#blackmoonowl

Oc belongs to: @blackmoonowl

TBH right now I'm more focused on it coming out at all, but I'd like to have voice actors later down the line once I'm 100% sure it's gonna work.

We're a small team and there's a lot of distractions and not enough manpower so we will see!

Alright ladies and gents, my first Maurits fic after simping for nearly half a decade. I added a good level of spice to this, so I marked it as 16+. This may be OOC for Maurits, but the demons in my soul needed to be released, so this fic is my catharsis.

I have also released this on my Wattpad, so check it out there if you want as well!

Warnings: Quite a suggestive fic, definitely lime territory. Top reader & bottom Maurits (the way the universe intended). Transactional relationship (at the start)

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It's been a handful of months since the deal was struck.

You kneel on Maurits' bed, the young man between your legs with a hot blush in full bloom across his pale cheeks. His trademark sassy scowl is splayed across his face, but the flustered knit of his eyebrows betray him.

His decorated, emerald green coat is left hanging from his velvety chair. Your fingers are kept busy by unbuttoning his pristine white undershirt.

"W-What on earth do you think you're doing!?"

Maurits' voice tries to be commanding but it comes across as more whiny than anything else. You've found yourself enamoured with that tone of his, finding the charm underneath that snappy and fussy exterior.

"You just look a little warm." You say with a feigned innocent smile.

It's times like these, when you're in control and he's left to your playful whims, he is reminded of the day he signed himself up for it.

~ 6 & 1/2 Months Ago ~

"I beg your pardon?" He said with his arms crossed, bewildered.

You sat across from him at the common room table. Not another soul is around. The halls are silent. Only the small clicks of your nails lightly tapping on the table can be heard. Your gaze is dead serious.

"I'll be your servant, maid, whatever you want, every day. I'll fetch whatever you want and do whatever it is you want me to do. But, every seventh night, you dedicate yourself to me."

It was a scandalous arrangement, having a secret relationship with someone who's supposed to be beneath you. Maurits' heart pounded within his chest as he took in your expression. You truly meant it.

"This is completely unprecedented. You do realize, I could have you thrown out for merely suggesting such a thing!"

He couldn't do much to cover the growing flush across his skin other than be snappy. It isn't very effective when that's something you like about him.

"And miss your chance?"

In a second, his lips slam shut. You pipe up, regaining control over the conversation.

"You could have the human wrapped around your finger, flaunted off to your 'fellow men'. Imagine how jealous the others would be, knowing you're the one they take orders from."

Ah, Maurits' soft spot: gaining power. Anything is fair game if it means he can up his status. He is absolutely no stranger to playing dirty. Petty tactics are not something he's above if it means some sort of personal justice or upperhand. He must admit, the idea of flaunting you around as his own little servant is rather enticing. It's the strings that come attached that he's worried about.

"I- I cannot be seen with a woman over top of me. That is..."

"Unfathomable? 'Not masculine enough'?" You complete his sentence for him.

You're exactly right. If he was caught in his chambers bowing to a woman!? Surely, he could never show his face again. Are the risks really worth the benefits? His thoughts are once again interrupted by your voice.

"That's nonsense. Everyone is capable of giving and receiving pleasure. Why do you have to cut yourself off because of others expectations?"

Your question chips at the foundation of what he knows.

'To be masculine is to be strong, in control, the leader...right?'

"Because...because...it's not natural!"

"Not natural?" You question.

You lean forward, inching your gaze closer to the man you desire. He looks back at you with an expression filled with so many questions and thoughts, you couldn't begin to sort them all out.

"It's not natural to feel? If anything is unnatural, it's the concept of what it means to be a 'man' or a 'woman'. Can we not accept ourselves as a whole person capable of both?"

"Both?" He looks at you, puzzled.

"Yes, both. I know for a fact I want to care for you the way a man would care for his lady. I want to give to you, and I would love to see you receive, if you'll allow me the chance."

He's left speechless. His face as red as a cherry. Never in his life (or afterlife) has he been confronted by a woman so bold. It's rattling, yet entrancing. Maurits stays silent for a while. He runs through the deal in his head a few times. Power and prestige, but he must leave that behind his closed chamber doors one night a week.

"Only every seventh night?" He looks at you with skepticism.

"Yes. And, if you find it's not a good arrangement, we can stop."

Maurits was never one to take chances, but this...oh, how dangerous it is. It's like walking closer and closer to a cliffs edge. You know you're going to fall off, but you want to see the entirety of what it has to offer. He brings his gaze up to yours once more, his eyes narrowing as he nods.

"Fine. But, you will get nothing else from me, and you must yield to my every demand!"

A smile plays across your lips, you don't even blink at his words. It sends a shiver to the core of his heart.

"Of course. Whatever you want, Sir De Lorijn."

Good heavens, what did he get himself into?

~ Present ~

Your hands gently work over his chest, enjoying the feeling of his heart pumping faster from your touch. His breath comes out hot and heavy and his golden blonde hair lays ruffled on the pillow beneath his head. He looks like an angel. Even after all this time, he's so bashful. It's adorable. As your hand rests over his heart, he turns away from you, unable to meet your impish gaze.

"Oh, what has you so flustered tonight?"

He squirms a bit under the touch of your fingers.

"It's- nothing. Please...continue."

His chest rises and falls beneath your palm, but the tenseness of his expression makes you worry. Your hands cease their roaming, stopping to feel his heartbeat. It seems to speed up the longer you linger there.

"Is there something you're not telling me? You know if you don't like it, we can stop."

"No, I said it's nothing."

He was always so stubborn. Cracking open his shell is usually something fun for both of you, but this time it feels more like a brick wall than a measly shell.

"Can you look me in the eyes and say that?"

"Oh, cease your games."

"Maurits."

His name spoken strictly from your lips gets his eyes to snap to attention. Your voice is still gentle, but it's firm.

"Look at me, please."

He can't do it. He feels ashamed of himself for not being able to bring his head up towards yours. There's a hollow lump in his throat that refuses to be swallowed.

"I want to see your pretty green eyes."

Your compliments always made him weak. Every time you complimented his physique, his hair, his voice, anything, he soaked it up selfishly. That selfish desire leads him to look over and show you his face, half-lidded green eyes included.

"There they are. Just gorgeous."

A trembling sigh escapes from his throat, a noise he's come to let slip out since he entered this dynamic with you.

"What's troubling you, love?"

He can't lock himself away. Not anymore.

"You-"

He takes a breath. It's shaky. So many thoughts buzz through head. His thoughts were already jumbled before, so sorting them out now only becomes harder. It takes a handful of moments for him to begin.

"I understand what we have. I've come to know our roles, intimately. I trust you understand I took this deal for the benefits to myself. One night of sacrifice for a week of power was well worth the initial...adjustments."

You sit and you listen, not daring to interrupt him.

"I told myself it was the same for you. Yet, every night we're together, it gets harder to tell myself that."

His hand goes up to grip your wrist, the hand that rests over his pounding heart. His chest is throbbing, you can feel it deeply.

"I cannot stand it when you have your hand on my heart. It feels as though you actually want it...but how could you?"

This moment silences you. Of course the relationship was built off transaction, that you could admit. It wasn't something you are proud of, yet you continued to partake in it. You learned quickly that nothing came for free in this manor, not when it came to its residents. Applying that logic to your romantic feelings only leads to troublesome situations like this. However, the one thing that was never transactional was your admiration and love for Maurits. Whether it was assisting him, waiting on him, or pleasing the ever-loving daylights out of him, you just liked him. You like him for all that he is.

"Maurits"

Your tone of voice softens. Now you're the one who sounds vulnerable.

"I can't deny our relationship is built off power. For that, I'm sorry. My thoughts have been changing over the months as well."

Upon hearing that, Maurits can feel a flash of cold worry run through his skin. Are you going to cut it off? Say it's over and leave? Abandon him, just like that? You continue,

"I don't want you here if it means this continues as is. I don't want to have us pay for one another."

For a second, it feels like it's done. You'll walk out the door and become a stranger, leaving him cold and alone. Those expectations, however, never come to be.

"I want you here because you see me the same way I see you. Maurits De Lorijn, from the day I met you, I've been enamoured by you. You're so wonderful and creative. You create and you don't realize how special it really is. I've always liked you, and I'm sorry this is the way I came to express it. In a place like this, it seems like there isn't space for love, but covering it up with exchanges only shuns it away more. I want to please you, do right by you, but I don't want it if it means keeping you here with power."

It's silence between the two of you. Everything is now finally out in the open. While the air feels tense, it also feels free.

"This is no jest?"

"No, never."

Maurits couldn't speak. It's been several lifetimes since he has felt truly, unconditionally wanted. He always had to work to be worthy. Yet, here you are, pouring your heart into his lap.

He couldn't deny his own feelings. As stubborn and pompous as he could be, he really does enjoy your presence. Your dedication to him is undeniable. At first, he thought it was a shallow farce, but there was no trick to it, no matter how long he waited. What was once a strict call-and-serve relationship turned into him asking you for your opinion on a piece or discussing his creative process with you. The more he talked to you, the more uncomfortable his workshop's usual silence became. Thus, he requested more things. More tea, more bolts of fabric. Not because he really needed it, but solely to have you around. Despite the increased demands he placed on you, never once have you slacked on your self-imposed duty to him. Every task he gave you, you did it with care and loyalty. You did it like you wanted to see him smile. He can finally start to believe that now.

"Well...if that's true then..."

He clears his throat,

"...I suppose I could do you the honours of courting you officially." He said with a small puff of his chest.

He did his best to regain his haughty exterior. You saw straight past it. Immediately wrapping your arms around his neck, you hug and him and kiss his cheek. The two of you relish the feeling of the other, now free from the previous constraints.

After a few sweet moments, you come to realize that Maurits' pristine white undershirt still drapes over his arms. You pull back, holding the delicate fabric.

"May I remove this? It's beautiful, but I like the man underneath it much more."

Once more, his face erupts into a fiery blush. You smile brightly at the sight. He flusteredly mumbles something in Dutch off to the side, sitting up and slipping the piece of clothing off his arms.

-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—

~ 2 Months Later ~

It's been decided. You and Maurits will be officially courting. No more conditions. You both did, however, settle on one thing that would remain.

"A-Ah-! Hah..."

"Sensitive?" You whisper.

You have your hands on his lower waist, and your lips to his throat. Your teeth had apparently hit a particular spot that caused the most delicious noise to leap from his mouth. You're sat upon him, using his hips and thighs as your own personal throne. His adam's apple bobs up and down as he struggles to find any words on his tongue. Ultimately, none come out.

You pick up right where you left off, teasing the delicate flesh of his neck with your mouth. Even if he bit his lip, there would be no way to hold back the waves of pathetic whines and groans that poured out of him, sweet and messy like honey.

You pull back after a few beautiful minutes of milking every sound out of your handsome boyfriend. His neck is now littered with blossoming, purple love marks. You feel satisfied knowing it's all your handiwork.

"You're so pretty, Maurits."

You trace your fingers over the fresh marks, causing his eyes to shut tight. The sensation is even more intense on tender skin. Your comment makes him shudder, his expression more pleading. His blush extends to his ears.

It doesn't matter how many times you take control, Maurits is always left surprised by what you have waiting for him behind his chamber doors. Every seventh night, what was once unthinkable, has become impossible to live without.

"Y-You are a devil..." He breathes out.

His comment makes you giggle. Your fingers trace light lines back and forth across his upper thighs. His skin is always soft. He always takes good care of himself in that regard. You're happy you could assist him in other departments of his well-being he was too stubborn to explore.

"You know that by now. Don't act surprised." You tease.

A small smile creeps up to his face. Your little quips mirror his own. He finds it quite cute in its own right.

"If you're going to drag me to hell, make sure I'm entertained on the way down."

You softly reach up to the left side of his head. Your hand entangles itself into his silky blonde hair, gently pulling at the strands and eliciting a lovely groan from the man beneath you.

"Whatever you want, Sir De Lorijn~"

By the end of the night, he couldn't tell if he was speaking English or Dutch anymore.

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We have made a dating sim based on Constellations, here is the first character Fornax, the Furnace Constellation!

First draft for the first character "Orion"

"Drinks on me."