring up at the ceiling. He ran his hands over his face once, twice. He tried to think of anyone or anything else...
Nope. His cock was still hard in his boxers.
"Fuck," he seethed, pulling down his waistband. He was painfully hard. And all because he thought about kissing you-
He immediately drew his hands away, letting the waistband go with a snap. No, he shouldn't. He shouldn't. Even if you were married to him, he told you he would be your friend. Nothing more, nothing less... unless you wanted to.
And frankly, Satoru couldn't even tell if you wanted him, not that he would demand or expect you to, of course. He never wanted to come off as the guy that felt they deserved your affections just because he was nice to you. He just... wanted to express his love and attraction as platonically as possible.
Even if that meant going through the rest of your lives remaining this way: living in the same house, sharing the same income, spoiling one another, going to each other for anything and everything and providing a shoulder to cry on...
God, the lines felt blurry, even if they were straightforward: married by status, friends by relationship. He'll keep it that way, and he'd never beat his dick to any of his friends.
Granted... he's never been attracted to any of his friends the way he's been attracted to you. He's never been attracted to anyone the way he's attracted to you.
To him, you were so much more than a body, a hookup for whenever he wanted to get laid and that he could discard when he was finished. He didn't want a friends-with-benefits situation either. He wanted all of you.
Satoru turned over with a sigh, burying his face in the pillow as he cursed himself and his stupidly horny brain, which was something he usually didn't mind. But when it's now starting to think about you in this context...
The reason it probably felt so wrong was because you were so innocent. Hell, you blushed and shied away from the prospect of him with just his shirt off. And he understood what the jujustu community expected, what you expected: for the two of you to produce an heir. But he couldn't care less. To hell with the Gojo bloodline if it meant he was going to have to defile you to appease someone else.
But then again, there's no saying that you didn't want him either...
Fuck. And it's not like he couldn't see the effect he had on you. The way you would smile and flush nervously whenever he teased you, whenever he called you pretty girl. He loved calling you that, almost as much as he liked calling you by your name. (Y/N).
"Fuck... (Y/N)." Satoru turned over and reached his hand into his boxers. He was caving, but just for tonight. Just for tonight, to get the edge off.
He raised his hand briefly to spit in it before bringing his hand back down and hissing at the amount of pre that was already leaking. With a shaky groan, he wrapped his palm around the tip and dragged down slowly.
What if this was your hand instead of his. You would be so shy, at least, maybe at first, before you got comfortable. He would coax you through it, telling you how good you were doing and praising you from how good your perfect hands felt. He'd show you everything. Where he was sensitive, what movements and actions felt the best...
Oh, but what about you.
If you were any other girl, he would have taken your outfits as you trying to entice him with your gorgeous curves. He would've fell for it, dragged you to his room, and ripped those cute dresses and tights to shreds in order to admire those curves properly before he fucked your brains out.
But he could never do that to you, not unless that's what you wanted. He was prepared to do anything for you, of course, but with what he felt for you, what he yearned to do, was to make love to you.
He wanted to make love to you gently, slowly, show you exactly what he was feeling in the most physical way possible. He needed to protect you, make sure nothing would ever hurt you or cause you any discomfort.
He would get all that tempting skin of yours on display for him and put his lips all over it, worshipping you, listening to all those cute noises you would make. He'd run his tongue over your breasts, sucking on them and marking them as his own, before moving down and down-
His hands would push your succulent thighs up to your chest to give him a full view of your sweet cunt, just before he ate you like the tasty little dessert you were. He'd prep you with his mouth and fingers, make you cream a few times to get you all pliant for him-
And that's when he would descend on you, working you through the pain with sensual words and even more sensual touches. He'd get you to take as much as you could, as much as you wanted, because he would be all yours. You would finally belong to each other.
He would be assured of that with each moan and whimper he drew from your throat as he worked you to orgasm, crying out his name over and over- Satoru, Satoru, Satoru- until...
Satoru spilled his cum into his hand with a low mewl of your name. His breaths slowed, one after the other, as the haze of his orgasm, the hardest orgasm he'd had in a while, faded to a quiet thrum in his veins.
He shouldn't have done that. If you had found out about this, he knew you'd probably be disgusted with him.
Or just maybe... maybe you'd feel the same. Somehow.
Satoru was hard again.
___________________________________________________________
tags: @leonora13x @cole-silas @feeiry @mysuperrainbow @tw0fvced @emptybrain01 @xixiwang @drilled-brain @lvieee @xxkoyukixx @we-loveebony @sereniteav @ilovecoyotepeterson10 @baby--vera @jebemticeluporodicu @louannfox
#isawritesshit#jjk#jjk smut#jjk fluff#jjk angst#the color blue#female reader#gojo satoru#satoru gojo#gojo satoru x reader#satoru gojo x reader#gojo x reader#gojo smut#gojo satoru smut#satoru gojo smut#gojo x reader smut#jjk x reader#arranged marriage#forced marriage#geto suguru#suguru geto#anime
144 notes
·
View notes
Text
Flame of Autumn - Chapter 12
Part 13/26 | Ao3
Early but shorter update!
Tilly
In Autumn, they were rapidly approaching the equinox, which meant that Autumn’s interpretation of Calanmai was on the horizon. According to Eris, in three weeks’ time, Beron would consume the mulled cider, ceremonially chase Alanna through the woods to assault her, and thus the land would be replenished. It was a garish and horrendous ceremony, as far as Tilly was concerned, and though she’d been raised in Autumn, she’d never attended one. Beron had ordered they be part of it, along with all the brothers, as the magic would affect them too and it was expected. That’s what brought them all together in this tense meeting today, as all the siblings and Tilly stood gathered around Beron on his throne, their heads bowed in deference.
“Surely it couldn’t hurt to have you participate, since you can’t seem to conceive a child on your own.” Tilly could feel Eris’ fury mix with her own, but they remained subservient to the letter. The act would be worth it in the end. She tucked a foot behind the other and curtsied, her submission at the forefront.
“Yes, father.” She heard Eris murmur beside her, hoping that would be the end of it.
“I didn’t buy you for nothing, after all,” he sneered from above them, but despite the wrath within them, they both nodded their agreement. When they were dismissed at long last, Eris and Tilly walked back to their rooms, her trailing steps behind in case anyone was watching. Once they’d arrived and gotten the wards in place, Eris’ mouth was already on her neck. It was still impossible to pull back from each other, impossible to stay away.
“I think I found something that will kill him.” He voice was hoarse, and his kisses abruptly stopped. “We can do it on Calanmai.” He pulled back from her to look into her eyes.
“I’m listening.”
Eris
It turns out that, deep within the forests of Autumn near the eastern territories, a plant existed that very few people knew about, and even less people knew how to find. The Gasping Widow.
Fitting, Eris thought. Gasping in relief, perhaps. When steeped for over a week and then consumed, it mimicked the symptoms of heart failure. It was a kinder death than Beron deserved, but a means to an end was a means to an end. He would take anything at this point.
Eris and Tilly had found that plant–an ugly thing–brown and blue and looking for all the world like a fungus, and brought it back to their rooms. They’d spent the better part of an entire day clomping around the marshy eastern forests looking for its telltale blue and brown petals. It was scentless, blessedly, considering it had been steeping beneath their bed for eight days now. Tomorrow, the concoction would go into a tiny vial dropper, and then hopefully be dripped into the goblet before the ceremonies began. Now, it was night and dark and quiet all around, and Tilly and Eris were tucked tightly together in the bed, laying facing each other, their breaths heavy as their naked chests still heaved together as one.
“Tomorrow will change everything.” She murmured quietly. “One way or another.” He nuzzled his nose into her neck.
“There is still time for you to run, Tilly. You could still go. Or we could back out.”
“No.” She said resolutely. Two days before, Beron had flogged Eris again. This time, for allowing Tilly into the garden with Alanna, which he’d somehow perceived as an inability to rule over her adequately. She softly drew her hands over the now mostly-healed lines on his back, the anger still simmering in her veins. “We will take this chance, and we will take it together. His time has run out.” She pressed a kiss to Eris’ lips in the dark.
“I love you, Matilda. To eternity.”
“I love you, Eris. Regardless of the outcome tomorrow, or any day.”
+++
Calanmai had arrived. Eris was near feral at the state of dress that Tilly had been forced into. He hated the idea of anyone’s eyes on so much of her body–he wanted to be the only one who was ever granted the privilege. Unfortunately, it was part of the twisted tradition of things, and Beron would not budge. Eris was certain that the obscenely small drapery being touted as a dress on his wife was meant to further enrage Eris, but he refused to give him the satisfaction. He had a larger goal tonight.
No one knew of their plan, save Cormac–not even the brothers. Cormac only knew because he was in charge of the guards at the event and could position them close enough that they would pass close to the goblet before the ceremony. They would form a processional into the cave, Beron, then Eris, the remaining brothers, Alanna, then Tilly last. She’d pass by the goblet unimpeded on the way in, and that’s when she would tip the vial into it. Eris would use his magic to glamour her as she did just to smoothe over any hiccups in her movements.
It would take roughly an hour for the plant to hit his heart, so Eris and Tilly would go into the woods as expected after the drums began and make their absence look convincing. Hopefully, by the time they returned looking ravaged, Beron would be dead or dying, and they would have a convincing alibi.
Tilly had been a wreck all night and today, and truly, Eris had not fared much better. They were both a mess of nerves, all of their touches and kisses charged with an energy and lingering questions about whether it would be the last time. But when it came time to proceed to the caves for the ceremony, already filled with the wild bustling of people and the generous roaring of hundreds of bonfires, they were both prepared with the faces of battle. They’d shared a final kiss in their rooms, and now it was time to sink or swim.
Tilly took her place at the end of the line, and he caught her eyes one last time before turning his stony expression forward and following his father ahead. He sent a quick prayer up to any gods that would listen to keep her safe, no matter what happened tonight. They proceeded through the line of caves, the rushing sounds of the fires and the celebratory sounds of the people drowning everything else out. He cast the glamour over Tilly, smoothing her movements out and using magic to entice others to look away or ignore anything amiss. Finally, the procession came to a stop.
He dared not look in Tilly’s direction as his father welcomed everyone and made the same speech he made every year. Then, it was Alanna’s cue to take off into the woods–just a show really. Beron didn’t seem to have noticed anything was amiss–perhaps they’d managed to pull this off. Eris steadied his breathing as the drums began, and he watched closely as Beron took the goblet in his hands and drank deeply. One gulp, two gulps, three. He lowered it, swiping his sleeve across his mouth, and the crowd cheered. Then Beron was off to complete the sick ceremony, dragging his mother even further into the depths of hell, but hopefully for the final time.
He felt Tilly’s hand brush against his as they went to depart the cave, the magic beginning to thrum through them in time with the drums. A show, it was all show, and perhaps, with some luck, it would contain the best finale of all time.
So, with that thought echoing through his mind, Eris grabbed Tilly by the waist and roughly threw her over his shoulder, walking a few steps then winnowing off into the woods as the renewed cheers of the crowd died out behind them.
+++
Both Eris and Tilly had been too nervous to actually do anything in the woods short of sitting with each other. Everything was hanging on a sharp precipice, so Eris winnowed as far as he could within the Autumn woods so the magic wouldn’t ride them as hard, and they found a patch of moonlight to try and relax in together. They planned to spend an hour or so here, make it look convincing, and then return to the ceremony and put on their shocked faces at the chaos ensuing as the High Lord title transferred down to Eris.
He stroked his thumb up back and forth over her arm, holding her close to him and wondering how life might be different for them after tonight. Without the pall of Beron hanging over them, what could they do? What could they change? There was so much potential for them to do more, both within Autumn and for themselves. Eris didn’t dare to let his thoughts get ahead of him, but he could feel that slow, steady bloom of hope that he was getting more familiar with these days begin in his chest.
Could they actually be parents? Could he even do that? Did Tilly even want it?
It was something that they had danced around the topic of instead of actually speaking about candidly. There had been no point–there would be no children willingly brought into this world as long as Beron was in it. Not if they could help it. But the thought of a little child with hair of flame, beautiful wide eyes focused on him as they lifted their arms up to him, made his heart clench in his chest. The thought of Tilly, belly round and lovely with his child, summoned other feelings in him that the magic of Calanmai wasn’t helping with at all as he adjusted himself. Tilly looked up at him, grinning with an eyebrow raised.
“Can I ask you something?” Eris asked her, looking down into her eyes as she cuddled against his chest. She waggled her eyebrows at him suggestively, smiling wickedly.
“Sure.” The glint in her eyes was wicked.
“Do you ever think about having children? With me…I mean. When this is all over?” She immediately sobered her expression, pushing against his chest with her hand and sitting up, her eyes finding his in the dark.
Her voice was quiet as she answered. “All the time.” Eris felt like his heart had taken flight and left his body. He’d expected her to think on it for a while, maybe even say no. He hadn’t expected this.
“Truly?” His voice was shaky, uncertain, but her soft smile pierced straight through his chest, stroking his heart in gentle, soothing waves.
“Every single night before we fall asleep. I think about how kind and wonderful and caring you are, and how lovely a father you would be. I count down the days until it’s something we can realistically consider, and I hoped you would one day feel the same.” The words were a balm to his soul he didn’t know he’d needed. He’d worried for longer than he’d ever admit that he’d be a terrible father, not a single good example to show him what it should look like. He’d worried that Tilly might worry becoming a father would trigger something in him, might be scared that he would turn into the monster that sired him, somehow. But here she was, unflinching and unfailing as always in the face of his doubt.
“Is it something you want, Eris?” He couldn’t stop himself from taking her face in his hands and kissing her deeply as he felt her giggle and smile against him.
“More than anything in the world. The second he’s gone, the second you’re ready.” She smiled.
“I love you, Eris. You’ll be a wonderful father, just like you’re a wonderful husband.” She pressed another kiss to his jaw, then tucked her head beneath his chin as he tightened his hold around her, thinking of all the possibilities laid out in front of them after tonight.
They waited the full hour, then let it drift towards two, before their curiosity got the better of them and they decided to winnow back. They roughed up their clothes, especially Tilly’s, scattering dirt and twigs and leaves in their hair. Eris hadn’t felt anything strange in the way of magic past the normal magic of the ceremony, and he was concerned this meant something had gone horribly wrong. Or, rather, hadn’t.
As they winnowed back to the ceremony, only Callum had returned out of the group of brothers, but Alanna was missing from the ceremonial area. Eris and Tilly both froze the moment they entered, finding Beron drinking wine and eating and generally celebrating at the large table within the crowds of Autumn revelers. He was fine. He was fine. It had all been for nothing. It hadn’t worked.
There would be no discussing it here, no communicating between them past him all but pushing her back towards the Forest House, fingers lingering as long as possible on her back, as Beron waved him over to the table to participate in the revelry.
When Eris returned to their rooms hours later to find Tilly dressed in a nightgown and pacing, he was just as baffled as she was. Beron had been in a fantastic mood–drinking jovially and bragging about the bedding and assault of his mother in the woods to the cheers of many and the pointed encouragement of Aradnus.
“Well, clearly, something went wrong. Maybe I steeped it incorrectly. The directions seemed so straightforward…” Tilly’s brows pinched in distraught confusion. Eris finished removing his clothes, still dirty from the woods.
“It’s okay, Til. Perhaps we grabbed the wrong plant? Maybe it wasn’t concentrated enough. Regardless, he seems to have not noticed the attempt, so that works in our favor. Maybe we can find a way to try again.” He turned down the covers and they got into the bed, finding each other in the middle. They didn’t speak more, but the hopelessness cut through the air around them, allowing the darkness to feel extra suffocating.
So close. They had been so close.
+++
They’d barely had a chance to open their eyes to the dark gray doldrums peeking ominously through the window and the rolling crack of thunder in the distance before a summons appeared, requesting that everyone report to the throne room immediately. The panic rushed through Eris like a roaring river of ice, and the look mirrored in Tilly’s terrified expression made it worse. After a beat of silence they threw themselves at each other, embracing like it was the last time, their mouths meeting in desperation. The tears were already rolling down Tilly’s face, leaving salty tracks smearing into Eris’ mouth.
“I love you. It’s going to be okay. I love you so much.”
“Eris, oh, gods, Eris. He’s caught us. I’ll have killed us both.” She was sobbing. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”
“It was both of us. It was both. It’s okay, we’ll go together. We’ll be together. In this life and the next.” The breath had fled his chest, too, and the tears burned like acid in his eyes as he gripped her to him.
“I love you, Eris. I am so unbelievably sorry.”
They held each other close, trying to calm their breaths and pounding hearts. It would be suspicious if they took any longer, so they pulled on their clothes quickly and with one last, lingering kiss, they pulled themselves together and walked to the throne room, Tilly trailing him as always, their hearts beating like the drums of war in their chests.
Taglist: @cauldronblssd@queercontrarian@byyalady@thelovelymadone@clockwork-ashes@lovingkelj
#acotar#a court of thorns and roses#eris x oc#eris vanserra#eris acotar#vanserra brothers#flame of autumn#arranged marriage#allies to lovers#eris vanserra x oc#acotar smut#Eris smut
21 notes
·
View notes
Text
the strongest (gojo x wife! reader)
gojo can't help but feel annoyed that he feels concern for the wife he swears he doesn't care for.
warnings: arranged marriage au, gojo refers to you as his wife, enemies to lovers (?), gojo tells you to lift up your top, slight angst, he's really bad at feelings okay, image from loving yamada-kun at lv999 (part of gojo’s wife series)
The lines of intrigue and fear are often blurred. It explains why we admire fire from afar, careful not to get too close in hopes of not getting burned. It explains why we find peace in parts of the ocean and tense up in deeper parts. It also explains why Gojo Satoru seeks your presence yet pushes you away the moment he finds himself feeling something other than indifference or vexation–it’s never hatred though. The strongest can’t envision himself ever hating his wife and it scares him.
He’s not sure that can be said about you. Gojo wouldn’t be surprised if you grew to hate him after the treatment you put up with.
Your marriage is what you call a “marriage of convenience” and Gojo made sure you remembered that. He wasn’t always so distant with you. Back then, you might’ve considered him a friend but time did its bidding and you two drifted apart, your time together merely a memory. Now fast forward a few years and you were wedded to him, taking up his surname and sleeping in the same house as him–in separate rooms of course.
Your steps on the wooden floors were silent as you intended not to make a single noise at such a late hour. You sighed, feeling the weight of your heavy shoulders drag you down.
Gojo might be considered cruel to you but the elders were on a different level. They knew this mission would be too much for you yet they sent you on it as punishment for speaking your mind the last time everyone gathered.
At that time, your husband had an unfamiliar gleam in your eyes as you voiced your thoughts on the matter of Itadori. He’s a nice kid, you thought when you first saw the pink-haired boy.
Taking away his youth wouldn’t be fair. After all, he didn’t choose to have the Ryomen Sukuna use him as a vessel. Yet, sentiment doesn’t do well with the higher ups and they made sure you knew your place with the mission they sent you on.
You inhaled sharply, wincing as you felt the bruise on your rib with your palm. There was blood soaking your tights, little cuts littering your legs. You’re so tired you can’t find it in yourself to even eat. Then again, you needed to be in your best condition tomorrow since another mission was sent out of you and specifically you. Those in power always make sure it’s clear that they are in power. Your voice of opinion meant nothing to their beliefs in tradition or what you liked to call, “backward thinking.” That’s one thing you and your husband could agree on.
“Ow,” you wince for the nth time as you open the fridge, scanning the items. Mochi. Ice-cream. Leftover cake. Perhaps it would’ve been wiser to go grocery shopping a day prior so you could have a proper meal. This was the kind of stuff Gojo could live on but you couldn’t. Closing the fridge, you opt for instant ramen instead. Not the best choice in regards to healthiness but cracking an egg in there meant more protein and it also minimized the spice levels.
You’re halfway in between preparing the noodles when you feel a presence right beside you and soft breathing besides your ears. “You’re home,” your ‘husband’ mumbles, his eyes half-lidded from just having woken up.
“God! Satoru!” You gasp, flinching away from and only realizing how close he was. For someone who claimed he wasn’t interested in you, he didn’t know what personal space was. “How did you know I was home?”
“Your cursed energy leaked in,” he shrugs his shoulders, peering down at you without the constraints of his blindfold or shades. You gulp as his eyes flit up and down your appearance, causing your insides to tense up in a sudden wave of self-consciousness. Being scrutinized by the six-eyes himself wasn’t much fun and you’re suddenly aware of the fact that your hair is disheveled and your face is sweaty from just having come home from a grueling mission.
You don’t even notice the glint of rage that crosses his hues before he masks it. “Who did this to you?”
“Huh?” You blink, coming to your senses that your body was bloodied up and battered from having fought a curse. “Oh it was just a mission. It’s normal to be hurt on missions.”
Gojo’s been living with you for nearly half a year now and he knows you’re more than competent when it comes to shaman duties (not that he’d ever tell you). He knows you return home by 7 p.m.., and never at hours well past midnight. He knows that you usually only get injuries on your back because you get careless at times. But now, he sees cuts everywhere and he’s not sure if you’re running on adrenaline or if you’re too tired to notice.
His eyes glance at the way you press a palm on your rib, subconsciously squeezing the area as if hiding it from him. “Let me see.”
Your surprise is immediate and he would’ve felt a strange fluttering in his stomach if not for this concern he was experiencing for you. You smile. “See what?”
“Your injury. Let me see it,” he says again, pressing on the hand you hold close to your ribs, narrowing his eyes as you hiss in pain. “Don’t be stubborn (Name).”
His voice is different from the cheery one he often uses and you’re left leaning further into the kitchen counter, acutely aware of the fact that his taller frame wasn’t allowing you to escape. His eyes widen the slightest once he gets a glimpse of your flustered expression as you peer up at him and he only realizes what he was asking from you. Part of him tells him to ignore this and pretend his concern for you was brief. Yet, part of him screams at him that he was your husband, so he should feel the right to be worried–even if he was months late.
He sighs, tilting his head. “I’m just going to look. I promise I won’t do anything else,” his voice is oddly tender as he speaks to you, a contrast to the usual nonchalance you’re used to.
You gulp and let out a shaky sigh, giving in when your fingers reach to pull your top up for him to see the bare skin that you can’t even say is spotless or void of marks. Multiple wounds litter your skin–some faded, some new. You’re scared his gaze would show some signs of judgment or disgust but you’re left bemused when you see how his eyebrows furrow and his lips purse. For a second, you allow yourself to be deluded by the fact that he might be worried but you quickly abandon that thought, averting your eyes from him.
You can see how he pieces everything together. From the way you rebelled against the elders and how they saw it as a means to punish you. He does it so quickly that you can only blink when his blank expression morphs into something different. You almost feel relieved from the fact that his expression of pure anger wasn’t directed at you and rather those who sent you on the mission.
It’s almost natural how he slides the top further up, mapping the extent of the bruise with his eyes. His hands are warm and calloused. They’re also gentle, tracing the bruise carefully to not hurt you. “I’ll kill those old bastards,” he chuckles with a sneer. “They have some nerve letting my wife take this mission without me.”
You frown as you see his anger first-hand. “Satoru–”
“Why didn’t you go to Shoko?” He interrupts, gently holding on your waist to prop you on the counter while he stands in between your legs. He watches you intently, in search of answers.
You feel somewhat embarrassed as his hand still lifts your top up to see the bare skin but don’t comment on it. “I didn’t want to bother her so late at night…”
For the first time since today, you see him flash a genuine smile, as if exasperated by your reasoning. “But you’re fine with bothering me?”
“That’s different!” You say, a pout slowly forming on your lips and he can’t help but feel drawn to you even if he doesn’t want to.
He laughs as you pull your top down with a huff, finding it cute that you were so bashful. “Because I’m your husband?”
You go silent and for a second, Gojo thinks he’s messed up for mentioning that. Despite being your husband, he’s not the greatest at doing his job. He’s not callous or spiteful towards you, instead taking on more of a cold and aloof attitude towards you. Even so, he thinks that hurts just as much as a few insults.
He’s about to pull back but your voice draws him back to you. “Yeah. It’s because you’re my husband.”
Gojo can’t stop himself from glancing at your lips at that single statement. He was today years old when he realized he was a man of simple tastes. All you had to do was tell him that he was your husband and he’d want to kiss you until your lips turned red. He considers himself lucky that you didn’t see that slip-up of his–though he wouldn’t have minded if you did.
He breathes out a sigh, propping his chin atop your head while his fingers draw circles around your hips. “I won’t let them hurt you.”
It’s a vow he swears to keep.
“I know,” you whisper quietly enough for him to hear. “You’re the strongest after all.”
He thinks it’s funny that even as the strongest, he feels weak when he feels your fingers play with his sleeves. No words are said after that and a comfortable silence drifts between you two. It’s like the barrier between the two of you is cracking once you feel his lips press gently against your forehead and you think it's his way of sealing the promise.
Gojo Satoru thinks–or rather he knows that he wouldn’t mind living the rest of his life with you. And he knows that he should fix his behavior around you and stop running away. That way, instead of a kiss to the forehead, he can finally give you one on your lips.
#gojo satoru x reader#gojo satoru#gojo x reader#satoru gojo#jjk x reader#jujutsu kaisen x reader#jujutsu kaisen#arranged marriage#i'm in my jjk phase bye
10K notes
·
View notes
Text
⤷❝The Study | Coriolanus Snow❞ˎˊ-
⇢☾Warning: NSFW | riding, toxic relationship, arranged marriage, mentions of cheating (no actual cheating occurs), riding, dom sub undertones, degradation (he calls you a slut once), hair pulling, edging if you squint, crying, pinv sex, unprotected sex (wrap it dumbfucks), creampie, dry humping, clothed sex (you were still wearing a dress) | lmk if I forgot anything!
⇢☾Pairing: young president! Coriolanus Snow x fem! Reader
⇢☾Summary: A video of you flirting with an elitist goes viral and Snow calls you to his study to confront you about it and it ends up in sexy times ;)
⇢☾A/N: btw for those who doesn't get why Snow asked reader to mark him, it's to show the Capitol that despite rumors, they are actually very close. And uhmm I hope you guys like this!
< masterlist > < bc: @cafekitsune >
< tags: @roryzzz @stelleduarte @strengthandstay @skywalker1dream >
The marriage was a facade, a show for the Capitol that the president didn't stand alone. The people in the manor were the only people who knew how fake the marriage was. Some of the elite of the Capitol could also tell. People can fake everything but not love, never love.
You learned early on Snow wasn't capable of love. A lover wouldn't do half of the atrocities Snow committed as he got to power but he had never done anything to you. You didn't exist for him in the manor and he was always respectful when you were by his side.
It was manageable, the life you had, nobody could mistreat you, not as the First Lady of Panem. However mistreatment and flirting are very different things, and the people of Capitol aren't a stranger to wandering hands and lustful eyes.
You didn't think Coriolanus would mind that you sometimes let the hands linger. That you would bask in the attention you were so deprived of from your husband. You were proven wrong as a video of you and an elitist was going viral all over the Capitol.
You didn't cheat on Snow, but you were too close to the stranger. His hand on your waist and your smile too wide. Cheating or not, it wasn't any less inappropriate.
A remainder by your servant made you walk to the study in which Snow spent most of his time. You were wearing a knee-length white dress, something that clings to your curves. It was a desperate, pathetic attempt to distract Snow. A part of you knew it wouldn't work and would make your mistake more obvious but it was an attempt better than none.
You knocked at the door and you could hear him say come in. So you did. Your hands are behind your back, and your eyes look at the floor like it's the most interesting thing in the world.
“Do you know what you have done?” He asked, you still couldn't look up to meet his gaze. Your fingers fumble behind your back as you bite your inner cheek. You give him a nod.
“And what have you done?” He questioned, his voice like the calm before the storm. “I created unnecessary gossip that isn't good for your reputation,” you mummer.
“What else?” He said, his tone suspicious and waiting for the confirmation. That's when you look up at the most beautiful demon you have ever seen. He looked all glorious with his suit and hair slicked back. “I didn't cheat,” you said, firmly, your eyes fierce and reflecting the truth of your words.
When Snow didn't reply, you insisted again, “I. Didn't. Cheat. It's a line I will never cross, Coriolanus.” Again, he didn't say anything, instead, his gaze went up and down your body, his expression unreadable. You flushed from his stare, not sure if wearing this dress was the right move after all. The man had always surrounded himself with those stupid white roses and this was the symbol that you had noticed.
“Come and sit.” You begin to walk towards the chair only to be interrupted by his words, “No, not there, in my lap.” You freeze from his words, but your brain tells you to obey his every word.
You make your way to him, your heels clicking against the marble floor. Your hands are sweaty and your heart is in your throat. You reach him before you straddle him without a word being uttered. Your dress hitching up to your thighs. Your hands around his shoulders as you wait for further instructions from your husband.
“What do you think we should do to make the rumors go away?” He asked, his voice deep and so seductive. You weren't even sure he realized the effect his voice had on you. You let out a small gasp when his hands held your hips, cementing your place in his lap.
His hands were warm and perhaps maybe it was biased but you thought they would be ice cold. Instead, his palm laminated heat against the thin fiber of your dress making your skin warm. Your former flush turns into a deeper shade of red.
“We could…” you couldn't focus, how could you when he was touching you like this? When he was so close. He was never this close to you before. Ever. His touch reminded you of the fact that despite everything he is a man and your husband at that. A demon in human flesh.
“We could do more PR,” you mumbled. He raised an eyebrow at the suggestion. “I mean if we do it right, I am sure it will work,” you fumbled. He gives you a nod.
“Take off my shirt,” he demanded. Your eyes widen and you hesitate. “Do it or I’ll make you.” he threatened and you know not to take his words lightly. With shaky fingers, you unbutton his shirt. The process was slow, meticulously slow. His toned physique comes into complete view, making your breath hitch. Fuck, he was a Greek God of tragedy and sin.
“Mark me up,” he said, his tone emotionless. “What?” you questioned, surprised. “You think you’re acting innocent?” he sneered, “You heard what I said, my wife. It's because of your suggestion. Mark. Me. Up.”
You swallow down your nervousness and bring your lips forward to his cheek. You pressed a soft kiss there and felt him tense underneath you. You drag your lips to his jaw and nip the skin, the tip of your tongue soothing the small teeth mark as he lets out a grunt. It was music to you. A masterpiece of symphony and you needed more, so much more. Snow had you deprived for months and it's time to take.
Your lips continue to nip at his jaw, placing sloppy wet kisses as his breaths get heavy. You moved down to his neck, a moan leaving your lips as you attacked his skin with your teeth. Sucking onto his pulse point and moaning when the salty taste of his skin hits your taste buds. Your hand goes to his neck, tilting his head to give you more access. All the while he lets out quite controlled sounds. You licked his Adam's apple before wrapping your mouth around it to suck a purple bruise. Marking him up just as he wanted.
His hand on your waist gave you a firm squeeze which made you bite harder and made him hiss. You lean back panting, as you admire your artwork of teeth marks and red love bites. You pressed down into him and moaned as his hard bulge pressed right against your clothed cunt. Your panties were soaked by now. “Snow,” you whimper.
“Corio, call me Corio” he whispered. His eyes briefly turned to a white bouquet of roses before he met your gaze. You didn't think much of it and whispered, “Corio.”
“Corio,” you tried the name again on your tongue and watched his eyes darken. You leaned in, your lips brushing against his. “Let me kiss you. Let me make you my husband, please,” you whispered.
You waited for a verbal answer but all you got was another squeeze on your waist. You were desperate enough to take what you could get. You started by grinding against his bulge. The juices that made your panties soaked are now ruining his pants.
You let out a breathless moan as you gained delicious friction against your pussy but it wasn't enough. There's no hell and heaven for which this would be enough. You crashed your lips to his. The kiss was all carnage and desire. Uncoordinated, something so unlike Snow Corio that it made you moan into his mouth. Your hands are in his hair, pulling him closer. Your lips glide against each other perfectly. His tongue took over your mouth, not leaving any place unexplored, untouched by him.
You break the kiss with a gasp. Your hand going towards his pants to unzip. The motion stopped as Corio held your wrist and you looked up at him. “You’re my wife, you're my right,” he said, “but do you deserve it?”
It was more than a question, it was a promise waiting to be made, a bond waiting to be sealed. “I…” you begin to speak, you meet his eyes, sea blue you wanted to drown in, “Never again, Sn- Corio. Never again.” “Please,” you added for extra measure. You had his taste already, no one else could ever compare. He had to know that too because he gave you a sharp nod.
You get up from his lap, taking off your panties first, not bothering with the dress. You knew he liked it now, more than you thought so he would. You find your rightful place in his lap again, his pants and boxers past his knees.
His cock was hard and twitching, the length had an angry tip with its slit profusely leaking pre-cum. It looked painful and it was because of you. You. You wondered if you had power over him now for a brief second but you shake your head clear of these thoughts.
Instead, you catch his lips again, the kiss slower this time. You raise yourself a bit so his cock can align itself to your entrance. Your dress is raised to help you. Even if his cock was on the girthy side with veins on the underside of his cock. You knew your pussy would stretch around him, that your walls would be a splendid fit around his length. You were too impatient for any sort of foreplay, you wanted the stretch, you wanted him to make you dizzy with his cock splitting you apart.
You let out a whimper as you began to sink onto his cock, your eyes flicked to him and his eyes were zeroed down to the place you both were connected now. His hands are on either side of your hip, guiding you down on his length. It was after his cock was fully stuffed in you, that his self-control allowed him to let out a groan.
“I respected you like a lady but sluts don't deserve respect,” he said, his lips parted as he let out a heavy pant. You let out a whimper, your mind hazy as your cunt tries to get used to his length. “I.. am sorry,” you whine, how many times do you need to repeat? When will he be satisfied with your apology?
“Prove it,” he said with a smirk, “Prove that you deserve to be my wife and the First Lady of Panem.”
You follow Corios’ command. Your hands are on his shoulders to support yourself. Your fingers fist his shirt as you begin to ride him. Raising yourself a few inches before slamming down on his cock with a loud moan escaping your lips. He reached the deepest spot inside of you like this. His cockhead grazing your spongy spot as you fucking yourself on his cock. Your arousal and his pre-cum being smeared all over your thighs.
The sight made his breath hitch, something you didn't notice as you were too busy with your eyes closed and taking his cock like a good wife. You looked completely debauched like this, your hair wild, your lips red and swollen, your hands digging into his shoulder. Your nipples are hard and obvious through the white dress.
He wasn't supposed to lose control, this was happening for a reason. No matter how many deem him God or devil in the end he was a man. And no man is perfect. He pulled you closer to him. One of his hands is on your back, pressing you to him. Another of his hands in your hair, tugging the strands without a care about how rough he is being. It makes you moan, your head on his chest now. His hips raise upwards to fuck you as he now lets out more vocal sounds of enjoyment.
His pace was slower than yours. Each thrust of his was made for his indulgence in your velvet walls. The drag of his cock was perfect, his speed however was making you feel insane. You needed him, faster, harder. Used would be a much more correct term. You wanted to be used by your husband. And right now, you were but it wasn't enough.
You let out mewls and whines to make him break his languid pace but Corio gives you no mind. His fingers interlanged in your locks, his hand still pressing you in and his strength made it so you couldn't take control. He was drunk in the pleasure your pussy gave, his head resting on his headrest, his lips parted to let out a grunt with every thrust.
You weren't a person for him, not right now, a fleshlight perhaps. It didn't matter what you felt, it mattered what Snow felt. Snow felt amazing, he felt stupid for denying himself this for months on end. He would never make the same mistake again.
Time passes and you don't know how long Corio has you like this, your nerves raw as your pussy impossibly sensitive. Tears were falling from your eyes and staining his shirt but moans slipped your lips every time he pushed in again.
“Corio, please,” you try to plead, raising your head to look at him. “Please, please can't anymore.” He turns his head to you, his fingers that you seemed to have forgotten were in your hair tugging your strands roughly.
That was it. You gasp out as the pain becomes a trigger to make you cum on his cock, your pussy tightening around his cock like a vice as the orgasm washes over your body. It was intense and you had snapped. “Sorry! Sorry!” You begin to sob, “I won't ever look at a man that's not you! Sn- Corio please!”
His languid thrust had sped up, his arms caging you to his chest. The last thing you heard before he spilled his seed inside of you was, “Snow lands on top.”
#character x reader#x reader#x female reader#fem reader#scenario#oneshot#smut#x you smut#x reader smut#x you#arranged marriage#tbosas fanfiction#tbosas#tbosas x reader#tbosas x you#tbosas smut#the ballad of songbirds and snakes movie#the ballad of songbirds and snakes#coriolanus x reader#young coriolanus snow#coriolanus snow smut#coriolanus snow x reader#corio snow#coriolanus snow#Coriolanus#president snow#snow x reader#thg x reader#thg fanfiction#the hunger games
6K notes
·
View notes
Text
I was getting arranged married to Jesus Christ on the beach. I was super upset, but my family kept telling me that I didn't have a choice. I'm a Buddhist lesbian...
2K notes
·
View notes
Text
DCxDP Fic Idea: The Contact, the Butler and the Sly Time Lord
Martha accidentally engaged Bruce to a higher being when he was two.
It sounds terrible, but she hadn't thought that the man wearing the Time ghost costume at her husband's Halloween Gala wasn't wearing a costume and was actually the physical embodiment of Time.
She just thought he took Halloween very seriously.
Mr. Clockwork was charming and didn't care that she had married from the lower level of first class. Her parents were rich, of course, but they weren't old money, and they certainly didn't have a lot of power to speak of.
Because of that, the elites of Gotham thought she wasn't good enough to be in a family such as the Waynes. It was so lovely not to be dragged into conversations that were thinly concealed insults.
Everyone else at the Gala thought Martha had no right to be there with them. Why was she just a few zeros off from being middle class, and wasn't it just so sad that Thomas would stain his family with her?
Secertly, Martha prayed Bruce would do something wild, like marry a girl from Crime Alley or even adopt kids in lower classes to make them all choke on their pearls.
Her son would be one of the most powerful men in a few years, and she couldn't wait to see what kind of hell he would unleash upon them. She would never push, of course, but it would be a nice fantasy to have every time she had to face passive-aggressive comments from ladies told by their fathers they would be a far better Mrs. Wyane.
" Why, hello there. Aren't you the cutest little thing?" Mr. Clockwork coos, smiling down at Bruce. He clung to his mother's skirt, his matching cowboy costume a miniature version of what she was wearing.
The boy had wandered over in the middle of their conversation once he was bored of coloring at his table. Martha couldn't blame her poor baby. There really wasn't much to do for those his age here.
Thomas had stated that children were usually not brought along due to being loud and distracting.
Martha wouldn't hear any of it, insisting her son would be going with them at the party or there would be no party. The majority of the elites believed children should be seen, not heard, and that boiled her blood something fierce.
Thomas had thankfully known when to pick his battles, so he allowed his wife to drag him to a costume store for a family costume to wear. He currently chatting with a group of investors in all his cowboy glory somewhere on the other side of the gala.
"Say thank you, Bruce," She tells her boy, but he only hides his face more, causing the two adults to chuckle. "Do you have kids, Mr.Clockwork?"
"Yes. Two daughters and a son" The man chuckles "All three are a handleful but I love them dearly."
"Oh, how wonderful. Bruce is my only son, but I want to give him siblings," she tells him warmly. She can picture Bruce chasing after his younger siblings dressed up as the Grey Ghost he loves.
She knows Thomas was worried about their chances of having a second child. He was informed not too long ago that he may suffer from secondary infertility. She didn't mind. If they couldn't have a child of their own by blood they could easily adopt.
Martha worked long and hard to provide good orphanages to the city. Maybe one day, a child from there could be her own. She'll have to speak to her orphanage managers- those in charge of the kids- to see if they could help her find one.
They have successfully been getting kids into good homes (At least she thought the number of children constantly changed, and the kids were never seen again, meaning the families that adopted them loved them enough to never return!)
Mr. Clockwork hums "how about giving him a spouse instead? My girls or boy could be a good partner"
Laughing, she assumes he meant her work on bettering the lives of the gay community- in honor of her brother who passed during the AIDs epidemic. "I'm sure Bruce would be happy to hear Mommy found him a husband."
"Is that a yes?" Clockwork eyes' flashed with an emotion that was gone too quick for her to identify.
"Yes, of course. If that is what they both want, I wouldn't mind their marriage at all."
Mr. Clockworks red eyes - contacts? A medical condition?- gleam, and his voice takes on a strange rhythm. "Then so shall it be, my son Danny Fenton shall be married to Bruce Wayne per their Blood Mother and Core Father deal."
Huh. Maybe Mr. Clockwork is a nutcase. Suddenly, she thinks back to her father, who would often tell her that she lived in a delusion because he did not want her to see the horror that Gotham truly is.
Even when you think you're doing good, Gotham has a way of making your work into nightmares.
Was Mr. Clockwork one of those people he warned her about?
Thankfully, he leaves not long after that. He claims he must return to work before his co-workers notice him gone. She doesn't see him for the rest of the night and half wonders if she had been speaking to one of the wait staff they hired as extra help.
Not that she minded, but it made her think his name might not even be Clockwork.
She tells Thomas the story hours after Bruce is put to bed with a candy bucket and the last guests have all slipped home. Thomas is exhausted, having been playing host longer than her because Martha had left around eight to take Bruce trick and treating. Then she got home and put him down for his bedtime.
She got back to the party around eleven but it was a much-needed break from all the hostility that Thomas had been forced to face alone.
"WHAT!?" Thomas booms when she finishes the story. They had just crawled into bed, and Thomas had been rolling to his side for sleep before her words flung him back. "Clockwork!? You're sure you spoke to Clockwork!?"
"Yes, I'm sure."
"What did he look like?"
"Um well he was in costume, but red eyes, blue skin, and he was wearing purple robes." She watches as the blood drains from her husband's face. "What is it darling? Who was he?"
"Oh, this isn't good....Alfred! Alfred!" Thomas frantically calls as if the devil had appeared in their bedroom.
Their servant and sometimes lover comes racing into the room, carrying a loaded shotgun. Ever since Thomas had met him overseas when he hired the British man as a personal bodyguard, he fell hard and fast for Alfred but he still deeply loved Martha.
He had sent Martha a letter detailing his feelings for his guard, and only after she had given him permission did he pursue the butler. Alfred had insisted on meeting Thomas' wife to prove that she was okay with him having a lover, so he had followed Wayne back home.
Then he simply never left.
Maybe because he was the best butler Wayne ever had, with his regal training and service in her royal highness' army, but she thinks that her own developed feelings for Alfred convince him to remain.
Alfred insisted that he was only a servant and thus could not be added to their marriage besides a bed partner occasionally. Still, Martha hoped one day they could convince him otherwise.
Bruce already saw him as a second father.
He looks at the pair, dressed in their nightwear in a rather enticing position (Thomas had grabbed Martha by her shoulder, to look into her eyes but that left them rather entangled on the bed) with no visible threat, and raises one brow.
Before he can say anything Thomas is all but rolling out of bed in a frantic leap. He tangles up in the blankets, falling gracelessly over the edge in failing limbs "Martha made a deal with Clockwork!"
At once, Alfred's handsome face drains of blood. "Oh dear, Martha darling, you made a grave mistake."
She can only blink at the men in confusion. "Who is Clockwork?"
"He has many names, but I knew him as Merlin," Alfred informed her evenly. He took her hand in his, the tremble in his fingers revealing his unease. " He had shown interest in Master Thomas before and was the one I protected him from. I barely fought him off and only due to outsmarting him. I would not be able to do it again a second time."
What?
"He is also known as a Fae or incubus in some circles. The kind that steals you away for fun." Thomas babbled from where he was pacing next to the bed, eyes franticly glancing about as if the bogggie man was about to leap out at him from the shadows.
For a moment, Martha wondered why her husband, a man of science and medicine who had never been superstitious, believed this Clockwork was some...some creature of myths.
"Martha, love, what did he ask of you?" Alfred questioned, bringing her hand to his lips as though kissing them would confirm she was safe before him.
"He asked for Bruce to marry his son."
"Oh, gods!" Thomas fretted, speeding up, his long strides becoming far more frantic. "Please say you didn't say yes."
"I-thought it was a joke, I didn't see anything wrong with it, I- said yes."
Alfred closed his eyes, looking like a man who had just been informed his death sentence had been signed by the Queen. "Then all we can do now is pray."
Years later, as Alfred is dusting the portrait of his deceased loves. He allowed his hand to trace the cover of Martha's painted smile and Thomas' strong jaw, mind filled with stolen kisses and sweet nothings that were ripped away that fateful night.
He is still struck by their loss. Every now and then, the knowledge of their death creeps in during his most mundane activities. It's like a kick to the chest every time.
Oh, how he misses them.
Ding Dong
The front doorbell jolts him out of his memories so violently it takes the aged Butler a moment or two to get a hold of his senses. He puts down the duster, climbs down the latter, and quickly makes his way to the door.
Stopping to fix his suit coat, he throws it open with a prepared smile. He expects extra help from the catering company Master Bruce hired for Wayne's annual Halloween Gala.
He was not expecting the two men, one looking nervous around Master Bruce's age and the other sly. His age is hard to gauge, but it may be due to time not affecting him as it did mortals.
Alfred's blood freezes at the sight of those cunning red eyes and smirk. "Merlin."
"Alfred Pennyworth." The demon chuckles. "I prefer Clockwork, as you know, but it's good to see you remember me. Most humans are prone to forgetting in their limited age."
"What are you doing here?"
"Why I came to fulfill the deal between Martha Wayne nee Kane and I"
"Martha is dead. Your contact is void."
Clockwork chuckles again, the sound as deadly as poison. "The contact lives as long as all those involved in it live. You know this."
Alfred presses the panic button on his wristwatch, knowing it sends a message to everyone in the manor to evacuate immediately. He will not live through this battle, but hopefully, it will give Master Bruce time to escape. "You will not lay a hand on Master Bruce."
"Come now, Alfred. We are to be in-laws. Our sons are joining in holy matrimony. Why the hostility-"
"Excuse me what?" The other man-demon? Ghost? Higher-being? cuts in, looking at Clockwork with brows knitted into a frown. "What did you mean holy matrimony?"
"Danny, you're getting married," Clockwork says with a cheerful wave.
"The hell I am!" The man barks, flushing red with anger. Alfred can hardly believe he just yelled at the monster. "I am not marrying some random guy!"
"It is the way things must go for the good of mankind-"
"Oh, go suck on a lemon! We both know that whole "this is fate" is bull!"
"You are embarrassing me in front of our new in-laws, younn man" Clockwork actually waves a finger at the fully grown human. "This is my one chance to marry you off to a good man. We both know that you can't attract a mate on your own."
"What!? Yes, I can! I've had girlfriends and boyfriends before!"
"And yet, no spouse! No wedding! Not even a ring!"
"Moby Dick, I knew this bonding fishing trip was a lie! You can't make me get married because of some contact you made when I was three!"
"It's not permanent! Martha Wayne said If that is what they both want, I wouldn't mind their marriage at all. This means you both must want to be together after one year of marriage. See if you like it, and if you don't, I can always find you a new husband."
"This isn't returning a jacket to a store! I can't just see if I like being married Clockwork!" The man hissed running a hand through his hair. "We're going home. I'm so sorry for bothering you today Mr. Alfred."
Alfred blinks at the young man's sheepish smile, wondering if ti's a trick. "No bother at all."
"Danny, if you leave without marriage, Bruce Wayne will die in an hour due to breaking our contract," Clockwork says, crossing his arms. "Honestly, your sisters were far more mature regarding their marriages."
Danny punches him in the face with a glowing hand. The higher being falls like a sack of bricks.
"Right, I'm going to drop this one off at a nursing home, and then I'll return to marry Bruce. Only so the contact doesn't kill him, and I swear I'll only visit every once in a while until our year is up." Throwing- Merlin, holy shit- over his shoulder as if though he weighed nothing, Danny waves at Alfred and scurries away, vanishing into a green portal.
Alfred is left standing at the doorway, utterly flabbergasted. Distantly, he wonders if the hollowing wind is actually Martha laughing herself silly in the afterlife.
Carefully, he reaches up for his com, switching it on to the sound of his family's frantic bickering. They were all worried about him since he sent the alarm and were fighting about following policy or saving him.
"Master Bruce," He says faintly silencing the coms "Please come to have your suit fitted as soon as you can."
"What for?" His son asks, likely looking for a coded message, but Alfred doesn't have the mental capacity to make one.
"Your wedding, sir. It's tonight, courtesy of your mother."
The coms explode into chaos.
#dcxdpdabbles#dc x dp crossover#Alfred/Thomas/Martha#spirit halloween#In which Martha thought her lovers were making shit up about their epic battle against the Time Lord#Clockwork is Merlin because he likes messing with humans#Danny is tried of his adoptive dad trying to set him up#arranged marriage#Clockwork hords choas like a dragon and motherhens like a bear#Alfred is just tired
2K notes
·
View notes
Text
Arranged marriage AU!Toji x Reader
Summary: Your son with toji, Megumi, said his first words today
CW: toji is cold and distant mostly hurt and no comfort mild fluff i guess??
Idk this was a random thought and now its here
REQUESTS OPEN!
Marriages were not always done out of love. Some were done out of necessity or desperation. Much like the one you were currently in. It was necessity of clans and land squabbles and power hungry old men that didn't care for the feelings of those around them - only getting what they want.
And in your case they got what they wanted. Did you get anything you wanted? Well kinda.
Being in an arranged marriage to Toji wasn't the worst thing to happen to you. It could be worse but it could also be much, much better.
You had known each other since you were children as it was planned from a young age that you two were to be married. You hadn't minded. Toji was attractive and you had a mini crush on him for the longest time but he always detested you. You knew of the numerous women he had slept with before your marriage, having run into them multiple times. It felt like he was trying to push you away, to force you to beg for an out but you both knew that wasn't happening.
You had only been married for a short time now almost two years. It had been mostly uneventful in the name of new marriages aside from - ya know - the whole baby you had. Toji and you were told to waste no time in trying to produce an heir and really that was the only Toji showed you any affection. Outside of those moments he was cold and inattentive. Those moments were only out of the necessity to reproduce anyway. He didn't interact with your son Megumi very much either.
You cleaned up the kitchen after dinner in your large but yet lonely house. Toji was still out. Work or something else you weren't sure. Megumi babbled and bounced as he watched you move around the kitchen from his highchair, music played in the background. You smiled at him as he babbled. "Hi 'Gumi." You waved at him smiling wide. He laughed giddly at your voice, his mop of black hair bouncing with his movements.
He was the happiest and the cutest baby you had ever seen. You were more than proud of yourself. It was only mildly hurtful that Megumi was identical to Toji. His dark hair, his facial structure screamed Toji. The only thing he had gotten from you was your eyes. They reflected back at you as you approached the bouncing baby putting him on your hip.
You danced along to he music, bouncing him around as he laughed and babbled.
You put him down on the floor as you turned off the music. He continued babbling to himself as he crawled around. "Dadadadadada"
You turned almost comically slow to look down at your son. "What?!" Your smile was wide and your face was full of surprise.
Megumi babbled on again almost coherently. "dadadadadada"
You were so in shock you could barely move. Picking him up and swiftly sitting him on the counter. "Gumi did you say dada?! Say it again! Say dada."
Megumi laughed and babbled at you. You repeated the word multiple times, he watched intently his mouth moving as if trying to copy you. More coherent this time. "Dada"
You smiled wide and clapped at him. "Good job Megumi!! Oh my we have to tell Dada don't we? Such a smart boy."
Within the same moment Toji burst through the front door. You looked up at him as he passed by the kitchen, not even taking off his shoes before going to stomp up the stairs. "Toji! Oh my gosh come here Megumi just-"
"Leave me alone." He marched up the stairs. You heard his footsteps through the house and his bedroom door slammed. You looked down at Megumi as his small hands held onto your shirt and he looked up at you with big eyes. "Dada." You smiled softly at him. "Yeah baby... dada." Looking towards the stairs as if seeing him stomp up to them all over again.
Hours went by and he never came back down. You texted him that his dinner was in the fridge, that you wanted to show him something, that you were here for him if he needed anything, that you were sorry he had a bad day and he never answered or even read a single message.
Since figuring out he could say 'dada' Megumi had not stopped repeating it. You knew it wasn't to annoy you but you couldn't help feel a pang of hurt every time he said it. Toji was rarely around. Why couldn't his first word be mama, the one who is always around?
It was Megumi's bed time but you really thought Toji hearing Megumi would lighten up his day a little. You sighed to yourself as you built lego towers with Megumi upstairs in his playroom. Here you were, still trying to be the wife but he really was making you into a stranger.
You bathed and dressed Megumi in his pjs and held him close as he looked up at you. "Should we go see if dada is busy Megumi?" His eyes widened at the word and continued his babbling mantra of it. You walked through the east half of the house where your room and Megumi's plus your own office, some extra rooms and Megumi's playroom were. Toji's side was the west wing. If you were actually husband and wife you would share the north wing, where the extravagant bedroom - apartment practically - sat bare and collected dust. You looked to the double doors at the end of the north hall with disappointment before making you way to the west end and stepping up to Toji's door.
You hesitated before knocking softly. Waiting a moment before looking down at Megumi and shrugging. "I don't know if he's awake bud." You thought for a moment before slowly pushing the door open and peering inside. The light were on so you entered even though you knew you shouldn't. Toji never let you in his room. You'd only be in here a handful of times and all those times were unpleasant.
You walked through the sitting area into the bedroom until you noticed the bathroom door shut. You shook your head, looking to Megumi, pushing his hair out of his eyes. "I think we will show dada tomorrow okay?" Megumi was unusually quiet, maybe being able to feel the tension that grew in your body. Turning swiftly you made for the door you came through but before you made it out of the bedroom the bathroom door opened.
"What are you doing in here?" Toji's voice was loud and cold. You turned to look at him. Water dripped from his wet hair, his body damp with steam. A towel hung loosely around his waist. "Did I say you could come in my room?" His eyes bore holes into you. The heat that rushed into your face gave away your fear.
You looked down to the son you both created, trying to look anywhere but at the way his muscled form rippled infront of you. It was easier to pretend you didn't find him attractive or care about him or have feelings for him when he wasn't right infront of you.
"Oh... sorry... I just..."
He eyed you, how you stayed focus on Megumi. The small boy holding onto your free hand. "What happened? Is Megumi ok?" His expression changed as he approached the two of you. His voice still cold and annoyed but a hint of concern hid underneath it all.
Your head snapped to him. Eyeing him closely for a reaction. "Nothing I just... he said his first word today. I thought it might cheer you up to hear it if I can get him to say it again."
His features softened ever so slightly. "His first word?" Toji tilted his head in thought. "What was it?" You couldn't help but notice the small amount of excitement in his voice.
Megumi bounced in your arms at Toji's voice, babbling along as if trying to figure out how to say it all over again. I smiled at Toji and then back down at Megumi. I pointed at Toji. "Who's that Gumi? Hmm? Say dada! Say it again baby show dada."
Megumi babbled and pointed towards Toji for a few moments before sounding out dada once again.
Toji's face immediately brightened. "What?! Dada??" He chuckled deeply, one that sounded genuine and it shook something in you. "He actually said it. Good boy Megumi." Toji stepped up to you and the baby as he spoke. Brushing Megumi's heap of hair back.
You kissed to side of Megumi's head as he bounced on your hip. "He hasn't even said mama yet." You chuckled softly but the tinge of hurt was in your voice. "Anyway that was all I wanted to tell you. Sorry for coming in your room, I know I'm not supposed to."
He shook his head. "it's okay." He assured as he watched Megumi babble and squirm in your grip. He was overtired for sure. Toji seemed to be a different person than the one you had come accustomed. His permanent scowl was gone and he looked almost happy. "Can I hold him?"
His question shocked you. Eyes widening but you handed him over.
Toji softly cradled him, rocking him back and forth as he whispered to him. Megumi didn't cry or fuss, even his overtired babbling stopped. Slowly his eyes got heavy and closed. You watched intently as Toji interacted with your son. If it could be like this all the time.
"He really does have my hair. He's got your eyes too." Toji commented quietly while admiring his son. His eyes flicked up to yours for a moment.
I smiled at him. "Yeah... he does..."
Toji chuckled softly. "He really does look like me. It's kinda scary."
You laughed a little more sincerely than you intended. "He does, has your personality too."
Toji chuckled low. "Yeah, he's cold and distant just like me?"
Your smile dropped, panic set in at his words. "Oh n-no I didn't mean it like that..."
Toji shook his head and looked up at you, a soft chuckle leaving his lips at your panicked expression. "I was joking, I know what you meant." He assured as he watched the sleeping Megumi in his arms.
You let go of a breath you didn't even realize you were holding. "oh right."
Toji whole aura seemed to relax when he held Megumi. You wished he could be around all the time. That he could be the father figure Megumi needed. That he could be the husband you wanted. To come home after a long day, and sit together. To be able to go to him when you needed a hug or reassurance or just wanted to feel loved. Your eyes focused as you realized that Toji was watching you deep in thought. Shaking your head you held out your arms. "I can take him now if you want. I don't want to bother you."
He held onto Megumi for a moment, seeming almost reluctant before handing him over to you. You smiled and nodded at him, turning to leave. He called out to you as you reached the door. "Wait, Y/N-"
You turned to look at him. "What's up?"
He opened his mouth to say something but closed it slowly. "Never mind sorry. Goodnight."
You eyed him for a moment before reluctantly turning away. "Alright... goodnight."
He couldn't bring himself to tell you the things he wanted to say. He couldn't find the words. How does he make up for the suffering you already endured? You had always so easily melted his cold dead heart, so he kept you at a distance but you had been so close. He already felt it melting.
#toji x reader#fushiguro toji#toji fushiguro#jjk toji#toji fushiguro x you#toji x you#arranged marriage#jjk x reader#jujutsu kaisen
3K notes
·
View notes
Text
A Bouquet of Honeysuckle
Pairing: Dad!Gojō x Lactating!Reader
Chapter Synopsis: Gojō Satoru is a baby in more ways than one.
Warning: breastfeeding, lactation kink, hint of dub/con, hungry Gojō, unprotected sex, rough sex, breeding kink
Word Count: 1219
8 of 9
It is painfully clear to you that your husband might have developed a certain fondness to your bosom. Or your carry-on breastaurant, as he insisted on calling them.
Whenever you nurse Satoshi, Gojō finds a way to lounge next to you, making up excuses about needing to have a conversation with you about the most tedious or ludicrous of topics.
Your bashfulness after catching his sticky gaze directed on your milky nipples, wearing off with how often it happens.
But the way you caught him staring in the gardens has done something to you. It flattered you that your husband finds your motherhood appealing. But the adoration he offered then was not soft, it was not sweet.
It was pure and unadulterated lust and hunger.
When he starts steering you to your shared quarters after putting Satoshi in his crib, you know you are about to see the breaking point of Satoru’s self-restraint.
You are aware that he was never good with sharing in the first place.
When Satoshi was born, you had no problems with your husband. Your son slotted himself right in the middle of it all with no hitches.
Yet it happened twice already this week. How your husband’s back leaves whatever it was he was leaning on to stop your son from pulling at your kimono to get to your breasts. Gojō often manages to resume his previous position and pretend the past five seconds did not happen at all. But he cannot shake off your startled expression.
Your baby just wanted to be fed.
You must have forgotten that Satoshi is not the only baby that you are taking care of.
Your husband, the head of your clan, the strongest sorcerer, the honored one, is now lying on his stomach, between your thighs as his arms wrapped around your waist.
“Have you fallen asleep, Satoru?” You ask, all the while attempting not to break into giggles.
You got comfortable leaning against the headboard, your back sinking on the softest of pillows that your husband insisted on buying for you while you were carrying his child.
His chin rested on your plush belly, his hooded eyes focused on the wet patch that seeped on your nursing bra.
He looks quite drunk with the subtle redness tinting at his cheekbones.
His shirt has long been discarded on the floors of your quarters. Your kimono has been parted already.
But his vigor seemed to have evaporated from his body as he came face to face with your barely covered teats.
His mouth was not a stranger to the perky buds. But all he has ever done was to suck on them. Never suckle.
Gojō started with a kiss. The simple gesture had your heartbeat doubling.
He stared at the buttons of your nursing bra and he looked at you briefly, as if trying to recall how you undid it.
Is he supposed to tug? Will the buttons pop open right then? He wouldn’t want to ruin them, it took a very long time for you to find a nursing bra that you were comfortable in.
Now gone tired of watching him do nothing but stare, you guide his larger hands on your bra to get his fingers to pull and with a sharp pop, your breasts come spilling out.
Gojō is in a trance. Your already pebbled teats from months of nursing your son were quick to leak with milk, his throat has gone dry with the sight.
Your cunt clenches as his tongue lols out, drool lining his path as he haunches over you, head dipping to drag his wet appendage on your sensitive bud to catch the leaking milk. The sight of him was incredibly primal.
“Ahh!”
Gojō pulls back, eyes wide in surprise as he watches you throw your head against the pillow.
He does not recall your teats being this sensitive. Even when you were pregnant.
With searing curiosity pumping through his veins, he licks at the other nipple, his eyes never leaving your pleasure twisted face.
The low chuckle he makes has your spine freezing. You were panting as you looked at him.
“Tastes good.” He grins at you before his lips presses a smack on your lips. The smile on his handsome face only widening as he showered your leaking buds with kitten licks.
And his supple lips form an o and captures your nipple like the ripest of cherries as he smothers your breast with his face, the plump of your breasts cushioning against his cheeks. Your thighs immediately tighten around his torso. As you mewl out his name, hands messing up his hair, scratching up his back and deltoids.
He was not being gentle, his lips forming a tight suction as he gulped down your milk, his hand had your breast on a tight squeeze, coaxing your lactation so he could drink more and more.
Gojō Satoru is a greedy man.
And you were the sole focus of his greed at the moment.
You were tapping his shoulder to let up, to give you a brief respite but he only slaps your hand away, an annoyed frown on his brows. He was groaning out in pleasure from having your teat on his mouth. Tongue darting out to lick his lips as he switches to the other breast.
You can only take it all.
And when he unbuckles his pants and his fingers hook on your panties to the side so he can slip in his cock, you erupt just from the feeling of being full.
A rumble from his chest would have startled you if only you were not sprawled on the fluffiest of cloud nines.
Gojō was relentless, but your body responds to him like it was his…and indeed it is.
One strong arm was hooked under the small of your back so he can fuck into you harder, your plush thighs creating a lewd noise as it slaps with his. The wet noise of your cunt joins your wonton cries and Gojō’s guttural groans.
You have never seen him act in such a way, jostling you so roughly, as if moving on pure instinct. Your cunt gushes as you watch him, breath hitching at every drag of his intensely hard cock on your soft pulsating walls.
By the time he slowed down, your lips were bloated from you chewing on it, your lashes had clumped up, and your teats were sore. You worry how you will nurse your son come morning.
Gojō pulls out from you and watches his seed trickle between your thighs then his eyes travel to the swell of your breasts. His cock twitches and he groans, reaching for a bottle of water and gulps it down as one hand rests possessively on your thigh.
You mewl out a protest when he turns you so you are lying on your stomach and slips a pillow under your belly to raise your hips to him. And he slides inside you once more, his pace ever as rough, creating a bump in your belly with every thrust. You sniffle as your sensitive buds brush on your soft pillows, your milk seeping through the fabric, creating an uncomfortable dampness.
Gojō wishes that you would never stop lactating.
Perhaps he’ll leave another bun to bake in your belly.
Where the Blue Roses Grow
#gojo satoru x y/n#gojo satoru x reader#gojō satoru#jujutsu kaisen#gojo satoru smut#arranged marriage#dad gojo#lactating kink#breeding k1nk#where the blue roses grow
1K notes
·
View notes
Text
JUST NETEYAM | neteyam x reader
pairing: olo'eyktan!neteyam x f!reader
summary: despite being from a different clan and expected to marry the leader of the omatikaya without knowing him, you agree to it for the sake of your family, but doubts start haunting you the moment you set foot in the clan, causing you to plan your escape on the day of your mating ceremony.
word count: 8k
warnings: arranged marriage trope, fluffffff, love-at-first-sight kinda thing, a bit of angst in the beginning, traditions, non-sexual nudity, prejudiced reader, royal neteyam, he is just such a prince it's unreal!!
note: all characters are aged up by five years. the title eyktan/eykte (leader) being unofficially reserved for the olo'eyktan (clan leader)'s mate made sense to me since both are supposed to rule together. please correct me if i’m wrong. see end notes for more.
* gif‘s not mine.
You will learn to love her. He remembered his mother's voice, and he recalled the vast expanse of the sky, where billowing clouds danced gracefully and the wind embraced him with gentle caresses. The sky, like an endless canvas, painted in hues of blue, purple, and gold, held a beauty that stirred his soul.
Instead of roaring waves crashing against the cliffs, he witnessed the majestic flight of ikrans, soaring high above the jagged peaks. Their wings, strong and mighty, carried him through the heavens, as if he were a part of their elegant dance. Gone were the humpbacked sea surfaces, replaced by the boundless freedom of the open sky. The white foam, once adorning the ocean's crown, now transformed into fluffy clouds, resembling intricately woven blankets. It was as if the heavens themselves provided a soft embrace, offering comfort and warmth.
They were little things, nothing really worth mentioning, such as the sun rays tickling his soft skin, or the laughter of his siblings echoing in his memories, not as they played with ilus in the water, but now as they soared alongside him, sharing the pure joy of flight. Even the taste of sea salt, carried on the wind, found a place in this ethereal domain. With closed eyes, he could almost feel a delicate touch of salt upon his lips, a reminder of the distant ocean and the memories it held. He missed those times. Not because he preferred swimming over climbing, or blue over green, that was completely not the case, but because he missed his youth, even from a time when his family sought shelter. He missed being careless, learning new things, having fun, and he would've laughed at his younger self who, even though rarely, complained about the number of duties and responsibilities he had on his shoulders — because nothing could compare to the duties and responsibilities he faced now as Olo'eyktan.
So for once, he liked to lose himself in memories of the sea before he pictured himself back in the sky, on the back of his ikran, where he found a world of wonder, where every little detail became a cherished treasure. The sky had become his limitless playground, an infinite expanse that awakened his spirit and filled his heart with boundless freedom.
He had been incredibly nostalgic ever since his parents had announced the arrangement for him; how overjoyed they had told him that they had found a mate for him, and he guessed it was self-explanatory why a part of him wanted to hold on to his past; not ready to take that further step.
Standing there and observing the preparations and exquisite decorations his people had arranged, he realized that the efforts he had endured for this ceremony were not in vain. The Omatikaya had gone to great lengths to create a magnificent celebration, honoring the union of a new pair; the one of their clan leader. Intricate craftsmanship was displayed in the decorations made from natural materials, the delicate floral arrangements that adorned the surroundings, and the gentle flicker of candles all held meaningful details. However, despite the beauty surrounding him, he couldn't help but yearn for the moment when it would all finally be over.
Five moons ago, he had thought not much of it, he had been convinced he'd find a way out of it, and here he was. Trapped in memories, in the infinity of the skies and seas, here, time stood still, so that eternity could begin, and right here he felt well, he felt safe.
"Bro!" A hand clawed onto his upper arm, abruptly pulling him out of his thoughts, as a breathless Lo'ak stood before him — or rather, hunched over, supporting himself with his other hand on his knees, and breathing deeply, inhaling and exhaling heavily.
"Mawey, brother." Neteyam carefully placed his hand on his brother's head and sought his face, trying to understand the situation. Lo'ak just shook his head hastily, trying to control his breathing.
"Are you okay?" Lo'ak was clearly not okay, yet Neteyam tried to maintain his composure as unpleasant images infiltrated his thoughts, his mind going through any possible worst case scenario. He hoped that nothing had happened to his family, and involuntarily, he felt annoyed that he hadn't seen Tuk and Kiri for a while, worrying about them.
"I got it, I got it." Lo'ak shook his hand off, breathing normally again. "It's.." He took a deep breath before saying it all at once, "It's your mate-to-be."
Neteyam's ears perked up in alarm. Lo'ak, having somewhat calmed his breathing, cringed, now struggling with his words instead. Perhaps he shouldn't have announced this so dramatically in front of his older brother, because he now feared that one problem would become two.
"Yes?" Neteyam patiently but firmly encouraged him to continue. He was suddenly caught in a conflict within himself, wrestling to keep his expression neutral, knowing that it would raise unease among curious ears and attentive watchers.
Apprehensive of his brother's reaction, Lo'ak didn't know how to say it, "Uh, I kinda… please don't be mad at me."
"Spill it, Lo'ak," Neteyam hissed through gritted teeth, now impatient and slightly on edge due to his younger brother's panicking behavior.
He feared the worst now but he didn't want to jump to premature conclusions. Still, something clearly must've happened and he inwardly hoped for her to be alright and safe. Yes, she was a stranger to him whom he had never seen once, but she was soon to become the closest and most important person in his life after all.
Lo'ak's gaze was filled with guilt, when he unsurely admitted, "I, uh… lost… her…?"
And that was it. All the facial features of the otherwise composed clan leader contorted as he looked at his brother in disbelief. Lost her? How do you lose a grown person?
The inner leader within him knew that he immediately had to gather as much information as possible about this situation. Finding her before the ceremony was crucial, and he should coordinate efforts with their best trackers and devise a strategic plan to cover all possible areas she might have gone.
His false, rationalized side tried to reassure him, suggesting that nothing had happened. Perhaps Lo'ak hadn't seen her in the tent, or she had been engrossed in a conversation. Maybe she simply got caught up in preparations and lost track of time. It's not uncommon for delays to happen before important ceremonies.
His emotionally calibrated side couldn't help but worry about her well-being, as well as the well-being of others. What if she had sustained an injury? What if she required assistance? And with a touch of paranoia, he feared something much worse, considering sabotage and abduction.
His reflected psychological side, however, completely dismissed these possibilities, because most likely, his family had intimidated her, and she had gotten cold feet. And if she truly matched him as well as his parents had described, then he could assess her emotional state and he had a feeling where she would be right now.
Ultimately, his strategically valuable side gained the upper hand and decided to embark on the search immediately, knowing exactly where to start.
"What did you tell her?"
Lo'ak looked at him completely lost, "Nothing, really, just that you're Olo'eyktan," he shrugged, "It's not like she didn't know that already."
And once again, he remembered his elders' words, and for the first time, a subtle sense of doubt began to creep into his mind, when he recalled what they had said:
You will learn to love her.
TWO HOURS AGO.
"I must inspect her body." You had expected many things, but not this. You had already come to terms with the idea of never being able to make your own choices again after everything you had experienced in the past couple of hours. And yet, you found yourself taken aback by this one simple sentence.
Five moons ago, you had been sitting in your family's tent in front of your parents when your mother had dropped the announcement that had changed everything. That day, you had been feeling uneasy from the moment you had gotten up, unable to quite place why. But when your mother had revealed the news, it had all become clear, changing everything.
"My daughter, you have been chosen by the Omatikaya to become their Olo'eyktan's mate," your mother had said, beaming with pride.
Immediately, your heart had sunk. While you had heard of the clan, you had remained a foreigner to their lands, unfamiliar with their Olo'eyktan, a man you had never encountered. It had become painfully clear to you that you were not ready to unite in a mating ceremony with a complete stranger, devoid of both familiarity and love.
"Do I have to, mother?" you had asked, your voice shaking with emotion.
"But yes, this is a great honor for our family. You were chosen, out of all the clans, out of all the girls in our clan, to marry Toruk Makto's eldest son," your mother had said, trying to convince you, "It's a sign of respect and trust."
"But what if I don't love him? What if we're not compatible?"
"My daughter," your mother's voice had carried firmness, "you are being unreasonable. This is not about love. It is about the well-being of our clan and the future of our people. Arrangements are part of our traditions for generations, and they have served us well. Your father and I, too, entered into an arranged union, and we have found happiness together."
She had continued, her tone resolute, "He is a commendable man. We have known of him and his achievements since he was but a child. As the successor to his father, he carries the legacy of our shared battles against our enemies." You had remembered all of the stories and tales, about a time before your time, about your father and mother fighting against the skypeople at the side of Toruk Makto. "For he led the clans to victory and if his son has inherited even a fraction of his character, you could not ask for a more suitable companion. He is talented, responsible, a formidable warrior, and an exceptional leader."
Your father had spoken up for the first time. "Your mother is right. The Omatikaya are good people, and their Olo'eyktan is a good man. He will take care of you and you will be happy together."
You had felt like you were suffocating at the realization that your own family had been willing to force you into a loveless marriage just for the sake of tradition, honor, and alliances.
"But what about my own happiness?" your voice had been barely above a whisper.
"Your happiness is important, my daughter," your mother had spoken, "But this is not just about you, you have a duty for our clan. You will become Eykte, and eventually Tsahìk, too, you will grant our clan safety and protection for generations to come."
You had known you weren't going to win this argument, feeling trapped, and so, so helpless. Looking down at your hands, you had been feeling tears welling up in your eyes. You couldn't imagine a life with someone you didn't love.
Your mother had put a hand on your shoulder. "It is okay, you will understand one day. We are doing what is best for you and our clan. Trust us."
But you couldn't have brought yourself to trust them, not after such a betrayal. You had known you had to find a way out of this marriage, but you just hadn't known how. You had looked up at your mother and nodded, pretending to accept your fate. While you had been internally determined to find a way to escape somehow, your mother had smiled at you proudly, and you would probably never forget her following words.
"You will learn to love him."
And now you stood here, in front of the Tsahìk of the Omatikaya — who was so different from the one in your clan — and were forced to undress and be inspected by her; for what purpose, you were not told, but you assumed that the degree of your flawlessness had to be determined and confirmed before you would be presented to the oh-so-great Olo'eyktan. The thought alone made your stomach churn.
"Grandmother, she clearly feels uncomfortable."
"Kiri, you know that it is not me who dictates the rules, for they are woven into the fabric of our existence itself," although her words were thoughtful and calm, her facial expression was anything but. Her gaze bore a sternness that bordered on intimidation, contradicting the tranquility of her voice. "Before the sacred union, both woman and man must embark upon this profound step."
"I don't want to," you said with a determined voice, "No one in our clan does that."
"Well, daughter of a great warrior, you are not in your clan anymore. Starting from today, you are Omatikaya, and you will learn to accept our ways if you want to or not."
A soft cough broke the silence outside the tent, followed by a deep voice asking, "May I enter?"
"Ah, I am too old and weak for such childish affairs," The elderly lady complained before muttering a prayer to herself, clearly at the end of her nerves, and it was more than evident that she was complaining about you and not the man who asked to enter the tent.
"Sure, you can come in," responded the girl standing by your side, who had been your companion throughout the day. Her name was Kiri, and amidst the chaos of the day, she appeared to be the most grounded and relatable person you had encountered; she was clearly the most normal person in this whole clan, that was for sure.
The Tsahìk waved her arms dramatically in the air before clutching her head, expressing dismay, "My days are numbered, and my strength is waning. I cannot keep up with this behavior."
A gruff laughter filled the air as the man stepped into the tent, placing the stack of white fabric on the table before he gently rested a reassuring hand on the elderly lady's shoulder. "Ma dear Tsahìk, you're lookin' healthy and mighty strong, and we're gonna keep you here with us for many cycles to come. No need to worry 'bout a thing, trust me."
"Be careful, jakesully, you begin talking like skypeople again," the woman said bitterly before her stern gaze fixated on you again, "Just where did you find this stubborn girl?"
Both the man and the elderly lady turned their attention towards you. The older woman's expression held a tinge of disgust, while the man offered an apologetic smile, as if trying to reassure you. Silence hung in the air, and without thinking, the words spilled from your lips, words that had plagued your thoughts since stepping foot on this new land that morning.
"Will I be introduced to the Olo'eyktan soon or…?"
The elder dismissed your question with a scoff, shooting a meaningful glance at the tall man beside her as if to say, Do you see what I mean? Instead of providing an answer, she posed a statement, her tone laced with accusation. "She reminds me of you. Is that why you chose her?"
The man shifted his gaze to you, offering an awkward smile before turning back to the Tsahìk. With confidence that appeared to stem from his own conviction, he declared, "She will learn our ways."
You will learn their way.
You will learn to adapt.
You will learn to love him.
The only thing you would eventually learn was to obey.
"Well, she has to learn a lot. That poor soul lacks understanding and respect for our ways and traditions. So far, I'm not convinced she's the right person to lead alongside the Olo'eyktan," the elder remarked, her words heavy with skepticism.
"Ma Jake? Are you here?" Before anyone could respond, a stunning woman entered the tent with grace and elegance, capturing the attention of all present.
"There is so much more to do, and so little time left," the Tsahìk remarked, brushing off the interruption.
The woman gently placed a hand on the elder's shoulder, mirroring the gesture of support shown by the man named jakesully earlier. Her presence exuded confidence and a calming aura, diffusing some of the tension in the room.
"Mother," she spoke in a soothing tone, her voice carrying a hint of authority. "Why are you stressing yourself out? It is a big day for your grandson, and you should take it easy."
Grandson. Your eyes widened almost imperceptibly. The family dynamics suddenly fell into place. It all made sense. You found yourself in a room surrounded by the closest members of your betrothed's family, yet there was no sign of him. His grandmother, his father, his mother, his sister were all present right in front of you.
The Tsahìk sighed and looked up at her daughter, concern etched on her face. "I know, Neytiri. But there is so much at stake, so much to be done," she replied, her voice laden with a sense of responsibility. "As the wisdom of time falls upon me and by the guide of Eywa, it is my duty to examine her physical form before the mating ceremony, and all she does is protest and complain."
Jakesully cleared his voice, "I mean, we cannot force her. If she doesn't—"
"She has to, ma Jake," Neytiri, the graceful woman who had entered, interrupted him with a serious gaze, "And she will." Then she shifted her gaze towards you, her eyes filled with compassion.
Leaning closer to her mother, she said, "You have guided our people for generations, mother. Today, let us handle the preparations while you focus on preserving your strength."
The Tsahìk seemed hesitant to relinquish control, but after a moment of contemplation, she nodded in agreement. "Very well, my daughter. I entrust this responsibility to you and Jakesully. May Eywa guide your actions."
Neytiri smiled warmly, her eyes flickering with gratitude. "Thank you, mother. We will do our best to honor our traditions."
With a sense of relief, the Tsahìk rose from her seat, her weariness momentarily lifted. She turned to you, her stern expression softening ever so slightly. "As for you, young one, understand that our customs are not merely rituals, but a connection to our ancestors and the land that sustains us. Embrace our ways, and you will find your place within our clan."
You met her gaze, a glimmer of kindness in hers as you didn't falter your firm expression whereupon your understanding of tradition began to shift, morphing into a newfound curiosity.
Jakesully stepped forward, his voice resonating with encouragement. "It may seem overwhelming at first, but with time, you will come to understand, trust me."
Neytiri joined his side, her presence radiating strength, "Neither you nor Neteyam are alone in this journey. We will walk beside you, supporting and guiding you every step of the way."
Neteyam. So that was his name. Exactly in that moment, it dawned on you that you had never bothered to ask about his name but so did no one bother to tell you before, as if it was something you should've already known.
"Where is he right now?" you just asked. If the topic of Neteyam had already been mentioned, you didn't want to waste the opportunity. The couple in front of you — his parents — exchanged a brief glance, before you got an answer.
"He is busy with the preparations, but we'll see after him now," Neytiri expressed with a gentle tone and smiled at you. "Kiri will stay here to assist you."
Once again, your question was avoided, and it was becoming increasingly strange. You chose to ignore how one by one, your future family left the tent, leaving you all alone. Kiri had assured you that she would hurry back as she needed to gather some materials. As far as you were concerned, she could take all the time in the world, as it wouldn't change anything about your situation anyway.
"Neteyam." You let the name roll off your tongue, practiced the pronunciation, and let your ears become accustomed to the sound of it. Neteyam. You chuckled to yourself, even though you refused to admit it openly, it was a remarkably beautiful name. At least you had to give him that, you would have a mate with a pretty name. And you could add that to the list of things you knew about him: His name was Neteyam and he was the Olo'eyktan.
You sighed, recalling the conversation with the young man from earlier today. Once you and your brother who took the role as your guardian for today had arrived, this guy had accompanied you through the village, like a personal assistant assigned to you. It seemed as if his main task had been to keep you away from the other villagers, as if you were a disease or plague. Something had seemed off. He hadn't answered many questions, deflecting them instead. And eventually, when the questions became too much for him, he had left you in the caring hands of Kiri and disappeared elsewhere. It had been an interesting encounter with him, for just like Kiri, he possessed an extra finger and hair that gracefully cascaded over his eyes. In retrospect, it dawned upon you that he must surely be a part of the family, and you assumed that Neteyam would likely bear a similar resemblance. Such differences held little concern for you, as they were merely superficial nuances. Before your departure, your friends from your clan had instilled fear within you, weaving tales of demon blood and disfigurement. Yet, you chose to disregard their words, wanting to see for yourself.
Still, the fact that you had not laid eyes upon him and the pervasive silence surrounding his name within the village stirred a faint sense of unease within your core. Could he truly be an outwardly fearsome beast, compelling others to shun him from their thoughts? Or perhaps, he was a cruel leader, commanding such reverence that people dared not utter his name. A sigh escaped your lips, knowing that this enigmatic figure would soon become your better half, your partner in life's journey, and he would be the one to father your offspring. The question lingered, like a whisper in the wind: Could cruelty be inherited, passed down through bloodlines?
At least now you knew your future mate's name.
"…te Suli Neteyam'itan."
"Or y/n'ite," you flinched involuntarily as you heard Kiri's voice when she reentered the tent, and instantly a slight blush crept onto your cheeks, "You know what, kind of eww because he's my brother but it's good that you already think about your children's names," Kiri said smiling smugly.
"I was not—"
"No, I mean it, repeat that in front of my grandmother and she will be head over heels for you." You highly doubted that.
You spent the next hour doing what Kiri instructed, and it wasn't nearly as daunting as you had imagined. The physical examination wasn't a thorough scrutiny of your body. Instead, you were coated in a gentle, liquid healing clay, and it wasn't uncomfortable to have a stranger touch you. Kiri was remarkably professional, but she asked you not to pose distracting questions while she worked. Later, the clay was washed away with water infused with blessings and flower petals, which filled the air with a delightful scent. Once everything was finished, you felt refreshed and rejuvenated, as if reborn. Only then did other people approach you to dress you in exquisite fabrics, feathers, and precious jewelry, and gemstones. The women all appeared kind, but none of them seemed eager to engage in conversation with you. You sat quietly on the mat, your legs folded underneath you, gazing at the wall ahead, as multiple hands adorned you.
As the preparations came to an end, you had still an abundance of questions left, a multitude of them swirling in your mind, and you voiced each and every one of them, undeterred by the avoidance of an answer.
Is he handsome?
Is he kind?
Is he warm?
Cultured?
Artistic?
Athletic?
Strategic?
You persisted in asking, refusing to give up, until you received a satisfactory answer.
"Is he dull? Not very smart? Mentally slow? I can work on those."
However, every response you received was completely off-topic, such as "We can discuss the order of the mating ceremony" or "Our Tsahìk sent over blessings for you to recite during the ceremony..." It was beyond frustrating.
"Is he, like, ugly or something? Maybe he has some kind of physical deformity, but you know, true beauty comes from within anyway and such. Well, not literally from within, but I believe in being a good person and I could deal with it."
At this point, it felt like you were having a one-sided conversation, with question after question piling up like a mountain, and not a single one of them was ever answered sensibly. Instead, you were met with empty platitudes intended to appease you, but it was all in vain: You are going to be an amazing mate, an amazing mother, and an amazing eykte.
Just as you were about to give up, you turned to the young girl who helped you put on some golden beads on your hair, the one that Kiri had referred to as her sister. The youngest Sully child had also joined your company at some point, a truly adorable and vibrant teenage girl whom you had quickly grown fond of. "Can I ask you about your brother?" you feared that the topic was about to be avoided again.
But contrary to your expectation, the younger girl beamed a smile at you and nodded her head in agreement, "Sure, ask away, what do you want to know?"
"What is he like?" You asked your voice filled with curiosity, anticipating her answer and paying attention to her body language.
"I mostly like him, more than Lo'ak at least," the younger girl began venting in a nonchalant tone, "but today I'm so angry at him, he really—"
"Tuktirey!" The stern voice of her mother, Neytiri, suddenly interrupted, causing the girl to look up instantly. The girl fell silent, her eyes wide with attention. "Come help me, please," Neytiri said with a nod towards the forest, before she swiftly exited.
Turning her gaze back to you, a sweet smile still graced her lips. "Don't worry, he's actually the very best," she whispered.
"Tuk!" Neytiri called again, prompting Tuk to rise from her spot.
"I'm sorry, I can't say anything," she hurriedly apologized before rushing towards the tent's exit.
"Tuk, please," you said, reaching out to hold her hand, trying to prevent her from leaving. "Tell me... is he cruel? Is he dumb? I can work with dumb, you know, I just need to know."
Tuk was about to respond when her eyes suddenly widened imperceptibly. You followed her gaze over your shoulder and saw the young man from earlier standing there.
Tuk smiled at you and said, "Did anyone ever tell you how pretty you are? You're going to have wonderful children, I know it." And just like that, she left. Whatever she was about to say, first her mother and now this man had stopped her.
"What is your problem?" you asked, irritation seeping into your voice as you stood up from your place. "We were having a conversation, why did you stop her from talking?"
"I would never do that to my own sister," he replied seriously.
So Kiri, Tuk, and this guy, probably Lo'ak, were all Neteyam's siblings.
"Why are you here?" you inquired, your bad mood getting the better of you.
"I'm here to assist," he answered nonchalantly.
"Okay, then you tell me," you demanded, your voice filled with anticipation. "Tell me about the Olo'eyktan."
A thoughtful pause lingered in the air before the guy responded, his gaze holding a promise of an imminent encounter. "You will meet him soon," he assured you, sensing your yearning for immediate understanding.
"I want to know now," you pressed, a hint of urgency coloring your words.
He let out a weary sigh, acknowledging your eagerness. "He is our clan leader — the clan of the blue flute," he began.
"Yes," you affirmed the initial fragments of knowledge that you already knew.
"He has held the esteemed position of the successor of the former Olo'eyktan since his childhood, as he is the firstborn child," he continued, acting as if it were the most revealing information.
"Yes," you echoed, impatience in your voice.
"And for two cycles of harvest time, he has guided us Omatikaya as our chief," he concluded, underscoring the same repeated information, now for the third time.
"Yes," you mused, the repetition of information giving rise to a discerning observation, one that definitely confirmed your gut feeling. "Okay, so you've told me he is the clan leader, he is Olo'eyktan, the chief of the Omatikaya, the firstborn, and the successor since birth... these are all the same things."
"Yes," he acknowledged, his face looking serious and his voice carrying a hint of nervousness, "but they are all facts."
You stifled an annoyed sigh as everything felt so strange here from the moment you arrived until now. It was baffling that nobody, and absolutely nobody at all, was talking about him. It almost seemed like a conspiracy, leaving you perplexed.
You realized your parents were wrong from the very beginning, and that's when you decided to put an end to it. You refused to stay any longer in this clan, let alone mate with him.
"Excuse me for a moment," You muttered as you tried to pass by Lo'ak, but he positioned himself at the exit in a way that blocked any way out.
"I'm really sorry, but you'll have to stay here until the ceremony," he explained, wearing an awkward smile on his face.
"Sure, but I really need a moment of privacy."
"Yeah, of course, I won't bother you in the tent."
"No, you don't understand," you made one final attempt, but no matter how obvious it seemed, Lo'ak couldn't grasp the situation. He stared at you with a perplexed look as you let out a sigh and concluded your statement, "Nature is calling."
"Oh," his eyes grew wide within a second, "Oh, uh," he stammered, "Yes, um, sure, you can– you can just go over, uh, there," he cleared his throat several times and pointed in two different directions with his hands, a light blush visible on his cheeks, "D-do you know the way? You do, don't you? Should I…?"
"I'll manage, thanks," you gave him a fake smile as you walked past him and headed straight into the forest. Once you were certain that no one was following you, you began to run. Every second counted now, and you had already devised an escape plan. You didn't care about your family or your clan, or the shame it would bring upon them for they had abandoned you anyway. Without a second thought, they had turned their backs on you and your future, so you were ready to do the same. You would rather be alone for the rest of your life than mate with that demon no one dared to talk about.
The soft melody of baby ikrans chirping above you, their cheerful tunes harmonizing with the gentle breeze that rustled the leaves of nearby trees, calmed your nerves a bit. Amidst the serene ambiance, you had fought your way from the woods after running quite a distance from the village, now standing in front of high rocks, your expression reflecting a sense of bewilderment and uncertainty, you looked for a way to climb them up.
Lost in your thoughts, and trying different ways, you remained oblivious to the presence behind you, until a man cleared his throat and approached you.
"Um, are you in need of assistance of some kind?" he asked, his voice gentle and filled with genuine concern.
You startled, letting go of the vines on the rocks for a moment and a flicker of suspicion crossed your eyes as you turned to the person. "Uh, I am quite fine, thank you," you responded annoyedly, your thoughts silently questioning the identity of this stranger. Where did he even come from and why did he bother you? He probably knew who you were given your extravagant looks, but who was he? "You can go back and wait with all the other gawkers for the ceremony."
The man's lips curved into a soft smile when he took a step closer to you, his hands resting calmly behind his back. "I...will. But first, I'm curious, what are you doing?" he inquired, his tone curious and laced with intrigue.
A hint of defiance lingered in your voice as you replied, "Nothing." You struggled to maintain your composure, your words betraying your actions.
"You're doing something," he persisted.
Frustrated, you sighed, "I am not."
With the sound of ikrans shouting above you, a moment of pause settled between you. In that fleeting silence, you decided to reveal your purpose, hoping he'd then mind his business and go away. "If you must know, I'm trying to find out the best way to climb over these rocks."
"Climb... whatever for?" he questioned, genuinely intrigued by your confession.
"Because I think he may be a beast. Or a demon," you revealed muttering to yourself, sarcasm in your voice but also hinting at a hidden fear.
Perplexed, the man who had definitely heard you inquired further, "Who are we talking about?"
"Oh, well, that was actually mean of me," you mumbled to yourself, reminding yourself that the man in front of you was probably loyal to his Olo'eyktan and wouldn't like you talking bad about him. That thought made you find some amusement in your own thoughts before speaking louder, "None of your business."
He gazed at you expectantly, awaiting an honest answer. The stranger didn't seem like someone who would immediately betray your secret — later perhaps — but he could be of use to you right now, maybe he could even confirm or refute your theory.
"The Olo'eyktan," you finally added, your voice softer, "No one will speak of him. No one. He is clearly a beast or a demon."
Realization dawned upon him as he nodded, absorbing your words. "Understood."
You turned your back to him, focusing on the rocks again, and suddenly you had a plan, "You know, if I grab there... yes!" you looked back to him over your shoulder, "You could assist me by lifting me up."
Confusion crept into his expression as he hesitated, contemplating your request. "Uh, one question. You do not like beasts or demons? What he looks like matters?"
You rolled your eyes, "I don't care what he looks like. What I don't like is not knowing. Now, here. Just take a hold here," you instructed, pointing to your waist. "With a lift, I... I believe I can make it over the rocks and to my ikran."
He considered your words, pondering the consequences. "People will notice you are missing, will they not?" he queried, concerned for the potential repercussions.
"I will worry about that later. Now, if you please..." you turned your back to him, still determined to proceed. "I just need a little help. Come. Hurry up."
The man licked his lips, caught in his own contemplation, before taking two slow steps forward. "I have absolutely no intention of helping you," he declared, surprising you with his refusal.
You stopped in your tracks, slowly turning to face him as if you had misheard, giving him the time to correct himself. Your eyes widened in surprise and a bit of anger, too. With sure steps, you approached him, closing the distance between you.
"I'm a woman in need of help. And you refuse?" you confronted him, your voice tinged with disbelief.
The man tilted his head to the side, his expression contemplative. After a moment of thoughtful silence, he responded, his voice carrying a touch of playfulness.
"I refuse when that woman in need of help is trying to go over the rocks so that she does not have to be my mate," he stated, his words hanging in the air, revealing a truth that caught you off guard.
Shock rippled through you, and you gasped softly, feeling as though the air had been caught in your throat. Your eyes locked onto his golden gaze, desperately hoping that you had misinterpreted what he said. But deep down, you knew the truth had found its way to you, settling heavily in your core. It couldn't be... you had seen his siblings, and they didn't possess the distinctive features of the clan. Yet, here he stood, a true Na'vi through and through, without any doubts. He was remarkably handsome, almost too handsome. Yes, you had noticed his striking appearance the moment you laid eyes on him, but then it didn't matter much since he was just a random person, but now, with this revelation, they held significant weight in your thoughts.
He wore a smirk on his lips, a glimmer of mischief dancing in his gaze. He knew.
"Hello, y/n," he approached you, his smile radiant and unmarred by the revelation. As he stopped directly in front of you, he lifted his hand to his forehead, greeting you with a formal gesture. "I'm Neteyam."
The realization dawned on you, and suddenly, the words you had wanted to speak failed to find their way out. Your tongue forgot its purpose as you just stood there, caught between astonishment and uncertainty.
An apology, you thought, your mind searching for the right words to offer at least that.
"I am deeply s..." —orry. Your voice faltered, carried away by the cool wind that brushed past you. The weight of the truth settled upon you, realizing that he was the successor of the former Olo'eyktan, the firstborn of Toruk Makto, your mate-to-be.
"Ma Olo'eyktan," you stammered, attempting to bow in respect, but he intercepted your gesture. His hands gently caught yours, intertwining your fingers in the process, and he lowered your hand in a graceful motion, bringing your hands together. His hand on yours became the focal point of your gaze, while you could hear your heart pounding in your ears.
"Not your Olo'eyktan," he corrected you in a soft-spoken manner, withdrawing his hand. "Neteyam."
You tried to read his face, searching for answers in the depths of his eyes.
"I mean, yes, your Olo'eyktan, but to you, just Neteyam," he clarified jokingly, the sound of his beautiful laugh after made you speechless.
"I am…" you began, but the sentence remained unfinished, your shame preventing you from pronouncing the word 'sorry'. "Please accept my apology. If I had known that you were you—"
He interrupted you, his gaze unwavering. "You would have what? Not told me that you were trying to escape?"
"Well, yes. I mean…" Your words stumbled over each other, attempting to form a coherent defense.
He chuckled, a sound that filled the air around you with warmth.
"I do apologize, ma Olo'eyktan," you said lowering your gaze, your voice a soft admittance.
"Neteyam," he corrected you once again, a gentle reminder. "Just Neteyam."
You nodded, your eyes looking up and meeting his again, the weight of the moment hanging between you. And then, he leaned closer, too close for your liking, and you held your breath when he whispered into your ear.
"The title situation. It towers over us. An accident of birth on my part," a shiver ran down your spine as his warm breath met your skin, "But I thought, maybe, perhaps as my mate, you could ignore it, and I could be just Neteyam to you."
You gazed at him, your heart fluttering with newfound affection. The weight of his words sank in, and you found yourself captivated by the vulnerability he revealed.
"That was, of course, before I found out that you don't want to be my mate," he confessed as he straightened up, and you couldn't ignore the hint of disappointment in his deep voice.
"I didn't say that," you quickly defended yourself, your voice laced with sincerity.
"Oh, you did," he emphasized, now a playful glimmer in his eyes.
"I did not," you insisted, your tone slightly nervous.
"You did," he persisted, his smile widening.
"It is not... mhm. I don't know you," you admitted, your voice growing softer as you laid bare your doubts and reservations.
He stretched his arms out in a dramatic gesture. "I don't know you either," he admitted, his smile ever so wide, "Except that you are terrible at climbing."
You became defensive, a playful spark igniting within you. "You try climbing a wall in all of these," you retorted, gesturing towards your elaborate clothing and jewelry. As you looked up to meet his gaze once more, you found him already watching you, a broad smile adorning his face and a dreamy glint in his eyes. It was a contagious expression that tugged at your lips, and you couldn't help but smile in response.
"What?" you asked softly, your curiosity piqued.
He opened his mouth, then closed it again, contemplating his words. Finally, he spoke, his voice filled with a sincere and gentle admiration. "You are incomparable."
Your heart skipped a beat at his words, a blush rising to your cheeks. You remained silent, allowing the warmth of his compliment to wash over you.
He continued, his gaze shifting to the left as he spoke, his words a tender confession. "No one told me you'd be this beautiful. You may be too beautiful to be my mate. People will talk... given I'm a demon."
"Ma Olo'eyktan—" you started, wanting to apologize again, your voice trailing off as he corrected you once more with a playful glint in his eyes.
"Neteyam."
You chuckled softly, your heart opening up to the gentle familiarity of his name, "Neteyam," you said softly, giving in to the connection forming between you. The sound of his name on your tongue felt even more different now that he was standing in front of you, almost comforting in its own way.
The sun began to set behind him, casting a warm glow over the lush landscape of Pandora, and a golden hue around both of your bodies. The air was filled with anticipation, and you could feel the weight of the moment.
"What do you want to know?" he asked all of a sudden.
"What?" you snapped out of your thoughts, momentarily caught off guard.
"You don't know me. What do you want to know about me?" he repeated, his gaze fixed on you.
You didn't expect this question at all. "That is quite, uh…"
"Mm-hmm," he playfully encouraged you to continue, his head tilted to the side.
"Uh…"
He gave you his full attention making you nervous, a smile playing on his lips, his canines peeking out with a small smirk.
You realized that he seemed to enjoy the situation you were in. Gathering your thoughts, you mustered the courage to speak.
"I suppose... everything," you said, your voice gaining confidence. "I want to know everything about you."
He was briefly surprised, the smile disappearing for a second. "All right," he said, clicking his tongue.
"Uh, everything?" he asked to confirm, and you nodded confidently. "I was born prematurely, and everyone thought I was going to die, but I did not. I am a fair shooter, and an even better archer. My favorite food is srakat vey. I will not eat fungus soup, it is horrible. I like flying and hunting and good conversation. Most of all, I like science."
"Science?" you asked, genuine curiosity in your voice.
"Yes, the study of the physical world, especially astronomy. The stars in the heavens," he explained, a spark of enthusiasm igniting within him as he continued. "I'm quite the artisan. Probably would be an artisan if I were not already occupied."
Pointing to his scar above his chest, he added, "I have a scar here from falling off my ikran."
"Really?" you asked, surprised at the revelation. He didn't seem to be the type to have experienced such a simple accident.
"Either that or skypeople were the cause, it's long ago," he replied hinting at the mystery, and by the way he said that you were sure that skypeople were the cause of his scar, and he knew that you came to the conclusion as well, almost wanting you to see through him.
He then pointed at his hand. "A scar here from just being incredibly clumsy with a hunting knife as we were kids." As your eyes focused on his perfect hands, he met your gaze again, and the silent connection deepened.
"And I'm very nervous," he chuckled, "about mating with a girl I'm only just meeting minutes before our ceremony."
You were left speechless, absorbing the honesty and vulnerability he shared. Nodding understandingly, you appreciated his nobility. "But I cannot show it and climb over rocks and fly away with my ikran because I am Olo'eyktan of the Omatikaya, and that would cause a scandal. But I promise you, I am neither a demon nor a beast," he reassured, his eyes ever so dreamily locked with yours. "Just Neteyam."
Long, intense eye contact held between you, the unspoken emotions weaving a tapestry of unexplored possibilities. Before you could process the moment, your brother appeared out of nowhere, breaking the trance,
"Sister, we have been looking everywhere for you. What are you—" he stopped in his tracks, his eyes widening in awe as he recognized Neteyam. "Ma... ma Olo'eyktan," he greeted respectfully, bowing even.
Neteyam approached your brother and greeted him back. "You must be the man responsible for my possible future happiness."
"Sure. Um, my apologies. Yes. No—" your brother stumbled, caught off guard by the unexpected encounter.
"Well, you have arrived at the most opportune moment. She was just deciding..." his words trailed off as his eyes met yours, a mischievous smile dancing on his lips, "whether or not she wanted to be my mate."
A rush of heat flushed your cheeks, feeling exposed and vulnerable under the scrutiny of both Neteyam and your brother. You watched as the realization sank in, causing your brother's expression to shift from surprise to concern.
"Oh, she is overjoyed to become—" your brother tried to speak, but Neteyam interjected, his voice calm and measured.
"No, she's still deciding. She might go over the rocks instead. Either way, the choice is entirely up to her." The corners of Neteyam's lips curled into a gentle smile, his words reassuring and respectful.
Your heart swelled with awe. The weight of the decision had suddenly become lighter, knowing that Neteyam understood the importance of autonomy, and that he was willing to accept any outcome as long as you were the one making that decision on your own.
Your brother forced a smile, his eyes reflecting a complex blend of emotions. Perhaps he recognized the sincerity in Neteyam's words, or maybe he understood the significance of your journey toward happiness, whatever it was, he kept quiet.
Neteyam broke the silence, his voice filled with a determination worthy of a leader, and a pinch of amusement, "Now, I should get back because I suspect that by now there are some very anxious warriors who think I am kidnapped."
He stepped closer, taking your hand in his, his delicate touch sending a jolt of electricity through your body. Excitement emanated from him as he leaned in, pressing a gentle kiss to the back of your hand.
He said your name with so much passion, you were almost hypnotized by him, his breath warm against your skin. "I hope I see you there." He lingered for a moment, his eyes locked with yours, a silent promise of a future yet to unfold.
With a nod and a soft smile, he released your hand and turned to leave, but then he paused and turned back, "And if so, I am the one standing between Tsahìk and Toruk Makto."
You smiled. He smiled.
His eyes met yours for the last time, and in that gaze, you found a reflection of your own desires and hopes. And then he started fading into the distance. The weight of his departure settled upon you, you were left standing there, your hand still tingling from the touch of his lips. The intensity of his presence lingered in the air, and you found yourself lost in a whirlwind of emotions and thoughts.
Your brother rushed to your side, concern etched on his face. "Don't tell me you are still hesitating," he said, his voice filled with worry and impatience.
With the setting sun as a witness, you just looked at him, a newfound sense of clarity shining in your eyes.
Well, maybe this wasn't that bad after all.
note: yes, this was inspired by that scene from "queen charlotte", and if you can't get enough of neteyam and enjoy the arranged marriage trope, I highly recommend checking out the chosen by eywa series by @randxmthxughts and the monster in me series by @andraga12, their writing is exceptional, and the way they craft beautiful narratives from chapter to chapter is truly magical, definitely don’t miss out on them!! <33
and as always let me know if you like my own attempt at this trope by liking, reblogging and/or commenting 💕
#neteyam x reader#neteyam x you#neteyam imagine#neteyam te suli tsyeyk'itan#neteyam#neteyam x female reader#neteyam x na'vi!reader#olo'eyktan neteyam#arranged marriage#arranged marriage neteyam#avatar imagne#avatar the way of water#avatar 2#atwow x you#atwow neteyam#atwow neteyam imagine#atwow x y/n#neteyam x y/n#prince neteyam#adult neteyam#adult neteyam imagine#atwow#atwow fluff#neteyam fluff#neteyam sully#neteyam sully x reader#neteyam sully imagine#neteyam suli x reader#avatar the way of water imagine#olo'eyktan
5K notes
·
View notes
Text
A Green and Silver Ring (Mattheo Riddle x Reader)
An arranged marriage between you and Mattheo, one that might lead to something beautiful
Word Count: 10.3k
I know I haven't posted in a long time but I have a plan trust the process. Also, this is me coming out and saying that I love Mattheo Riddle and he's amazing
Warnings: Swearing, bad and manipulative parenting from both Mattheo and reader’s parents, a lot of misogyny (a bit from Mattheo but he gets better by a lot and it’s not that bad), arguments, Tom isn’t Mattheo’s brother and Tom is a creep, arranged marriage, one bed trope, enemies to lovers, greek mythology reference, talk of kids, needing kids to carry on family lines, and kids. Mistress is the feminine term for master (so reader isn’t Mattheo’s side piece when I refer to her as mistress), old timey talk a bit, reader is a bookworm
From the desk of Ginevra
My dearest friend,
My parents have informed me of your engagement. I was ecstatic, yet surprised, when I heard the news. I was of the assumption that your parents were allowing you to choose your husband as your family line is secure in your brother and his wife. Yet, once I learned who your husband-to-be is, I was trepidatious.
My thoughts are with you, my darling friend, and I pray for you to write to me the moment you get my letter.
I hate to break the news, but you and your fiancé are the talk of high society. Never before have two such families been intertwined. Even I have had to scold my brothers for their gossip. They seem to forget that our families are close friends.
I do not ask why your parents have made such a decision. I know they are intelligent adults and surely must have a motive, but I admit that I am blind in that regard. Your engagement seems sudden and unwarranted to me. When questioned, my mother sighed and said I would understand when I grew older. My mother continues to baffle me. I have borne two children and a third on the way! If I am not mature now, I better gain some knowledge quickly.
Always remember that I am by your side. If you ever need anything, my door is always open to you. I am sure Harry will agree.
I love you, my friend.
Ginny
From the office of Lorenzo
Miss. L/n,
I believe we’ve never been formally introduced. I’m saddened to say that this letter is as formal as we’ll get - at least until your wedding. I am sure you must be taciturn and mercurial as of now. My father has told me much about you and I believe we’ll make excellent friends and confidants in our hectic world.
You’re to be my new half-sister, aren’t you? My relatives and friends are petulant to meet you.
Before any rumours (either about myself or your fiancé) hit your ears, I’ll put a rest to them. Bellatrix, your fiancé’s mother, had an affair with my father. They produced me and in return, I have the privilege of being your fiancé’s half-brother.
Being a bastard child, I’m no stranger to being ostracised and ridiculed. To be blunt, I’m sure that you will be ostracised alongside me and I believe that is one reason we can connect.
For rumours of my half-brother, I simply say this: do not fear him. He relishes in the consternation he places in other people, yet when he heard he was to marry you, I saw panic in his eyes like no other. It seems the tables have turned. He is hesitant to be wed, but you are not the problem. He simply doesn’t want to have the responsibility of another’s life on his. Your fiancé is used to belittling people - not supporting them as a husband should.
Any questions you have about your fiancé and my half-brother (whom in case I didn’t make clear, are one and the same), refer to me without any qualms. I am eager to meet you and hopefully make your transition into the Riddle family smoother.
I am well aware you have also lived your life in the upper echelons of society. But, as I’m sure you know, there are multiple circles in our complicated community. The L/ns, the Weasleys, and the Potters, for example, have grown their fortunes truthfully and innocently. They have earned the respect of their people and those whom they employ. The Riddles, Blacks, and Berkshires, on the other hand, have climbed the ranks in unconventional means and by skipping a few rungs on the ladder. They thrive and make their living on the terror and duress they cause those under them.
I’m looking forward to making your acquaintance.
Lorenzo Berkshire
P.S. I hope I haven’t scared you off.
From the office of L/n
Daughter,
You’ll be pleased to hear the engagement has gone through. Your mother and I met your fiancé last night. He seems like a nice man. He will be able to provide for you. His family is influential.
We will return home late tomorrow evening. You will depart for Riddle Estate in a week. Begin packing.
Your father
From the desk of Ginevra
Y/n,
You worry me with your lack of communication. Usually, you can’t wait to gossip with me. We have such fun at dinners and balls, yet with the most important aspect of yourself, you don’t respond. I’m simply worried, my friend. Are you alright? I can envision you curled in your bed, not letting anyone, even your nursemaid, into your room. Please do not let your impending marriage affect your state of health. It will turn out alright. Everyone I know (even me!) had apprehensions about their marriage. And with everyone I know, it turned out alright.
Misters Sirius and Remus visited Harry and I the day before last. They came to see James and Albus, but I know there was a hidden reason as well. They know of our friendship and came to ask if the rumours are true. As much as my husband adores them, Sirius in particular can be prone to gossip. The pair tittered and tsked when I told them of your fiancé. Sirius wishes to distance himself from his family, and I know he has pre-existing thoughts of the Black family, and by extension, the Riddles.
Sometimes I take a moment to gaze at the family tree upon my drawing room wall. It is full of interconnected lines and squiggles that sometimes, it makes my head hurt! The web of family ties is complicated and if we’re not somehow related already, I know that we will be once your marriage takes place. It seems the Black family spreads its roots into the Weasley family and the Riddle family- the latter of which you’ll soon be synonymous with.
Give yourself some grace. Your fiancé falls far from the tree; I am sure of it.
Please write to me. I need to make sure my closest friend is doing well.
Best wishes,
Ginny
P.S. Hermione wishes to inform you that, from what she’s heard, your Mr. Riddle is quite attractive. I have yet to hear any of the rumours myself, but at least your husband will be pleasing to the eye. Perhaps it will make the marriage more bearable.
***
Mattheo strode leisurely through Riddle Manor. It was one of the many estates his family owned, and it was soon to be officially his. Just as soon as he married the L/n girl.
The manor was spacious, which Mattheo couldn’t help but detest. How was he and a wife supposed to fill this void of empty rooms and dark halls? He knew servants and cooks would move in, but they wouldn’t occupy the dozens of upper rooms that were vacated.
For a brief moment, Mattheo couldn’t help but envision a set of children running around the halls. One of the children would run up to him, shouting, “Papa! Papa!” Mattheo would scoop the child up, grinning, and would carry them to their room. The room would be bright and cheerful, and maybe, just maybe, you would be sitting on a settee, cradling a newborn or helping an older child with their school work.
But for now, the room was dark and uninviting and he had yet to meet his future wife. He had seen a portrait of the L/n family and while they were in lavish, colourful clothing, Mr. and Mrs. L/n seemed cold and stoic - just like his parents. The children, an older son and younger daughter (whom he presumed to be you), seemed kinder and by their body language, Mattheo could tell that the two siblings were close.
Mattheo slowly made his way down the hall. There were three wings of the manor; two were residential and the other was designed for taking guests. The East Wing - in which he and Miss. L/n would stay - was also fit with an office for him. He was expected to take over half of the family business once he got married. The West Wing would remain empty for now, sans for a large library and the furniture in the bedrooms.
The boy knew that his bride was to arrive later that day. She would stay at Riddle Estate until the end of the week. Just three short days before they were to be wed in name. Mattheo would move into Riddle Manor tonight, giving servants time to wipe the dust off of tables, shine the silverware, and fluff the pillows.
Mattheo walked the halls of his new home. His mind was devoid of any thoughts. Perhaps it was simply because he was always numb. Even when he heard of his engagement, Mattheo didn’t make a fuss. He didn’t remember thinking anything. Nothing such as ‘Oh, I can’t wait to meet her!’ or even, ‘I can’t believe mother and father are arranging my marriage! She better be obedient.’
No, Mattheo had thought nothing of the sort. He had spent his childhood quietly observing his father and mother, noticing the amount of fear they could inflict on people just by silence. You didn’t have to be loud and dramatic to be powerful. You simply couldn’t be afraid to follow up on your promises - however deadly they were.
The only question Mattheo had asked when Bellatrix informed him of his engagement was, “and what do we gain from the L/n’s?”
Bellatrix had shot him an callous and apathetic look. “Do not ask questions you needn’t the answers to, boy.”
Mattheo had glowered, but shut his mouth.
As he neared the foyer, Mattheo couldn’t help but think how marriage was a component in all aspects of his life. When he got married to the L/n girl, he would inherit a portion of his father’s estates, company, and wealth. Mattheo chucked to himself. Maybe he should’ve gotten married sooner.
***
“Pray tell, why weren’t you here when she arrived?” Bellatrix snarled as she gripped Mattheo’s arm. Her nails dug into his suit as she dragged him towards the drawing room.
“I was busy,” Mattheo replied harshly. Love was not a thing that came instinctively to his family.
“Doing what? Planning your suidide?” Bellatrix scoffed. “I would march to the Underworld and choke Hades to bring you back.” Mattheo glanced down at his mother, hesitantly surprised. But he knew better than to raise his hopes and dreams. “We need this contract with the L/n’s,” Bellatrix continued and Mattheo’s jaw ticked. Of course. She didn’t love him; she never had. Her son was purely business. He should’ve known better.
“Maybe if you would tell me what the L/n’s provide for us,” Mattheo pulled Bellatrix back before she threw open the door to where you were. “Then I would be more complacent.”
Bellatrix sneered. “You think you’re smart, boy. You think you have everything figured out in that pretty little head of yours. But remember: you’re nothing without the Riddle family name backing you up.” She paused and licked her lips. “But if you must know,” Bellatrix sighed, giving into Mattheo. “The L/n’s just came into some very… lucrative land that we could gain from if you marry Miss. Y/n L/n.”
Mattheo’s eyes flickered to the drawing room door. After a moment, he asked, “is that her name? Y/n?”
Bellatrix stared at him, aghast. “You didn’t bother to learn her name?!” She scoffed. “With a son like you…”
She pushed open the drawing room doors and Mattheo trudged after her, muttering, “at least I know her name now.”
You had been waiting for seven minutes and thirty nine seconds in the drawing room of Riddle Estate, the trackage of time dependent on the old grandfather clock standing ominously in the corner. Its pendulum swung back and forth continuously as its second hand ticked by. Mrs. Riddle had left seven minutes and thirty nine seconds ago to fetch her son.
While the room was perfectly clean, not a speck of dust on even the highest chandelier, it was still a cold and morose room, yet oddly epochal. The wood was the darkest mahogany you had ever seen and the lights cast odd shadows on the dark green wallpaper that had inlays of gold.
Your teacup that you were trying to hold steady was filled with a sad excuse for tea. There was a ring of gold around the mouth of the teacup. On the table beside you, a notch that looked as if someone dug a knife into the surface caught your attention. It was the little things like this that you noticed when you had nothing else to do. Your mind was trying to distract you.
The door then swung open and there stood your fiancé, his stare daring you to oppose him.
“Uh,” you stood, your teacup and saucer still in hand. You quickly placed them on the table, right over the knife nick. “Y/n L/n,” you introduced yourself. You bowed your head in an informal curtsy.
Mattheo’s eyes flickered over your face. “Mattheo Riddle,” he said coldly. His voice was practically velvet. You didn’t mean to look him up and down, but you couldn’t help it. He was to be your husband, after all.
Mattheo’s hair coiled at the end and his eyes were just as dark as his curls. His nose had a scarred cut on it that looked as if it was just beginning to heal. Your fiancés cheekbones were practically sculpted from marble and for a moment, you believed that the gods had simply breathed life into a statue. Did this make you Pygmalion and Mattheo Galatea?
If it weren’t for their lethal eyes and stern posture, perhaps more would be friendly to the Riddles.
Mattheo spoke, “you’re to be my fiancée.” It wasn’t a question.
“Yes.” You had the urge to add ‘sir’ at the end, but you bit your tongue.
Bellatrix hissed something to Mattheo and thrust a small object into his hands. Mattheo rolled his eyes and stalked towards you. “My family ring,” he grumbled. He held out an intricate silver ring with three bands interweaving. A green jewel cut into a thin diamond shape sat steadily in the middle. “It has been in the Riddle family for generations. It’s tradition to pass it down to the wife of the firstborn son. And now that is you…”
He trailed off and handed the ring to you, it laying flat on his palm. You took it from him, trying to minimise contact with Mattheo. You nodded in thanks and slid it into your ring finger.
It seemed too concrete to fathom.
Mattheo stared at the ring on your finger. A muscle jumped in his jaw. “My… wife,” he murmured halfheartedly.
***
Three weeks had passed since the wedding and it was as if you had never gotten married in the first place. Yes, it was unsettling to wake up in a bed that wasn’t your own next to a man that you were supposed to call your own. But other than necessary, Mattheo had hardly uttered a word to you.
In the three weeks you had stayed there, you had seen Mattheo a total of twenty eight times, including mornings and nights when you were forced to sleep in the same bed.
Your mornings, afternoons, and nights were all incredibly boring. You took long meals, pushing your food around. Sometimes you just sat by the window and watched the wind blow bits of grass and dirt past the window. The servants were still extracting the dust between the couch cushions and you tried to stay out of the way, but it only made you feel more isolated.
Mattheo was holed up in his office day in and day out. He had now inherited a large portion of his father’s company and Mattheo was determined to uphold the honour bestowed upon him. He had drafted contracts, sold and bought land, and even hosted a few dinner parties for his associates.
You detested the dinner parties. Thankfully, Mattheo had yet to invite you to one - hell, he had yet to speak to you about the dinner parties. You had learned of the first dinner party when you had wandered downstairs one late evening because you were thirsty. You had stared at the group of strangers, all dressed in elegance, as they stared back at you in your night clothes. Not saying a word, you had sighed and returned upstairs.
You hadn’t been eager for the marriage, but wouldn't it befit Mattheo to show some affection? Or at least acknowledge your presence?
While you had continuously tried to get your husband to open up to you, his answers had been short and venomous.
It had been a long, monotonous day for you. You had returned to the master bedroom about two hours earlier than you normally would have if you were at home.
With the wealth that you came from, the opulence was sure to be evident, but you had underestimated the Riddle family’s prestige. When Mattheo had first shown you your shared bedroom, you had to allow a flicker of surprise break through your facade. The bedroom was larger than any room in your old home and had a large bed in the middle. The lamps on the bedside table were always dimly lit and the design of the room was the same as the rest of the house - dark and bereft of love and care.
Your hair had been brushed enough, but you kept brushing simply for something to do while Mattheo finished up in the bathroom. Mattheo walked out of the ensuite with a towel wrapped around his waist. His curls were plastered to his forehead and a bead of water ran down his sternum.
Your eyes flickered to his figure through the mirror, taking in the dips and curves of Mattheo’s muscles as he silently got ready for bed. You tore your gaze away, berating yourself.
You built up your courage and tried to think of a conversation starter. You commented, “my parents wrote to me today.” After no reply from Mattheo, you continued, “they asked me when we would give them grandchildren.” You set your hairbrush down and stared at Mattheo through the mirror, looking for some sort of reaction.
Mattheo hummed noncommittally and put on some sleep pants. He used his towel to begin drying his hair. “It would be behoove us to produce some heirs,” he spoke. His tone was dismissive, as if children were nothing more than an obligation or duty to fulfil.
“Right,” you muttered, knowing that an uninterested reaction was all you were going to get out of him.
You stood and moved towards the bed. “Goodnight,” you whispered, turning off the bedside lamp and tucking yourself into bed. Mattheo was still putting on his nightclothes and had yet to get into bed.
As you turned off the light and got into bed, Mattheo finished drying himself off and slid into his own pyjamas. He sat down beside you, but didn't bother turning off his own lamp. Instead, he laid against the headboard, reading a book. "Goodnight," he finally mumbled, not even looking at you.
You curled into your blanket. After a moment, you asked quietly, “what book are you reading?”
He looked at you over the top of his book. "None of your business," he replied curtly.
You simply uttered, “okay.”
Mattheo felt an unwanted and unusual feeling root itself deep in his stomach. He scoffed and said sarcastically, "fine. Go ahead and keep asking questions all night long if it amuses you so." He opened his book again and pretended to read.
A longing and lonely pang resonated in your chest at his harsh words. You didn’t respond and instead turned your face into your pillow. You had known that your marriage was to be loveless, but it still hurt at every unspoken word. Perhaps, if you had been five years younger when you married Mattheo, your spirit would still be alive with the juvenile belief that you could stand up to him.
Mattheo huffed and his gaze turned up to stare at the wall ahead of him. “If you’re so miserable, then why don’t you just leave?” he snapped, not even bothering to hide his bitterness. “I am sure your family would simply love to have you back.” He flipped another page in his book, not even bothering to look at the printed words.
“I never said I was miserable,” you answered quietly, even though Mattheo knew it wasn’t true. Perhaps, though, you believed it to be true. You took a steadying breath, closing your eyes.
Your husband smirked and leaned against the headboard. “What do you call your attitude, then? Why are you so downtrodden and defeated? Surely, you can’t blame me for being frustrated by it.” He knew that he should be taking account of making you feel this way, but he still tried to justify his behaviour.
“Goodnight,” you reiterated.
Mattheo sighed dramatically. “Whatever,” he grunted. He closed his book, threw it on the nightstand, and turned off his lamp. The room was encased in darkness except for the dim moonlight coming through the window. He shifted towards the edge of the bed, making sure a noticeable gap was between the two of you.
He thought back to your conversation. “Why don’t you just leave?”
It was too late now to apologise.
***
Mattheo let the door swing shut behind him, returning to Riddle Manor after an outing with friends. He glanced around, waiting for a servant to take his coat, but no one answered. An eyebrow cocked, Mattheo slowly walked up the stairs, hearing you instruct the servants on something, every other sentence of yours either containing, ‘please’ or ‘thank you’. Up on the landing, he found you directing a servant who was pulling a rack of your clothing. “What the hell are you doing?” he demanded. “Have you lost your damn mind? Are you trying to send a message or something?”
“You’ve made it perfectly clear that you have no interest in me, so I’m trying to make this marriage as civilised as possible,” you said diplomatically. “I believe that if I move to the West Wing and leave you in the East Wing, it will benefit our marriage.”
“What exactly do you hope to accomplish with this piteous attempt at attention?” he asked rhetorically. “Do you think it’ll make me want you more?” He stuck his tongue in his cheek, grinning incredulously. “You’re delusional if you think that’s even remotely possible.” He stepped closer to you, towering over you with anger in his eyes. “This is not some game, L/n. This is marriage. You’re stuck with me whether you like it or not.”
“I’m aware that we’re married, Riddle,” you retorted. “And don’t refer to me by L/n anymore. I am now a Riddle - just like you. However, I am not going to live in a state of constant sorrow and dejection. Having a wing of the mansion to myself may help.”
Mattheo’s jaw tightened as he stared at you, irritated by your resistance. “Fine,” he growled. “But don’t expect me to come running after you when you decide you want attention. You’re on your own now.” He turned away from you and walked into his now solo bedroom. “Just remember - this is your choice.”
You felt your anger inflate. “I thought you would like this!” Your voice rose and you tugged a hand through your hair. It was the first time in your marriage that you had fought back. “I have done everything I can to please you, yet nothing is enough for you!” Your voice turned desperate. “What do you want from me?”
He stopped in his tracks, turning around with surprise and disgust on his face. “Dammit, Y/n! Don’t yell at me like that!” His voice thundered, stepping towards you. “I never asked for any of this! I didn’t ask for a wife or for you to try so hard to please me! All of this is ridiculous.” His hand slashed through the air to make a point. “All I want is some space. Space to figure out what the hell I want. But let’s make one thing clear: I don’t care about you.”
“Am I not giving you space?” Your fists clenched at your sides. “I am moving out of the bedroom and out of your way. Yet, you erupt at me and get angry over nothing! You send me mixed messages and I don’t know what to do.”
Mattheo took a breath, trying to regain control over his emotions. “I am not erupting! Lord, you are so sensitive!” he snapped, running a hand over his face. “Can’t you listen for once? I am not sending you mixed signals. I am trying to figure out my place in this unorthodox situation we’re in.”
After a beat of silence, you asked firmly, “did you talk about me?” After seeing a flicker of confusion on his face, you clarified, “when you were out with your friends, did you talk about me? Did you rant about how annoying I was? Did you complain about marriage?”
His lips parted before taking a breath. “Yes, I talked about you,” he admitted begrudgingly. “I complained about how frustrating I find you and how frustrated I am with my parents for arranging this senseless marriage.”
“What did they say?” you insisted. “Did they sympathise? Did they laugh at me? Did they add fuel to your fire by commenting about how… how ‘needy’ and ‘sensitive’ I am?”
Mattheo made a low sound in his chest and rubbed his temples, frustrated by your persistence. “They agreed with me, yes. A few believed that you are too emotionally attached and sentimental. Others chalked it up to the pains of an average marriage.”
Your anger flared up and you said, “Let me tell you this: I never wanted marriage either. But I at least tried. I tried to be a nice and loving wife and a kind human.” You turned on your heel, marching out of the bedroom and towards the West Wing.
Mattheo watched you go, an unwanted feeling of guilt washing over him. He sighed and walked over to the window. “Fuck,” he muttered under his breath. “Why is everything so damn complicated?”
For the next couple of weeks, you stayed true to your word. You avoided Mattheo and his office and stayed in your wing of the mansion. After a week or two, you decided to explore the mansion, stumbling upon a magnificent library. You inhaled in veneration when someone cleared their throat. Mattheo stood behind you, raising an brow. After a silence, you said recalcitrantly, “you never told me that Riddle Manor had a library.”
He smirked at your thinly veiled hatred, amused despite himself. “Well, now you know,” he said dryly. “It’s a perk of living in a Riddle household.” He walked over to a bookshelf and began browsing for a book he required for a contract that was being drafting. He showed no sign of embarrassment or discomfort at your presence. “You may use it whenever you want. But don’t expect me to join a book club or anything juvenile.”
“I would never dream of it,” you said sarcastically. You step further into the library and can’t help but gape at the vastness. You trailed your fingers over the book spines, breathing in the smell of old books. You crouched down to examine a series of poetry titles. “I can read any of these?” you asked hesitantly.
He nodded and leaned against the shelf behind him, crossing his arms over his chest. “Feel free to read whatever you would like. They’re here for the entire household. Well, the servants don’t have time to read books, so in a Riddle household, the parents and children use the library the most.” Your hand faltered over the titles. “If you find something that catches your eye, go ahead and take it. I won’t stop you.” There was a hint of curiosity in his voice, as if he wished to know what topics and books piqued your interest. You hummed quietly, not fully acknowledging his words. You were already picking up a book and leafing through it. Mattheo watched you for a moment, his eyes softening briefly.
Everyday, you returned to the library. It was an escape from the walls of your room and the walls that Mattheo had put up around his heart.
Eventually, the servants recognised your routine and began to start a fire in the fireplace to keep you warm. They moved a loveseat in front of the fire that you gratefully used. You devoured the poetry collection, including Shakespeare and Edgar Allen Poe, and started on the classics. Every once in a while, Mattheo would come into the library, but he wouldn’t talk. He simply took a book and returned to his study. Sometimes, you wondered if he remembered you lived in the mansion with him.
Mattheo found himself frequenting the library more often, looking for books he had never needed before. A swell of pride filled him whenever he saw you by the fire, knowing that something in his home brought you such comfort. He still refused to speak to you, maintaining distance and ignoring your existence, but he found himself increasingly drawn to your presence.
One day, on a whim, he decided to take a risk and left a stack of his favourite books on the table next to your chair. That afternoon, you found the stack of books. You smiled despite yourself, though you didn't make any comment to Mattheo. You picked up the first book, sat down in the chair, and began to read.
A week later, Mattheo was hosting a dinner party for his associates. He didn’t say a word about it to you, though you heard the servants preparing for it. You decided not to go, opting to stay in your safe haven of the library.
After an hour or so of faint music, you heard the door to the library squeak open and your head whipped up. You saw one of Mattheo’s friends, Tom, enter and look around. He spotted you and his lips curled up into a smirk. “So you’re the wife we’ve heard so much about?”
Your stomach clenched and you replied, “I guess so.”
Tom’s smirk grew wider as he took in your terse response, enjoying your obvious discomfort. He approached you with a lecherous gaze in his eyes before asking, “and how do you find life as Mrs. Riddle? Are you enjoying your… arrangement?” His words dripped with sarcasm, not believing for a moment that you and Mattheo were married for love.
You stared at him. “It has its perks,” you said simply.
Tom laughed derisively at your response, not convinced by your nonchalance. “And what are those perks?” he asked, moving closer to you. “Extravagant gifts? Luxurious vacations? Or simply the privilege of being married to such a powerful man?”
You squared your shoulders. “I am powerful without a man,” you said sharply. “I do not need a man to determine my worth and prowess.”
Tom scoffed. “Really? How exactly did you become powerful on your own?” he asked, challenging you. “I find it hard to believe that you could ever achieve anything significant without the backing of a powerful husband behind you.” He leaned in closer, grinning.
You closed your book with a snap. “The L/n family,” you said, talking of your maiden lineage, “has had control over many estates and affairs for decades. Without Mattheo Riddle, I would’ve inherited half of it, second only to my brother. I would’ve had four auspicious companies at my ready disposal, capable of doing most anything. So, yes, sir, I would have been momentous without him.”
Tom’s smirk faded as he recognised your family name. He remained undeterred, however, stating, “that explains why your husband was so eager to marry you. He must see you as a valuable asset to his business empire.”
As you opened your mouth to retort, the door banged open and Mattheo strode into the library.
Mattheo had noticed Tom’s absence from his party, but when it became too long to be excused as a restroom break, Mattheo had asked his brother, Enzo, if he had seen where he had gone. Enzo had smiled a small smile and whispered, “Tom went to the library. Where your darling wife stays hidden.”
Mattheo saw red.
He barged into the library, a deadly, lethal, and borderline possessive look deep in his eyes. When he saw Tom flanking you, Mattheo’s expression darkened and his hands clenched into a ready fist. “What the hell are you doing here?” Mattheo demanded, his voice low and dangerous. “This is a private wing of my home - not some place for you to bother my wife.”
Mattheo moved closer to you, placing himself between you and Tom as if to protect you from further harm.
Tom quickly stepped back and placed a confident demeanour on his face. “I was simply having a conversation with your lovely wife here,” Tom gritted his teeth.
You scoffed and rolled your eyes, showing clearly that Tom was lying and intruding. You saw Mattheo’s eyes flicker down to you, his eyes softening reassuringly before snapping back to Tom, malice in his gaze.
“Don’t lie to me,” Mattheo snapped at Tom. “There’s no need for any sort of interaction or conversation with my wife unless I am present.” Mattheo placed a hand on the top of your chair, his fingers gripping it and his bicep flexing slightly to warn Tom.
Tom’s eyes flicked with something you hadn’t seen before: fear. Fear commonly associated with the Riddle name. He adjusted his collar and straightened his posture. “Of course, Mr. Riddle,” he said bitterly.
You raised a brow. “I think it’s time for you to go now,” you said, your face stoic. Tom bowed his head slightly before exiting the library. You didn’t look up to meet Mattheo’s eye. You murmured, “you didn’t have to do that. I had it covered.”
Mattheo watched Tom until he completely left the room before turning to look down on you. His voice was threatening, “you may have been able to handle Tom, but I won’t tolerate anyone disrespecting or harassing you while you’re under my roof. Consider this a warning - if anyone tries to cross you again, they will regret it.”
“Perhaps you should tell your coworkers that. Not me,” you replied.
Mattheo’s expression was cold. “Fine. I will,” he growled. “I will not sit idly by and allow anyone to disrespect my wife.” He let go of your chair and adjusted the cuffs of his suit. As if in a business meeting, he said, “And consider this another warning: if you continue to act so stubbornly, I won’t hesitate to remind you of your place in this marriage.”
“My place in this marriage is your wife!” you cried out, finally standing up. “Your equal! Something you seem to forget until it’s convenient for you. Or until another man threatens your… your property! I doubt you see me any differently than this house or your assets.”
Mattheo grabbed onto your arm tightly, pulling you close and leaning down so his face was inches from yours. “Do not ever speak to me like that. You are not my equal - you are my wife and I decide what is best for both of us. If you cannot accept that, then you should reconsider your place in this marriage.” He released your arm and turned away from you, striding towards the door. “I suggest you reflect on your behaviour,” he added icily, leaving the room without looking back.
After he left the library, you let out a scream of frustration. You shoved the pile of books that Mattheo had carefully curated to the floor. They tumbled down, book after book, covers opening and pages bending. Tears pricked at your eyes as you examined the scene.
You slumped into your chair, the fire in front of your crackling softly, emitting a calming warmth.
Eventually, you fell asleep in the chair, tear stains on your cheeks. In the morning, you woke to the serene morning light filtering into the room - a vast contrast to your mood. The fire had dissolved into crackling embers. Tucked on top of you was a thick blanket and the stack of books that you had pushed over had been re-piled and stood majestically atop the table.
You sighed, knowing you should thank the servants for taking care of you and cleaning up.
After you walked to the kitchen, your footfalls heavy, you thanked the servants, who were finishing preparing breakfast. They exchanged glances and one piped up, “Ma’am, while we appreciate the sentiment, we didn’t do that. We weren’t aware that you were still in the library. We believed you had retired to bed before the social last night.” They paused and then added, “however, Mr. Riddle didn’t go to bed. He was in his study until morning light.”
“Oh,” was all you could say. You bid them an awkward goodbye before entering the dining hall.
Mattheo was already seated at the head of the table, his expression exhausted and distant. He didn’t acknowledge you when you approached, focusing instead on the uneaten plate of food in front of him.
You sat down opposite him and muttered, “the servants informed me that you blanketed me last night and cleaned up the books.” You hesitated and finally said, “thank you.”
Mattheo looked up briefly, his expression unreadable, but he didn’t respond directly. “It was necessary,” he said simply. “You should not be cold and uncomfortable in your own home.” He doesn’t make any effort to engage in conversation beyond that. Something was weighing heavily on his mind and he seemed preoccupied by it.
You hummed in response. Eventually, you stood and whispered to your husband before walking out, “you are not as cold as you want to seem. You needn’t keep the facade up with me.”
Mattheo looked up briefly before returning to his food. His expression relaxed, but he didn’t respond.
***
Later that day, Mattheo sat in his study as he always did. A knock came from the door and he glanced at the clock. It was a bit early for lunch to be delivered, but he announced, “come in.”
The door creaked open and your head peeked into the room. Mattheo’s brows furrowed - not with malice, but with scrutiny. You entered and sat in one of the two seats next to his fireplace. Silently, you cracked open a book you had brought and began to read.
Mattheo watched you intently, his gaze never wavering as he took in every detail of your face. He tried to find any acrimonious intent behind your actions, but you looked so peaceful. He found himself noticing the details of your face and your beauty as the fire cast warm highlights on your eyes. “What are you doing?” he asked eventually, his voice holding an armour of needed suspicion.
“Reading,” you said simply.
Mattheo frowned, not convinced by your answer. Why would you read in his study after the way he had been treating you? He leaned back in his chair, his work forgotten. “Isn’t there something more important that you could be occupying your time with?” he challenged.
“Not particularly,” you responded. “You’re in charge of the companies and estates. I have nothing to do. I thought I would accompany you. You must get lonely in a study by yourself.”
Mattheo narrowed his eyes, but ultimately nodded slowly. “Alright,” he agreed after a moment. “But don’t think I will stop working simply because my wife is here.” His posture grew taut as he began looking over documents again. “This is still my office and I expect you to behave accordingly.”
“I’m simply reading,” you murmured, a smile inching its way up your lips.
Henceforth, a routine was established. Every morning, you would knock on Mattheo’s study door, usually an hour or so after he began working. There was rarely conversation, the silence being broken by Mattheo’s scratch of a quill or you turning pages, occasionally being disrupted by the loud crack of a log in the fire.
One day, you had finished your book (it was an excellent book, one from the pile Mattheo had recommended) and stood to go retrieve another one. At the sound of your footsteps leaving his office, Mattheo’s head darted up and he suddenly asked, “where are you going?”
You paused and turned back to him. “I’m to get a new book. Unfortunately, as wonderful as this one was, it had an ending like all books do.”
Mattheo frowned and a hint of vulnerability broke through his exterior. “Get a servant to do it,” he offered.
“Well, I don’t know which one I want,” you counted, raising a brow in a smirk.
He huffed and shook his head, returning his eyes to his documents. He grumbled, “I will commission the servants to build you a small bookshelf for my office. You can keep your books there.” You stood, watching him for a moment, admiring him until his gaze snapped up. “Well, go get your book,” he said sharply. “… but hurry back,” he added in a mumble.
You finally smiled at him before exiting and Mattheo gazed at the place you once stood, trying to memorise how your lips curled up and your eyes crinkled when you smiled.
He rather liked it when you smiled.
***
“Are you alright?”
You sniffed and laughed. “Yes, yes. I’m being foolish.” You wiped some tears from your eyes. “My book is very good.”
Mattheo chuckled lowly. “And what made you cry, hm?”
“A daughter and father interaction,” you replied quietly.
“Was the father cruel to the daughter?” Mattheo laughed tersely, shaking his head at his documents. “Are your feelings not strong enough to withstand their wrath?”
You frowned at Mattheo, setting the book down. “No,” you corrected slowly. “The father was being kind to his daughter. He was supporting her and loving her; as a father should.” There was a pause as Mattheo looked up at you. “I know that the Riddles are a harsher family - I’ve known ever since I knew I was to marry you. But… but are you alright?”
You felt absurd asking the question. Yet, when Mattheo couldn’t meet your eye, a wistful sadness blanketing the room, you felt as if you should’ve asked the simple question weeks earlier.
For a moment, he said nothing. Then Mattheo turned in his chair so his back was facing you. "I'm fine," he finally answered, his voice rough and strained. "I am used to dealing with it, I suppose." Despite his insistence that he didn't need anyone's pity or concern, your words seem to have affected him more deeply than he wanted to admit.
“May I ask a question?” you asked softly.
Mattheo hesitated for a moment before nodding, his eyes never leaving the window as he spoke. "Ask away," he replied, his voice barely above a whisper. He then cleared his throat and said, "but I won’t give a warm and fuzzy answer."
There was a pregnant pause in the air as you gathered your courage up and suddenly thrust your fears upon your husband. “If we ever have children, which we’re somewhat expected to,” you added hurriedly. “I don’t want them to grow up in a household where they feel as if they have to vie for love or attention. And I don’t want me to be the only one giving them attention.” Mattheo turned his head so his face was angled toward you, but his eyes could still stray to the window if need be. “If we have kids, can you promise that you’ll love them? Even if you don’t love me?”
Even though your voice was steady, Mattheo knew of the vulnerability deeply rooted within you.
He nodded cautiously, his expression serious. "I promise," he said firmly. "I may not love you, but I will love our children unconditionally. They will never have to compete for my affection or feel neglected. I may not be a fond father, but I will provide for them and protect them as best I can." A protectiveness filled his veins just at the thought of something happening to his future children.
You nodded once, a sad smile on your face. “Perhaps we’ll have a big family. Enough children to start a sports team.” You smiled at the thought, laughing lightly.
Mattheo smiled, despite himself, imagining a large brood of children running around the manor. It was an oddly appealing idea, even if he wouldn't admit it out loud. "We'll see," he said noncommittally. "I'd rather have lots of sons; they'll carry on the family name and ensure my legacy continues." He turned back around and attempted to focus on his work.
“And daughters too.” You frowned, staring at your husband, even if he wouldn’t spare you a glance. “Daughters can carry on the family name just as well as sons.” A muscle in your jaw ticked.
Mattheo scowled at your defiance, his eyes narrowing slightly. Why hadn’t you just fallen into line? "Fine, daughters too," he reluctantly agrees. "But make no mistake, they will be raised to be strong and capable like their brothers. The Riddle name demands nothing less."
“And the sons can be soft and caring and sensitive,” you said firmly, crossing your arms. “I thought we agreed that they wouldn’t have to vie for affection. I thought we agreed that they wouldn’t have needless competition in their life. I don’t want them to grow up… like, well… you.” You finally uttered the words that had been hanging off your tongue dangerously.
Mattheo’s expression hardened as he clenched his fist tightly. "Fine!" he snapped. "They can be whatever the hell you want them to be! But don't expect me to sit back and watch while they become weaklings and failures. We need to teach them to be strong and ruthless like I am." He stood up abruptly, knocking over his chair in the process.
You jump up after him, crossing towards him. You whirled to a stop in front of him, jabbing a finger towards his chest. “Listen here, Riddle. Just because someone is kind and vulnerable doesn’t mean they’re weak!” You growled, “and just because you grew up like that, does not mean that’s the type of household I am going to have.”
Mattheo stepped forward and his hand flew up to grip your wrist. His eyes blazed with anger, but then something changed in his expression and he took a step back, looking surprised at his own reaction. "You're right," he admitted begrudgingly. "I shouldn't have assumed that being vulnerable meant being weak." He ran a hand through his hair, looking embarrassed, yet resolute in his decision. "But don't expect me to be a pushover either. I'll still teach them to be strong and independent."
“Strong and independent are good qualities,” you conceded. “Both for the boys and girls.”
"Agreed," he said. Mattheo straightened his cuffs and cleared his throat. "Our children will be taught to be strong and independent, regardless of gender. They will know that they are loved and valued by both of us, equally." He held out his hand to you, indicating that the argument was over - for now at least. "Deal?"
“Deal.” You shook his hand defiantly. It was a business deal, but a good deal at least.
Mattheo exhaled and brushed past you. “I’m to a meeting,” he informed you. It was a simple comment , one that was an offhand remark, but to you, Mattheo had just let you into his life. It was something he had never done before. Even if it was just a response to where he was off to, it was a window into his life. A life that now may have enough room to hold you.
Mattheo paused when he reached the door. “I never knew the way I grew up was wrong until I saw other families. I saw the parents bending down to listen to their children instead of hushing them. I saw parents comforting their children after scraped knees, not pushing them to the kitchen for some rubbing alcohol. I saw parents beaming when their child could plunk out the simplest of tunes on the piano. No one else got berated for being out of rhythm or playing a D instead of an E. I never saw another child get slapped by their parents or scolded as harshly as I was. It was around then I realised that something was wrong. But what was I to do about it?”
Words dried in your throat. You wanted to cry at his words, but you felt dried out. How could someone treat their child like that? It explained so much…
Your husband was a fragile man, you were just realising. And he was trying to pick up the pieces and present them to you in the only way he knew how.
"The stars remind me of you,” he said quietly, the change in conversation sudden. “I mean that in the best possible way.” His voice was the softest and most tender as you had ever heard it. You hoped he would keep speaking the melodies that made your heart sing in tune.
“How so?” you asked, afraid to break the plane of existence that you and Mattheo were carefully standing on.
"They are so beautiful, yet so far away. I may see them, but I can never touch them."
***
The servants didn’t know what to do. The master and mistress, Mr. and Mrs. Riddle, seemed to be at a ceasefire. The cooks lamented at how they had seemed to be doing so well. The maids thought they were destined to doom from the start. The butlers gossiped about Mr. Riddle’s letters to a Mr. Tom, terminating their long-term partnership. The scullery maid still had hope that the husband and wife would come to their senses and live a happy life.
It perplexed the servants when the mistress requested to move her belongings back into the master bedroom and the master looked on, a soft smile on his lips. It confused the servants when the Mr and Mrs began taking meals together and talking in hushed tones late into the night. And it bamboozled the servants when, one summer afternoon, the Lord of the household stood from his desk, cautiously moved to his Lady that was reading by the open window, and asked her to accompany him on a walk. She had accepted.
There was to be a dinner party, this time hosted at Mr. Draco Malfoy’s manor, that Mr. Riddle was expected to attend. Per usual, the master didn’t invite the mistress, but she was content to stay home. A maid briefly heard the madam whisper to her husband, “hurry home, please? I don’t like it when you’re away.” The maid had scurried away before she could hear the reply.
Mattheo returned home that night, just before the sun was setting. He climbed the steps, unbuttoning his cuffs and loosening his tie. The soft glow of light was still shining under your shared bedroom - something he still hadn’t gotten used to - and Mattheo couldn’t help but smile.
“Why are you still up?” he asked quietly when he entered the room.
“You promised to be home early and I wanted to see you before I go to bed,” you reminded him, a small book in your hands.
“Right, right.” Mattheo chuckled and shook his head, slinging off his tie and jacket.
“How was the dinner?”
Mattheo hummed noncommittally. “Not the worst. A couple of my good friends, Theo and Pansy, were there to help alleviate the pain of socialising. But… I found something odd happening.”
“And what was that, husband?” Mattheo took a moment to relish in the way that word curled off your tongue effortlessly.
“I found myself wishing you were there. Nay,” he quickly corrected himself. “I wished I was here with you.”
“Oh?” Your eyes flickered up towards Mattheo, a slight blush coming to your cheeks. “Why… what do you mean by that?”
Mattheo began to unbutton his shirt and moved towards his closet. “Well,” he admitted, mumbling to himself. “I simply mean that instead of having to socialise with people who are too tightly wound and whose only intent is to take my money,” he chucked his belt into his closet and rolled up his sleeves, “I would rather be at home with my darling wife.”
A smile inched up your lips. “Really? Tell me more about this darling wife of yours.”
Mattheo hummed, stepping towards the bed. He crawled down on the bed, leaning on his forearms to lean up towards you. “My wife… I’ve come to care deeply about her. She is a beautiful, elegant woman, one who has a fiery tongue about her and an intelligent brain that even I cannot rival. She always seems to get her way, even when I try to fight back. It’s as if my wife has a command over me that I have willingly submitted to. And I am not ashamed to say so.” He lightly caressed your arm, sending a trail of goosebumps up your skin.
“You must be careful, Mattheo,” you uttered. “That sounds an awful lot like love.”
Mattheo brought his eyes up to meet yours, the sting of tears building up behind them. His voice cracked as he said, “that’s the first time you’ve called me by my name, Y/n.”
Your lips parted in shock. “I- I didn’t realise. I’m sorry-”
“Don’t you dare apologise,” Mattheo demanded before reaching up to pull you into a kiss.
His lips were soft and meaningful against yours, hungrily trying to gather every ounce of love from you. His kisses were feverish at first, his strong hand coming up to cup your jawline, his fingers just teasing behind your ear, before his lips slowed. Mattheo was a starved man and he wouldn’t let anyone take away his only solace. He shifted so he could be closer to you, gently taking the book from your hands as you surrendered yourself to him. Your hands found his silk shirt, gripping it in your fists. He placed the book on the nightstand and moved so he was hovering over you, never once letting a second go by without feeling your skin against his.
Mattheo slowly, achingly pulled away from you and his eyes fluttered open to meet yours. “My darling, my love, my life,” he murmured, dragging a knuckle down your cheek. “I apologise for everything I have ever done or said that made you feel inferior. I would be happy to kneel for you in front of my associates and family members - just to show them how much power you have over me.” He took a breath before persisting, “I was foolish. I was incompetent. I didn’t realise how much love I held for you. It is, and always will be, only you. I will promise you this: you will be the only woman I ever touch, the only voice I ever want to hear, the only skin I will ever caress, and the only eyes I ever want to see. I will wake and fall, every morning and night, thinking of you. You are the other half of my heart, for it is you who I love. I will place the galaxies and stars in the night sky for you. If you are ever unhappy, my love, I will not rest until I see you smile again. If you are ever mad, my love, I shall smite whatever upsets you, even if it is I. And I would die a happy man if you could give me only an ounce of what I give you.”
Your breath shook and you swore Mattheo had injected ambrosia into your veins for you were sure your blood was singing with the love that was filling your soul. “I wrote a letter to your mother today,” you offered quietly, as if your mere words could ever compare to the love poem Mattheo had just gifted to you. “And I thanked her.” Mattheo’s eyes flashed with confusion. You continued, “I thanked her for birthing such a wonderful husband and for raising him. I know you u wish to renounce your family, but as of now, I want to thank them with all my heart. Mattheo, I love you.”
“And I you,” Mattheo whispered, bringing his forehead down to rest on yours. His nose bumped against your cheek and he couldn’t contain his grin anymore. “How did I ever get so lucky?” he mumbled.
You laughed lightly. “Luck? Fate?”
Mattheo shook his head and his nose brushed light curves over your skin. “No, my wife. Simply love. Pure, unconditional love.”
***
The house was bright, the curtains pulled as far open as they could be. Some servants scuttled around, holding laundry or preparing for dinner. Meanwhile, Mattheo strode leisurely through the halls, smiling lovingly as his nephews chased each other through the halls. “What do I say, boys?” he called after them.
“Have fun, be safe, and don’t get caught!” they yelled back before running around a corner.
Enzo jogged after them and grumbled to Mattheo, “it’s not your duty to rule them up.”
“As their favourite uncle, yes, it is.”
“Your wife is in Andromeda’s room,” Enzo told his brother before sprinting off after his sons. Enzo wasn’t usually at Riddle Manor, but today was a special day. It was Orion’s birthday.
Mattheo chuckled to himself before Orion raced up the steps, panting. “Papa! Papa!”
Mattheo grinned widely and scooped Orion up. “Are you alright, hm? What’ve you been up to?”
“Aunt Pansy’s carriage just pulled up!” Orion bounced in Mattheo’s arms, beaming.
“And you’re not even dressed,” Mattheo stared at Orion, pretending to be stunned. “Where’s your mother, Ori?”
“She’s helping Andy get dressed,” Orion announced. Mattheo nodded and carried his son to his daughter’s room. “Mum!” Orion cried out, seeing Y/n standing behind Andromeda, knotting her hair into a braid.
“Oh, my darling,” Y/n tied Andy’s hair up before crossing to Mattheo and taking Orion from his arms. “Are you excited for your birthday?”
Orion hummed excitedly and wiggled down from Y/n’s arms. He darted to Andromeda and wrapped himself around her in a tight hug. Andromeda grumbled, but allowed him to cling to her as she finished her hair and rouge.
Mattheo took Y/n’s hand and pulled her back toward him, nudging his nose against hers. “Look at that,” he murmured, reaching down to play with the silver and green ring on your finger. “Mine.” He pressed a kiss to your temple. Slowly, as to not arouse suspicion from your children, he backed you up and caged you against the wall in his arms. “Seven years with you and two beautiful children to show for it.”
“Hey, mum? Where’s my- eugh!” Andromeda turned around and reeled back from the scene in front of her. “For the love of Salazar, please get a room!”
“We are in a room.” Mattheo smirked, glancing up from the crook of your neck.
“Aren’t you two, if I'm doing my calculations correctly, nearing thirty years old?” Andromeda tsked and rolled her eyes.
“You believe that simply because we’re getting older, I’m going to stop loving your mother?” Mattheo chuckled before pressing a light kiss to your jawline.
You shivered and tucked your face into your husband’s chest. “Matty, spare the poor children,” you chastised lightly. “What do you need, darling?” you turned towards Andromeda.
“You used to call me that,” Mattheo whined. He stepped back from you, letting you out of his embrace.
Andromeda sighed and asked, “where is my white shawl? It’ll go well with the dress I’m planning to wear to Orion’s party.”
“Why does it matter what you wear to Orion’s party?” Mattheo asked, puzzled.
“Because Albus Potter is going to be here,” you said as if it were obvious.
“Harry Potter’s son?” Mattheo asked incredulously. “That scumbag?”
Both you and Andromeda ignored Mattheo and Orion left the room at the sound of Aunt Pansy entering the foyer and shouting out for her favourite nephew.
“Your shawl should be in the library,” you answered. “Ori was using it as a blanket yesterday.”
Andromeda sighed and turned towards the door. “He needs to stop taking my things. Just last week he stole my candelabra so he could read in the dark. Perhaps you should accelerate his schooling. He’s getting bored, you know.”
“We’ll raise our own son, thank you, Andromeda,” Mattheo raised a brow. Andy huffed and and flicked her dress out behind her dramatically, exiting the room. Mattheo turned to you and said, “they get that from you. The love of reading.”
“Yes, but they get their flair for the dramatics from you. And lest us not forget, you keep fuelling our love of literature by buying more books and expanding our library,” you countered.
Mattheo hummed. “‘Tis true. But how could I live without spoiling my wife and children?” He whirled you around in his arms and pressed a long kiss to your lips. “Speaking of children, what would you think of expanding our family?”
You let out a laugh. “You simply like the act of making a bigger family.”
“I love my children too,” Mattheo defended.
You reached up and brushed some of his hair away from his face. “Yes you do,” you smiled up at him. “You love your family very much.”
“Always.”
#mattheo riddle x reader#mattheo riddle x you#mattheo riddle#reader#x reader#tom riddle#ginny weasley#harry potter#lorenzo berkshire#bellatrix lestrange#hermione granger#pansy parkinson#shes a great aunt#draco malfoy#sirius black#remus lupin#blaise zabini#theodore nott#albus severus potter#arranged marriage#one bed trope#enemies to lovers#greek mythology#victorian au#manipulative parents#Tom isn't Mattheo's brother#hope yall like
2K notes
·
View notes
Text
— summary: kook princess. kook prince. perfect match, right? wrong. you hated rafe cameron and everything he stood for. and he hated you. so when your fathers spring it on the two of you that they’d arranged for the two of you to be married, both of your worlds are flipped upside down.
— CW: 18+ only !! cocaine use, alcohol consumption, sexual innuendo, strong language.
likes, comments and reblogs are very appreciated <3
part one
3 days later…
RAFE
“So.. Let me get this straight. Your dad, and Y/N’s dad, have formed some kind of plan to merge both companies.. And you have to marry Y/N for it to be the most successful?”
I snort. Leave it to Topper to have to go over the scenario a hundred fucking times before it finally clicks in his thick skull. I ignore him, grabbing the rolled up hundred dollar bill off the glass table and place it under my right nostril. Leaning forward, i place the other end of the rolled bill at the end of the perfectly formed white line, sniffing up the substance before dropping the bill and flopping back into the soft, white couch. Fuck, I love the burn this shit leaves behind. The way it makes my body tingle, clearing my mind of any bullshit I don’t want to think about.
Topper tries ruining my high again. “Rafe. C’mon man, we have to talk about this. What’re you going to do?”
I sit up, my eyes narrowed into thin slits at him. “There’s nothing to fucking talk about, Top. My dad and her dad have already signed our lives away. I’m supposed to marry the stuck up bitch in less than a month. I don’t want to think about it, so drop it.”
Topper groans, but thankfully, he drops the subject. I don’t know what he expects me to say. I don’t want to marry her. Marriage is the last thing I pictured myself ever doing, but even if I had decided to settle down one day, start a family, it sure as Hell wouldn’t have been her I chose. Y/N Y/L/N is the bane of my existence, and my polar opposite.
Where I like to have fun, and am riddled with issues from head to toe — thanks dad — she’s boring. She doesn’t get out, and she is issue free. Her family didn’t fuck her life up like mine did — well, until now I guess — and she doesn’t even want to change her ways. She’s stuck in the mindset of being the perfect princess. My dad always praised her when we were growing up. “Be more like Y/N, Rafe.” “Why can’t you act like Y/N? She’s a good girl.” and my favorite line “I wish I had Y/N as a daughter instead of you as my fuck up son”.
I shake the thoughts to the back of my mind. The last thing I want to do right now is think of fucking Y/N Y/L/N and the fact that come this weekend, the entire island will know we’re getting married. That’ll really fuck up my chances with getting any pussy before this wedding. That’s another thing. The girls still a fucking virgin. I mean, who the fuck is still a virgin at twenty-one years old? Y/N fucking Y/L/N, that’s who.
“You have to admit though, she is hot. And she’s a virgin, how longs it been since you fucked a virgin?” Top says, amusement lacing his tone as he lightly punches at my shoulder.
I roll my eyes. “She’s not fucking hot, Topper. She’s a bitch.”
Lie.
Y/N is a lot of things, but unattractive isn’t one of them. I would be lying to myself if I said she wasn’t fucking gorgeous. But I’ll never admit that out loud.
“C’mon Rafe. Lighten up. Maybe it won’t be so bad”
I bark out a laugh at that. It’s going to be fucking miserable. A loveless marriage. Handcuffs that I can’t break free from, even if I wanted to.
“Topper. Fucking drop it.”
He opens his mouth to speak but thankfully, Kelce comes barging through the front door. I quickly stand from the couch, making my way to my other best friend and mouthing a silent “thank you” to him for arriving when he did.
“Y’all ready?” Kelce asks, his eyes darting between Topper and I. Thankful for the intrusion and opportunity to drop this entire fucking subject, nod my head. “Let’s go”
-
The boys and I enter the Island Club. We come here quite often to just get drunk and forget about our shitty days. I am thankful for this tradition right about now. This whole marriage thing has had me stressed out for the last three days. I remember when Ward first came to me about it. He had told me that it was time for me to step up and do something good for the family.
“Son, a word?”
I roll my eyes, glancing at the girl laid beside me I tell her, “I’ll be right back”
My dad chuckles, his eyes glancing behind me and at the brunette that wears only my T-shirt and a pair of underwear. “Actually, you can get dressed and go. Rafe won’t be back up here until late tonight”
I roll my eyes, opening my mouth to protest, but my dad’s stern look has me quickly shutting my mouth. There’s never a point in arguing with Ward Cameron. He will win every single fucking time.
Turning to face Sofia, I give her a small smile. “Sorry, I’ll call you later”
She rolls her eyes but nods her head. She grabs her things from my floor before slipping on her white Nike tennis shoes and walking toward me. She positions all of her things in her left hand, her right palm pressed firmly against my chest as she leans up on her tiptoes and presses a long kiss to my lips.
My father clearing his throat has me pushing her back softly. “I’ll call you.” I say firmly. She turns and exits my room. Leaving me all alone with my dad.
“You won’t be calling her” He states.
My narrowed eyes find his. “And why is that?”
“Because, son. You’re about to step up and do something good for this family, and I won’t have you fucking it up by sleeping around with some bartender from the club.”
I scoff. “What’re you-” I begin to ask, but he cuts me off.
“You’re going to be marrying Y/N Y/L/N.” He says matter-of-factly.
“Rafe? You good bro?”
The sound of Kelce’s voice rips me from the memory. I slowly turn my head to face him, his dark brown eyes filled with slight concern.
Clearing my throat, I say, “Yeah. I’m good. Lets get fucking drunk”
Kelce and Topper nod their heads and begin making their way toward the bar. I follow them closely behind, but freeze in my tracks when I see her. Sofia. I never did call her, and it’s been three days since she was last in my room. I know she’s going freak out on me. If she doesn’t, i’ll be surprised.
I clear my throat and roll my neck before continuing my way up to the bar with my friends. I finally reach Kelce and Topper, they’re already ordering. “Rafe, whatcha drinking bro?” Kelce asks while looking behind his shoulder at me.
I open my mouth to speak but Sofia’s narrowed eyes landing on mine the second she hears my name has me clamping my mouth shut. I give her an awkward nod, debating on just leaving. That’s not who I am though, I don’t run away like a scared little bitch, so instead I order, “Whiskey. Neat.”
She rolls her eyes. “You’ll call me, huh? It’s been three days, Rafe. What the fuck?”
I hear Kelce and Topper snort out a laugh. I glare at the back of both their heads. I’m friends with fucking children. Turning my attention back to the short brunette, I sigh heavily. “Situations changed, Sofie.”
She scoffs at that. “Well, it would be nice to know that you had just planned on fucking me and never calling again. I wouldn’t have ever looked at you twice.”
Topper slings an arm around my shoulder. “I’m sure he would have called had he not found out later that day that’s he’s marrying Y/N Y/L-”
I throw my elbow into Topper’s side, making his arm fall from my shoulder as he groans in pain. “What the fuck was that for?” He demands.
I roll my eyes, and put my focus back on Sofia. “Look, like I said. Situations changed. I won’t apologize for not calling you, we never said it would be more than sex between us anyways”
Her mouth falls open and tears begin to well up in her chocolate brown eyes. I sigh. This is the thing about women. They always expect so much more than you’re willing to give. I never planned on having a relationship with Sofia, and she knows that. But now, I’m the bad guy because she was all but thrown out of my house and I never called.
She lifts her eyes toward the ceiling above her, blinking back her tears before her eyes find mine again. “Well, good to know. Let me get those drinks for you guys.”
I let out a deep exhale, turning to face Topper and Kelce. They both have shit eating grins on their faces. “What?” I snap.
Topper chuckles. “Nothing. You better hope she doesn’t spit in your drinks all night” He jokes.
I run a hand down my face. Tonight was supposed to help me unwind, not cause more fucking unwanted stress. “I never fed her lines of false hope, so I don’t know why she’s freaking the fuck out.”
Kelce chuckles this time, slapping a hand on my shoulder. “Don’t they all freak the fuck out when it comes to you? I mean c’mon Rafe. You can’t ever sleep with a girl without her expecting more.. I just hope you’re prepared for the long list that’s going to come for your throat when this engagement is announced.”
I sigh for what feels like the thousandth time tonight. He’s right. I have never been serious about any of the girls I slept with. They all wanted more, but every single time I felt they were getting to attached, I stopped calling or texting them. It was better that way. I didn’t want anything serious, and now, I’m being forced into something super serious. Fuck, my life really sucks doesn’t it?
“Here. Drink up, you need it.” I hear Kelce say. I turn to face him and he has his left hand extended toward me, my glass of whiskey in hand. I quickly snatch it from his grip and throw it back, downing the amber liquid in one gulp. Turning to face the bar, I slide the glass back toward Sofia. “Another.”
-
Two hours and multiple glasses of whiskey later, I’m drunk. The room sways a bit, and I reach my hand out to grip the patio railing. I hear Topper laugh from the right of me. “Dude, you’re fucking wasted.” He laughs out, placing his hand on my shoulder to help keep me upright.
“I- I am not wasted, Top. I’m just… Buzzed” I lie.
He opens his mouth to speak but he quickly slams it shut, the sound of his teeth clashing together has me turning my full attention on him. His brows are raised and his eyes look like they’re going to pop from his skull as he stares intently behind us.
“What the fuck are you looking at? You look like you’ve seen a fucking ghost.” I joke. But he doesn’t laugh, and that makes me nervous. Topper laughs at the dumbest shit, so for him to remain staring behind us with a look of pure shock in his eyes, it has me wondering what just happened.
My body sways to the side as I try to turn and face the direction he’s looking, but his hand on my shoulder has me stopping in place.
I narrow my blue — possibly bloodshot — eyes on him. “What the fuck, Top. Speak!”
He clears his throat. “I- Uh.. Y/N just walked in with some of her friends.”
That has my attention. I quickly turn my body, falling forward a bit but catching myself with the help of the railing again. She stands at the bar. And she looks fucking delicious right now. For a girl who has never taken it past kissing a man — if she’s even kissed a man — she sure knows how to dress the part of any other girl on this island. She wears a black, leather skirt that hugs her curves and ass nicely. A tight, white cropped top and a pair of black heels that add a few inches to her height. Her hair is up in a high ponytail, and all I can think of is wrapping my hand in it and pulling her head back as I fuck her from behind.
What the fuck? Why am I thinking of her like this? I fucking hate her. My soon to be wife. She’s a fucking stuck up, prude bitch. My mind tells me to stop staring, reminds me that I can’t fucking stand her. But my cock is screaming the complete opposite.
Without thinking, my legs begin to carry me toward her. I come to a stop right behind her, clearing my throat, causing her head to whip in my direction. The moment her eyes find mine, she’s rolling them. The act alone is fucking sexy. I picture her eyes rolling into the back of her head while my face is buried between her legs, devouring her sweet cunt. Fuck. Stop thinking of her like this Rafe, you’re just drunk, and horny. Any girl would do, but for some fucking reason, my mind is consumed with her.
“What the fuck do you want, Rafe” She sighs.
I smirk at the anger that radiates from her. “Just coming to say- just coming to say hey to my future wifeeee.” I slur. She rolls her eyes as they find mine again.
“You said hey, now run along. We don’t need to pretend to like each other right now.”
Maybe it’s just because I’m drunk, but her words stung. She really hates me doesn’t she? I mean, I hate her too. Don’t I? Yes, Rafe. She’s a stuck up bitch who acts like she’s better than everyone. But my drunken mind has me sighing as I say, “You really don’t like me, baby?”
Her body stiffens, eyes wide as she stares back at me. “I- Don’t call me that.”
I smirk. I have her worked up. Reaching out my left hand, I push a few strands of hair behind her ear before I run my fingers down the side of her face. She sucks in a shaky breath and flinches away from my touch.
“Rafe… Please just let me have a night out with my friends. In two days, we’re announcing to the entire island that we’re getting married, and I’d like to live the last two days of my life without you around… Lord knows I’m about to be stuck with you.”
My eyes narrow and I take a step toward her. You’re drunk, Rafe. Keep your cool. My large hands reach for her face, cupping her cheeks as I lower my face closer to hers. I don’t miss the way her chest rises and falls rapidly from my close proximity. She’s nervous. It’s going to be so much fun having her all to myself. Even if I hate her, pussy is pussy. And this is pussy that’s never been touched. She’s all mine to play with. To fuck. To break. To train. She’ll be my own personal whore by the time I’m done with her.
My glassy, blue eyes search her face. I half expect her to shove me away, and I’m so drunk I wouldn’t be able to fight back on it. But she doesn’t. Instead, her eyes find mine. That’s it, be strong baby girl. I like the tough girl act.
“Baby, you’re going to be crawling on your hands and knees begging for me to touch you. To kiss you. To please you. You can act like you hate me now, Lord knows I can’t stand you. But even I can admit, you’re fucking gorgeous. And I know you find me somewhat attractive.” I pause, placing my lips on the sensitive skin of her neck and leaving soft kisses, making her hiss in a breath. “I know this isn’t what either one of us wanted, but we have no choice… Why not enjoy the game?”
Her beautiful eyes narrow into slits and her lips thin. She blinks a few times before slapping my hands from her face. I stumble back a little, but catch myself on the bar, giving her a slow smirk.
“Fuck you, Rafe!” She hisses before grabbing her purse and storming off to the locker rooms.
I smile to myself as I watch her storm off. She’s mad now, but I meant what I said. She’ll be begging for more after I finally touch her. She can pretend now, and I’m not saying I’m falling for her. But Topper was right. She’s hot. Might as well enjoy the game and the perks, right? Letting out a small laugh, I turn and make my way back toward my friends, adjusting my hard cock that’s straining against my pants in the process. This is going to be fun.
RAFE TAGLIST: @rafeism @thelomlisrafecameron @rafegirly @f4ll-for-you @drewstarkeyslut @dilvcv @thewitchesofart @rafesgfxo @unsaidjaelinrose @abbybarnesstuff @itsmytimetoodream @thatsthewaythechrissycrumbles @r1vrsefx @yourfavborderhopper @moremaybank @rafetopia @rafemotherfuckingcameron @jade-is-jaded @lexasaurs634 @anqeliclust @presleyanswrites @carma-fanficaddict @rafescokenostril @madzzz0797 @slytherhoes @jscameron @jjsmarijuana @ijustwanttoreadlols @luversgirl @sugarcoatedstarkey @skyesthebomb @nirvanaissogood @stvrkey @vhour @emma77645 @rafeinterlude @superlegend216 @mannstarkey @spideysimpossiblegirl @redhead1180 @crgirlsworld @atorturedpoetx @carolinaxvz @maybankslover @cantstoptherecs @pradabambie @slut4ani @biggesthat3r @wearemadeofstardust @sylverdragon
rafe masterlist | taglist form | series masterlist
#rafe cameron#rafe cameron fanfiction#rafe cameron fic#obx rafe cameron#rafe cameron x you#rafe cameron smut#rafe cameron imagine#rafe cameron x kook!reader#rafe cameron x fem!reader#rafe cameron brainrot#rafe fanfiction#rafe fic#rafe smut#arranged marriage#rafe cameron x reader#enemies to lovers
718 notes
·
View notes
Text
LAZAREVIC SISTERS IV
Princess Teodora Lazarevic
Early Life
She was likely born after 1366 and before 1371 as Princess Teodora Lazarevic, the fourth child and daughter of Lazar and Milica of Serbia. Like her elder sisters she was likely born in Prilepac and later moved to Krusevac.
Though it is unkown if Teodora was a fanatic of the arts as most in her family, the constructions in Krusevac ended around 1377, so she mostly had time for various branches of resources for entertainments to watch merchants, craftmans and entertainers perform at her father’s court or at the town squares.
She was likely closer to her younger sister; Olivera, as in the late 1380s they were the only unmarried daughters left of the royal couple.
However her marital status did not remain chaste for much longer.
Marriage to Nikola II Garai
Like many of her sisters’ previous marriages this one was another political tool of their father; Lazar of Serbia.
At the beginning of Lazar’s reign he acted as a vassal for the Kingdom of Hungary until he eventual got a way to get his state annulled away from the vassalage.
However Lazar still wanted to remain informed of King Sigismund, his thoughts and diplomatic plans. As a result, he married one of his youngest daughters to an assiociate of the then monarcch, Nikola II Garai.
Nikola II Garai was a Roman Catholic Ban of Masco and Hungarian Palatine. It is believed the two were wed after 1386 and before 1389. It is also possible that Teodora, who was an Orthodox Christian up until her marriage took “Helen” as her name of conversion.
Though no information has been recorded nor preserved about the intimacy of their union, Nikola proved himself to be a reliable son-in-law as in 1389-a short time before the Battle of Kosovo-he convieced King Sigismund to abondon his plans to return Lazar into some sort of vassalage, and that same year the monarchs “reconciled” through the mediation of Nikola.
Despite the divide in sources about the maternity of two of Nikola’s children, the noble couple most likely share two children with eachother, the eldest and Nikola’s namesaker; Nikola III Garai, and a daughter called Katerina Garai. Their date of births are unknown.
From 1390 to 1402, Nikola was promoted and served as the Ban of Croatia and Dalmatia. As a result of this, he was transfered to another location, it is possible and probbale that Helen moved with him.
Later Life
We have no information about the later life of Helen, she passed away between 1396-1405, because by 1405 her widowed husband had remarried a woman named Anna with whom he shared a few more children with.
Her reason of early death is unknown. Compared to the rest of her family she died quite young, still remaining in her 30s. The Lazarevics are deemed quite healthy, tall, and beautidul so her reason of death might have been something else. Even if she was in her late 30s, it is still quite a young age for a aristocrat woman to pass away at.
{While looking for her reason of death, I couldn’t find an outbreak of the plague or a fatal virus in the location she occuped when she was alive, so more probable her reason of death might be childbirth, or pregnancy complications, or perhaps Helen always had a fragile dealth.}
Issue
Nikola III Garai
Katarina Garai
( Sources: “КЋЕРИ КНЕЗА ЛАЗАРА ИСТОРИЈСКА СТУДИЈА ПОГОВОР” by Jelka Redep, Dve srpske sultanije : Olivera Lazarevic (1373-1444) : Mara Brankovic (1418-1487) by Nikola Giljen, http://istorijska-biblioteka.wikidot.com/art:teodora-kci-kneza-lazara )
#Lazarevic Dynasty#Lazarevic#14th century#15th century#middle ages#medieval times#arranged marriage#Roman Catholic#Serbia#Moravian Serbia#Kingdom of Hungary#History#geology#Ban#Princess#Lazar of Serbia#Nikola II Garai#Nikolagarai#Diplomacy#Illustration#Teodora Lazarevic#TeodoraLazarevic#Helen Garai#art#classical art#teodoralazarevic
35 notes
·
View notes
Text
AGAINST ALL ODDS | CORIOLANUS SNOW X PLINTH!READER
As the last heir to the Plinth family, you're caught up in an arranged marriage with no one other than Coriolanus Snow. In a civilization that relies on power and survival, Strabo Plinth, for once, has obtained his ultimate desire - something that money can't buy - to secure his position within the Capital's commonwealth and establish the Plinth family as an influential figure in Panem.
You've always dreamed of a life beyond societal expectations and political alliances, where you can make your own choices in life and love. On the other hand, Coriolanus Snow is a cold and calculated individual known for his ruthless nature and thirst for power.
Tasked with redeeming the tarnished Plinth name after your brother Sejanus's death - you'll stop at nothing to ensure that you get the life you've yearned for and do not meet the same fate as your brother.
TABLE OF CONTENTS
chapter one
chapter two
chapter three
chapter four
chapter five
all chapters will also be posted on AO3
#young coriolanus snow#coriolanus snow smut#coriolanus x reader#coriolanus snow x reader#coriolanus snow#coriolanus x sejanus#sejanus plinth#strabo plinth#lucy gray baird#arranged marriage#the ballad of songbirds and snakes#tbosas smut#tbosas fic#tbosas#reader insert#the hunger games#catching fire#mockingjay#⟢CREATION OF TIME#chapter index#cross posted on ao3#coriolanus snow x plinth!reader#ao3
1K notes
·
View notes
Text
care for me? (gojo x wife! reader)
——————————————————————————
in which you’re forced to share a bed with the husband you’re convinced hates you
warnings: there’s only one bed!!!! suggestive bc it’s gojo, they’re both a bit confused, pic from lving yamada kun at lv999
a/n: part of the gojo’s wife series (i recc you read the fic before this one to understand some things), also i’m posting this stuff on my phone now since i’m on vacay …meaning format will be extra ugly💀💀
——————————————————————————
“What exactly did you say to make the principal Gakuganji agree to us on a mission together?”
You think Gojo or rather your husband, doesn’t really understand how fast he actually walks. With the way he towers over every civilian in Japan and how much longer his strides are, you’re almost certain that his pacing is far from normal. It gets to the point where you’re jogging to keep up with him, a huff escaping your lips in exasperation.
“Don’t worry your pretty little head over that, ‘kay?” He gives you a lazy smile and with the blindfold wrapped around his head, you can’t exactly see the way he glances over at you–gradually shortening his steps for you to catch up.
You choose to ignore his comment about “your pretty little head” and instead sigh. “Sator–I mean ‘Toru,” you say carefully, gauging the way he gives a satisfied smile at your correction. After the moment you both had in the kitchen at a dangerously late hour, he insisted you call him a nickname.
He gave some recommendations: my hubby, my king, the strongest and most handsome husband. Naturally, you refused to call him those nicknames in public and even denied him the joy in private. So to avoid his needless whining, you compromised and decided on “‘Toru.” The way he brightened up that day made you feel giddy all over but you brushed it off with the fact that you were just glad he was actually talking to you.
“You didn’t do anything bad right?” You inquire, shooting him a glare.
“I think what I did was reasonable!” He chirps, reaching in a bag of candy to plop some in his mouth—the same bag he insisted on getting before you both went on the mission. You can’t help but feel a bit meek when his fingers inch towards your mouth and he gives a toothy grin, beckoning for you to open. You breathe out an annoyed huff, slightly parting your lips to let the sugary treat on your tongue.
He smiles, leaning forward to let his fingers linger in the plush of your lips. “Good girl.”
The way your breath hitches is visceral and you feel the pricks of embarrassment probe at your skin. Your eyes avert from his and you quicken your steps, trying your best to hide the fact that Gojo Satoru was having an effect on you. You miss the way his smile widens at your reaction.
You still avoid his gaze when he catches up. “You know I’m the one who cleans up after your mess whenever you piss the higher-ups right? It’s me who gets the scolding!”
“Scolding? Would you believe me if I told you stuff like that won’t happen again?”
You pause, analyzing how he flashed a coy grin. Immediately, your eyes narrow. “Gojo Satoru.”
“It’s ‘Toru to you,” he voices, chuckling at how your frown deepened. “Relax. I didn’t do anything that bad. Just did enough for them to stop annoying my wife.”
You choose not to linger on how easily the words “my wife” falls out of your lips but it’s hard when he went so far just for your wellbeing. Your mind drifts to his lips pressed against your forehead, instantly regretting it as you feel your neck growing warm. You shake your head, trying to dispel the thoughts from multiplying, earning a curious look from Gojo.
Before he can ask why you went quiet, you stop in your tracks, looking at him with an expression so cute he nearly feels himself fall over. You click your tongue. “‘Toru. You annoy me more than them.”
He whistles, looking at the sight of the abandoned hospital–the location where the S-grade assigned to the both of you curse lies hidden. “Harsh.”
-
The lady in the front trembles as she inputs the data for the two of you. Her eyes scan Gojo’s wide grin and your blank expression that seems even more menacing with the red splatters on your clothes. You blink, tilting your head. “It’s not my blood,” you try to reassure her but that only seems to worsen her fear.
“R-Right!” She squeaks. “One room for Mr. Gojo, correct?”
Gojo nods with a hum, taking the keycard from the lady’s trembling hands. He gestures for you to follow him, walking with so much bravado that any onlooker doesn’t even question the bloodied state of your uniform. “You should’ve been more careful,” he says. “You made a mess.”
“Not everyone has infinity you know?” You mumble, following him into the hotel suite. Your eyes scan the seemingly fancy interior and furniture, not paying much attention until your eyes lock onto an unmistakable sight.
“‘Toru. Why is there only one bed?”
His disinterested hum only serves to make you grow more baffled. He shrugs off his jacket, cracking his neck with a hum. “That’s odd. I could’ve sworn I said two beds. The lady must’ve messed up seeing you all bloodied up. Must’ve scared her real bad huh?”
You’re almost certain that this predicament has brought you more stress than any mission you’ve been sent. And you’re amazed–no bewildered, that Gojo’s not even batting an eye at this.
“Oh? Don’t tell me you’re getting all shy now that you’re sharing a bed with your husband.”
“We’ve never done that before!” You squeak out, dropping your bags on the floor.
That was partially his fault, he thinks. Even so, he keeps his mouth shut. “You have any extra clothes you can wear?”
Even in your frenzied state, you still process the question, blinking in recognition. “No…”
He shrugs. “Then you can wear my shirt,” he points to the white button-up. “Might be gross but it’s better than nothing right? Besides that makes us even now. I got to see you shirtless when—”
“‘Toru!”
He grins an easy-going smile. “Ya know if you’re not comfortable with sleeping on the same bed as me, I can always sleep on the couc–”
“No!” You say a bit too quickly, straightening yourself out when he raises a curious brow. “No I mean like, I don’t mind that much. Besides, I don’t want you to hurt your back on the couch…”
“That’s the only reason?” He smiles and it’s not hard to realize he’s teasing you.
You nod, resolute despite your sweating palms. “Yes.”
“Then…” he shrugs. “You can take a shower first. I’ll leave the shirt near the door. Promise I won’t look. Unless you want me to.”
You can only give another nod, shooting a glare at his shit-eating grin. You take off to the showers, clasping a hand over your mouth as you silently scream in embarrassment. The warm water makes your skin feel hotter to touch and you only try your hardest not to dwell on the details. It’s just a night on the same bed together. Nothing more, nothing less.
You wish you could have kept that confidence huddled in your blankets–watching your snow-haired husband crawl into bed. You try not to linger on his bare torso for too long to be considered healthy and have to physically restrain yourself from jumping when his hand grazes your thigh.
He’s not wearing his blindfold or shades, meaning you can really see how his eyes watch your every move in interest. He leans closer, making you bite a squeak down. “You’re hogging the blankets.”
“Huh? Oh yeah,” you laugh awkwardly, throwing the fabric off your body for him. Gojo Satoru doesn’t have a favorite art piece but you in his shirt might just take the spot. He licks his lips, seeing how you unbuttoned a few buttons near the collar for more room–how you avoided his gaze. Cute, he thinks.
He raises a brow when you lay on your side, covering yourself in the blankets until you’re a heap of fabric. His lips twitches into a smile when he sees the way you curl up into yourself. Then again, he chooses not to mention it when he feels himself growing drowsy.
You’re not sure how much time passes but you can hear Gojo’s gentle breathing fill the room. You bring a hand to your legs, trying to ease away the goosebumps forming on your skin. At first, you assumed they were from nerves but now, you’re almost certain it’s because the hotel’s blasting the AC. And oddly enough, Gojo seems completely unaffected, even able to sleep peacefully.
You sigh, turning to face him. You’ve always known your husband was an attractive man but it’s not fair for him to look so good even while sleeping. His lashes are long and you find yourself staring a bit too long at his lips. Again, your mind drift to the moment when he pressed those same lips to your forehead and instead of being filled with embarrassment, you’re filled with a feeling that squeezes at your heart.
Subconsciously, you’re reaching for his face, grazing a finger down his cheekbones to the corner of his lips. His skin is smooth against your touch and you’re almost jealous that his skin was perfect too. You continue to map your way to his jawline, mesmerized at the sight.
“Enjoying the view?” He mumbles, his eyes closed though a smile crosses his face. You’re about to retrace your hand away from his face but he’s quick to clasp one around your wrist. You nearly squeak when he leans closer to your palm, his eyes finally opening to peer into yours. “Eyeing me when I’m asleep? I didn’t know you were such a per—“
“I’m not!” You yelp, snatching your wrist away from you him with a flushed face.
He hums, propping himself on his elbow to watch you. “Hm? Now you getting all embarrassed on me after you felt me up?”
“I did not feel you up.”
He merely shrugs with a grin. “It’s all good. I think you’re pretty cute too.”
You didn’t know it was possible to be this flustered until you shared a bed with Gojo. “I only touched you because I was cold!”
That wasn’t entirely a lie either. When you felt Gojo’s face, his skin was warm under your touch and you wondered if the rest of him was like that. Naturally, you refrained from thinking even further or else you really wouldn’t sleep a wink.
To your surprise, you feel see him pat the spot besides him. Your lips fall apart as you continue to stare. He only shrugs with a lazy smirk. “What? A husband has to make sure his wife’s comfortable right?”
It’s hard to say no when you feel the cool air of the AC bite into your skin—your limbs trembling. You hold his gaze for a few seconds, sighing as you scootched closer to him. He wraps an arm around your waist, pulling your frame closer until you’re against his torso.
You try not to dwell on the fact that you can feel how his muscles move against your shirt—or rather his shirt; how he nuzzled his face in your neck, breathing in your scent that this scene felt so naturally domestic.
You squirm in his embrace, shifting your hips around to find a more comfortable position. His arms immediately squeeze you tighter, making you squeak. “Stay still,” he says lowly against your ear.
“You’re holding me too tight,” you whine, wiggling your hips again. This time, his hand squeezes your hip.
“Yeah? Well if you don’t stop squirming, I’ll have another problem to deal with.”
“What—“ You say before the realization hits you and you’re left spluttering like an idiot. Your head turns to face him and you immediately regret it.
His blues bore into yours and you see how his lips twitch as if trying to hold back a laugh. “I—“ You start, turning away from him with your stomach doing flips. “Okay,” you squeak, clenching your eyes shut at your response.
He only grunts in response, spooning you with his chin atop of your head. Minutes pass and you relax in his arms. “‘Toru?”
“Hm?”
“Why are you being so nice to me right now? I thought you hated me?”
“What?” For the first time, he sounds awake. He leans up so you can see his hues peering down at you. You watch bemused as a tortured expression crosses his face for a second. “(Name), I don’t hate you. I never hated you.”
Your bewilderment grows. “But you…you never talked to me.”
He smooths a hand through his hair. “Can’t say I don’t have some regrets about that.”
It’s the same like last time, when the two of you were in the kitchen. He’s looking at you so tenderly that you can’t bring yourself to look away. “I care for you,” he continues, trying to pick his words thoughtfully. “Much more than I want to.”
He still peers down at you, so close that you almost think he’s about to lean in for a kiss. You observe him with a wide-eyed look, only letting out a little gasp when you feel his lips press against your forehead again—the feeling familiar to you. Gojo resumes his cuddling shortly after, squeezing your hip once more. “I’m sorry,” he whispers.
You widen your eyes, remaining silent. You’re at a list of words, momentarily left speechless. Even so, you reach down to press a hand over his on your hip, squeezing it lightly. “I know.”
Gojo thinks he sleeps the best when you’re besides him. You’re soft against him, fitting perfectly in between his arms. He thinks, there’s no way he was going to let this moment pass—and he was a man who kept true to his wishes. The next time he was going to sleep in his house, he was going to do it with you by his side.
BONUS:
“‘Toru…”
“What is it again?” He grumbles, though there’s no bite in his tone.
“Why couldn’t we just teleport home instead of going to a hotel?”
A brief silence follows.
“Go to sleep.”
#satoru gojo#gojo satoru#gojo#gojo x reader#gojo satoru x reader#gojo x you#jjk#jjk x reader#jujutsu kaisen x reader#jjk x you#jujutsu kaisen x you#fluff#arranged marriage#gojo’s wife series
6K notes
·
View notes
Text
NSFW
- - -
mean husband!Regulus Black who swears that every time he spills his cum into you, it's just his duty as a Lord so you can give him his pureblood heir. It's not because of how cute the dress looked on you and it would look even cuter on you when you're pregnant.
mean husband!Regulus Black who gets hard when you smile at him so prettily and wants to wreck you whenever you insult him ten times worse than he does. you're not afraid of him, he loves that. Thrives on the fact that he can make your bratty mouth drool with his fingers and tongue only.
mean husband!Regulus Black who loves you, truly loves you but won't ever admit it out loud unless you're unconscious from a heavy session of getting bred and he kisses your forehead, oh so gently, and whispers, "My darling, my love." He kisses your cheek, "Oh, how you have my heart, sweet." He is unaware of the fact that sometimes you're aware and that you hear his words and it just makes you fall harder for him every time.
#oneshot#scenario#headcanons#regulus black x reader smut#regulus black icons#regulus black#regulus deserved better#Regulus black smut#regulus black x reader#marriage au#arranged marriage#maurauders era#mauraders#black#harry potter#smut#character x reader#x reader smut#x reader#x you smut#x you#established relationship
2K notes
·
View notes
Text
Twenty Years, All For This
Stained glass uncovered under the cut bc im so proud of it hdsdf
#bethroned#bethroned spoilers#bethroned art#au#fnaf#security breach#dca#daycare attendant#sun#moon#y/n#self insert#reader#medieval#fantasy#royalty#wedding#betrothed#arranged marriage#sun x y/n#sun x reader#sun x self insert#dca x reader#dca x y/n#daycare attendant x reader#daycare attendant x y/n#fanfic#five nights at freddys#:3 I wonder if people will find all the hidden secrets
2K notes
·
View notes
Last Seen Blogs
4-gabe
➶ 📷🌿👞 ➶
totalsitesupplies
Totalsite Supplies
jeanieyou
Work In Progress
missgryffin
writing by candlelight
thesuicideevelyn
The Suicide Evelyn