You are whisked away from the courtyard by silent attendants, your robe hastily adjusted over the sticky imprints pulsing with disgust on your skin, your heart pounding a frantic rhythm against your ribs — a mix of dread and fragile hope, a confusion of scenes transpiring too quickly.

What will the King of Heroes decree? Will he see you as sullied goods, unworthy of his divine gaze, or something entirely else?

The thought coils in your mind like smoke from a brazier, for you are no one, really, maybe but a vessel for the gods’ whispers if you try hard enough at the temple — like everyone else, you still bend to his will.

In the throne room, you dare not look up from the floor, following veins of lapis cutting through the stone that mimic the rivers of Sumer. The guards, these wretched dogs, stand assembled before the dais, their bodies glinting dully from perspiration from the afternoon heat (and you know that also from the interrupted game only they would’ve enjoyed), faces pale and slick with the sweat of impending judgement.

Before you can even cling to Siduri, your mentor and the current head priestess of one of the temples, you are positioned at Gilgamesh’s side, brought despite reluctance, close enough to feel the warmth emanating from his perfectly proportioned body, like the sun’s own fire veiled in flesh. No wonder priests call him the very personification of Shamash’s seed.

Your heart is but a wild bird trapped in your chest; he could have cast you aside like a cracked bowl, replacing you with any untouched maiden from the temple groves or a silken courtesan from the hanging gardens. Yet here you stand, in his shadow, your body still humming with the memory of rough hands that dared trespass, not far, which is all, merely, you can be thankful for.

Without preamble, his arm snakes around your waist, other fingers clamping your arm. The world tilts as he yanks the folds of your robe downward in one fluid motion, exposing your breasts. The linen whispers against your skin like a lover’s sigh turned cruel, falling away to bare the soft curves, the same ones that the guards tried to possess.

You gasp, cheeks burning with a shame that floods your body like the inundation of the river; the faint scent of labdanum from your morning bath now mingled with fear and sweat.

Oh, merciful gods, why this public unveiling?

“Look upon her, you mongrels!” Gilgamesh’s voice booms forth, laced with the arrogance of one who views the world as his birthright, forcing the guards’ gazes upward. His crimson eyes pierce like bloodied spears anytime someone dares to move.

The men flinch, confronted with the sight of your half-naked body — the soft flesh yielding under his grasp, pliable, and the faint tremor in your breath that betrays your doubt. Their discomfort is palpable, their earlier courage crumbling like dried clay or burnt incense ash.

What will Siduri think of all that? Your thoughts reel, tumbling like scattered offerings. It is utter mortification, your silhouette reduced to a spectacle before men who sought to claim you, and you’re too afraid to even search for the only pair of eyes that could bring you comfort now, any of the fellow priestesses now hiding in the shadows of the columns.

But Gilgamesh has not discarded you.

You are his, after all, a possession in the king’s vast treasury, and that knowledge wraps around your humiliation like a silken cord, binding gratitude to the sting of objectification.

“You have dared to lay hands upon what is mine,” he snarls, his irises narrowing, each word dripping disdain of a demigod for lesser beings.

His hand gestures dismissively, golden rings catching the light like captured stars, then descends with a sharp smack upon your bare breast. The impact blooms fire across your skin, a stinging heat that radiates inward. You bite your lip to stifle a cry, futile, and you still whimper like a wounded animal, tasting tears of your own restraint and embarrassment.

Exposed, marked, utterly owned. But that’s different from being at the mercy of those crude guards.

This is his way of bringing justice forth, raw and brutal.

Your mind pleads for the earth to swallow you whole, the shame spilling from within in the form of salty droplets. But he has chosen to intervene, to pull you from the jaws of violation, even if his methods strip you bare in body and spirit.

A different kind of asserting dominance.

The guards shift uneasily, their eyes darting to the floor, cheeks flushing with the guilt of witnessing their king claim what they coveted — his fingers cupping the swell of your breast with an intentional possessiveness, a confusing tangle of degradation and divine favour.

“Avert your eyes no longer!” His words cut through the air like blades. “Earlier, you circled her like starved beasts, seeking to intimidate my possession — my priestess. You dogs, thought to soil my treasure with your unworthy grasp? To waste her prospects on the rut of lowly mutts? Face the humiliation you have wrought upon yourselves, for in touching what belongs to me, you have invited my wrath!”

You feel a cursed sort of relief that he has named you his, even as the exposure leaves you not your own person, your mind melting in gratitude laced with the erotic undercurrent of his authority, your body burning away the disgust from the guards’ earlier behaviour.

“Mark this well, mongrels,” Gilgamesh continues, eyes sweeping over them like a scythe through ripe barley. “The next trespass shall demand a fiercer approach. You will summon your wives before me and bear witness as I claim them, gifting them with the seed of a demigod, siring heirs that eclipse your own spawn. No longer shall your lineage fester in the shadows, ha! I will supplant it utterly, leaving you to mourn upon the fruits that take over your bloodline!”

How your skin prickles at the image he conjures, how you battle the tempest in your chest, how you want to fall to your knees and beg him not to involve others, not other women, not hurt them over their husbands’ wrongdoings, but you only shudder in his grip like a withered desert rose.

Mercy, great gods, have mercy, and teach the great king how to use it!

The gathered crowd recoils as if scorched; courtiers and attendants press against the walls, fingers grazing the columns like roots digging into the ground. The women, especially — priestesses with their hennaed hands clasped over amulets of lapis and carnelian — shrink back most keenly, their eyes wide with dread.

“My king, I—” you start, but a mere whisper, but your voice dies in your throat.

“Begone from my sight, and let this lesson carve itself into your marrow,” Gilgamesh says to all, ignoring the way you clutch to his arm. “The rest of you return to your labours. This spectacle ends.”

With a disdainful flick of his wrist, golden bracelets clinking like temple chimes, he dismisses the guards who slink away like whipped jackals. The crowd disperses in a murmur of hurried steps and rustling garments; the chamber empties like a river receding from flood.

Then his eyes lock upon you. “Veil your dignity first and wait near my chambers.”

“Y-yes, my king, as you wish…”

(Only yes, yes, yes, so insistent that you doubt if there’s anything else to your voice, any other quality that it could be used for.)

You clutch the fallen folds of your robe, drawing it tight across your chest as if you wish to make sure this time no one pulls it down from you; the remnants of grace, scattered like little beads and crystals, come back and line your muscles, every tiny movement regaining your usual pace and rhythm.

The corridor swallows you as you flee the throne room, bare feet slapping against warm tiles inlaid with tiny stars that gleam under torchlight. Servants part before you, eyes averted, whispers dying on their lips as if your haste carried the king’s own blaze.

You know you cannot face him in a state like that, for you must bathe first. Just fortunate for you, near his chamber is an adjacent one with bathing supplies. You take fine sand in your hands, brush away all sweat and anything disgraceful from your skin; it feels harsh, not scraping you, but enough to make you burn a little.

Busy, locked in the palace of your own mind, you don’t even notice Gilgamesh entering the room in the meantime and observing you from under the columns. He watches, still as stone, the crimson of his eyes tracking each sweep of your hands across your skin, each desperate attempt to scrub away the shame that clings tighter than any dust.

He comes closer, footsteps silent despite his stature, and dips the cloth in the bowl with water. For a moment — brief, almost grudging, as if his hands move against the very nature of his divine blood — he washes specs of sand from your shoulder, the touch neither gentle nor harsh, simply there. He would never lower himself so far as to bathe you or anyone else, never demean his station by playing servant to mortal flesh, but that single gesture is enough to make you understand something you hadn’t dared hope for. That he cares, in whatever strange, twisted manner befits a king who acknowledges no equals. But before you can melt into that gossamer compassion, before you can lean into the unexpected warmth of it, he tosses the cloth into your open palms with a flick of his wrist.

“Do it yourself,” he commands. “You are an independent adult. Never again rely on me for what you can accomplish with your own two hands.”

(Isn’t he the one who moved first before you could even realise?)

“Yes, my king. Of course…!”

Yet he remains, lets his fingers rub oil into your neck, applies perfume that immediately takes over your senses, thick like syrup, something akin to balsam and rose clinging to your throat with every breath. You feel guilt bloom fresh in your chest, a different kind now — not worthy of his attention, dirty and soiled despite being clean again, despite the sand washed away and the sweat scrubbed from every limb. How could you possibly face Siduri or even dream of standing right next to her as one of the main messengers between the gods and the people? And then there’s the king, the golden one, higher in position than anybody else, proud above all, now expecting you to follow with the conversation when all you’d rather ask of him is to bury you underground, not touch you.

“My king, that’s—”

“Still valuable,” he interrupts, his voice an absolute certainty that brooks no argument. “I would be a mere idiot, no better than those dogs who pawed at you, if I wasted a lovely being such as yourself.”

“But your speech…” you venture, the protest weak on your tongue. Your behaviour, too, you wish to add, but bite your tongue in time. Treating you like his possession (which you are, you cannot deny), the sensation of his palm against your breast not quite gone, now deeper than a surface contact on your skin, seeping inside.

“An amplified performance, if anything,” he says, circling around to face you properly now, those inhuman eyes boring into yours like a snake approaching an unsuspecting bird. “And you had better learn the ways of it if you wish to take over the duties of the head priestesses one day. I do not tolerate what is average; I do not suffer what is mediocre. I scold because you can be better. Because you must be better, if you are to serve me.”

You nod, gathering what remains of your composure. You beg silently, you pray that your mind plays foul tricks on you, that he doesn’t mean what you normally would assume hearing a man talk to you in such a way. The robe clings to your body where it drank rivulets of poured water, wee uncomfortable around the seams, but you refuse to adjust it. Any movement might shatter this peculiar equilibrium, and you dare not do anything that wasn’t explicitly asked of you.

Gilgamesh rolls his eyes, a gesture so profoundly human it startles you more than his divinity ever has.

“Stop that,” he commands, gesturing at your rigid posture. “Your spine will crack if you hold yourself any tighter. Relax.”

“My king, I—”

“I will not expect from you any close company when you’re still shaken by the beastly behaviour of those mongrels,” he says, settling himself upon a low cushion with the casual authority of one accustomed to being obeyed. “Your nerves are frayed like old hemp. It would be pointless.”

You exhale slowly, attempting to soften your shoulders, though the effort feels absurd under his gaze. The tension merely shifts rather than dissolves, pooling instead in your chest where your heart still flutters in an uneven rhythm, where the ghost of his hand still remains.

“My king, in the throne room... your threats to those men’s wives...” Your voice trails off, barely above a whisper. The words taste like soiled copper on your tongue.

“What of them?” He doesn’t even glance your way, examining his golden rings with apparent disinterest, mocking you.

“Did you... did you mean it?”

“I already told you. A performance.” He waves his hand dismissively. “Amplified for effect. Do you think I waste my divine seed on mongrels’ mates?”

You should feel relief. You do feel relief, but it mingles with something you cannot digest. The stories surface unbidden in your mind — events from years past when the king walked through Uruk like a lion among sheep, taking what he pleased, crushing resistance beneath his heel. Before Siduri. Before Enkidu. Before whatever changed in him softened certain edges whilst sharpening others.

A shudder runs through you despite the warm air.

His eyes snap to yours, that maroon gaze missing nothing. “You doubt my word.”

It’s not a question.

You shake your head frantically, but tears already prick at your eyes, hot and shameful.

“Please, my king, I only—” Your voice breaks. “I beg you, don’t frighten those women for what their husbands attempted. They’ve done nothing wrong.”

“And why,” Gilgamesh leans forward slightly, eyebrow arched in something between curiosity and challenge, “should I listen to your pleas? What claim do you possess that grants you the authority to question my judgement?”

Your gaze drops below your knees. “I have none, my king. I am nothing. But they—”

“They suffer punishment enough by binding themselves to such vermin,” he interrupts. “Had they possessed any sense, they would have requested an audience, demanded I save them from marriages to dogs masquerading as men.”

The argument rises to your lips before you can stop it — that most fear him too much to hope for such clemency, that approaching a demigod with complaints about their husbands seems as futile as asking the Euphrates to flow backwards. But you swallow the sharp words, reshape them into something gentler.

“They... many believe you unreachable, my king. Too far above mortal concerns to—”

“Then they are fools as well as victims.” He interrupts you again. It’s frustrating. “Though I note you’ve still not answered my actual question.”

You blink, confused.

“Why do you care more about the fate of women you’ve never met than about proper punishment for the men who attempted to violate you?” His head tilts, studying you like a scholar examining cuneiform. “They circled you like jackals. Touched what they had no right to touch. Terrified you. And yet you kneel here weeping for their wives instead of demanding their blood.”

You realise you have no answer that won’t sound either foolish or condemning; the question hangs above your head like the sun burning strong enough to split stones into valleys, too heavy for you to rationalise. It’s just a deeper kind of fear, something unfair and unjust that simply works in this world when it shouldn’t.

“I can give you the means to get rid of them,” he offers, his voice dropping into something almost conspiratorial.

You eye him in shock, the words catching in your throat. Get rid of them? The meaning crystallises slowly, horrifyingly clear. Your mouth opens. Closes. No sound emerges.

“What troubles you?” His crimson eyes narrow with what might be amusement.

“I—” Your voice cracks like dried mud. “My king, I do not wish to— that is, I could never ask you to—”

You cannot finish. Cannot even voice the thought of death, of those men’s bodies cooling in the city’s grounds, of their families wailing. Your hands curl into fists at your sides.

“You fear I would execute them for their transgression?” He tilts his head, studying you as one might examine a curious artifact. “That I would paint the stones with their blood simply because they dared lay hands upon what is mine?”

The words blur together. Yes. No. Both. Your mouth opens and closes uselessly. Again. You’re stuck, unable to escape, unable to decide, the pressure coming from all sides like it’s possible to crack your head open just from stress.

Gilgamesh laughs, rich and entirely without mercy. “This was but a jest, priestess. A mere amusement at your expense.”

The relief does not come this time. Instead, it pools uneasily in your belly, mixing with the lingering dread. A jest! He was testing you, toying with your hysteria like a child with an insect. You nod because nodding requires nothing of you, no words that might further entangle you in the web of his caprice.

“Though,” he continues, crossing arms in front of his chest with fluid grace, “do not mistake my restraint for weakness. Should they attempt such trespass again, I would not hesitate. The guards exist to serve order, not to disturb it. Their usefulness ends the moment they become a liability.”

Your hands remain clasped before you, tingling from how hard you squeeze your fingers. You understand now that his mercy is not kindness but calculation — that you live and breathe at his sufferance, that your worth fluctuates with his mood as surely as the Euphrates rises and falls with the seasons.

“You will remain here tonight,” he says.

“My king, I could never!”

“Ha! Now you’re disobeying me? Over something like that?” He’s genuinely entertained, chuckling under his breath. “Here is the safest place in all Uruk. Sleep if you can, for I know you wouldn’t be able to do so anywhere else.”

You swallow hard, the protest dying before it fully forms. He’s right, of course, of course he is — the thought of returning to your quarters, of lying in darkness wondering if those guards might return emboldened by drink or spite, sends thunder through your veins. Your fingers twist in the damp linen of your robe.

“I understand, my king.”

“Good.” He gestures towards the far corner where thick cushions line the wall, lavish things embroidered with golden thread that catches the lamplight. “There. Not the floor like some common slave.”

You move carefully, aware of his gaze tracking your movements. The cushions yield beneath you as you sink down, softer than anything you’ve ever touched. Gilgamesh reclines on his own bed across the chamber, propping himself on one elbow. He doesn’t dismiss you or turn away. Simply watches, those crimson eyes glowing faintly in the dimness like embers.

“You’re still trembling.”

You press your palms flat against your thighs, willing the shaking to stop.

“I apologise! I—”

“Stop apologising.” His voice, tired, almost an exhale, cuts through your stammering. “It’s tedious…”

Silence falls, heavy and strange, a bile in your throat, an ache behind your eyelids. You focus on the rise and fall of your own breathing, on the sounds of the palace settling for the night — steps in far corridors, the low murmur of guards changing watch, distant songs and chatter of the city still awake in the warm light of torches and braziers. Anything but the consequence of his attention. And he is staring, right into your soul, piercing through your heart, luring your gaze to meet him despite your utmost wish to bury yourself under the pillows and shawls.

“They didn’t succeed,” he says suddenly, startling you. “In whatever they intended.”

Your throat tightens. “No, my king.”

“Then you remain untouched. Whole.” He shifts, the movement sending shadows dancing across the walls. “What occurred was an attempt. Nothing more. Do not grant them power over you by dwelling on what might have been.”

The words should comfort you. Oh, how you wish they could. Instead, they feel like an order, as if you could simply command your mind to still, your hands to stop shaking. But perhaps that’s exactly what he expects — absolute control, even over your own terror.

“Yes, my king.”

(Yes, yes, yes— for once, dear gods, let this word disappear!)

“Such a sickening thought to have other men occupy your thoughts more than my brilliance does.” You hear him laugh, soft and quiet, and it almost convinces you to raise your head, but he’s quick to notice your shifting attention. “Come here for a moment.”

Your legs obey before your mind catches up, carrying you across the chamber on unsteady feet. He doesn’t reach for you, simply watches as you approach, waiting to see if you’ll collapse or compose yourself. You stop at the edge of his bed, uncertain whether to kneel or stand.

“Sit,” he says, gesturing to the space beside him.

You settle carefully, the closeness overwhelming — the heat radiating from his body, his golden skin glowing faintly in the candlelight, unmarred and perfect in a way that reminds you he is not entirely of this world, but from somewhere unreachable.

“Your mind races like a startled hare,” he observes, reaching out to trace a single finger along your jawline, neither gentle nor harsh, but simply possessive. “It must be exhausting.”

“I—” You swallow hard. “I don’t know how to be otherwise, my king.”

“Then perhaps you should learn. The head priestess position requires more pride than you currently possess. Fear serves no purpose here.”

“I will do my best. To not disappoint you. To… make sure you don’t have to exhaust your energy on farces below your status.”

“I do not require servitude born of fear. You need to understand the distinction between a fool’s obedience and one’s choice to serve.” His fingers now brush around your nape, where the perfume still clings to your skin. “The head priestess must counsel me, not merely execute my whims like a trained pet.”

Your breath catches. “My king, I’m not certain I’m capable of—”

“Neither am I,” he cuts in with the faintest curve to his mouth. “Prove yourself. Amuse me.”

His hand drops away, and you feel the loss of it like a physical ache. (It’s sickening how easily he bends you to his will — in one moment you’re frightened, in the next leaning towards his touch.)

“Go to sleep now,” he says, settling back against his pillows as if the conversation has concluded.

You remain motionless, uncertain whether to stay or retreat to your cushions.

“Did I stutter?” His eyes snap open, that crimson gaze pinning you in place. “Move.”

(As declared earlier, he does not need you in his bed tonight. A blessing, as rough and cold as it is in its meaning, but for that dismissal, you can be more than grateful.)

You scramble back to your corner, pulling cushions around yourself like a fortress. Your heart pounds against your ribs, though whether from fear or something else entirely, you cannot say. You curl onto your side, drawing your knees up slightly, too sensitive to every tiny sound and move he makes across the chamber, and you wonder how one can possess such even breath while bearing in one’s hands the destiny of so many people, dealing with the annoyance of such lowly creatures as yourself, unable to even fathom the vastness of his confidence.

Sleep feels impossible, yet exhaustion pulls at you like an undertow.

(And you do not want to disappoint him any more than you already did…)

The doorbell rings. 

Your shoulders jump a little, and you raise your gaze from the phone in your hand to direct it towards the source of the sound. With how little you got to sleep last night, for a moment, you think it’s your mind playing tricks on you, but as your eyes travel over to the signal light, you notice that the LED is indeed flickering, indicating a visitor. 

It's unusual for someone to require your attention so early in the morning. Not even ten minutes have passed since your alarm rang, and you haven’t even yet gotten the chance to dress up properly: Your shirt along with its many intricate clasps is splayed beside you on the bed, and your boots lie in a pile beside the nightstand. You’ve barely even finished skimming through the load of pressing notifications in the messenger app, but for somebody to have a matter so important that they would need to see you face-to-face, you figure the reason must be urgent.

Promptly, you set your device on the bedside table. Briefly patting your skirt down and with a sock on only one of your feet, you hop off the mattress and rush to answer the door. Despite wearing nothing but a camisole on your top half, you run to press the button on the side of the gate frame, and the latch clicks open. 

The door slides to the side to reveal the pristine white front of a certain caster’s cloak. You crane your neck back to be able to catch the servant’s gaze. He looks just about the same as always, down to the naturally smug smile he tends to wear. 

”... Oh, Merlin. Morning.”

He doesn’t look the least bit bothered by the unholy time of the day he has decided to make an appearance. Then again, it’s not like servants really sleep, and with how… eccentric the guy is in general, you doubt he lets such things control his whims. 

”Good morning”, Merlin greets you, giving you a brief wave of his hand. 

Wordlessly, you look at him, expecting him to continue to talk. Yet, for one reason or another, he decides not to, and an awkward silence settles upon you instead. He looks at you, you look at him, but as the moment of quiet stretches, his eyes stray downwards, scanning over your half-clothed body in a rather prying manner. Subconsciously, your arms come up to wrap around your sides. 

”Um, did you need something?” you then ask, finishing the question with a slightly tense laugh. 

”Oh, it’s a little early for this, isn’t it?” Merlin wonders out loud, tilting his head to the side as if actually pondering the question. ”Sorry. Am I intruding?”

”It’s alright”, you shake your head. ”I don’t have anything urgent before lunch. Do you want to come inside?”

”Thank you, thank you.”

Taking care not to have the untamed locks of his hair catch on the door frame, Merlin steps inside your room. With the push of a switch, the doors slide shut behind him. 

The Flower Mage hasn’t ever really swayed you in one direction or another when it comes to having him as your servant. It’s not to say that you haven’t been closely acquainted with him in past missions — quite the opposite, in fact — but sometimes, you wonder if never having built a proper bond with him has actually been in your best interest. His nature isn’t that of humans: You vividly remember Da Vinci’s words to you when she emphasized that Merlin has no capacity to experience emotion. You can’t say you quite understand his kind even now, but so far, it hasn’t really had an effect on your relationship with him. 

He doesn’t really act in any way out of the ordinary, as is evident at the moment. With leisurely steps, he makes his way over to your bed where he plops himself down on the mattress like he owned the thing. 

”Did you rest well?” he makes asks, 

”Yeah, sort of”, you answer him. ”Sorry, I’m still kind of half asleep and all.”

”That’s alright”, Merlin shakes his head. The feathery earrings he wears sway along with the movement. 

”So, what did you need?” you then ask, following his steps and walking over to the bed. 

”Ah, right. It’s a bit embarrassing”, Merlin reaches his hand up to scratch the nape of his neck. ”I’m in need of a mana transfer.”

You raise your brows. 

”A mana transfer? Right now?” you squint your eyes at the man as you sit down beside him. ”I didn’t realize you even needed those.”

”I usually don’t, you’re correct about that”, he sighs. ”It’s a rare occasion.”

”Oh”, you mumble. ”Well, um, it’s a bit of a bad time for that, I’m still kind of mana-deficient from yesterday’s mission. Could you come back later?”

Your excuse isn’t a faux one. With how much work you were put through the day before, mustering up enough mana to supply him with would be a task far beyond your expertise. 

”I don’t need much”, Merlin insists, scooting closer to you until the side of his thigh is brushing against yours. 

”No, seriously, I barely have any”, you present him with the bare back of your hand where three command spells would usually be imprinted. ”I can’t conduct the transfer. You’re gonna have to wait.”

”You do know that the traditional way isn’t the only one?”

”... What?”

You stare at him with a questioning look in your eyes, wondering if you heard him right. Though, instead of repeating himself, his lips twist into a coy smirk. 

”Oh, I knew you’d be knowledgeable about that”, he chuckles. 

“About what? What the hell, Merlin, I’m not giving you my blood.”

“I don’t mean blood. Haven’t you heard of the third way?”

The palm of his hand lands on your knee. The action sends a shudder up your leg. Reflexively, you swat his touch away with a mean smack like you were trying to kill a mosquito. 

”Horrible joke, Merlin”, you gasp at him in a grave tone, landing a kick on his shin. ”Horrible.”

”Do you think I’m kidding?”

You’re unable to hide the way your gaze flicks to the closed door and back to him. Subtly, you shift further away from him on the bed. 

It’s always been an impossible task to read his intentions from his expression. It comes down to his essence, you’re certain — as an incubus, he isn’t capable of really feeling in the first place — but still, you’ve always had the image that that very attribute has made him a social genius. He’s usually very mindful, very cordial, to a bothering degree, even. Then again, he has always been the sort to enjoy getting a reaction out of people, including you, but never once has he joked with something as sordid before. 

”... Merlin, could you go?” you purse your lips together and try to keep your eyes from straying towards the exit.

”My, my. I don’t think that’s how it goes.”

Your heart sinks. 

Fighting the urge to just bolt right past him, you plant your hands on the bed and calmly push yourself up. You swallow down the lump lodged in your throat, force your shoulders to fall back in their place, and calmly step away from him. Numerous, numerous times you have been taught the best, most effective methods to dismantle a tense situation, yet having to utilize it in your own haven eats away at your believability. Though you put on a brave face, you’re certain he's perfectly aware of how your blood rushes in your ears, how every inch of your being is screaming to rush to the door. 

However, he himself doesn’t move an inch: As if completely unbothered by what he has just implied, he allows you to stand up and create distance in between you as you back away from him. Keeping your eyes glued to his as if you were able to pin him down with the weight of your gaze, you make sure that you’re out of his reach. 

A freezing cold shiver rakes your spine as you watch his smirk widen.

”I suppose you’ll have to tolerate a little discomfort, then”, he muses. 

In the blink of an eye, Merlin has outstretched his arm towards you, and his fingers have wrapped themselves around your wrist. The yelp you let out is choked down by the uncharacteristically violent way he yanks you back towards the bed. 

You land on the sheets on your back, nearly sliding off the edge due to the force of the movement, but he catches your body just in time. In the midst of the sudden chaos, your scattered thoughts scramble to find the strings of words you’ve been taught to speak, the ones that hold the power to restrict even the most potent of servants. Yet, you don’t get to shout as much as the first syllable before his hand latches over your mouth. 

”Oops”, he sighs as he climbs in between your thighs and over your body, running his free hand through his dishevelled hair. ”I can’t have you doing that, sorry.”

With your eyes blown wide open, you frantically shake your head, trying to convey your mind via your expression, but he merely nods in response, dismissing your evident panic with a gesture much too unbothered. 

”Isn’t this a part of your job?” he inquires, quirking his brow with a gentle laugh that fails to mirror the situation at hand in any way. ”You should take care of your servants, no?”

Setting his forearm beside your head, Merlin proceeds to lean down into the side of your face. There, he whispers directly into your ear. 

”What a good master you are.”

Your hands fly up to his shoulders where you push with all your might, putting your utmost best into getting him off of you, but alas, you don’t manage to as much as budge him. With the hand over your mouth, your pleas for him to let you go don’t exactly translate through. It’s not like he’s oblivious to the fact, though: Despite looking mostly amused at your distress, he’s clearly exercising some sort of caution with his actions, whether it be for your sake or the possibility of getting caught. 

Then, the obstruction over your lips disappears. For a moment, you’re too disoriented to do anything more than lie still, but as you regain your senses, you open your mouth to yell. 

Only no voice comes out. 

Chuckling to himself as he observes your horrified expression, Merlin straightens his back in a leisurely manner. As you attempt to rise off the bed, he simply plants his palm on your chest and pushes you back down. 

”You’re going to have to manage without for a bit. Give me a moment.” 

He proceeds to strip himself of his cloak, revealing the black shirt underneath. The fabric slides off his shoulders with ease, pooling down on the sheets. In the same movement, he grabs the end of the pink sash that ties the robe’s neckline together and pulls it out of the lining. 

Predicting his next move, you pull your arms firmly to yourself before he can grab them. Merlin sighs, places the sash in between his teeth, and uses both of his hands to grasp yours, forcing them above your head. 

”I’ve always thought it’s more romantic this way”, he muses as he proceeds to tie the ribbon around your wrists. He tugs the knot tight, ensuring that the binding holds. ”Now then. What gets you going?”

The colour has drained from your face, and your limbs feel weak. Intractably, your eyes flicker from one thing to another, hysterically searching for any way out of the predicament. The exit, the emergency button, and the phone, the phone which you just held in your hand. The reality of the matters dawns on you: All you've ever trusted to aid you in a moment of danger has always been so close, yet now, everything you could rely on is far beyond your reach.

There’s not much you can do as Merlin takes hold of the hem of your camisole and pulls it all the way up to your collarbones. Goosebumps rise on your skin where his fingertips drag along your midriff, brushing against the skin and tickling around the sensitive area. He takes his sweet time touching, feeling, stroking around your navel and caressing the shape of your ribs until his hand finally settles over your breast. He begins circling your nipple with the pad of his thumb. 

”Does this do much for you?” he asks you, cocking his head to the side with a curious smile. ”No? Sorry, this is a bit of a learning curve for me as well.”

You don’t know what he is on about. The sensations he elicits in you set your nerves afire in seconds: Your skin tingles where he touches you, channeling his honed craft directly into your deepest pits, and the feeling persists long after his appendages have moved elsewhere. It’s much too intense to resist.

His hand moves to your other breast where he repeats the same motions as with the first. The ministrations don’t last long, though, for after a moment or two, his touch descends once again. With a sense of impatience, he prods at the waistline of your skirt. 

You scream from the bottom of your lungs, trying to produce even the tiniest sound to alert whomever might be walking along the hallway on the other side of the wall. Yet, still, not a single note makes it past your lips. 

”I know”, Merlin sighs at your struggle, trailing his digits along your forearm and giving your wrists a reassuring squeeze. ”You’ll get your voice back after we’re done. Just focus on me for now.”

His hand slides beneath your underwear. Your chest heaves hysterically along with your soundless breaths. 

”Hmm, let me guess... Here?”

Your jaw falls wide open as his fingers go for your clit with precision only someone like him would be capable of. Using his ring and index finger to spread your labia apart, he presses on your pearl with his middle one. Distantly, a mortifying realization dawns on you: There's a warm, sticky feeling in between your legs, and coming to find out about the very same fact, Merlin's eyes glint with delight.

Gasping for air, you hardly note how tears gather at your lashlines. He seems to pay attention to them, however: With a sympathetic pout, he leans back down and into the crook of your neck. 

”Aww, you’re alright”, he whispers, sending a tremor of sheer rapture down your spinal cord. ”You do know I feed on your mind, don’t you? It’s nothing to worry your little head with — you’re delicious.” 

On the last sonant of the sentence, his lips connect with the shell of your ear. With awfully wanton slurps, he plunges his tongue into the canal, evoking a violent, full-body shiver from you. Simultaneously, the fingers on your clit continue downwards, searching for your entrance, and a mere moment later, he finds what he's after and wastes no time in pressing his appendages inside you.

He’s utilizing some sort of magic beyond your vocal cords, you’re certain. There’s no way that, without playing tricks on your psyche, he would be able to elicit the sorts of sensations in you that he now does. How he prods the pads of his two digits right into where you're the weakest, how he invades the most private parts of you without a care in the world, how utterly intoxicating it feels, it all bends your wit into barely functioning disarray. The feeling of his digits playing your lower half like an instrument borders the line of incomprehension, yet you’re unable to do anything but weather the storm. Combined with how he’s devouring your ear like he’s trying to gnaw his way directly into your brain, it doesn’t take long for your eyes to roll back to your head. 

Your legs weakly twitch around Merlin’s thighs as he digs his fingers into your insides, insistently dragging you to your peak. His flowery scent clogs your airways, the pure white locks of his hair prick your face, and his voice, oh, the sound of his hums causes your back to arch off the bed. 

Any measly fight you might have been able to put up is long forgotten. Aside from him, everything surrounding you — your room, the bed, the world outside — becomes a foreign concept. Within the same moment, the pressure in your abdomen builds up into a bubble before it suddenly bursts, releasing a numbing, rhythmic bliss all over your body. 

”There you go”, you hear Merlin murmur against your temple as your entrance constricts around his appendages. 

Your body spasms in tempo with the waves of the aftershock. The force of your climax is nearly debilitating: The heat you feel in your stomach is unlike anything you’re used to, and any and all thoughts in your mind have scattered into the vortex he has thrown you in. The euphoria you drown in feels artificial yet so, so euphoric.

Distantly, you feel him release your wrists. However, you’re much too far gone to even move your flaccid arms. 

”Good job”, Merlin gives you one final praise, kissing the shell of your ear before pushing himself off of your body. ”That should suffice. How are you feeling?”

The only response you're able to give him are the weak, choppy gasps that make it through your soundless vocal chords.

”Heh. Flattering”, he chuckles to himself. 

A moment of silence ensues. A sigh breaks past his lips.

”I suppose it’s best if you don’t remember any of this. Wouldn’t you say so?” the corner of his mouth tugs up in a thoughtful expression. 

”...”

”I’d say so.”

❀☾︎ 𝐎𝐤𝐢𝐭𝐚 𝐒𝐨𝐮𝐣𝐢

❥︎ Okita herself never had any romantic experiences, and she says so herself. She becomes easily flustered at any topic revolving around the notion of love — so, what's more with the topic of intimacy? If her cheeks and ears were tinted pink, then this time, they'd reach down her neck, to the point the parts of her exposed skin could be mistaken as part of her pink hakama, should she be wearing it at the moment.

❥︎ But, of course, she's not completely opposed to the idea of love— that is, with someone who's willing to accept the parts of her having a bloody history in life, and in regards to her illness that carried onto her life as a servant. With how caring you've proved to your own servants, it would be of no surprise that Okita finds herself catching feelings for you in time.

❥︎ When you two actually got together, Okita is that one sunshine-filled lover. Cheery, Bright, Protective and Caring even with her coughing fits. When she gets too flustered even sometimes, she tends to cough up blood out of embarrassment but gets the extra response of being caught in your arms. (She just finds you that charming).

❥︎ When the topic of intimacy was first brought up between the two of you, Okita is most flustered about it, but doesn't deny she did also consider doing things beyond handholding, chaste kisses and warm embraces with you. She could only imagine how warm you would be, in such a state with her. So, she did agree in the end.

❥︎ Okita is inexperienced, initially sloppy but learns along the way. She mostly would allow you to take the lead, if you're up for it. But otherwise, does willingly try to act on her own will too based on the books she's tried reading off Nobunaga's shelves regarding erotic literature (shh, don't let her know about accessing the secret stash!).

❥︎ Okita would most prefer to be intimate with you, in bed. That way, she could stay focused only on you and within the warmth of the sheets. When it was your first time, Okita wasn't overly used to being touched naughtily, and is incredibly vocal through her moans and shivering.

❥︎ Gentleness isn't even out of the question, in regards to her health. At first, it was exactly that, not until Okita feels the peak of arousal and while she may appreciate your boundless care, she'd slowly ask if you could be more forward and rougher in your movements. She can handle you now, no pressure. She's not that delicate, so give it your all~

❥︎ Kisses! Okita loves to feel your warmth, not just with how your hands were interlocked with hers or how your hips would pounce/press against hers, but also through mixed breathing and the locking of lips. Her tastes are very much into the vanilla territory, yes.

❥︎ Okita would definitely be into oral too. The sensation of having to kiss, lick, massage or stuffing her mouth full of you from down there, just to feel how your seed would set course and be swallowed down her throat is much of an exquisite experience for her. She might as well find herself coughing less with it as it goes on, to the point she might as well seek more "mana" (wink wonk) from you from time to time. Choking on you, regardless of your body part down there, is one thing but being able to swallow your seed is the best thing~

❥︎ Kondo mentioned about Okita shoving fists into the mouth, as an expression to jest with his character. A joke between her and the Commander becomes one of an intimate scene between the two of you, when she's bashfully and heatedly licking off your release from her fingers, or— even licking your own, sounds fine too. Moreso if you're making her lick her own release off your fingers ;)

❥︎ When you do ask her to top, and if she's already gotten used to intimate sessions, Okita would be bashful but more than happy to bounce on you and grind your intimate parts together, cheeks flushed, breathing heavy, and with shared deep kisses that leaves a trail of saliva all over. She's adept at riding and humping (saber-class do have its perks, indeed).

❥︎ Okita would initially have low stamina but once she's used to it, she could last rounds after rounds of stimulated bliss. Her body would adjust for your whims and her own.

❥︎ Okita would most adore seeing you in a kimono or even a yukata! You'd definitely look so gorgeous in it, but even better—with it off. Once she's swallowed with more confidence, she might as well just show you how much of a capable captain she has been by taking the lead, teasing you about creasing your clothes before showing you how swift and skillful her hands are, with taking those off, as if she were unwrapping a present. She's one dedicated lover to her craft, mm?

❥︎ For aftercare, Okita is the cuddly type of lover. She'd wash up with you, or simply bask in the afterglow of your lovemaking, in each other's arms all the while whispering how amazing you are :>

❥︎ Dominant in the streets, submissive in the sheets. That's Okita for you. Vanilla-flavored that's abundant of sweetness and perhaps, creamy devoted touches ♡

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❀☾︎ 𝐊𝐨𝐧𝐝𝐨 𝐈𝐬𝐚𝐦𝐢

❥︎ Kondo Isami is one devoted man to his cause. Unwavering yet kind— anyone who meets him, ally or enemy, becomes enamoured with the charm he radiates. His charisma can win anyone over, with high respect. Kondo once was riddled with doubts and self-deprecation over his strife-filled life, and of all the failures and mistakes that came streaming down off his life, but in his new life as a servant, he did grow to find closure in it— in both his past companions, and...you.

❥︎ Contrary to his past beliefs in life, Kondo is more than open now to trying new things. He's open to consider and dabble in things once foreign to him, with the glee alike to that of a child. He's bound to find things that he'll find interest in, aside from swords. He initially didn't take lightly for interactions due to his failures in life that he takes deeply to the heart. But show him your own sincerity enough, he'll slowly show it wholeheartedly in return.

❥︎ In the topic of romance, Kondo isn't that much unaware in the field like Okita is, but he didn't dabble too much on it back in his lifetime due to his duties. But in this life, Kondo is open to changes which includes the notion of love. Once he realizes that he's fallen for someone (you), Kondo would initially deny it within himself as he's only firm with seeing you as his Lord and Master whom he's close with. But as it goes on, the more his yearning slowly becomes unbearable. He'd slowly start showing hints as proof of his sincere admiration of you, and when returned, Kondo makes for a wonderful and dedicated lover to you. You're another reason for him to use his blade for protection of the future that you're pointing him to, and of your heart that's been tempered with sincerity.

❥︎ When it comes to intimacy, Kondo is the composed kind of lover who does readily accept once you're actually sure about committing it to bed. You're in for a good time, sweetie ;) when this man loves, he loves greatly.

❥︎ Kondo has a low drive for intimacy. But when you do ask for it, he'd ease into getting into the mood for you.

❥︎ Kondo is a flexible man. You want him in his black swordsman form? Why not? You want him in his older form? Well, as long as he could be of use to you. His prime and current form? Whatever you say, dearest. He is at your command.

❥︎ Speaking of flexibility, Kondo is a Switch. Though, he does lean more into the dominant side. But otherwise, he is open to letting you take the lead, however you want. All he wishes was for his dear beloved master to be sated with his sincere love.

❥︎ Kondo may be slightly shy at first, but he makes for a good kisser, and you'd already be drowning in a dazed state of bliss to even notice the marks that he's already leaving down your neck. He handles you with great care, eager to serve your needs.

❥︎ Body-worshipping. Kondo adores kissing every nook and cranny of your skin, leaving none unexplored to his gaze and love-filled touches. He doesn't even need to spare effort in making you quiver with dirtier speech, when you already are writhing beneath his touch all the while whispering how amazing you felt to the touch ♡

❥︎ As a plus, Kondo usually loved to preach about values. He'd definitely do that in bed too, graze his lips over the tips of your ear, and preach about how beautiful you are and how you felt to the touch. Exactly like ASMR, yes.

❥︎ Maybe a bit of a crack thought, but this man would definitely be up for showing you his progress in the engr(l)ish language, hihi. Perhaps in his first ascension appearance or in general if brought up. He'd loom over your body, and flex to you how well he's been learning the foreign language lately~ He'd whisper in his japanese accent, soft and sensual yet ticklish to the skin, about how he'd lovingly ravish your body.

❥︎ He would mostly treat you with gentleness and care, but should you ask for him to be rougher— One more confirmation would be all that it'll take before he'll leave you breathless, as the hickies across your skin bear more visible hues, and your body quivering in the sheets as you gripped onto them for dear life as he sends you reeling with pleasure, with every pump— with every thrust.

❥︎ In his first ascension, he announces about how Kotetsu is hungry for blood for tonight. In the sheets, his other sword definitely is hungry for your "warmth". ;)

❥︎ Kondo has a good body. He's more than well-toned, tall, and "big". He can use it all to his advantage, regardless of form in helping you reach the heights of pleasure.

❥︎You wanna bring up about the "putting one's fist in one's mouth" line? His fingers are already dancing inside your mouth, coating itself with your saliva as it explored your mouth like his own tongue did. Maybe fitting his cock right in would make you look prettier in his eyes too. That should fit snugly better than a fist inside your own mouth, heh.

❥︎ Having said that he possess a good physique, Kondo has incredibly good stamina too. He could last how many rounds you wish, and perhaps, also, without even pulling out. Continuously.

❥︎ Kondo wishes that you use him however you wish and to the utmost of your desires. He wishes to please you and serve you well, hence, he might as well also prop you up on his lap and watch as you bounce up and down on his throbbing shaft with a pleasured expression. Use him well, dear master ;)

❥︎ Kondo is open to trying out new things with you, in bed. But of course, as long as they do not hurt you overly! He's one to set his boundaries too, even in bed. So don't be shy about telling him of your desires.

❥︎ Like Okita, Kondo would most prefer doing it in private with you. Aside from the bed, he doesn't mind doing it on the desk with his beloved master too. He'd have you bent over, either facing away or locking eyes with him. Whatever you want. Though, he'd most prefer looking you in the eye, so he may be able to see how you react to his touches and movements.

❥︎ See those long beautiful locks of hair? Kondo would be taken off-guard but would absolutely end up liking it should you tug and pull at it during intimate moments.

❥︎ For Aftercare, Kondo is the King of Aftercare. He'd come to your bedside, carrying over a basin of water and wipe you clean, gushing about the hickies and possible marks he's left on you (though at least, it'll show people that you're taken~). He'd massage your back and legs, bring you tea or if you really want it and for your soreness to go away, he'd carry you up into his arms, princess-carry styled and set you a warm bath. He doesn't mind joining you, if you ask him to! ♡

❥︎ Overall, 1000/10 would make a good lover. You're in good hands and arms with the beloved Commander of the Shinsengumi, teehee. It's not only your heart that feels full but also ahem your holes.

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❀☾︎ 𝐇𝐢𝐣𝐢𝐤𝐚𝐭𝐚 𝐓𝐨𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐳𝐨

❥︎ Hijikata is known for his ferocious temperament in the battlefield, of his "extreme tastes" and of the way he pronounces the will of the Shinsengumi as his lifeblood. He does have his moments of lucidity when off-missions, but his traits as a Berserker still do not fade either way. He is loud, of harsh temper when crossed (he is called as the demon vice commander for a reason). But of course, as much as his strokes of flames of anger burn bright, so does his unwavering iron will to protect the Shinsengumi and— you, his master.

❥︎ Still, it'll come off as a surprise should you actually pursue this man, romantically. If you are to tell it off to the other Shinsengumi members, most probably would think as if you've grown a second head. Hijikata? Really? With that temper and unyielding... mouthful declarations of the Shinsengumi's name wherever you go? But, alright, you do have special tastes for a master. They'd support you either way, if you're that serious with Hijikata. It'll be hard to woo this man, but of course, when he accepts, Hijikata does treat you well. To the surprise of most, he actually could be quiet and sensible around you more since then. He still remained largely the same, of course.

❥︎ When the topic of intimacy does get brought up, Hijikata does agree right after ensuring that you're absolutely sure that you wish to experience getting to bed with him. Well, advanced condolences to your body, dear master.

❥︎ Hijikata is the embodiment of 'what's on the outside, is the same on the inside'. Rough in the streets, rough in the sheets.

❥︎ Upon attaining your consent for intimacy, Hijikata is rather fierce and forceful in his movements. He is incredibly dominant and ensures that he'll remain so.

❥︎He'd immediately push you down on a bed, and hungrily lap at your skin, leaving your lips swollen and slightly bruised from his beastly kisses, your neck full of hickies and your legs trembling from the rough pleasure that he's giving you.

❥︎ He's quick to shove your throat down on his throbbing shaft too. No questions asked. He'd grip tightly at your hair, and would even thrust rhythmically to match the throb of your throat. He'd grip and plunge in so tightly, you could almost be rendered breathless. All that he spills, you'll drink and gulp down like water, to quench your thirst.

❥︎ Hijikata would grip down on the sheets tightly, with wrists above your head as he'd thrust into you, senselessly— like some wild animal in heat. He'd visibly grit down onto his bottom lip, as he moved with all his might all the while you're seeing stars, with your soul already ascending from his roughness. He'd make sure you'd be able to feel his steel will, and be filled up nicely with all that he could release.

❥︎ Regardless of your chest size, whether it may be flat or squishly round, Hijikata would love you all the same as a whole despite his preference. The Shinsengumi is wholeheartedly sincere about their cause. He embodies the Shinsengumi. So why won't he appreciate this lovely body of yours? He'd lean down wordlessly, as sweat trickled down your skin and lap his tongue around your nips, biting and kissing. He almost made it a goal to conquer every part of your body.

❥︎ His line with Carmilla shows it enough already too. Hijikata would be greatly into trying ahem BDSM. Of course, only if you consent into the more hardcore kinks of his. He's not that sadistic with his lover... Unless, of course, you have a compelling masochistic side. I'd leave that to your imagination, heh. Hijikata would appreciate someone who can match his freak. But of course, he wouldn't mind stooping down to your level to ensure your comfort. You matter to him, after all, he was the one who agreed to be with you, romantically. He may be forceful, but he does gain bits of consciousness here and there to be mindful of you lest you break, and humanity breaks into chaos.

❥︎ As for Aftercare, Hijikata is greatly caring with you. He knew he exerted your body a lot, and thus, would ensure you're well-taken care of. He'd clean up your marks, and any bleeding, patching you up and as well as taking you out for a shower/bath to ensure that you are clean and well. As fast as he had taken you, the faster your soreness might as well leave your muscles too ♡ he takes responsibility for your well-being after such an event.

❥︎ Bed? Soaked. Your heart? Full. Your insides? Broken and rearranged at the same time. Your body? Warm as a whole. Your spirit? Absolutely wrecked. Your bottom? Reddened. Your legs? Limping. But with such care from him, especially after the first time, Hijikata would be very mindful of your health amidst his usual demeanor (you'll definitely receive looks of concern the next few days, especially from the other Shinsengumi members, lol). After all... You and the Shinsengumi are now one ♡

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❀☾︎ 𝐒𝐚𝐢𝐭𝐨 𝐇𝐚𝐣𝐢𝐦𝐞

❥︎ Saito Hajime is a chill and laid-back man. He usually moved with the flow of things, lived all he could in this new life as a servant. He is an indispensable ally to the Shinsengumi, and of course, to you. Amidst his laidback demeanor, softness does lay beneath it. He'd willingly dabble in dirty work/shady stuff just so that you won't have to taint your own hands. He isn't one for socializing much, however, and preferred to keep his distance, with the reasoning of not having people involve themselves with a 'shady guy' like him. But of course, should you interest him enough or proved persistent, he's not one to deny such an interaction. Life is meant to be enjoyed, after all. Making new friends here and there doesn't sound so bad.

❥︎ Initially, when you harbored affections for him— Saito initially would turn a blind eye to the first signs, thinking it's just your caring personality as the Master. But as it goes on, Saito is torn between having to call you out on it or... Simply to let his feelings dictate the motions. He wanted you to think about your choices more carefully, but at the same time, can't help but think of the possibility of being with you— more than just being a Master and Servant.

❥︎ He existed in this timeline, and has met you beyond his lifetime... Is that not fate enough, indeed? In the end, when a confession gets through, and you've proved yourself sincere with your feelings, Saito could be convinced to finally open his heart to you, in a romantic manner.

❥︎ Love is illogical in his eyes, but what's he to do when his heart starts to beat faster than how his mind ran his thoughts? He can't refuse that yearning look of yours, at all. Why deprive you of love, when you're so insistent on it? To him, you deserve all that's good in the world, after bearing so much pain for the sake of humanity.

❥︎ Saito made for a good lover. He takes great care of you, willingly sits in silence or lets you vent about your days, treats you to some good old ramen/soba. He makes sure that you stay hydrated, is in good health (both physically and mentally), as well as never staying up so late into the night! (But he won't deny you either if you wanted to stay awake just to stay with him longer, or do as you like as long as it's not detrimental to your health. What's important is to enjoy life, indeed~)

❥︎ When the topic of intimacy first came up, Saito is rather lighthearted with it. He doesn't consider it at first, amidst him being straight-laced, but does get surprised when you proposed wanting to get intimately involved with him too. Well now, isn't life about enjoying it to the fullest? With that look of yours as you say it with conviction, who's he to deny you?

❥︎ Saito has a low intimacy drive, thus, getting him in the mood can take a bit. But with you being so cutesy with such a heatedly charged atmosphere? Oh, he's going to lose that composure of his. He might not be able to resist himself taking you right and there for being so pretty.

❥︎ Saito prefers to take it slow— to savor every breathing second. He's not quick to undress you, preferring to take his time as he slowly undoes your clothes, planted kisses down your skin, alongside his kisses that were light as a feather. He'd trail his fingers over your skin, in sensual motions just so that he'd get a reaction out of you. You both have all the time in the world, so what's the rush? There's no fun in that.

❥︎ Saito is incredibly consensual. Personal pleasure is nice and all, but you— his master will always come first. Your needs take precedence compared to his own. He'd ask of you to be more verbal with how you're feeling. Where would you like to be touched? How do you feel when he touches you over in this particular spot? What are your desires? He's more than keen to give you a listening ear.

❥︎ Saito would love to drag your intimate session longer. Speak of your desires, and he'll be touching you ever so slowly until you crave in, beg that he sate your needs until he'll comply after seeing such a begging expression on your face. He likes to hear you whine so adorably, begging him kindly to give you such shady desires, that only he has exclusive access into giving.

❥︎ Saito is rather systematic about giving you pleasure. He ensures that you're more than well-prepared before he'll serve you with the main course of the night. He'd stick his fingers inside your slick cavern, massage it ever so slowly, drawing circles until he could send you reeling over the edge. He's growing bolder every second. He finds immense satisfaction and amusement, the more he sees you look so dazed and flushed out with his movements.

❥︎ Once he has eased you out, Saito does confirm one last time before he'll take you in the sheets. Only after your consent does he ease you down, hold you at your hips and the moment he slides himself in— all sounds fade into the backdrop of your mind to the point all you could ever think of was him.

❥︎ Saito wouldn't mind it, if you are to seek stress relief through intimacy with him. Though, of course, he's careful enough not to turn it into a vice for you (and himself). He times bedding you with the perfect atmosphere and momentum to send you reeling from the heights of pleasure once more.

❥︎ Saito can't help it whenever he gets verbal during intimacy. He'd lean down and whisper how good you are to him— such sweet nothings and even sometimes passively dirty murmurings. You feel just so good, surpassing even the warmth that emanates off the soba he would eat, for most of the time. It's within intimacy does he grow more affectionate, and more vocal about how he feels that are mostly reasoned out by him as a careless slip of the tongue. He enjoys teasing reactions out of you, until you'd tell him to stop with that blush of yours which also sends your heart into faster beats.

❥︎ Saito does not have a particular kink, but if you want to court death for the day and ask for him to be rougher— well, sure. It could be fun, he figures. Maybe even a nice way to destress on his own end too, without having to hold back much from taking pleasure from you, this time on his own end. But of course, he's very open to trying new things with you, just say the word and you two can have a discussion about wants and desires ♡

❥︎ Aside from the bed, Saito wouldn't mind taking you while you're pressed up against the wall too. The thought of having to pin you in a corner, with your legs wrapped around his waist as he pounds into you and induce such bashful reactions out of you is enough for him to feel thrilled. Perhaps that's where he could start considering the option of being 'shady' with you by taking you around the corners outside, with the thrill of getting caught by the other Shinsengumi members or other servants, while well-hidden as he takes a quick good session with you. It might be fun to try, he once considered.

❥︎ In lazy days, and when you're both in the mood, Saito would just simply pat his lap and let you mount him and ride him however you wish until you'd tire yourself out. (Good luck with that, once he actually follows suit by taking his own pleasure from you next, heh.).

❥︎ another 1000/10 green-flagged bf. So much for his shady guy setup <3 he'll take good care of your needs, as promised, and will serve you however you wish— and that includes fulfilling your needs at bed too. Relaxing with you however you wish is enough to make him feel invigorated for the following days. Better than seeing you look so distressed over your duties ♡

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❀☾︎ 𝐍𝐚𝐠𝐚𝐤𝐮𝐫𝐚 𝐒𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐩𝐚𝐜𝐡𝐢

❥︎ Shinpachi is a spirited man. Regardless of his ascension, what remains is that of the impulsive yet steadfast man he is. He dislikes being treated like an old man neither being dominated over, but of course, he still shows respect to you as his Master. He's rather amicable, despite his boisterous personality. He's pretty good at taking care of others too, even though... it usually comes with the signature asian-styled scolding of kicking youngsters up to their feet to move around rather than stay idle all day. Don't fret, he means well, hehe. That's just how he is. He is rather fierce, loyal and protective to those he holds dear— the Shinsengumi and of course, you.

❥︎ So when you started catching feelings, Shinpachi is ignorant to it, since he usually just takes forms of your affections as you being friendly. He's slightly dense in the romance department since he hasn't even considered it in the slightest, considering his looks, the way he acts and of course the label of being an old man no matter what that he detests so greatly. He always remains mature-looking regardless of his ascension, after all (and acts like it).

❥︎ Shinpachi is no stranger to love, he knows the rules and so I but doesn't immediately realize it when you've actually taken interest in him at first. But once he realizes, he actually questions your decisions or even doubts it. Because, he's just another seasoned guy in the Shinsengumi. You're just his friendly master. You went on hangouts (dates) for movies, you two always share a meal, you 'jested' about how his old form is just as handsome as his young one, eagerly took the challenge of learning the art of the blade with him, he feels comfortable being wistful around you at times, he likes how true you are to yourself and—

❥︎ Oh. Well, that exactly answers it too. Shinpachi can't deny that he's grown fond of you. But you sure do have strange tastes, he notes. But of course, while he initially had reservations about your choice of guy, Shinpachi does acknowledge your honesty and would end up accepting it nonetheless. After all, you stir up his meaning of 'Sincerity' once more, within him.

❥︎ When intimacy was first brought up, Shinpachi is lighthearted about it but does dares you to give it a try with him, since you asked, and when you're absolutely sure— well, down to business he goes.

❥︎ Considering that he's lived a long life, Shinpachi definitely is experienced in the whims of intimacy. He knows where to touch, where to kiss, and where to send you reeling off the edge so easily. He's incredibly observant.

❥︎ Shinpachi takes pride in his skill of the blade, and since he knows how to handle his blade, he must certainly know how to handle you nicely with how sensual and mind-boggling his touches are, whenever he stuffs his fingers in and out of you, all the while he muses himself with your reactions so vocally. He would muse about how sensitive you are, about how you seem to like it here and there and moreso of the sort. He knows how to hit the right spots.

❥︎ Shinpachi prides himself too, in being an instructor. That'll mean he's rather dominant in bed. Before you could even register the sounds of your own breathing, you wound up only hearing his dictation of wrapping your hands around his throbbing shaft or how to bob your head in sliding motions over his shaft. He's giving you time to learn and master pleasuring him, hehe.

❥︎ Heed his words, excel and he'd reward you nicely. If you do good and follow his words, he will give the nice reward of being able to release or perhaps even humoring some of your desires for such a good work. Shinpachi knows how to reward and when to give it.

❥︎ Can be slightly vulgar in bed, but of course, is not one to mostly direct his cusses at you. He'd mostly hiss and mutter underneath his breath about how you're taking him, making commentaries of all that you're making him feel at the moment.

❥︎ Shinpachi likes it when you're honest. Tell him what you're feeling. Tell him what you desire. Demand from him equally, and he'd oblige you for your boldness.

❥︎ Shinpachi is rough. He doesn't immediately give it to you, but once he thinks you're more than well-prepared, he'd stuff himself in, and welcome himself and then you'd see stars with the way he'd pounce on you that's overwhelmingly good.

❥︎ Be a brat, however, and he'd teach you a lesson. Shinpachi would have you lie down on your stomach on his lap, and smack your rear a good few times until you'd learn not to cross him. He'd deny you of any release, drag his touches out long enough to hear any form of begging out of you until he'd finally let your release crash down on him.

❥︎ When coupling, Shinpachi would be more likely to ensure that you reach the peaks of release first before he'd follow suit and fill you up to the brim. He has good stamina, and rather than immediately release with you, he'll probably be more invested in having you release a dozen of times to the point of feeling dazed and stimulated until he'd release. Even in his old man form. The only difference would be that— he's gasping for breath much more than he would be, in his younger form.

❥︎ Like most, Shinpachi would prefer to take it to the bed. But since he's one good instructor, he'd be into bending you over the table or on surfaces he could. He just likes to take control and stay ahead.

❥︎ Netflix and chill, or something along those lines, he's up for that too. Shinpachi doesn't mind chilling on movie dates with you, right before, if you're in the mood, he'd be flabbergasted but who's he to deny a good time with you? Maybe that can even help you sleep better at night.

❥︎ For Aftercare, Shinpachi remained caring and would fuss over the tiniest of details with you. He'd bring you water, help you stand up to your feet, set you up in a warm bath or shower, help you clean up and then afterwards tuck you in bed with some nice cuddles, forehead kisses and sweet whispers of how well you handled him, of your tenacity.

❥︎ You're more than in good hands with Shinpachi <3 he may act wistful, boisterous and overly loud at times, but he cares about ensuring that your heart stays intact. He loves you that much, dear master. Shinpachi would gladly stay with you, as much as you want, as long as you wouldn't mind him and his temperament. It's with you that he's found another reason to raise his blade up again, after all. All for you.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾ ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☁︎

❀☾︎ 𝐇𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐝𝐚 𝐒𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐬𝐮𝐤𝐞

❥︎ The spearmaster of the rear has got it all: looks, unwavering tenacity, devotion, protective nature, fearlessness with death, skills, fiercelessness and whatnot... Even with how he rambles off and on with his past of venturing beyond his homeland with great wistfulness of being a traitor, you're more than sure that he's ventured far within your heart too. Of course, he's likable nonetheless even with his nature. You are, after all, besides his comrades, the only person that he's made an exception out of, in comfortable interactions.

❥︎ Harada is dedicated to your cause, so when he does catch feelings for you, he initially denies it but slowly became showy about it with how he treats you, and how his eyes would stare back whenever he sees you being all so touchy and close with another servant. It's what's going to prompt him to blurt out his feelings aloud to you first, and does look greatly surprised when you accept them, and so it turns out that you feel the same way about him. Well, now he has the upper-hand with forming a relationship with you, his dear master, doesn't he?

❥︎ Harada has become extra dedicated to you, almost bordering on obsession, the moment he's become your lover. He'd be protective, reluctantly but learning affection, and does treat you as what a good lover would do. He's not that experienced with romance, and so, does consult his colleagues about it, and it's from their input does he considerably take you out on dates, even traveling with permission or to use the simulator to go on dates with you.

❥︎ Intimacy just naturally built-up between the two of you. When you were the first to propose it, Harada does deeply blush at your boldness— but hey, no backsies now.

❥︎ Harada gets straight down to business, pins you down and ravishes you nicely. He'd take his time, undress you with his eyes, and lock his lips with yours. He'd trail his lips down, and would leave marks, even in your pulse areas, or upwards your neck. Harada wanted to be a good lover, truly. But he can't just resist the urge to chomp down in places where you'd struggle to even hide your marks from the public's eye. Letting people see and know that you already belong to someone sends a dark thrill down his spine.

❥︎ Harada was initially experimental with his fingers, but he was adept at bringing you at the edge with them. His mouth serves you well too. He certainly knows how to...use it well on you. He enjoys getting between your legs and gazing upwards just so that he can watch your face as he ravishes you down there.

❥︎ Harada likes it when you tell him to whom you belong to. You tell him. Repeat after repeat. To prove that you're truly and irrevocably his now with those marks on your skin. It's how he'll render you as a begging mess.

❥︎ Harada is the rear guard, back in the Shinsengumi days and even today. So... He's definitely adept at working on you from behind too, heh. He'd position you on all fours, and make you face a mirror, just so that he can watch your expressions even from behind as he manhandled you like the rear guard and spearmaster he is ;)

❥︎ Harada knows how to shift between Dirty talk and Body-worshipping. On one hand, he'd say the wildest of whispers and then proceed into telling you how good you are at taking him. He absolutely dominates both your body and mind. He'd call you a sweet compliment with a derogatory word to call you, within the same sentence.

❥︎ Being exploratory and adventurous in nature, and especially with his history of courting death, Harada is definitely the type to try and do it in semi-public places. He enjoys seeing the flustered look on your face, with a hand to cover up your mouth as he ruts into you, at a pacing of his desires, depending on his mood.

❥︎ Whenever he gets jealous... Well, good luck with that. Gambatte, Master-Chan. Harada would play the nice guy on the outside as he slips you away, but once you're behind closed doors, you're going to see heaven real quick with how fast you got bent over and railed real quick, and with smacks to the rear as if you were some instrument he's so invested in playing (drummer harada eyy/j).

❥︎ Harada can be quite possessive of his beloved, especially in intimate sessions. He'd make sure that, other than the marks you'd struggle covering up, he wouldn't even mind ensuring you'd walk with a limp for the next few days all the while he assists you like the loving boyfriend he is. Oh, let them get the right idea. It is what it is. He'd even make sure that mid intimacy, you'd be loud enough to wake his poor sleeping comrades just next door. You definitely see him smirking victoriously whenever you're outside and in such a state.

❥︎ With how loving he is towards you, sometimes too much, out of pure dedication, it'll be no surprise if he just forgets to lock the door when at it, and it'll be a poor comrade of his or a random staff that gets to walk in on you getting absolutely devoured by a beastly redhaired spearmaster. Most of the time, it's usually poor Heisuke who walks in on you both. Poor Heisuke would go all red, step back, apologize profusely before leaving, muttering about ensuring that the door is locked. (You and Harada do apologize by treating him to some of his favorite chocolate ice cream, but that's not enough to push off the trauma you've given the poor guy now, yes?).

❥︎ In regards to Aftercare, Harada is just as devoted to you just as how his touches had been. He's careful this time in handling you, would apologize for getting ahead of himself, and would treat you for a good bath to ease your sore muscles. He'd gladly join too, and keep whatever thoughts of marvelling you in all of your sore splendor to himself as he helps you clean up. He makes the bed comfortable, assists you and ensures to rub circles around your back or right where it aches to comfort you as you drift off to sleep with him. Harada is not going anywhere else.

❥︎ To sum it up, Harada is as 'energetic' as the color of his hair. He's got fine sides to him. You're in for quite the ride in a relationship with him <3 Harada is all yours to have, dear master. He'd willingly cheat death, anytime you so desire. Just for you.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾ ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☁︎

❀☾︎ 𝐘𝐚𝐦𝐚𝐧𝐚𝐦𝐢 𝐊𝐞𝐢𝐬𝐮𝐤𝐞

❥︎ Ah, yes. The sweet, gentle, and nurturing mother hen beloved advisor and companion to the Shinsengumi. Even with how his life played out when he had deserted the Shinsengumi, Sannan is well-treasured by the entire group. So much that even with his loss to seppuku in life, the impact that Sannan has left on their lives reached even to the end of their days. Far beyond his own. Of course, even you are not immune to his impactful charms, even with the many times that he's tried to humble himself down in front of you and everyone else.

❥︎ He's well educated, well-mannered, kind, gentle, compassionate, good with kids, caring and composed... He's rather charismatic and inspirational too. What is there not to love about him? How could you ever resist such a genuine smile of his?

❥︎ When he catches wind of your feelings for him, needless to say, Keisuke is flustered. At first, he tries to set it aside but does wound up realizing how mutually fond he's become of you too, the moment he finds himself writing poetry while thinking of you. With every brush and stroke of his ink across his parchments, even as he spoke of the mountains, the blossoms and of the wind— it all comes down attributed to you. He only wished to be a loyal servant to you, to aid you in your own peaceful path— and yet, it appears that...your path leads straight back to him.

❥︎ With enough care and time, Sannan slowly returned your feelings of love. He instantly did ease up to the role of being your lover. Sannan is gentle, observant, and caring. He'd ensure that you get proper rest, and would be able to write his poetry with clarity— and of course, he would finally be able to look you in the eye with fondness as he teaches you calligraphy. Your hands are clasped together as he guides your motions with the brush to form characters on the paper.

❥︎ When it comes to intimacy, when you had brought the idea to him as the first one to do so, Sannan was incredibly flustered but he does acknowledge that intimacy is part of a romantic relationship. Reluctant he may be— he does accept, anyways.

❥︎ Keisuke is old-fashioned. He'd prefer the warm confines of the bed, and is not one to instantly force you down on it. No. He starts small and gentle, hesitant even. He'd start with soft pliant kisses here and there, trail his lips down your neck, hold hands with you and would keep asking for your input and consent before loosening and removing your clothes. He'd admire you, bit by bit, with each article of clothing off. He reveres you almost like a deity.

❥︎ Keisuke likes to take his time. He does not wish to rush your body. He'd touch you gently with his fingers, slipping it in and out of you down there with great care, looking at you for traces of discomfort. The least thing he could want is to hurt you. He's soft-core coded, mm.

❥︎ Direct him where to touch and he'd happily oblige your desires. Tell him where to trace, where to rub, where to grope and where to run his lips all over in a sensual manner. He's always listening for even the slightest mewl out of your lips.

❥︎ Sannan has low drive for intimacy, though you could naturally get him into the mood through sensual whisperings and touches. He'd touch and trail his fingers over you, map out your hips and body as if he were writing characters on your skin like the devoted lover he is.

❥︎ Sannan prepares you up thoroughly before getting straight down into full-blown lovemaking. He's clearly vanilla coded too. He'd ask for your consent one last time, right before he'd slowly position himself in, and rock your entire world like streaming waters of a river. That'll be how he'd flood your insides later too.

❥︎ Sannan is open-minded. If you have desires, simply tell him and he'd discuss it with you. Of course, he'd consider it largely with hardcore ones— setting it as a boundary as per his wishes not to harm you.

❥︎ Even with that soft looks of his, Sannan does opt for bondage. Stay down, dearie and keep your impulses in control so that the dear Secretary could reward you handsomely for your patience~ considering bondage, he'd be into trying shibari out too. He'd stare and trace your skin with his fingers, and keep you still as he'd ensure that you'll marvel at his movements.

❥︎ Speaking of kinks... Sannan has great fondness for children. He adores their smiles and considers them as a treasure. He'd totally be into Breeding with you. Of course, as servants can't reproduce (unless under special circumstances and magic shenanigans), but the thought of filling you up with his seed until it takes root— ah, definitely fulfilling. It might as well encourage him to last longer rounds, all the while imagining what it would be like to have a child of his own with you, his dear master. He'd adore Body-worshipping too, in that case.

❥︎ Yamanami feels flustered when being addressed as "sensei" or teacher, and would deny being worthy of being one. But tease him with that, and he might actually teach you your place with 'huge love'.

❥︎ Yamanami is the type to whisper the most comforting and loving of words to you as he folds you into half as he ruts gently and with the perfect pacing into you. His movements are certainly thrilling but his words are warm.

❥︎ For Aftercare, Keisuke is another King that takes a share of the crown, hehe. Depending on your state whether you could stand up or not— he'd happily cater to you. He'd bring a wet towel and a basin of water and clean you up with it manually, or simply relax in a bath with you, in a bathtub of bubbles even just so that you may destress further after such a session. Keisuke would cuddle you close, lift some of your locks, lacing them around his fingers for a kiss before watching you drift off to sleep and eventually joining too.

❥︎ Overall, a sweetheart and vanilla connoisseur <3 Yamanami Keisuke will always be by your side, and would happily serve you however you wish.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾ ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☁︎

❀☾︎ 𝐓𝐨𝐝𝐨 𝐇𝐞𝐢𝐬𝐮𝐤𝐞

❥︎ I absolutely adore this beloved captain aackk <3 Heisuke is usually the distant type of person with strangers, especially given his inferiority complex and regretful reflection of his life. But still, he is grateful and strives to keep up and be worthy of the second chance at life to his former comrades and of course— of your kindness to him. Heisuke has a hard time being honest with himself, moreso with expressing his own thoughts, so everyone especially you, his master, had to be very patient with him. He's like a street cat who's seen all sorts of pain and troubles that you've taken in to take care of.

❥︎ Heisuke would try to deny it, when he realizes himself actually falling for you, his master. What could he do? You're caring, kind, selfless, brave, and repaired his broken lonely heart. Slowly, maybe... Perhaps holding your hand, and getting nearer to you doesn't sound so bad at all. Slowly, he started saying less whenever you ask to hangout with him, hold hands or manually feed him chocolate ice cream as you hold it with little protests on his end. He found all the joys in the world within you. He'd never want to leave your side.

❥︎ Heisuke still had doubts nonetheless but when you confessed first or started showing signs of admiration that stretched into the romance boundary, Heisuke is put-off but internally flustered to learn that he's the object of your affections. But really, why him? List him a huge essay or blabber with a straight face so that he'd stop questioning his worth, and he'd bashfully ask you to stop midway, unable to stop his smile while his cheeks are flushed red. Alright, you attained his heart. Take good care of him ♡

❥︎ Heisuke remains reserved at times but since he's your lover now, he does make efforts here and there to show affection to you. He's another one like Okita who doesn't know much about love. He's greatly inexperienced in that aspect too, and ends up walking over to his comrades to shyly ask for advice and inputs. You shower him with love, it's only fair, he thought, that he returns it with care! He'd go on dates with you willingly, go out on walks, eat ice cream on the veranda together, talk about life, and perhaps even train if you ask him nicely to teach you~

❥︎ It was from his comrades' teasing did Heisuke first considered the possibility of growing intimate with you. He only gets flustered in such mentions, swats them away with a bashful shake of the head but when you actually proposed the idea yourself... Well, who's he to decline? Just give him time to catch his breath first.

❥︎ Heisuke is inexperienced. So, you may take the lead with him. He'd start out incredibly submissive to your whims and touches. Heisuke is easily so sensitive all over, easily blushes but bears with it to ease the growing heat between you both. He'd close his eyes to kisses and sloppily return it with fervor, and would lean in to rain down light hesitant kisses over your neck.

❥︎ Once he collects himself better, Heisuke does slowly become more confident. Compliment him loads, and up his confidence bar meter goes~

❥︎ Another one for the Body-worshipping list. As you two slowly shed your clothing, Heisuke is heavily flushed but you could see the twinkle in his eyes as he marveled at your body, shyly asking if he may touch you, and what entails afterwards is him exploring your body with ardent curiosity using his lips and hands, and with your voice as guide. He'd slip here and there about how beautiful and soft you feel to the touch.

❥︎ Orally, it was you who initiated it. Heisuke is one quivering mess, barely holding onto the sheets when you begin to reach down and grasp at his member, sliding your hand up and down, or even leaning down to suckle the sensation of hot pleasure that'll cause him to tense up further, and hold onto your head with one hand for dear life. Considering how sensitive yet touch-starved he is, Heisuke is quick to release but even you would be surprised at how much load he releases.

❥︎ Heisuke definitely belongs to the small body yet big down there. Ahem. Well, have you not seen his final ascension art?? This guy's packing beneath layers of clothes! And if you ever do express fondness for his body, although it may fluster him greatly to have such a comment regarding his figure, his confidence meter is gonna go off the ceiling. He'd start training more to maintain it, heh. He might as well start flustering you whenever he appears shirtless about where your eyes trail off to.

❥︎ You wish to experience the sensation of being fingered with his prosthetic arm? Heisuke would be shocked but well... You do have strange tastes, anyways, for liking someone as him, he thinks to himself. With sweat running down his skin, and with your guidance, Heisuke does as asked and would actually entertain your wish and would ease his mechanical fingers right into your cavern, parting at the folds, and used exploratory ministrations all the while he imagined handling you like how he handles his blade. The moment you do spill over his fingers, coating it with release as if it were oil, he's never been the same (his prosthetic arm found new usage), moreso if he's to watch you lick them off his fingers.

❥︎ Initially, you took the lead with coupling with him too. Heisuke would lie down all the while he'd gasp and pant as you bounce up and down on him, watching him grip the sheets as you ride the living lights out of him. And when you two release together, Heisuke turns into a huge trembling mess, who babbled incoherent strings of thoughts.

❥︎ The next time, however, you'd be surprised. Heisuke tried his best to learn off books, and in return for your care, he's come to suggest taking the lead this time out of fairness ♡ his touches would remain largely experimental, but you can tell that he's starting to get good at it. He'd pleasure you using his own mouth, his normal hand and his prosthetic arm until you could not speak of anything else but his name this time. Heisuke would blush but would keep the momentum, and always asked for your input.

❥︎ He's rather vanilla in normal states. Perhaps even, when is lacking mana to sustain his form, he'd grow further in intimacy by dabbling in it with you, as well as considerably for stress relief on your part.

❥︎ Forehead kisses! Considering he has a scar over his forehead, it must be one sensitive spot~ should you kiss and shower him loads of affection and be so fond of his scar, it'll make him melt like butter, especially during intimate moments. He's going to show you a good time, afterwards for such great care~ You've been so patient for him, after all.

❥︎ For the main part, Heisuke is already confident to show you his progress over time, would start topping you and would rut into you with all his might and all the love he could give you. He'd pin you down, legs over his shoulders as he moved in rhythm with your quivering hips, all the while he'd lean down for a kiss, up until he'd spurt out his release, right inside, of course.

❥︎ How about for his second ascension...? Oh, dear. He's still apologetic in this form but he's extra, and I mean, ferocious in this form. That's avenger-class for you. Bedding while he's in such a form is akin to charging to battle. He'd even ask if you're absolutely sure about doing it with him in such a state, buut no backsies once you say your consent~

❥︎ He's largely the same but is more rougher in his movements, even starting to nip at your skin leaving marks all the while you're a shivering mess as you watched from below with the hisses and muttered words beneath his breath as he takes you with heightening pace, you might as well pass out soon enough the more he continues. He does apologize afterward, but he can't really help it— having taken you like that.

❥︎ Heisuke doesn't have kinks of his own, and can't consider himself having any for the meantime, but should you request it, he's open for considering it with you~ Just say the word. Though if he were to try, he'd likely take his hair tie off or bandana off (in second and third ascension), and use it on your wrists to keep you in place while he pleases you as you like.

❥︎ Aftercare? Heisuke is one caring cinnamon roll~ He'd ask you every second about how you are feeling, wipe you clean with a wet towel, apply ointment on marks (he feels flustered thinking about the teasing he'd receive should you be spotted with a hickey). But doesn't even have any protest when you give him one instead. He's good at hiding it, with his clothes, he tries to reason with himself.

❥︎ Sweet Heisuke would give you a glass of water or two just to rehydrate, give you plentiful of massages, bathe with you and even help you put your clothes on! He'd prepare the bed nicely for you too, ensuring it is comfortable and clean to your tastes before laying down in bed for cuddles and small kisses before drifting off to sleep together.

❥︎ Overall? Sweetness overload. Take good care of dear Heisuke, master-san! ♡ He's trying his best, give him his love! Overly Vanilla yet delectable all the same.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾ ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☁︎

It started slow, so gradually, melting into your life so that you wouldn't notice.

It started with increased interactions, then the not-so-subtle staring, the matching trinkets gifted from him- Richard's presence was everywhere. He was glued to your side as if he belonged there, and the other servants- hell, even your master!- started to recognize you both as a pair.

You wondered what you did wrong to catch his gaze.

You tried to recall when all of this started.

You failed to remember when his eyes started holding something else other than just friendliness.

You-

"What're you thinking about, dear friend?" His voice, ever so clear and bright, pulled you back from your thoughts. The grasp on your wrist that you didn't notice until now tightened slightly, almost as if he was caging you to him. "You should tell me- I like listening to you talk!"

You laughed at his request, a strained smile plastered on your face. "Nothing-" Your throat tightened, feeling his gaze prickling your skin once again. "Nothing, really. I was... just thinking about what Master might be doing right now, that's all."

Richard's eyes darkened at your lie, as if he knew exactly what you were thinking of.

"Liar." You froze in your place. His voice dropped. "You're afraid of me, aren't you?"

You scrambled backwards. He took a step forward.

"You really thought," he started, eyes devoid of emotion as he took another step. You felt your blood go cold when your back hit the wall, knees failing to hold your weight as they buckled. "that I wouldn't notice?"

Hot breath fanned over your face as his crimson eyes bore into yours, like a lion watching its prey. And then, he smiled.

"But, oh well! It was amusing to see how you twitched so easily under my gaze, so I forgive thee for being afraid!" He smiled, his cheeks dusted with pink, obsession swirling in his bloody orbs. "Plus, you looked like a cute little bunny, so I couldn't help myself!"

You choked down a sob. His smile widened.

"Caught you, prey,"

492 words

“haha, look at you…”

a pair of bright turquoise eyes leer down at you, and a matching wide sneer only adds to your mockery. your body burns, skin slick with sweat as your mind desperately fights through the fog. your limbs are as heavy as lead, and you can barely muster any strength in yourself. 

“…reduced to a mess. like some common whore.”

there’s a faux purr to oberon vortigern’s voice, and yet the sharpness still cuts through the performative softness. he looks like he’s enjoying himself despite your confusion.

…no.

it’s not ‘despite’ your confusion. he’s actively enjoying your stupor. 

you’ve always known that oberon wasn’t fully human. he’s never shied away from who he was once his true identity was revealed. the king of insects, a nihilist to his core.

you never thought he was this… monstrous.

“wh- oberon-“

your voice trembles when something cold and slick slithers up your limbs. one, two, three… countless tentacles fly out from his silhouette, and they grip greedily at your skin. shivers stab all over your body, and panic rises like bile in the back of your throat.

“shhh…,” he breathes, drawing closer to you. the tentacles shove you down on what you barely recognize as a bed, and you cry out helplessly when they wrap around your arms and pin them down above your head. you don’t have it in you to fully fight them off, but whatever wriggling you can manage comes across as nothing more than a pathetic attempt at escape.

“oberon- what are you-?” you barely choke out before you feel the tentacles slither under your thin sleepwear. your voice keens in pitch when you feel one wrap around the flesh of your chest, and something deep in your stomach throbs when the tentacle starts groping you. 

“don’t look at me like that. you look so awful. so broken. it’s hilarious.” his words slide like knives under your skin as the tentacles tease you. it feels gross, feeling them writhing against your skin. they wiggle against your fluttering stomach, and they pulse against your breasts—massaging, pressing, sucking.

your cries soon turn into coarse breathing. your befuddled mind is soon overrun with dull waves of pleasure as the tentacles play with your chest. they flick over your hardening nipples, rubbing them in circles and swirling around them as if to pinch the sensitive nubs together. 

you jerk against the mattress. heat crawls all over your body, and you hate yourself for how flushed you feel. it’s as if you’ve been gripped with some kind of fever, even before you could make heads or tails of the sudden attack oberon’s forced onto you.

“why are you-?” you choke out. oberon raises an eyebrow as you struggle to get out your words. the tentacles ease up on your chest for just a second, but before you can take advantage of the brief reprieve-

riiiiiiiiiip.

“ah! don’t look-!”

the tentacles tear at your thin clothes. they yank and tug at the tatters, mercilessly making rags out of them. in an instant, you’re left defenseless in nothing but your panties, and the tentacles are back to pawing at your tits. pangs of arousal build up inside your chest and your core. you struggle to no avail against the mattress and its crumpled sheets, your ankles kicking desperately at the soft material even though there’s no hope of fighting off the onslaught.

your throat threatens to close in on yourself. this feels like something straight out of a nightmare. you hate the man looming over you with such a fascinated expression for doing something so wretched, but in the same vein, you hate yourself for enjoying it. your body’s starting to betray you, almost anticipating the tentacles violating you.

oberon’s eyes narrow at the sight of your exposed chest. he drinks in the sight of you silently crying amongst the throngs of tentacles. your unmarred and untouched skin, your perfect face twisted with despair, all thanks to what he’s done to you. if only you had known just how deep his depravity and disgust towards humanity ran. maybe if you had two cents worth of common sense in your brain, you would have known not to endear yourself so much to him.

he exhales deeply, equal parts amusement and pity emanating off of him. “for someone who’s doing such a poor job at fighting me off, you’re giving me quite the show. i’m being so cruel to you, and yet you’re rewarding me so sweetly. go on. cry and struggle some more. prove to me that my hatred isn’t misplaced.”

fear stabs at some deeply primal part of your brain when two more tentacles wrap around you. one around each of your ankles, they wrap up your calves and thighs. the tentacles squeeze dangerously against your legs, and you instantly clench your thighs together.

“you can’t! you can’t do that!” you frantically protest. your legs shake as you try to use whatever remaining strength to keep your legs shut. you’re scared to loosen up for even a second, scared that even the slightest waver will be enough for the tentacles to pry your thighs apart. “please- what’s going on-?”

your words quickly dissolve into another yelp when one of the tentacles around your tits gives a harsh tug to your swollen nipples. that’s all the leeway the tentacles need, and your hips are hoisted in the air. the tentacles forcefully spread your legs apart, and your thighs tremble under the strain. 

it’s wrong. it feels so wrong. your panties, which are quickly becoming soaked despite your best interests, are the only thing keeping you from being fully exposed to oberon’s smug eyes. 

“not bad. you actually did manage to put up a little bit of a fight to that,” he remarks. he’s just rubbing salt on your wounds. shame, need, dread all swirl inside of your tummy as your body trembles. another tentacle materializes from his form and writhes up towards your core. you press yourself as far back as you can go onto the bed, as if such a futile movement would be enough to stave off your inevitable fate. 

your voice is shrill at this point. “not there! you- you can’t touch me there!” 

the spare tentacle rubs against your clothed cunt. the drenched cloth presses in against your slick folds, outlining the shape of your slit and your puffy clit. pure, agonizing pleasure takes root inside the recesses of your mind. the tentacle takes its time torturing you. it rubs up and down your slit, just pressing down against your fluttering hole as if to penetrate you through your panties, only to slink away. the tip rubs and flicks against your clit. 

each motion is deliberately designed to make you shake and lose control of yourself. every second the tentacle spends humping your cunt, pressing tantalizing circles into your swollen clit, groping your breasts and rubbing your nipples, it’s all meant to turn your instincts against reason and have you succumb to his wicked touch. 

you keep subconsciously keening into the tentacles. your hips buck against nothing, back arching like a cat. it’s pitiful to know that he’s getting the better of you, but at some point, your fight has gone from survival to just… having all of that melt away. it’s too much for your tired mind to handle, and you never stood a fighting chance against someone like him anyway.

the tightness in your chest seems to have migrated all the way through your torso. you’ve never felt pleasure to this level before. it’s almost too much for your human mind to handle, and you’re constantly teetering on the edge of just breaking. your body’s completely gripped by a heat that’s so intense it feels foreign, but no matter how much you thrash, the tentacles don’t give up their assault on you for even a second. you can’t do anything but take it. no matter how much slick coats your thighs, how much of it runs down and drips onto the sheets below, how thin your voice has become, you’ve become nothing more than a simple plaything of oberon’s.

though, describing you as a simple plaything might not fully encompass the complexity of emotions oberon truly held towards you.

you hiccup loudly when the tentacle finally draws away from between your legs. your brain feels as if it’s turned to nothing more than colorless mush. somewhere amongst it all, maybe you came. maybe you didn’t. you can barely cling onto your sense of self right now. you’re not even entirely sure where you end and where oberon begins, where those tentacles restraining you begin. 

“oberon-,” you pant out. desperation laces each and every one of your strained breaths. you’re not sure what you’re begging for at this point. do you want him to stop entirely and leave you alone? or to continue, plunging your poor body back into depths of unfathomable pleasure? “oberon- please-”

“please, what?” he asks, as if he can sense your inner turmoil. “i thought humans were supposed to be intelligent creatures. doesn’t your species pride itself on being able to settle conflicts with peaceful conversations and shit? go on. talk then. don’t just waste your breath on doing something half-assed. is that mouth of yours just for decoration?”

you grit your teeth. your heart hammers inside of your ribcage, each thrum making you that much more aware of the arousal flooding your veins. each heartbeat, each pulse… it was as if a secondary biological rhythm was overtaking your entire form.

“i-,” you falter. your body slumps slightly against the bed, against the tentacles holding you somewhat aloft. your cunt tingles, and your insides clench around nothing. you want the stimulation back, you want something to tease your body again. your pride strains under the weight of your desire. sanity scaled against desire. you know there’s a right answer, and yet…

your voice is no louder than a whisper. “…don’t stop.”

“pitiful girl.” oberon’s victory is sweet and quick. not that he expected any other outcome. “pitiful, pitiful girl.”

a shriek rips through your chest when the tentacle returns to its place, tormenting you through your utterly drenched underwear. it feels good. it feels so good. you’re actually getting off to having your clit teased and touched by a disgusting slimy tentacle. you’re no better than a freak at this point, metamorphosized into an animal in heat.

“ah- oberon- not so rough…!” you sob, your hips moving shamelessly to match the tentacle’s ministrations. your chest and cunt feel rubbed raw, almost sore, but you think you’ll lose your mind if either of them stop. “if you- if you keep touching me there, i’ll… i’ll…!”

“you’ll what?” he asks, tilting his head slightly. there’s a lump in the back of your throat. your face burns, and your hole keeps fluttering, driven to madness from having your slit toyed with endlessly.

“i’ll cum!” you whine. “and if i cum from this, i’ll die! i’ll die, oberon- if i cum from getting fucked by tentacles, i won’t be able to live with myself!”

he laughs, and strands of his midnight black hair move with his shoulders as he does. “die? die from this? you call this getting fucked?”

“w-well, what else would it be?!” your stomach twists at his words. you don’t want to get off on him degrading you like that, but just the sound of his scornful voice is enough to make you keen and go weak.

“you’re so loud. i told you to make good use of your words. you say so much yet nothing at all. begging me to not stop and then whining when i do as you want me to do. you’re even more capricious than i am,” he huffs impatiently. you shudder when you feel another tentacle slither up your side, and you unconsciously flinch away from it when it glides across your cheek.

oberon delights in your trepidation. you clench your mouth shut as the tentacles pries its way in between your lips, lapping at your teeth before it squeezes at your cheeks. you barely manage to sound a starved gasp before it shoves its way into your mouth. your tongue flattens against it as it fills your mouth up, wriggling as it dives towards the back of your throat. it’s invasive and dehumanizing, but at the same time, the instant feeling of fullness hits your brain like a rush you’ve never felt before.

“mmh- mmngh…!” your garbled cries fill the room. oberon hums softly, his own voice an unsympathetic counterpart to your fright.

the tentacle writhing at your cunt slinks underneath your panties. the edges of the fabric twist at your skin, suddenly yanked away from its place. over the lewd squelching noise of the tentacles defiling you, you hear the telltale sound of tearing fabric. and then a rush of cool air hits your bare cunt, and your body lurches instinctively in one final attempt to break free.

oberon clicks his tongue, and in retaliation, the vice grip of the tentacles that are keeping your thighs spread apart tighten. you struggle to breathe through the tentacle fucking your throat, thrusting in and out against the back of your mouth. your saliva dribbles down your chin and lips. 

“so wet…” the fairy king chuckles under his breath as he leans in. you’re distinctly aware of just how much your cunt is now twitching and fluttering, and your body burns with need under oberon’s unwavering gaze. you want to think you’re better than this, but getting your pussy inspected by him isn’t helping your case in any way. oberon sighs dreamily, patting the inside of your thigh surprisingly gently. “and here you were crying and wailing about how much you didn’t want it. you’re such a bad liar. you liked it. you liked it when they touched you.”

he leans back, staring down at you as if contemplating what to do with you next. he muses to himself, though his so-called ‘soliloquy’ clearly meant for your ears as well, “you got this turned on just from being touched a little bit… i can’t help but wonder, what would happen to you if you were to get properly fucked by my tentacles? isn’t that just what you want? isn’t that the kind of depravity someone as miserable as you would enjoy? you humans are hopeless. you tout yourselves as some kind of universal pinnacle, and yet, look at just how quick you are to break. all it took was a dirty trick, and now, you’re mine to do with as i please.”

your breath catches in the back of your throat when you feel the end of a tentacle slide from your clit down your wet slit. it glides tantalizingly over your cunt before it wriggles dangerously against the tight entrance of your asshole. 

a sharp stab of terror pierces you. 

no. not there. not that hole. 

you can’t take something like a tentacle inside your ass. you can’t. you just can’t. it’ll tear you apart, and you’re certain then you’ll actually die.

you struggle aimlessly against the tentacles through sheer fear alone, but you don’t manage to do much. oberon laughs over your anxiety, over you desperately trying to fight your way out despite the tentacles smothering so much of you. 

“it’ll only hurt more if you do that, you know. but i wouldn’t be surprised if you were the kind of filthy creature to enjoy that.” the appendage pushes against you. the pressure mounts inside of you, and your body trembles uncontrollably. you can’t breathe. you can’t think. all that’s inside your mind is flurried whiteness, and you can only make out oberon’s blurred silhouette through the layer of tears glazing over your vision.

and then it’s inside you. 

it burns. 

it stings. 

you scream and moan and thrash against your restraints. anything to relieve yourself of the stretch and the dull pain that stretches over your lower half as if your nerves were being set on fire. you’ve never had something inside you there, let alone a squirming tentacle, and all of the sudden, your hole is getting torn open. 

if oberon wasn’t so disgusted by your hopelessness, the sheer betrayal on your face might have been enough for him to want to touch you with his own hands. the tears that had been wordlessly streaming down your face this entire time turn into embers streaking down your cheeks. you gag and choke around the tentacle in your mouth as the one in your ass starts moving up and down, in and out, not giving you a chance to adjust to how it’s spreading your insides out. it’s not being rough simply for the sake of being rough as much as it is not giving you a chance to ever adjust enough to gain the upper hand.

you’ve never had anyone do this to you. you’ve never let anyone see your body before. and now here you are, getting assfucked by some insectoid tentacle thing. getting stuffed on both ends with your cunt drooling despite it all makes your core burn. there’s all this pent up pressure inside you with nowhere to go, and you might go mad with all of the pleasure and pain fighting over your frazzled nerves. 

“there we go,” the dark-haired man praises you, “you took it. you actually took it. and look at you! still alive, as far as i can tell. though you might wish you were dead.”

your stomach coils in on itself. the wet sound of the tentacle fucking your ass echoes inside of your ears. they thrust inside of your mouth, slink around your wrists and thighs, drool all over your tits, and fuck their way deeper into your ass as if determined to break you completely. you don’t know how much more he can break you. if his endgame was your total subjugation, both physically and psychologically, then he’s won this gambit. 

oberon’s ghastly grin doesn’t waver for even a second. you don’t know how he’s managed to keep an expression like that for so long. but then again, oberon’s never been able to be explained with human logic. “you’re so much more palatable now too. all stuffed full… it almost makes me happy. almost. but nothing in the world could ever truly make me happy.” 

the tentacle inside of you writhes in a way that makes you stiffen. it’s not quite pleasure, but something so close to it lights up some deep recess of your brain. the fullness. it’s how full you feel. even though your pussy’s now abandoned and just left wallowing in its own slick, everything else feels so full that your brain is fuzzy. 

“-ghk-! ‘ron- urgh-!” you struggle to form full words. the ringing pain that threatened to swallow you whole is now subsiding into the backstage. desperation, a kind of instinct so base that it makes you feel like an animal, trickles back into you. slowly but surely, enough to make sure you feel the whirlpool deep in your core, sucking everything in greedily.

you want to cum. you need to cum. the tentacle fucking your ass is ramming into you with a steady rhythm now. in, out, in, out, wiggling so that you can feel every inch, every ribbed patch of its surface, designed to cruelly draw out as much mind-boggling pleasure as it could out of you. all the stimulation on your body was never meant for your comprehension. you were meant to give into it wholly, each tentacle a perfectly poised monster surveyed to shatter you into the most miniscule of pieces.

your insides feel rubbed raw. it stings and yet you crave the feeling more. your hips are moving in lewd tandem with the tentacle now, trying to get it deeper, trying to feel more of it, trying to do anything about the arousal clawing inside of you. you crave more of it, this twisted invasion and perversion of your own rationale. it strips you of everything, and you still find yourself moving into its touches, your senses drinking up the enticing friction. your release jerks and jolts inside of your core, burning away to no end, leaving you feeling parched and always just a breadth’s away from sweet release. 

you feel like you’re going to explode. there’s so much happening to you, and as awful as it is and sounds, it’s still not enough. oberon, that nihilistic bastard! he’s doing this on purpose. heartlessly driving you to the peak over and over, dragging you in and out of the depths of your own mind, rewiring the base things built into the fiber of your very being, fucking you and edging you endlessly just because he knows he can. 

the tentacle inside of your mouth wrenches itself out of your throat and rips itself out of your mouth. you shudder as fresh air invades your lungs, and you clench your eyes shut and cough as you finally take in full breaths. 

hack-! hack-! cough-!

“you asked me earlier why i was doing this to you.” his voice is calm, dry even. he’s talking to you with such monotony as if he could ignore everything that was happening to you. “you’re everyone’s beloved master here. if it weren’t for you, then this whole thing would go kaput. people heed your word. they come at your command. they fight at your command. they die at your command.”

the tentacles shift, and you can feel yourself pulled downwards on the mattress. your eyes fly open, and you find yourself basically brought right in front of oberon. your hips are flush with his, and your heart drops like a deadweight into your stomach. you recall somewhere in the back of your brain something that da vinci told you during your stay in lostbelt britain.

fairies can’t reproduce. they die, and a new fairy simply poofs into existence to take the original’s place. 

and yet… and yet, here you are, with what you can only imagine to be oberon’s cock pressed flush right against your drenched cunt. it’s only similarity to a human cock is its shape, but other than that, it’s the same black color as his insect-like legs with a matching teal silhouette. translucent pre-cum beads at his tip, runnier than human pre-cum and shimmery in color in the same way freshly fallen snow is. 

he bucks his hips slightly, to make sure your lips wrap around it. a wounded whimper escapes you when his cockhead catches against your overstimulated clit. your juices mix with his pre-cum, and they soak his cock from top to bottom. 

there’s ridges. you don’t know if the shiver that travels down your spine is one of fear or delight. his cock is ribbed. ribbed just like the back of a pillbug. you don’t need to even have it inside you yet to know that it would feel so good. probably good enough to make you lose your mind all over again, if you had to wager.

his hands land on your separated knees. he leans in, his face hovering only a few inches above yours. his eyes are locked onto you, and you instinctively want to shrink away from him out of a sense of pointless self-preservation. 

“someone like you could never be special to me. so… this curiosity of mine got the better of me. what makes you so beloved? and if i could answer that… well, that’s not important.” his lips ghost just over yours. not a kiss—a man like him is incapable of anything heartfelt in the midst of his hatred. it’s yet another reminder of how you’re dancing in the palm of his hand, acting out your part in the making of his twisted fairytale. 

he grips the base of his cock, and you feel the tip poking right at your entrance. your legs tremble, the tentacles keeping you perfectly in place so that you have no way out from what he’s about to do to you. you want it. you despise it. you need it. you hate it. 

“watch.” 

that’s all he has to say. it’s not like you can do anything else. your throat is parched, and you swallow back whatever swell of emotions rise up in your chest. you feel the stretch in your cunt  as he pushes himself in. he’s fixated on your face. what kind of expression would you wear this time? your brain prickles with the foreign intrusion, and you let out a low whine. 

your walls squeeze and clench around him, and just like you thought, just having him slide his ribbed dick inside of you makes your stomach do cartwheels. with him stuffed into your cunt and a tentacle fucking your ass inside out, your body doesn’t feel like yours anymore. you’re a victim to the pleasure, and all you want is to cum like an insane freak all over him.

he lets out a small huff as he bottoms out, and with his claws, he gently scratches the outline of his bulge over your lower stomach. it’s not like you had a choice in this. whether or not this would be punishment or reward, he was going to make you take his cock in its entirety. it simply works out in your favor that you managed to get horny enough to be willing to take him, to find his cock pleasurable. 

“oberon- fuck, oberon-,” you breathe his name out like it’s something to anchor you. how sweet you sound, now that you’re only a shell of the once brilliant soul you were! crying out for him, his name glued to the end of your tongue. you, with your unwavering ideals and a love for the world so pure… it’s only natural for him to covet someone so honorably untouched.

he draws his hips back. his cock digs against your insides as it slides out of your hole, only for him to ram his entire length straight back into you. you reward him with a wavering sob of his name again, tinged with that desperation he can’t get enough of. 

“feel so full- you’re inside me everywhere…!” your body trembles. you feel like he’s clawing out a place inside of you, rocking his hips into your cunt and digging so deep into your ass. your insides already feel rubbed raw, already sore and pent up and overworked from the previous rounds of being split open and fucked. “your cock’s inside me- whole cock’s inside me! fucking me- so deep! so rough- i can’t think…”

he gives another breathy laugh. pleasure tingles somewhere in the forefront of his own mind. he can’t and doesn’t want to imagine just how much more washed out your brain must be. “what, did you think i’d talk all that and not put my whole cock inside you? stupid girl. my tentacles won’t kill you, but they really must have killed any sense of reason you have.”

your stomach swirls with how good it is. his pace isn’t anything crazy, but it’s steady as he keeps pushing his cock in and out of you. big, full strokes, making sure each ridge and each inch is felt properly and thoroughly by your battered cunt. you stare down weakly at your body and fight through the hot tears that keep pricking up at the corners of your eyes. 

tentacles cover so much of your skin. it’s like you’re being eaten up by them whole. they cover your chest, your stomach, slink up your legs, and keep their firm grip over your entire form. your stomach coils in on itself as you timidly watch oberon’s cock fucking into you. your body trembles uncontrollably every time his hips slam into yours, thrusting into you in a way that feels bruisingly addictive. tip to base, tip to base, you watch as if you’re entranced as your greedy cunt eagerly gobbles his length.

your walls are stretched to their limits. taking him in both holes is messing with your mind. you’ve been stuck on the cusp of orgasming for a while now, and your body is still playing catch up from all of the confusing touches you’ve been subject to. but you can’t deny the fact that you’ve been feeling good for a long time. 

“wanna cum, oberon…,” you whine pathetically. you rock your hips into his thrusts the best you can while being restrained, and you moan out his name again when his cock spears you open. your vision spins, and you struggle to breathe. he’s hitting that deep spot in you so perfectly, angling it just right to make sure you feel it properly. “please- let me cum on your cock! i can’t take it anymore, i can’t-!”

so much for hating him. you can’t forgive him, and you know you won’t. but you don’t have the bandwidth to think that deeply about something meant for the future when you’re so swept up in the here and now. your mind’s unraveling faster than you can keep track of, and you’re sobbing incoherently. it’s a mix of “please”s and “oberon”s that escape you without any real attempt to even try to form full sentences anymore.

“and to think you were saying you didn’t want this just moments ago. whining and crying about how you couldn’t handle it.” how sweet you are to his eyes! he’s never seen something as horrid as you are right now. the sight of you this ruined makes his stomach churn with repulsion and want, and he grunts when he feels your cunt clenching down on him. your walls keep coiling and pulsing all around him, trying to suck his cock in deeper, drooling incessantly all around the pleasurable ridges of his cock. 

“fine. I’ll let you cum if you do one thing for me. even with your brain melting out of your ears, you should be able to do this much for me. well, you’ll have to, or i won’t let you cum.” he lifts his left hand and presses a cold jointed talon to your lips. you gasp against the touch, your hot breath fanning out against him. the end of his sharp claw catches slightly on the plush of your bottom lip.

for a split second, there’s an almost forlorn expression on his face. his gaze swims with what you can only describe as a kind of inhuman longing. a flash of truth, amidst the curses and the destruction that he’s bound to, that he allows only you to see. oberon will deny it to his grave if you were to press on it, but you know it’s there, no matter how fleeting it is. 

“tell me you love me.” his voice is no louder than a whisper, muttered out in a single breath. you can barely hear it over the squelching sounds of your body being defiled. he stares down at you with an uncanny conviction in his eyes. “tell me you love me, even if it’s a lie.”

a lump wedges itself into the back of your throat. the knot inside of you is at its limit, and if you don’t do something about it soon, you think your mind might give out on you completely. you can’t fathom a reality like that. and this request, as odd and heartwrenching as it is, is doable. you both know nothing happening right now is rooted in sincerity, so the least you can do is play along with his script for the sake of reaching your own end. it’s the only thing you can do on your own terms, the only thing you can do for your own pleasure. 

you part your lips. “i- i love you. i love you, oberon!”

oberon grits his teeth. something in your heart thumps wildly against the frame of your flesh and bones. he digs his heels into the ground and rams his hips into yours. you let out a loud moan as oberon wantonly fucks himself into you, abandoning any sense of mercy. you cry, tears freely streaming down your face in hot trails, as he fucks you like he’s about to snap. he’s no longer tormenting you for the sake of drawing out your pleasure. right now, he’s being just as selfish as you are, scrambling for his climax and using you as a means to gets there. you’re lucky that that level of roughness is just what you need.

“love you-!” your stomach twists painfully, and you think your insides are going to collapse on you. 

“...love you so much!” your whole world is spinning. you can’t tell up from down anymore, your senses entirely scrambled from the electric pleasure. 

“love you- i love you, oberon- love you-,” you babble as the tentacle up your ass thrashes wildly. you’ll never be the person you once were, forever ruined and broken by the pleasure that’s reset all of your synapses. you cling to his simple command and keep choking out your love for him. maybe in some aspect you mean it, but all it is right now is a prayer and promise. 

he grunts. his own vision is shaking, hanging on by a thread. never would he have thought he would feel anything stronger than the primordial disgust that gave birth to him in the mud and the dirt, and yet, he can’t help but feel something similar to a kind of twisted affection for you as he fucks himself into you. deeper and deeper, trying to carve out a place for himself in your already full heart. he’ll make it happen. impossibilities have always been something you both have been stubbornly good at. 

hearing your cries of love, false love, is all he needs.

you keen, writhing uncontrollably as he pumps his hips into you. his harsh rhythm makes it feel like your insides are turning into mush. he grits his teeth as he topples over the edge with a guttural moan. his name fizzles out on the tip of your tongue when you feel his cum gush into you, his cock twitching as he releases, and the pressure goes straight to your head. it’s hot, and it burns your walls. your cunt writhes and clamps down with pure ecstasy, clinging to the delicious ridges lining his dick. 

you hang in the liminal space for a split second, caught in between oberon’s cold embrace and the rush inside of your body, and then gravity takes control. you’re freefalling as the coil in your soul breaks, the stretched out strings finally fracturing for good. you gush all over oberon’s cock. your juices splatter shamelessly out from between your thighs and drip down his twitching tentacles, some of it splashing onto his own exposed skin. 

you sob helplessly. “fuck- fuck- oberon, oberon-! ‘m cumming- oberon, i’m cumming…!”

it’s too much. it feels too good. the surge of pleasure that grips you has you seeing stars. the synapses in your brain are flickering and lighting up, each one eagerly eating up the rush of sensation. 

the tentacles covering you and defiling you twitch and hesitate, buried inside of your ass. oberon keeps himself planted flush against your hips, determined to make sure all of your deepest parts are coated in his cum. you didn’t know it was possible to feel any fuller, especially with oberon invading every hole he possibly could, and yet, you whimper like the broken shell you are as you feel his seed flood your pussy. your orgasm keeps sucking him in, keeping him with you, as if you don’t want to let him go. your body craves him, and it doesn’t want your climax to ever end. it’s like you were made to take all of his rage and neediness for love and to make something out of it for your own sake. 

your mind is numb. you lay there, entangled with oberon, unable to do anything else except to just wallow in everything that came crashing down on you. your entire body feels as if it’s been zapped with electricity, and tingles settle all over your skin. you gasp and shudder when the tentacles slowly relinquish their grip on you. there are marks and bruises all over you from where they held you captive, and you let out a choked sound when the one stuffed in your ass pulls out. your hole gapes in the absence, stretched out to its painful limit. it stings, and you shiver. 

you can’t make out oberon’s full face from under his crown of dark hair, but you like to think you can make out the hint of a satisfied smile when he pushes himself off of your body. his eyes glow despite the pressing darkness surrounding you and the room. cum drips from your spent cunt, and you don’t even have the strength to push your legs back shut, giving him the perfect satisfaction of watching you as your hole pulses around his semen.

he’s the first to break the silence in between the desperate gasps of air and the lingering heat. the immediate tension is gone and over with, but you know something more somber and far more sinister has taken its place. your gut churns, dread gnawing at you from the inside out like some carnivorous beast. 

“not bad. not bad at all,” he whispers. his voice is surprisingly hushed and soft, his usually punchy words smoothed out as if he’s taking pity on a dying animal. you might as well be one. any sense of intelligence or reason has long left your consciousness, and you’re barely hanging on by a thread as your body struggles against the fatigue and the onslaught of emotions tearing you apart like a vicious monster. your eyes are glassy, and you’re nonresponsive as he pushes some of his sweat-slicked hair out of his face. you think he might have leaned in, and you think you might have pressed a sticky kiss to the center of your forehead. something akin to a romantic gesture, or at least, as romantic as it could get from a cursed liar like him.

you’re not sure what’s real and what’s a dream anymore. 

“you promised to love me, master. you said it with your own mouth. your own voice. that sweet voice, incapable of lying even if it’s to save yourself…,” he murmurs against your skin. “i hope you’re ready to keep up your end of it. even if it’s just a fleeting lie… what is beautiful is ugly in its premise, and what is ugly is beautiful in its premise.”

a pause. then, darkness. you’re alone again, and oberon is gone. 

to be loved by the abyss… you have a sinking feeling that the curtains to this tragedy have only risen, and this is only a taste for what’s to come. whatever it might be, you’re not sure you’ll ever be ready for it.