Wolfish Ambition

Father-son story. Please mind the content warnings. They are only father and son in name, but even biological sons are born to male receivers.

Not contracted and not on any rankings. Just writing to earn a living.

Emperor top, son bottom. First person.

(The cover features the top: an arrogant, beautiful, devastatingly handsome and vicious ghost of a man. He seems cold and aloof on the outside, but is really a wickedly beautiful, poisonous husband.)

Arrogant, aloof, vicious, dangerously possessive emperor top who takes by force x seemingly gentle, cool, noble, distant, restrained, and proper prince bottom who is actually a little lunatic with an air of noble purity

The top's appearance never changes. He forcibly takes the prince he has raised for over a decade, a selfish, villainous top who cares only about himself. He thinks it's fun, while the bottom suffers and feels humiliated, yet sinks into it and can't stop falling for him. They fight and love each other every day. A thrilling, explicit story.

Detailed content warnings: The top is not sexually inexperienced, but the bottom is. The top has a partial white moon (the bottom's father; not romantic love, but a complicated, intertwined relationship). A parasitic insect keeps the top eternally young, and time only begins to flow when he falls in love with someone. The whole story is dark, twisted, and full of madmen. Both are lunatics. The bottom is a cool and aloof ghostly lunatic. A self-indulgent story written for my own enjoyment. They love and hate each other, fighting while falling in and out of love. The most extreme hatred gives rise to the most extreme love, and the most extreme love twists into the most extreme hatred (in truth, the bottom is completely in love). Anyway, they love and hate each other because of their father-son relationship. It's a thrilling read. Don't read if this is a dealbreaker for you.

Beautiful top and beautiful bottom. They look about sixty or seventy percent alike, both handsome in a refined way, with a bit of a muscular build. Both are over 185 cm tall. The top is an arrogant, aloof, wicked ghost of a man; the bottom is a cool, stunningly handsome little ghost.

They love and hate each other, with plenty of intense, explicit scenes. A wicked, villainous top takes the bottom by force. A story about a villainous top and forced love, but with a happy ending. The top takes the bottom by force in the first half. Who gets taken by force in the second half? What a mystery...

He's always been this way, restrained and proper, never crossing the line. Snow from Cang Mountain falls on his cool, pale face, almost melting into his jade-like complexion and softening the chill in his eyes. His voice is as cool as shattered jade.

Anyone would have to praise him as a peerless gentleman, born to be Crown Prince.

Even now, when passion takes him, he always murmurs "Your Majesty" in a husky voice, as though he can preserve the etiquette between sovereign and subject on the imperial bed. I can't help mocking him for his ridiculousness, even as I hold his slender waist from behind and lift his hair.

When his gaze grows unsteady and he trembles, I make him look at our similar faces in the bronze mirror, and at the wicked smile on my lips.

I can feel him trembling. His long, slender, clearly knuckled hands brace against the cold desk. He suppresses his breathing, holding himself back, his pale Adam's apple bobbing. I know what he's going to say: "Father, this is the imperial study." "You have court tomorrow morning." "...We shouldn't do this."

I ignore his words and take hold of his beautiful, prominent wrist bone too, holding him from behind, wrapping my arms around his slender waist, and lowering my head to bite the veins showing through the pale skin of his neck.

Then I suddenly realize we've used this same embrace many times before:

When he was six, I taught him to hold a brush and write. When he was ten, I taught him to draw a bow and shoot. At fifteen, I taught him to use the imperial seal to kill. And now I'm teaching him how to serve his sovereign in bed.

I laugh and tell him this, but he only trembles, suppressing his gasps. Even now, he can still say in a calm, husky voice, "Father, you're insane."

His expression is restrained and indifferent, his long lashes fluttering like a dying butterfly. I can see neither hatred nor humiliation in his eyes, only unfathomable darkness and coldness.

He balances his roles as lover and Crown Prince with ease, just as the old ministers praise him for his virtue and flawless conduct.

No one would guess that the Crown Prince who once served the emperor in the hot spring, eyes lowered, indifferent yet obedient, would suddenly clutch my throat, eyes bloodshot and feral, his voice hoarse with suffocation.

He rasped, "Why are you doing this?! You clearly... you clearly could have just been my father!"

His lips were bitten until they bled. His eyes were bloodshot, and yet his collarbones still bore the marks of my teeth.

I found him amusing again.

I leisurely gripped the back of his neck and pressed him down toward the rippling water. The hot spring mist clouded his vision, and he stared blankly at the two similar faces reflected on the surface.

I looked into his eyes through the water. "Look me in the eye and say it again: do you really only want to be my 'son'?"

He was silent for a long time, then suddenly grabbed me by the throat again and kissed me.

The pain of our lips tearing seeped into them, and the taste of blood filled the mist.

I pulled away and looked indifferently at his damp, mist-veiled features, beautiful as a demon's. I gently stroked his cheek.

But he kissed me again, biting my lower lip and tearing open my damp clothes.

I couldn't help swallowing the bloody sweetness in my mouth, then sneered at him.

"See? You're even crazier than I am."

"...Little lunatic."

On the day he was born, the Imperial Astrologer cast a divination, then dropped to his knees in panic and shakily revealed the result: "The Heavenly Wolf enters the Purple Palace. This child... will, will kill his father."

So I trace his brows with my fingers, watching him act humble and obedient, restraining himself from crossing even the slightest boundary, and casually ask, "...Will you kill me?"

After a moment's silence, he hands me the ten copies of the Classic of Filial Piety I ordered him to transcribe... How ironic. His jade-like knuckles are pale and distinct, wreathed in a haze of desire.

He says he won't.

I let him break the rules for once and bite my neck. Then I lightly run my fingertips over his canine teeth and say in a hoarse voice, "I don't like people who lie."

Only then does he humbly and obediently rub his cheek against my palm. His beautiful, pale eyes are calm, and he is perfectly respectful.

"...Yes. Your son will kill you."

From the moment he was born, he belonged to his father. They will love and hate each other forever.

They are father and son, enemies, and co-conspirators entwined together on the imperial throne.

Not contracted and not on any rankings. Just writing to earn a living.

Theme: Father and son