I’m addicted to you

over the following weeks, lingyue is everywhere. at dinners, at the boys' lessons, in the gardens. always with that mournful expression, always mentioning mei.

mei loved chrysanthemums.

mei always wore jade.

lord sylus smiled more before mei died.

it's like living with a ghost made flesh.

but worse are the moments when you catch her watching you with something cold behind her eyes, there and gone so quickly you think you have imagined it.

you also notice how she tries to position herself with luke and kieran. 

telling them stories about their mother, yes, but always with herself at the center.

your mother and i used to do this. your mother would want me to teach you that. when your mother was gone, who took care of you? who stayed?

the boys are polite but distant with her. they don't pull away when she touches them, but they don't lean into her either.

one day you overhear her speaking to them in the garden. her voice is sweet, cajoling. 

you know i love you as if you were my own sons, don't you? if anything ever happened, i would take care of you. i would be here. always.

there's something in her tone that makes your skin crawl. 

luke's response is cool. 

we know, aunt lingyue. but nothing will happen. father is strong and we have our new mother now.

you see something flash across lingyue's face.

rage.

luke and kieran, meanwhile, are slowly becoming yours.

it starts small. 

they ask you to judge their archery competitions. 

you are fair, you do notlet them cheat, and actually teach them proper form.

they are surprised, most adults either let them win or dismiss them entirely.

then they start seeking you out for other things. 

to help with their studies. 

someone to practice strategy games with who actually challenges them. 

kieran brings you a book about military tactics and asks your opinion. 

luke shows you a sketch he made and waits nervously for your response.

you tell them stories about your own brothers.

the eldest who used to sneak you sweets. the second who taught you calligraphy and how to wield a dagger in secret. the third who was always climbing things he shouldn't. 

the twins listen with hungry attention, they have never had anyone speak to them like this. not as the emperor’s heirs, but as children who have lost important people in their lives too.

one afternoon, you find kieran crying in the garden. 

the anniversary of mei's death is approaching. you sit with him. you do not tell him not to cry, you just stay present. when he finally speaks, he says you remind him of her. 

not in looks or manner, but in the way you make him feel safe.

luke overhears. 

says quietly that their mother used to listen like you do. used to take them seriously. 

aunt lingyue is always sad, always talking about how much the have lost, but you talk about what they still have.

you realize with a start that you love these boys, fiercely. 

they may not be your flesh and blood, but they are slowly becoming your sons.  

lingyue notices. 

you catch her watching when luke holds your hand in the garden.

when kieran falls asleep against your shoulder during evening readings. 

her expression is unreadable, it continues to make your skin crawl.

on the other hand, you and sylus continue your careful dance.

he brings you to every council meeting now. 

his generals have stopped looking surprised at your presence or when you speak. 

you have proven yourself competent and insightful. 

you understand both empires, your fallen kingdom and his rising one, and you build bridges between them.

one night, working late over maps and census reports, sylus’ hand brushes yours reaching for the same document. you both freeze and he apologizes, you tell him not to. but he catches your wrist gently. his thumb rests against your pulse point.

he says he should let you go but does not release your wrist. 

you agree but don't pull away.

for a moment, you think he might kiss you. his gaze drops to your lips, and your breath catches, and the air between you pulls taut—

then lingyue appears in the doorway with tea. 

her eyes widen. she apologizes for interrupting. 

sylus releases your wrist like it burned him. 

the moment shatters.

he tells you it's late, that you should rest. 

you flee before he can see the tears burning your eyes.

three months later, you discover you're pregnant.

it happened during one of the nights that duty demands you to partake in your marital bed, both of you trying not to think too hard about what you were doing. 

but now there's a child. 

his child. 

growing inside you.

you are happy. 

maybe this will be a bridge. 

maybe this will make him see you as more than a political necessity. 

maybe he will finally see you as a real wife, not a hostage.

you confide in your maid, asking her to prepare special teas for pregnancy. 

you want to wait a bit longer before telling sylus, you want to be sure.

but then, everything begins to unravel.

it starts small.

mei's jewelry appears in your chambers. 

you do not know how it got there. 

you have never touched her things, but when sylus sees you with the jade bracelet, his face falls.

you try to explain that you found it on your dressing table, that you didn't take it, but lingyue appears with worried concern, suggesting perhaps you were curious, it's natural to want nice things after all.

sylus walks away before you can defend yourself further.

then there are the whispers. 

some servants mention seeing you in the west garden at odd hours. near mei's shrine. 

someone claims you were heard speaking ill of the late empress. 

it's all lies, but they pile up like stones, building a wall between you and any credibility.

lingyue begins visiting you more frequently during this time. 

always with that concerned expression, always bringing tea. 

special blends, she says. to help you stay calm during these difficult times, with all the stress of the growing tension with your former kingdom's loyalists.

you drink it, desperate for any comfort, any kindness in the isolation growing around you.

you don't notice how tired you become. 

how your body feels increasingly weak.

then documents start appearing with your seal. 

correspondence with remaining loyalists from your kingdom. letters suggesting rebellion, betrayal, plans to murder sylus and reclaim your throne. 

you have never seen them before. 

the handwriting looks like yours but it is not.

the seal must have been forged. 

but when the evidence is brought before the council, even you have to admit it looks damning.

sylus' voice is ice when he demands an explanation, his eyes harder than they were on the day he conquered your kingdom. 

you realize with dawning horror that he believes it. 

he actually believes you would betray him.

you insist you didn't write the letters, that someone is framing you. 

he demands to know who. 

who would have access to your seal? who could forge your hand so perfectly?

you don't have an answer. you don't know.

luke and kieran try to speak for you, but they are children. 

no one listens. 

one of the generals actually laughs, suggesting the princes are too young to understand politics, too attached to their new stepmother to see clearly.

worse, envoys from your former kingdom arrive. 

they have heard rumors that you have been living as sylus' whore. 

that you spread your legs for the conqueror to save yourself, not them. 

they are disgusted and ashamed. 

you lose all your hope and your own people won't speak in your defense.

you are confined to your chambers. guards posted outside the doors. 

you are cut off from everyone except lingyue, who visits with false concern, saying she tried to tell them you wouldn't do this, but the evidence seems so damning.

she brings you more tea. 

to help with the stress, she says. to keep your strength up.

you drink it. 

you are so alone, so desperate for any kindness, that you do not think hard about it.

you are alone. 

trapped. 

and pregnant with a child you can't tell anyone about because now it would look like a desperate ploy.

a month passes. 

a month of isolation, of morning sickness you hide, of watching your world crumble through the bars of your gilded cage.

there's a banquet but you are not invited, traitors do not attend court functions. but you hear about it later from whispered servant gossip. how lingyue appeared in stunning robes, how she sat near sylus, how she kept his wine cup filled.

three weeks later, lingyue announces she's pregnant.

you hear it from the servants first, the whisper spreading like wildfire through the palace. then sylus himself comes to your chambers, won't meet your eyes, tells you that needs to explain something.

he tells you about the banquet, he doesn't remember much of it. 

he tells you woke up the morning after and lingyue was there, on his bed, naked. 

it was wrong, dishonorable, but it happened, and now there are consequences.

she's pregnant.

she's claiming it’s nearly three weeks along, which would make the timing match the banquet, though you know enough about pregnancy to realize she should barely be showing symptoms yet.

but no one questions it. why would they? 

mei's beloved sister is carrying the emperor's child.

he's taking her as a concubine. he has to, the council demands it, her family demands it, the child deserves recognition. 

he is sorry.

but his apologies don’t fix anything. 

sorry doesn't change that he's giving her everything you desperately wanted, a child acknowledged and honored, while your own pregnancy, his legitimate child, conceived in your lawful marriage, withers as a secret and unspoken in your womb.

you can not tell him now.

it’s too late

he will think you are lying, that it's a ruse, so you stay silent and feel your heart turn to stone.

lingyue moves into honored quarters for concubines.

she's celebrated, fawned over, treated as the mother of sylus' child.

she continues to play the role of mei's devoted sister perfectly, sighing that mei would have wanted this, that she always said sylus deserved happiness. 

that it's poetic, really, mei's sister giving sylus another child, another heir that mei would have wanted him to have.

and then she begins her political maneuvering in earnest.

she influences the council with careful words and quiet suggestions. 

the empress' territories should be redistributed as punishment for her treason, shouldn't they?

her people cannot be trusted, they raised a woman who would betray her husband. perhaps a harsher hand is needed. perhaps steeper taxes. perhaps mandatory conscription to the army to prove their loyalty.

several council members agree. 

general zhao, who never trusted your kingdom's surrender.

minister feng, who lost his heir during the conquest of your kingdom, felled by one of your brothers. 

others who see opportunity in your downfall.

but there are also voices of caution. 

minister shen points out that the evidence, while damning, deserves thorough investigation. 

general wei notes that the you have proven yourself competent in ruling, would a woman plotting rebellion really work so diligently to improve the empire?

the council is divided.

some hedge their bets, waiting to see which way the wind blows.

but the loudest voices, zhao, feng, and their allies, begin calling for your formal divorce. 

not just confinement, complete dissolution of the marriage. 

you are a traitor, they argue. you have brought shame to the emperor. 

he should cast you aside and marry properly. 

someone worthy. someone like... 

well, if lingyue is already carrying his child...

the pressure builds. 

every council meeting, the same voices. 

divorce her. exile her. 

some even whisper, execute her.

sylus refuses. 

you are still his empress, he says sternly, still his wife. 

the evidence will be investigated fully before any permanent decisions are made.

but you can see the doubt in his eyes. the way he won't look at you during the few times he would visit your chambers and the way his jaw tightens when the council mentions divorce.

he's considering it.

your people face harsher treatment under the new policies. 

you watch your world crumble from your gilded cage, helpless to stop it.

the stress takes its toll. 

morning sickness you can't hide becomes weight loss you can't explain. 

you are exhausted, hollow, dying from the inside out.

lingyue's teas continue. 

she's so worried and so concerned. 

she brings them herself now that you are confined. 

special herbs to help you stay calm, to help you sleep, to ease your troubled mind.

you continue to drink them.

luke and kieran notice you are getting worse. 

they have been trying to visit you, but lingyue keeps them away.

it's not appropriate, she says sweetly, for the princes to visit a woman accused of treason.

but they are stubborn and clever. they sneak past guards, find the servant entrance to your chambers.

they appear one night, twin faces full of worry. 

they announce that you are sick, that they do not believe you betrayed their father, that those letters are lies.

kieran says he knows your handwriting. 

you have been teaching him calligraphy for months. 

those letters are not the same. the characters are similar but the brush pressure is different, the flow is wrong.

luke says he has overheard servants who had claimed to have seen you in the west garden at odd hours are the same servants who started receiving new jewelry around the same time. 

someone paid them. 

you break. 

finally, after months of holding yourself together, you allow yourself to break.

you tell them you are sick. 

that something feels wrong. 

you tell them about the whispers, the planted evidence, the too-perfect timing of everything.

you tell them you suspect someone is framing you, though you have no proof.

you don't mention the pregnancy. you haven't told anyone, not even your maid.

It's still too early, too precious, too terrifying to speak aloud when everything else is crumbling around you. when you still don’t know who is framing you.

but you tell them you are frightened. that you feel trapped. 

that you don't know who to trust anymore except them.

they listen with identical expressions of fury.

kieran says they will help. 

they will find proof.

luke's voice is cold, colder than you've ever heard from a ten-year-old, when he says they do not believe you are a traitor. they know you. 

they will prove your innocence.

they promise to find the truth. for you. for justice.

but the next morning, before they can begin investigating properly, you wake in a pool of blood.

the baby is gone.

you lose your child alone in the dark, with only a frightened maid to help you. 

the girl is loyal, at least. she doesn't run for the guards or the physicians. 

she brings you sheets, holds your hand, cries with you.

the physical pain is nothing compared to the emotional devastation. 

you have truly lost everything.

your family, your kingdom, sylus's trust, and now your baby. 

the one thing that was purely yours and his, the one hope you had of a bridge between you.

gone.

you didn't even get to tell anyone. 

not even sylus. 

the baby is just gone.

you make the maid swear never to tell anyone. not the guards. not the physicians. not even the emperor.

no one can know. 

they will think you are lying, making it up for sympathy. or worse, they'll use it as added evidence that you are unfit to continue being the empress, that your womb is barren and weak.

the maid promises through her tears. 

she'll burn the bloodied sheets, she'll say nothing.

your secret will die with the child who never got to live.

when lingyue visits the next day, her expression of concern is obscene.

she mentions hearing about your unfortunate health troubles. 

how the servants noticed you were unwell last night. 

how she hopes you're recovering.

she brings you the same tea. 

says it will help with the pain, help you rest. 

you stare at the cup.

something feels wrong.

you can not explain it nor can you put it into words. 

but there's something about the way lingyue is looking at you. 

something about how insistent she's been these past weeks that you drink the tea she brings. 

how she always watches to make sure you finish it. 

how she always takes the cup away with her when she leaves.

you remember the taste. 

slightly bitter beneath the honey and herbs. 

how you have felt increasingly weak, increasingly tired after you started drinking it. 

after she started giving it to you.

you do not know anything for certain. 

you have no proof. 

but your instincts, the same instincts that helped you survive the fall of your kingdom, that helped you navigate sylus' court, are screaming at you.

don't drink it.

you tell her you are not thirsty. that your stomach can't handle anything right now.

lingyue's smile doesn't waver, but something flickers in her eyes. 

she sets the cup down beside you. you should try, she says gently. it will help you heal.

when you still don't reach for it, she sighs softly. 

as you wish. rest well.

she leaves, taking the cup with her.

you stare at the door long after she's gone, heart pounding.

you don't know what's in that tea. you don't know if your suspicions are real or if the stress and grief are making you paranoid.

but you're not drinking it again.

not ever.

two months pass.

two months of slow recovery. two months of continued isolation. 

two months of hearing lingyue grow more confident, more secure in her position as the emperor's favored concubine carrying his heir.

two months of luke and kieran sneaking to your chambers, bringing you small comforts, whispering that they are still investigating, that they are doing their best to prove your innocence.

two months of lingyue bringing you tea you never drink, her eyes growing colder each time you refuse.

then lingyue also loses her baby.

you hear the wailing from your chambers. 

servants rushing, physicians called. the whole palace in uproar.

she claims she lost the baby, and this time, she blames you.

she sobs to the court that you sent her poisoned sweets. 

that despite being confined, you somehow managed to smuggle poison to her chambers. that you were so consumed with jealousy and hatred that you murdered her innocent child.

you are brought to the council chambers immediately, confused about the accusations that lingyue has thrown.

general zhao demands your immediate execution. 

minister feng calls for torture to extract a confession. 

the voices from the faction that opposes your continued existence as the empress despite your supposed treason, grow louder and more vicious.

but sylus, for the first time since this nightmare began, hesitates.

he looks at you. 

truly looks at you. sees how thin you have become, how you have lost your color, how utterly broken. sees the guards posted at your door, the isolation, the complete lack of resources.

his voice cuts through the chaos. 

how? he asks. how could she have done this?

the council falls silent.

how could a woman confined to her chambers, with no visitors except lingyue herself and a handful of loyal servants, with no allies, no resources, no freedom, how could she possibly smuggle poison to the concubine's quarters?

general zhao sputters. 

she has loyalists, she must have—

sylus's gaze is ice. 

he asks him to name one. 

name a single person who has access to both the empress's chambers and the noble consort's quarters. 

name one servant who could have carried poison without being searched by the guards he personally stationed.

silence.

minister feng tries. perhaps youhad poison hidden from before—

sylus cuts him off. 

the empress has been confined for months. her chambers have been searched three times. every gift, every item, every scrap of fabric examined. where exactly would she hide poison? and how would she get it to lingyue without any contact?

the logic is inescapable.

minister shen speaks up from the cautious faction. 

he suggests investigating lingyue’s claims as thoroughly as they have investigated the empress's alleged treason.

murmurs of agreement from some council members. not all, zhao and feng's faction still push for your punishment, but it is enough to make sylus pause.

you watch something shift in sylus's expression. 

doubt. 

not doubt in your guilt for the original treason charges, the forged letters still seem real. 

but doubt that you could have done this. 

doubt that lingyue's convenient miscarriage is what it appears to be.

it's not exoneration. 

not yet. 

but it's the first crack in lingyue's perfect facade.

lingyue sees it too. 

you watch panic flash across her face before she buries it in tears, claiming the trauma has confused her, perhaps she was mistaken about the sweets, perhaps it was just the stress of being a concubine.

she's elevated to noble consort anyway, a compensation for her loss, protection from future harm. 

but sylus's eyes linger on her with something new.

suspicion.

the trap is still set. 

lingyue still has her rank, her position, the council's support, though not unanimous anymore. sylus is still bound to her politically. 

you are still the disgraced empress who allegedly committed treason.

but the seeds of doubt have been planted.

and luke and kieran are still investigating.

while you recover from the miscarriage, body healing even as your spirit remains shattered, luke and kieran work in the shadows.

they are ten years old and brilliant and determined and furious.

they whisper one night that they have found something. 

inconsistencies in lingyue's stories. 

dates that do not match. 

servants who remember her in places she claimed not to be.

she was in the kitchen months before their mother died. the head cook remembers because she was asking about herbs, specific herbs, wanting to know their properties. medicinal uses. toxic doses. 

the cook thought it strange but lingyue said she wanted to understand what the physicians were giving mei.

your blood runs cold. 

they think lingyue killed their mother. and now she's trying to take her place, and yours.

it's almost too horrible to believe. 

but it makes terrible sense. 

mei died suddenly of mysterious illness. 

lingyue insisting to continue staying after, a worried sister caring for her sister’s family, her children, her husband.

she's been here ever since, weaving herself into the fabric of sylus's household, waiting for her chance.

you tell them you need proof. real proof. their father and the council would not believe suspicions. 

they nod with grim determination, promising to find it.

the proof comes from an unexpected source.

one of the palace physicians, an old man who served under mei, comes forward. 

he's been troubled for years by mei's death. 

the symptoms didn't quite fit natural illness, but he had no proof. 

sudden deaths are not uncommon but these things happen.

until lingyue made a mistake.

she came to him, claiming pregnancy symptoms. morning sickness, fatigue, tender breasts. but her descriptions were wrong. slightly off. a woman who had never been pregnant, trying to fake the experience based on things she had heard or read.

when lingyue is elevated as a concubine, the physician lurks in the shadows, he observes, time had passed but her belly was still flat, her face had not changed, no other physical symptom that would prove the pregnancy's existence.

when he suggested an examination to ensure the baby's health, she became flustered, said it was too early, she would call for him if there is anything to report.

she never did. 

then the miscarriage happened and she confined herself to her chambers after the incident at court, she refused to see palace physicians and let them tend to her, to examine her.

this pushes him to investigate further, loyal to sylus’ house, the family who had sponsored his education, the family whom he served since his apprenticeship. 

he starts with quiet inquiries. old records.

he found the herbalist who had sold lingyue some herbs, the man had fled the capital years ago but the physician tracked him down, paid him for the truth.

he found the midwife lingyue bribed to provide evidence of pregnancy, who claim she'd examined lingyue and confirmed that she was with child.

he found the servants who'd been paid to plant evidence in your chambers, to spread rumors, to lie about seeing you in places you'd never been.

and then, going through the records of your confinement, he found something else.

servants noting you'd been unwell one night.

bloodied sheets that were quickly burned. 

a maid who'd been given extra coin, he'd assumed for silence about some minor embarrassment.

but when he questioned the maid privately, she'd broken down.

you had been pregnant, she says sobbing, you had lost the child, the emperor's heir, while being imprisoned in your chambers. you had made her swear never to tell anyone. 

the physician's hands shake as he compiles his final report.

the empress had been carrying the emperor's child. and she had lost it, almost certainly due to the stress of false accusations combine but there must be something else as well, he needs to know more.

but he brings his initial findings to luke and kieran first, knowing the princes have the emperor's ear even if you no longer don't. 

believing that a father might dismiss an old physician but would never dismiss his own sons.

the boys read the report about your miscarriage and go absolutely still.

their father had lost another child, their sibling, their little brother or sister. 

they lost another member of their family, this time someone they never had the chance to meet.

you had lost a baby alone in the dark, believing yourself disgraced, unable to even speak its existence aloud.

they bring everything to sylus.

you watch it unfold from your chambers. 

hear the shouting, the running footsteps. 

watch lingyue dragged from her rooms by guards, screaming about how she loved sylus, how she deserved to be his wife, how you were never good enough.

sylus' voice carries through the palace, cold with a rage you have never ever heard before. 

he is demanding answers. 

he is demanding the truth.

lingyue is brought before the full court with every noble, every general, every servant who spread her lies.

your maid, the same one who burned the sheets who kept your secret, helps you out of your chambers to witness what's happening.

sylus makes her confess. 

publicly and in excruciating detail.

the physician testifies first, his voice heavy with old guilt.

mei's death looked sudden.

one day she seemed well, the next she was burning with fever and convulsing. 

dead within two days.

but it wasn't sudden at all.

he'd been reviewing his old notes, records he kept of mei's health over the years. 

the fatigue mei complained about in her final months. the occasional fevers. the unexplained weakness. he'd attributed it to stress, sylus was planning major military campaigns, preparing to conquer new territories. the palace was tense, busy. of course the empress was tired.

he was wrong.

lingyue had been poisoning mei for at least six months before her death. small doses, carefully calculated. building up in her system. weakening her gradually.

the timing was deliberate.

sylus was planning his conquests. 

preparing to expand his empire. he would need an empress by his side, a strong one, a healthy one, one who could manage the palace while he was at war, who could bear more children to secure the succession.

lingyue saw her opportunity.

mei was tired from raising twins, managing a kingdom about to go to war. 

if she seemed weak, seemed unable to handle the pressure...

if she died at just the right moment... 

sylus would need to remarry, quickly. 

maybe someone close to the family.

he already has his heirs, he has freedom to choose his second wife.

 maybe someone who already knew the children, knew the household.

someone like his late wife's devoted sister.

the physician's hands shake. 

mei likely didn't even realize she was sick. just thought she was tired. overworked. getting older. 

the final dose, administered the night before mei's sudden illness, was massive. 

it triggered the acute symptoms everyone witnessed. the fever, the rapid decline.

it looked sudden because the final attack was sudden. 

but mei had been dying slowly for months.

he should have seen it. should have tested for toxins and poisons. 

but who would suspect anything? 

the court is silent, horrified.

sylus’ face is carved from stone, but you see his hands clench. 

he had thought mei died of natural illness. 

swift, tragic, but natural.

in truth, she was murdered. 

slowly. 

by someone she trusted, by someone she loved.

by her own sister.

but the physician continues. 

there's more, he says.

they found lingyue's private journals when they searched her chambers. 

plans. strategies. written in her own hand.

if luke and kieran could not be molded to love her as a mother, if they remained loyal to mei's memory, if they rejected her, she would arrange accidents. 

tragic accidents. 

children fall from horses. children eat poisoned sweets meant for someone else. 

children disappear during hunting trips.

then her own child, the one she planned to have with sylus, would become the sole heir.

the court erupts in horrified shouting.

luke and kieran sit frozen, faces pale. 

they are ten years old and just learned their aunt planned to murder them.

sylus' hands are shaking with barely controlled rage. 

not only did lingyue kill his wife, she also planned to kill his sons.

you feel sick. 

you had saved them without knowing. 

by becoming their stepmother, by winning their love, 

you had made them too visible, too beloved. 

lingyue could not touch them without suspicion falling on her.

so she had tried to destroy you instead.

the herbalist testifies next. 

tells how lingyue came to him years ago, asking about poisons. slow-acting ones that mimic natural illness. he had sold her what she wanted, he needed the money, did not ask questions. did not suspect anything.

the midwife admits she was paid to lie about examining lingyue, to confirm a pregnancy that never existed.

the servants confess to planting mei's jewelry in your chambers, to spreading rumors, to claiming they saw you near the shrine at odd hours. 

they beg for mercy, saying lingyue paid them, threatened them, they were afraid, they are only servants and easily disposable.

then the physician presents his final piece of evidence.

the report about your own miscarriage. 

the court goes utterly silent as he reads it aloud.

the empress had been pregnant. approximately two months along when the accusations began. she lost the babe during her confinement. the maid who attended her was sworn to secrecy, the empress believed no one would believe her. she was afraid.

every eye in the court turns to you.

you feel exposed. violated. your most private grief now public knowledge.

sylus doesn't look at you.

he can't look at you. 

his hands are white-knuckled on the armrests of his throne.

the physician's voice is heavy when he concludes. 

based on his investigation, the miscarriage was caused by a combination of extreme stress of the accusations, of the confinement, and the poison lingyue had been secretly administering through the teas she brought you.

the same poison she used on empress mei, but in smaller, more measured doses.

the court explodes into chaos.

lingyue is forced to confess the rest. 

everything.

she admits she forged the letters.

bribed the servants. 

planted mei's jewelry.

spread rumors through your former kingdom. 

she admits drugged sylus at the banquet, there was no child, could never be a child because sylus did not touch her, did not dishonor her, nothing happened between them that night and she faked it all.

and why did she cause your miscarriage instead of stealing your baby as she had originally planned?

the court goes silent, waiting.

lingyue's voice is bitter. 

because sylus would not exile you despite everything she did.

because he would not cast you aside even when most of the council is pressuring him to.

because he refuses to dissolve your marriage. 

you were still there, still visible, still technically empress. 

she could not steal a baby from a woman who was confined but not gone. 

there are too many potential witnesses, too many ears, too much risk.

so she made sure you lost it. 

the teas she brought you, gentle poisons, enough to weaken you, to make your body unable to sustain a pregnancy under the stress she was orchestrating.

she made sure your baby died.

and then she staged her own loss, blame it on you to gain more power, a higher position, protection. 

If she became noble consort, she would be untouchable, and sylus would be forced to share her bed as the laws dictate. 

her plan was perfect, with that rank and the council's support, sylus could never set her aside. and with you branded as a traitor and unfit mother, then he could never risk another child with you. 

the council would never allow it.

she had won or thought she had.

until luke and kieran brought proof of her crimes.

the court sits in stunned silence.

minister shen, emboldened by the confessions, demands to know. 

why? why would mei's own sister do such monstrous things?

lingyue's mask finally shatters completely.

she screams that she saw sylus first. 

she loved him first. 

she was fifteen and sylus was the most magnificent thing she had ever seen, strong, dangerous, beautiful. 

she attended a border negotiation with her father, and there he was.

she fell completely.

but when marriage discussions began two years later, sylus only had eyes for mei. 

mei, the legitimate daughter. 

mei with her grace and beauty and proper birth. 

mei who could be a real empress, not the bastard half-sister born to a concubine.

lingyue was never even considered. 

not for marriage. not for anything. 

just the illegitimate daughter, useful for nothing.

and mei knew, she claims.

mei knew lingyue loved sylus, and she took him anyway. 

flaunted her happiness. bore his children. became his empress. 

mei took everything while lingyue watched from the shadows, the eternal bastard sister.

so when sylus was preparing his conquests, when mei was tired and stressed and vulnerable, lingyue saw her chance. 

if mei couldn't handle being empress during wartime, if mei died when sylus needed someone strong...

the legitimate daughter had her turn. 

it was time for the bastard to take what should have been hers from the beginning.

the court is stunned into silence.

this wasn't about devotion to a dead sister. 

it was about jealousy, obsession, and a bastard's rage at being overlooked her entire life.

sylus looks like he's been struck. 

he never knew. 

never knew lingyue had been in love with him. 

never knew she harbored such hatred for her own sister.

you understand something in that moment. 

lingyue did not love sylus. she loved the idea of what he represented.

the legitimacy, power, being chosen over mei for once in her life. 

she wanted to take mei's place not out of love, but out of spite.

and she had been willing to murder everyone in her path to do it.

then lingyue's eyes find yours across the throne room.

her voice turns vicious, hysterical.

and you. 

you were just another obstacle. another woman who would get what lingyue was owed. 

it’s so much worse that you are a princess, the sole surviving royal blood from your kingdom that sylus had conquered.

it's so much worse that you are of marriageable age. 

so perfect, so noble, quickly winning over his sons, earning his respect in council.

 she had to destroy you before you became what mei was. 

beloved, secure, and untouchable.

she said that she should have just killed you outright. that she should have used stronger poison in that tea. that she should have slit your throat in your sleep instead of being patient, being careful.

and she should have killed mei’s precious sons too when she had the chance.

her eyes are wild, manic. she didn't expect this. didn't expect her downfall to come from children. 

ten-year-old boys who were supposed to love her, accept her, see her as their new mother.

instead they moved behind the shadows, they investigated. they found proof. they destroyed everything.

for you.

if she'd killed sylus's sons when they were smaller, easier targets, there would be no heirs left to challenge her own children. 

no one to question her story. no one clever enough to find the evidence. no one brave enough to do this for you.

her voice rises to a shriek. 

you ungrateful little beasts! i raised you! i cared for you after your mother died! after i killed her! and this is how you repay me?

guards have to restrain her as she lunges toward the boys.

luke's face is pale but his voice is steady. 

you killed our mother. you tried to kill our new mother. you planned to kill us. why would we ever love you?

kieran adds quietly. 

you were never our aunt. you were just a murderer wearing her face.

lingyue screams. 

a sound of pure rage and frustration and defeat.

she should have killed them, she continues to scream, should have killed all of you. should have burned the whole palace down rather than let sylus be happy with anyone but her.

the court continues to watch in horrified silence as she completely unravels.

this is a woman consumed by jealousy, entitlement, and obsessive rage. 

a woman who murdered her own sister, framed an innocent empress, planned to murder children, poisoned an unborn baby, and would have destroyed anyone who stood between her and what she believed she was owed.

sylus' face is stone. but his hands shake where they rest on his sons' shoulders protectively. 

you see the exact moment he understands the full truth of what almost happened. 

his wife, his real wife, his empress, nearly executed for crimes she didn't commit. 

his sons nearly murdered in their beds. his unborn child poisoned before it ever had a chance to live. 

his empire nearly handed to a madwoman who saw people as nothing but obstacles or tools.

all because he believed lies. 

because he trusted the wrong person. 

because he failed to see what was right in front of him.

sylus does not execute her quickly and does not grant her the mercy of a swift death.

first, he has her paraded through the capital in chains. 

every street, every market, every corner where she spread lies about you. 

heralds announce her crimes. treason. murder. fraud. attempted murder of the empress. conspiracy to murder the imperial heirs. poisoning the unborn heir.

the people throw garbage. rotting vegetables. stones. worse things.

lingyue screams the whole way. 

screams about how she deserved to be empress. how mei stole what was hers. 

how you are nothing but a conquered whore. 

how sylus' sons should have died with their mother.

by the time they drag her back to the palace, her voice is hoarse, her face bruised from thrown rocks, her fine robes filthy and torn.

then he strips her mother’s family of their titles. her aunts, uncles, and cousins who had helped in her schemes, who also wants her to be elevated, who also wants a fraction of power that she had wanted to gain.

he confiscates their lands. 

exiles them to the furthest borders of the empire, where they will live in disgrace for the rest of their lives.

for lingyue herself, he orders a public execution.

but first, the full trial. three days of evidence, testimony, witnesses. 

every detail laid bare.

on the third day, sentence is passed.

death by the same poison she used on mei and you.

not the slow accumulation mei suffered, lingyue doesn't deserve that much time. 

but the final dose. 

the killing dose. 

the one that burns and destroys in hours instead of months.

she's given it in wine, before the full court.

death takes six hours. 

fever first, climbing until she's delirious. then convulsions. difficulty breathing. her heart failing in stages.

the imperial physician monitors it all, documenting symptoms. 

this is medicine too, understanding how the poison killed, so it can never be used again. 

so physicians will recognize it if they ever see these symptoms again.

you attend the trial but leave before the execution begins. 

you have seen enough of her.

luke and kieran stay, not to watch her die, but to witness justice for their mother. 

they are old enough to understand. old enough to need this closure. 

sylus stays with them.

when it's over, lingyue's body is buried without honors in an unmarked ground outside the city walls. not in the family tombs. not anywhere sacred.

just dirt and shame.

her name is struck from all records except the criminal annals, where her crimes are preserved as warning.

you feel nothing but a hollow sense of finality.

mei can finally rest.

and maybe, finally, so can you.

Zayne's Ver | Caleb's Ver (being rewritten/edited) | Xavier's Ver (Next) | Rafayel's Ver (Coming Soon)

˙⋆✮ a/n: first of all, thank you so much for all the support for part one. i am so nervous about this. i think i mentioned in one of my fics that i am a huge game of thrones fan and i also enjoy historical dramas (there's a lot of got references i have added and lingyue and mei are also partially inspired by shin and lihua from the apothecary diaries). i love the schemes, court politics, and drama a lot that i may have went all out and added too much for this. i hope it is not too dark.

if i missed a tag for the cw, please please let me know!

Please let me know what you think and yes, there's going to be part three.

thank you once again for all your support and i hope you enjoyed reading. T_T

˙⋆✮ tag list: @seraphineash, @loreleis-world, @fruitymoonbeams-blog, @lazypostfandomer, @cutelilygarden, @inzanekillian, @kingraspberry12-blog, @txtworlddom, @aranarum, @mermaid-crystal69, @bloomingbirdiez, @wondermilka, @peachmartini, @suhsun4, @valiantchaosvalkyrie, @vellihor, @zop8zop, @emneedshelp, @haydeesgarden

tag list is open, please dm, comment, or send ask

he is not what you expected.

not the barbarian warlord your tutors warned about. instead, you learn that he is cultured, strategic, and very intelligent. he speaks four languages including yours, quotes your kingdom's philosophers, and looks at you with eyes that see everything.

he tells you that he needs a wife with royal blood. someone who can legitimize his rule over your territories. someone your people will accept. and you are the only surviving member of the royal family. your three brothers died in the siege. your mother and sisters took poison rather than be captured.

your father fell on sylus' sword in this very room where they brought you to face him.

you only survived because your maid tried to save you, smuggling you through the servants passages while chaos erupted throughout the castle. you never made it past the outer walls, sylus' solders dragged you back alive and they killed her for it.

it's her blood that stains your clothes.

the choice is simple, marry him and your people keep their lands, their customs, their dignity. refuse and they suffer the consequences of continued resistance.

higher taxes. forced conscription. harsher governance.

it is not a choice at all. it is a sword to your throat dressed up as negotiation.

but you understand duty. you were trained for this since childhood, as a princess you have always known that you would be married off for political alliance. you just never imagined your husband would be the man who destroyed everything you loved.

you accept.

the wedding happens within a week because it is politically necessary. you wear red silk embroidered with silver dragons, his colors, his house's sigil. the ceremony is attended by his generals and your surviving nobles, everyone watching to see if you will break.

you don't.

you kneel beside him with perfect posture, speak your vows with a steady voice, accept the ceremonial cup of wine without trembling.

you are a princess. you know how to perform your duty.

afterward, he leads you to his chambers. you have been prepared for this. you know what happens on wedding nights. you steel yourself for pain, for humiliation, for being claimed by the man who killed your family.

but sylus is unexpectedly careful. he consummates the marriage because he must, there will be witnesses checking the sheets later, but he is not cruel about it. when it's over, he rises and dresses without a word.

you learn that you have your own chambers. he won't require you to share his except when protocol demands it. you should feel relief.

instead, you feel hollow and sad.

this is your life now.

a marriage of political convenience to a man who sees you as a useful tool. you are the legitimizing figure to his conquest and nothing more.

but you are not stupid, and you are not helpless.

your eldest brother's tutor, master wei, taught you in secret for years. statecraft, economics, military strategy, and even how to use a dagger to protect yourself. all the things princesses were not supposed to learn. he believed you had a good mind, one that should not be wasted on embroidery and poetry alone.

master wei was gone now, another unfortunate casualty of sylus' conquest, but you are thankful for the knowledge he has imparted on you.

you are going to use everything he taught you to survive this marriage.

because if you are to be sylus' wife, his empress, then you will become one worth remembering for generations to come.

your life as sylus' wife begins.

he keeps his word about separate chambers. you only see him at formal functions, at state dinners, or at court audiences. he is polite and respectful but still distant. you are only his wife in name, he treats you more like a valuable political asset, a hostage, that requires proper monitoring.

but then, three weeks into the marriage, he surprises you by requesting your presence at a council meeting. he wants your perspective on the grain distribution issue. the northern territories, your former kingdom's farmlands, are resistant to his new taxation system, threatening to burn crops rather than comply.

you understand what he does not.

the people are afraid. they think he will strip their lands and redistribute to his own people. they are doing this because they feel they have nothing left to lose. you suggest letting them keep your former kingdom's traditional taxation structure for one more year, showing them he is not here to destroy their way of life, building trust before introducing gradual change.

he actually listens, considering your words carefully and changing his plans based on your suggestions.

you prevent a rebellion with a tax policy and agricultural economics.

afterward, he starts seeking your counsel regularly. it becomes routine, summons to his study after dinner where you discuss governance, trade routes, and diplomatic marriages for his vassals. he values your knowledge of your people's customs, seasonal farming patterns, historical precedents.

his generals stop looking at you like an ornament. they start to listen when you speak about matters not only regarding your kingdom, but the whole empire as well.

and slowly, you start to catch glimpses of the man beneath the famed and feared warlord. his vision for a unified empire. his surprisingly progressive ideas about meritocracy over birthright. his dry sense of humor that surfaces when he is tired.

you realize that you falling for him slowly and against your will and against all reason.

falling for a man who destroyed your world but is building something new from its ashes. falling for stolen moments of the strange partnership you have and the way he says your name like it matters.

but sylus always keeps a careful distance.

he never touches you except when duty requires it. never seeks your bed except during the monthly schedule the council dictates, ensuring you both fulfill your duty to the empire.

you think maybe he is doing it out of respect for your grief, for your kingdom, for your family whose deaths he caused.

or maybe, maybe, he just does not desire you.

you do not know which possibility hurts more.

then a few months into your marriage, you finally meet his sons.

luke and kieran are ten years old, identical twins with sharp minds and sharper tongues. they have been at the southern garrison with their tutors, but sylus brought them to the capital for the autumn festival.

they study you with unsettling intensity, these miniature versions of their father. you tell them gently that while you are their father's wife, you know they already had a mother and you are not trying to replace her.

they inform you matter-of-factly that their mother died three years ago. their father says everyone dies eventually. they ask if you can play strategy games, if you can ride, if you can fight.

you spend the afternoon with them, teaching them a board game from your kingdom, letting them beat you at archery, answering their relentless questions. they are smart, curious, a little feral. you love them immediately.

later, sylus finds you in the garden with the twins, all three of you laughing at some joke one of the twins said. he stands in the shadows, watching with unguarded fondness and something wistful in his gaze that steals your breath.

then he sees you looking and the mask slams back into place.

but you saw. you saw. he is not as unaffected as he pretends to be.

but then, you finally learn about his first wife, mei, from the servants.

mei was sylus' first wife. beautiful, kind, and beloved by everyone. she died of a sudden illness three years ago, one day healthy, the next consumed by fever. the best physicians that sylus' summoned failed to save her.

sylus loved her.

everyone says so. he was so devoted, so faithful, and so shattered by her death.

there is a shrine dedicated to her in the west garden. you see him there sometimes at dawn, standing before her memorial tablet, face carved from stone.

you understand now why he keeps his distance.

he is still in love with a ghost.

you should not care.

this is a political marriage, you knew that from the start but you do care desperately.

you are in love with a man who will never love you back because his heart is buried with his first wife.

Zayne's Ver | Caleb's Ver (being rewritten/edited) | Xavier's Ver (Next) | Rafayel's Ver (Coming Soon)

˙⋆✮ a/n: there will be a continuation for this🙃 feel free to share your thoughts and comments

caleb's westworld au part three is still in the works, i'm having a bit of a hard time writing it because of some plot changes, but i am trying my best to finish it as soon as possible. raf and xavier will also get their own versions of the arranged marriage au, though i am still debating if i should turn them into full fics.

˙⋆✮ tags: @seraphineash, @loreleis-world

tags are open, please dm, comment, or send ask

Quickly discarding his gloves, Caleb lets his hands find your thighs, slowly sliding upwards toward your waist. His breath hitches, becoming more unsteady as his attentive fingers inch closer to the part of you he craves the most right now. Hooking them into your waistband, he tugs at your shorts, sighing contently when you aid him by raising your hips.

You repeat the process with your panties. Caleb instantly moves to kiss your inner thigh once the lace has slipped past. You know he's trying to distract you from how he quickly stuffs the delicate material into his pocket. You don't comment on it, allowing him to think he's still able to keep that secret.

Soft lips drag up the inside of your thigh, pausing to kiss and lick wherever he pleases. Warm palms tenderly stroke your legs before they wrap around your thighs to pry them further apart. Caleb is getting impatient, trying so hard to be good and take his time to make sure he leaves no part untouched by his devotion. His eyes flick up to find yours heavy lidded and brimming with lust. That look has his already half hard cock stirring to life.

He simply gazes, waits for your orders, even though you've already given your consent. You know he wants to hear you say it, to hear that you want this just as badly as he does.

"Command me," he whispers, gravely and raw.

"You always know what I want, what I need. Be a good boy and give it to me, yeah?"

Caleb looks drunk, nodding before diving in with a long, tentative lick. You can't help the sigh that escapes you at that initial touch. It is like you can feel the intense adoration through the eager laps of his tongue and fiery kisses to your clit.

His grip on your thighs tighten, pulling you further forward to the edge of the couch. Your head falls back, one hand grips the couch cushion tightly while the other finds his dark tresses. At a particularly precise lick, you tug and that's when you hear it - a moan, almost as loud as your own, slips from his tongue, muffled against your warmth but forceful enough for the hum to travel through your body.

Caleb can't hold back after that, whimpering and crying out in pleasure, as if he was the one receiving it. The friction from his tight uniform would never be enough to bring him over the edge, but being granted the honor of worshiping you brought him close. He needs more.

Resourceful as always, Caleb skillfully uses his grip on your thighs to maneuver you onto your back. His lips abandon your core for only a second, but you swear you hear him mumbling 'sorry' before he dives back down for more.

"Love...mh-you..so...much-ahm!" His words are strained, barely audible through the string of wet, needy whimpers that bounce against your skin.

Desperate for release, Caleb stretches one long leg out onto the floor, giving him leverage as he discretely moves back and forth on the couch in search of friction. It will never satisfy him the same way having his hard length sheathed deep inside you does, but this isn't about him. Your pleasure is his.

"Oh, fuck, Caleb! You're doing so good for me-ah," you moan breathlessly. "I'm getting c-close!"

Like the good boy he is, Caleb continues devouring you with the same pace and skill he used to bring you to the precipice. Your fingers are braided so tightly into his hair that unless your grip loosens, he won't be able to draw his next breath until you've come all over his tongue - which is exactly what he wants.

In a daze of pleasure, enchanted by the magic he wields with the sounds dripping off of his tongue, you come. Each muscle in your body tenses, including the hand you still have tangled in his hair, eliciting a guttural groan from Caleb. He works you through the waves, allowing himself to drown in you. It's only now you take note of how his hips are moving, restless where they grind against the couch.

Eventually, you end up having to pull Caleb off you, the tug causing another groan to emerge. His lips detach, and hazy, sunset eyes find yours. His chin glistens with your release, brows furrowed in concentration, hips moving with more fervor now.

"Can I come? P-please, I need to come," he wails before leaning down to kiss your sensitive clit. He's careful with it now, respectful of your sensitivity.

Before giving him an answer, you use your hand to guide his mouth back to your core. Caleb doesn't waste a single second and his tongue is back on you instantly, teasing your entrance, relishing in the taste of you.

"C-come for me Caleb," you stutter, feeling the coil tighten once more. The sight of him, unabashedly drunk on you, his unyielding tongue and those sounds he makes, had your second orgasm closing in on you.

Rough fingers dig into your skin, holding you still or keeping himself tethered, regardless of the intent, the pressure will likely leave bruises.

"Ah, mhn, fuck!" Caleb moans, spilling inside his uniform.

He comes, hard, lips finally breaking contact with your skin, although he fought hard to keep them there. His nose presses against your clit perfectly, sending you over the edge to join him.

You're both sweating and panting, a thin coating of condensation blankets the large windows. Caleb has regained enough consciousness to rest his head against your thigh and loosen the grip he still had on your body. Still panting heavily, your eyes lock and he smiles. That stupid, cheeky grin, proud and pleased.

"What got into you today?" You question, matching his smirk.

"Just wanted to make my girl feel good, is there anything wrong with that?"

"No, not at all. You were a very good boy, Caleb. You always take such good care of me."

He tries to maintain that almost cocky facade, but when you praise him, call him a good boy - he melts. And he'll stop at nothing to hear you say it again.

AN: I love needy and vocal Caleb, okey? Thanks for reading! Likes, comments and reblogs are highly appreciated! If anyone is interested in being added to the taglist, let me know!

Taglist: @babyx91 @lemurianmaster @morrigan87 @dawnbreakerswife @seraphimcollections @plzdonutpercieveme @dailydoseofanimeawesome @paneratargaryen4312 @sapphic-daze @marinenox @lemonehem @diaflower @luvinbloom @raendarkfaerie @lotusapple-xia @atzeroo @azure-nevermore @deepspacenova @wackyquacky @freeprincesslove @wetforsylus @iridescentshine @youkoden @beaconsxd @gardenialily @itsnotjanii @colizionbetweeensapphires @lalaland109 @seiims

He laughs in a mixture of befuddlement and disbelief when your gazes meet again, your legs a harness around his. "What did you say?" he asks in the mix of genuine questioning but also subtle teasing. You roll your eyes a little, cracking a nervous smile, because as open as you are with Zayne, this is one subject you haven't tackled with him, but painful honesty always seems to befall you with him anyway. "I- I just said... how come if what all these guys want to do is fuck me, why are they so bad at it?" You question. "They put in all this effort... and then the sex isn't even good! It's like- embarrassingly bad." Zayne's head tilts toward you in this sympathetic provocation, a familiar smirk crawling across his face. "Bad? How so?" he asks, sheer curiosity overtaking him. A shiver rushes down your spine at the look in his eye, so intent and genuine, the kind of active listening the man who left you like this never gave, but you could always rely on Zayne for. You stumble on your words a little bit, but how could you deny that glimmery look in his eye? "I mean... a lot of these guys- they can't even find the clit," you choke out with a nervous laugh. "The number of times I've had to grab a wrist and guide them there- it's pathetic, really."

He answers your laugh with a genuine one, that probing head tilt deepening. "You're kidding," he says, shocked and almost offended-sounding. "I wish," you say as you shake your head. "And- most of them are... small, and if they're big, they don't know how to use it. They like- shove it in and expect me to explode like a shaken can of soda, or something." Zayne's head shakes on its slumped neck, a smirk forming into a smile. "They just... they put it in and expect you to..." he clarifies. When you nod ashamedly, his hands bury into his face momentarily as he suppresses a grumbly laughter, before falling back in front of him, his hands talking with his spoken words. "See, a can of soda is an excellent analogy, because as you said, you have to... shake the can," his hands grasp at the air between you, pistoning up and down in a particular simulating motion. "Are they not... shaking the can first?"

"No!" you screech, a mix of mortification and exasperation overtaking you. "Zayne, they can't do anything right!" "Clearly," he notes, quelling his laughter. "I mean, it's not even just the sex. These guys... they can't even kiss well," you admit. "I mean, this last guy- total vacuum cleaner. I think he almost sucked my bottom lip clean off!"

Zayne sighs. "You know why, right?" he asks, and when you meet him with an unknowing, curious gaze, he shrugs. "These men you keep seeing... they're desperate, starving. They lack patience, when if they would take the time to truly savor those moments... it might be different." You nod in agreement. "Right," you confirm. "I mean, kissing isn't rocket science, and somehow I can't remember the last time I really felt like I was being kissed in a way I actually enjoyed. I mean- I bet even you could do better," you mutter. "Oh, I could do a lot better, I assure you," he answers, not even skipping a beat, to the point he shocks himself after its delivery, leaving you both on a momentary pause of silence. You attempt to lighten the awkward shift with a laugh and a quip. "Alright. My bad, stud," you say, almost mocking.

"What? You say you bet I could do better? That's not a bet. It's a certainty," he challenges, resolved in his assertion, but casual in its delivery, because you say it like it's surprising, and he knows it's not. His gaze softens when your silence persists, an unfamiliar, blank expression on your face. "I'm not trying to suggest anything. I simply resent the notion that I am even comparable to your rejects. That's all-" "What would you do differently, then?" you ask, that morbid curiosity overtaking you with this stirring feeling in your chest. His dodgy gaze from attempting to explain his implication shoots back to you at your interruption, his eyes alight to the point you can nearly see the neurons firing in his head. He smiles when your expression clarifies to that of... intrigue. "I'd take it slow," he says. "All these guys want to rush to what they think is the good part. Kissing is the good part. The unhurried kind that lasts until you can barely breathe, until you're so familiar with one another that all awkward tension just... melts like fallen snow. It's supposed to be a careful buildup to something more intimate, not rushed and sloppy. At least, not at first," and when your expression falls again to that indiscernible look, mouth slightly agape and chest rising a little more than usual, he wavers. "Of course, that's all theoretical. I would only do any of that if you asked." "Only if I asked?" you ask him for clarity.

He nods, slowly and a little apprehensively. "Of course," he confirms. "I'd never push you otherwise. I mean... if you really wanted, I'd make you forget all those other losers in a heartbeat, but if not- I want whatever makes you happy. I'd do anything for you. You just have to ask." Silence falls on both of you after that, Zayne in fear that he's overstepped, you overwhelmed in the processing of new information, because if Zayne had only said that a year ago, none of those men would've been allowed into your life in the first place. You take a deep breath, knowing very well you're risking something good, something safe. "Then I guess I'm asking," you tell him.

Best friend Zayne, who stops breathing for a moment when he hears you say that. When he asks if you're sure, and you nod almost desperately, he has to contain himself from doing exactly what he just told you was the single mistake every other man made with you: rushing. One hand brushes across your cheek, pulls your hair back behind your ear, and the other steadies around your waist, pulling you from on top of his legs to resting on his hips. He relishes the moment your lips pliantly fall apart and your eyes trustingly close.

Best friend Zayne, who genuinely thinks he might be dreaming, caught between taking his precious time with you and not wanting the moment to slip away. He leans in, and his lips just barely graze yours with a shuddered breath that hangs there. When he finally presses his lips between yours, closing in on the pouted flesh, his fingers dig into the brush of your hair as his thumb swipes across your cheek, a deepening push weighing against your body as your combined lips stack atop one another before separating with a languid pull.

Best friend Zayne's eyes flash open in a moment of wariness, but yours remain peacefully closed as his lips linger on you. He sees the way he holds you quite literally in the palm of his hand, rose-colored cheeks filling his vision, and every doubt dissipates into nothing. He leans back in and further deepens the kiss. His arms wrap behind you, one burying into the fringe of your scalp and the other snaking around to the small of your back to pull your body against his. He hunches over you and leads your body to fall limply back, your legs fastening around his hips for grounding as you thud against the couch cushions.

Best friend Zayne, who you can literally feel the smile on his mouth when you hook your arms around his neck and swing your hips up against his like you're totally desperate, and you are. He is too, his lower hand pulling out from under your back only to press into your thigh, so he can hold you where he likes as he rolls his stiffening hard against you, the friction against your clit making you moan into his mouth so shamefully, but he laughs something utterly enamoring, before pulling away from you to trail wet, hot kisses down the column of your neck.

Best friend Zayne, who teases you with every possible facet of his body, his clothed groin pressing so fervently against your heat you'd think he was trying to leave an imprint, while his hands ravage your upper body, gradually tearing off clothes so he can forge pathways with his mouth against your skin, decorating your collarbone with his saliva as his tongue swipes across it, marking you with his teeth in a way that leaves the slightest pinch and indent down your sternum. He teases your upper body until you literally whine at him to go further.

Best friend Zayne, who picks you up with your limbs still wrapped around his body and walks you straight to his bedroom, leaving a trail of discarded clothes behind him. When he lays you down across the length of his bed, his hands glide down your abdomen, and his fingers hook into your waistband, glossy gaze seeking your permission as verdant eyes flash up at you from the edge of the bed. He tugs them off slowly and deliberately when you nod at him shyly.

Best friend Zayne, who cherishes the moment of seeing you bare before him, having been so certain for so long he'd never lay his lips on yours, nevermind his body. He unbuttons his shirt and discards it in a crumpled ball as he drops to his knees in front of the bed, pulling you close enough to feel his breath fan against your sex. He grabs your hand from grappling with his sheets, and uses the free one to coax your thighs open as his tongue flattens and drags up your folds.

Best friend Zayne, whose lips close up around your clit in an o, his tongue prodding at the bud in practiced, rhythmic teases that make you tense up in the best way, your hand tightening around his, your free one entangling itself within his slick, onyx hair. His eyes flitter between intoxicated at the taste of you and enchanted at the sight of you.

Best friend Zayne, who eats you out like it's his last meal. He drags it out like he drags his tongue between your folds, like a man who fears he'll never eat or even breathe again. He's enraptured in your warmth when your legs close around his head, your fingers tug into the strands of his hair, and your nails dig into his palm. He commits every instance to memory on the spot.

Best friend Zayne, whose accuracy is almost as impressive as his vigor and passion, who has you teetering on your peak before you can mentally prepare, no time to filter your response or try to quell the shaky breaths that exhale from your heaving chest, or those honey-glazed moans leaving your parted lips. You fall apart on his tongue wordlessly and in a volatile tremor running down your body, legs clamping around the sides of his head as he laps at you with a guttural moan that reverberates into your sensitive folds.

Best friend Zayne, who is far from done when your legs finally fall back open to release him, climbing on top of you in a slow deliberation that resembles a tracking predator, one palm pressed into your hip, the other wrapping around flushed and tense length, guiding a dribbling tip through the sopping mess between your layers until it slips right into your entrance, and the rest sinks into you as painstakingly slow as every other step he's taken. He watches you curl under him in awe, jaw hanging loose and heavy exhales leaving him as you envelope him in warm wetness.

Best friend Zayne, who is in too deep literally and figuratively, dedicated to the task of taking you in this meticulous and strenuous effort to make you feel every stroke, every plunge of his cock within your fluttery walls, deeply pounding into you in the way that makes overwhelmed tears prickle at your eyes and your head grow fuzzy, stars filling your vision.

Best friend Zayne, who delivers on his assertion that he will make you forget every lowlife who came before him, who could never fumble this opportunity, and makes your body answer to him in ways you nearly forgot it was capable of responding in, because his pleasure is second to yours, and his mission to etch the feeling of him like an imprint inside your walls is above anything else.

Best friend Zayne, who made sex so mindblowingly enjoyable it simultaneously ruined you for anyone else. No one feels as good, no one is as good, so you return to him again and again in pleas and at his mercy.

Koga Yudai

Overstimulation, praise, aftercare

“Oh, okay. I can work with this.”

When Kei first finds out that you're that sensitive, he kinda freaks out. Not necessarily in a bad way, but he’s not expecting it, especially if you go dumb or start shaking. You can expect lots of aftercare and cuddling and apologizing for making you forget how to walk.

But the second time? After you let him know it feels good and you like it? Oh, he’s prepared. He’s cleared his schedule. He’s putting you in every position he can think of until you can’t remember his name or your own. 

Then, he’s taking care of you. He’s getting you water and carrying you to the bath and telling you just how pretty you look for him and how well you did. He’ll tuck you into bed and sing you a pretty lullaby, making sure you feel safe and secure with him.

Murata Fuma

Overstimulation, light humiliation, “good girl”, praise, aftercare

“Again? Good girl.”

The first time you cum around him, he’s happy. Then you cum for a second time and he hits you with a deep little, “Again?” And then you do, “again” and “again” and “again”, that little taunt following each climax, teasing you for how easily you cum for him. 

You don’t need to be embarrassed. He likes it. He fucking revels in the way you tighten around him over and over. The way you can’t help but show him how good he makes you feel. It almost feels like a challenge. Can you keep cumming like that through his second round? Of course you can, you’re a good girl like that. 

By the time he’s gone two rounds (and you’ve gone a bit more than two rounds), you’re both spent. You just collapse into each other, panting. Everything else can wait, you just need each other. Fuma just keeps stuttering out how amazing you are for him and how lucky he is to get to fuck you like that.

Wang Yixiang

Overstimulation, light humiliation, aftercare

“Count.”

How many times did Nicho make you cum that first time? You can give an estimate, but not an exact number. Well, that won’t do. Next time, you’ll have to count for him. 

He holds you to it, stopping dead unless you say that pretty little number nice and loud for him. He’ll keep going until you hit his age or maybe yours, maybe even Fuma’s birth year, whatever’s hardest for you. Whatever keeps you counting for him. And if you mess up, well you might as well start from “one” again. If he’s feeling especially evil, he might have you practice counting in different languages. Can you get the tones right while moaning? He’ll be the judge of that.

I have the sinking feeling his stamina is borderline unethical, but once you are done, he’ll take care of you. He won’t really touch you or cuddle you unless you ask or whine for it, but it’s only because he’s trying to be nice. He’s probably touched you enough for now, but he’s more than happy to be proven wrong.

Byun Euijoo

Overstimulation, begging, aftercare

“Tell me you want more.”

He’d notice almost immediately that you’re cumming a lot. I think his first reaction would be to pull away, stop touching you (as frustrating as that would be), and check to make sure that you’re okay and that you want it to continue. He’s not touching you again until you use your words.

But once you do, he’s back to fucking you the way you like. Then you cum again and he pauses. Each and every time. With his tip still in you or his thumb hovering so close to your clit you can feel his heat or his mouth barely far enough away from your cunt for his lips not to touch, he asks if you want more. You adapt quickly, screaming “more” and “please” as you cum as if it was his name.

Once he finishes, he gets shy. Euijoo asks if it’s okay to stop, if you’re okay with “less”. He gets so cuddly after. And curious. Asking what it feels like, debating if he should let you give him “more” next time. 

Nakakita Yuma

Public play, free use, aftercare

“You’re so pretty after you cum.”

Once he finds out how sensitive you are, Yuma is hell-bent on using it for evil. At any and every point, he’s pulling you away to coax a few orgasms out of you. How could he not? You’re so pretty after you cum.

Soon enough, you forget what it’s like to not have a soaking cunt and thighs around Yuma. If he has a moment to taste you in some dressing room, he’s taking it and not stopping until he has to change his shirt. And dinner would be so boring if you weren’t already three orgasms deep when the waiter brought the water. 

When you finally get home, he helps you wash up. If you really want, you can help him cum, but he’s more focused on making sure that you know you’re more than just a hole for him, even if he does love using your holes.

Asakura Jo

Desperate Jo, overstimulation, conflicted feelings, aftercare

“I’m sorry. Please just let me finish.”

When he first notices how much you’re cumming, he reassures himself that it’s normal for girls to cum more than guys. But you just keep tightening around him and those moans are different and fuck, you feel so good, but are you okay? He’s not sure that he is. Jo’s worried for you, but he’s so close. He feels like he’s about to explode.

But that little bit of worry is a problem. It keeps pulling his mind away from finishing. It’s taking him so long to finish. And you just keep cumming over and over and getting more sensitive and it’s just this feedback loop of “Can she handle any more?” and “I’m so close. Yeah, yeah, she can handle it until I finish.”

When he finally finishes, he pulls out and holds you tight. He just needs to know that you’re okay. You’re both shaky. He’s already started planning how to not overstimulate you like that next time. He just keeps apologizing until you finally say how good it felt and he shuts up and kisses you.

Shigeta Harua

Overstimulation, subby Harua, oral (reader receiving), aftercare

"Does it feel good?"

It's the first time Harua's eating you out and you just keep cumming on his tongue. The first few orgasms, he feels good, just so proud of himself. After that, when your legs start shaking, he gets nervous. Is he doing this right? Are you even enjoying yourself? Once he gets that confirmation that you feel so good, he's so happy.

He just loves the way your body reacts under his tongue. He loves making you feel so good that the only thing you can think of is how wonderful he is between your legs. When he's done, he just loves tasting you and cleaning you with his tongue. Harua would beg so prettily to fuck you just one time. He's so close. It won't take long. Please just let him feel as good as you do. He'd come a few strokes in.

Now, he'd obviously be a little embarassed, but his legs still work. He'd clean both of you up with a towel and get you water. You can just hold each other until you can form sentences again and thank each other.

Takayama Riki

Overstimulation, exploring your body, rough sex, aftercare

"So that also makes you cum."

After you cum for the second time so quickly, he's pulling out and testing. Will you cum if all he does is rub your clit? What about playing with your tits? Can you cum just from him marking your neck? Taki explores your body as you get more and more sensitive, cumming again and again.

Hearing you moan and whine as you cum around nothing makes him go fucking feral. After he has his fun, he's pinning you down and fucking you into the mattress. Now he knows exactly where you're sensitive and he will abuse that information. He uses his hands and lips and teeth to make you cum as hard as possible until he's satisfied.

When he's done, he'd make sure you knew how proud he is of you for taking everything so well. He'd love rubbing your back and kissing your forehead until you can speak again.

Hirota Riki

Overstimulation, praise, marking (sorta), aftercare

"Going up."

Maki would love a sensitive girl. He would fuck you standing up just so he could feel you dripping down your thighs and his. Oh and when your legs give out! He'd just pick you up and fuck you against the wall. You don't need working legs when you have a strong man who can fuck you in the air.

His hands grip your thighs so hard they leave fingerprint bruises as he groans and whispers in your ear how well you're taking him. As he gets closer, he'd wrap your legs around his waist and brace himself against the wall, desperate to finish without sending either of you to the ground.

Once he finishes, he lifts you off his cock and sits down, putting you in his lap. He kisses your nose and tells you how much he loved playing with you. You can just nuzzle into his shoulder until you're ready to be a person again

⟡ ݁₊ . sub!nicholas who wanted to keep up his cool outer persona in the bedroom, feeling like you'd make fun of him if he didn't

⟡ ݁₊ . sub!nicholas who couldn't take it anymore when he had you perched on his lap making out with him

"f-fuck, baby," sub!nicholas whines, head falling into the crook of your neck as he placed wet open mouthed kisses there

⟡ ݁₊ . sub!nicholas who's eyes get all glossy when you tell him to use his words

sub!nicholas who shakes his head at you words, hands clenching into fists against the bedsheets, "please? please, can y-you touch me? I need you. need to feel you, please."

⟡ ݁₊ . sub!nicholas who lets out a sigh of relief at the feeling of your hands roaming his body, goosebumps trailing behind

"oh honey, I just wish you told me earlier..." you tease, voice heavy and sultry as your hand grasps onto the visible bulge in his sweatpants. squeezing at it as he lets out such a pathetic yelp.

⟡ ݁₊ . sub!nicholas who mutters out wet and teary "I'm sorry's" and "thank you's" the entire time, eyes rolling back at every touch of yours

⟡ ݁₊ . sub!nicholas who, after he cums from a handjob, is begging to be inside you

"I can make you feel so good, baby. will you let fuck you? c'mon I know you want it." he whines into your ear, hot breath hitting your skin.

⟡ ݁₊ . sub!nicholas who cums too early, but keeps thrusting because he has to make you feel good

"a-are you close?" he stutters out, eyes hazy and glossy from the pleasurable pain of the overstimulation.

⟡ ݁₊ . sub!nicholas who literally vowed to never keep anything from you again, heat crawling up his neck as you two lie together in bed, him telling you all his dirtiest and filthiest secrets

⟡ ݁₊ . sub!nicholas who, no matter how tired, always takes good care of you after you two have sex, giving you thousands of feather light kisses across your face and body.

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