Disclaimer: These fanfics are writing for an 18+ audience and writers amusement. Many of these media's author don't want minor to interacting so minor are not welcome to read or interact. MDI.
Call of Duty 🪖
Simon “Ghost” Riley
Ghost X Medic Reader
Ghost X Monster afab!Reader
Ghost X Sexworker Reader
Ghost X Depressed! Reader
König
König X Wifey Reader
Save By Hare: Pt. 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8 & Epilogue
BNHA/MHA 🏫
Ploy!KiriBaku
KiriBaku X Sick Days
KirirBaku X Dragon!Reader
Others
Daddy Todoroki & daughter Outing
Ibara shiozaki x Photo!quirk reader
Spooky Month 🍔
Bob X Spouse! Reader
All I ask: Husband Bob x spouse! Reader
14WY 🌊
Mafia!Ren x Reader
RenX Mom Reader
TKTB 🎨
Sol
God!Solivan x God!Reader
Hyugo
The Taste Of Chaos
A Dream Filled Love
Crowe
Crowe X Mom Reader
You and Him🔪
Adam X reader ( Apocalypse au) series
Underground Devil
Crime and Punishment
On the way..
Broken Color 💔
Angel X (Y/N)
Rasmus x reader: Apology Breakfast
Rasmus x F! reader: White lilies
Damon x reader: His Tender Jealous
Broken Color Fantasy Au
Prologue
Part 1
Part 2
Part 3
Part 4....
My Dear Hatchet Man🪓
Ex-hunter!reader: series of oneshots
Meeting under the moonlight
Under His Gaze
Silver Lining Pt 1, Pt 2, Pt 3
Just for Tonight
To Eat A God☀️
Umum
Family Picnic
The Man I love pt1, pt2
You Belong to Me
Nulla
The Black Knight
Yellow Flower in Sunlight Pt 2.
The freak Circus 🎪
A Sinful Kiss series ( Pierrot x Assain reader)
A Sinful desire
A Sinful desire pt 2
A sinful desire pt 3
Pierrot x Maifa reader
Jester x preacher! reader
The Taste of Dust and You (Harlequin x reader), Part 2
💬A/n: Sorry, this took longer than it needed to be. I kept walking away with it since I would get too flustered by it. I hope you enjoy it
🦝Summary: This is just smut with a male-view-leaning reader in mind, although I hope someone can enjoy it.
☢️disclaimer: This is base on a 18+ game, The Freak Circus, belonging to nekoboydreams ! It is amazing in its storytelling and artwork! Please support them on Itch.io!
“Pierrot, let me undress you,” you spoke softly, your voice barely above a whisper as your arms slipped around his waist, leaning your head against his back.
You felt the way he stiffened at first, before relaxing in your hold. It was still new, this closeness. Living together and sharing space that had once belonged only to solitude. You accepted him wholly.
For so long, Pierrot had been alone, yearning to love and be loved.
Recently you both haven’t spent much time together, you trained in ribbon acrobatics, chasing balance and grace high above the circus ground. He had remained outside quietly, handing out flyers beneath city lights. Existing on the edges of everything, never quite stepping into warmth.
But now he stood in your arms. He felt comfortable as if he would melt in your embrace after a day of hard work.
He looked over his shoulder to you, exhaustion softening his usual controlled expression. There was something vulnerable in his eyes, something that didn’t quite know what to do with this kind of gentleness.
“You’re sure… my lord?” he asked quietly, voice hesitant, almost fragile.
Not doubting you.
Just unsure of not holding back.
“I am sure,” you murmured, your voice softer now as you nuzzled into his back, breathing in his familiar scent.
Pierrot let out a small, startled gasp, the sound almost fragile in the quiet between you. When your hand drifted up, lightly brushing over his clothed chest, he glanced down at you, placing his hand above yours. Something shifted in his expression; his eyes narrowed slightly, darkening with a quiet hunger that hadn’t been there before.
It made your lips curve into a faint smirk.
You pressed yourself more fully against him, your warmth seeping into his, your voice turning sickly sweet and coaxing.
“I want to take care of you,” you whispered. “You’ve been working so hard while I've been training."
The words settled into him.
Pierrot exhaled softly, a deep,pleased purr slipping from him before he turned in your arms to face you properly. Up close, you could see the tiredness still lingering in him… but now it was mixed with love and lust. He leaned over you for a kiss.
However You stepped back just enough to take his hand, your fingers threading through his gently.
“Come,” you murmured, “I am taking the lead”
And without resistance, he followed.
You led him toward the bed, your grip steady, your presence warm, an unspoken promise waiting in every gesture.
“Sit down, I’ll start undressing you,” you explained seductively as you stepped aside. Pierrot felt the urge to rush, a quiet impatience stirring beneath his skin, but he held himself back. He didn’t want to ruin this; he didn’t want to break the softness of the moment you were giving him.
He sat at the edge of the bed, a faint blush creeping across his cheeks. As you stepped between his legs, his hands found your hips instinctively, thumbs tracing slow, absent circles as if grounding himself in your presence.
His long silver hair fell down when you carefully removed his hat, revealing the curve back of his three horns. Pierrot bit his lip lightly, breath catching as your fingers brushed along one of the horns, tracing it down to its base with deliberate gentleness.
“I always love how you quiver under my touch, Pierrot,” you teased softly, leaning closer to his ear before you nip his earlobe.
Then You pressed a kiss to his cheek, lingering just enough before trailing them along his jawline. His grip on your hips tightened slightly, his breathing turning uneven.
“My lord~,” he panted, his voice low and strained, barely holding together.
You hummed in response, as your lips brushed and kissed along his neck, Pierrot instinctively tilted his head, exposing more of himself to you without hesitation. You lifted your gaze to meet him as your hands moved to his ruffled collar, slowly beginning to undo it. Pierrot’s eyes stayed locked on yours, dark and intent, his body already leaning into every touch you gave, as if drawn in without thought.
“What?” you teased him softly. “Do you want me on my knees?”
The words alone made him inhale sharply, his breath catching in his chest. Before he could answer, you lowered yourself, your movements slow, deliberate. Your hands explored his clothed chest, tracing over his body with careful curiosity, feeling the way he tensed and softened beneath your touch.
As you undid the buttons of his shirt, your hands drifted lower to his waist, lingering there — taunting, unhurried. You pressed soft kisses along his collarbone, between his chest, then lower, and lower you went each touch drawing out lovely, needy reactions from him.
Pierrot let out a soft moan, his body burned up before he could stop it, feeling you move along his body.
His chest rose and fell unevenly as he leaned back against the bed, loving drunken eyes never leaving you. There was something predatory in the way he watched ,like he was holding himself back by sheer will alone from devouring you whole. He licked his lips, biting his bottom lips. His voice was rough when it finally came out.
“My lord… I don’t think I can stop myself if you continue.”
You paused at that, your eyes meeting his. His hand came to your cheek, cupping it gently, almost reverently, yet a stark contrast to the tension coiled in his body.
His thumb brushed lightly against your lips, as if committing the feeling to memory. He groaned softly, conflicted.
“I don’t want to hurt you…” He admitted, voice thick with restraint, “yet I want nothing more than to leave my claim on you as mine.”
“Do you want me to stop?” you asked sweetly, your tone soft but deliberate. You looked slightly worried, and didn't want to make him uncomfortable.
A beat of silence.
Then, without hesitation—
“No.”
You smiled softly at Pierrot’s response. You began kissing his stomach, your hand slowly unzipping his pants. You playfully nipped at his lower abdomen, drawing a sharp breath from him as he happily responded by growling. You couldn’t let him be the only one marking what was his.
You tugged his pants down just enough to expose him, already half-hard.
Pierrot’s mouth watered as you began to touch his base, his hands gripping the bedsheets tightly as he tried to maintain control. Yet, his thoughts betrayed him—he could think of nothing but the taste of your skin, the feel of you beneath him… and fuck, especially with you holding authority over him.
You kept eye contact, savoring the way he unraveled under your touch. Your hand moved steadily, stroking him until he was fully hard. You flicked your tongue across the tip, earning a low grunt from him. Teasing, you pressed a soft kiss there before slowly licking circles around it playfully.
Pierrot moaned beneath his mask, his body aching need. He reached up, gently placing a hand at the back of your head, combing your hair for a better view. His touch was hesitant at first, almost like he feared you might pull away—but then it grew steadier, guiding your lip against his cock.
“Please, my lord… hah~,I’ve grown impatient.” he murmured, his voice strained, not just with desire, but with something deeper—something vulnerable.
“Ah!” a quiet gasp slipped past his lips, when you finally started deepthroat his cock, his body unraveled. His legs trembled beneath your arm.
He felt loved, not just feeling you suck his dick, but from the overwhelming feeling of being seen. Of being wanted like this by you.
Pierrot leaned forward slightly, wanting to cum. ‘Yet not’ He groaned as he wanted you closer—not just physically, but all of you. His fingers curled gently your hair, no longer gripping for control, but holding on, grounding himself in the moment you were sharing.
“My lord…” he praised you with a loving look in his eyes “You make me feel… so good.”
There was a pause in his voice, like he didn’t quite mean just that.
His breathing grew uneven, a quiet shudder passing through him as he closed his eyes behind the mask. Every small movement, every bit of attention you gave him, felt magnified—intimate, overwhelming in a way he wasn’t used to.
“You’re… doing so well,” he added, his voice quieter now, filled with something warmer, more tender.
Your lips tugged into a faint smirk, savoring the subtle reaction you drew from him — the way his body betrayed him, already close to unraveling.
“But,...I need you to stop,” he ordered.
When his hand tugged at your hair with a little more force, you pulled back, looking up at him with a thin thread of saliva still connecting your lips to his tip. Your breath came soft and uneven, a flicker of uncertainty passing through you. You searched his expression, wondering if you had somehow displeased Pierrot.
However, he wore only warmth on his face.
A soft, affectionate smile lingered on his lips, tender enough to ease the worry tightening in your chest.
With a quiet, guiding touch, he drew you upward, settling you carefully onto his lap instead. The shift felt deliberate, intimate as though he needed you close in a different way now. He leaned toward your ear, his breath warm against your skin, his voice dropping low enough to send a shiver through you.
“So good to me…” he murmured, the praise soft but heavy with feeling. Then, quieter still, almost reverent, “But I think it is time for me to watch that beautiful face fall apart in front of me.”
“Ah—!” you gasped when you suddenly felt his lips against your neck. He nipped gently at the crook of it while his hands slid beneath your waistband, slow and possessive. His hands massages your ass, grunting approvingly.
When he began to finger you,your hand instinctively gripped the back of his undone shirt. You looked at him helplessly while he thrusted his finger inside you like you taught him.
Perriot watched and listened for which movement made the confident, teasing composure you’d held onto begin to crumble little by little beneath the intensity of his attention. When a needy whimper escaped your lips, Pierrot noticed immediately. He always noticed.
Slowly, patiently, he began taking control.
His touch remained careful despite his needy cock twitching for more attention. His nails grazed lightly along your wall, not hurting you, as he stretched you with deliberate gentleness. Every so often, he would nudge against you reassuringly, pressing soft kisses beneath the edge of his mask like quiet attempts to soothe you, who begged for more, through the overwhelming closeness, “Perriot, this feels like torture.”
“Not yet,” he whispered. “I wouldn’t let you melt for me so quickly, my lord.”
A tremor ran through your body at the mixture of tenderness and hunger in him, his words settling deep beneath your skin.
“I think you are right, I am growing impatient too,” Pierrot groaned softly against your throat.
You whine softly, struggling to steady your breathing.
“The lube… on the counter,” you murmured between breaths. “Hah~… it’ll help.”
Pierrot glanced over his shoulder, spotting it resting on the nightstand. Recognition flickered across his expression before he let out a low, pleased hum.
“Okay then, my lord.”
As he reached for it, you stepped back just enough to slip off the rest of your clothing. Pierrot coated his fingers carefully before lifting his gaze back to you, searching your flushed face with surprising seriousness beneath all the affection and want.
“Last chance, You still want to keep going, my lord?”
“I do,” you whispered, the confession slipping from you like a secret too precious to say aloud. “I want to feel you, Pierrot. All of you.”
Adoration flashed across his face at those words.
You crawled back into his lap, and his arms wrapped around you immediately, secure and grounding, holding you steady like something precious in his hands. Safe. Wanted.
You exhaled shakily against him,
“Ready.”
Pierrot kissed your forehead softly before returning to his careful movements, taking his time with you. You moaned quietly as he stretched you with his two fingers now, giving you patient attention. He began slowly, easing further in only when he felt your body relax beneath his touch, making sure every reaction, every breath, every tremble was met with tenderness rather than haste.
“I told you,” he whispered against your skin, voice rough with restraint, “don’t melt yet. Just a little longer… until the main event.”
You whimpered softly as he slowly pulled his fingers out from you, the sudden emptiness making your body twitch in protest. A shaky gasp left your lips when you felt his press closer instead at your entrance. He slowly led you down by your hips, stretching you gradually with his cock. Your hands immediately clawed at his shoulders, feeling overwhelmed from his size.
Pierrot groaned under his breath the moment your tight wall squeezed him. When you finally took him fully, you both looked at each other in adoration, panting.
Every muscle in his body tensed with the effort not to move.
He wanted to.
God, he wanted to.
But he forced himself to stay still. He rested his head on your shoulder, breathing unevenly against your neck while he waited for you to relax in his arms. One of his hands rubbed slow circles against your side, grounding you gently while he held himself back for your sake. He purred,encouraging you “You feel amazing, My lord.”
Only a minute passed, until you finally gave a small nod did he move again.
His thrusts were slow at first, almost unbearably needy, like he was savoring every second instead of chasing the end of it. Pierrot wrapped one arm around your waist securely holding in place while his other hand drifted lower, beginning to pump your dick in rhythm with his movements.
Your eyes fluttered shut instantly, holding his shoulder for support.
Pierrot made a soft sound beneath his breath at the sight of you unraveling for him. Then, carefully, he lifted the edge of his mask just enough to kiss you properly. The kiss was deep and aching, filled with all the want he’d been trying to contain.
You mewled softly between kisses.
When his tongue slipped into your mouth, slow and intimate, he kissed you like he wanted to consume every sound you made, massaging against your tongue while his movements gradually lost their restraint.
Your body grew hot and heavy beneath him, pleasure building until your limbs felt weak from it. You arched your back against his hold, lips parting as you struggled to catch your breath, your chest rising and falling unevenly.
But Pierrot couldn’t stay away from you for long.
The moment you inhaled, he chased your lips again, reconnecting them with his in another desperate kiss, softer this time but no less consuming. His breathing had turned ragged now, his composure slipping further with every sound you made for him.
His thrusts lost their careful rhythm, becoming messy, needy. His hand fondled your throbbing cock sped up, using your precum as lude.
Pierrot groaned deeply when he felt your body squeeze around him, the reaction pulling a broken, affectionate sound from his throat. His arms tightened around you instinctively, holding you close as though he couldn’t bear even the smallest distance between you.
“That’s it, my handsome lord… Cum for me,” he breathed against your lips, the praise trembling out of him like a confession. His voice was raw now, stripped of composure, every word soaked in aching devotion
Pierrot held you impossibly close as your body shook in his arms, like he wanted to feel every reaction, every trembling breath, every heartbeat that answered him. His forehead rested against yours between uneven kisses, silver hair falling around both of you like a curtain hiding the rest of the world away.
“You’re beautiful like this,” he whispered, almost in awe. “So beautiful for me.”
“Perriot~, I'm going to– Ah!” You called out for him, cumming. His hands stroked along your body with desperate tenderness, trying to soothe you even while he unraveled himself as well. Every sound you made only seemed to undo him further, drawing low groans from his chest as he buried his face against your neck, breathing you in like something precious.
And through it all, he never stopped holding you gently.
“Hah… you are so—ah—good to me,” Pierrot moaned shakily beside your ear as his movements grew sloppier, restraint slipping further away with every passing second. He nuzzled against your shoulder before biting lightly into it, overcome with affection and need. His fingers dug into your flesh as he held you tighter, a broken groan leaving him as he came undone with your name spilling from his lips.
“My lord~…”
Your head rested against Pierrot’s afterward, both of you panting softly together in the lingering warmth of the moment. Your bodies stayed pressed together when the two of you suddenly collapsed back onto the bed, tangled up in each other. You instinctively held onto Pierrot tightly as the mattress dipped beneath your combined weight.
A quiet laugh escaped you as you leaned up slightly, only to find Pierrot staring at the ceiling in a complete daze, silver hair spread messily across the bedsheets.
You smirked.
“Not used to it?” you teased softly.
Pierrot pouted faintly, clearly unwilling to admit it out loud. A low groan slipped from him when you shifted your hips, the movement forcing a small distance between your bodies that he already disliked.
“So stubborn,” you murmured affectionately before leaning down to kiss him.
Then, more quietly—
“I love you, my lord.”
The words struck your heart with the same intensity they always did, as if hearing them would never stop feeling new. Pierrot slowly turned his head toward you, his gaze locking onto yours with an openness that made your chest ache.
And he smiled.
Soft. Tired. Completely in love with you.
Your expression melted instantly.
“I love you too, Pierrot,” you whispered back gently.
💬A/n: This fantasy Au fanfic series for the game of Broken Color. I am sorry for the long wait. My life has been crazy, but I finally finished this part with my friend's help;-;. I hope you guys like it, and Part 4 won't take this long. Masterlist. Part 2 <- -> Part 4 coming soon..
🦝Summary: Your coworker, Rasmus, and you are traveling into town to pick up an item for Rasmus' father's store back home. However, after meeting a traveling florist, Damon, and Delivery Guy, things started to get strange. What will happen on your back home? Why do you feel like you are being watched? Will your past haunt you?
☢️disclaimer: This is base on a 18+ game, Br<3ken Colors, which created by two amazing people, BlasticHeart and Holyschnitzel. It is a game inspired by boyfriend to death as well the creators Do Not Want Minor Interact
As you wandered through the bustling marketplace, the vibrant chatter and the scent of roasted chestnuts filled the air, but you couldn’t shake the growing unease creeping up your spine. Damon walked close beside you, his presence lingering just a little too near, his sharp red eyes never really leaving you.
‘Maybe I am just being paranoid,’ you told yourself.
Stopping at a magic vendor’s stall, your fingers trailed over an array of gemstones laid out in polished wooden cases. Each one shimmered under the warm lantern lighting: deep blues, bright yellows, and iridescent purples. You were searching for something specific.
Damon loomed just behind you, watching your every move with unwavering curiosity. “What exactly are you looking for?” His voice was smooth, but there was an edge to it—something unreadable beneath the casual question.
You sighed, tapping a finger thoughtfully against your chin. “A stone to serve as the heart of my staff. Since I can only use basic fire-element magic, like starting a small flame, I need a fire-aligned gem. Ideally, something like a ruby or garnet. They’re common enough and not too expensive.”
Damon tilted his head slightly, his wolf ears twitching, before he gestured toward a lavishly decorated box, inside of which rested a brilliant fire opal. The gemstone gleamed with an inner fire, its colors shifting like molten lava beneath the surface. “Something like this wouldn’t work? I thought elemental magic just needed any gemstone attuned to the same affinity.”
You let out a wistful chuckle, eyeing the opal with thinly veiled admiration. “You’re not wrong, but… I’m not fit for something that powerful. High-tier gems amplify magic to an extent I can’t control with my skill level. I can only use low- to mid-tier spells, so something like this would be wasted on me.”
To demonstrate, you held up your hand, summoning a small blue flame at the tip of your pointer finger. The tiny flickering ember barely cast a shadow, a stark reminder of your limitations. You gave a small, self-conscious shrug. “That’s why I plan to modify my staff into a weapon. If I can’t overpower my enemies with magic, I need something to make up for it in battle. I don’t want to be a burden to Rasmus.”
At that name, Damon’s expression darkened in an instant. His grip on the stall’s wooden counter tightened, his nails subtly digging into the surface. Rasmus? The name left a bitter taste on his tongue. Another man. Another person by your side. Damon hated it.
Your attention was still on the gemstones, so you didn’t notice the way his entire demeanor shifted—the slight flare of his nostrils, the tension in his jaw. His tail, which had been flicking idly moments ago, now hung eerily still. His mate—his—was speaking about another man as if he mattered. As if he had a place beside you. It made his blood boil.
But then you turned back to him, smiling, oblivious to the possessive fire burning in his gaze. “Rasmus is my fighter,” you explained casually. “He’s a good friend. I don’t know, he can be rude sometimes without realizing it. Sometimes, I swear he hates me. Other times, it’s like it’s us against the world.”
Damon forced a smile, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “I see.”
He filed away the name in the back of his mind, committing it to memory like a sworn enemy. Rasmus. A threat. An obstacle. Something that needed to be removed.
But for now, Damon merely smiled, his fingers relaxing their grip.
For now, he would enjoy your presence.
After gathering your materials—iron ore, wood from the Delonix fire tree, which helps channel your mana, and a carefully chosen ruby stone—you set off toward the blacksmith, a satisfied smile tugging at your lips. Each step felt lighter, excitement bubbling in your chest at the thought of finally crafting your staff.
Damon followed closely behind, his sharp gaze flickering between you and the bundle of materials in your arms. “You seem happy, (Y/N),” he noted, his voice tinged with amusement.
You glanced back at him, your grin widening. “Of course! With these, I can finally commission my weapon.”
Damon hummed in response, his expression unreadable as he kept pace beside you. “I see… But why go through the trouble of making one? You could simply buy an existing weapon and then modify it. Custom commissions from scratch are expensive.”
Shaking your head, you tightened your grip on the materials. “No, that wouldn’t be worth it. A weapon should feel like an extension of its wielder,” you explained, recalling your uncle’s words. “That means I have to make sure it’s the right fit for me.”
Damon let out a soft chuckle but didn’t argue further. Instead, he simply matched your pace to stand beside you as the blacksmith’s forge came into view, the rhythmic clanging of metal against metal growing louder with each step. “Your uncle sounds like a great fighter.”
“He was the best,” you said, warmth spreading through your chest at the thought of him. Your eyes dulled slightly as you continued, “Or at least, to me. I just hope I can be even half as skilled as he was.”
Damon’s ears perked up. The small shift in your tone hadn’t escaped him. He watched you carefully as you stepped up to the counter, noticing the faint sorrow lingering behind your eyes—the kind that appeared only when old memories resurfaced. A quiet pang of regret stirred in his chest for pressing too far. His ears flattened slightly, guilt creeping in as he realized he may have stepped into something painful.
He opened his mouth, ready to apologize—
But before he could speak, the traveling blacksmith glanced up from his workbench.
“Isn’t that… Red Hood?”
At the familiar voice, you turned, a faint smile touching your lips. “I thought it was you, Gunther. I hope business has been treating you well.”
Gunther had been a regular back at your old workplace beyond the snowy mountain range—one of the few craftsmen stubborn enough to brave the brutal passes with a wagon full of iron and tools, fixing anything that needed fixing.
He straightened from his workbench, wiping his soot-stained hands on a worn cloth. Up close, the years—and the work—had not been kind. Dark shadows carved deep beneath his eyes, and a fine layer of ash clung to his hair. The old neck gaiter still rested loosely around his throat, just as you remembered, a habit he’d picked up to keep from breathing in too much soot during long hours at the forge.
For a moment, he said nothing.
His sharp, practiced gaze swept over you—measured, precise, like he was inspecting a blade for flaws.
Then his attention shifted.
To the materials in your hands.
His brows lifted, just slightly.
A quiet, approving nod followed.
“Looks like you came prepared,” he said gruffly, setting his hammer down with a heavy clank that echoed through the shop. “Not many walk in here with materials worth working with.”
He braced both hands against the workbench, leaning forward just enough to show interest.
“So,” he continued, voice steady but edged with curiosity, “what can I get started for you?”
You stepped closer, carefully laying out the materials between you. The metal caught the forge-light, glinting faintly as you met his gaze.
“I’d like to commission a weapon,” you said. “My old one was destroyed… when Rasmus and I were dealing with some monsters.”
At the mention of his name, Gunther’s expression shifted—subtle, but noticeable.
Only then did he seem to realize something was off.
His eyes flicked past you.
Rasmus wasn’t there.
Instead, a different young man stood nearby, watching you with unmistakable warmth—something soft, something unguarded—someone in love.
Gunther’s gaze lingered on him for a second too long. Something wasn’t right.
Then slowly, he leaned back, one rough hand coming up to stroke his chin. His eyes glanced at you.
“…I see,” he muttered, though it was unclear what exactly he was referring to.
“Then who is he?” Gunther asked, wanting to make sure you were aware of your new company. He had gotten Damon’s attention.
Damon’s ears stood at attention while his red eyes met Gunther’s as if in a quiet challenge. Who was Gunther to question him being at your side? Damon’s mind slightly wandered. ‘Who the hell are you to ask that? Are you in love with them? Then I will kill—’
“Oh—this is Damon,” you explained quickly, glancing back over your shoulder toward him. A small smile softened your face the moment your eyes met his. “Don’t worry, Gunther. He’s been really sweet so far. I’m in safe hands.”
Damon felt his heart stumble painfully in his chest at your words.
Safe hands.
The phrase echoed through him with dangerous warmth. He fought to keep his tail still, every instinct in him wanting to wag excitedly at the trust so casually placed in him. His ears twitched instead, betraying the emotion he struggled to contain.
Of course, you could feel it too, he thought, smiling back at you with quiet devotion already blooming too deeply in his chest.
The bond between you.
Even if you didn’t fully realize it yet.
“If you’re sure,” Gunther replied after a moment, his tone easing slightly, “then I’ll trust your judgment, Red.”
Your attention shifted back toward the counter as the blacksmith rubbed at his chin thoughtfully, eyes scanning over the raw materials you had gathered. Metal clinked softly as he moved a few pieces aside, mentally measuring the work ahead.
“Alright,” he said after a beat. “Custom work like this isn’t cheap. Good craftsmanship takes time, and this’ll probably take me most of the day.” He glanced at the materials again before naming the price. “One gold for the labor… and nine silver for the customization.”
The words settled heavily in the air.
You quietly reached for your coin purse, loosening the strings with careful fingers. The soft clink of metal sounded painfully light. When you opened it, your expression shifted almost immediately.
Gunther noticed.
Your eyes lingered on the last nine silver coins sitting at the bottom of the pouch, and something sad flickered across your face before you could hide it. The sight made your shoulders tense ever so slightly, like you were already calculating what you could do to make up for missing a gold coin.
Behind you, Damon noticed too.
And suddenly, the excitement in him twisted into something sharper—protective, possessive, aching.
You shouldn’t have to look worried over something so small. Not when he was here.
He leaned so close he almost brushed against your back. Damon gently placed a gold coin in the palm of your hand, causing you to look into his eyes. Your lips were only a few inches away from his, your eyes wide.
‘Not yet,’ he thought. ‘I wouldn’t kiss them yet.’
“Damon, you don’t have to—” you pleaded softly, not wanting to burden someone you had only just met. You quickly tried to hand the gold coin back to him, but Damon gently closed your fingers around it before you could.
“But I want to.”
His voice was quiet but firm, carrying a sincerity that made your chest tighten. Damon offered you a reassuring smile, soft and slightly nervous around the edges, like he was worried you might reject the gesture entirely.
“You can lean on me, Red,” he added shyly.
The words caught you off guard.
“Okay,” you murmured after a moment, your voice quieter now. “Thank you, Damon.”
Your heart fluttered strangely in your chest.
If it had been Rasmus, he probably would have paid for it too, but there would have been teasing attached to it. Some sharp remark about you being short on coins and always “taking his handouts.” The memory made your stomach twist faintly.
But Damon wasn’t looking at you like that.
There was no superiority in his expression. No expectation. Just warmth and a hint of something you couldn’t quite put your finger on.
You pulled your hand close to your chest, fingers curling around the coin as heat slowly crept across your cheeks. Your voice softened into something almost shy.
“Thank you so much, Damon.”
A relaxed smile spread across Damon’s face so naturally that it almost looked relieved. His fluffy tail immediately betrayed him, wagging hard enough that he had to fight to keep still. His ears twitched happily, crimson eyes fixed entirely on you.
He loved that look on your face.
The softness. The trust.
For one reckless second, he wanted to pull you close and nuzzle against your cheek, wanted to bury himself in your warmth and keep you there beside him forever.
But he restrained himself. He would get it soon enough.
For now, it was enough to make you blush.
You turned to Gunther and handed over the money. The blacksmith counted it with a practiced glance before giving a small nod of approval.
“Pick your staff up late at night or early in the morning,” he instructed gruffly. “Less crowded then. Gives me time to finish any finer details without interruption.”
You smiled faintly. “Understood. Thank you again, Gunther.”
“If we’re done here, why don’t we go exploring?” Damon suddenly cut in, easily stealing your attention as he stepped closer to your side. There was an eager warmth in his voice that made it hard to refuse.
‘Look at me, my red rosebud,’ he commanded in his mind.
You turned toward him, blinking before letting out a soft laugh. “Okay. Lead the way.”
Damon’s face brightened immediately at your answer, and he gently took your hand before you could protest. The gesture was casual, natural—as if he had already decided looking after you was simply something he would do.
Gunther watched the two of you turn toward the market street, your laughter blending with the distant chatter of merchants and travelers. Something about the sight made a strange heaviness settle in his chest.
Then Damon glanced back.
The warmth vanished from his expression.
For only a brief moment, Gunther caught the sharpness in the younger man’s stare—cold, possessive, almost predatory. A silent warning hidden beneath that easygoing smile.
Gunther’s brows furrowed slightly.
Ah.
So that’s how it is.
He said nothing as Damon turned back to you as though nothing had happened, leaning close to point out some colorful stall farther down the road. You remained blissfully unaware, smiling softly. You were listening to him talk.
Gunther exhaled through his nose and returned to his workbench, the sound of hammering metal soon filling the forge once more.
He just hoped you understood the kind of person Damon was when you weren’t paying attention.
As the festival slowly drifted toward its main event, the streets came alive in a haze of music, lantern light, and laughter. Couples filled the cobblestone paths, swaying together beneath strings of glowing paper lights while musicians played lively melodies from the center square. The scent of roasted nuts, sweet pastries, and burning candles lingered warmly in the cool evening air.
Damon kept your hand firmly in his as the two of you moved through the crowd.
His grip wasn’t painful—quite the opposite. Careful. Protective. Maybe even possessive. Like he was grounding himself through your touch. Every so often, his thumb brushed absentmindedly over your knuckles, a small motion that felt almost unconscious, making sure you were by his side.
You glanced at him curiously. “You know,” you teased softly, “I’m not going to get lost that easily.”
Damon let out a quiet laugh, though it sounded more nervous than amused. His gaze flickered toward you beneath the glow of the festival lanterns, amber light catching in his eyes.
“I am sorry,” he murmured. His ears and tail were tucked back. His red eyes looked away slightly toward the dancing crowd as he continued, “I just…”
He hesitated, his fingers tightening slightly around yours before letting you go. He quietly prayed for acceptance from you as he confessed, “I don’t really want to let go because knowing you are there, even after so little time since we met…”
“You calm my heart, Rosebud,” Damon stated, looking into your eyes.
A soft gasp slipped from your lips. Something about the honesty in his voice made your chest ache in a way you couldn’t explain. Maybe it was the way his crimson eyes shimmered beneath the lantern glow, warm and vulnerable all at once, like he had finally allowed you to see the parts of himself he usually kept hidden.
Damon’s breath caught when you slowly turned your hand in his, your fingers threading gently through his own instead of merely being held. His eyes widened slightly at the gesture, surprise flickering across his features before melting into something softer.
You looked up at him beneath the drifting lantern light and whispered,
“I understand.”
The noise of the festival faded around you. The laughter, the music, the dancing couples—it all blurred into the background until it felt like there was only the warmth of his hand in yours and the unspoken emotions hanging delicately between you.
Damon stared at you for a moment too long, almost as though he couldn’t believe you were real. Then a tender smile slowly spread across his face, small but genuine enough to make your heart skip.
“Thank you,” he murmured.
The two of you stood side by side near the edge of the square, hands intertwined as you watched couples spin gracefully across the dance floor. Lanterns drifted overhead like floating stars while violins carried sweet melodies through the crisp night air.
Damon kept glancing toward the dancers.
You noticed the way he opened his mouth slightly, only to close it again, like he wanted to ask you something but couldn’t quite gather the courage. For all his confidence and teasing charm, there was something almost painfully shy about him now.
Before either of you could say anything, a sudden force shoved both of you forward.
You stumbled with a startled gasp, nearly crashing into Damon’s chest as he instinctively steadied you by the waist.
“Hey—!” Damon turned sharply, only to hear a familiar voice call from behind him.
“Good luck, buddy!”
Standing near the crowd was DM, grinning shamelessly while giving Damon an exaggerated thumbs-up before disappearing back into the festivalgoers.
Damon immediately groaned under his breath. “I’m going to kill him.”
You looked at him, flustered, the sight making his ears burn red.
But when the music swelled and the surrounding couples welcomed you both onto the dance floor, Damon’s attention returned to you completely. His nervousness was suddenly obvious now—his shoulders stiff, his hand warm where it still held yours.
Slowly, almost cautiously, he stepped closer.
“…Would it be alright,” he asked quietly, his voice softer than before, “if I had this dance?”
“Sure.” You smiled, unaware of the violet eyes watching you from afar.
The Freak Cricus nsfw: With a quiet, guiding touch, he drew you upward, settling you onto his lap instead. The shift in position felt intentional, controlled, as if he needed you closer in a different way. He leaned in, his breath brushing your ear, his voice dropping into something low and intimate, sending a shiver through you.
“So good to me…” Pierrot murmured, the praise soft but weighted. Then, quieter still, almost reverent, “But I would rather watch that beautiful face fall apart in front of me.”
Br</3ken Colors: Damon’s ear stood at attention while his red eyes met Gunther as if a quiet challenge, who was Gunther to question him being at your side. Damon’s mind slightly wandered, ‘Who the hell are you to ask that? Are you in love with them? Then I will kill—”
The Freak Circus Comfort fluff: You hadn’t even realized you were crying until Pierrot suddenly stopped. His hands came up gently, firmly, turning your face toward his. Warm fingers brushed your cheeks, coming away damp.
“You’re crying,” he said softly, but there was nothing soft about the worry in his eyes
Once you stripped him of his shirt, your hands drifted lower to his waist, lingering there — taunting, unhurried. You pressed soft kisses along his collarbone, then lower, between his chest, each touch drawing out quiet reactions from him.
Pierrot let out a soft moan, his body reacting before he could stop it, feeling you move lower along him.
His chest rose and fell unevenly as he leaned back against the bed, eyes never leaving you. There was something dangerous in the way he watched — like he was holding himself back by sheer will alone. He licked his lips, his voice rough when it finally came out.
“My lord… I don’t think I can stop myself if you continue.”
You paused at that, lifting your gaze to meet his. His hand came to your cheek, cupping it gently, almost reverently — a stark contrast to the tension coiled in his body.
He groaned softly, conflicted, his thumb brushing lightly against your lips, as if committing the feeling to memory.
“I don’t want to hurt you…” He admitted, voice thick with restraint, “yet I want to leave my mark on you.”
“Do you want me to stop?” you asked sweetly, your tone soft but deliberate.
A beat of silence.
Then, without hesitation—
“No.”
Author note:
I've been lagging it so much. I have been focusing on uploading old fanfic on A03 between school and work. I hope this helps
💬A/n:. Sorry, I've been gone for so long. I finally moved out. I had a chance to finish this request. This is my first smut fanfic, so I am a little nervous. I hope you like it. Masterlist
🦝Summary: After an intense and possessive encounter, Unum’s restraint finally breaks, driven by jealousy and the need to reaffirm control. The moment is charged with obsession and dominance, as he demands your full attention and reminds you that you belong to him
☢️disclaimer: Gender neutral until sex scene, vaginal penetration, finger, oral sex, and a bit of hand bending. I think that is all
He was your husband, yet you were meant to be little more than a pet to him.
At least, that was what Septem had told him.
Unum stood at the edge of the Garden, watching as you chased Shams and Noor through a meadow of wildflowers. Their laughter drifted through the air, light and unguarded. You moved among them like sunlight given form, skirts brushing petals, hair catching the glow of the afternoon.
For a moment—just a dangerous moment—Unum became a devotee.
His chest tightened painfully, as though the simple act of breathing had been stolen from him. He turned his gaze away, forcing his attention onto the children—creations born not of love, but of an experiment, a whim of godly desire. And yet, when he closed his eyes, it wasn’t divinity he felt.
It was their heartbeats.
Intertwined with yours.
That was the only sound he wanted to hear.
He leaned back against a nearby tree, tossing an apple into the air and catching it with practiced ease. His thoughts spiraled, tightening around themselves. Each time you smiled, something sharp and unfamiliar stirred inside him—a craving so visceral it made his mouth water. Frustration simmered, hot and uncontrollable.
He didn’t understand it.
He didn’t know when it began.
You were supposed to be a plaything—something his mother had given him. Something disposable. And yet the urge to devour you burned through him, even as he knew it would bring sorrow instead of satisfaction.
That knowledge only made it worse.
Then—
“Good afternoon, Unum. I’m here for the weekly check on the children.”
Septem appeared at his side. Unum offered him a cold glance. Once, Septem had been nothing more than a mild irritation. Lately, his presence scraped against something raw.
“Yes, I know,” Unum replied sharply. “You come every week. And you remember you agreed she would be present during the checkups.”
“Oh. Right. I remember,” Septem said with a smile that never reached his eyes—a warning wrapped in politeness.
Septem walked past him, moving toward you and the children. Too close.
Unum’s instinct screamed at him to intervene. His hand tightened, crushing the apple in his grip. Juice spilled down his fist, running along his wrist and arm. He glanced at the sticky golden trail, then slowly lifted his arm and licked it clean, his gaze never leaving you as you drifted farther away.
One thought burned through him, singular and absolute:
No one can have you.
Only him.
By the time dinner finally crept close, the kitchen had grown warm with steam and quiet tension. You stood at the counter preparing the meal while Unum worked nearby, sanctifying each dish with careful precision so it would be safe for everyone—especially you. The soft glow of divinity followed his hands as he murmured blessings under his breath.
Your own hands, however, were far less gentle.
The knife struck the cutting board again and again, each chop sharp and unforgiving, as if you were carving your irritation straight into the vegetables. The rhythm was too fast, too harsh. Unum noticed immediately. He had noticed, in truth, ever since the children’s checkup ended—since the tightness in your shoulders, the way your smile never quite reached your eyes.
It amused him.
A quiet chuckle escaped him at the sight of your furrowed brow and wrinkled nose, an expression so familiar it tugged something fond—and dangerous—in his chest.
You snapped a glare in his direction.
“What is it?” you asked, irritation bleeding clearly into your tone.
Unum lifted his gaze from the bowl he was sanctifying, the soft glow around his hands dimming as his full attention settled on you. Amusement lingered briefly in his eyes, but it faded when he noticed how tightly you were gripping the knife, your knuckles blanched white.
“That,” he said calmly as he stepped closer, “is the sound of someone taking their frustration out on innocent vegetables.”
He moved in behind you, close enough that his presence boxed you in—not threatening, but inescapable. One arm braced lightly against the counter as his other hand reached forward, closing gently around your wrist. He didn’t force you to stop; he simply steadied the motion, grounding it. His touch was warm, deliberate, and your cheek flushed pink when his breath brushed the back of your neck.
“You’ve been like this since the checkup,” he continued quietly. “Your anger is loud tonight.
There was a pause—you froze.
His thumb pressed lightly against your pulse, as if he were listening for something deeper than your heartbeat. You felt him swallow behind you, that strange, unspoken yearning tightening in his chest. With deliberate patience, he coaxed the knife from your fingers, guiding your hand open and threading his fingers through yours instead. His free arm slid slowly around your waist, drawing you back until your body was pressed flush to his.
The hunger in him was unmistakable.
Oh, how he wanted to consume you.
Then—carefully, though something sharp hid beneath the calm—he asked,
“Did Septem say something to you?”
“Septem made Noor eat less,” you murmured, your voice small, trembling. “Why would Septem—”
Your words faltered, swallowed by the stillness that settled over Unum. His grip tightened slightly around your hand—not in anger, but in restraint. The arm at your waist pulled you closer as he dipped his head, brushing his face into the crook of your neck, breathing you in as though your scent anchored him.
“Why don’t you stop Septem, Unum?” you asked, your tone sharp with confusion and hurt. “Aren’t you angry?”
“You know I can’t,” he replied quietly. “Septem outranks me. What he commands, I must obey.” A pause. Then, more honestly, “So yes. I am angry.”
His teeth grazed your skin in a brief, possessive nip, making you gasp. His voice dropped, thick with something dangerous.
“I don’t enjoy another man taking your attention from me,” he murmured. “You are mine.”
You melted against him despite yourself, your knees weakening as he leaned you forward against the counter, his mouth lingering at your neck. You moaned when his hands tightened, exploring your breast with a claiming urgency that made your pulse race. He hummed, pleased by your reaction.
“Wait—Unum,” you breathed. “What are you doing?”
“Mine,” he answered.
Then he froze.
A soft, broken hiccup escaped your lips.
Unum pulled back slowly, dread flooding his expression. His thoughts spiraled—had he hurt you? Gone too far? The sensation in his chest was different now, sharp and unfamiliar, as though something vital were cracking open.
“Why are you crying?” he asked, voice unsteady, confusion laced with panic. He reached for you, whispering your name—
—and you slapped his hand away.
“You really care more about claiming me than listening to me,” you cried, fury and pain spilling over. “Like I’m some object you own!”
You stormed out of the kitchen, leaving Unum staring at the space you’d occupied moments before.
Anger burned through him.
You rejected him. Why? You were his. The children were his. Had he not provided it? Protected? Was he not enough?
His thoughts circled relentlessly, always landing on the same answer.
Septem.
The one man he could not defy.
His jaw clenched as his fist slammed into the counter, the sound echoing through the empty room. Frustration stung his eyes, tears slipping free before he could stop them. These feelings—jealousy, fear, desire—twisted inside him, driving a desperate need to ensure you would never look at anyone else the way you looked at him.
But even as the thought took root, he knew one thing with terrible clarity:
If he wanted to keep you, he would have to learn what this feeling is.
—--------------------
You lay curled beneath the thin morning light, listening as two mourning doves sang softly to one another outside your window. Their cooing was gentle, intimate—too peaceful for the storm churning inside you. You watched them through the glass, their small bodies pressed close on the branch, while anxious thoughts gnawed relentlessly at your mind.
You had disrespected a god.
The realization returned again and again, heavy as a weight on your chest. What punishment awaited you? Silence felt worse than anger. Unum had not appeared since the outburst, and that absence terrified you more than his presence ever had. Each passing day stretched your nerves thinner, and cowardice kept you rooted where you were, afraid to seek him out, afraid of what you might find in his eyes.
You were still lost in those spiraling thoughts when the sound of a door opening cut through the quiet.
Your body froze.
Heart pounding, you slowly pushed yourself upright, every muscle tense, breath shallow—as if moving too quickly might seal your fate. Before you could even turn toward the sound, something small and solid collided with you. You were knocked backward as Shams and Noor barreled into you at once, laughter and warmth crashing over you without warning, yelling, “Good Morning!”
You yelped, startled, instinctively throwing your arms up as they clung to you, their sudden presence shattering the silence you’d been drowning in. Their laughter filled the room—bright, carefree, contagious—and despite everything weighing on you, it pulled a smile from your lips.
You snuggled your babies close, breathing them in, grounding yourself in their warmth.
That was when you noticed him.
Unum stood just behind them, having appeared so quietly you hadn’t heard him approach. In his hands was a simple tray of pancakes, steam still curling faintly into the air. He watched you for a moment before moving, his steps soundless as he walked closer. Without a word, he knelt and placed the tray carefully on your lap, his gaze never leaving yours.
You froze beneath the intensity of it.
He reached up, cupping your cheeks in his hands, thumbs warm against your skin. A smile tugged at his lips—not wide, not cruel, but unsettling all the same, teeth just barely showing.
“Morning, how did you sleep?” he murmured.
He leaned in and kissed you tenderly, softly, as if nothing had happened between the two of you—no raised voices, no fractured trust, no silence that had stretched for days. The normalcy of it made your chest ache.
Slowly, almost without realizing it, you leaned into his touch. Your head tilted back just enough to bare the line of your neck to him.
Unum’s pupils dilated at the sight of your exposed skin. A slow, possessive hunger stirred in him—an urge to claim, to mark, to make permanence where uncertainty lingered. He lingered there, unmoving, savoring the moment rather than taking it.
His gaze darkened with private fixation, mouth curving into a faint, knowing smirk. He took visible pleasure in how easily you yielded, how your body responded before your thoughts could intervene—choosing to read it not as habit or fear, but as devotion.
As a submission.
And he enjoyed it.
He enjoyed the control he held over you.
A low chuckle slipped from him as his thumb traced your jaw.
“You missed me?” he teased lightly.
Heat bloomed in your cheeks, the tips of your ears flushing despite yourself. You looked away.
“The bed felt a bit colder than normal.”
Yes. Of course, you had missed him. You hated that you had.
Your gaze dropped to the pancakes just as Shams tugged at your sleeve.
“Mom, we helped Daddy mix the batter!”
“Oh? You did?” You giggled, warmth blooming briefly—until you noticed Noor’s stare. Fixed. Hungry.
Something twisted sharply in your chest.
Septem’s orders echoed in your mind, bitter and cruel. You quickly cut a piece of pancake and offered it to Noor.
“Here, baby. Eat some.”
Noor froze. Then he shook his head, covering his mouth before bolting from the room.
“Noor—” You stopped yourself mid-call. Shams ran after her twin, leaving the room painfully quiet.
You leaned back, jaw clenched, anger simmering just beneath the surface.
Unum had gone very still.
The shift was subtle, but unmistakable. His hand tightened briefly at his side. His jaw set. The warmth he’d worn moments ago drained from his expression, replaced by something colder—older. His gaze flicked toward the doorway where Noor had disappeared, and for a moment, Septem’s name seemed to sit there unspoken, heavy and unwelcome.
Slowly, deliberately, Unum sat beside you, close enough that his presence pressed against yours.
“I have a meeting with Septem,” he said evenly.
The calm in his voice was practiced. Controlled. Dangerous.
“I’ll see that he allows Noor to eat properly,” he continued, eyes narrowing just slightly.
It sounded like a promise.
Or a warning.
—
Later that day, you sat beneath the open sky, watching the children tumble through the grass as they wrestled and laughed, their voices bright and carefree. Noor shrieked with laughter as Shams pinned him down, only for the balance to tip moments later. You smiled faintly—but your attention kept drifting, your thoughts snagging on something heavier.
Unum.
You were so lost in thought that you almost didn’t notice Ignis beside you until she spoke.
“Is something weighing on your mind?”
You stiffened slightly, then turned your head. Ignis was watching you—not prying, just observant, her expression gentle but sharp in that way she had. You exhaled, shoulders dropping.
“A little,” you admitted. “I… well. Unum and I—” You hesitated, searching for the right words. “We got into a fight. I guess that’s the shortest way to put it.”
Ignis hummed thoughtfully. “So you’re not speaking?”
“No—! I mean—” You shook your head quickly, frustration creeping into your voice. “That’s what I thought at first, too. I yelled at him. At a god.” You let out a short, disbelieving laugh. “I was sure that would be the end of it.”
She raised a brow, waiting.
“But then,” you continued, quieter now, “he brought me flowers. And breakfast in bed. Just yesterday.” You stared down at your hands, fingers twisting together. “He acts like nothing’s wrong… like we didn’t hurt each other at all.”
Ignis glanced toward the children, then back to you. “And that confuses you.”
“Yes.” You nodded slowly. “I don’t understand him. I don’t know if he’s apologizing… or pretending. Or if he thinks affection can fix something he won’t even talk about.”
Your voice softened, almost fragile.
“And that scares me more than if he were angry. I just want to understand him…”
Across the field, Unum’s gaze never left you—sharp, possessive—like the world had narrowed to a single point he refused to release. Dark red stains marred his clothes, carefully concealed beneath layers of fabric and stillness, hidden under a tree well enough that neither you nor the children would notice.
Ignis, however, did.
She watched him from afar, eyes narrowing just slightly, and murmured under her breath,
“Sometimes gods are afraid of losing something.”
“What?” You frowned, turning instinctively—but there was nothing there. Only the children’s laughter drifting through the air, only the tall grass swaying lazily beneath the sun.
Ignis straightened beside you, her expression smoothing into something unreadable. After a brief pause, she spoke lightly, almost dismissively,
“Why don’t you go take a bath?”
You blinked. “A bath?”
She waved a hand, her gaze flicking once more toward Unum before deliberately looking away.
“Your scent is… bothersome today.”
The words lingered longer than they should have.
You hesitated—but Ignis was already rising to her feet, gently ushering the children back toward the garden path as though the choice had already been made for you.
“Go,” she said again, softer now. “I’ll watch them.”
—
The antechamber to the baths was quiet, familiar. You stood where you always did before undressing, fingers curling into the hem of your shirt. You pulled it over your head slowly, Ignis’s words echoing in your mind.
Afraid of losing something.
You froze halfway, staring at nothing as the question slipped from your lips in a whisper.
“Losing what…?”
You dropped the rest of your garments into the woven basket without looking, missing the dark red–stained robe buried beneath the folds. The mirror caught your reflection instead. You lingered there, eyes unfocused, replaying the moments you and Unum had shared—the closeness, the tension, the way his presence had felt too heavy to escape as he would have eaten you whole.
Your fingers brushed your lips unconsciously, remembering the heat of his breath, the pressure of his mouth. A faint blush crept across your cheeks.
“…It can’t be,” you murmured, doubt and unease tangling in your chest. “Me… can it?”
You wrapped the towel more tightly around yourself, as if it could guard you from the thought. With one last glance at your reflection, you turned and stepped into the bathing chamber.
The baths were quiet—stone walls still warm from the afternoon sun, steam drifting lazily through the air. The scent of herbs clung to your skin as you took another step inside.
Then you noticed you weren’t alone.
Gray, star-flecked eyes lifted to meet yours.
Unum.
His red hair, usually untamed, lay slicked against his face, darkened by water. He stood near the basin, rinsing dried blood from his skin, his attention divided between the task and a wound along his back. When he realized you were there, a slow, knowing smirk curved his lips.
Under the quiet weight of his presence, your gaze betrayed you, tracing along his well-built body without shame. You tightened your grip on the towel, gently biting your lips as you felt a strange arousal. Part of you ached to step closer, to give in to the pull he held over you; another part urged retreat, warned you to turn away while you still could.
You never made the choice.
Unum noticed everything.
The hesitation.
The want.
The way your body led toward him even as your mind searched for escape.
His mouth curved—not quite a smile. Something more knowing.
Before you could decide, he reached out and closed his fingers around your hand, firm but unhurried, stopping you where you stood. His touch wasn’t asking—it was anchoring. Claiming. He brought your hand close to his lips. His lips pressed lightly against your knuckles as if reminding you that you were adored.
His gaze never left your face as he stepped closer, close enough that you felt the heat of him through the steam, close enough that the choice felt like it had already been made for you. He towered over you, leaning his face closer to you. To kiss you. To tease you.
“Let me wash your back,” he murmured slightly, possessively. “I know every place your hands can’t reach.”
“You… wouldn’t mind?” you asked softly as you stepped fully into the bathing chamber, stripping the towel from your body and leaving it behind like a discarded thought—your last line of defense.
Unum’s breath hitched—just once—but his eyes darkened immediately, tracing you with open hunger. There was no shame in the way he looked at you, no attempt to hide it. Your body was not something to be glanced at and forgotten; it was something to be claimed, studied, and adored. Something meant for him.
For a fleeting, dangerous moment, he thought his action worth it—worth the lines he’d crossed, the restraints he’d shattered, the things he’d destroyed just to keep your eyes from drifting beyond his reach.
When he took your hand, his grip was firm, decisive, guiding you into the bath as though there had never been another option—his thumb brushes against your knuckles, grounding, possessive.
“Never,” he answered quietly.
His other hand settled at your hip, warm and certain, fingers curving as if they already knew the shape of you. Not claiming you aloud—but making it unmistakably clear.
You were here.
And you were his and only his.
“Unum…” Your gaze flickered from his yearning eyes to his lips before you looked away, heat rushing to your cheeks. You placed your hands against his chest, intending to collect yourself—but the moment you touched him, he drew your body closer, firm and unyielding.
You gasped at the sudden movement, your breath hitching as your body flushed warm beneath his hold. His presence enveloped you, overwhelming in the quiet way only he could manage, his forehead lowering until it touched yours.
“Don’t look away,” he begged, his voice low, frayed at the edges with restraint. One hand rose to cup your cheek, firm and reverent, anchoring you as though he feared you might disappear if he loosened his hold. “Please keep your eyes on me and only me.”
Then his lips found yours—hungry, unguarded. Your body pressed instinctively closer as your arms slid up his back, fingers curling into the damp fabric there. Your kiss softened, exploring the faint scar along his lip, until he caught your bottom lip between his teeth, biting down just enough to steal a breathless whine from you.
He pulled back before it could deepen, eyes dark and glowing as he took in your dazed, love-drunk expression. A low chuckle left him, equal parts amusement and want.
“As much as I love you melting in my arms,” he murmured, thumb brushing your swollen lip, “I’d rather do it properly—in bed. Not in a bath.”
“So what now?” you asked, a hint of disappointment slipping into your voice before you could stop it.
Unum’s lips curved faintly.
“Taking care of what is mine,” he teased, clearly pleased by the way you softened under his attention.
He reached for a nearby bar of soap and drew you back against him, settling you onto his lap with unhurried confidence. His hands moved to your shoulders, firm and practiced, kneading away the stubborn knots you’d been carrying for days. The tension eased under his touch, warmth spreading through you as your body gradually gave in.
Your breath caught when his rough hands cupped your breast, caressing your nipple just enough to make your pulse stutter. He leaned in, brushing a slow kiss along the back of your neck, sending shivers racing down your spine. You clutched at his arms instinctively, grounding yourself in his strength as His hands exploded your curvy body, cleaning you. His presence slowly closed around you, devouring all your senses.
“You’re shaking,” he murmured, amused, pleased.
“Unum… wait,” you whispered, breathless, feeling Unum nip the crook of your neck.
A low sound of protest rumbled in his chest as his tattooed fingers clutched your inner thigh slightly.
“What is it?” he asked, his eyes darkening.
You hesitated, then forced yourself to speak.
“How was your meeting with Septem?”
His stillness was immediate.
A pause—brief, controlled—before his voice returned, lower than before.
“Why,” he said quietly, stiffening, “are you thinking of others right now… when I’m here?”
“What—ah!” The sound tore from you before you could stop it as his restraint finally fractured. He pulled you closer, his grip turning firm, possessive, overwhelming. His teeth bit into your shoulder blade—not playful, not gentle—sending a sharp reminder of his strength straight through you. You tried to push him back, but he bound your hands together with his whip. He wasn’t going to hold back anymore.
His voice dropped to a furious whisper against your ear.
“If I have to make you forget everything but me by fucking you,” he growled, “then I will.”
Your body betrayed you, trembling as he began fingering you, thrusting roughly, watching your hip buckle under his touch alone. He took unmistakable pleasure in hearing you moan his name. He loved how exposed you were, how easily you came undone. He wanted more than your body; he wanted your focus, your thoughts, your obedience. He wanted to leave no room in your mind for anyone else.
With his free hand, he tilted your face toward his, forcing you to meet his gaze before his mouth claimed yours. Then he began to stimulate your right bud, making you mewl. The kiss was deep, consuming, leaving you breathless and unsteady. You tried to speak—tried to ground him.
“Fuck. Unum—” You panted heavily, feeling lightheaded.
Only for him to answer by sliding his tongue in your mouth. His presence closed in your mind until there was nothing but him. He massaged your tongue, groaning softly. He slowly rocked his cock against your ass, wanting you to feel how aroused he was.
His thumb circled on your clit skillfully, while his other tattooed fingers continued to massage your inner walls. He could feel your walls twitching around his finger. He could tell your body was yearning for more. He smirked.
With your vision blurred, your legs lightly trembling as he slowly turned you around just enough to look at you—truly look at you—melting, dizzy from him alone.
That pleased him most of all. But he wanted more. He whispered to you, “We are not done, sweetie.”
A slow smirk curved his lips, dark and satisfied. He loved the sound of your whimpers—the way they trembled and broke just for him—as he slowly pulled his fingers out from your needy pussy. The slick warmth clung to his skin, and for a moment, his expression shifted, frustration flickering through his eyes. He had denied himself for too long. Taking his fingers out of the water, he stared at them with open disappointment, jaw tightening at the thought that he couldn’t taste you properly because of it.
“I suppose,” he murmured, almost to himself, voice thick with hunger, “I have to eat you out.”
Before you could protest, he lifted you effortlessly out of the water, settling you over his shoulder as though you weighed nothing. The sudden shift made your breath hitch, the world tilting forward as your stomach fluttered. You instinctively clung to him, fingers digging into his skin for balance. He steadied you by gripping your thighs firmly, possessively, as if reminding you exactly who held you there.
“Unum…” you whispered, unsure whether it was a plea, a warning, or surrender.
He didn’t answer. He was already too focused.
“Damn, babe… You look so good,” Unum teased, voice low and heated, as he used his fingers to spread your folds apart slowly. He swallowed thickly, a faint string of drool gathering at the corner of his mouth. Smirking, he blew a soft stream of air against your cunt, watching with open amusement as you jolted in surprise. His chuckle vibrated against you as he tightened his hold.
“Thank you for the meal~.”
“Wait—Ah!” The sound strangled in your throat when his tongue finally brushed along your nub. Your body reacted instantly, heat surging through you, breath catching as your fingers twitched in his hair. He didn’t miss a single reaction. He watched your face carefully—how your eyes grew heavy, how your lips parted, how your entire body flushed and softened under him.
He smirked, licking slow, deliberate circles around your clit, savoring every twitch. You struggled to steady yourself while he ate you hungrily, your fingers gripping his hair a little too tightly. The intensity made your thoughts blur.
“Unum—muhm… what’s going—hah—on with you? Ah!”
He answered with a groan, deep and almost desperate. He felt drunk on you, intoxicated by your sweetness, by the way you responded to him so openly. You tasted addictive—sweet and overwhelming—and he devoured you like he’d been starved. His tongue moved in steady laps between your legs, relentless and intent. When your body clenched around the rising pressure low in your stomach, he felt it—felt how close you were.
You tried to shift away, overwhelmed by the sensation, but Unum reacted instantly. He nipped harshly at your inner thigh, a sharp warning. Looking up at you from between your legs, eyes dark and burning, he growled,
“I didn’t tell you to move.”
His grip tightened, possessive and unyielding.
“Now,” he added, voice rough and commanding, “be a good girl… and let me eat you.”
Unum shoved you closer, holding you firmly in place as he delved his tongue in deeper, unwilling to stay restrained any longer. A broken moan escaped your lips as your body instinctively leaned forward into him, chasing the sensation even as it overwhelmed you. Your breath came in heavy pants, chest rising and falling rapidly, shivers racing down your spine as pleasure tangled with the raw intensity of his need. You moaned his name like a prayer. “Unum~ ”
His tongue moved with greedy purpose, savoring the hope and heat he tasted. He tilted his head slowly from side to side, searching, exploring, determined to draw out every reaction from you. It wasn’t just hunger—it was deprivation finally snapping. He had denied himself for too long, and now that he had you like this, he refused to hold back.
A soft, almost desperate whimper left him, the sound betraying how deeply he had been starving for you. His grip tightened, not to hurt—but to anchor you there, to keep you from slipping away again. There was something unhinged beneath it now, something raw and aching. He wasn’t just indulging.
He was reclaiming.
And he wanted more.
When he finally pulled back to breathe, you slumped against him, cradling his head instinctively. He gave a low chuckle, licking his lips clean before glancing up and pressing his forehead gently to yours. You were close—he could see it in your unfocused eyes. He kissed you softly, drawing a helpless mewl from your throat.
“So cute~” he murmured, adjusting his hold so your bound hands rested around his neck, anchoring you there — making sure you stayed close, exactly where he wanted you.
Slowly, deliberately, he lowered you until you felt him poised beneath your entrance. Your head rested on his shoulder, your thoughts hazy, light swimming through your mind as your body struggled to keep up with everything you were feeling. His breathing grew heavier against your skin, restraint wearing thin as he teased your slick heat with the tip.
His voice dropped into a rough whisper, warm and possessive against your ear.
“I know I said I would take you properly… but since you chose to give your attention to someone else…”
His grip tightened at your hips, not painful — but certain. Claiming.
“I’ll have to remind you who you belong to, love.”
He littered your jawline and neck with slow, deliberate kisses, lingering at each mark as though sealing ownership into your skin. Each press of his lips sent small shivers through you, your breath catching before he finally pulled you into a deep kiss — and thrust himself inside.
“Unum—fuck~” you gasped against his lips, the sudden fullness stealing the air from your lungs as his pace turned rougher, restraint finally snapping under the weight of his need. The kiss broke messy and breathless, your words dissolving into him.
He bit down on your lower lip, a low groan rumbling from deep in his throat, the sound vibrating through your chest. His hands gripped your ass tightly, fingers digging in with possessive insistence, holding you exactly where he wanted you — making sure you couldn’t pull away, making sure you felt every inch of him.
He panted against your skin, breath hot and uneven, control unraveling faster with each thrust. God, you’re making it hard, he thought, jaw tightening as pleasure blurred the edges of his discipline.
He drove into you in deep, relentless strokes, and your body answered him instinctively, clamping around his cock as if trying to keep him there. He could hear you — soft, broken mumbles of his name — feel your fingers clawing at his back as you tried to steady yourself, tried to endure the overwhelming rush building inside you.
You felt yourself growing wetter, heat pooling low in your stomach as Unum pounded into you with desperate intensity. Every thrust felt deliberate, claiming, almost punishing in its depth.
He whimpered softly, the sound almost vulnerable despite the force of him.
“Fuck, love… you’re close, aren’t you?”
You answered with a strained whine, and something in him softened for a split second. He pressed a quick kiss to your cheek — not gentle, but grounding — before angling his hips just slightly. Each thrust began striking that sensitive place inside you, precise and merciless.
Your hand raked down his back, nails biting into skin. He snarled at the sting, eyes flashing — loving the pain, loving the mark you left on him. It made him feel claimed too.
You leaned back slightly, dizzy, hearing the faint shift of water around you as Unum continued moving beneath you — steady, powerful, unrelenting.
“Unum!” you screamed in pleasure as you came undone, your voice breaking as the sensation tore through you, your body trembling helplessly through the release.
Unum shifted, pulling you closer until you leaned heavily against his chest, your weight sagging into him as if your strength had melted away. His pace faltered, turning sloppy as your walls pulsed around him, squeezing him tight, each flutter dragging a strained sound from his throat. He rode out your orgasm, chasing his own, breath breaking into uneven, heated exhales against your ear.
He bit into the crook of your neck — not enough to truly hurt, but enough to leave a mark, enough to remind you that you were his. The pressure lingered, possessive and deliberate, before his lips brushed over the same spot as if soothing what he’d claimed. His breath was warm and uneven against your skin as he murmured sweet, hazy nonsense, his words slurred with pleasure and devotion, soaked in something dangerously affectionate.
“Good girl… You did so well learning your lesson.”
The praise wasn’t gentle — it was satisfied. Proud. Like he had been waiting for this moment, waiting for you to unravel exactly the way he wanted.
You could feel it in the way he moved now — the loss of rhythm, the way his control frayed at the edges. His hands tightened around you, fingers pressing into your skin as if grounding himself. His breathing shook slightly, heat spilling against your neck, every thrust less measured and more desperate than the last.
He bit your exposed neck again, harder this time, marking you openly — sealing it. Then he drove into you one final time, a deep, claiming thrust before he came inside you again. A low, broken groan tore from his chest, thick with relief and possession, as he held you tightly against him.
He didn’t pull away.
He stayed there, buried inside you, breathing hard — savoring the connection, loving the way your body still trembled around him.
After a couple of minutes, he leaned back slightly to look at you. Your eyes were heavy, lashes fluttering as sleep threatened to claim you. A soft, amused chuckle left him at the sight. He pressed a tender kiss to your forehead, lingering there a moment longer than necessary, a flicker of concern crossing his features — wondering if he had pushed you too far.
Carefully, he pulled out and sat down with you on his lap, unbending your hands. You whimpered softly at the loss of connection, your fingers twitching as if to pull him back.
“I know, love,” he murmured gently, brushing damp strands of hair from your face. “But I need to take care of you.”
He reached for the luxury soaps he favored, the scent rich and calming as he began to wash you slowly, reverently. His movements were no longer frantic or demanding — they were careful, almost devotional. He chuckled under his breath when you instinctively nuzzled into his hand while he wiped you down with the washcloth, seeking warmth, seeking him.
He adored that.
He loved that even now — tired, softened, vulnerable — you leaned toward him without thinking. That your body searched for his touch as if it were the only place you felt steady.
He bent to place light kisses along your skin, trailing them gently as he cleaned you, attentive to every small reaction — every soft breath, every slight shift beneath his hands.
“Unum…” you slurred softly, your voice thick with exhaustion as you rubbed at your eyes.
He glanced up from where he was washing your feet, meeting your hazy gaze. A boyish smile tugged at his lips — almost innocent, almost proud — as if silently claiming you all over again, not through force this time, but through care.
“Yes?” he answered, tone softer now.
“Tired,” you murmured, the word barely leaving your lips.
He hummed thoughtfully while rinsing you off, the sound low and content. “Don’t worry,” he replied gently. “I’m finished with you. I’ll wash myself quickly.”
You nodded sleepily, watching him through half-lidded eyes as he stood and cleaned himself. Steam curled faintly around his frame, water tracing slow paths down his skin before disappearing at his feet. Your cheeks warmed when you noticed the red scratches lining his upper back — the marks you had left behind in your desperation. They stood out against him, raw and unmistakable. Embarrassment fluttered in your chest, and you quickly looked away, suddenly very aware of what you’d done.
He noticed immediately.
“What?” he teased, amusement dancing lazily in his voice. “You don’t like your handiwork?”
You pouted faintly, still refusing to meet his gaze, rubbing your arm in shy deflection.
He chuckled, deep and pleased, rinsing the last of the water from his body. “Adorable,” he murmured, shaking his head slightly. There was pride in his tone — not just at the marks, but at the proof that you had lost yourself with him.
When he finished, he walked toward you without hesitation, still warm from the water. His presence alone felt steady, grounding. He reached for you gently. “Let me take you to bed.”
He lifted you with ease, one arm supporting your back, the other beneath your knees. Before stepping away, he wrapped your towel more securely around you, tucking it in as if afraid you might catch a chill. The possessiveness from before had softened into something quieter now — attentive, almost domestic.
You instinctively leaned into him, your cheek brushing against his chest as he carried you to the dressing room. The movement made your legs tremble faintly when he set you down, your body still sensitive and weak. His hand stayed at your waist longer than necessary, steadying you until he was sure you wouldn’t fall.
He turned to dress, tying on his schenti and fastening his choker with practiced ease. He reached for his robe —
Then paused.
His eyes flicked back to you, standing there small and sleepy, wrapped in nothing but a towel and his scent.
A slow smirk curved his lips.
Instead of putting the robe on himself, he stepped forward and slipped it over your shoulders. The fabric engulfed you, sleeves hanging past your hands, hem brushing the floor. It was warm. It smelled like him. It felt like being claimed in a different way — quieter, but no less deliberate.
He adjusted the collar around your neck carefully, his fingers brushing along your jaw as he made sure it sat just right. His gaze darkened slightly — not with hunger this time, but with quiet appreciation, like he was admiring something precious.
“Looks good on you,” he said softly.
“Thanks, Unum.”
You stepped closer to him, the oversized robe pooling around your feet as you leaned into his muscular chest. The steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath your cheek made your exhaustion feel heavier, safer somehow.
He immediately wrapped an arm around you, pulling you in without hesitation. A warm smile tugged at his lips.
“That’s my job as your husband,” he murmured, brushing his thumb lazily along your side. “Now let’s get you to bed.”
You giggled softly, the sound light and drowsy, when he scooped you up again with effortless strength. Your arms slipped around his neck, your head resting against his shoulder as he carried you out of the dressing room.
The world felt distant, hazy at the edges, but his presence was grounding. His scent, his warmth, the way he held you so securely — it made it easy to let go.
By the time he reached the bed, your eyes were already drifting closed.
And he didn’t miss the small smile still resting on your lips.
