Hello! My name is Lacy, and I welcome you to my linen house.
A few interesting things about me: I am a Hellenic Polytheist, I have a chronic pain condition, and have anxiety and depression. Writing is my escape and it fills me with great joy.
Looking for a Lazy Night? (SFW Masterlist-OneShots)
Or maybe a Night Wrapped in Lace? (NSFW Masterlist-OneShots)
Maybe a few Whispers in Silk? (FullFics)
Or some Crushed Velvet Dreams? (Discontinued Fics)
Requests? Open <3
My dm's are always open if you wanna chat ❤️
My Ao3
Seasonal Collections~
-Lacy's Kinktober Masterlist 2024
-Lacy's Kinktober Masterlist 2025
-Lacy's 2025 Valentines Collection
Little beach fic with husband Nanami since I haven't posted in forever <3
Your lovely husband Kento finally got time off from the hustle and bustle if being a sorcerer and you slapped plane tickets on his chest for a trip to the beach.
You almost never got time with him, he was always busy with work, didn't take time off, and when you did see him he was tired and ready to crash. So now that you had the opportunity to have free time with your husband, he was all yours and you were going to love it.
You made sure to pack a couple books that collected dust on your shared bookshelf and packed your cheetah print bathing suit, you loved how the print matched his tie and you knew it would be a lovely surprise for your dearest Kento.
The hotel room is comfortably air conditioned and you step out with your bathing suit on under a cover up and catch sight of Kento, shirtless and stepping out the back door. You made sure to get a ground floor so all you had to do was step out the back and your in front of the beach.
The waves lap at the sand playfully as you step behind Kento, his muscled and scarred back looking delicious in the sun. "Ken, you forgot sunscreen!", you call after him as you grab it from the beach bag, "let me get some on you.", he lets you lather it onto his chest, letting you fuss over him felt good. Kento never let himself get spoiled and now that he had his beautiful wife here trying to - he wasn't going to tell her know.
Your hair whips in the wind while you work and he brushes the hair out of your face with warm and rough hands, calloused from hours of work and combat experience. He feels like all of the air has left his lungs when you smile up at him, your smile taking his breath away.
Once you finish up you grab his hand and lead him to the water, before setting your feet in you shrug off the cover up and you swear you see his Adams apple bob at the sight of you in one of his favorite prints.
The hours go by as you play in the water, splashing, cuddling, and drying off to read and soak in the sun on the sand. You wouldn't have it any other way, and decided that Kento needs to take more vacation time while you rubbed a hand gently along his chest and shoulders.
[ Begin ID: A photo of a capybara on a beach. Black text on the photo reads "if you are seeing this / the curse is lifted / have a good day" / End ID ]
Companion pieces:
Valentine's Day/White Day (Sukuna x Reader)
The Attack (Megumi x Yuuji)
The fastest sexiest pizza in Tokyo (Yuuji x Reader)
Go shorty, it's my birthday! (Almost) (Yuuji x Reader)
The King's birthday surprise (Sukuna x Reader)
Comfort from the King (Sukuna x Reader)
Summer in the city (Yuuji x Reader)
Wildest Dreams (Yuuji x Reader)
Sin for Me (Sukuna x Reader)
Inspiration:
Fanart: Yakuza Sukuna ++ The Itadori brothers
Playlist: Mafia AU
Chapter 1:
Gangsta by Kehlani ++ Chills (Dark version) by Mickey Valen ++ All mine by PLAZA ++ Bad Bitch by Bebe Rexha
Chapter 2:
M3 & U by Mazzie ++ King by Niykee Heaton ++ Wrong by Zayn & Kehlani ++ Wicked Games by The Weeknd ++ It goes like this by Taylor Swift
Chapter 3:
I don't wanna live forever by Zayn & Taylor Swift ++ Curse by Dxvn ++ Let me love you by Ariana Grande
Chapter 4:
Cravin by Stileto ++ Do it for me by Rosenfeld ++ Dirty Mind by Boy Epic ++ Catch me by Dxvn ++ F**K by The Code
Chapter 5:
Come through by H.E.R. ++ Millions by Always Never ++ Gimme love by Rosenfeld
Chapter 6: 247 by David Correy ++ Maraschino love by EZI ++ TiO by Zayn
Chapter 7:High for this by The Weeknd ++ Lights out by Nbdy ++ All night long by thuy ++ Be my baby by Ariana Grande
Chapter 8: Good for you by Selena Gomez ++ Collide by Justine Skye ++ That's what I like by Bruno Mars
Thank you so much to @tinymaru for drawing super gorgeous art for this series!: Sukuna offering a rose to you (chapter 3)
Thank you so much to @mylittlesyn for writing a very hot story for Yakuza Prince Yuuji too! Check it out here: Tiger Prince
New series! I updated fastest on AO3 now so feel free to check it out! Warnings for this part: piercings, nipple piercings, mentions of toxic Nijiku household. NO JABBER THIS CHAPTER, JUST ZANKA CHARACTER BUILDING!
Zanka's entire life led up to this moment. The moment he was finally free from the clutches of his family, of that house, of Kyouka. The Nijiku family was successful, they owned multiple locations, their business always thriving. They had success after success, only for their youngest son to be such a try hard. Not nearly as good as his older siblings; he would never live up to their legacy. However he was forced to try. Over and over again he was forced to study, test, rinse, and repeat. It was never enough for them. Finally he got his acceptance letter for one of the best schools in America. He would finally be out of the same country as his family, and the urged him to go and work his way up their chain and be the best the school could offer while also showing business allies and competitors the strength of their family.The moment he checked into that dorm room he didn't bother making sure everything was tidy, he threw it all down in a heap and went to explore. America was different from Japan in many ways. The portion sizes, traffic, the way people dressed.
He felt out of place when he saw a stranger walking by in what he could only describe as the most amazing outfit he had ever seen; so obviously he approached the woman asked where she got her outfit. That's how he ended up here. In a shop bathed in blacks, purples, blues, and reds. He enjoyed what he was seeing, tried on a number of styles, and settled on some clothes. He enjoyed the black mixed with blue the most so he loaded them into a basket he grabbed from the front. As he wondered he found earrings. He had worn them before sure, but some of these looked oddly different from what he would run through his ears-"They're for your nipples." - Zanka flushes as he turns around finding a blond man with black earrings hanging from his ears - "Sorry, I saw you were lookin at them and you just looked a little confused.", the man speaks again, noting how the customer was startled by his words. Zanka nodded and saw a name badge, the man was an employee with a badge reading "Enjin", under it reading "Manager". "No it's okay... you said these are for... nipples?", Zanka asks, his confusion still evident, and "Enjin" laughs. "Yeah that's what I said." Zanka’s ears burned. He didn’t even know what to say. Nipples? The word repeated itself in his mind like a chant, a forbidden chant he wasn’t supposed to think, let alone act on. His family would never approve.Enjin, however, seemed unbothered by the sudden cloud of embarrassment that had overtaken Zanka. He held up a small, glinting tray.
"We have a bunch of different styles. Simple studs, rings, barbells… you name it. A lot of people start with something small, then work their way up." His tone was casual, but his eyes were sharp, perceptive; he could see the storm inside Zanka, and maybe he enjoyed it a little. Zanka swallowed. He could feel his pulse thumping in his ears. “I… I don’t even know if I should… I mean…” His voice faltered. Freedom, he reminded himself. This was freedom. The neat little cage of the Nijiku household, the expectations, the constant shadow of everyone else’s success... it was gone. Here, in this store, with this… stranger, he could do whatever he wanted. He glanced down at the tiny tray again. Each piece glimmered under the harsh store lights. A small stud… just one small stud. No one would know, no one would judge… except himself. But maybe, for the first time in his life, that wasn’t a bad thing. Enjin tilted his head, a smirk tugging at one corner of his lips. “You look like you’re thinking about it. Most people do. But yeah… it’s just you, here. No one else matters.”Zanka’s chest tightened, a nervous excitement bubbling alongside the shame he thought he should feel. He would feel his family’s disapproval later, in flashes, pangs that would come and go, but for this moment, it didn’t matter. “I’ll… I’ll do it,” he said finally, his voice steadier than he expected. “Just… one stud. Both… nipples.” He barely managed to whisper the last part, but the words hung there in the air, solid and true. Enjin’s grin widened. “Good choice. You’re gonna love it.”
And just like that, the first thread of Zanka’s new life began to weave itself.“I’m Zanka,” he said finally, voice soft. Enjin gave a small smile, offering a hand. “Enjin. And you’re in for quite the experience.” With a practiced ease, he guided Zanka through the winding halls of the shop, their steps echoing softly. As they approached the piercer station, the scent of antiseptic mingled with faint traces of metallic polish. August Stilza, the shop’s piercer and personal designer, was already at the table, arranging tools with meticulous care. “Morning, Enjin,” August called without looking up, his hands busy but precise. “Got a new friend?” Enjin nodded toward Zanka. “This is Zanka. He’s here for the full tour. Zanka this is August.”August turns around fast and the next thing Zanka knows, the blond haired man is in his face, looking him up and down with a hand holding his chin. “Interesting bone structure,” he murmured, tilting Zanka’s chin slightly. “Strong, but soft in all the right places. You’re going to wear my designs so well.” Before Zanka could respond, August had already whisked him toward a rack of clothing. “First things first,” August said, tossing a shirt over his shoulder. “You’ll never know until you try.” Zanka’s hands trembled slightly as he took it. The fabric was soft, yet strangely electric under his fingers. August stepped back, arms crossed. One by one, Zanka tried on outfit after outfit. Black leather with cobalt accents, deep purple coats that swallowed his frame, red shirts that made a flush rise to his ears. August hovered close, adjusting collars, tucking sleeves, smoothing lines, his hands confident and precise.
“Turn. Yeah, like that. Chin up. That’s it,” he coached. Zanka caught glimpses of himself in the mirrors scattered around the store, each reflection a little bolder, a little more like he was becoming someone new, someone he liked.Then came the jewelry. Rings, bracelets, chains; each glinting under the soft lights. August held up small studs for him to inspect, encouraging him to feel, to imagine. “Pick what calls to you,” August had said.Finally, they arrived back at the piercing station. August’s hands moved with serene confidence, setting out the tools with an almost ritualistic precision. Zanka’s stomach churned, a cocktail of nerves and anticipation. “Ready?” August asked, tilting Zanka’s chin up again. “As ready as I’ll ever be,” Zanka breathed. The process was quick but unforgettable. A sharp sting, a metallic click, and then a subtle, electric tingle that coursed through Zanka’s chest, tears pricked his eyes. August cleaned the area, gently adjusting the tiny studs until they sat perfectly. “All done,” August said softly. Zanka’s fingers traced the new additions, feeling an unfamiliar thrill before his hands are swatted away as August gives him care tips and cleaning instructions.By the time he approached the counter, Zanka barely recognized himself. The cashier bagged his choices with a friendly smile, but Zanka barely noticed. He felt different; he looked down at his reflection in a shop window. The man staring back wasn’t just Zanka the youngest son, the shadow of the Nijiku legacy, the obedient student; he was just Zanka.
It Will Come Back (Emo Zanka X Nerd Jabber) Masterlist
Zanka Nijiku is finally out of the house, after being home schooled and tutored by the best teachers all of his life, he finally gets to go away for college. He enjoys the taste of his new freedom, finds his style, and gets sidetracked by that hot nerd-But what would his family think? Who cares? Lines blur in his head but he gets the cold water splashed over his head. He's so fucked.
You're supposed to be visiting your brother- Nanami Kento- When the night before you go bar hopping. You meet a tired looking man in a neat suit at the bar, and end up warming his bed for the night.
But you both want more of each other.
How will this pan out, when Hiromi learns that his co-worker and friend, Nanami Kento- is your brother?
What will happen when Kento learns about you two?
~Pt.1 -Pt.2 -Pt.3 -Pt.4 -Pt.5 -Pt.6
Higuruma smut- Oral(fem receiving), heavy complimenting, I love you's, husband and wife.
What happens after some people make fun of your darling husbands nose?
Hiromi sat on the couch, his expression unreadable, but you could tell something was off. He was usually composed, always carrying himself with a quiet confidence, but tonight, his shoulders slumped ever so slightly. His fingers absentmindedly traced along the bridge of his nose, something he only did when he was deep in thought—or bothered.
You sat beside him, pressing your thigh against his, anchoring him to you. “What’s wrong?” you asked softly, already sensing the answer.
He hesitated, exhaling through his nose before finally saying, “Some people at work had a few things to say about my… appearance.” His jaw tensed. “My nose, specifically.”
Your brows furrowed. “What?”
He let out a dry chuckle, shaking his head. “It’s not like I haven’t heard it before. It’s big, it stands out—”
“It’s perfect.” Your voice was firm, leaving no room for argument.
Hiromi looked at you then, eyes searching, as if he wasn’t sure whether to believe you.
You reached out, cupping his face between your hands, thumbs brushing against his cheekbones. “Your nose makes you you. It’s distinguished. Strong. Just like the rest of you.” Your fingers traced down to it, tapping lightly. “And it happens to be incredibly handsome.”
His lips parted slightly, but no words came out. He blinked a few times, as if processing your sincerity.
You leaned in, pressing a kiss right at the bridge, then another against the tip. “I love your nose,” you murmured. “I love every part of you.”
His breath hitched, and you swore you saw the corners of his lips twitch, just the slightest bit. “You really mean that?”
You scoffed, nudging him playfully. “Have I ever lied to you?”
Finally, he let out a real chuckle, shaking his head. His hands found your waist, pulling you closer. “No, you haven’t.” He sighed, the weight on his shoulders seeming to ease. “Thank you.”
“You never have to thank me for telling the truth,” you murmured, kissing him once more.
And as he wrapped his arms around you, his hold just a little tighter than usual, you knew that no one else’s words would ever matter as long as he had you.
~~~
And that's how you ended up here, your loving husband laying back into the pillows of your shared bed, grasping the plush of your thighs in his rough hands, guiding you up and down as his tongue laps at your entrance, his nose brushing your clit deliciously.
Your hands tangled through his mess of black locks, yanking them as you whine in pleasure, your nth orgasm tightening in your tummy, and he groans at the sight of your eyes rolling back- the dribble of drool coming down your chin- and the gentle buck of your hips as your gummy walls clenched around his tongue.
He lapped up your juices as you came down from your high, totally fucked out as you try to escape his hold but he keeps you down- you weren't going to deny him his pleasure- his meal.
"G-gosh Romi', your fuckin nose feels so good baby", you pant out, as your overstimulation bleeds back into raw pleasure. One hand leaves you thigh to move up and cup your ass, giving a nice squeeze that has you groaning before he grinds you back down onto his waiting nose and mouth-
You were in for a long night.
Might become a full fic, lmk what you think!
DemonKing!Sukuna X PrincessSuccubus!Reader
The music is slow. Sinister. The kind of melody that slithers beneath your skin and curls up beside your soul, whispering sweet nothingness with every echoing note. A dark symphony bleeds from instruments carved of bone and strung with the hair of saints—only the finest for the infernal elite. It fills the gilded hall with a weight that makes even ancient devils shift in their seats, their laughter quieting to reverent murmurs.
The ballroom itself is a marvel of contradiction.
Bright marble floors polished to a gleam stretch beneath your heels, each step you take mirrored by a haunting twin beneath you. Above, the ceiling is a canvas of forgotten myth—frescoes of sinners weeping, gods falling, angels burning. And all of it is lit by blue fire, flickering in wrought iron sconces shaped like open mouths, the flames licking hungrily at the air as if tasting the sins of the crowd.
Demons, nobles, beasts with too many teeth and too little shame, mingle in clusters draped in silks, sin, and sarcasm. You can feel eyes on you—many of them—but none that matter.
Not yet.
Your presence is nothing subtle. A princess, yes, but a succubus first. Every inch of you is crafted to tempt and ruin. Your gown clings like want, midnight-black velvet kissed with ruby accents, plunging and slitted in all the ways a ballroom full of devils might expect… but none are prepared for how you wear it like armor.
And then the music stops.
Only for a breath.
And in that pause—the instant the silence falls thick like blood in the throat—you feel it. Him.
A presence like a wound torn open. Like gravity shifting. Like everything you’ve ever fed on might pale in comparison to the feast that just walked through the doors.
The Demon King arrives without announcement. He doesn't need one.
He steps into the ballroom like it’s his, because it is. Four arms, all muscle and menace. Blood-red markings wind up his skin like a lover’s touch, and his eyes—gods, his eyes—meet yours as if he’d been hunting you before he even knew your name.
And for the first time in a very long while, you feel like prey.
The crowd parts for him like shadows fleeing light, though the blue flames on the walls only burn colder in his presence.
He doesn’t speak. He doesn’t need to. Not when his gaze pins you like a blade to velvet. One of his hands—clawed, calloused, commanding—extends toward you.
A silent invitation.
No, not silent. Demanding.
Your pulse thrums like a snare drum in your ears, but you accept, lips curling into a slow, wicked smile as you slip your fingers into his. The moment your skin touches his, something ancient stirs between you—dark, primal, and coiled tight like a spring.
The musicians sense it. The new rhythm is immediate. Fast. Dangerous. A tango that crackles with unspoken threats and electric seduction.
You move first—sharp, precise, like a dagger unsheathed. Your hips sway with purpose, your steps slicing across the floor, and you feel his arms wrap around you. One at your waist, another sliding along the curve of your back, two more catching your hand and wrist.
He leads with impossible control. You follow with defiant grace.
The crowd watches, entranced, as the two of you spin through the center of the ballroom like a storm contained in rhythm. Twists. Turns. His strength against your cunning. His grip is vice-like, perfect, adjusting with each flick of your wrist, each snap of your heel. You test him with sudden dips and unpredictable sways, but he matches every move.
Every time you lean back, he’s there. Every time you lunge forward, his body meets yours like a wall of fire and flesh. One hand grips your thigh during a particularly daring move, lifting you with brute ease as the room gasps—a moment too intimate, too raw.
But you don’t flinch.
Neither does he.
You’re breathing fast now. Not from exhaustion—but exhilaration.
His lips ghost your ear as the music hits its crescendo. “You dance like you want to kill me.”
You smirk, letting your nails drag lightly down one of his arms. “Only if you’re lucky.”
A spin, another pull—his hands guiding you into a sudden dip so deep your hair brushes the cold marble. All four of his hands hold you steady, his chest inches from yours, his breath warm.
“Careful, little succubus,” he purrs, fangs just visible behind that slow, terrible smile. “You might not want what happens if I bite back.”
The music winds down, the final note drawn out like a blade across silk, and the ballroom holds its breath.
He doesn’t release you.
His four hands linger—on your waist, your wrist, your thigh, your back. Possessive. Unapologetic. His crimson eyes drag over your face like he’s searching for something. A flaw, perhaps. Or a challenge.
Then comes the smug curl of his lip.
“Hiding, are we?” His voice is velvet soaked in wine and blood. “A pretty illusion, but not your true skin. I wonder…” He leans in, letting his nose brush just above your cheekbone, inhaling softly. “What are you afraid of, little princess?”
You tilt your chin, eyes narrowing in a slow, measured smile that doesn’t reach the heat behind your gaze.
“Afraid?” Your voice drips with sweet venom. “Darling, you mistake grace for fear.”
You raise your hand slowly, curling your fingers beneath his jaw, the soft pad of your thumb brushing his sharp cheekbone. Then you let the shift ripple through you—not a dramatic explosion of power, no, but something far more elegant. More deliberate.
It starts at your shoulders, your skin shimmering like starlight on obsidian. Your wings bloom open with a whisper, delicate but undeniably deadly—webbed, graceful, and tipped in rose-gold. Your tail flicks behind you, long and velvet-smooth, ending in a plush heart-shaped tip glowing faintly pink. Finally, your horns curl upward from your hair, elegant as a crown—ram-like, smooth and dark, but each ring glowing a soft, cotton-candy hue that pulses like breath.
The room gasps behind you.
But you only keep your eyes on him.
“You find this form more appealing?” you ask sweetly, wings flaring just enough to cast a lovely little shadow over the marble.
Sukuna's grin sharpens—wolfish and slow. “Better,” he murmurs, eyes devouring every newly revealed inch of you. “Now you look like something worth corrupting.”
You lean in close, brushing your lips just beside the corner of his mouth, not quite touching. “I’m not something you corrupt, King. I’m the temptation before the fall.”
I WROTE THIS FOR AO3 BUT IT WONT FUCKING POST AHHHHHHHH
anyways
first Gachiakuta fic
Warnings: smut, Jabber, anal fingering, anal sex, aphrodisiacs, praise, degradations, Zanka fears the L word, Dom!Zanka, Sub!Jabber
Minors DNI
Meeting up with the enemy was never Zanka's intention, he's ashamed of himself, but who is it hurting? It's hurting Jabber of course, but he's into that, it's the whole point!
He's dragged from his thoughts as he comes to a stop in the abandoned building, it's a sweet little place they've been fixing up- as a sex nest, not a home together -atleast that's what he wants to believe. He sits down on the mattress Jabber dragged in 2 meetings ago, it's not in bad shape but it's also not exactly the best. He lets his legs fall apart while he relaxes, waiting for the other man to arrive. He stares at the wall where he pinned Jabber the first time they found this building, he remembers being impatient to be all over the other man so he took him right there on the cold cement; much to the other mans delight at the scrapes the material inflicted. He can feel himself harden under his pants, where the fuck is Jabber?
Just as his hands reach up to his choker he can hear skipping down the hall before the smiling man enters the room, "Sorry I'm late Zan-Zan! Got held up with what you asked me to make~".
Zanka looks at him, slightly amused now, "well, lets see it", he gestures with his hand to Jabber who grins wider and pulls a vile from his pocket. The liquid inside of it is clear but tinted slightly orange, a natural mix of ingredients combined to make one effective aphrodisiac. Zanka had requested Jabber make the concoction after their last meeting when he couldn't keep up with Jabber's need for more, more, and more. "I made sure it was perfect before I was going to let you try it!", Jabbers excitement is palpable as he gestures with his ringed hands.
Zanka takes the vile into his hands before setting it on their makeshift bedside table, it's definitely seen better days but it works for them. "Being late made me so upset J, you should really make it up to me. You will won't you? Be a good slut for me?", Zanka's words are teasing and mean; but Jabbers reacting is immediate. The dilation of his pupils, the way his fingers twitched and his breathing hitched. "Of course I will Zan", Jabber swiftly gets onto his knees in front of Zanka, slotting himself between the other mans legs, "You can forgive me can't you? I'll be on my best behavior just for you", Jabber knows his words are pointless, Zanka needs him to prove that he's sorry, and he knows just how to do that. Zanka's hands run across Jabbers head before his fingers wrap firmly around the mans locs, "I need you to show me, show me how much you need my forgiveness, yeah?", Zanka's voice is low, a dominating growl that has Jabber howling in the back of his mind, pupils blown further at Zanka's grip on him.
It takes only a split moment for Jabber to move his hands to work off Zanka's pants, he watches in barley contained amusement as Zanka's cock comes into view, hard and red at having to wait as long as he had. Jabber runs his tongue from the base to the tip before taking the head into his mouth, hollowing out his cheeks he feels Zanka's hand tighten in his hair while he hisses. "There he is, my favorite slut", Zanka grins down at Jabber who moans around him at the statement-he takes the opportunity to shove Jabbers head down further, hearing the man gag when his cock hits the back of his throat. He finally pulls the mans head up, watching Jabbers drool drip down his face, "You're always so messy, but that's okay. Just means you're doing your best for me right?", Zanka asks, voice condescending but it makes Jabber perk right up, "Of course~ I've been waiting so long to please you again, I nearly forgot my place!".
Zanka smirks before yanking Jabbers hair to stand up, "come on, you've got too many clothes on. Then you can help me out of mine", Zanka's tug makes Jabber whine as he stands up, he's visibly desperate for the touch of his lover as he yanks off his clothes, a few rips and tears can be heard and finally he's stripped down. His body is scarred and lean, it's beautiful to Zanka; some scars that he left himself litter the other mans body and he feels proud of his power and impact. Zanka stands now and Jabber works his clothes off with more care than his own, knowing he would just get into more trouble if he ripped Zanka's clothes. Zanka's own body is covered in scars, most from his lover but some of them are simply from his time as a cleaner and actively working in combat.
Jabber stared at him in awe before his head forcefully turns to the side, Zanka had slapped him. "Now who said you could look at me huh? Has your little submissive brain forgotten how this works or is it that you remember and you want me to hurt you more?", Zanka's words make Jabber feel tingly in his chest and lower stomach, fuck he's hard. "Sorry Zan, it slipped my mind, but you know I love it when you beat me! Can I look at you, please Zan?", Zanka can barely hide his elation at the mans begging, he looks like a dog awaiting his masters approval. "You can, in fact you can go ahead and try this out…", Zanka grabs the aphrodisiac from where he set it down before, popping the vile open and drinking half before yanking Jabbers head back to look him in the eyes as Zanka puts the vile to his lips; Jabber drinks the rest.
It takes a few second before both of them feel the intensity of the mixture and both seem to groan in unison as Zanka pushed Jabber onto the bed before crawling ontop of him. "Zan, please~", Jabbers voice is a plea, he's hard enough that it hurts now and his partners body heat against him is almost enough to get him off right then and there. Zanka looks down at him, eyes narrowed at how Jabber twitches slightly beneath him, he's desperate. Zanka slaps him again, this time on his thigh but it makes no difference, Jabber moans loud, loud enough that Zanka almost feels the need to cover his mouth and he watches Jabbers hip buck into the air as he cums, untouched. "Oh my, you didn't ask to do that did you? That's so bad", Zanka gasps out, willing himself not to lose control of himself. Jabber whines when he feels Zanka yank back his hair again, "I need an answer J".
"I'm s-sorry Zan! I couldn't help myself, please don't be mad, i'll do anything, please just fuck me!", Jabber is a mess, his body overstimulated, cock still twitching with desire to be touched, his body feels like it's burning up and Zanka's touch is a cool glass of water. Zanka finally can't stop himself as he grabs a bottle of lube from the side of the bed, they keep so many bottles of it scattered in the room; he coats his fingers in it before reaching down and prodding at Jabbers rim, causing the man to moan even louder than before. "Zan please don't be gentle- fuck!", Jabbers plea is cut short as Zanka thrusts two fingers into him, his body trying to rock back into them while his cock leaks for attention. "You're such a greedy whore, you just want more and more! But that's okay, I know you'll be good for me, yeah?", his fingers pump faster, adding a third to the mix; causing Jabber to thrust his hips further down onto his fingers, "You'll ride me won't you? Make me feel good and fuck yourself on me? Use your tight body to bring me pleasure?".
Jabber nods quickly, eyes crossing and drool slipping from his lips as Zanka pulls his fingers out and rolls them so now Jabber is ontop of him. Jabber is a mess as he lines up with Zanka's cock and sinks down on him; hissing in pleasure at the sting of the stretch before losing it when he hears Zanka moan and sees his mouth fall open with his eyes rolled back. Their bodies burn together as Jabber sets a quick pace ontop of his lover, Zanka's hips thrusting and jerking up into Jabber while he goes, both lost in their heated haze of lust and pleasure. "Zan-Zan pl-please, it's too much; I can't hold back!", Jabber pleads with his lover and Zanka looks up at him before grabbing his throat, "cum with me then, work a little harder and you can cum", Zanka gives his condition and Jabber nods wildly, his locs swinging around his head as he moves faster, making sure to take all of Zanka as drool slips from his moaning lips onto Zanka's wrists that hold his throat.
After a few more minutes Jabbers hips stutter at the base of Zanka's cock, the other man already groaning as he cums, both singing their lustful song in unison. Zanka's hands are tight around Jabbers throat before he feels him tap his arm gently and he let's go. They're done. Zanka gently pulls Jabber off of him before letting him settle on his chest, hands stroking his arms. "You did so good J, kept it together for me. You ready for a bath?", Zanka's voice is gently and caring, he swears it's only because he felt bad for how rough he was, he could never admit to anyone; even himself, that it could've been love. Jabber nods tiredly and nuzzles into Zanka's chest.
Series Masterlist
AUTHORS NOTE: I was procrastinating this chapter for SO long. Im struggling so bad guys, someone else in my family died. So ive gotten woken up 2 months in a row that someone is dead. NOT A GOOD ALARM CLOCK! Ive also been crashing out the past 2 weeks for some unknown reason, im just so angry for NO REASON. ENJOY!!!
You expect him to be colder. Sharper. Already halfway out the door.
Instead... “Prosecutor.”
You look up from your files.
He’s watching you in that steady, unnerving way. Not angry. Not humiliated. Just… thoughtful.
“You argued well,” he says evenly. You blink. That almost sounds like a concession. “Thank you,” you reply cautiously.
“Have a drink with me.”
The words land heavier than the verdict did.
You stare at him. “Are you serious?”
“Yes.” “You just lost.” “I’m aware.”
There’s something quieter under his composure tonight. Less armored. Like losing to you. specifically to you. did something to him he hasn’t decided how to process?
“It’s professional courtesy,” he adds. “You won. Indulge me.”
This is a terrible idea but You say yes anyway.
~~~
You sit across from each other in a booth. Not touching. Never touching.
He loosens his tie slightly. You try not to notice. Fail. “To your victory,” he says, lifting his glass. You clink it. “To your defeat.”
His mouth twitches.
For a moment, it almost feels normal. Easy, even. Conversation slides into familiar sparring; case law, strategy, subtle jabs wrapped in dry humor.
And then You see him acrossed the bar.
The man from last night.
He’s laughing at something the bartender says, profile unmistakable. Your stomach drops to your knees. You look away too fast.
Higuruma notices immediately.
Of course he does.
“What is it?” he asks quietly. “Nothing.”
You reach for your drink. Miss slightly. Your hand isn’t steady.
His eyes follow your gaze.
And he sees him. You don’t know how he knows.
Maybe it’s the way your shoulders have gone rigid. Maybe it’s the guilt written all over your face. Maybe it’s instinct.
But his posture changes. Subtly, His jaw tightens.
“…Do you know him?” Higuruma asks.
There’s no accusation in his tone and That makes it arguably worse.
You swallow. “We met.” “When?”
You hesitate one second too long. His gaze sharpens. “Recently,” you admit. The man looks over then. Recognition flares on his face. He smiles. And starts walking toward your table.
Every nerve in your body screams.
“Higuruma,” the man says casually as he approaches, glancing between you. “Didn’t expect to see you here.”
Your blood runs cold.
You look at Higuruma.
He is very, very still.
“You know each other?” you ask, voice thinner than you’d like. Higuruma doesn’t look at you. “I’ve defended him before,” he says calmly.
Of course he has. Of course this would happen.
The man’s smile falters slightly as he senses something shifting at the table. “You two?”
“We work together,” you cut in quickly. “Opposite sides,” Higuruma corrects smoothly. His eyes finally flick to yours. There’s no rage there.
Just something darker. Quieter. He knows.
The man chuckles awkwardly. “Small world.” “Yes,” Higuruma says evenly. “Very.” The tension is suffocating.
You feel exposed. Transparent. Like every bad decision you made is now laid neatly on the table between you.
The man lingers a second too long.
“Good seeing you,” he says eventually, backing off. When he’s gone, silence settles heavy between you. you don’t know what to say.
You don’t know how to explain.
“So,” he says quietly, finally meeting your eyes.
“That’s what distracted you.”
“You don’t get to say that like you’re entitled to an explanation,” you fire back, anger cutting clean through the lingering shame. “You’re not my keeper, Higuruma.”
His gaze doesn’t waver. “I never claimed to be.” “Then stop acting like I owe you something.”
The air shifts. For a second, you think he’ll retreat back into that maddening composure. He doesn’t.
“You were off,” he says, voice lower now. Controlled; but only barely. “I noticed.”
“Congratulations,” you bite out. “You’re observant. Do you want a medal?”
“I know you,” he says immediately.
The certainty in his tone makes your pulse spike.
“You know the version of me you compete with,” you shoot back. “You don’t know anything else.” His hand flexes slightly around his glass.
“And you think I don’t see the pattern?” he continues, quieter now. “You only self-destruct when something gets under your skin.”
That lands. You push out of the booth abruptly. “You’re unbelievable.” “And you’re reckless,” he counters, rising too.
The space between you shrinks as both of you stand, neither willing to back down. “I am not reckless,” you hiss. “You went home with him.”
The words are calm. The effect is not.
Your breath stutters. “Why do you care?”
The question hangs in the air. He goes still.
For the first time tonight, truly still. Because he doesn’t have an answer he’s willing to say out loud. Your anger flares brighter to cover the crack in your voice.
“You don’t get to interrogate me about my life like I’m on the stand,” you say. “You’ve made it very clear for years that the only thing you see me as is competition.” His eyes flash. “That’s not-”
“You decided that,” you cut in. “Not me. You’ve been cold since the day we met.”
Something shifts in his expression then. Not anger. but Regret.
“You think I don’t remember?” you press, voice rising slightly. “You embarrassed me in front of an entire class because I looked at you too long.”
He exhales sharply. “I remember,” he says.
“Then what was it?” you demand. “What did I do that made you decide I was the enemy?”
Silence stretches. Too long. And then...
“You didn’t,” he says quietly.
You blink.
“What?” “You didn’t do anything.”
His voice is different now. Stripped down. No courtroom cadence. No strategic control. “You looked at me,” he continues, “like I wasn’t something you had to beat.”
Your anger falters. He steps closer without realizing he is.
“And I didn’t know how to handle that.”
The confession feels like stepping off a ledge.
You swallow. “So you chose to humiliate me?”
“I chose control,” he says. “Competition is easier than… the alternative.”
Your heart is pounding too hard now. “Which is?” you whisper.
His gaze drops to your mouth. And that’s the moment everything tips.
“You know,” he says.
You don’t remember who moves first.
You just know that suddenly he’s there... too close, breath warm, tension snapping like a live wire between you.
“This is a mistake,” you murmur.
“Yes,” he agrees.
And then his hand is at your jaw, not rough but firm, and your lips collide.
It’s not careful. It’s not sweet.
It’s years of swallowed words and sharpened edges and near-misses finally detonating in one reckless second.
You grab his lapel without meaning to. He exhales against your mouth like he’s been holding his breath for five years.
The kiss is heated, messy, a little angry. A little desperate.
Like you’re both trying to win something that doesn’t have rules.
When you finally break apart, you’re breathing hard, foreheads nearly touching. Reality crashes in all at once. The bar. The people. The fact that you just-
You step back first. and He lets you.
Neither of you speaks. Neither of you knows what that was. You smooth your hair with shaking hands. “I should go,” you say. “Yes,” he replies.
Series Masterlist
AUTHORS NOTE: I don't usually write a big authors note and sometimes none at all BUT HERE I AM! I have had such a rough couple of weeks! My aunt died, I went on a trip, I went on a relationship break with my partner, and I still have to plan my aunts memorial. I really want to hop back into writing these things and my requests are OPEN!
Your blouse is wrinkled no matter how many times you smooth it down. There’s a faint smudge of mascara under one eye you can’t completely erase. Your head is pounding behind your temples, every step through the courthouse echoing like a gavel.
You tell yourself you’re fine. You’ve gone to trial on less sleep. You’ve handled worse mornings. This is nothing. Just a bad decision. Just a stranger. Just-
“Prosecutor.”
Higuruma stands near the courtroom doors, files tucked neatly under one arm, tie perfectly straight. Crisp. Controlled. Like he slept eight hours and drank green tea and has never once made a mistake in his life.
It’s infuriating. It’s unfair. It makes you want to punch him.
“Morning,” you say evenly.
He studies you. Not obviously. Not rudely. Just… looks.
And you feel it immediately. the same way you used to feel it in high school when he’d scan a test score board and somehow already know yours without asking.
Cataloging.
Your eyes. Your posture. The way you’re leaning slightly on one leg. His gaze drops briefly to your collarbone. Your throat. Your mouth.
You suddenly become hyper-aware of everything. The faint scent of unfamiliar cologne still clinging to your jacket. The ache in your hips. The exhaustion you couldn’t scrub away.
God. You look guilty.
“You’re late,” he says calmly.
“By two minutes.”
“You’re usually early by fifteen.” You hate that he knows that.
“I overslept.”
A beat.
He steps closer not enough to touch,but close enough that his voice lowers automatically.
“You didn’t sleep,” he corrects. It’s not a question.
Your jaw tightens. “Excuse me?”
“You’re unfocused,” he continues, tone clinical. “Your pupils are blown. You’re favoring your right side when you stand. You haven’t made eye contact for more than three seconds.”
Each observation lands like a tap to the sternum.
Measured. Precise. Fatal. “You smell like a bar,” he adds quietly.
Heat crawls up your neck.
“I had a drink,” you snap. “Some people have lives outside of work, Higuruma.”
His eyes sharpen at that. Something flickers there; something small and ugly and human.
“…I see,” he says. Two words. Polite.
But it feels like you just lost something.
He straightens, slipping right back into that infuriating composure.
“Try not to let it affect your performance,” he says mildly. “I’d rather not win because you’re distracted.” It should sound arrogant. Instead it sounds Disappointed.
Which is worse.
He walks past you without another word, shoulder brushing yours just barely. The contact is accidental. It still burns.
~~~
Higuruma's POV:
She’s always precise.
Always.
You’ve built half your career anticipating her. on how long she pauses before objecting, how she structures an argument, the exact second she inhales before dismantling a witness. You know her rhythm better than your own.
And today She’s late.
By half a beat. You don’t like it.
You tell yourself it’s professional irritation. Nothing more. You prefer strong opponents. Clean fights. Wins that mean something. That’s all. That has to be all.
But then she steps closer to you in the hallway and you catch it.
Alcohol. Not fresh. Old. Seeped into fabric. And something else. Cologne and it's Not yours.
Your jaw tightens before you can stop it.
Ridiculous.
She’s an adult. She can do whatever she wants. Whoever she wants. It has nothing to do with you. Nothing.
So why does it feel like you swallowed glass? You watch her in court.
She stumbles once, it's barely noticeable to anyone else. No one would clock it.Except you.
Because you’ve spent years memorizing her. Because you’ve always watched her. Because...
Pathetic, you think. You look away. And memory betrays you.
High school.
First day of senior year.
You remember it too clearly.
You’d transferred in mid-district. New school. New expectations. Another place to prove yourself. You already knew the rumors.
Top of the class. Mock trial champion. Perfect scores.
Her name kept coming up. Again and again.
So you walked in prepared to hate her. Prepared for arrogance. For entitlement. For someone who’d look down on you first.
Instead, She was staring at you, Not judgmental, Not calculating.
Just… Starstruck.
Like you were something soft. Something worth looking at.
It startled you so badly you forgot how to breathe. No one had ever looked at you like that before.
Not as competition. But like you were...
Beautiful.
Your chest did something uncomfortable. Tight. Hot. Dangerous.
So you did what you always do when something feels out of control. You crushed it.
“…Do you plan on writing anything or are you just going to watch?”
Cold. Detached. Clinical. You watched the embarrassment hit her face instantly. Watched her sit up straighter. Watched the warmth vanish.
You’d made a mistake. Idiot, you’d thought. You could’ve just said hello.
But it was too late.
Because if she was competition, you could handle that.
If she was a rival, you could beat that.
But if she was a girl who smiled at you like that then..You wouldn’t stand a chance.
