Depresso imprezo

She/Her | 20 | Need some mentally ill tumblr mutuals

[seoyue]

murder, your grace?

synopsis: You die completely at random and wake up in the manhwa you were reading… as the villainous wife of the Duke of the North, no less. The same woman who spent the last six months giving her husband the cold shoulder, ruining their marriage, and basically speedrunning her own execution. Now you have exactly one job: fix this disaster of a relationship before your husband decides to finish what the original plot started.

pairing: villainess!reader x northern duke!sukuna

mdni | warnings: smut, fem reader, rough sex, size kink & size difference, possessive/jealous behavior, degradation, dirty talk, marking, spanking, creampie, multiple positions

word count: 14.3k

a\n: longest fic i’ve written so far. nearly lost my mind, almost scrapped it entirely, questioned every life choice that led me here, but somehow, against all odds… it’s done. so glad its over LOL

You died while reading a manhwa.

One moment you were curled up in bed at 3 a.m., a blanket pulled up to your chin, the only light in your dark room coming from your phone screen. Your eyes were glued to the latest chapter of The Duke’s Black Heart, thumb hovering over the final panel as frustration and reluctant longing twisted in your chest. The illustration was breathtakingly brutal: Duke Ryomen Sukuna standing tall amid swirling snow, pink hair tousled by the wind, crimson eyes empty of mercy, black tattoos stark against his skin as he looked down at the broken body of his wife.

The page loaded one last time. The panel filled your screen. Then your vision blurred, the room spun violently, and everything went black. No pain. No final breath. Just sudden, heavy nothing.

And then you woke up somewhere else.

Cold air rushes into your lungs, sharp and biting. Your eyes flutter open slowly, lashes feeling unusually heavy. You’re lying in a massive four-poster bed, the canopy above you made of thick crimson velvet that drapes down like heavy curtains. The silk sheets beneath you are cool and slippery against your skin in a way that feels far too expensive, far too unfamiliar. Thick blankets weighted with fur press down on your body, carrying a faint scent of woodsmoke and aged iron. Your limbs feel wrong — too slender, too delicate. When you lift your hands, they are smaller, with smooth palms and perfectly manicured nails that catch the dim morning light filtering through tall, frost-laced windows.

You push yourself up into a sitting position. The silk nightgown slips off one shoulder. A large, ornately framed mirror stands across the room, reflecting the lavish bedchamber: dark wood furniture, heavy tapestries on the walls, a fireplace crackling faintly in the corner. You swing your legs over the edge of the bed, bare feet meeting cold stone that sends a shiver racing up your spine.

You turn toward the mirror.

The face staring back at you is not your own. It is strikingly beautiful in a refined, aristocratic way that feels both alien and intimidating.

You have transmigrated.

You are now the villainess.

Duke Ryomen Sukuna’s wife of exactly six months.

The realization slams into you like ice water. Memories that don’t belong to you flood your mind in vivid, unrelenting flashes. The forced marriage ceremony under the Emperor’s decree. The wedding night where her body had lain stiff and unresponsive beneath his, silent tears tracking down her cheeks as she called him a beast under her breath and swore she would never allow him to touch her again. Six agonizing months of total, deliberate silence: never speaking a single word directly to him, never sharing his table, never sharing his bed. Only curt notes passed through servants, hidden schemes whispered to outsiders, and a cold, hateful distance that grew sharper every day. Sukuna’s contempt had hardened into something lethal.

In the original story, he kills her. Publicly. Brutally. Before the year is out — dragging her into the courtyard and ending her life with the same large, scarred hands you’ve fantasized about for months.

And now I’m her.

Your breath catches sharply in your throat. Panic explodes in your chest, tight and suffocating. Your hands fly up to press against your sternum, feeling the frantic thud of a heart that isn’t supposed to be yours. Cold sweat prickles along your hairline and down your back. The room feels smaller, the air thicker. If I don’t change this right now, he will kill me. I have to win him over — the man I’ve been completely obsessed with — before he decides I’m still that same woman who deserves to die.

The heavy wooden door creaks open. Two maids slip inside, heads bowed low, shoulders hunched like they’re expecting the worst. They carry a tray between them with a pitcher of steaming water, neatly folded linens, and a small bowl of scented oil. Their footsteps are quick but nearly silent on the cold stone floor, as if they’re trying to disturb you as little as possible.

“My Lady,” the older maid says quietly, almost whispering as she carefully sets the tray down on the side table. “We’re here to help you dress. Your usual silks today?”

You swallow and keep your voice soft. “No, not the silks. Something simpler and warmer, please. I’m going down to have breakfast with the Duke in the dining hall.”

The younger maid’s eyes go wide. She almost drops the pitcher, water sloshing dangerously over the rim and dripping onto the floor. “Breakfast… with His Grace?” she blurts, voice cracking with surprise. “In the dining hall?”

The older maid quickly elbows her and forces a nervous smile, though her hands are visibly shaking. “Are you sure, My Lady? He always eats alone. He might not… like it if you show up.”

You nod, sliding your legs over the side of the bed. The stone floor is icy against your bare feet, sending a shiver up your legs. “I’m sure. Please help me get ready.” You pause, then add gently, “And thank you. Both of you.”

The maids go completely still. The younger one stares at you with her mouth slightly open, pitcher forgotten in her hands. The older one blinks rapidly, her hands freezing mid-air above the tray. They exchange a wide-eyed, startled glance, the kind that speaks volumes without a single word. The silence stretches for a long, awkward moment, thick with confusion and unease.

Finally, the older maid clears her throat. “Of course, My Lady. Right away.”

They hesitate for another heartbeat, still stealing uncertain glances at you, before hurrying into motion. Their hands are a little clumsier than usual as they help you out of the nightgown and into a heavy charcoal gown with long sleeves. The soft wool feels warm and comforting against the chill in the air. While they brush out your hair and pin it up in a simple style, they keep darting quick, nervous looks at your reflection in the mirror. The younger maid’s fingers tremble slightly as she works, and the older one’s breathing is a touch too shallow.

They finish dressing you in tense, heavy silence. Once they step back, you thank them again. They both bow deeply, still visibly unsettled, and you step out into the torch-lit corridor. Servants you pass press themselves flat against the walls, whispering frantically the moment your back is turned. Your heart hammers louder with every step toward the grand dining hall.

The massive double doors swing open with a low creak.

There he is.

Duke Ryomen Sukuna sits alone at the head of the long oak table. Pale morning light filters through the tall windows, casting sharp shadows across his face. Loose strands of pink hair have escaped their tie and fall across his forehead. His dark tunic stretches tight over broad, powerfully muscled shoulders, the collar open just enough to reveal the edges of intricate black tattoos that swirl across his collarbones and down his arms. Crimson eyes are narrowed in concentration as he cuts into a thick slab of meat with slow, deliberate strokes of his knife. Old scars mark the visible skin of his neck and the backs of his large, calloused hands. He radiates raw, quiet danger — the kind that makes the air feel heavier. This is the man you’ve spent months fantasizing about, the one whose every appearance in the manhwa made your pulse race.

You walk straight to the chair on his right — the seat that has stayed empty for the entire six months of your marriage — and sit down.

His knife stops mid-cut.

The silence is immediate and suffocating, broken only by the soft crackle of the hearth fire.

Sukuna’s crimson gaze lifts slowly. It locks onto you with raw disbelief and burning disgust. His jaw clenches, the scar along his cheek tightening. For a long moment he simply stares, like he’s trying to decide whether you’re real or some new form of insult.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” His voice is low and rough, laced with irritation.

You swallow hard, hands trembling under the table. You force a small, nervous smile and say softly, “Good morning, husband. I thought it might be nice to have breakfast together for once.”

The words hang in the air.

Sukuna’s expression darkens. He sets the knife down with a sharp clink that echoes through the hall. Slowly he rises to his full height, towering over you — tall, broad-chested, every inch the warlord who has killed without hesitation. The look he gives you is ice-cold.

“You thought it would be nice?” His voice is low, cold, and dripping with contempt. “Six fucking months you couldn’t even be bothered to speak to me… and now you suddenly decide to play house?”

He pushes the chair back with a harsh scrape and rises to his full height, towering over you. His large hand clenches so tightly around the back of the chair that the wood groans in protest.

“Just looking at you ruins my appetite.”

Without another word, he turns sharply on his heel. His cloak snaps behind him like a whip as he stalks out of the hall. The heavy doors slam shut with a deafening boom that echoes through the room and makes the silverware rattle on the table.

You’re left completely alone at the long table, staring at his abandoned plate as the food rapidly cools. Your heart pounds violently in your chest.

This is going to be so much harder than I thought.

But you don’t run. You pick up your fork with still-shaking fingers, take a small bite of the now-lukewarm food, and force yourself to swallow. A heavy, determined weight settles in your stomach alongside the food.

The rest of the morning dragged by in a haze of nervous energy. You moved carefully through the castle, speaking softly to the servants, thanking them for small things, and trying not to overwhelm anyone with your sudden change in behavior. Every time someone flinched or stared too long, your stomach twisted. You knew they were waiting for the old you to snap back into place.

By mid-afternoon the light outside had shifted to a softer gold, and the castle felt a little less oppressive. You decided it was time to try something more direct.

You found one of the kitchen maids and asked her to prepare a simple tray — strong black tea, warm bread, and a few slices of roasted meat. These were the things you remembered him enjoying in the manhwa, the small details you’d clung to while reading late at night. Nothing too elaborate. When the tray was ready, you took it yourself, ignoring the wide-eyed, startled looks from the staff as you carried it down the long corridor toward Sukuna’s private study. Your heart beat faster with every step.

Your heart was hammering so hard it felt like it was trying to climb out of your throat. Two guards outside the heavy double doors stared at you in open confusion but didn’t stop you. You paused for a second, took a steadying breath, and knocked once.

A gruff “Come in” came from inside.

You pushed the door open and stepped into the study.

The room was exactly the kind of place you’d pictured him in — tall shelves lined with old books and rolled scrolls, a massive oak desk covered in maps and scattered letters, weapons mounted neatly on one wall. A fire burned low in the hearth, filling the air with the faint smell of smoke and polished leather. Sukuna sat behind the desk, quill in hand, pink hair tied back messily with a few loose strands falling forward. He didn’t look up right away, focused on whatever he was writing.

Then his crimson eyes flicked up.

The moment they landed on you holding the tray, the temperature in the room seemed to drop. His expression shifted from irritation to pure suspicion in a heartbeat.

“What the hell is this?” he asked, voice low and flat, like he was already tired of whatever game he thought you were playing.

You stepped further inside and carefully set the tray down on the edge of his desk, trying not to let your hands shake too obviously. “I noticed you didn’t eat anything at breakfast,” you said quietly. “So I brought some tea and a few things. It’s nothing fancy. I just thought… maybe you’d be hungry by now.”

Sukuna leaned back in his chair, studying you like you were a problem he couldn’t quite solve. The silence stretched out, thick and uncomfortable. He glanced at the tray, then back at your face.

“You brought me food,” he said slowly, almost like he was testing the words. “You suddenly show up with tea and bread like we’re… what? Friends now?”

He pushed his chair back and stood, circling around the desk with slow, deliberate steps until he was standing right in front of you. He was so tall you had to tilt your head back to look at him. Up close he was even more overwhelming — the heat radiating from his body, the faint scent of leather and steel and something darker, the way his broad shoulders seemed to fill the space between you.

You forced yourself to hold his gaze. “I know I’ve been terrible to you,” you said, voice soft but steady. “I don’t expect you to believe me right away. I just… I want to try and do better. That’s all.”

Sukuna’s jaw tightened. He reached out and picked up one of the slices of bread, turning it over in his large hand as if checking it for poison. Then he dropped it back onto the tray with a quiet scoff.

“You want to try,” he repeated, the words laced with disbelief and a sharp edge of mockery. “How convenient. Tell me, wife — what exactly changed overnight? Did someone put you up to this?”

His hand suddenly came up, fingers gripping your chin firmly but not harshly, tilting your face up so you couldn’t look away. His touch was warm, rough from years of fighting, and the closeness made your pulse spike.

“Or are you just scared I’ll finally do what everyone’s been expecting me to do for months?” he asked, voice low and dangerous.

Your breath caught. Being this close to him — feeling the intensity rolling off him in waves — made fear and something far more complicated twist together in your stomach.

“I’m not here to scheme,” you whispered. “I just don’t want things to keep being like this.”

Sukuna stared at you for a long, heavy moment. His thumb brushed once over your jaw, almost absentmindedly, before he let go and stepped back.

“Get out,” he said, the words cold but quieter than you expected. “And take your pity tray with you.”

He didn’t move away any further. He stayed standing there, arms crossed over his broad chest, watching you with dark, unreadable eyes — like he was waiting to see whether you would actually leave… or do something else.

You didn’t argue.

You simply picked up the tray with both hands, gave him a small nod, and left the study without another word. The heavy doors clicked shut behind you. The hallway felt longer than usual as you walked back toward your chambers, the tray growing heavier with every step.

Once inside your room, you set the tray down on a side table and closed the door. Then you sat on the edge of the bed, staring at the floor.

That went badly.

You let out a slow breath, rubbing your hands over your thighs. The memory of Sukuna’s cold stare and dismissive words kept replaying in your head. He hadn’t even touched the food. He’d barely listened.

Of course he didn’t. Months of silence doesn’t just disappear because I brought him tea.

You leaned back on your hands, looking up at the canopy above the bed. The situation felt heavier now. Fixing this relationship was going to be a lot harder than you’d hoped. He clearly still saw you as the same person who had ignored and schemed against him for half a year. And why wouldn’t he?

If you couldn’t turn this around, things were only going to get worse. You didn’t want to think about how the original story ended, but the possibility lingered in the back of your mind anyway.

You sat there for a while, the afternoon light slowly shifting across the room. Eventually you stood up, walked over to the window, and looked out at the grounds. Your mind kept turning over what to try next. Another small gesture? Giving him more space? Something else entirely?

It was going to take time. A lot of it. And patience you weren’t sure you had.

You sighed quietly and moved away from the window, already thinking about what you could do tomorrow.

The next morning arrived quietly.

You woke earlier than usual, the soft grey light filtering through the tall windows pulling you from a restless sleep. For a few minutes you lay there, staring at the velvet canopy above the bed, thinking about yesterday. The rejections still stung, but you refused to give up after just one bad day.

You got up, washed, and chose a simple but elegant deep-grey gown. After eating a light breakfast alone in your room, you decided on a different approach today. No trays, no forcing your way into his meals. Just quiet presence.

You made your way to the castle’s main library — a spacious, peaceful room lined with tall shelves of books and scrolls. You picked a thick volume on regional history from the shelves and settled into a comfortable chair near the window where the light was good. Not too close to his usual spot, but not hiding either.

About an hour later, the door opened.

Sukuna walked in, still wearing his cloak from whatever business he’d been handling outside. He stopped short when he saw you already there, book open in your lap.

For a brief second his expression flickered with surprise before settling back into that familiar guarded look.

“You’re here too now,” he said, voice flat as he moved toward the large table in the center of the room. He pulled out a chair and sat down, spreading some documents in front of him. “Is there anywhere in this castle that’s still mine?”

You closed your book slowly and looked up at him.

“I can leave if you want,” you offered calmly. “I just thought it might be nice to read in here. It’s quiet.”

Sukuna didn’t tell you to go. He leaned back in his chair and studied you for a moment, crimson eyes sharp and assessing.

“You’ve been talking quite a bit these past two days,” he said, tone dry. “More than I’m used to.”

You gave a small, honest shrug. “I know. I’m trying to change that.”

He tapped his fingers once against the table, watching you openly now. “Trying,” he echoed, like he was testing the word. “That’s what you keep saying. But I still don’t know why.”

You hesitated, then answered simply, “Because I don’t like how things have been between us. And I think we could be… better. If we tried.”

Sukuna let out a short, humorless breath and leaned back further, still studying you.

“Better,” he repeated. “That’s a bold claim.” He paused, then added quietly, “Don’t get your hopes up. I’m not interested in pretending.”

But he didn’t ask you to leave.

You stayed in the library for another hour, reading in silence while he worked across from you. He didn’t speak again, but every so often you caught him glancing in your direction — wary, confused, and just a little unsettled.

It wasn’t much.

But it also wasn’t outright rejection.

You stayed in the library for another hour, the only sounds being the occasional rustle of paper and the soft crackle of the fire. You kept your eyes mostly on your book, though you were barely absorbing the words. Every now and then you felt Sukuna’s gaze on you — heavy, searching, and still full of suspicion.

Eventually, he set his quill down with a quiet tap. He leaned back in his chair, arms crossing over his broad chest as he looked at you directly.

“If you’re serious about wanting to fix things,” he said, voice low and even, “then maybe you should start by actually appearing publicly with me.”

You looked up from your book, surprised. He continued before you could respond.

“There’s a ball tomorrow night at the capital. I’m expected to attend.” He paused, studying your reaction. “Rumors have already reached half the empire that my wife hates me. It would be good to change the public perception a little. At least act like a fucking couple for once.”

The invitation — if it could even be called that — hung in the air. It wasn’t warm or romantic. It was a test, plain and simple.

You closed your book slowly and met his eyes. “I’ll go with you,” you said without hesitation. “If that’s what you want.”

Sukuna watched you for a long moment, as if waiting for you to take it back. When you didn’t, something unreadable flickered across his face.

“Good,” he said simply. Then he stood up, gathering some of his documents. “Be ready by evening tomorrow. Don’t make me wait.”

He headed toward the door, cloak shifting over his shoulders. Just before he left, he paused and glanced back at you one last time.

“And try not to embarrass me,” he added, though his tone was less biting than before. Almost… cautious.

The door clicked shut behind him, leaving you alone in the quiet library once again.

You let out a long breath and leaned back in your chair, heart still racing. A public ball. Tomorrow. With Sukuna.

This was a big step — and a dangerous one. You’d have to be careful. Very careful.

But it was also an opportunity. A chance to stand beside him in front of everyone and start showing that you were different.

You stood up, clutching the book to your chest, a mix of nerves and quiet determination settling in your stomach.

Tomorrow it is.

The next day passed in a quiet blur of nerves and preparation.

You spent most of the afternoon trying not to overthink everything, but as evening approached, the anxiety crept in anyway. When the maids finally arrived to help you get ready, they moved around your room with careful, slightly confused energy — still adjusting to this gentler version of their mistress.

You chose a deep crimson gown made of rich, heavy silk that flowed elegantly to the floor. It had long, fitted sleeves and a modestly elegant neckline that showed just enough collarbone to feel refined rather than daring. The maids helped you into it, lacing the back with steady fingers while you stood in front of the large mirror. The fabric felt cool and luxurious against your skin, the color bringing out a quiet intensity you hadn’t expected.

They brushed your hair until it gleamed, working through every tangle with patient strokes. Most of it was pinned up into an elegant style with delicate silver pins, but they left a few soft strands loose to frame your face. One of the maids added a simple but beautiful necklace with a single dark gem that rested just below your collarbone, along with matching earrings. A touch of rose-tinted balm was applied to your lips, and a light dusting of powder to even your complexion.

You stared at your reflection the entire time, heart beating faster. This version of you looked every bit the refined duchess — poised, beautiful, and completely unlike the cold, silent woman the public had come to expect at Sukuna’s side.

“You look beautiful, My Lady,” the older maid said softly as she stepped back, a hint of genuine surprise in her voice.

“Thank you,” you replied quietly, smoothing your hands down the front of the gown. Inside, your stomach was in knots. This would be your first real public appearance with Sukuna. Everyone would be watching. Waiting for the usual tension or outright disdain they’d grown used to seeing between the Duke and his wife.

A firm knock sounded at the door.

“He’s ready for you, My Lady,” a servant called from the hallway.

You took one last steadying breath, thanked the maids again, and stepped out.

Sukuna was waiting in the main hall, dressed in formal black with subtle gold embroidery along the collar and cuffs. His pink hair was neatly tied back, and the sight of him in full formal attire made your chest tighten. He looked every bit the powerful duke — tall, imposing, and dangerously handsome.

His crimson eyes swept over you slowly, from head to toe. For a moment his expression was unreadable.

“You’re actually coming,” he said, voice low. It wasn’t quite a question.

“I said I would,” you replied simply.

He gave a short nod, then offered his arm. The gesture felt stiff, like he was still testing whether you’d take it or pull away at the last second.

You slipped your hand through his arm without hesitation. His muscles were tense beneath your fingers, but he didn’t pull away.

As you walked together toward the waiting carriage, he spoke again, keeping his voice low enough that only you could hear.

“People talk. A lot. If we’re going to do this, at least try to look like you don’t hate being next to me.”

You glanced up at him. “I don’t hate it.”

Sukuna didn’t respond, but his grip on your arm tightened just slightly — not painful, just… firmer. Like he was anchoring himself.

The carriage ride to the capital was quiet, the only sounds being the wheels on the road and the occasional shift of fabric. Sukuna sat across from you, watching the passing scenery with a distant expression. Every so often his gaze would drift back to you, as if he still couldn’t quite believe you were really there.

When the carriage finally slowed to a stop outside the grand hall, music and warm light spilled out into the night. You could already hear the murmur of voices and feel the weight of the eyes that would soon be on both of you.

Sukuna stepped out first, then offered his hand to help you down. His palm was warm and steady against yours.

“Ready?” he asked, voice gruff.

You nodded, slipping your hand back into the crook of his arm.

“Then let’s go act like a fucking couple.”

The grand hall glowed under hundreds of crystal chandeliers, casting warm golden light across marble floors and velvet-draped walls. Music from a full orchestra swelled through the air, mingling with the low hum of conversation, the clink of champagne glasses, and the rustle of silk and satin gowns. The scent of expensive perfumes, fresh flowers, and roasted meats from the banquet tables hung heavy in the room.

The moment you and Sukuna stepped through the tall arched entrance together, the entire atmosphere shifted.

Conversations faltered. Heads turned. A ripple of surprised murmurs spread through the crowd like a wave.

You felt every eye on you. Some were curious, some shocked, many openly calculating. The Duke and Duchess of the North rarely appeared together in public — and when they had in the past, it had always been marked by cold distance and icy silence.

Tonight was different.

Sukuna’s arm was solid beneath your fingers as he guided you forward. His posture was straight and commanding, every inch the powerful Duke Sukuna the empire feared and respected. You stayed close, your hand resting lightly but deliberately on his arm, chin lifted with quiet confidence.

A portly lord with a heavy gold chain and an embroidered waistcoat approached first, bowing deeply.

“Your Grace, Duke Sukuna,” he said smoothly, then turned to you with a slightly wider smile. “And Duchess… what an unexpected pleasure to see you both together this evening.”

Sukuna gave a curt nod. “My wife wished to attend. I saw no reason to refuse her.”

The lord’s eyebrows rose, but he recovered quickly. “How wonderful. The two of you make quite the striking pair tonight. The Duke and Duchess of the North, united at last.”

You offered a polite, gentle smile. “Thank you, my lord. It’s a pleasure to be here.”

Sukuna’s arm tensed slightly under your hand, but he didn’t pull away. As the lord moved on, more nobles drifted closer, drawn by the unusual sight. You heard the whispers clearly now.

“...the Duke and Duchess actually look civil…”

“I thought she hated him…”

“Look at them. She’s practically standing with him…”

Sukuna kept you close the entire time, one large hand occasionally resting at the small of your back as you moved through the hall. The touch was possessive, almost protective, even if his face remained cool and composed.

Later, when the orchestra struck up a slower, more intimate melody, Sukuna leaned down, his voice low against your ear.

“Dance with me.”

It wasn’t a question.

You nodded. He led you onto the polished floor, one broad hand settling firmly on your waist while the other held yours. He moved with surprising grace for someone of his size and power — confident, controlled, guiding you effortlessly through the steps. You followed his lead, hyper-aware of every point of contact: the heat of his palm burning through the silk of your gown, the solid wall of his chest so close to yours, the faint scent of leather and smoke that clung to him.

For a few moments the rest of the room seemed to fade.

“You’re doing better than I expected,” he muttered, voice barely audible over the music. His crimson eyes flicked down to meet yours. “People are staring less like they’re waiting for us to start arguing in the middle of the floor.”

You looked up at him, a small genuine smile tugging at your lips. “I told you I wanted to try.”

His grip on your waist tightened just slightly. His thumb brushed once over the fabric of your gown, almost absentmindedly.

“Don’t get comfortable,” he said, though there was less bite in his tone than usual. “This doesn’t mean I trust you yet.”

“I know,” you replied softly. “But thank you for giving me the chance anyway.”

Sukuna didn’t answer. But he also didn’t let go of you when the song ended. Instead, he kept his hand on your lower back as he guided you off the floor, staying closer than strictly necessary.

A short while later, a group of older lords approached Sukuna. One of them — a tall man with silver hair and sharp features — gave a respectful bow.

“Your Grace, if we could steal a moment of your time? There are some matters regarding the northern border that require your input.”

Sukuna’s jaw tightened for a brief second. He glanced down at you, then back at the lords.

“Fine,” he said curtly. “I won’t be long.”

Before he stepped away, he leaned in close to your ear, voice low. “Stay here. Don’t wander off.”

You nodded. His hand lingered on your waist for one extra second before he pulled away and followed the group toward a quieter side balcony for their discussion.

Suddenly, you were alone.

You stood near the edge of the dance floor, champagne glass in hand, trying to look more relaxed than you felt. The weight of curious stares hadn’t faded. A few noblewomen still whispered behind their fans, and every so often someone would glance your way with open speculation.

A deep, smooth voice spoke from your left.

“Duchess, I don’t believe we’ve had the pleasure of a proper introduction tonight.”

You turned to find a tall, broad-shouldered man with dark hair and sharp green eyes watching you with a lazy, confident smile. He was dressed in deep emerald and black, a marquess’s insignia pinned neatly to his lapel.

“Marquess Toji Fushiguro,” he introduced himself with a respectful bow of his head. “I’ve heard quite a bit about you over the years. Though I must say, seeing you here with the Duke tonight is… refreshing.”

His tone was warm and easy, without any obvious scheming edge. You felt yourself relax just a little.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Marquess,” you replied with a small smile. “I’ve heard your name mentioned before. You handle the eastern trade routes, don’t you?”

Toji’s smile widened, looking genuinely pleased that you knew. “I do. Though I’m surprised you’re familiar with such dull matters. Most duchesses prefer to stay far away from trade talk.”

The conversation flowed surprisingly well. He was charming in a straightforward, slightly roguish way — asking light questions about the northern estates, commenting on the music, and even making a dry joke about how stiff most balls tended to be. You found yourself smiling more naturally, the tension in your shoulders easing as you chatted. For the first time that evening, talking to someone felt… comfortable.

Toji tilted his head slightly, green eyes glinting with curiosity. “If I may be bold, Duchess — you seem different tonight than what the rumors suggested. Happier, perhaps?”

You were about to respond when a large, familiar hand suddenly slid around your waist from behind, fingers gripping your hip with clear possessiveness. A warm, solid body pressed against your back, and you didn’t need to turn to know who it was.

Sukuna.

His grip tightened, pulling you back against his chest in one smooth motion. The heat of his body seeped through the silk of your gown, and his thumb brushed slowly over your hip bone — a blatant, territorial claim.

Toji’s easy smile faltered for half a second before he recovered, inclining his head respectfully.

“Duke Sukuna,” he greeted calmly. “I was just keeping your wife company while you were occupied.”

Sukuna’s voice was low and dangerous, rumbling against your back. “I can see that.” His hand stayed firmly on your hip, fingers pressing in just enough to make a point. “Though I don’t recall asking anyone to entertain my duchess.”

You felt the tension rolling off him in waves. His other arm came around your other side, almost caging you against him in front of the entire hall.

Toji raised an eyebrow, still perfectly civil. “No offense meant, Your Grace. It was an honor speaking with the Duchess.”

Sukuna didn’t reply immediately. Instead, he leaned down, lips brushing the shell of your ear as he spoke loud enough for Toji to hear.

“We’re leaving this conversation,” he said flatly. Then, louder, “Come, wife.”

Sukuna didn’t stop walking until he had guided you into a quieter corner of the grand hall, partially shielded by a tall marble pillar and heavy crimson velvet drapes. The music and chatter of the ball felt distant now, muffled. His hand never left your hip. If anything, his grip tightened, fingers digging possessively into the silk of your gown as though he needed the contact to ground himself.

He turned you to face him with surprising care, then backed you gently but firmly against the cool marble pillar. One large hand stayed locked on your waist while the other came up to brace beside your head, effectively caging you in. His body heat enveloped you instantly — warm, solid, and overwhelming. The faint scent of smoke, leather, and something darker clung to him, making your pulse stutter.

“You seemed to be enjoying yourself,” he said, voice low and rough, almost a growl. His crimson eyes burned down into yours with unmistakable intensity. “Laughing with him like the two of you were old friends. Did you forget you’re here with me tonight?”

The jealousy in his tone was unmistakable — sharp, dark, and barely leashed.

You kept your voice calm, though your heart was racing. “We were only talking. He was civil. Nothing more.”

Sukuna’s jaw clenched visibly. His thumb began to trace slow, deliberate circles over the curve of your hip through the thin silk, a possessive caress that sent heat rushing across your skin.

“Civil,” he repeated, the word laced with pure disdain. “I saw the way he looked at you. The way he smiled at you.”

He leaned in closer, his breath warm against the shell of your ear, voice dropping into something dangerously intimate. “And here I thought you were trying to mend our relationship. Yet the second I turn my back, you’re chatting and smiling with another man like it means nothing.”

His grip on your waist tightened, pulling you flush against the hard wall of his chest. You could feel the tension coiled in every muscle, the barely restrained frustration rolling off him in waves. One of his fingers slipped just beneath the edge of your gown, brushing bare skin at your hip — a deliberate, claiming touch.

“I don’t like sharing what’s mine,” he growled softly, lips brushing your ear. “Especially not with bastards like Toji Fushiguro.”

You swallowed hard, breath shallow. “I wasn’t trying to make you jealous. I was just being polite while you were busy.”

Sukuna let out a low, dangerous sound in the back of his throat — half a scoff, half a laugh. His free hand moved to your jaw, tilting your face up so you had no choice but to meet his burning crimson gaze.

“Polite,” he murmured, thumb stroking slowly along your jawline. “You’re lucky I didn’t drag you out of here the moment I saw his hand move toward you.”

His eyes dropped to your lips for a long, heavy second. The air between you felt charged, electric, like the tension might snap at any moment. For a heartbeat you thought he might kiss you right there — hard, claiming, in full view of everyone still watching from across the hall.

Instead, he leaned in until his lips ghosted against your ear again.

“Next time someone approaches you while I’m gone,” he said, voice dark and velvet-rough, “you tell them you belong to me. Clearly. Because if I have to remind them myself… I won’t be nearly as polite.”

His fingers flexed on your hip in one final, possessive squeeze — a silent promise — before he slowly stepped back. His hand remained at the small of your back, heavy and unrelenting.

The music swelled again around you.

Sukuna’s expression smoothed into something cooler and more composed for the public eye, but the heat in his eyes stayed locked on you.

“Come,” he said, voice still low. “We’re dancing again. And this time, you’re not leaving my side for the rest of the night.”

Sukuna led you back onto the dance floor without another word, his hand firm on your waist, pulling you closer than strictly proper for a public setting. The orchestra had shifted into a slower, more intimate melody — strings and soft piano weaving through the air. Couples swirled around you, but you barely noticed them. All you could focus on was the heat of Sukuna’s body pressed against yours, the way his fingers splayed possessively across your lower back, and the unmistakable tension radiating from him.

He moved with controlled grace, guiding you effortlessly through the steps. Your bodies were flush together, chest to chest, his thigh occasionally brushing yours as you turned. Every point of contact felt electric.

“You’re quiet now,” he murmured, voice low enough that only you could hear. His crimson eyes locked onto yours, dark and intense. “What happened to all that polite conversation you were having with the marquess?”

You tilted your head slightly to meet his gaze. “You told me not to leave your side. I’m listening.”

A low sound rumbled in his chest — not quite a laugh. His hand slid lower on your back, fingers pressing in just enough to make your breath hitch.

“Good girl,” he said softly, almost mockingly, though the heat in his eyes was anything but. “Keep listening. I don’t want to see you smiling at anyone else like that tonight.”

The jealousy was still there, simmering just beneath the surface. You could feel it in the way he held you — tighter than necessary, almost like he was daring anyone to try approaching you again.

As you turned under his arm and came back into his embrace, he leaned down, lips brushing the shell of your ear.

“He thought he had a chance,” he continued, voice rough. “Like he didn’t know exactly who you belong to.” His fingers flexed against your waist. “Maybe I need to make it clearer.”

Your heart hammered against your ribs. Being this close to him — surrounded by the swirl of music and watching eyes — made everything feel heightened. The scent of him, the solid strength of his body, the barely restrained possessiveness in every touch.

“Sukuna…” you started softly.

He cut you off by pulling you even closer, until there was almost no space left between you. His breath was warm against your temple.

“You wanted to mend things,” he reminded you, tone dark. “Then stop giving other men reasons to think they can talk to my wife like that. Smile at me. Stay close to me.”

The song began to slow, but Sukuna didn’t release you. He kept you locked in his arms even as other couples started drifting apart. His hand slid up your back, fingers tracing your spine through the silk, a silent claim in front of the entire hall.

When the music finally faded, he didn’t let go right away. He stared down at you, crimson eyes heavy with something dangerous and hungry.

“We’re leaving,” he said abruptly, voice low. “I’ve had enough of these people watching us.”

He didn’t wait for your agreement. His hand stayed firmly at the small of your back as he guided you through the crowd toward the exit. Nobles parted for him instinctively, eyes wide at the sight of the Duke and Duchess leaving together so early — and so obviously entangled.

The cool night air hit you the moment you stepped outside. Sukuna kept you close as you waited for the carriage, his arm wrapped around your waist like he still wasn’t ready to stop touching you.

Once inside the carriage, he sat beside you instead of across from you. The door had barely closed before his hand was back on your thigh, gripping possessively through the fabric of your gown.

The carriage started moving, carrying you both back toward the estate through the dark roads. Sukuna’s hand remained on your thigh the entire ride, heavy and warm — a silent reminder of exactly who you belonged to.

By the time it finally rolled to a stop in front of the castle, the moon hung high in the sky. The journey had been quiet, thick with lingering tension. Sukuna hadn’t spoken a word, but his grip on your thigh never loosened.

When the footman opened the door, Sukuna stepped out first and offered you his hand. You took it, letting him help you down onto the stone steps. The cool night air felt refreshing after the stuffy ballroom, but it did little to calm the nerves fluttering in your stomach.

He walked you inside, his hand resting possessively at the small of your back the whole way through the dimly lit halls. Servants bowed and quickly disappeared when they saw you both. The castle felt unusually still.

When you reached the point where the corridors split — one leading to his private wing, the other to yours — Sukuna stopped. He turned to face you, his expression unreadable in the low torchlight.

“You did well tonight,” he admitted grudgingly, staring at you for a long moment before glancing away. “But if I see him — or anyone else — near you again like that…”

He didn’t finish the sentence. He didn’t need to.

Sukuna gave a short nod, almost like he was dismissing you. “Goodnight.”

He turned to leave, heading toward his own chambers.

You stood there for a second, heart pounding, before the words slipped out — soft, shy, and a little nervous.

“Wait…”

Sukuna paused, looking back at you over his shoulder.

You swallowed, cheeks warming as you forced yourself to speak. “You know… we can’t really fix things as a couple if we keep sleeping separately"

The words hung in the air between you. They sounded bolder than you felt.

Sukuna went completely still. For several long seconds he simply stared at you, crimson eyes narrowing slightly as if he couldn’t quite believe what he’d just heard. The silence stretched, thick and heavy.

Then, slowly, the corner of his mouth twitched — not quite a smile, but something darker, more dangerous.

“Is that so?” he said, voice low and rough. He took one step back toward you, then another, until he was standing close again. “You’re asking to sleep in my bed now?”

He tilted his head, studying your face like he was trying to find the trick in your words. His hand came up, fingers lightly brushing your jaw as he looked down at you.

“Careful, wife,” he murmured, thumb tracing your lower lip. “You keep pushing like this… I might start thinking you actually mean it.”

His gaze dropped to your mouth for a long second before returning to your eyes. The tension between you crackled again, even stronger than it had been at the ball.

Sukuna didn’t move away. He waited, watching you closely, as if daring you to take it back… or push further.

The silence stretched, heavy and charged. His thumb was still resting against your lower lip, warm and rough, while his crimson eyes searched your face for any sign of deception. You could practically feel the suspicion rolling off him in waves.

Finally, he let out a slow breath, almost a scoff.

“…Fine,” he said, voice low and guarded. “If that’s what you want.”

He stepped back slightly, but his hand stayed on your waist, fingers still gripping you with quiet possessiveness. His expression remained cold, cautious, like he was waiting for the other shoe to drop.

“Don’t expect this to mean anything,” he added, tone flat. “I’m still not convinced you’ve changed. But if you’re so determined to play the part of a real wife… then come.”

He turned and started walking down the corridor toward his private wing, keeping his hand on the small of your back to guide you along with him. The touch was firm — not gentle, but not forceful either. It felt like both an invitation and a test.

The halls were quiet at this hour, lit only by flickering torches. Every step echoed softly. Sukuna didn’t speak again until you reached the heavy wooden doors to his chambers. He pushed them open without hesitation and stepped inside, holding the door for you.

His rooms were large and unmistakably his — dark wood furniture, a massive bed with black silk sheets, a low fire burning in the hearth, weapons and scrolls neatly arranged on shelves. It smelled faintly of smoke and leather.

Sukuna closed the door behind you with a heavy click. He leaned against it for a moment, arms crossed over his broad chest, watching you with that same calculating stare.

“You wanted this,” he said quietly, almost like he was reminding both of you. “So here we are.”

He pushed off the door and walked further into the room, loosening the ties on his formal tunic as he went. The movement was casual, but you could feel the tension still radiating from him.

“Get comfortable,” he told you, glancing back at you over his shoulder. His voice was low, almost seductive, but the suspicion never fully left his eyes.

He didn’t say anything else. He simply waited, watching to see what you would do now that you were truly alone with him in his space.

You stood there for a moment, suddenly very aware of how large his chambers felt and how small you felt inside them. The fire crackled softly in the hearth, casting warm light across the dark wood and black silk sheets. The air smelled like him — smoke, leather, and something faintly metallic.

You swallowed and moved toward the side of the room where a large wardrobe stood. One of the maids had already brought a few of your things here earlier, as if the servants had anticipated this. You picked out a simple black silk nightgown and hesitated.

Sukuna had turned away slightly, pulling off his formal tunic and tossing it over the back of a chair. The movement revealed the strong lines of his back and the black tattoos swirling across his skin. He didn’t look at you, but you could tell he was still aware of every move you made.

You changed quickly behind the privacy screen in the corner, the silk cool against your skin. When you stepped out, Sukuna was already sitting on the edge of the massive bed, wearing only loose black pants. His pink hair was untied now, falling messily around his face. He looked up when you approached.

For a long second he just stared.

Then he let out a slow breath and patted the space beside him.

“Come here,” he said, voice low.

You walked over and climbed onto the bed. The mattress dipped under your weight. Sukuna watched you the entire time, suspicion still clear in his crimson eyes even as he pulled the covers back for you.

You slipped under the sheets, lying on your back. The silk felt cool and smooth. Sukuna stayed sitting for another moment, then finally lay down beside you. The bed was large, but he took up so much space that you could feel the heat radiating from his body.

He turned onto his side, facing you. One arm rested above his head while the other lay between you, close enough that his fingers almost brushed your arm.

The silence was heavy.

“You’re really here,” he muttered, almost to himself. His gaze traced your face, still guarded. “In my bed.”

He reached out slowly and brushed a strand of hair away from your cheek. The touch was surprisingly gentle, but his eyes remained cold and watchful.

“Don’t make me regret this,” he said quietly. “If this is another game… I won’t be kind about it.”

Then he shifted closer. Not enough to touch fully, but close enough that you could feel his breath against your skin. He didn’t pull you into his arms. He simply laid there, watching you like he was waiting for you to prove something — or reveal your true intentions.

The fire crackled softly in the background. The weight of his presence beside you made it hard to relax, but you stayed there, heart beating steadily.

Sukuna’s voice was barely above a whisper when he spoke again.

“Sleep, wife. We’ll see how long this little performance of yours lasts.”

He didn’t close his eyes right away. He kept watching you in the dim firelight, guarded, suspicious… and just a little intrigued.

Morning light filtered softly through the heavy curtains, pale and hazy, casting long golden stripes across the dark wooden floor. You woke slowly, cocooned in warmth that felt both foreign and strangely comforting. Sukuna’s arm was draped heavily over your waist, his broad chest pressed against your back, one leg loosely tangled with yours beneath the black silk sheets. His breathing was deep and steady, the faint rise and fall of his chest brushing against you with every inhale.

For a long moment you didn’t move. This was the first time you’d ever woken up beside him — sharing the same bed, the same space, the same air. Your heart beat a little too fast as the reality settled in. The Duke of the North was holding you in his sleep, even if it was only out of habit or unconscious possession.

Sukuna stirred a few minutes later. His arm tightened around your waist for a brief second, pulling you closer on instinct, before his body went still. You felt the exact moment consciousness returned to him — the subtle shift in his breathing, the way his muscles tensed ever so slightly against your back.

He didn’t pull away immediately.

“You’re still here,” he said quietly, voice low and rough with sleep. There was a hint of genuine surprise beneath the words. “Figured you’d sneak back to your own room before I woke up.”

You turned your head slightly on the pillow to look at him. His crimson eyes were half-lidded, messy pink hair falling across his forehead. Up close like this, without the usual cold mask, he looked almost human — though the sharp suspicion in his gaze reminded you he was anything but.

“I told you I wanted this,” you replied softly.

Sukuna let out a slow breath, almost a huff. He propped himself up on one elbow, looking down at you properly. His hand stayed on your waist, thumb brushing slow, absentminded circles over the silk of your nightgown. The touch was light, but you could feel the weight of his attention — guarded, calculating, searching for any crack in your resolve.

He watched you for a long, heavy moment, suspicion still clear in his expression. The silence between you felt intimate and fragile at the same time. His fingers flexed once against your waist before relaxing again.

“Don’t get too used to this,” he said eventually, tone flat but not cruel. “One night doesn’t fix anything. One night doesn’t make me trust you.”

Then, almost like he couldn’t help himself, he added more quietly, “But… you can stay for breakfast if you want.”

Sukuna rolled away and got out of bed, stretching his powerful arms above his head. The morning light traced every line of muscle and the intricate black tattoos that covered his shoulders, chest, and back. He moved with the casual confidence of someone completely at ease in his own space, yet you could still feel the tension humming beneath his skin.

God, he’s even hotter in person… no wonder I was obsessed.

He grabbed a fresh tunic but didn’t put it on. Instead, he leaned against the wardrobe, watching you in his sheets with that dark, cautious gaze. The fire had burned low, leaving the room quiet and heavy with unspoken tension.

Sukuna tilted his head slightly. “Well?” he asked, voice still rough from sleep. “Are you going to lie there all morning?”

You didn’t make him wait long.

You slipped out of bed, the black silk nightgown clinging lightly to your skin as you moved. The morning air in the chamber felt cooler than the warmth of the sheets you’d just left. Sukuna watched you the entire time from where he leaned against the wardrobe, arms crossed over his broad chest, expression unreadable but intense.

“Breakfast will be brought here,” he said simply, voice still rough from sleep. “No need to go to the main hall today.”

A short while later, servants arrived with silver trays. They moved quickly and quietly, setting the table near the tall windows with practiced care — a pot of strong black tea, warm crusty bread, thick slices of roasted meat, fresh berries, and a small dish of honey. The scent of the food filled the room, warm and savory. They kept their eyes lowered, clearly unsettled by the sight of you in the Duke’s private chambers wearing only a nightgown and robe, but they left without a single word.

Sukuna sat down first. You took the seat across from him.

The morning light streamed in through the tall windows, casting a soft golden glow across the table and highlighting the sharp angles of his face. It traced the black tattoos visible at the open collar of his tunic and the faint scars on his hands as he picked up his knife. For several long minutes, the only sounds were the quiet clink of silverware and the distant crackle from the hearth.

Finally, Sukuna set his knife down with a quiet click and leaned back in his chair, crimson eyes locking onto you with that familiar guarded intensity.

“So,” he said, voice low and guarded, “what made you change?”

You looked up from your plate, heart skipping a beat. Just died and woke up in the body of the woman you’re supposed to kill. No big deal.

There was no point in holding back anymore. 

“I like you,” you said simply, meeting his gaze. “I’ve liked you for a long time.”

Sukuna stared at you for a long, heavy beat. Then he let out a short, bitter laugh that didn’t reach his eyes.

“Bullshit.”

The word landed blunt and cold. He leaned forward, elbows on the table, watching you with sharp suspicion.

“You expect me to believe that? After months of silence, after treating me like I was beneath you, after making sure everyone knew how much you despised this marriage… you suddenly like me?” His voice dripped with disbelief. “Try again.”

You didn’t look away. Your voice stayed quiet but steady.

“No, really,” you said. “I do. I like you. That’s why I’m trying so hard.”

Sukuna’s eyes narrowed. He studied your face like he was searching for the lie, the manipulation, the trick. The silence stretched between you, thick and tense. His fingers tapped once against the edge of the table before he leaned back again, the corner of his mouth curving into a slow, dangerous smirk.

“Okay, little liar,” he murmured, voice low and rough. “Then prove it to me.”

You blinked, heat rising to your cheeks.

“Prove it to you…?” you repeated softly, the words coming out a little breathless.

Sukuna’s smirk deepened, but his eyes stayed sharp and watchful. He leaned forward slightly, resting his forearms on the table, closing some of the distance between you.

“Yes,” he said, voice dropping lower, almost velvet-smooth. “Prove it. You say you like me. You say you want to fix this marriage. So show me.”

His gaze drifted slowly down to your mouth, then back up to your eyes. The air between you felt heavier now, warmer. He reached across the table and brushed his fingers lightly against the back of your hand, the touch deceptively gentle.

“You’re in my chambers. In my bed,” he continued, thumb tracing a slow line over your knuckles. “If you’re actually serious… then stop hiding behind pretty words and prove it.”

His touch lingered, possessive but controlled, sending a slow shiver up your arm. He didn’t pull away. Instead, he watched your reaction closely, crimson eyes dark with suspicion and something much hotter underneath.

“Prove it, wife,” he said again, voice low and seductive. “I’m right here. Show me how much you like me.”

The breakfast table suddenly felt far too small. The tension had shifted — still laced with his suspicion, but now crackling with slow, deliberate heat as he waited for you to make the next move.

Your pulse thundered under his thumb. You could feel the weight of his stare, the way his crimson eyes darkened as they traced your face, your lips, the line of your throat. He wasn’t touching you anywhere else, but it still felt like he had you pinned.

You swallowed, heat blooming across your cheeks and down your neck.

“…How?” you asked, voice quieter than you intended. “How do you want me to prove it?”

Sukuna’s smirk deepened, slow and dangerous. He leaned in a little closer across the table, his thumb still stroking lazy circles over your knuckles.

“That’s the fun part,” he murmured. “You figure it out. You’re the one claiming you like me. So show me what that looks like.”

His free hand moved, reaching across to tuck a loose strand of hair behind your ear. The gesture was almost gentle, but his fingers lingered at the side of your neck, tracing lightly down the column of your throat before pulling away.

“You can start by coming here,” he said, voice low and commanding. He pushed his chair back slightly and patted his thigh once. “Don’t make me ask twice.”

Your breath caught. Heart racing, you stood up slowly and rounded the table. The moment you were close enough, Sukuna’s hand caught your wrist and pulled you down onto his lap. He settled you sideways across his thighs, one arm wrapping securely around your waist while the other rested on your leg, fingers splayed possessively over your thigh.

Up close like this, you could feel the heat of his body, the solid strength of his chest against your side, the way his breath brushed your temple.

“Better,” he said, voice rough. His hand slid slowly up your thigh, stopping just below the hem of your nightgown. “Now… show me.”

He tilted his head, lips hovering near your jaw.

“Kiss me,” he ordered softly. “Like you mean it. Like you actually want your husband.”

His crimson eyes were locked on yours, still guarded, still waiting for the lie to slip through. But beneath the suspicion, there was clear hunger — dark and patient, daring you to close the distance.

Sukuna’s fingers flexed on your thigh, a silent reminder of his patience running thin.

“Well, wife?” he murmured, voice velvet-rough against your skin. “I’m waiting.”

You didn’t hesitate any longer.

Leaning in, you pressed your lips to his. The kiss started soft — tentative on your end, testing. Sukuna stayed still for half a second, as if surprised you’d actually done it.

Then he took control.

His hand slid to the back of your neck, pulling you harder against his mouth. The kiss deepened instantly, turning hungry and demanding. His tongue swept past your lips, claiming your mouth with a low growl that vibrated against you. He tasted like black tea and heat, and the way he kissed you was nothing short of possessive — like he was trying to erase every other man who had ever looked at you.

You gasped into his mouth. Sukuna used the opening to tilt your head and kiss you deeper, tongue stroking yours with slow, filthy intent. His other hand gripped your thigh tighter, fingers digging into the soft flesh as he pulled you more firmly onto his lap until you were straddling him.

“Better,” he rasped against your lips when he finally pulled back just enough to breathe. His crimson eyes were dark, pupils blown wide. “But not enough.”

He kissed you again, harder this time. One hand slipped under the hem of your nightgown, palm sliding up your bare thigh, pushing the silk higher and higher until his fingers brushed the edge of your underwear. He didn’t go further yet — just teased, stroking the sensitive skin there while his mouth moved to your jaw, then down to your neck.

“You say you like me,” he growled against your throat, teeth grazing your pulse point. “Then prove how much.”

He sucked on your skin, hard enough to leave a mark, and you couldn’t stop the soft moan that escaped you. Sukuna’s grip on your thigh tightened in response, and you felt him growing hard beneath you, the thick length pressing against your core through his pants.

Your hands moved on instinct, sliding up his chest, fingers curling into the fabric of his tunic. He made a low, approving sound and rocked his hips up once, grinding against you deliberately.

“Touch me,” he ordered, voice rough. “If you’re serious, then fucking touch me.”

You obeyed, sliding your hands under his tunic, palms running over the hard planes of his stomach and the tattoos that covered his skin. His muscles tensed under your touch. Sukuna rewarded you by biting down on your neck again, then soothing the spot with his tongue.

He pulled back just enough to look at you, breathing heavy, eyes burning.

“Keep going,” he said, voice dark and commanding. His hands gripping your ass firmly as he pulled you down harder against his growing erection. “Show me exactly how much you want your husband.”

His hips rolled up deliberately, grinding the thick ridge of his cock against your clit in slow, filthy circles. The friction was maddening, heat building fast between you.

You moaned into his mouth. The sound seemed to snap something in him.

He growled low in his throat and rocked you harder against him. “Fuck,” he rasped against your lips, breath hot. “You’re already so wet for me.”

One large hand slipped further under your nightgown, calloused palm dragging up your bare thigh until his fingers found the soaked fabric of your panties. He groaned at the feeling, pressing two thick fingers against your clothed slit and rubbing firmly, spreading your wetness.

“So fucking wet,” he muttered, voice dark and rough. “All this from just sitting on my lap?”

He pushed your panties aside with impatient fingers and dragged two thick digits slowly through your slick folds. The first direct touch made your hips jerk sharply. Pleasure shot through you like lightning — hot, electric, and overwhelming. You were already soaked, embarrassingly wet, and Sukuna could feel it.

He chuckled darkly against your throat, the low vibration sending shivers racing down your spine as he kissed and bit along your neck, marking you with teeth and tongue.

“You’re dripping down my fingers, wife,” he growled, voice rough and filthy. “This greedy little cunt is making such a mess already.”

He pushed one thick finger inside you slowly, stretching your tight walls. Your inner muscles clenched hard around the intrusion, hot and silky. The feeling of being filled by him — even just one finger — made your breath hitch. He added a second finger almost immediately, scissoring them lazily while his thumb found your swollen clit and rubbed tight, relentless circles.

The wet, obscene sounds of his fingers pumping into your soaked pussy filled the quiet morning room — lewd squelching noises that would have made you blush if you weren’t already trembling with pleasure. Your arousal coated his hand, dripping down his wrist and onto his lap as he worked you open with practiced, unhurried strokes.

You whimpered, hands fisting tightly in the front of his tunic. Sukuna’s free hand yanked the neckline of your nightgown down roughly, exposing your breasts to the cool air. He leaned in and sucked one sensitive nipple into his mouth, tongue flicking roughly over the peak before his teeth grazed it. The sharp sting mixed with pleasure made your back arch, pushing your chest closer to his hungry mouth.

“So fucking sensitive,” he murmured against your skin, voice muffled as he switched to the other nipple, sucking harder. “Look at you. Falling apart just from my fingers like a desperate little whore.”

He curled his fingers inside you, stroking that perfect spot with devastating accuracy while his thumb pressed firmer circles on your clit. Your hips rocked desperately against his hand, chasing every thrust, every stroke. The wet sounds grew louder, filthier, echoing obscenely in the quiet chamber.

Sukuna pulled back just enough to watch your face, his crimson eyes dark with lust and that ever-present edge of suspicion.

“Cum for me,” he ordered, voice low and rough. “Let me feel how much this supposed ‘liking me’ makes this tight little pussy squeeze around my fingers.”

His fingers curled harder, stroking that sensitive spot relentlessly while his thumb worked your clit faster. The pleasure coiled tighter and tighter in your core, burning hotter with every thrust, every filthy word.

It snapped.

You came hard with a broken moan, walls clenching violently around his thick fingers. Your thighs shook uncontrollably as slick gushed over his hand, soaking his palm and dripping down his wrist. Pleasure crashed through you in waves, leaving you gasping and trembling.

Sukuna groaned deeply at the feeling, still pumping his fingers slowly through your spasms, drawing out every last pulse until you were shaking and oversensitive, whimpering softly.

He finally pulled his fingers free, glistening with your release. Without breaking eye contact, he brought them to his mouth and licked them clean, tongue dragging slowly and deliberately over his skin, savoring your taste.

“Sweet,” he murmured, voice husky and dark. His eyes never left yours.

He lifted you effortlessly and stood, carrying you toward the massive bed. He laid you down on the black silk sheets, hovering over you with that same dark, hungry look.

“Take the nightgown off,” he commanded, already pulling his own tunic over his head, revealing the full expanse of his tattooed, muscled torso. “I want to see all of you.”

His hands moved to his pants, loosening them as he watched you, eyes burning with lust and that ever-present edge of suspicion.

“Prove how much you actually want me, wife.”

You sat up on the bed, heart hammering against your ribs. Under his burning gaze, you reached for the hem of your nightgown and pulled it up and over your head, letting the silk fall to the floor. The cool air of the chamber brushed over your bare skin, making your nipples tighten instantly.

Sukuna’s eyes raked slowly over your naked body — from your flushed face, down the curve of your breasts, your stomach, and the glistening wetness already coating your inner thighs. He let out a low, rough sound deep in his chest, almost a growl.

“Fuck… look at you,” he muttered, voice thick. “So small. So fucking pretty.”

He shoved his pants the rest of the way down his hips and kicked them aside. His cock sprang free, heavy and thick, the veined shaft curving slightly upward. It was meaty — obscenely so — the girth making your mouth go dry. The flushed head was already leaking, a bead of precum glistening at the tip. Even fully hard, it looked almost too big, too heavy, the weight of it making it hang thick and full between his powerful thighs.

You couldn’t help the soft, shaky breath that escaped you.

Sukuna noticed. His smirk was dark and satisfied as he crawled onto the bed, the mattress dipping deeply under his much larger frame. He settled between your spread thighs, his broad shoulders forcing your legs wider apart. The size difference hit you all over again — he was so much bigger than you, his body completely eclipsing yours as he hovered above you.

He gripped his thick cock in one large hand and dragged the heavy head through your soaked folds, coating himself in your wetness. The blunt, meaty tip nudged against your entrance, pressing just enough to tease the stretch.

“You’re tiny compared to me,” he rasped, voice low and rough. “Gonna feel every inch when I split you open.”

He pushed forward slowly.

The thick head of his cock breached you, stretching your entrance with a slow, burning pressure. You gasped sharply at the sheer girth — he was so thick that your walls had to part around him, fluttering and clenching as he sank deeper. The heavy, meaty weight of his cock filled you inch by inch, dragging against every sensitive ridge inside you until you were full, so full, your back arching off the bed with a broken moan.

Sukuna groaned deeply, the sound vibrating through his chest as he bottomed out, hips flush against yours. His balls rested heavy and warm against you.

“Shit,” he breathed against your neck, voice strained. “So fucking tight… this little pussy is sucking me in like it was made for me.”

He stayed buried deep for a moment, letting you adjust to the overwhelming stretch, the way his thick cock throbbed inside you, hot and heavy. Then he started moving — slow, deep rolls of his hips that dragged his meaty length along your walls with every thrust. The wet, obscene sound of him sliding in and out of your soaked cunt filled the room, slick and filthy.

You whimpered, nails digging into his broad shoulders. “Sukuna… you’re so big—”

He growled at your words, hips snapping harder, driving his thick cock deeper. The drag was exquisite, every vein and ridge rubbing against your most sensitive spots. His size made you feel impossibly full, stretched wide around his girth, the pressure bordering on too much but so, so good.

“Take it,” he rasped, voice dark and possessive. “Take every fucking inch like the good little wife you’re trying to be.”

He leaned down and captured your mouth in a messy, hungry kiss, tongue fucking your mouth in time with his deep thrusts. His heavy balls slapped against you with every powerful stroke, the wet sounds growing louder as your arousal dripped down his shaft and soaked the sheets beneath you.

You moaned into his mouth, legs wrapping tighter around his waist, heels digging into his back. The size difference made everything more intense — his broad chest crushing your breasts, his muscular thighs spreading you wide, his massive frame completely dominating yours as he fucked you into the mattress.

Sukuna pulled back just enough to look at you, breathing hard, eyes dark with lust and that lingering edge of suspicion.

“Tell me again,” he growled, hips grinding deep, the thick head of his cock pressing against that perfect spot inside you. “Tell me how much you like your husband’s cock while I’m ruining this tight little pussy.”

You could barely think through the overwhelming fullness. His cock was so thick it felt like he was splitting you open with every slow, deliberate thrust. The heavy drag of his veined shaft against your walls made your toes curl, pleasure bordering on too much.

“I like it,” you gasped, voice breaking on a moan as he rolled his hips again, grinding the fat head against your g-spot. “I like your cock so much— fuck, Sukuna, you’re so deep…”

A low, satisfied growl rumbled in his chest. He hooked one of your legs over his arm, spreading you wider, and drove into you harder. The new angle made his thick cock hit even deeper, the heavy weight of his balls slapping wetly against your ass with every powerful thrust. Your juices coated his shaft, dripping down to soak the sheets beneath you, the lewd squelching sounds echoing obscenely in the quiet room.

“So fucking tight,” he groaned, voice rough and strained. “This greedy little cunt is sucking me in like it doesn’t want to let go.”

He leaned down, capturing your mouth in a messy, dominating kiss. His tongue fucked into your mouth in time with his cock, deep and filthy, while his hips snapped forward harder. The sheer size difference made everything more intense — his broad, muscled body completely covering yours, his weight pressing you down into the mattress as he fucked you with long, punishing strokes.

You whimpered into his mouth, nails raking down his back, leaving red lines across his tattooed skin. Sukuna hissed at the sting and rewarded you by pounding into you even harder, the thick head of his cock bullying that sensitive spot inside you over and over.

“Again,” he demanded against your lips, breath hot and ragged. “Tell me who this pussy belongs to.”

“You,” you moaned, legs shaking as another wave of pleasure crashed through you. “It belongs to you— only you—”

“Good girl.”

He sat back on his heels, pulling your hips up with him so your lower back was off the bed. The new angle let him drive even deeper, his thick cock stretching you wide with every brutal thrust. His thumb found your swollen clit again, rubbing tight, firm circles while he fucked you senseless.

The wet slap of skin against skin mixed with your broken moans and his low grunts. Your breasts bounced with every powerful snap of his hips, nipples tight and aching. Sukuna’s gaze was locked between your legs, watching hungrily as his thick cock disappeared into your soaked pussy again and again, stretching you obscenely around his girth.

“Look at that,” he growled, voice dark. “Taking every inch like you were made for me. So fucking pretty when you’re stuffed full of my cock.”

The pleasure coiled tighter and tighter in your core, burning hotter with every deep thrust, every swipe of his thumb on your clit. Your thighs trembled violently in his grip.

“Sukuna— I’m gonna—!”

“Cum,” he ordered, hips slamming into you harder. “Cum on your husband’s cock like the desperate little wife you are.”

It hit you like a wave. You came hard with a broken cry, walls clenching violently around his thick length, pulsing and fluttering as slick gushed around him. Your whole body shook, back arching sharply as pleasure tore through you.

Sukuna groaned deeply at the feeling, hips stuttering. “Fuck— that’s it. Milk my cock.”

He fucked you through your orgasm, prolonging it until you were whimpering and oversensitive. Then, with a low, guttural groan, he buried himself to the hilt and came hard, thick ropes of hot cum flooding deep inside you. He kept grinding his hips in slow circles, pushing his release even deeper as he emptied himself completely.

“We’re not done,” he said quietly, a dangerous promise in his tone. “Not even close.”

Sukuna pulled out of you with a wet, filthy sound, your combined release dripping down your thighs. Before you could catch your breath, he flipped you onto your back and manhandled you like you weighed nothing. He sat on the edge of the bed, pulled you into his lap facing away from him, and hooked his powerful arms under your knees, folding you in a full nelson.

Your back pressed flush against his broad, tattooed chest. Your legs were spread obscenely wide, knees pushed up toward your shoulders by his strong arms. The position left you completely helpless — folded in half, pussy exposed and dripping, his thick cock sliding hot and heavy between your slick folds.

“Fuck, look at you,” he growled right against your ear, voice feral. “So small and folded up for me. Perfect little fucktoy.”

He thrust up hard, burying his massive cock back inside you in one brutal stroke. The new angle made him feel even thicker, even deeper. You cried out, the sound raw and broken as his meaty length stretched you wide open again, the fat head bullying against your cervix with every thrust.

Sukuna went feral.

He fucked you like an animal — hard, fast, and relentless. His hips snapped up with powerful force, slamming his thick cock into your soaked pussy over and over. The wet, obscene slap of skin against skin filled the room, mixed with the lewd squelching of your dripping cunt taking every inch. His heavy balls slapped against your ass with every brutal thrust, the impact jolting through your body.

You were cockdrunk almost immediately.

Your mind went hazy, eyes rolling back as pleasure overloaded your senses. All you could do was moan helplessly, body limp in his hold as he used you. His thick cock dragged against every sensitive spot inside you, the sheer girth stretching you so wide it bordered on pain, but the pleasure was so intense you couldn’t think straight.

“S-Sukuna— ahh— too deep—” you slurred, voice broken and whiny.

He only fucked you harder, arms locked tight under your knees, keeping you folded and helpless as he pounded into you. His chest was slick with sweat against your back, his hot breath panting against your ear.

“Take it,” he snarled, voice feral and animalistic. “Take every fucking inch. This is what you wanted, isn’t it? My cock ruining this tight little pussy.”

You could only moan incoherently, head lolling back against his shoulder. Drool slipped from the corner of your mouth as he fucked you senseless, his thick cock bullying your insides with every savage thrust. The wet sounds were filthy — your juices coating his shaft and dripping down his balls, soaking the sheets beneath you.

Sukuna suddenly pulled out, flipped you onto your stomach, and yanked your hips up so your ass was high in the air. He slammed back into you in one brutal thrust, fucking you in deep, punishing doggy style.

“Fuck— yes,” he groaned, voice wrecked. One large hand came down hard on your ass with a loud smack, the sting blooming hot across your skin. He did it again, harder, the sharp crack echoing as he pounded into you from behind.

Your face was pressed into the sheets, ass up, completely at his mercy as he railed you. His thick cock drove so deep you felt it in your stomach, the heavy drag of his veined shaft making your eyes roll back. He smacked your ass again, gripping the soft flesh hard as he used you.

“You’re mine,” he growled, hips snapping forward relentlessly. “This pussy is mine. Say it.”

You could barely speak, mind blank and cockdrunk, but you whimpered obediently between moans, “Yours… it’s yours—”

Sukuna snarled in satisfaction and fucked you even harder, the bed creaking violently under the force of his thrusts. His heavy balls slapped against your clit with every brutal stroke, pushing you closer and closer to the edge again.

He was relentless now — grunting low and animalistic, cursing under his breath as his hands gripped your hips hard enough to bruise. He claimed you with deep, punishing strokes, each one driving his thick cock so deep you felt it in your stomach.

“Fuck— this pussy is sucking me in so greedily,” he growled, voice wrecked and animalistic. One hand left your hip and came down hard on your ass again with a loud smack, the sharp sting blooming hot across your skin. He did it again, harder, gripping the soft, reddened flesh and spreading you wider as he railed you.

Your mind was completely melted. All you could do was moan and whimper into the sheets, drool slipping from the corner of your mouth as he pounded into you. His thick, meaty cock stretched you so wide it felt like he was reshaping you from the inside. Every deep, punishing thrust made the fat head kiss your cervix, sending sparks of overwhelming pleasure-pain shooting through your body.

“S-Sukuna— too much— ahh—!” you slurred, voice broken and whiny, barely coherent anymore.

He laughed darkly, low and breathless, and smacked your ass once more before gripping both cheeks and spreading you obscenely. He watched hungrily as his thick cock disappeared into your soaked, fluttering pussy again and again, your juices coating his shaft and dripping down his heavy balls.

“Look at this greedy little hole,” he rasped, hips snapping forward brutally. “Taking my fat cock so well. You’re dripping everywhere, wife. Making such a fucking mess on my sheets.”

He leaned over you, chest pressed to your back, one arm wrapping around your waist to hold you in place while the other braced beside your head. The new angle let him drive even deeper, his heavy cock bullying that perfect spot inside you with every savage thrust. The wet, filthy plap plap plap of his hips slamming into your ass filled the room, mixed with your broken moans and his guttural grunts.

You were shaking, thighs trembling violently, another orgasm building fast. Your mind was blank — nothing but the overwhelming stretch, the heat, the relentless drag of his thick veined cock inside you.

Sukuna’s breath was hot against your ear. “You’re mine,” he growled, teeth grazing your shoulder. “This tight little cunt is mine. Say it while you cum on my cock again.”

You could barely form words, but you whimpered obediently between moans, voice slurred and cockdrunk. “Yours— it’s yours— Sukuna— please—!”

He fucked you harder, hips pistoning relentlessly, the heavy slap of his balls against your clit pushing you over the edge. You came with a shattered cry, walls clamping down around his thick length like a vice, pulsing and fluttering as another intense orgasm ripped through you. Slick gushed around his cock, soaking his thighs and the sheets beneath you.

Sukuna groaned loudly, the sound raw and feral. “Good fucking girl—”

He didn’t stop. He fucked you through your orgasm with deep, stuttering thrusts, hips snapping erratically as he chased his own release. With a final, powerful drive, he buried himself to the hilt and came hard. Thick, hot ropes of cum flooded deep inside you, pulse after heavy pulse filling you until you felt impossibly full, the warmth spreading through your core. He kept grinding slowly, rolling his hips in lazy circles to push every drop deeper, making sure you took all of him.

You could feel it leaking out around his thick cock — warm, sticky, and messy — dripping down your thighs and soaking the sheets beneath you.

Sukuna stayed buried deep inside you for a long moment, his massive body pressing you firmly into the mattress. His chest heaved against your back, hot, ragged breaths fanning across the side of your neck. The scent of sweat, sex, and his skin filled the air with every shaky inhale. One of his hands stroked slowly up and down your side, almost possessively, while the other stayed gripping your hip, fingers digging in like he still wasn’t ready to let go.

“…Not bad,” he muttered, voice hoarse and low against your ear. “For a little liar.”

He finally pulled out slowly, inch by thick inch. A heavy trickle of his cum immediately leaked from your abused, fluttering pussy, warm and obscene as it ran down your inner thighs. Sukuna let out a low, satisfied hum at the sight before he rolled you onto your back and collapsed beside you.

Without a word, he pulled you against his chest, one strong arm wrapping around you possessively. His skin was hot and slightly damp with sweat, his heartbeat still racing steadily under your cheek as he held you close.

His fingers traced lazy patterns on your skin as he caught his breath.

But he didn’t let go.

a\n: honestly didn't know how to end this but hope you enjoyed! likes and reblogs appreciated!!

All rights reserved © 2026 seoyue. No part of my work may be copied, reposted, modified, translated, or claimed as your own on any platform.

[friedmybrainfr]

Napalakpakbayan

Para sayo <3 150

[coopiesandcream]

First Lesson, Wrong Timing || König COD

Summary: You get teased by your friends for being inexperienced, so Puma lends you her book to help you understand the basics of “how to make yourself happy.” But right in the middle of your little experiment, your big soldier neighbor barges in and catches you red-handed—worse still, instead of screaming in shock, you let out a moan.

Warnings: 18+, MDNI, NSFW, AGE-GAP, AU, HEAVY SMUT, suggestive tone, explicit content, mature language, sexual innuendo, erotic, possessive, obsession, mention of jerking off, mutual pining, erotic, assurance, gentle, slightly rough, desire, heavy tension, ownership, lots of teasing, manhandling, petname, dirty talk, degradation, oral activities, unprotected, PiV, squirting, spanking, fingering, deflowering, blowjob, overstimulation, breeding, markings, older man x younger woman, obsess neighbor! König x inexperienced! Reader

The carpet in Puma’s living room is soft under your crossed legs, fairy lights strung along the ceiling casting a warm glow over the circle of you and your girls. Bottles of soju and tequila sit in the center like a small, dangerous altar.

Everyone’s in oversized tees and shorts, hair messy, makeup half-gone from laughing. It starts easy. About work drama, new jobs, who’s dating who, and the usual updates.

You sip your drink, nodding along while letting the alcohol loosen the knots in your shoulders.

Then the second bottle empties, and the vibe shifts.

The stories get bolder. Fantasies spill out first about someone wanting to be tied up, another admits she’s into choking.

Laughter turns sharper, breathier. Someone recounts a terrible date that ended with the guy asking if she “usually queefs.”

The room howls.

Puma goes next, voice low and annoyed.

“ This guy from the club a few weeks ago…he's a cute and decent dancer. We go back to his place, clothes off, and literally three minutes in he’s done. Rolls over, snoring. I’m lying there like…hello?” She mimics his pathetic grunt.

“ So I lock myself in his bathroom, finish the job myself, wash my hands, and leave while he’s still passed out. Never again.”

Next is Lila, eyes wide, already giggling in disbelief at her own memory.

“ Okay, but listen. This guy I hooked up with last month…when he pulled it out, I almost ran. I swear it touched his belly button standing up. He laid it on my stomach to ‘measure’ and the tip reached my chest. My actual chest.”

She throws her head back. “ I was terrified. I walked funny for two days. Never. Again.”

The stories keep coming about positions, sizes, disasters, and triumphs.

You stay quiet, cheeks warm from more than just the liquor, nursing your cup while the room fills with their confidence and history.

Then it stops.

Four pairs of eyes turn to you at once.

“ Soooo…” Puma draws out, smirking.

“ You’ve been awfully quiet. Spill. What’s the wildest thing you’ve done?”

Your throat tightens. “ I…uh—”

Lila leans forward. “ Come on. You’re always so mysterious. Bet you’ve got stories that’d make us blush.”

Heat floods your face. “ No, really, it’s not—”

Puma gasps dramatically. “ Wait. You’re hiding the best ones, aren’t you? You’ve probably done way more than us.”

You shake your head too fast. “ It’s…not that.”

Silence stretches.

You wish the floor would open up.

Finally, you mumble into your cup. “ I haven’t…done it. Ever.”

Four jaws drop.

The room goes perfectly still.

Lila blinks. “ Wait. You’re joking.”

You shake your head again, cheeks burning hotter.

Puma actually gasps. “ Girl! You’re twenty-six!”

“ I know.” You mutter, staring at the carpet fibers like they’re fascinating.

“ I’m waiting. For someone…worth it.”

They groan in unison, fond and exasperated.

“ Traditional queen.” Lila teases gently.

“ We can’t even be mad.”

Then Puma tilts her head. “ Okay, but…you’ve at least, you know, taken care of yourself, right? When you’re ovulating and feral?”

Your voice is tiny. “ I tried once. Just…my finger. It hurt. And there was blood, so I freaked out and never tried again.”

They all soften at once.

Puma scoots closer, rubbing your knee.

“ Sweetie, that’s normal. First time stretching anything down there, a little blood can happen especially if you were nervous and not relaxed. It doesn’t mean anything’s wrong.”

Lila nods. “ You just need to go slow, use lube, breathe. It’s supposed to feel good, not scary.”

You nod, embarrassed but grateful.

Puma suddenly stands, wobbles a little from the drinks, and disappears into her bedroom. She comes back with a slim paperback and drops it in your lap.

You frown at the cover. “ What’s this?”

“ Educational material.” She says proudly.

“ Everything you need to know about pleasure…solo and with someone else. Diagrams, tips, the works. When you’re ready.”

You flip it open and immediately gasp at a very explicit illustration of an orgasm cycle.

You snap it shut, face on fire.

They laugh, but it’s kind.

You hug the book to your chest anyway, voice small.

“ Thanks, but…no guy’s ever gonna want me. Look at me. I’m not like you guys. I’ve got fat thighs, belly rolls because men want skinny, sexy girls. They’d be turned off the second they saw me.”

The room erupts.

“ Excuse me?” Puma says, offended on your behalf.

“ You’re gorgeous.”

Lila points aggressively. “ Any man who’d be ‘turned off’ by your body is a walking red flag and doesn’t deserve you naked.”

“ Real men…” Puma adds firmly.

“ Want real bodies. Curves, softness, all of it. The ones who only want some airbrushed fantasy are shallow and boring in bed anyway.”

“ You are beautiful.” Lila says, softer.

“ And anyone who can’t see that is blind. We all have flaws…stretch marks, uneven boobs, whatever. Embracing them is what makes us sexy.”

You look down at your lap, eyes stinging a little.

Puma reaches over, squeezes your hand. “ When the right person comes along, they’ll worship every inch of you. Promise.”

The room settles into a warm quiet, the teasing gone, replaced by something protective and fierce. You clutch the book tighter, heart thudding with a mix of nerves and something dangerously close to hope.

Maybe, someday, you’ll be ready.

…

You sit cross-legged on your bed for three nights straight, the book from Puma open in your lap like it’s a textbook for the most important exam of your life.

You highlight passages, mutter anatomical terms under your breath, and feel your face burn every time you turn a page with a particularly vivid illustration.

The girls’ words echo in your head about going slow, relaxing, and breathing, but the memory of that one painful, and bloody attempt years ago still makes your stomach knot.

Finally, on a quiet Saturday evening, and you can’t ignore the ache anymore. The house is empty, the street outside silent.

You sigh heavily, close the book, and whisper to yourself, “ Nothing bad will happen if you just…follow the instructions.”

First things first: privacy. You triple-check the front door (locked), every window (curtained), and your bedroom door (locked twice).

You even wedge a chair under the knob for good measure.

No one is catching you this time.

The embarrassment would kill you faster than anything else. You stand in front of the full-length mirror, slowly peeling off your clothes.

The soft light from your lamp doesn’t hide anything. Thick thighs that touch, the gentle swell of your belly, and stretch marks like silver lightning on your hips. You wrap your arms around yourself, suddenly small.

“ No one would want this.” You think, the old voice loud in your head.

But the warmth low in your stomach pushes back harder.

You want to feel good.

Just once.

For you.

You climb onto the bed, heart hammering, and lie back against the pillows. Knees up, legs apart exactly like the diagram on page forty-seven.

The book rests open beside you. You take a shaky breath and let your fingers trail down, tentative, barely there.

The first touch is electric.

A soft gasp escapes before you can stop it.

You circle slowly, just like the instructions say about gentle pressure, no rushing. Warmth spreads fast as you feel yourself getting slick, and the realization makes you bite your lip hard.

It doesn’t hurt. It feels…good. Really good.

Your hips shift without permission. You glance at the book again about encouragement to keep going, to explore what feels best.

Your eyes flutter shut.

The room fills with soft, wet sounds and your own uneven breathing.

Downstairs, König stands on your porch, shifting his weight.

He knocks once, twice.

No answer.

He tries the knob and it's unlocked, as usual. You always forget. He mutters under his breath in German and steps inside.

“ Liebling?” He calls quietly. Nothing.

He only came for the cordless drill you borrowed last month. He needs it tonight for a rush job.

He’ll grab it from the kitchen counter and leave.

That’s the plan.

Then he hears it.

A faint, breathy sound from upstairs.

His head tilts. Another soft noise, higher this time. His instinct kicks in soldier mode. Quiet footsteps on the stairs, hand hovering near the knife he always carries.

If someone’s hurting you…

He reaches your door. The sounds are unmistakable now in small whimpers and rhythmic. His brain short-circuits for half a second before protective panic surges again.

He doesn’t knock.

He kicks.

The door flies open with a bang.

You’re sprawled on the bed, fingers buried between your thighs, back arched, eyes squeezed shut at the perfect, overwhelming moment—

Your orgasm crashes over you just as the door hits the wall.

Instead of a scream of terror, what rips out of you is a long, broken moan in loud, helpless, and mortifying.

Your eyes snap open. König fills the doorway, massive and frozen, blue eyes wide beneath the black mask he always wears.

His gaze locks on you.

You're naked, flushed, and trembling through the aftershocks.

Realization hits a second later. You shriek, scrambling for the blanket, and yanking it over yourself like it’ll erase the last ten seconds.

“ What the fuck, König?!” Your voice cracks, half fury, half pure humiliation.

He stands there, stunned, chest rising fast. You see the exact moment his brain reboots as his gloved hand twitches, then clenches at his side.

His pants are…noticeably tighter.

He clears his throat, the sound rough.

“ I—Scheiße…I came for the drill.” He stammers in that deep, accented voice.

“ You borrowed it. I knocked. The door was open. I thought—” He gestures vaguely, as if danger still lingers in the air.

“ I thought someone was hurting you.”

“ Get out!” You yell, clutching the blanket to your chin.

“ Let me get dressed, then we’ll talk…downstairs!”

He nods jerkily, backs out, and pulls the broken door closed as best he can. You hear his heavy steps retreat down the hall.

Outside your room, König leans against the wall, head thudding back.

“ Verdammt nochmal.” He curses under his breath.

His cock throbs painfully against his thigh, fully hard from one single image burned into his mind.

You, cumming apart, moaning his name…

No, not his name, but still, because of your own touch, legs spread, beautiful and unguarded.

He’s wanted you for months. It's quietly, desperately, and every time you smile at him over the fence or bring him baked goods “just because.”

He jerked off to thoughts of you more times than he’ll ever admit, always feeling like a creep after.

Now he’s seen the real thing.

And you came right as he walked in.

He palms himself once through his pants, hissing.

“ Beruhig dich, verdammt.” He mutters, willing the erection down.

It doesn’t listen.

Downstairs, he waits, heart pounding, mind racing.

This obsession just got a thousand times worse and he’s not sure he wants it any other way.

…

You hide in your room for a full twenty minutes, face buried in a pillow, replaying the disaster on loop. Your skin still tingles from the orgasm, traitorous body refusing to forget that the peak happened right as König’s massive frame filled the doorway.

Eventually you force yourself to dress in loose sweatpants and an oversized hoodie, armor against the world, and trudge downstairs.

He’s sitting on the edge of your couch, elbows on his knees, looking comically large in the small space.

The moment he spots you, he shoots to his feet like he’s been caught stealing.

“ Entschuldigung.” He starts, voice low and rough.

“ I am so sorry. I should not have barged in like that. You were…busy. Private.”

Your cheeks flame again. “ Yeah, private is the word. Just…forget you saw anything, okay? Pretend it never happened.”

He nods quickly, the black mask shifting with the motion. “ Ja, of course. Next time I will knock. Loudly. Many times.”

A pause.

“ I heard noises. Strange noises. I thought someone was hurting you. My training…it took over.”

You soften despite yourself. “ I get it. You were worried. It’s fine. Really.”

You grab the cordless drill from the kitchen counter and hold it out. “ Here. Sorry I kept it so long.”

His gloved hand closes over yours as he takes it. A big, warm, and calloused fingers brushing your smaller ones.

A jolt shoots straight up your arm, pooling hot and low in your belly.

You both freeze for half a second too long.

“ Danke.” He murmurs.

Then, clearing his throat. “ I should go. Before I embarrass you more.”

“ You better.” You mutter, face burning again, but there’s a tiny smile you can’t quite hide.

He turns, shoulders stiff, and strides to the door. You watch the broad line of his back disappear outside, then slam the deadbolt and slide down the door until you’re sitting on the floor, knees to chest.

A mortified groan escapes. You thump your head gently against the wood.

How are you ever going to look at him again?

Across the hedge, König shoulders into his own house, tosses the drill onto the couch without a glance, and takes the stairs two at a time.

He drops onto his bed, back hitting the mattress hard. The erection that started in your bedroom hasn’t flagged once.

It’s worse now, straining painfully against his zipper, leaking steadily.

“ Scheiße, verdammt.” He growls, yanking the zipper down.

His cock springs free, thick and flushed, already slick at the tip. He hisses at the cool air, wraps a big fist around himself, and starts stroking roughly, fastly, and with no finesse.

In his mind it’s you.

Your legs spread on that bed, fingers buried in your wet cunt, moaning so prettily as you came.

He imagines replacing your hand with his own, then his tongue, then his cock is stretching you open, making you take every inch until you’re sobbing his name.

“ Du kleine Schlampe.” He whispers harshly to the empty room, hips bucking into his fist.

“ So desperate you fuck yourself where anyone could walk in. Should’ve been my cock ruining that pretty hole. Should’ve been me making you scream.”

The fantasy sharpens in your soft thighs wrapped around his waist, your nails digging into his back, your voice begging please, König, more.

He pumps faster, grip bruising, breath ragged under the mask he hasn’t bothered to remove.

It hits him like a freight train.

Three minutes or maybe less and he’s coming hard, thick ropes spilling over his fist, splattering his shirt and the front of his pants.

He groans long and low, hips jerking through it, milking every pulse.

When it’s over he’s panting, chest heaving. He stares at the mess, dazed. Then he looks down and he is still hard.

It's twitching, angry red, and demanding more like it didn’t just empty itself.

“ Un-fucking-believable.” He mutters and grabs yesterday’s workout shirt from the floor to wipe his hand and stomach.

The fabric comes away sticky. He forces his sensitive length back into his pants, wincing at the friction, and sits up.

He drags a hand over his masked face.

The want is worse now in sharper and vicious.

He doesn’t just want to fuck you anymore.

He wants to own you.

He wants to pin you down and sink into that soft, untouched body until the only thought in your head is how perfectly you’re filled with him.

He wants to ruin you for anyone else, ever.

König exhales slowly, steadying himself.

He’s a patient man.

He can wait.

But not forever.

…

The next afternoon, you’re crammed into your usual corner booth at the café, iced lattes sweating rings onto the table. The girls are already halfway through their drinks when you finally blurt it out.

“ So…yesterday. After I went home. I, uh…tried it. Like, really tried. Following the book.”

Four heads snap up. Puma chokes on her straw.

“ You finally got yourself off?” Lila squeals.

You groan, hiding your face in your hands. “ Yes. And no. Because right as I…right at the good part, my neighbor kicked the door in.”

Dead silence. Then the collective gasping so loud the barista looks over.

“ HE WHAT?” Puma shrieks.

“ Kicked. The. Door. In.” You repeat miserably.

“ He thought someone was attacking me because of the…noises. I was literally coming when he barged in. Instead of screaming in terror, I moaned. Loudly. In front of him.”

The table erupts. Lila slaps the table so hard her coffee sloshes. Gina wheezes into her sleeve.

“ I’m sorry, babe.” Puma says, wiping tears.

“ But that is the most tragic comedy I’ve heard all year. Your first real orgasm was ruined by a home invasion.”

“ It’s not funny!” You wail.

“ Every time I try to touch myself, the universe sends a disaster. First blood and pain, now a six-foot-five Austrian commando getting a front-row seat. Clearly I’m cursed.”

They’re still howling when Lila catches her breath enough to ask. “ Wait, wait…who is this neighbor?”

You mumble into your cup. “ König.”

Four blank stares.

“ King?” Puma translates, eyebrow raised.

“ That’s his actual name?”

“ Code name, maybe.” You shrug.

“ He’s literally special forces. Always in tactical pants and that black sniper mask thing.”

The mood shifts from hysterical to hungry in a heartbeat.

Puma leans forward. “ Hold up. Big scary soldier guy? European accent? Wears a mask?”

You nod reluctantly.

“ Oh my Gosh.” Lila whispers.

“ Those guys are animals in bed. Like…they are aggressive and focused with zero-chill animals. I hooked up with a Marine once and he rearranged my organs.”

“ Lila!” You hiss, face on fire.

“ What? It’s true! And this König guy, bet he’s stupid hot under that mask. Strong jaw, blue eyes, the whole brooding package.”

Gina nod vigorously.

“ Definitely.” Puma agrees.

“ You can’t hide a face like that forever. He’s probably gorgeous and just socially awkward.”

“ Or hiding scars.” Gina offers.

“ Which is even hotter.”

You sink lower in your seat. “ Can we not objectify my neighbor who’s seen me naked?”

“ Too late.” Lila grins, already pulling out her phone.

“ Does he have Insta? TikTok? Anything? We need visual evidence for science.”

“ I don’t know!” You protest.

“ I don’t stalk his socials. We just say hi over the fence and borrow tools.”

They all cackle again.

“ Borrow tools.” Puma repeats, waggling her eyebrows.

“ That’s foreplay, sweetie.”

“ Stop!”

“ No, seriously.” Gina added.

“ You realize he’s replaying that scene in 4K right now, right? Man walked in on you mid-orgasm. That’s burned into his brain forever. He’s probably jerking off to it as we speak.”

“ Gina!"

“ What? Soldiers have needs. And stamina. And big—”

You throw a napkin at her head. “ I hate all of you.”

Puma dodges the napkin and leans in conspiratorially.

“ Real talk, though. You better lock your windows. One day that man’s gonna snap, climb through your bedroom, and devour you whole. Mask and all.”

The table loses it again. You bury your face in your arms on the table, groaning dramatically.

“ He’s not gonna devour me.” You mutter.

“ He was mortified. Apologized like crazy and practically ran away.”

“ Uh-huh…” Puma says knowingly.

“ That’s restraint. Give it a week. You’ll be watering plants in booty shorts and he’ll be over the fence like a heat-seeking missile.”

“ I do not own booty shorts!”

“ You should!” They chorus.

You flip them off, but you can’t stop the tiny, traitorous flutter in your stomach.

Because now every time you picture König in tall, broad, quiet, and those pale eyes flicking away politely yesterday.

You remember the way he’d frozen in the doorway.

The way his shoulders had tensed.

The subtle shift in how he’d held the drill when he left.

The girls keep teasing, voices overlapping in delighted chaos, but you’re only half-listening.

Because maybe, they’re not entirely wrong. And that thought terrifies and thrills you in equal measure.

…

Days blur into a week, then two. You turn into a professional avoider.

Groceries? Only after dark, when his truck isn’t in the driveway.

Trash day? You wait until you hear his garage door close.

When he rings your bell, once with a plate of homemade schnitzel, another time to borrow sugar as you freeze like a deer, heart hammering, and pretend you’re not home.

You even crawl on the floor to peek through the curtains before cracking the door to snatch whatever he left on the porch.

Immature? Absolutely. But the memory of his huge frame in your doorway while you were mid-orgasm is a permanent resident in your brain, rent-free and screaming.

You keep waiting for him to be repulsed.

Men don’t like desperate women, right? Women who can’t control themselves?

He should be keeping his distance, maybe nodding politely from across the street and never making eye contact again.

Instead, he still waves when he mows the lawn. He still leaves little notes on the food containers.

“Hope you like it – K.”

It makes no sense.

It makes your stomach flip in ways you refuse to examine.

Then the universe laughs in your face.

You’re washing dishes when the pipe under the sink gives a death rattle and explodes. Water gushes everywhere in the cold, relentlessly, and soaking your socks.

You yelp, grab every towel you own, and stuff them around the flood while frantically googling emergency plumbers.

Every company is booked solid or closed for the weekend.

You stand in your soggy kitchen, water dripping from the cabinets, stress climbing your throat.

There’s only one option left.

You pull on shoes, take the deepest breath of your life, and march next door.

You knock in three sharp raps.

No answer.

You knock harder, then call out. “ König? It’s me. From next door. I need help!”

A loud thump upstairs, like someone tripped over furniture. Heavy footsteps thunder down the stairs.

The door yanks open.

König stands there in a tight black tank top clinging to damp skin, chest heaving, and hair messy under the edges of his mask.

A faint sheen of sweat glistens on the exposed strip of his neck.

He clearly wasn’t expecting company.

His pale eyes widened behind the mask.

“ You…” He says, voice rough and a little breathless.

“ What are you doing here?”

Heat floods your face.

Of course you interrupted something.

Probably push-ups.

Or…something else that makes a man sweaty and panting.

“ I...I’m sorry. I clearly disturbed you. I’ll just—” You spin to flee.

A massive hand closes gently but firmly around your wrist, stopping you cold.

“ Nein, wait.” His thumb brushes your pulse point without meaning to.

“ I’m not mad. Sorry if I sounded rude. I was…surprised. You’ve been avoiding me for days."

You swallow hard, staring at his fingers on your skin.

“ Yeah. About that. Um. My kitchen sink pipe burst. Water everywhere. Plumbers are all busy. I thought maybe… since you’re a guy and in the military. You might know how to fix pipes?”

The words tumble out, higher and faster than you want.

He huffs a low laugh that rumbles through his chest. “ I’m not a plumber, Liebling. I’m a soldier.”

Your cheeks burn hotter. “ Right. Stupid. Obviously. I’ll just call someone else—”

You try to pull away again.

This time his grip tightens just enough to tug you forward then off balance. You collide gently with the solid wall of his chest.

One of his arms steadies you instinctively, palm splayed across your lower back.

He’s warm.

Hard.

Everywhere.

You freeze, breath catching.

He smells like clean sweat and something faintly metallic in gun oil, maybe. His heart thuds fast under your cheek.

His voice drops, low and gravelly. “ I don’t mind fixing your pipes.”

The sentence hangs heavy in the air, dripping with unintended suggestion. Your brain short-circuits.

Pipes.

He said pipes. But the way it rolled off his tongue, rough and deliberate…

He seems to realize it the same second you do.

His grip loosens, and he clears his throat awkwardly. “ The water pipes. In your kitchen. I meant those.”

You jump back like you’ve been shocked, smoothing your shirt even though it’s already soaked at the hem. “ Right! Yes. Kitchen pipes. Thank you. That’s…really kind.”

He rubs the back of his neck, the movement making his bicep flex impressively.

“ I’ll try to be a good neighbor. If I can’t fix it, I have a friend who owes me a favor. Real plumber.” He pauses, blue eyes searching your face.

“ Give me two minutes to grab tools. I’ll follow you over.”

You nod, probably too eagerly. “ Okay. Great. I’ll…wait outside.”

You back down his porch steps, heart racing faster than when the pipe burst. Behind you, the door clicks shut.

Inside his house, König leans against it for a second, exhaling hard. The run he’d been doing upstairs to burn off the near-constant ache since ‘That Night’ had done nothing.

And now you are soft, flustered, finally talking to him again, and smell like vanilla and panic and something he wants to bottle.

He adjusts himself in his sweatpants with a muttered curse, grabs his toolbox, and heads out.

Slow, she’s skittish. But Gott, those pipes aren’t the only thing he wouldn’t mind fixing.

…

Minutes drag into what feels like hours. You pace the living-room carpet until you wear a groove in it, then finally give in and tiptoe back to the kitchen.

The leak has slowed to a pathetic drip, but König is still on the job, half his massive body wedged under the sink.

You stop in the doorway and immediately regret it.

He’s flat on his back, tank top riding up just enough to reveal a strip of hard, ridged abs glistening with effort.

One thick arm is braced overhead, muscles flexing as he twists a wrench. His tactical pants are pulled tight across powerful thighs, and lower, a prominent bulge strains against the fabric.

Your eyes snap away, but the image is seared in. Heat floods your belly, traitorous and sudden.

“ Is everything okay down there?” You ask, voice higher than intended.

“ Ja, almost.” He grunts.

“ One more turn and it’s fixed.”

“ Thank you again. Seriously.”

A pause. Then, “ Actually…could use your help. It’s dark under here. Can’t see the small fittings.”

You grab the flashlight from the junk drawer and kneel beside him, aiming the beam into the cabinet.

He squints, turning his masked face away. “ Too bright. It blinds me. Try the other side.”

You shuffle around his head to the opposite side.

He groans. “ Still bad.”

“ It’s literally right on the pipe.” You say, exasperation creeping in.

“ I can’t see the threads.” He mutters.

You huff. “ Fine. Scoot over…no, wait. I’ll just…”

You sigh dramatically. “ I’m going to sit on your chest so the light’s directly above. Okay?”

A low string of German rumbles out about something that sounds suspiciously like a curse and a prayer at once, but he answers.

“ Ja. Good idea.”

Careful not to knee him in the face, you swing a leg over and lower yourself onto his broad chest. The heat of him seeps through your thin leggings instantly.

He’s solid, warm, rising and falling a little faster than before.

Another mutter in German, softer this time.

You lean forward, flashlight steady. “ Better?”

“ Perfekt.” He rasps.

You stay bent over him, thighs framing his ribs, trying to ignore how intimate this feels.

Then he shifts.

“ Little farther back, bitte.”

You slide down an inch, then another until you’re straddling the lower part of his chest, almost on his stomach.

Still not quite right.

You wriggle, searching for balance.

A low groan vibrates under you.

“ You okay?” You ask, concerned.

“ Fine.” He says, voice noticeably deeper.

“ Close now.”

You nod, adjusting the position again and freeze.

Something hard presses firmly against your lower stomach.

You assume it’s his phone in his pocket.

Makes sense.

Big guy, big pockets.

But then you rock slightly to steady the flashlight, and the pressure feels…different.

Long, thick, unmistakable.

Heat surges between your legs. You bite your lip to stifle a gasp. Unintentionally or maybe not, you roll your hips again, and chase the friction.

It feels good.

Too good.

A small, helpless sound escapes before you can stop it. König’s hands, which had been working overhead, suddenly still.

You don’t notice at first as you’re too busy trying not to grind down again then the drip stops entirely.

The pipe is fixed.

You glance down and find both of his large, gloved hands now resting on your hips. His chest rises sharply beneath you.

When your eyes meet his, the pale blue is almost swallowed by blown-wide pupils.

You jolt, trying to scramble off. “ Sorry, it’s fixed, I’ll—”

His grip tightens, not painful but immovable. “ Stay.”

One word, low and rough, laced with command and something dangerously close to pleading.

The kitchen goes perfectly silent except for your shared breathing. You’re straddling his thighs now, bent forward, flashlight forgotten in your slack hand.

The hard length beneath you twitches unmistakably against your core, and this time there’s no pretending it’s a phone.

Your heart hammers so loud you’re sure he can feel it. His thumbs stroke slow circles on your hips, almost absentminded, like he’s testing whether you’re real.

“ König…” You whisper, not sure if it’s a protest or a question.

His gaze drops to your mouth, then lower, tracing the way your body curves over his. The mask hides everything except those eyes hungry, restrained, and burning.

Another small shift of his hips, deliberate this time, pressing up just enough to make you gasp softly. Your hands land on his chest for balance, and fingers curling into the damp fabric of his tank top.

The tension coils tight and electric between you, thick enough to taste.

One wrong move, one tiny rock forward, one squeeze of his hands, and the thin thread of control will snap.

Neither of you moves.

Not yet.

…

The air between you snaps like a frayed wire. One second you’re frozen, straddling his thighs, feeling the thick, and the unmistakable ridge of him pressed against you.

Next, König moves in fast, decisive, and pure soldier efficiency. Massive hands grip your hips, spin you, and suddenly the world flips.

Your back hits the kitchen floor with a soft thud, all the breath whooshing out of you as his enormous frame cages you in.

He hovers above, and forearms braced on either side of your head, chest heaving, blue eyes wild and dark. Your fingers clutch his soaked tank top like it’s the only thing keeping you tethered to earth.

“ W-what is this?” You stammer, voice small and trembling.

König growls, low and guttural, the sound vibrating straight to your core. “ I can’t take it anymore, Liebling. Too much. I’m too fucking hard right now.”

To prove it, he rolls his hips slowly and deliberately.

The rigid length of him drags against your clothed folds, and a loud, involuntary gasp tears from your throat. The heat floods you, shame and want to twisting together.

“ You have no idea…” He rasps, voice gravel-rough.

“ How you climbed on me earlier…squirming, grinding that sweet little cunt against me and nearly made me cum in my pants like a fucking teenager.”

Your eyes go wide.

He leans closer, mask brushing your temple.

“ Every night since I walked in on you…” He continues, words dark and filthy.

“ I see you on that bed, fingers buried deep, moaning so pretty as you cum. I’ve jerked my cock raw thinking about it. I cum so many times it still isn’t enough. Still wake up aching for you.”

He rocks again, harder, and you whimper.

“ I wanted to fuck you that night.” He confesses against your ear.

“ I wanted to pin you down and stuff you full right then. But I held back. Restraint.”

A bitter laugh.

“ Then you straddle me today, rubbing that wet pussy all over me like you need it…I’m done holding back. I need to take you. Right. Fucking. Now.”

You open your mouth to protest, but before a single word escapes, his arms band around you like steel. He stands effortlessly, hauling you up and slinging you over one broad shoulder.

You squeak, legs kicking uselessly.

“ König…put me down! This is a bad idea!”

He’s already moving, long strides carrying you out of the kitchen and up the stairs.

“ Bad idea?” He laughs, dark and dangerous, one huge hand splayed possessively over your ass.

“ You want it just as much, kleine Schlampe. Don’t lie. I can smell how soaked you are my favorite fucking scent.”

You pound a fist against his back, mortified and throbbing. “ You’re insane!”

“ Ja.” He agrees easily.

“ Insane for you.”

He shoulders open your bedroom door. The same one he kicked in weeks ago and tosses you onto the bed like you weigh nothing.

You bounce once, hair fanning across the pillows, before he’s on you again. Knees bracket your thighs, one massive hand gathering both your wrists and pinning them above your head.

His weight settles over you, overwhelming, and perfect. German spills from him, low and filthy.

The degrading words you don’t understand but feel in your bones.

“ Du kleine, geile Hure…so nass für mich…treibst mich in den Wahnsinn…” (You little, horny whore...so wet for me...you're driving me crazy...)

He switches to English, eyes locked on yours, pupils blown wide. “ I’ve been obsessed with you for months."

" Since the day you moved in. Those soft curves, that shy smile…it caught me like a fucking trap. I tried to hide it. Be a good neighbor.”

His free hand trails down your side, thumb brushing the swell of your belly. “ Then I saw you that night, spread open, desperate. Everything snapped.”

You shake your head, old insecurities rising. “ I’m not…attractive like that. My body…men don’t want—”

A growl rips out of him. His hand moves lightning-fast, wrapping around your throat, not squeezing, just holding, and claiming.

The pressure steals your breath and sends sparks down your spine.

“ I don’t give a fuck what other men want.” He snarls.

“ I’m not them.” His grip tightens a fraction, eyes blazing.

“ Everything about you is perfect. These thighs—” He wedges a knee between them, spreading you roughly.

“ This belly—” His palm slides under your damp shirt, splaying possessively over the soft flesh.

“ These gorgeous rolls I want to bite. I’m starving for all of it. Starving for you.”

You whimper, hips arching without permission.

“ No more agreeing to stay away.” He says, voice dropping to something feral.

“ Tonight, I own you. Every inch. Every moan. You’re mine now, Liebling. And I’m going to ruin you so beautifully you’ll never want another man again.”

His thumb strokes your pulse point, gentle despite the threat in his words.

The contradiction is tender and brutal that makes you dizzy. You’re trembling beneath him, soaked, aching, terrified and exhilarated in equal measure.

And still, he waits in one heartbeat or two, watching your face, and giving you one last chance to say no.

But the word won’t come.

Because you don’t want it to.

…

König’s grip on your throat tightens is not enough to hurt, and just enough to remind you who’s in control. His thumb presses against your racing pulse.

“ Why did you touch yourself that night, hm?” He growls, voice dark and demanding.

“ Tell me, kleine Schlampe.”

You open your mouth, but nothing comes out.

Shame and heat battle in your chest.

He doesn’t wait. With a sharp tug, he rips your shirt clean down the middle. Fabric tears like paper. Cool air hits your bare chest as your breasts spill free.

Instinctively, you move to cover yourself.

His free hand snaps up, catching both wrists and pinning them back above your head.

“ Don’t you fucking dare hide from me.” He snarls.

“ I’ve waited too long to see all of you.”

Your cheeks burn.

He leans closer, mask brushing your cheek. “ Answer me. Why were you fucking that pretty little cunt with your fingers?”

You swallow, voice barely a whisper.

“ I…I’d never had an orgasm before. My friends kept talking about it and how good it feels. I got curious. That’s all.”

He groans low in his throat, eyes darkening further. “ So you sat there with that little book, studying how to cum like it was a fucking exam?”

You nod, mortified.

A dark chuckle rumbles out of him.

“ Adorable.” He shifts his weight, and the hard line of his cock pressing insistently against your thigh.

“ I’m going to do better than that book, Liebling. I’m going to give you pleasure from a real man…one who’s been obsessed with you for months. One who dreams about ruining you every night.”

He releases your throat, hand sliding down to cup your jaw. “ Do you want that? Say yes.”

You hesitate, breath hitching.

He doesn’t like the silence.

His fingers find your nipple, pinching sharply and perfect pain that shoots straight between your legs.

You whine, back arching.

“ Say it.” He repeats, voice dangerous.

“ Yes.” You gasp.

“ König, please…yes.”

A feral growl tears from him. He yanks his mask up just enough to expose his mouth. It's scarred, stubbled, hungry, and crashes it against yours.

The kiss is brutal at first, all teeth and claiming. You freeze, unsure. He feels it, nips your lower lip hard enough to sting.

“ Open for me.” He mutters against your mouth.

“ Follow me.”

He slows, coaxing as his tongue slides along your lips, and teaches rhythm. You try, clumsy and eager. He hums approval when you finally match him, soft tongue meeting his, tentative then bolder.

Wet and filthy sounds fill the room.

“ Good girl.” He breathes, then dives back in deeper, slower, different angles, and different pressures.

“ So many kinds of kisses, ja? We’ll try them all.”

He moves lower, open-mouthed kisses down your neck, sucking hard enough to bruise. You cling to his shoulders, nails digging into muscle as he marks you in the collarbone, throat, and the swell of each breast.

By the time he reaches your nipples you’re writhing.

He takes one into his mouth, hot and wet, tongue swirling, teeth grazing. His huge hand torments the other is rolling, tugging, and pinching until you’re sobbing his name.

He switches sides, relentless, until both peaks are swollen and shining with his spit.

Then lower.

He nips at the soft skin of your belly, growling appreciatively. Both hands seize your waist, fingers sinking into the plush flesh.

“ This…” He rasps, squeezing hard.

“ Drives me fucking insane. So soft. So much to grab.”

You whimper as he bites gently, then harder, leaving little crescents.

“ Schöne Fette.” He mutters in German, voice thick with lust. (Beautiful fats)

“ All mine.”

Your pants are gone before you register the motion and ripped away like everything else. He spreads your thighs wide, groaning at the sight of your soaked panties.

“ Look at you. Drenched for me.” He presses his face between your legs, inhaling deeply.

“ Best fucking smell in the world.”

The vibration of his words makes you jerk. Then he tears the last scrap of fabric away. Cool air, then hot mouth as he drags his tongue up your slit in one long and filthy lick.

You cry out, hips bucking.

He pins you down easily, tongue plunging inside, fucking you slow and deep. You fist the fabric of his mask, anchoring yourself as he devours you.

He's lapping, sucking, and teasing your clit until your legs shake. One thick finger circles your entrance, gathering slickness.

“ Relax, Liebling.” He murmurs against you.

“ Let me in.”

He pushes in slowly and carefully. Even one finger feels enormous, stretching you deliciously.

You moan, walls fluttering around him.

“ So tight.” He praises roughly.

“ Perfect little virgin cunt.”

He crooks his finger, finds that spot that makes you see stars. He added a second is a burning stretch and perfect fullness.

You arch hard, keening.

He crawls back up your body, fingers still buried deep, thrusting steadily. His mouth finds yours again, letting you taste yourself on his tongue. Between the kisses, he mutters in German filth, dirty and degrading, reverent.

“ Du kleine Hure…taking my fingers so greedily…made for this cock…”

His thumb circles your clit. Pace quickens. Knuckles deep, relentless, hitting that spot over and over.

“ I know you’re close.” He whispers, biting your earlobe.

“ I feel you squeezing me. Cum on my fingers, baby. Show me how you fall apart.”

The command undoes you. Pleasure coils tight, snaps as your orgasm crashes through you harder than anything you’ve ever felt.

You scream into his shoulder, legs trembling violently, walls pulsing around his fingers. He works you through it, slowing only when you sag, boneless and gasping.

Finally he pulls out gently and brings his glistening fingers to his mouth. He licks them clean, eyes locked on yours, groaning deep in his chest.

“ Verdammt nochmal.” He rasps.

“ You taste like heaven, you filthy little thing.”

He collapses half on top of you, still fully clothed, cock throbbing against your hip.

The storm has passed and for now, but the hunger in his eyes promises this is only the beginning.

…

König’s eyes are still glazed with satisfaction as he licks his lips, tasting you on them. But the hunger hasn’t dimmed.

If anything, it’s sharper now.

He slides back down your body without warning, massive hands clamping onto your thighs and spreading them wide, almost painfully wide until you’re completely open to him again.

“ König…wait, I’m still—” You gasp, oversensitive and trembling from the last orgasm.

He doesn’t wait. His mouth seals over your soaked folds, tongue plunging deep, fucking into you with slow, deliberate strokes.

The wet sounds are obscene in the quiet room.

You curse loudly, back bowing off the bed, fingers twisting in the sheets.

“ It's too much…fuck—”

He groans against you, the vibration making your hips jerk. “ Give me another, Liebling. I want you dripping down my chin.”

His tongue curls, ruthless, lapping and thrusting until your thighs quake uncontrollably. When you come again, it’s explosive as your whole body seizes, a shocked cry tearing from your throat as you squirt, hot and helpless.

König growls like an animal, drinking every drop, nipping your swollen clit once, twice, before finally pulling away.

He rises slowly, face and mask soaked, and wipes his mouth with the back of his forearm like a satisfied predator.

“ Now…” He rasps, voice gravel-rough.

“ It’s your turn to please me.”

You blink up at him, chest heaving. “ I…I don’t know how.”

A dark chuckle rumbles out of him. He pinches your chin playfully between thumb and forefinger, tilting your face up.

“ That’s why I’m here, kleine Schlampe. I’ll teach you exactly how to worship a cock.”

He shifts off you, climbing properly onto the bed. In one smooth motion he peels off the tank top, revealing miles of scarred, muscled torso. Then the pants and boxer briefs follow, kicked somewhere into the corner.

Your breath catches hard.

His cock slaps heavily against his abs. It's thick, veiny, and angrily red at the tip, already leaking steadily.

It twitches like it’s alive and too heavy to stand fully upright.

You’ve never seen anything so intimidating in real life.

He settles back against the headboard, legs spread, and crooks a finger. “ Come here. Straddle me.”

You crawl over on shaky limbs, knees sinking into the mattress on either side of his hips. Up close it looks even bigger.

“ It’s not gonna fit in my mouth.” You blurt, half-panicked.

He laughs softly, brushing your messy hair back from your face. “ I'm not asking you to deepthroat me yet, baby. This is training day. I’ll be gentle.”

His hand wraps around yours, guiding it to his shaft. The heat of him makes you gasp. He’s velvet over steel and pulsing in your grip.

He groans deep in his chest, head falling back against the headboard. “ Just like that. Up and down. Slow at first.”

You stroke him tentatively. His hips twitch and pre-cum beads at the slit and smears over your fingers.

“ Your other hand too.” He orders, voice strained.

“ You need both to cover me.”

You obey, wrapping your second hand above the first. Now both fists work him in tandem, barely meeting around his girth.

He hisses, abs flexing.

“ Good girl…faster now. Twist a little at the top.”

You find a rhythm, guided by the small thrusts of his hips and the filthy praise spilling from his mouth in two languages.

“ Ja, genau so…look at you, jerking my cock like a greedy little slut. Made for this, weren’t you?”

His big hand fists gently in your hair, not pushing, just holding. “ Time to taste me. Open that pretty mouth.”

You lean down, nervous.

He guides the fat head past your lips.

“ Teeth back…suck like it’s a lollipop. Swirl your tongue.”

You do your best, cheeks hollowing, tongue tracing the ridge. Salty precome coats your mouth. He groans long and low, hips rocking carefully.

“ Scheiße…solche eine geile, kleine Hure…taking my cock so well for your first time.”

You bob faster, sloppy and eager, drool escaping the corners of your mouth. You only manage half his length, lips stretched wide, but the sounds he makes.

The grunts, curses, and your name broken on his tongue that spur you on.

“ I'm close…” He warns suddenly, voice ragged.

“ I'm gonna cum Can I finish in your mouth, baby? I want you to swallow every drop.”

You pull off with a wet pop, gasping. “ Yes…please.”

He guides you back down instantly. You suck harder, hands twisting in sync, until his thighs tense under you.

With a guttural, loud grunt he holds your head steady and erupts.

The thick and hot pulses are flooding your mouth. There’s so much you almost choke, swallowing frantically as he keeps coming, hips jerking through it.

Finally spent, he eases you off gently. A stray drop clings to your lower lip as he wipes it with his thumb and pushes it back into your mouth.

“ Swallow.” He murmurs.

You do, throat working.

He exhales shakily, muttering more German in half degradation and half worship then pulls you up against his sweat-slick chest.

His mouth finds yours, kissing deep and filthy, tasting himself on your tongue. When you break apart, both breathless, he smirks against your lips.

“ That was just the starter, Liebling. We’ve got all night.”

His cock that is still half-hard and twitches against your thigh like it’s already impatient for round two.

…

König shifts, rolling you beneath him again with effortless strength. Your legs are trembling, but he doesn’t give you time to recover.

Large hands hook under your knees and pull until your thighs wrap around his hips, ankles locking at the small of his back.

The position opens you completely, and the blunt head of his cock slides teasingly through your soaked folds.

You whimper while he hisses through clenched teeth.

“ Look at you…” He murmurs, voice low and rough.

He drags his length upward, laying the heavy shaft along your soft belly. The tip reaches past your navel is farther than should be possible.

“ Tell me, Liebling…think this will fit inside your tight little cunt?”

You shake your head frantically, eyes wide. “ No way…”

He laughs, dark and fond, the sound vibrating against your skin. “ Trust me. Trust my cock.”

He tucks a strand of sweat-damp hair behind your ear, thumb stroking your cheek. “ You were made for me. Every inch of you was built to take me. I’ll prove it.”

He wraps a fist around himself, stroking lazily, eyes never leaving yours. The fat head dips lower, sliding through your slickness, nudging your entrance.

It's poking, retreating then poking again until you’re squirming and whining.

“ Stay calm, baby.” He soothes, leaning down until his forehead almost touches yours.

“ Tell me something…” His tongue flicks out, tracing your lower lip.

“ Did you ever fantasize about this? About being fucked properly?”

You hesitate. He grips your chin, forcing your gaze to his.

“ Be honest.”

“ Y-yes.” You admit in a broken whisper.

“ But…I never thought it would be you.”

A slow, wicked grin spreads beneath the mask.

“ I’m honored to be the only man who gets to ruin you.” He presses a soft kiss to the corner of your mouth and is almost tender then lines himself up again.

The blunt tip breaches you slowly, stretching, burning. You hiss sharply, fingers digging into his shoulders.

“ Breathe.” He whispers, kissing you deep and slow to distract you.

“ It hurts at first. I know. But I promise, but soon you’ll be addicted to this feeling. Addicted to me.”

One sharp, controlled thrust and he sinks halfway in. The stretch is overwhelming and tears prick your eyes as something inside gives way.

You cry out, half pain and half shock.

“ Shh, shh…” He hushes immediately, stilling, buried deep.

His arms wrap around you, holding you close. “ Good girl. So fucking good. Taking me so well already.”

He buries his face in your neck, lips brushing the marks he left earlier. “ I’ve got you.”

He doesn’t move, letting your body adjust around the impossible girth. You cling to him, breathing ragged, feeling every throb of his cock inside you.

Minutes pass, two or maybe three until the burn fades into a heavy, aching fullness.

Your nails scrape lightly down his back, a tentative signal.

He lifts his head, searching your face. “ Ready?”

You nod, biting your lip.

He groans like a dying man and starts to move slowly and deliberately drags that make you feel every ridge and vein. Your walls flutter around him, gripping so tightly he curses under his breath.

“ Scheiße…so verdammt eng. Sucking me in like you never want me to leave.”

His pace builds gradually, thrusts deepening until he’s seated fully on every stroke. You cling harder, moaning into his shoulder as pleasure finally overtakes the pain.

Suddenly he pulls out completely.

You gasp at the emptiness, hips chasing him instinctively.

“ Turn over.” He orders, voice rough.

“ Ass up for me.”

You roll onto your stomach, face pressed to the sheets. He strokes himself once, twice, then lands sharp slaps across your ass and thighs.

It's stinging, and possessive marks that make you yelp and arch. Before the sting fades, he’s pushing back in from behind.

The new angle takes him deeper and impossibly deep. You cry out, muffled by the mattress, as he bottoms out against your cervix.

“ Fuck…yes.” He growls, collapsing over your back, one arm banding across your chest.

“ Feel that? That’s me owning you.”

He fucks you hard and steady, hips snapping, skin slapping skin.

Every thrust punches the air from your lungs.

You moan helplessly, fingers clawing the sheets. He shifts again then suddenly, strong arms are flipping you both until he’s sitting against the headboard and you’re straddling him once more.

“ Your turn…” He says, eyes blazing.

“ Fuck yourself on my cock. Show me how much you want it.”

You whimper, but his hands guide your hips. You grip his shaft that is still slick with you and sink down slowly.

The position drives him even deeper as the head kisses your womb. You collapse forward onto his chest with a broken cry.

“ That’s it.” He praises, voice strained.

“ Ride me.”

You start moving. It's awkward at first, then bolder by rolling your hips, and grinding down. His huge hands seize your ass, kneading roughly, then spanking until your skin burns with handprints.

“ Good girl…faster…ja, just like that—”

Pleasure coils tight again. You’re so close when he suddenly stills you.

“ Enough.” He snarls.

“ Let me finish this.”

His arms wrap around your waist like iron bands, hugging you tight to his chest. Then he takes over in brutal, and upward thrusts that drill into you relentlessly.

The headboard bangs against the wall.

“ Cum with me.” He demands between gritted teeth.

“ Milk my cock…let me feel you fall apart.”

One final, deep thrust and you shatter.

The orgasm is ripping through you harder than any before. Your legs quake uncontrollably, walls clamping down in waves. König roars your name, hips jerking erratically as he cums in hot, thick pulses flooding you, and marking you inside just like he promised.

You feel every spurt while his cock throbbing deep.

Finally spent, you collapse fully onto his chest, both of you panting, sweat-slick and trembling. After a long moment, a soft, incredulous laugh rumbles from him.

He strokes your back gently, almost reverently.

“ I can’t believe it.” He murmurs against your temple.

“ I finally got to own you. Thought you’d stay a fantasy forever.” His lips brush your skin.

“ Thank God for that night I walked in on you. It gave me the push I needed to claim what’s mine.”

You’re too boneless to answer, but you press closer, feeling his heartbeat thunder under your cheek.

He holds you tighter, possessive and content.

Mine as the embrace says.

And for the first time, you don’t want to argue.

…

The fairy lights are back on at Puma’s, bottles scattered across the carpet like always. The girls are deep in their usual chaos.

They recapping bad dates, mediocre hookups, and one disastrous attempt at anal that has everyone howling.

You sit tucked into the corner of the sectional, knees drawn up, sipping your drink slowly.

You're quiet. Too quiet.

Your body still remembers yesterday in aching detail.

The stretch, the burn, and the way König filled you so completely you saw stars.

Every time you shift, a dull throb between your legs reminds you exactly how big he is. You’re sore in places you didn’t know could be sore.

And yet…you can’t stop the tiny, secret smile that keeps tugging at your lips.

Lila stops mid-sentence, eyes narrowing. “ Hold up. Why are you glowing like you swallowed a ring light?”

Puma leans forward, smirking. “ And why are you sitting like you rode a horse for twelve hours straight?”

Heat floods your face. “ It’s just…natural glow. Good skincare.”

Four sets of eyes roll in perfect synchronization.

“ Girl, we know post-dick glow when we see it.” Puma says flatly.

“ That’s not La Mer. That’s laid.”

You hide behind your cup, mumbling, “ Fine. I…finally did it. The other day.”

The room explodes.

“ YES!” Lila throws both hands up like her team just scored.

“ About damn time!” Gina cheers.

“ Details!” Puma demands, crawling closer.

“ Who? When? How many times? Spill!”

You bite your lip, cheeks burning hotter. “ It was…König.”

Silence. Then four jaws drop in unison.

“ Your scary-hot soldier neighbor?” Lila squeaks.

“ THE NEIGHBOR?!”

“ MASK GUY?!”

“ SPECIAL FORCES HULK?!”

“ The one who kicked in your door during solo orgasm hour?” Puma adds.

You nod miserably.

“ How the hell did that happen?” Someone demands.

You exhale, defeated. “ My kitchen sink pipe burst. Plumbers were booked. I went next door…asked if he could fix it.”

The room goes dead quiet for half a second then erupts again.

“ Oh my God, he fixed your pipe.” Puma cackles, falling sideways into Lila.

“ He really fixed it well, huh?”

You groan, covering your face. “ Stop.”

“ No, no, continue.” Lila says, wiping tears.

“ What happened next?”

You peek through your fingers. “ He came over. Got under the sink. I tried to help with the flashlight. Ended up…straddling his chest to get the angle right.”

They lose it again.

“ Then?” Puma prompts, eyes gleaming.

“ Then he kind of…lost control. Carried me upstairs. And…” You trail off, gesturing vaguely.

“ And?” They chorus.

You drop your voice to a whisper. “ He was…huge. Like…scary huge. I didn’t think it would fit. He had to go really slow at first. But then…”

You blow out a breath. “ It was intense. He was intense. Aggressive but careful. Kept calling me filthy things in German. Marked me everywhere. Made me come so many times I lost count.”

Puma fans herself dramatically. “ Soldiers, man. Built like tanks, fuck like they’re storming a beach.”

Lila leans in. “ Scale of one to ten?”

You hesitate. “...Twenty.”

They scream.

“ Details on the size.” Puma demands.

“ We need visuals.”

You hold your hands apart like an embarrassing distance.

Their eyes widened.

“ No fucking way.” Someone breathes.

“ He reached here…” You admit, pressing a palm low on your belly.

“ Every time. I felt him for hours after.”

Lila pretends to faint.

“ And the stamina?” Puma asks.

You laugh, shy and giddy at once. “ We went until I literally couldn’t move. He carried me to the bathroom after because my legs were jelly.”

The teasing comes fast and relentless.

“ Guess he really did come running when he heard you needed your pipes cleaned.”

“ Bet he used all his special forces training and precision insertion.”

“ Careful, babe, you keep limping like that and he’s gonna come fix round two.”

“ Look at you…” Puma teases.

“ Walking around bow-legged because your soldier neighbor rearranged your guts. Bet you can still feel him when you sit down.”

You groan, hiding your face in a pillow, but you’re smiling. “ Shut up.”

“ No chance, girl.” Lila laughs.

“ This is prime teasing material for life. You went from virgin queen to getting absolutely wrecked by Captain Austria in one afternoon.”

“ Bet he ruined you for normal-sized men forever.” Someone else chimes in.

You don’t deny it.

You can’t.

Because every time you close your eyes, you feel him.

König stretching you open, growling your name, and filling you so completely the world narrowed to just the two of you.

You throw a pillow at them, face on fire, but you’re laughing too.

Because yeah, in every ache, every mark, and every sore muscle feels like a badge.

Puma raises her glass. “ To our girl who is finally properly railed by the masked mountain next door.”

Glasses clink. You duck your head, smiling into your drink. And between your thighs, the delicious throb echoes.

Mine.

You’re not sure you’ll ever walk normally again.

You’re not sure you want to.

[anghimalaaynasapuso]

DISCORD BOYFRIEND KÖNIG

sfw + nsfw. this is just an amalgamation of all my ideas

könig has never been one for putting his face on social media. even before the scars that pull at the skin of his cheek, reshaping his expression in ways he’s never fully grown used to, the idea of being seen, really seen, has never sat right with him. there’s a certain comfort in anonymity, in keeping the world at arm’s length. easier that way. safer.

that unease, paired with what some might consider his more nerdy interests, means he gravitates toward spaces like discord rather than the highly curated feeds of instagram or facebook. there, he doesn’t have to worry about photos or videos— just a username, and a presence in text.

his handle is simple: king 👑. a nod to the name he’s carried for so long, stripped of rank, stripped of weight.

even in the server where he’s most active, he keeps things vague, blending into discussions about games, military history, or whatever niche interest has caught his attention that week.

every now and then, he’ll let something slip— a mention of deployment, an offhand comment, disappearing for months at a time, only to return with a sudden burst of activity. some put the pieces together. most don’t. and könig prefers it that way. it’s easier to let them think he’s just another guy with spotty internet.

your first interaction is rather simple in retrospect.

he’s back after weeks of recon, shaking off the mission like dirt from his boots, easing into the familiarity of a gaming server he’s called home for years.

it’s not a small server, so new people come and go. he does his usual routine— an automated, slightly impersonal welcome but what he doesn’t expect is the sheer enthusiasm in return.

“hi!!!!”

he stares at the message for a second, counting the exclamation marks. three. four. five? a small smile tugs at his lips before he even realizes it.

it doesn’t take long before you’re at his metaphorical side, sending a friend request before the conversation even shifts from your college courses.

the older members tease him. something about his last deployment scrambling his head enough to take a newbie under his wing. he lets them talk. he doesn’t mind.

soon enough, you’re in his private messages, dramatically lamenting your latest loss in a game he’s only vaguely familiar with. könig listens— well, reads— as you rant, words spilling out at a rapid-fire pace, interspersed with keyboard smashing and increasingly incoherent frustration.

he’s not much for new releases, preferring to sink his teeth into a single game for months on end, grinding away until mastery is muscle memory. still-

one evening, without preamble, he sends you a link. his profile. in your game.

the response is immediate. ‘king!!! 🥺’ you type, followed by an onslaught of keyboard mashing that takes up half his screen.

he exhales a short laugh, shaking his head. he wonders if you know how easy it is to make him grin like an idiot.

the calls are… an unexpected development.

könig doesn’t make a habit to join server calls. ever. it’s not even about anxiety, not really, just preference. too many voices, too much noise. he never expected to be comfortable enough with anyone to want to be in a call, let alone initiate one.

but when you start gaming together, it becomes a necessity. typing mid-match isn’t exactly efficient, and you’re the first to point that out.

“okay, listen, king, i am not about to lose another ranked match just because you take five years to type ‘behind you.’” he huffs, amused, but relents.

soon enough, calls become second nature— no longer tied to gaming, no longer requiring an excuse. you always ask first, polite thing that you are, and könig always agrees. sometimes it’s an unspoken invitation, a simple “call?” sent in the quiet hours of the night. sometimes he beats you to it, pressing the button before he can think too hard about it.

one time, it’s you who calls. he answers on the first ring.

“are you- wait.” you pause, listening. there’s a distinct, rhythmic thud-thud-thud in the background. not footsteps, but something heavier, more controlled. “are you on a treadmill?”

“mm.” his voice is steady, unaffected. a quiet confirmation.

you gasp, and he can practically hear the amusement brewing in your tone. “oh my god! you actually work out? i thought you were lying.”

he snorts, breath hitching slightly as he adjusts his pace. “why would i lie about that?”

“i don’t know! you just- i mean, you sit at your desk all day, playing the same game for hours, and you’re always online at weird times-”

“you are describing yourself,” he points out.

“shut up.”

there’s a pause, and then, with the kind of mischief that only comes from knowing exactly how to push his buttons, you add, “prove it.”

he slows to a walk, swiping open his phone. a moment later, you receive a picture. him, flexing. the lighting is dim, but you can still make out the cut of his forearm, the solid shape of his bicep. just to humor you, he throws up a peace sign.

“not stolen from pinterest.”

you burst into laughter so sudden and bright that he finds himself smiling before he can stop it.

you learn what it means to miss könig pretty early on.

it happens suddenly. one day, he’s there, active as usual, sending the occasional meme, idling in voice chat even if he’s not talking. the next? radio silence. not even a ‘typing…’ indicator.

at first, you don’t think much of it. maybe he’s sleeping in. maybe he’s busy. time zones are weird. it’s fine.

but then a whole day passes. then another. you check his status— nothing. not offline, not do not disturb, just… gone.

curiosity turns into concern, and before you can think better of it, you ask in the server.

“hey, anyone heard from king?”

the response is casual. unbothered. “oh, dude’s probably deployed again.”

you blink. reread the message. “deployed?”

“yeah, king’s military.”

there’s no warning for the way that statement knocks the air from your lungs.

military? as in, real-life combat? as in, war zones and danger and actual life-or-death situations?

you stare at the screen, fingers hovering over the keyboard, unsure what to even say to that.

he doesn’t resurface for weeks.

you don’t realize how much you’ve come to rely on his presence until it’s gone. his absence is loud in the quiet moments of your day, in the spaces where a message from him would normally be.

you check the server out of habit, catching yourself before you can search his username. it’s stupid, you think. you barely know him. he’s just some guy from a discord server.

but the worry lingers.

and then, one day, just like that— he’s back.

his return is as unceremonious as his disappearance.

no dramatic entrance, no fanfare. just a simple “hello.”

you see it the moment he sends it. your stomach flips.

before you can stop yourself, you send a private message. “you’re alive.”

a moment passes. then— “yes.”

you frown. “you were gone for weeks.”

“i know.”

frustration bubbles up. “you could’ve said something.”

“i couldn’t.”

you hesitate, fingers tightening around your phone. you don’t know what you were expecting. an explanation? reassurance? but it’s clear you’re not getting one.

but then, a follow-up message. one that feels heavier, more careful. “i’m sorry.”

and just like that, the irritation dissolves.

it’s strange, the way things slip back into place after that.

he doesn’t talk about it, and you don’t ask. but something shifts. after that deployment, könig starts telling you when he’ll be gone. nothing in detail, really. just a simple, “i’ll be away for a bit.”

(it means everything.)

slowly, you get used to it. the rhythm of his presence and absence, the way your conversations pick up right where they left off, as if no time has passed at all.

it goes on for months. this… thing between the two of you. könig doesn’t hesitate to call it friendship, though he knows, knows, it’s something else entirely.

something with edges softer than companionship, something that lingers in the pauses between conversation, in the way you had whispered his real name under your breath when he revealed it to you.

he doesn’t rush to name it. doesn’t push. he lets it simmer until it feels inevitable.

in the end, it’s you who breaks first. technically. not that he’s keeping score. not that he would ever rub it in your face, especially when he was a mere day away from asking the very same thing.

it starts with a message. no preamble, no buildup. just a simple: hey, what are we?

könig sees it and reacts before thinking. presses the call button so fast his thumb practically smashes the screen. it rings once, twice—

“you didn’t even ask.” your voice comes through, half exasperated, half amused.

“didn’t want to give you time to unsend.” his own voice is steady, but his heart is anything but.

you huff. “bold assumption.”

“not really.”

a pause. he hears you shift, fabric rustling, the sound of you settling in. something warm and slow uncoils in his chest at the familiarity of it.

“so,” you start, hesitant. “what’s your answer?”

könig exhales, tipping his head back against his pillow. “do you want the truth?”

“obviously.”

he hums, considering. in reality, he’s known the truth for a while now. probably before you even realized it yourself.

“i like you,” he says, simple, sure. then, because he knows you, because he knows your deflections, your habit of teasing when you get nervous, he adds, “and i’m very aware you like me back.”

you sputter. “that’s a bold assumption-”

“not really,” he repeats, smug this time.

you groan, but you’re laughing, and it sends something bright flickering through him.

könig doesn’t ask for nudes. not once. he flirts, he teases, but never pushes. he knows your boundaries, respects them, never even hints at wanting more. if anything, he’s careful. too careful, sometimes. like he’s afraid of crossing a line you haven’t even drawn.

so when you finally send something, it’s your choice.

the first picture is tame. barely anything. it's a shot of your thighs, soft and warm in the low light of your room. nothing scandalous. nothing too revealing. but the second you hit send, your stomach twists with nerves.

könig sees it immediately. you watch the typing bubble appear, disappear, then appear again. and then— “fuck.”

you grin. “good?”

“you have no idea.”

it only escalates from there.

könig never requests more. but when you send it, when you want to send it, his reaction is worth it. he worships you through the screen, tells you how beautiful you are, how much he wishes he could touch you.

“pretty,” he texts once, attached to a voice message.

you press play. his breath is ragged, like he’s just run a mile. “pretty thing,” he repeats, voice tinged with something almost reverent. “you’re going to ruin me, love.”

the first time he sends you something, it takes him forever to work up to it.

you don’t ask for it. wouldn’t dream of pushing him into something he’s not comfortable with. könig isn’t shy, necessarily, but he’s private. you know that by now.

so when, out of nowhere, a picture pops up on your screen, your brain short-circuits.

it’s cropped carefully, but there’s no mistaking what you’re looking at— bare skin, broad shoulders, his stomach flexed just slightly.

“you like?” he texts after a minute.

you swallow hard. “yes.”

“good.” and then— “more?”

you bite your lip. “please.”

könig gets bolder after that.

he sends more. never too much, always teasing, always just enough to leave you wanting. sometimes it’s his hands, sometimes it’s his abs, the sharp cut of his hip bones, the waistband of his sweatpants hanging just low enough to make your mouth water.

one night, he sends a voice message instead. you press play.

at first, all you hear is his breathing. then, slowly, softly— your name, whispered through a noise that makes heat bloom low in your stomach.

“wish you were here,” he murmurs. “wish you could see what you do to me.”

the actual nudes don’t take long. not ar all. you’re both desperate. buzzing. könig’s the one who caves first.

it starts with your text. 10 p.m., the hour where inhibitions slip through grasping fingers like sand.

“wanna see your cock so bad, könig…” you murmur to your propped phone, cheek pressed to your pillow, another one stuffed against your chest like it might replace the hollow ache between your ribs. a distraction. a poor substitute.

on the other side of the screen, he exhales, dragging a hand down his face. fingers tensing, then flexing, like he needs something to hold onto. “love-” your whine cuts through before he can even think. instinctive. needy. his stomach clenches. “okay, okay. as long as you're sure.”

his heart pounds as he opens his photos. he doesn’t exactly collect dick pics, but there are a few kept locked away, private albums, a passcode he suddenly fumbles to enter.

three minutes. that’s how long it takes to choose the best one. the right angle. the right lighting. enough to make your breath hitch when you see it.

he hits send before he can overthink it, then leans back, phone balanced on his thigh, bottom lip caught between his teeth.

your phone buzzes. the photo pops up. you blink, breath hitching sharp in your throat.

“oh my god.” the words spill out of you before you can even think to stop them. “könig…” you stare at the screen, gaze locked on the thick, heavy length of him. the way it curves slightly, resting against his thigh like it’s weighed down by its own sheer mass. your breath stutters.

“you're so fucking big.” it barely registers that you've said it aloud.

“yeah? you like it?

“like it?” you shoot back. “i want it inside me.”

his breath leaves him in one harsh exhale. he shifts, hips rolling involuntarily like he can feel your words on his skin.

“can i see you too?” he sounds so polite. and then, as if that wasn’t enough to twist the knife deeper— “please?”

your stomach flips. you bite your lip, already reaching for your phone camera, the need to show him everything burning through you like wildfire.

your breath comes shallow as you slip your hand lower, phone steady in the other. the need is a pulse under your skin, throbbing, insistent. you pull the covers back just enough, the cool air prickling against the heat between your thighs.

the camera catches everything. your slightly parted thighs, your swollen clit, the wetness gushing out of your hole. it feels like baring a secret you’ve never told anyone. you hesitate for half a second, heart racing, then hit send.

the second the message disappears from your screen, it hits you— you just sent that to him.

on his end, könig freezes. the photo loads slow, torturous, and when it finally pops up, he feels his whole body tense, blood rushing south so fast it’s dizzying. “f-fuck, i need to be inside of you-”

sex with könig, if you can even call it that, at first, sneaks up on you. you never thought you’d be the kind of person who got into this. sending texts that made your face burn, leaving voice messages you could barely listen back to without cringing. but with him, it’s different. easier. less embarrassing because it’s him.

still, going from nudes to actual phone sex takes some time.

“gonna sleep,” könig texts you once, attached to a blurry photo of his bed.

“alone?” you send back, teasing.

the typing bubble appears. then disappears. then— “obviously.”

you grin at your phone, satisfied. but then— “but i could use some company.”

you stare at the message longer than you’d like to admit.

in the past, you hadn't told him how many times you’d dreamt of him because you thought you'd scare him off, kept your mouth shut about the images that haunted you at night, of his hands pinning you down, his mouth at your throat.

didn't tell him that you had woken up panting, arousal between your thighs, könig’s name on your lips too many times. didn't tell him that you had pressed your hand against your clit during your calls, to the sound of his voice, to his laugh, to the quiet, wrecked groans he sometimes lets out when he stretches after a workout.

but you wanted to.

and tonight, you would.

the conversation turns slow. lazy. heavy with something unspoken.

“you sound tired,” könig murmurs, voice warm. he’s always like this late at night. soft, unhurried, like he’s sinking into the sound of you.

you swallow hard. your skin feels too hot, too tight. “i’m not.”

a pause. then, lower— “what is it, love?”

you hesitate, pressing your lips together. it’s too much. too embarrassing. but he knows something is different.

“talk to me. tell me what you’re thinking.”

you let out a shaky breath. “i had a dream about you.”

the silence stretches.

you can hear him inhale. you bite your lip. force yourself to continue. “i think about you. when i-” you stop. you can’t say it. can’t admit it.

könig exhales through his nose, like he’s trying to steady himself. “when you what?”

your stomach is a knot of nerves. but you want this. want him. so you take a breath, close your eyes. “when i touch myself.”

his breath stutters.

“fuck.” the word is almost a groan. your pulse hammers, blood rushing through your ear as heat pools in your stomach.

“könig,” you whisper.

he exhales, whispers his next words like a beg, “say it again.”

you swallow. “i touch myself to you.”

“i do too.”

your stomach flips. “what?”

“i-” he cuts himself off with a quiet curse, like he's frustrated with himself for hesitating. “i touch myself to you too.”

your breath catches. heat blooms in your chest, spreading down your spine. “könig-”

“all the time.” his voice is lower now, raw, like he's aching with it. “when i can't sleep. when you're on call with me, laughing, teasing me. when i wake up hard in the middle of the night and can’t stop thinking about stuffing you full.”

your body is burning again, despite the aftershocks still rolling through you. you're about to choke out a reply when you hear it— the rustle of fabric, the faint creak of bedsprings, the wet slide of skin on skin.

“are you-”

a sharp inhale. “yes.”

“let me hear you,” you whisper, thinking about his pretty, pretty cock. uncut, soft skin stretched over the flushed head, the way it would slide back when he’s fully hard, revealing the deep pink of his leaking tip. the veins that wind down the length, standing out against the pale skin

there's a pause, a hitch in his breath. then, slowly— “okay.”

there's a small rustle, könig adjusting himself on the bed. the faint sound of him pumping lotion on his hand. a quiet sigh. and then, a low grunt as the warmth of his palm wraps around his cock.

könig looks down at his hand, eyes half-lidded, hips bucking up in small thrusts. he imagines your pussy instead of his fist, hot and tight and so fucking warm, fluttering around his length as he pushes in, spearing you open with a cock too big for your little cunny.

he knows you’d cry for him, little gasps and hiccupped moans, squirming beneath him as he bullies his cock deeper, past that tight ring of muscle into the slick, warm clutch of your cunt.

“a-ah- fuck, ah-”

your breath stutters at the sounds, hips grinding against your palm. “wish i could see you.”

“on cam?”

you groan, squeezing your thighs around the pillow in-between your legs, grinding your clit against the material softly. “yes, please..”

fuck, you're so polite.

[machveil]

that creepy loser roommate konig post is like. we can solve this problem . make him yr pet. he can be yr sub. u dont even have to try very hard to take full command of him 💃 it doesnt even have to be sexual on yr end

it will be sexual on yr end, LoserRoommate!König time😈✨

CW: GN!Reader, laundry theft, walking in on König mid jerk, orgasm denial, yaay blubbering wet mess König

LoserRoommate!König who’s guilt ridden every time he steps into your room. his stomach twists with disgust at his own actions, but it does little to deter him from rifling through your dirty laundry while you’re out. his throat tightens when he sees your underwear, face warm as he grabs one of your shirts instead. he feels so utterly undeserving to steal your undergarments. as much as he’d love to take one pair he can’t, the last time he even tried touching it his nerves got the best of him. you didn’t deserve a roommate who defiled your clothes, who went back to their room to jerk off to your scent. hand tightly fisting your shirt as he holds it to his face, breathing labored as he jerks off. the faint scent of your sweat and body wash clinging to the soft fabric has his thighs twitching, pace quickening as he whines

LoserRoommate!König who’s caught red handed when you come home. he hadn’t heard you call out, lost in his own world where you’re the one pumping him with a spit slicked hand. he’s dizzy with need when he loudly chokes out your name, freezing when you open his door. it’s nearly immediate how his neck flushes, quickly creeping up to his face and ears. pale blue eyes wide as he stares at you, ruddy tip leaking pre as you stare back. he remembers apologizing, your shirt still clutched in his hand while his eyes teared up. it’s all blur until you’re under him, the shirt he stole halfheartedly discarded on the floor. your hand gripping the collar of his shirt, tugging him down as his hips rut against yours

LoserRoommate!König blubbering apologies as works his cock into you, eyes bleary as he sniffles. he feels sick over being caught, but you had joined him— surely you couldn’t be that upset? you hadn’t yelled or cursed him out, this had to be a dream. swallowing thickly as he bullies himself deeper, his dips down as he moans, fat tears clumping to his lashes. you’re being so nice, keeping him close with another tug to his collar. it’s only when he starts to sputter ‘thank you’s, his pace faltering as he nears release, that you stop him. your foot rising to press against his hips. “König, I don’t think you’re that sorry.”, your words have his eyes snapping back to your face, eyebrows knitting with frantic worry. his building orgasm quickly fades as he sobs out more apologies, sclera tinted red from tears. it’s a draining process, desperately helping you orgasm while you stave off his own. despite his pleading, König couldn’t be happier knowing this is what he deserves

[sweetdarlingfic2]

Try a little tenderness

Cock warming könig brings him an insane amount of comfort.

König had a problem, well several, but the one that bothered you most was his insomnia. No matter where he was, be it a hotel bed, a barracks cot, or your own apartment, he just couldn’t switch his brain off. The man could drop an entire platoon in five minutes flat, but ask him to sleep? Impossible.

You’d catch him wide awake at ungodly hours, lying stiff as a board, eyes fixed on the ceiling like it personally offended him. The exhaustion had started showing, dark circles, slower reactions, a permanent case of the thousand yard stare. You worried, obviously. Sleep deprivation wasn’t just bad for his body but it also gnawed at his already anxious mind.

So, being the overly invested problem solver you were, you did some research. Most sources said things like “apply pressure,” “maintain closeness,” and “consider sexual release to promote relaxation.” You rolled your eyes at that last part, like you hadn’t already tried that one. But the first two? Those sparked an idea.

That night, after a particularly long “session,” instead of rolling off and going back to your respective sides of the bed, you stayed right where you were. Flat on top of him, with his length still buried deep in you.

König froze. His hands hovered awkwardly at your sides, like he wasn’t sure if this was part of some new kink or a medical emergency. You didn’t move, you just blinked up at him from, your half buried in his chest.

A few beats of silence passed. Then, his voice low and hesitant. “Is… something wrong, Schatz?”

You shook your head. “Nope. Therapeutic contact.”

He blinked, utterly lost. “Thera—what?”

“Shh,” you said, patting his chest like you were soothing a baby deer. “Science.”

His heart was racing so hard you could feel it against your palm. For once, though, he didn’t argue. Maybe because he didn’t want to wake you. Maybe because your weight really was grounding him. Either way, the next thing you knew, his breathing slowed… and he was asleep.

You smirked into his chest. “Told you,” you whispered, victorious. “Science.”

[dreaminguponlilypads]

little thought i had about mr. könig THAT CAN’T FLIRT.. i shall feed my babies with this. apologies if it sucks i haven’t written in so long

You met König on your second week at the training facility, when you were still trying to learn the layout and remember who’s who. Most people warn you about him immediately:

“Don’t stand too close, he gets jumpy.”

“He doesn’t talk much.”

“He’s… intense.”

So when you walk into the armory early one morning and see a massive figure crouched over a disassembled rifle, you almost back out quietly.

Almost.

Because he looks up at you. Startled, like a deer instead of a huge hunk of an operator, and his eyes flicker in a way that is unmistakably shy.

You offer a small wave. “Sorry. Didn’t know anyone was here.”

König stares a second too long, then jerks his head in something like a greeting. “It is… fine.”

You try to get your rifle out of your locker, but the latch is stuck. You tug once, twice. You mutter something you hope he doesn’t understand.

He understands.

“Nein, nein… stop,” he says suddenly, rising to his full intimidating height. He steps over, gently nudges you aside with two fingers on your shoulder, and inspects the lock.

“You pull wrong,” he says, as if this explains everything.

You blink. “Wrong?”

He nods earnestly. “Yes. You damage the hinge. Look.”

He taps it. You have no idea what you’re supposed to be looking at.

Before you can respond, he unjams it, fixes whatever problem he sees, and opens it with absurd ease.

He hands you your rifle. Doesn’t speak again.

You stand there, confused.

He walks away like nothing happened.

Over the next weeks, you notice a pattern.. or rather, you become the pattern.

He appears whenever something is going even mildly wrong with you.

Your bootlace snaps during a run?

He materializes out of thin air, kneels, and silently replaces the lace from his spare gear pouch.

“You tie too fast,” he mutters. “The knot becomes weak.”

You burn your tongue on hot soup?

He frowns, takes your spoon, and hands you a wooden one instead.

“Too hot for your tongue,” he says like you’re five years old.

You’re cleaning your rifle and miss a spot?

His shadow falls over the table.

“You forgot the carbon here.”

He swipes it clean with one controlled motion.

“Sloppy.”

You’d be offended if he didn’t sound so genuinely concerned every time.

It doesn’t exactly feel like criticism.. more like he’s trying to take care of you without admitting he’s trying to take care of you.

He watches you the way people watch things they don’t want to break.

And when he solves things his way, there’s always glimmer of satisfaction in his eyes. Juuust a little.

[ambush-park]

Realized something goes wrong

[luxcuriousao3]

30s-something virgin!König mistakes you for a prostitute when you start flirting with him one night at a club that Horangi and Krueger dragged him to. (The skimpy little outfit you have on adds to this misunderstanding--he's far from knowledgeable on trendy clubbing fashion).

He doesn't say anything until after the two of you have fucked, though, when he asks you how much he owes you for the best night of his life.

To say you're offended is an understatement.

Cue a flustered, awkward, newly deflowered König trying desperately to apologize to a furious you, all while trying to comprehend that a woman was genuinely interested in him for the first time--and quickly coming to an unshakable realization that he is not willing to let this once-in-a-lifetime girl go.

[redeyerhaenyra]

I would be so happy if you could write some so'lek smut 😭 there is not enough of this man

So'lek General NSFW Headcanons

Summary: So'lek.. So.. sex? Sex with So'lek

Warnings: Smut duh, So'lek is flirt, gender neutral reader, fingering, So'lek is a tease but he'll always leave you satisfied, body worship, dick headcanons 😋, precum, oral (m receiving), so'lek talks you thru it, praise kink, lmk if I missed anything!

Notes: YES YOU CAN YES GAWD!!! Btw I am writing an actual fic for him (not just hcs) but it's like sliiiightly dubcon so I'm posting it separately- enjoy some general nsfw hcs in the mean time!

FIRST OF ALL..

I read somewhere, I think on here, that someone headcanonned So'lek has hidden game- i.e, he isn't awkward or inexperienced he KNOOWWWSSS what to do he's suave. It's a skill he only uses when the time is right.. yk? AND I TOTALLY AGREEEE!!!!!

I know I KNOW he's just got the hidden talent to flirt with you in such EFFECTIVE ways you genuinely feel weak in the knees

Anyway onto the smut

Ive said it before- So'lek is incredibly in tune with you and your body, knows what you need and want before you even have to say anything

That being said..

Mmm I know he's the king of fingering i know it

And you bet his hands are nice and calloused from all that handling guns and such 🤤

Its thick btw

I know it is

Got a nice fat head to suckle on aswell 😋

I know he leaks like CRAZY aswell

Dont get me wrong he still has absolutely self control, hes still smooth and suave, hes just also making the inside of his tewng sticky and wet with pre

Vocal and not ashamed of it

I imagine, if reader is Sarentu, he feels kind of responsible to unteach you human modesty and shame that was forced on you while in TAP

So he's definitely also encouraging you to be loud and unashamed with your pleasure

Talks you through it

Will whisper very seductively in your ear, slowly, gently, whilst thrusting firmly but also slowly, into you

Big on praise, always telling you how good you are for him, how well you take his cock

He kisses your temple and tells you "well done," when you manage to take him all the way to the hilt- he knows how big he is! He knows its a challenge! And you're doing so good for him

He likes to hear the wet noises that eminate from between your legs when you're together it really gets him hot

So'lek isn't averse to quickies, but theyre not his favourite- he likes to take his time and worship you properly

That's not to say he doesn't do rough and hard, if you wish to be absolutely pounded into the floor, him holding you down and grunting in your ear, panting over you and you squirm and whine beneath him, that is what he will give you

He's a giver, he gets off knowing you are enjoying yourself

Worships your chest, whether you have breasts or not

His wrapping his big hands around your rips and kissing your chest like it is the only thing he has ever loved

Will nuzzle your chest and bite your nipples- not too hard, just enough to hear you yelp a bit, and then he'll immediately apologise, mumbling into your skin; "I'm sorry, ma yawntu, paskalin, I'm sorry, I just cannot resist, you are too perfectly biteable, I just cannot help myself, yes, I know.."

Please suck him off PLEASE

He would never ask for oral, he's honestly kinda embarrassed to! Your pleasure is always his first priority

He's not gonna say no though when you kneel between his legs so prettily like that..

His tail gonna be whipping about everywhere

Ears flicking, mouth open just groaning loudly up at the sky, praising you and thanking Eywa for your existence, begging you not to stop

If you deepthroat and swallow when he cums he will actually sob

Like his voice will crack as his peak hits him, hands desperately tangled in your hair or the ground or anything he can get a hold of

Honestly, I also think So'lek can be quite mean and teasing

I said you're pleasure is always his first priority, and it is! But..

Sometimes he just likes to.. draw it out, yknow? Trace his finger around your inner thigh, whispering in your ear and caressing your chest ever so lightly, and chuckling when you whinge for more

He just thinks you're so cute when you whine at him like that

Even if you're in a rush, So'lek will always make time for some aftercare :)

It makes him feel good to be looking after you, making sure you're safe

He'll fetch you both some water and then you can curl up together and gaze at the stars

You are so beautiful and precious to him, the majesty of the night sky is right there before him and yet, he can't take his eyes off of you

[moonstros1ty]

hey.. you guys probably don't care but

im still mourning this hunk of man na'vi

[kneelingshadowsalome]

Ghost masterlist

(Ghost art by Coruja3571/Twitter)

I Never Missed You {Bodyguard AU. Romance, smut, light angst, 18+}

Simon 'Ghost' Riley x F!Reader | He must be trained to be so calm, but you're not. You're used to making men a little stupid and flustered. You're used to men eating out of your hand. He's not behaving at all like he's supposed to... Simon Riley is just a mountain without emotion.

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

Anhedonia {Smut, hurt/comfort, 18+}

Simon 'Ghost' Riley x F!Reader | You would lick that blade clean if he asked gently, but he's not gentle. You'd flatten your tongue on his thighs too, if he asked nicely, if there was a chance he might pet your hair while you do it – but Ghost doesn't take pets. He only has soldiers. Subordinates.

Part 1 (5.5 k) | Part 2 (4.4 k)

Ghost stories {Smut, angst, Ghost POV, 18+}

Simon 'Ghost' Riley x FMedic!Reader | It's only work that awaits him. From dawn till dusk, with hungry arms and a cold, dead cunt.

Refugee (6.5 k) | Lazarus (5.7 k) | Immortal (5.5 k)

Man-sized {Romance, flangst, smut, 18+}

Simon 'Ghost' Riley x F!OC | Not only did he contact her, he sent her a picture of himself looking like… like war. The tired eyes stared at her from inside what looked like the top of a human skull attached to a black balaclava. He wasn't a foot soldier, or a mercenary, he wasn't even working for the UK version of a SWAT team. He was something else.

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9

Love is a Heavy Weapon (sequel to Man-sized on Ao3)

On Sarah & Simon's wedding How did the shibari class go? Will they ever have kids? Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

Drabbles & headcanons [18+]

Ghost x Virgin!Reader (2.9 k) This is not a Drill (2.2 k, size difference) Wildflowers Grow in Ruins (5 k, Reader tries to break up with Ghost) Couldn't Love You More (3.7 k, breeding kink)

Random headcanons Getting into a relationship with Ghost What would it take to win Ghost's heart?

[iszapizza]

Alternatively:

REVERSE ROBINS!! 🐦‍⬛🐦‍⬛🐦‍⬛🐦‍⬛

[kneelingshadowsalome]

König masterlist

Minotaur!König x Ariadne!Reader {Mythical AU, dubcon smut, 18+}

There’s nothing but ripped shreds of skin where the eyes should be, and instead of looking at you from the sides, they’re greeting you from the front. The horns are sturdy, but otherwise, the colossal head is a bit skewed... Thick patches of fur sticking out as if it was years and years old, and then – you realize it’s not his head; it’s only an illusion. There’s a man under there. A full, grown man who’s made himself a terrible helmet out of a bull’s carcass. 

Part 1 | Part 2

Christian Woman {Romance, fluff, smut, 18+}

König x Nun!Reader | This man could be your brother, you tell yourself. He could be a long-distance cousin. There’s nothing fishy going on around here, and he’s just visiting. You miss a few midday prayers, and once, your chores, and the relationship turns out to be far from platonic. König can’t even keep his eyes in check. 

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

Possession {Dark fic, angst, smut, 18+}

König x Maid!Reader | Poor thing doesn’t know that he may be rich and powerful and strong, but he’s not kind. He’s not considerate, and he’s not perfect. He’s her worst nightmare, he's everything a woman would despise. 

FATUM NOS IUNGEBIT {Historical AU. Roman Auxilia soldier!König with his spoils of war gf. Slow burn, romance, fluff, eventual smut, 18+}

König x F!Reader | The soldiers behind him shift with lust – their gear clinks as they devour you with unbridled hunger. The Titan is the only one who looks at you like you’re simply a cute little squirrel who happened to fall from a tree right there at his feet. Then his eyes drop to your breasts, and the familiar hunger that lives in men gives the ocean of his eyes a clouded look. When his stare finds yours again, he's a different man: the treacherous beast of your dreams.

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4

Valkyrie {Dubcon, smut, flangst, romance, 18+}

Virgin!König x F!OC | The situation had indeed taken a turn into a sick fairytale. Like, come on. Valkyrie and König? Some stupid hippie would've loved that: how it was meant to be, destined, even, that the two of them had met. That she was a damsel in distress, and he was here to save her from the ring of fire.

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

Just Friends {Dark romance, smut, violence, heavy angst, 18+ WARNING: Not safe or sane}

König x F!Reader | She's far too kind, that's what people always say, but she's also neck-deep into this goddamn creep at this point to do anything about it. The building is full of muscled men, men who are decent, and she chooses this… gift-bearing perv to crush on. In her judgment system, she's basically asking for it at this point.

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4

Even Demons are Lonely {Angst, pining, König POV, yandere, 18+} He comes back after a mission {Fluff, mild smut, angst, yandere, 18+} Just Friends playlist (by @evil-squint-etc) Art for Just Friends by @shizukaay0

[iydiamartinx]

THIS MEANS WAR I

Dick Grayson x Reader x Jason Todd

divider by: @cafekitsune & @thecutestgrotto word count: 3.6k synopsis: Gotham’s youngest neuroscience lecturer never planned to get tangled up with two of its most eligible bachelors. Both are determined to win her over—without revealing they know each other… or that they’re vigilantes. But when the Joker takes an interest in her, things get a whole lot more complicated. a/n: This story is inspired by the 2012 movie This Means War. I went back and forth on whether to write it with a named OC or in reader format—and ultimately decided to try something new and go with reader-insert. I usually write in third person with original characters, so this is a bit of a different style for me. As for who the reader ends up with… I haven’t made a final decision yet—maybe one of them, maybe both. Feel free to let me know who you’re rooting for! Hope you enjoy the chaos! warnings: None so far except for the fact that I don't know anything about neuroscience only what my research brings up, so I'm praying the shit I write makes sense

GOTHAM UNIVERSITY 

The lecture hall smelled like old paper and burnt coffee. You stood at the front, spine straight despite the fatigue threading through your muscles. Behind you, the whiteboard was half-covered in scrawls of chemical structures and dopamine pathways, neatly drawn and precisely labeled. It was the kind of lecture that left half the room wide-eyed with curiosity… and the other half silently praying for mercy.

With a quiet click, you capped your marker and continued. “Neurotransmitter binding is not a one-size-fits-all process,” you said, voice steady as your gaze swept across rows of glazed eyes and frantic scribbles. “It’s dynamic. It’s reactive. It’s shaped by genetics, trauma, medication—even what you ate for breakfast.”

A hand shot up in the second row.

“So… like, can serotonin make you hallucinate?”

You blinked. “No. And if it does, someone’s given you something else—and you should go to the ER. Immediately.”

A ripple of laughter. A few groans.

Another hand rose—this one from a sharp-eyed girl near the back. “In Joker toxin exposure cases, have you ever seen synthetic mimicry of dopamine flood patterns?”

Now that was a question worth respecting.

You’d specialized in Joker toxin during your postgraduate years, had seen firsthand the neurological carnage it left behind. The clown was a madman no doubt—but a dangerously brilliant madman.

Your mouth tugged into a faint smirk. “Yes. And no. But that’s a topic for next week.”

The clock ticked toward the hour. You fielded three more questions—one insightful, two exhausting—before dismissing the class. 

Backpacks zipped. Conversations stirred. As the last student filed out, you finally exhaled. Slowly. The silence was a relief.

Rolling your shoulders, you gathered your coat and bag, the weariness catching up to you in waves as you made your way toward the door—hungry, tired, and vaguely craving something that didn’t taste like caffeine or sugary energy drinks.

Gotham’s streets buzzed with their usual chaos—honking cabs, barking vendors, motorcycles weaving between traffic like they were flirting with death. You walked with familiar ease, the city noise fading beneath the throb behind your eyes and the pressure at the back of your skull.

Your hand drifted up to your bun. It had been tightly wound since six in the morning, and now it felt like a migraine on a countdown. Mercifully, you didn’t have to be in the lab today—no microscopes, no sterile gloves, no post-doc breathing down your neck. Just freedom. Glorious, unwashed, unbothered freedom.

So you didn’t hesitate. One by one, you tugged the pins from your hair, each metallic clink falling into your coat pocket like a tiny rebellion. The strands spilled down, wild and full of indents, but you didn’t care. You tipped your head back, rubbed at your aching scalp with slow, tender fingers, and sighed like you’d been holding your breath all day.

You looked like hell. You felt like hell. But you were done. No lectures. No lab reports. Your appearance be damned you just wanted to spend the rest of the day in comfort. 

Your boots clicked along the sidewalk as you headed toward Café Nero, already imagining the warmth of a latte in your hands—despite your earlier claim about cutting back on caffeine. A lie, obviously. Caffeine was practically your lifeblood— and something carby in your mouth.

But the universe had other plans.

You turned the corner—and nearly collided headfirst with a ghost.

Jake.

Three years of your life bundled into one name, one face. One half-curved smile that looked exactly like it used to and somehow worse now that it was being directed at someone else.

Three years of your life compressed into one name. One face. One irritatingly familiar smirk. His arm was around a tall blonde, her smile radiant and far too trusting. He wore the same smug charm he always had as he said something that had her giggling. 

He noticed you first.

“Hey!” he said, voice way too bright. “Y/N. Wow. You look…” his eyes flicked over your rumpled sweater, your wild hair, “…great. Still at the university? Tinkering away in your little lab?”

You straightened instinctively, spine snapping to attention like your body was trying to make up for the indignity of the moment. Of all the days to run into him.

“I am,” you replied, polite but clipped.

Three years together, and he still couldn’t grasp the importance of your work—or the lives it affected. Your research had been groundbreaking, and he’d always referred to it like you were tinkering with science fair projects.

The blonde leaned into his side with a warm smile. “You didn’t tell me your ex was brilliant and pretty.”

You wanted to hate her. Truly, you did. But unfortunately… she actually seemed sweet.

He laughed. “I forget sometimes.” Then turned back to you with that same infuriatingly casual smirk. “Oh—uh, Y/N, this is my fiancée, Hannah.”

The word hit like a slap.

Fiancée.

Only a year ago, you’d walked in on him and his yoga instructor, limbs tangled and guilt nowhere in sight. He’d thrown away three years with you like it was nothing—and now, not even twelve months later, he’d found someone new and locked her down with a ring so big it probably needed its own insurance policy.

You managed a smile. A real one, for her sake. Sort of. “It’s nice to meet you.” Your eyes dropped to the large, glittering ring on her hand.

“Wow,” you said with a tight smile. “That’s… that’s a big rock.” You let out an awkward laugh, trying muster the slightest bit of enthusiasm you definitely weren’t feeling on the inside. “You’re engaged. To be married.”

Jake grinned. “Yeah. Things just… clicked. It was like fate.” Then he reached out and stroked her cheek with the kind of performative tenderness that made your stomach churn. 

God. How had you ever loved this man?

“Isn’t that right, baby?” he murmured.

Someone gag you with a spoon.

You stood there, frozen in place, as Jake pulled Hannah in for a kiss—deep as if he was trying to fit his entire tongue down her throat. Screw you, you thought. Screw you for rubbing her in my face.

You cleared your throat, the sound awkward and a little too loud. “Well, I should get going,” you began—except your mouth didn’t stop there.

Your brain screamed abort, but your tongue had other plans.

“I actually have to go meet my guy. Yeah, he’s a neuroscientist too. We, uh… met at work.” You nodded like that somehow made it more convincing. “Anyway…”

You cleared your throat again, silently begging yourself to shut up.

“It was… great seeing you. And congrats. On the ring. The upcoming wedding. Your whole… life. All of it.” You winced inwardly. “Well… Peace.”

And if that wasn’t humiliating enough, you topped it off by flashing a peace sign like some glitching robot before turning and briskly walking away.

The second you were out of sight, your smile collapsed. You pressed your lips together, debating whether to scream into the sky or crawl into the nearest sewer.

“Someone kill me right now,” you muttered under your breath.

CAFÉ NERO

You finally made it to the café, and with it, your mortification began to loosen its grip. The familiar scent of roasted beans and fresh pastries wrapped around you like a warm blanket, softening the sting of everything that had come before.

Inside, it was calm—the gentle hiss of the espresso machine, the clink of ceramic, the low murmur of scattered conversations. A peaceful hum that felt like the complete opposite of Jake and his nauseating tongue display.

You slipped into your usual seat at the counter, letting your bag slump to the floor, and leaned against the worn wood like it might hold you up a little longer.

“Ah! Doctora!” Juan greeted you with a bright smile from behind the bar.

He was a sweet kid—maybe nineteen—who’d moved to Gotham from Mexico about six months ago. His English was improving steadily, though every now and then he’d still stumble over a few words. You’d quietly helped where you could. While he knew your name, he aways insisted on calling you Doctora like it was your superhero title. 

You snorted at the thought. You, a superhero? You couldn’t even save yourself from an awkward conversation with your ex.

“The usual?” he asked, already reaching for your cup.

“Si, please,” you nodded.

He glanced up with a curious smile. “Long day?”

You let out a soft groan, dropping your face into your hands. “You have no idea.”

The door chimed behind you, but you didn’t bother looking up. Not until you felt someone hovering a little too close to the seat beside you. 

You prayed your luck wasn’t that shitty.

But of course, it was.

Jake’s familiar chuckle slid into your ears like nails on glass. You closed your eyes for half a second, steeling yourself, before slowly peeling your face from your hands.

“This is too funny,” he said with a grin. “What a coincidence.”

“Right! Absolutely hilarious,” you replied, forcing a smile that you hoped didn’t look as fake as it felt as you saw Jake and Hannah standing there.

“I’m assuming this is your boyfriend’s seat?” Jake asked, eyes glinting with amusement.

“Oh, ye—”

Before you could finish, Juan slid your drink across the counter, cheerful as ever.

“No, Doctora,” he said, accent warm, words slightly clipped at the edges. “Order for one. Always order for one. Seat is free.”

You nearly choked on air.

Hannah giggled while Jake said nothing. Just raised his eyebrows slightly, in that smug little way he used to do when he thought he’d won something.

God, you wanted the ground to swallow you whole.

You smiled tightly. “It is. I’m meeting him back at work. Just stopped in quick. Juan, I thought I said I needed this to-go?”

Juan frowned, brows pinching together. “Mmm… no, I don’ think so. You say you finish work. You always sit here, like always.”

“Not this time,” you said—too sharp, too fast.

Juan’s face fell a little. Guilt bloomed in your chest like a bruise, he didn’t deserve that. It was your own damn fault for digging the hole in you were now.

You sighed, softer this time. “Lo siento, Juan. Can you make it to-go, please?”

He nodded, already reaching for the paper cup and bag.

You turned back to Jake with a forced laugh. “Seat’s all yours.”

The second Juan handed you the new cup and pastry bag, you thanked him quietly, paid, and practically sprinted for the door—mortified, humiliated, and more than ready to go home and bury yourself under ten layers of shame.

MILO & ANTHONY’S APARTMENT

“Ugh! I wanted to die right then and there,” you groaned, collapsing dramatically onto Milo and Anthony’s couch, a glass of wine already halfway gone. Their apartment was across from yours, and you’d made a beeline for it the second you got home, desperate to drink your embarrassment into submission. “I fucking peaced them.”

Anthony winced. “Yeah, that’s… pretty bad.”

“That’s because you need to go out more,” Milo said, waving his wine glass like a pointer. “Meet someone. Rub him all over Jake’s face like a human flex—same way he’s doing with that girl, Hayley.”

“Hannah,” you corrected automatically. “And she seemed sweet.”

“She could be as sweet as cotton candy dipped in honey and I still wouldn’t give a shit,” Milo snapped. “I give a shit about you. And you cannot keep letting that asshole rent space in your head.”

You opened your mouth, but Milo steamrolled right over you.

“Fine if you’re not ready for anything serious, but girl—you need to go out and get some good dick. That pussy is drier than the Sahara.”

You choked on your wine. “Hey! I get some!”

Milo deadpanned you. “Your vibrator doesn’t count. Honestly, it should start charging you. Thing looks like it’s about to file for workers’ comp.”

You blinked. “Have you been going through my drawers again?!”

He shrugged without shame. “I was looking for your face cream.”

“And you thought I keep that in my underwear drawer?” 

“Look, the point is,” he said, sitting forward, “you need to go out. Date. Even just a casual thing. I hate seeing you mope over that troll.”

“I’m not moping,” you muttered.

Anthony gave you a soft smile—too kind for this earth. “We’re just worried about you. And hey, for the record, we’re glad you moved here. You’re part of our chaos now.”

You exhaled, guilt and warmth stirring in your chest. “I know. It’s just… I can’t believe I was that blind. I nearly gave up everything for him. I even moved back to this shit-hole of a city—where clowns and penguins blow up buildings and guys in capes fight crime in full spandex.”

“Well, at least Gotham has a certain… charm,” Anthony offered.

“I mean, it’s great if your idea of charm is daily arson,” you deadpanned.

“We are happy you’re here,” Milo agreed, his voice softer for once. “But you’ve gotta stop beating yourself up. Even I thought he might’ve been your person—but he wasn’t. That’s on him. His loss, not yours. You’ve gotta move forward, babe.”

“I am dating,” you said weakly.

“No, you’re talking to people. You don’t even give them a real shot.” He raised his brows. “You can’t test chemistry without mixing the liquids.”

You rolled your eyes. “It’s more complex than just ‘mixing liquids,’ Milo. There’s neural signaling, oxytocin regulation, attachment frameworks, behavioral conditioning… Timing alone can throw everything off. You can’t just drop two people into a room and expect chemistry. That’s not chemistry—it’s chaos.”

“Why not?” Milo shrugged. “People do it all the time. You’re overthinking it—as usual. But if it helps, just treat it like another one of your experiments.”

“It’s not that simple,” you argued. “My experiments have structure. Charts. Data. Equations. Control groups.”

“Exactly!” Milo clapped his hands. “Which is why you should try online dating. They have charts and shit.”

You let out a snort. “Please. In this city? Knowing my luck, I’d end up matched with a serial killer. Or worse—the Joker.”

Anthony tilted his head thoughtfully. “Does the Joker even online date?”

Milo groaned. “You’re both insane. There are plenty of semi-normal people on those apps. It’s how me and Anthony met.”

You gave him a flat look. “Exactly.”

You gave him a long, pointed look. “Point proven.”

“No.” Milo leaned in. “The point is you need to get back out there. Whether it’s for a wham-bam-thank-you-man kind of night, or you end up calling me crying because you just met the father of your future babies—I don’t care. You just can’t keep living in Jake’s memory. Not everyone is like him.”

You groaned, tipping back the rest of your wine in one go. “I know that.”

He raised an eyebrow, giving you a look.

“I do!” you insisted. “Look, can we table this for now? I just want to drown my feelings and make future-me regret the hangover I’m definitely earning tonight.”

GOTHAM ROOFTOPS

Boots hit the edge of a rooftop with a soft scrape of gravel. Jason Todd scanned the streets below, hands resting at his sides, jacket collar tugged up against the bite of the early spring cold. He moved with restless energy—agitated, impatient, ready for something to go wrong.

“This is a bust,” he muttered into the comms. “Three blocks, no action. Not even a wannabe thug with a pocket knife and poor life choices. I’m starting to think Gotham forgot how to be Gotham.”

There was a beat of silence before Dick’s voice came through, dry and amused.

“Or maybe you’re just scaring the criminals too much, Hood. Ever consider early retirement?”

Jason rolled his eyes behind the mask. “Only if you go first, Nightwing. I thought Blüdhaven was where all the action was—what’re you doing slumming it with us Gotham bottom-feeders?”

“It is,” Dick replied. “But every now and then I like to slum it with my baby brother. Make sure you’re not burning down half the city in my absence.”

Jason snorted. “You’re only older by what, five years and a moral superiority complex?”

Before Dick could answer, Barbara’s voice cut in over the channel, sharp and clear.

“Seems like you’re about to get your wish, Jason. I’ve got eyes on suspicious movement down at the docks—east side, Warehouse Eleven.” Barbara drawled through the comms. 

Jason was already moving, boots hitting gravel as he took off across the rooftop. “Now we’re talking.”

Dick followed a step behind, vaulting over a low pipe with practiced ease. “Arms deal?”

“Most likely,” Barbara confirmed. “Thermal scans show at least four bodies. No confirmed ID yet, but one of them matches a known associate of Black Mask.  “Be smart. And try not to level the building, Jason.”

“No promises,” he said, grin audible.

WAREHOUSE ELEVEN, EAST DOCKS

The docks were dead quiet when they arrived—too quiet. The kind of stillness that always meant something was waiting to go wrong. The air smelled like oil and sea rot, and the only sounds were the soft lapping of water and the occasional creak of aging chains swaying in the wind.

Jason crouched at the edge of a container stack, pistols holstered at his thighs, his gaze locked on the warehouse below. His breath clouded in the cool air.

“East lot’s clear,” he murmured into the comms. “Nothing but rats and roaches.”

Dick landed beside him in a soundless roll. “So, your usual crowd.”

Jason didn’t glance over. “That’s twice tonight. Keep it up and I’ll tell everyone you cried during that Pixar movie.”

“I was twelve. And it was Up, you heartless bastard.”

“Still counts.”

They moved in silence, slipping through a broken window high on the warehouse wall. Their boots hit the rafters without a whisper. Below them, four men circled a battered folding table strewn with crates, unmarked cases, and haphazard stacks of cash. A single overhead bulb flickered overhead, casting shifting shadows across the concrete floor.

Jason zoomed in with his HUD. “I know that one—left side. Carlo Mancini. Low-tier runner for Sionis. Looks like he’s about to piss himself.”

“Might mean he knows something,” Dick murmured.

They listened.

“I’m tellin’ you,” Mancini hissed, voice tight and shaky. “It’s gonna be big. Joker-level big.”

One of the others scoffed. “The hell you talkin’ about? Joker’s been off the grid for months.”

“Yeah, and now he’s back. Lookin’ for someone—some guy who used to run with him, then bailed. Word is, he took something. Something important.”

Jason’s fingers curled slowly around the grip of his pistol.

“It’s not his usual stuff either,” Mancini went on, voice dropping to a whisper. “Heard it’s from Scarecrow too. Some freak chemical—don’t kill you right away. Makes you laugh yourself insane. Till your heart gives out.”

A beat of silence.

“No cure for it, either.”

Jason exhaled. “Shit.”

Beside him, Dick’s jaw flexed. “You thinking what I’m thinking?”

Jason gave a tight nod. “If the Joker and Scarecrow teamed up and made something new—and someone stole it…”

Dick’s voice was grim. “Then Gotham just became a countdown clock. And we’re already late.”

Without another word, they moved.

Jason dropped from the rafters like a shadow cutting through fog, landing hard enough to make one of the thugs flinch. Dick followed a breath behind, graceful and quiet. By the time the first man reached for his weapon, Jason had already disarmed him with a sharp twist of his wrist and sent him sprawling with a solid elbow to the jaw.

Dick swept the legs out from under another, zip-tying his wrists with practiced ease. The other two barely had time to shout before they were taken down—one with a stun baton to the ribs, the other with a boot to the sternum.

Mancini tried to run.

Jason caught him by the collar, slammed him against a crate with just enough force to knock the air from his lungs. “Going somewhere?”

The runner gasped, eyes wide with panic. “I didn’t—look, I don’t know anything!”

“You know enough to be scared,” Jason growled, pressing his forearm into the man’s throat. “So start talking.”

“Okay—okay!” Mancini wheezed, both hands raised in surrender. “I just heard whispers, man. Word on the street is Joker and the ‘crow are lookin’ for someone—most likely one of his old runners. Said he took something. Chemical notes, maybe the whole damn formula. Whatever it is, it’s important. Real important. Joker’s tearing through people trying to get it back.”

Jason’s gaze darkened. “You know who this guy is?”

“No name,” Mancini coughed. “Just that he used to run logistics—backdoor stuff. Quiet type. Smart guy. Kept to himself. Real ghost.”

“Not smart enough if he got himself tangled up with the Joker and Scarecrow,” Dick muttered.

Jason’s hand tightened. For a moment, Dick thought he might snap.

“Jason,” he said, quiet. A reminder.

Jason let go.

Mancini dropped to his knees, coughing and trembling. Jason stepped back into the shadows, tapping his comm.

“You catch all that, Oracle?”

Barbara’s voice filtered in, sharp and efficient. “Every word. Red Robin and B are already digging. If this guy’s in Gotham, we’ll find him. But until then, you two are off the clock. Get some rest.”

Jason exhaled through his nose. “Yeah. Sure.”

Dick shot him a look. “Try to actually listen for once. Not everything has to be solved in one night.” 

With that, he clapped Jason on the shoulder and nudged him toward the exit—just as the distant wail of GCPD sirens broke the silence, growing louder with every passing second. Cleanup crew was on its way.

Jason didn’t answer. His jaw was tight, his thoughts already miles ahead—backtracking whispers, dissecting clues, remembering the sound of laughter that still echoed in the corners of his nightmares.

It was rare for the Joker to get invested in anything. He thrived on chaos, not consistency. But if he was serious enough to go out of his way to hunt down some nobody, then whoever had the formula was sitting on a bomb.

Next Chapter →

[jjenthusee]

Handshakes And Trash Cans

Pairing: Jason Todd x Reader

a/n: simply, i wrote a lot and i didn’t wanna release it in parts, so i squeezed the entire fic here. I’ve been having fun writing small excerpts and then they turn into full fics. Jason deserves all the love, so i focused on a neighbors to lovers? No mention of vigilante stuff, but tons of domesticity. With some mentions of big brother Dick (i’m a firm believer that he’s the number one supporter of Jason and just wants the best for him), a bit of steaminess if u squint, and a very devoted Jason. leave me any comments if your comfortable sharing because i wanna know what u guys think XD and if you were crying screaming sliding down the wall like i was (also despite me still being in my repenting era, i wanted to release this as an early apology cause i wanna write another angsty drabble so maybe…maybe not look forward to that) ENJOY (link to the work before this one here)

word count: 7.1k

tags: pining, tons of fluff, strangers to friends to lovers, heartfelt confessions, big brother dick shenanigans

When you got your first two-bedroom apartment, you always thought the dream would only be possible with a roommate. You didn’t have much money during college and transitioning into a full-time job didn’t allow you to freely spend outside of necessities and rent.

But you did it. You got two bedrooms and you didn’t initially know what to do with the extra room. A hobby space, a library, a guest room, or an office? There were too many possibilities.

This was your space, so you combined it all. A basket to keep all of your current craft obsessions next to a bean bag, two full shelves of books from your childhood to your university years, and a desk in the corner to write. It was everything you hoped for. A spot to leave work out of, to decompress and remember the things that made you happy.

You were proud you did it on your own. You could enjoy solitude, your hard work and give time to prioritize yourself.

But an unexpected accomplishment came with an unexpected visitor. A handsome visitor no less. Maybe being an adult wasn’t so bad all the time.

…

But meeting new people was bad. Or you were bad at it.

When you were up at two in the morning, doing normal two a.m. activities like trying to turn your entire life around, you believed that dragging yourself to one of the community events at the apartment complex would help you get to know your neighbors. Then you could scope the scene to see if you wanted to hide forever or maybe have a friendly acquaintance you acknowledged in the hallway.

Now you wanted neither as you sat, alone, at a bar stool in the well decorated community balcony. Although you were distancing yourself from the main party, you couldn’t help admiring the string lights they hung up, the pristine décor, and new furniture. They clearly went through a grand renovation before you moved in.

Despite your need to socially decompress from all the small talk, you did feel mellow in the warm lighting, listening to the slow music you quietly hummed to.

The view was great from your table, you got to see from the edge of the balcony into the city view. Gotham City did have its moments and lots of outsiders tend to see all the bad that overruns it, but when the city is calm, it has its own virtue.

As you watched the sky line, a man also decided to join in, admiring the city lights. He stood farther from where you sat, leaning against the glass and steel railing. He was probably distancing himself from the party like you were. You could only see half of his face from your current angle and distance, but he was…charming. Broody and charming.

Gotham did have the best views, but staring was bad. A little bit of hope crept into your mind at the thought of a handsome neighbor living in the same apartment building.

Another pretty man joined him. Wow, you never realized that Gotham had a lot of great views. Maybe you needed to get out more, enjoy the scenery a bit.

The two beautiful men seemed to know each other. One more talkative than the other, but they seemed close. It was amusing watching the way they contrasted one another, a man clearly dragged to be here tonight and the other fueling himself with the night vibe.

As much as you wanted to continue to be nosy, maybe it was time to call it a night, it was late and you got enough of your pretty boy fill for the evening. Which would have been the plan if you didn’t make eye contact with the second model that blessed your eyes.

You nervously observed the charismatic man walking toward you with a bright friendly smile.

“Hello, I just wanted to ask if my brother—the tall very alone one standing over there—could be tall and very alone over here, in this seat.” He dragged the stool out from underneath the glass table you were resting your arms on.

You looked at the empty seat across from you, then glanced at his presumed brother you were staring at earlier. He clearly didn’t agree to this sudden turn of events as he watched the two of you talk and he looked more mortified than you were. It was…cute. It brought a smile to your face.

“Well, your tall and very alone brother looks scared of me.” You glanced back to the man still holding the chair out.

Your comment must have been hysterical at the way the man was almost leaning forward from laughing. His dimples fully visible and his hair falling forward. Everything he did looked stunning.

“I promise he’s friendlier than he looks.” He breathlessly held his stomach still amused at your first impression of his broody brother. “He’s tall, alone, and friendly if it helps.”

You thought for a moment, debating on your options: leave or sit with a handsome man in possibly awkward silence.

“I don’t mind being alone together.” You smiled more, giving into the curiosity of the man leaning against the railing.

You were a simple human and apparently the man in front of you was too when he ushered his brother over. A man much too large for the bar stool, but you got a good look at his full face.

The curls, defined dark eyebrows, a white streak. His face had definition, a particular beauty that differed from his brother. Not less beautiful, but you were more drawn to the rougher look.

You definitely made the right choice.

Before you had any time to say anything, the conspirator left to go mingle with another bunch of attendees. You watched him hop from one conversation to another, you didn’t know whether he knew them or he just met them like you had five seconds ago.

“I think social anxiety is scared of him.” You laughed in disbelief to your new companion.

“Trust me, you have no idea. I’ve seen him wear some of the most horrendous outfits in public, willingly. What’s worse is—I hate to admit it—but he can pull it off, in a horrifying way.” The stranger shook his head, no mortification in his voice, and you almost unconsciously lulled to the sound. “But he means well, uh, sorry he dragged you into whatever he’s planning. I could leave you alone, he tends to unintentionally be pushy.”

Oh? Broody, charming and thoughtful. Was the bar low or were you easily impressed? Maybe the husky voice is blurring the distinction.

“No, it’s okay, he seemed worried about both us being ‘very alone’ as he put it.” You spoke, glancing into the eyes of the man in front of you. Greenish blue. A wave of amusement washed over you and with the most serious expression you could muster, you decided to test the waters. “From one alone person to another, let’s be alone together.” You reached out your hand to introduce yourself.

He coyly smiled at your formal gesture, leaning in to mimic your movement. You were both leaning onto the glass table, close enough to see the slight scaring on his face. Faint enough to see them only if you were close enough, wanting to drag your thumb across them.

His warm hand engulfed yours. Calloused. A firm handshake.

“Jason, alone man, and been alone for twenty-one years.” Jason gave you the most breathtaking smile, never letting go of your hand. “I’m looking forward to this opportunity…alone, of course.”

You laughed, almost giggled from how charming this man was.

“It’s been twenty-three alone years and still counting.” You mischievously smirked, glad he joined in on your antics. “I’m glad to let you join the team. I expect great things from you.”

“And I hope to learn a lot from my superiors, I’ll be in your care.” Jason’s voice was so low at the end of his statement. It caught you off guard that you almost missed the way he held onto your hand just a tiny bit longer than you anticipated. So short that you felt like you imagined it.

The warmth still lingered on your hands after you let go.

You were so engrossed in Jason’s company and Jason only had the eyes to look at you, that neither of you could see the man, who schemed your interaction, was beaming from watching the connection spark.

…

That single handshake and nonchalant agreement that you shared with an unknown neighbor actually kept it’s promise. That evening, you found out that Jason lived on the same floor as you did, that his brother visited him a lot, and he took out the trash on Wednesdays.

He didn’t tell you the last one, but you found out the last bit of information by accident when you bumped into him on your way back from the trash room. You thought the evening you met Jason would be the first and last time you would see him, but your laziness prevented you from taking out the garbage on your designated day and you were graced with seeing his lopsided smile as you passed him in the hallway.

You were so giddy from the surprise and seeing Jason’s captivating smile, you tested your luck and took the trash out on the same day and time the following week.

You listened out in the hallway, trying to hear a door open, it was honestly crazy behavior, but you continued your slow pace, but with no tall alone man in sight and a defeated sigh, you walked to the trash room with no Jason by your side and swung the door open.

Like a beam of light cascading over you, the man in question was standing in front of you, opening the trash shoot. You never thought a man in a trash room would be sexy, but with his shirt tightly straining on his body, a flushed face, and his muscles eye level with you, anything was possible.

May whoever told this gorgeous man to live at this apartment complex eat delicious meals, have working phone chargers, and a lifetime of happiness.

Somewhere off in the far distance, Dick sneezed.

You almost forgot the reason you were in the trash room after you set your eyes on Jason’s post-workout state. He kept the shoot open for you and with unsteady steps you threw your trash bag to disappear to the unknown. You were trying to not trip up with Jason’s defined arm holding the handle open and the close proximity of his chest to your face.

Maybe you need to go on a run. Why were you acting like this right now?

“Hey, neighbor.” Jason casually spoke to you. His voice felt airy, probably winding down from the exercise. “You come around here often?”

You cleared your mind from any thoughts, the trash room was not the place to start flirting, but what were you supposed to do when Jason started it? Or what you assumed to be flirtatious conversation.

“Nah, I’m new to town.” You glanced over to him, leaning your neck back to grasp his full height. Jason hadn’t missed the movement, combing your collarbone with his gaze. “But, I might stay a while.” You melodically spoke.

Before your stare and voice settled in the air, you stepped to the side to add a little distance between the two of you. Pulling away from the tension.

“Just so I can continue my alone things.” You explained trying to smoothen the mood with a playful tone.

Jason stayed quiet like he was contemplating something in his mind. Then he let the trash shoot close and with small steps the both of you walked out into the hallway.

“What alone things do you have planned tomorrow?” Jason nonchalantly asked, so casually you almost thought you heard wrong.

“Uh, work in the morning, but nothing planned for the evening, I wanted to try out a new cookie recipe.”

“Do you wanna come over to my place—I wanted to cook something for dinner, but it just hasn’t worked out yet. Maybe you can bring those cookies?” Jason didn’t look at you, suddenly interested in the pure white walls of the hallway. He rubbed the back of his neck with his hand.

You were stunned. How was such a beautiful man asking you to come over to his place with the promise of him cooking you dinner and all you had to do was bring your shitty cookies?

“I want to warn you that my cookies aren’t award worthy. I just follow the recipe, they’re nothing special.” You wanted to ensure that Jason was really inviting you over.

“Then I can’t wait to try your ‘nothing special’ cookies.” He reassured.

…

You spent the entire afternoon making sure your measurements were precise, not a lump of flour above the rim of the measuring utensils you haven’t brought out in a while. Usually you winged the ingredients, not really worried about the quality too much since it was just you.

But now you wanted to cry.

How did you properly fold ingredients, were you whisking right, maybe you should’ve got the too expensive butter from the store?

It took three full hours to prep, bake, and try your hand at cutely packaging the cookies. It took four attempts to arrange the cookies in a way that didn’t make you want to cancel the dinner.

But after a few pep talks in the mirror and reassuring yourself that this was a hang out and not a date, then you were able to walk over to his unit number.

You hesitantly knocked on the door, five minutes after seven because you would torture yourself thinking about arriving right on the dot before you fell asleep tonight and every night after.

Your worries left your mind when you saw Jason open the door in an apron.

“You’re just in time, I’m ready to plate everything.” He beamed.

Your heart might not be able to survive tonight. But it was just dinner.

You awkwardly handed Jason your tin of homemade cookies. You tried to limit your snooping around his apartment when he told you to wait for him to get the drinks, but curiosity was coursing through you once you realized that you were being invited into a part of Jason’s life and home.

You were no longer going to be strangers. You didn’t know if this qualified to make you friends, but you knew you were two people about to eat dinner together. A dinner he made and cookies you made as thanks.

Once you were ready to eat, you stared at your plate filled with spices, fresh veggies, a meticulously cooked entrée and a…homemade lemonade? You stared up at Jason, watching you look at his food.

“I feel like bringing you cookies isn’t enough.” Although you felt guilty, you took a bite because you didn’t want to look at one more second of Jason’s shining eyes.

You could only sigh, which made Jason worry.

“I think I’m going to name my children after you.”

Jason chuckled at your exaggeration.

“I’d be honored.”

The rest of the meal was relaxing. You didn’t have to force yourself around Jason. Your conversation flowed easily and you were interested in learning about the man you met on the balcony.

…

After many trips to the other side of the apartment building and a couple of deep cleanings of your apartment, you got accustomed to having Jason walk around your kitchen, rummaging the cabinets and organizing your spices the way he likes it.

One shared meal after another. Sometimes several times a week or spaced out further when work got busy. It was nice to look forward to a meal with Jason.

Now you had text messages from him on your phone, a designated mug for him, and a couple of his snacks that he wanted you to try.

You traded recipes. Jason gave you his favorites and you mainly just gave him ones you were curious about, not very fond of your kitchen.

After several failed attempts at convincing him that it was your kitchen that was the problem and not your ability to cook, he came over more to prove you wrong.

Now you sat at your kitchen island to watch him concentrate on mixing an assortment of spices and herbs while you memorized as much of his face and hands as possible. The TV was on, but you had no interest in whatever movie played.

“I have a confession to make.” You sadly looked at Jason.

He glanced over from the pan on the stove to your face. Confusion in his eyes from your sudden change in tone.

“I actually don’t really like cookies.” You threw your hands up in a guilty pose. “Now it’s eating me inside that I had to give those to you when I first came over to your place.”

Jason hummed and tilted his head with one of his eyebrows raised in a teasing manner.

“So, the guilt finally got to you, huh?” He grinned moving his attention back to the food cooking in front of him. His nonchalant voice resonating around you.

“I can’t sleep at night anymore.” You exaggerated, walking a little closer to his side. “Well, once you became my personal chef I realized I had to make it up to you.” You could smell the food better now that you were standing next to Jason.

“I can see the guilt in your eyes.” He flatly said watching you eyeing the food.

“We always eat when we hang out and I can make simple foods, but if I can follow a recipe I was going to suggest if I should cook something, but you are also here to prove me wrong that my kitchen isn’t cursed. Which it is by the way—”

“Your kitchen is not cursed.” He warmly scolded you. “I’ll come over everyday to prove it if I have to.”

You always had to reset your brain when he used that tone with you. It just felt too…sincere. Too intimate.

You wanted him to come over everyday. You took a breath.

“I make more money than when I was still in college, but I don’t think I can afford that many grocery bills.” You teased him. “Why do you think I go over to your place?”

You wanted to evade any serious topics and humor was the best at evading. You were good at avoidance.

“So, I’m a free pantry to you?” His eyebrows rose, questioning you. “I knew you were using me!” He faked a flabbergasted voice like he just heard his life-long partner declare they were cheating on him for months.

He turned off the stove, covering the pan with the lid and turning to face you.

“I didn’t mean to, it just sort of happened.” You gave him your best dejected look. “I promise I’ll pick up more shifts to help restock your fridge, but let me just taste your homemade ravioli one last time.” You begged as he moved closer to you, closing you in with the kitchen island behind your back.

His height and broad shoulders easily caved you in. You gulped watching his face lean down and inch closer.

“If I can’t trust you with my fridge, you don’t deserve my ravioli.” He lowered his voice, gazing down at you with a look that made you breathless. You couldn’t move with the counter behind you and Jason hovering dangerously close to you. “But, you can make it up to me.” He brought his thumb to your chin, barely a wisp of touch.

“How?” You stammered, wondering if the bit was still going.

“Let’s go to the farmer’s market tomorrow.” His hand moved from your face to the edge of the counter, close enough to touch your side and his voice returning to normal, but he didn’t pull away.

“Okay, uh, I’m off tomorrow.” You stared, darting your eyes between Jason’s eyes. Trying to adjust to the tension that was radiating off of him.

“Good, foods ready.” Jason pulled away, moving to the cabinet to grab your glass plates. He was too familiar with the layout of your kitchen.

That night you quickly learned how easy Jason was able to turn the tables. Your racing heart and shallow breathing were the only evidence of it ever happening.

…

The heat beat down on you. Of all days for Gotham to finally clear it’s clouds, it chose today.

Although you weren’t fond of the warm air, you liked watching all the colorful tents, the food on display, and seeing the various local products. Everything looked intricately cared for and it brought a proud feeling to contribute to the locals.

“Bags?” Jason asked, going through his mental checklist.

“Check.” You raised the reusable grocery bags in your hands.

“Hats?”

“Check.” You nudged the baseball cap on your head.

“Money?” Jason smirked.

You grabbed onto Jason’s bicep. Giving it a gentle squeeze.

“Check.” You grinned up at Jason looking at the placement of your hand. “Now let’s go!” You gleefully led him to the first tent with your hand still on him.

You had no idea how you ended up carrying all the bags, but you were trying to ease your mind that this could be considered a date. Jason didn’t call it that and you never asked to clarify, but you couldn’t help it itching at your brain.

You didn’t want to label anything, out of respect for Jason and what he wanted, but you noticed he had started to touch you more and the contact makes you giddy that you had to put all of your focus on making sure you don’t drop his produce.

You stood by Jason, looking at various jars of loose leaf tea. He was smelling all the aromas, helping to move the jars to your nose, so you could smell them too. He insisted on helping you since you refused to give him a bag, but you also didn’t have a free hand to grab the jar.

After a couple more sniff tests, he settled on a jar of prickly pear tea, a lemon-ginger flavor, and he was contemplating on some earl grey cookies. You were watching him, entranced by his concentration. His brows lowered, a small line appearing between his brows. You could see more of his face with a cap on, no messy curls on his forehead and his side profile was really something.

You broke out of your trance when he offered you a piece of the earl-grey cookie, holding it in front of your mouth.

“They’re free samples, try it.” He looked at you, waiting patiently. “I know you don’t like cookies, but these are made with the tea sold here. I saw all the tea you keep in your pantry, so I think you would like it.”

In your lost state at this man in front of you, that could’ve sounded like a proposal to you at that point.

You inched forward, opening your mouth for the cookie. You hesitated at the intimacy, but how could you tell that face ‘no.’ Staring at the small piece of cookie, baked a quarter of the original size they sold, you also saw all the scars that littered Jason’s hands. Many healed over, but you could see the faded lines.

You dangerously wanted to kiss each one.

You grabbed the piece in your mouth, but you didn’t realize that you accidentally touched Jason’s finger with your lip.

You quickly glanced at Jason, but his eyes were glossed over. His attention focused on your mouth.

What a sight.

You chewed and hummed. They were good. Jason cleared his throat at your approval.

“I’ll get a bag and the tea. I’ll be back. You can put the bags down for a bit because there’s a small line.” He quickly turned around, a small tinge of redness left on his ears with his head turned away from you.

You watched his back walk away, then settled the bags down to give your arms a break.

“Excuse me, I just wanted to tell you that you two are adorable.” A honeyed voice spoke trying to grab your attention.

Your head whipped back to the table of teas. An older lady restocking the various collection had a mischievous look in her eye. You hadn’t noticed her there at all.

“The way your boyfriend looks at you, I haven’t seen a look like that since my husband passed many years ago.” The lady gushed.

“Wha, no, I—“ You stammered, trying to clear up the confusion, but your flustered face must’ve amused the woman.

“That made my day, so I wanted to give you this lemon bar we just started selling. Go on, take it and share it with him.” She pressured you to take the free treat. You were too speechless to try to refuse it and insist that you pay before she placed it in your hand herself and she walked off to help another customer wanting a sample.

Your face felt hot and you hoped it cleared before Jason came back, but before you could fan the redness away he appeared next to you with his purchase.

“Hey, you okay? Where’d you get that lemon—”

“Let’s get some lunch!” You grabbed the bags and nudged him to the food trucks lining the edge of the market, trying to hide your face with your hat and leaving the comments from the woman behind.

…

“Wow, this might be the best empanada I’ve ever had.” You chomped at your lunch.

Jason found a waffle place and settled on a berry topping. It was wrapped perfectly to fit in his hands.

You sat across from Jason at an outdoor table with an umbrella to shield you from the sun, sitting away from the rush of people lining up to also eat. The midday lunch rush got to you and you wanted to have a bit of privacy before you went back home.

“How long have you known about this place?” You asked Jason, a slight breeze grazing your face. Watching a kid nudging his dad for a piece of banana bread he found on one of the vendor’s tables.

“Last year? It was recent, but I’ve heard it’s been around for a while. Maybe over five years?” Jason took a bite of his waffle.

“I wish I had found this during my university years. This is a bit out of the way of my walk route, but it would’ve been awesome to browse with my friend.” You saw the boy you were watching earlier smiling wide as he held his dad’s hand and the banana loaf as big as his head. You smiled at the interaction.

“But I probably would’ve sent my friend into shock.” You continued, the boy and his dad disappearing into the crowd. “I wasn’t very social during my university years.” You glanced at Jason, his waffle gone and he was neatly folding the wrapper.

“My friend would joke that I would only meet someone if they magically met me at home. Like that was the only way I could score a date.” You pitifully joked at the old memory. “Sounds absurd doesn’t it, but she wasn’t wrong—“

You saw a shift in Jason’s eyes. He had an oddly serious look, it stopped you from talking and you sat up straighter, wondering what he was thinking about.

You waited, watching him internally fight with whatever he wanted to say.

“That’s not true.” He hesitated. “You’re funny, you’re able to connect with others, you’re a great listener, and you’re honest. You don’t have the heart to be mean to others and your facial expressions are adorable.” His voice rose the longer he defended you. His serious expression further amplified with his furrowed eyebrows. A part of his face obscured by his cap, but you felt the raw emotion emanating from him.

“Anyone would be enamored with you, even if they met you in the hallway or walking down the street.” He puffed, crushing the waffle paper on the table.

You were surprised, glancing over at Jason, watching him get this frustrated. You realized you’ve never seen him this…emotional and he refused to look at you.

The sudden development and his clear thoughts about you stunned you. You joked with Jason how alone you both were, it even brought you together thanks to his brother, but you didn’t really know how alone he truly was. You don’t think he really understood how lonely you were too.

You enjoyed your shared meals, you craved his time and attention.

You got so used to his presence that the days you didn’t see him, you felt like you were dreaming. Waiting to wake up when you heard that familiar knock on your door.

Your heart raced and you hoped he cherished your time together like you did.

You didn’t want to assume his witty personality as being flirtatious, you didn’t want to misunderstand any of his intentions because he was funny, charming, and awkward in ways that you just wanted to grab his face and protect him.

You didn’t particularly need Jason as your person, that felt too selfish, but you also wanted to be somebody to him. Either next to him or from a distance.

A friend, a companion, a lover. The label didn’t really matter to you because you were open to any role. A lover wasn’t more significant than a friend would be. They both had the same foundation, to care for someone unconditionally.

You convinced yourself that you were happy alone, but not until recently you realized you weren’t living. You were asleep in the routine of life.

And when Jason entered your life, you felt like you woke up for the first time.

Like he was the only one who could wake you up.

All you knew was that you wanted to be there. Through his pain, his suffering, his happiest moments, his accomplishments, his anger. To be his person.

To also help him wake up.

Your silent contemplation made Jason panic.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to get worked up—“

“I think apartment community events count.” You softly whispered, indecisive of whether you wanted him to hear you or not.

“What—“

“And secret meetings in the trash room too.” Your voice meek.

You were shaking, too tense to look at his reaction to your words.

“Despite what she told me, I still managed to meet you. And I was able to have some of the best meals. I’ve never laughed as hard as I have when we joked. I’m able to try new things.” You raised your head, overwhelmed by your feelings, but you hoped to convey yourself properly to Jason. “I’ve never felt so comfortable and safe with anyone else.”

Jason looked at you wide eyed and speechless, his mouth slightly agape. You took the disbelief as a sign to continue.

“I’m able to be all those things that you said because I’m with you.” Your voice filled with more resolve the more concrete your feelings felt, the more sure you became. You squeezed your eyebrows together, complete sincerity in your gaze, your heart filled with so much emotion.

But your eyebrows relaxed once you saw Jason’s face turn red. His ears a crimson shade. Before you could engrave it in your memory, he tilted his head down, covering his face with the front of his baseball cap.

“Wait, wait, wait—I didn’t expect this.” Jason rubbed a hand down his face, but the redness contrasted the skin of his hand. “You were so shy every time I tried to push the boundaries between us, but now your directly confessing everything at once.”

He stopped rubbing his face and rested his hand on the table. Meeting your gaze, a tint of red still on his skin but not as deep as before.

“I’ve been trying to get closer to you. I’ve been hoping to run into you since we first talked on the balcony. When we met in the trash room, I purposely tried to meet you again. I’ve looked forward to every meal I’ve cooked for you and although I haven’t been clear about my feelings, I didn’t want to pressure or rush you.” Jason took a breath, closing his eyes for a moment.

When they opened again, his eyes were completely focused on you.

“I want us to be more than friends…I want to be able to come over when I miss you, fold laundry together, buy you things when they remind me of you, I want you to call me when you need car maintenance.” He kept his eyes trained on you, but his voice faltered. “I want to hold your hand and to kiss you. I want us to go on dates.”

You raised your hand to the table, placing your hand over Jason’s, but he quickly flipped your hands so he was holding yours a little more firmly.

“I want to know if you snore while you sleep, to have your things at my place, so I see you in every inch of my life. I want you to know how much I’ve fallen for you.”

“I want that too.” Your voice trembled. “I’ve been wanting to hold your hand while we walked today and I want you to come over more often.” You choked as Jason leaned in to caress your face with his hand. A sickening sweet touch that you never knew you would get to feel. You cupped your hand over his.

“I’m so happy. I’ve been wanting to tell you for a while.” Jason whispered to you, his voice so honey sweet.

You looked up to him. A gentle gaze reflecting back.

“I probably look like a mess right now.” You shakily laughed.

“Of course not, you’re breathtaking, sweetheart.” Jason rubbed a thumb on your cheek, completely enamored by you.

“As much as I would love to hear you continue, I’m worried about the stuff you bought and this heat.” You tried to focus, but the smooth touch of Jason was difficult to ignore.

“Yeah, we probably need to make our way back.”

Despite his words, he didn’t move. He lingered on your face a while longer before he looked at all the bags he accumulated this morning.

“Will you let me help you carry some of the bags?” He asked. “I also want to hold your hand on the way back.”

You beamed at him. Reaching for his hand as you stood up.

…

Your walk back was refreshing.

You were exhausted from the intense flux of emotions you released, but Jason’s grip on your hand stabilized you.

You couldn’t stop smiling, the heat no longer bothering you. You swung your interlaced hands to the motion of your steps and Jason let you do what you wanted as long as you still held on.

When you got to the entrance of your apartment building, you were graced with the AC hitting you. Your hair would definitely be messed up from the sweat and your cap.

You waited in front of the elevator doors as it descended from the last person that used it. The lobby was empty, except from the usual leasing office workers inhabiting the space, but it was just you and Jason off to the side.

As you glanced around, making sure the employees were occupied, you used your grip on Jason’s hand to pull him down enough for you to kiss his cheek. A little awkward with your cap in the way, but you were able to surprise Jason.

He stayed hunched forward, shifting his face to look at you closely and digest what you did.

Ding. The elevator doors opened and you pulled Jason in the elevator.

You felt accomplished as you pushed the button to your floor. When you moved back to Jason’s side, you looked up to him, but he grabbed your face.

His hand pushed your cap up, so he could lean in and kiss you. His hat also moving up at the angle he was in.

You closed your eyes, disoriented at the feeling and because Jason completely blocked your view of the elevator, so you only heard the doors close.

Lost in the feeling and the movement of his lips, you dropped the bags in your hand to grab at Jason’s sleeve, wanting to grasp at something.

You’ve never felt so desperate to get Jason even closer and he must have understood or he craved it more because he pushed you back against the elevator wall. You felt the cold metal against your back and you gasped.

Jason devoured the sound, motivating him to hold your waist, but it wasn’t enough for him. He crouched a little lower to grasp you behind your legs to lift you fully off the ground, inching your body up, higher and more level with his face.

The angle changed and you easily wrapped your arms around his neck while simultaneously wrapping your legs around his waist. The moment intensifying as you pulled at his hair below his hat and you swallowed the low groan that left his mouth. You were drawn to the deep sound and the feeling of the hum you felt on your mouth.

You were practically flush against his body and you were down to your last few breaths, but you didn’t want to pull your face away from Jason.

You nipped at his lower lip and he lifted his hands to cup the sides of your face, digging his fingers into your sweaty hair and rubbing the back of your ears. You opened your mouth wanting to feel more of him when you heard someone loudly clear their throat.

You pulled away, shoving Jason by his shoulders as he whipped his head to see where the voice came from. You fell to your feet trying to lean against the wall with the sudden motion, hair a mess with your cap lopsided as you looked past Jason to see Dick standing there with a hand on his waist and the other holding the elevator door open. He didn’t look at the two of you directly, more like a lost look to the side.

You breathlessly adjusted your cap as you frantically smoothed out your shirt.

Jason pulled his cap down as he sighed then redirected his attention to you, gently reaching out to you to smooth out some of your hair and help you stand up straighter. Then he grabbed the bags you both dropped on the floor as he turned around to face his brother.

“I didn’t know you were coming over. You should’ve texted.” Jason walked past his brother, annoyance laced in his voice.

“I did.” Dick replied. He looked at you then followed after Jason. “But it seems you were a little occupied.” Amusement coating his voice and visible in the way he walked.

“I see you’re getting to know your neighbors very well.” Dick teased, a giant grin on his face. “I’m glad.”

What a way to meet Jason’s brother again after all this time. You wanted the floor to open up and swallow you away from the lack of awareness you had to make out with Jason in public.

You couldn’t decide if it was worse that a stranger could’ve saw you or that Dick was the one who did.

“Yeah, yeah, come inside.” Jason unlocked the door to his apartment. You nervously followed after the two.

“No seriously, I’m glad you two continued to see each other.” A genuine comment from Dick. “I’ve never seen you so comfortable with someone, Jaybird.”

A small hum from Jason as he set the bags down onto the counter.

With no indication that he wanted to speak further, you decided to talk.

“I’m sorry we’re meeting again like this. I promise I’m usually a better influence.” Hopefully your lighthearted tone would give off a better impression than the one on the elevator.

“Ha! I know you are because,” Dick moved in closer, lowering his voice. “This is the most behaved I’ve seen Jason in months.”

“Alright, enough, dickwa—Dick,” Jason cleared his throat. “But we just got back and I want to shower. It was too damn hot today.”

“Oh, I bet it was—“

“Thank you! Never come by again. See you. Good Night.” Jason raised his voice, shoving his brother out the door.

“No, please, I swear I’m done!” Dick pleaded as he was trying to hang onto the door frame, but Jason closed the door before he could start to beg.

“Are you sure he’ll be alright?” You questioned Jason.

He didn’t bother to answer your question as he closed the space between you and wrapped his arms around you, resting his forehead on your shoulder and letting his hands intertwine around your waist, falling onto your lower back.

Jason signed into your shirt. The feeling slightly tickling you.

“I wasn’t done earlier.” He whispered against you. “Then that dickhead had to interrupt.”

You laughed, loving the pouty sound of his voice.

You embraced him back, leaning your head against his.

“I think the elevator interrupted you.” You rubbed his back in soothing circles.

You closed your eyes for a moment, letting a silence fall in Jason’s apartment before your curiosity got to you.

“Jaybird?”

“It’s a nickname.”

“It’s cute.”

“Enough about him, we need to put away all the stuff we bought.” Jason lifted his head to sullenly look at the numerous bags.

“That reminds me.” You let go of him to dig around the bags, trying to find your earlier gift. “I was told to share this with you by an older woman who thought my boyfriend was adorable.”

Jason shifted behind you. Closing his hands on the edges of the counter, both of his arms on your sides. Once you found the lemon bar, you turned your body, careful to lean against the counter with Jason’s body still in front of you, around you practically.

“It’s a new product. She said I could have it for making her day, but I have to thank you because we wouldn’t have gotten it without you.”

You opened the wrapper, breaking a piece off to feed to Jason.

“How does it taste?”

Jason lingered. You anticipated what he thought, but he leaned forward to kiss you. You held onto the lemon bar, but lowered it the more heated your kiss became. The tangy taste invading your mouth.

“Amazing.”

[morganbritton132]

AU where Tim, age nine, walked three miles to his neighbor’s house, held up his bleeding hand to Alfred, and asked if he could please have a bandaid. He got stitches instead, and a hug from Dick, who squeezed him tight and asked, “Can we keep him?”

And then Tim never went home again.

He learns gymnastics with Dick and reads in the library with Jason. He shows Alfred how to reset the wifi and rambles on to Bruce about his latest obsession (shipwrecks), and he never sees his parents again.

Behind the scenes, there was a kid left alone in a mansion while a whole international incident played out. It included a kidnapping, a ransom, a failed hostage negotiation, and two dead parents never coming home.

It pokes at a wound in Bruce when he is told about the Drakes and he has always been productive in tragedy. He knows how to shove the hurt away and build something strong on top of it.

The adoption was seamless. The sell of the Drake Estate was effortless. The trust for Tim. The memorial. The scholarships in Jack and Janet’s names. Bruce does it all methodical and singleminded.

And somewhere. Somehow. They forget to tell Tim.

Sometimes he misses his mom and dad. He misses his old room and being alone in a big house, but months turn to years and he likes it here. He really does. He has brothers here and Alfred, and they say they’re his family. He likes that.

They said they wanted to keep him, so they kept him. Kept him forever.

Then Damian is there.

Tim comes home and there’s a new boy, about the age he was when they got him. Tim asks in a whisper, “Did they take you too?”

[numbuh-7-knd]

Oh no, when Damian and Tim find out that Tim's parents are dead it's only going to reinforce the idea that Tim was kidnapped. They'll think that Bruce killed them or had them killed too take Tim. I wonder if Dami will reach out to Talia for help.

[morganbritton132]

Oh man, I love this addition because the moment they realize that Tim’s parents are dead and that they died a day before he came over with his bleeding hand, they are going to think about how Dick’s parents are dead. Jason’s parents are dead.

Then they’re going to think about how Bruce’s parents are dead, “And - and do think that Alfred killed Bruce’s mom and dad so he could be his dad?

“He learned it from somebody,” Damian nods, very serious. Then Alfred and Bruce walk into this very lived-in community space and he shouts at Bruce, “You better stay away from my mother!”

[numbuh-7-knd]

Alright, now I'm wondering if Tim and Dami would eventually try to approach one of the other bats with their concern. I feel like they would be most likely to talk to Jason or Cass about it. Jason because he already is perpetually angry at Bruce and Cass because it's Cass. Her bio parents are alive, and were terrible enough that if they were to die it wouldn't upset anyone.

Wait, did Jay even die and become Red Hood in this AU?

Nevermind when Duke shows up. Tim and Damian are going to wonder why Bruce killed everyone else's parents but left his driven mad like that. Is that more or less terrible than just killing them?

[letmegeek]

This is amazing. But also maybe Tim came to the kidnapping conclusion because of a friendship with Steph. She’s in a world where kidnapping means being trafficked so he can just think that he got a chill kidnapper and he shouldn’t rock the boat.

[morganbritton132]

@letmegeek That is an excellent way to introduce Steph.

I think Tim would come to the conclusion that he was kidnapped himself but I think Steph would reinforce it and she’d be the reason he never brought it up to anybody. She knows too many stories about what happens when people don’t know how to keep their mouths shut. She is openly antagonistic to Bruce on Tim’s behave though.

@numbuh-7-knd See, I think if you go a No Capes route than Jason never dies but as a Tim Gets Adopted Into The Batfam Early Au, Jason dies and comes back as Red Hood. Tim becomes Robin for all the same reasons he does in the comics, except that he doesn’t know what happened to Jason.

All he knows is that Jason ran away to find his mom, Bruce went after him, and now Jason and his mom are dead. He becomes Robin because Batman needs a Robin, and he develops an anxiety disorder because he knows what’s at stake if he fails.

Then the Red Hood story plays out with added angst because they’re brothers. Bruce adopts Cass, and then finds out he has a son and Damian comes to live with him. And then introduce Duke sooner than he would be in the comics while Tim and Damian are doing their investigation.

And that’s the only way I think a timeline would work that would include everybody in the story.

I do love Tim and Damian meeting Duke and realizing that his parents are alive. Insane but alive which is… “Different.”

“Methodology is changing. Interesting,” Damian adds, and Duke is just like, WTF is up with these two.

[letmegeek]

@morganbritton132

I feel like Duke would fall into the conspiracy. Duke, Tim, and Damian as an investigative trio. But things just don’t add up? Why would Bruce kidnap them just to parent them? They drive each other and themselves insane over the mystery.

And in the end it would be hilarious if it was Super anticlimactic. They sit down at like a family dinner and the truth just comes up. It’s chaotic but anticlimactic. It would become a family joke.

(Bruce would take Damian to the side and try to explain how he promises he won’t kill Talia and Damian can stop trying to thwart her murder. A lot makes more sense to him now)

[morganbritton132]

@letmegeek I fully support Duke, Damian, and Tim as our investigative team. It’s not even hard sell for Duke once they actually start explaining it because, “Rich people are weird. No offense, Tim.”

Then it’s just the three of them with a lot of string and push pins, and not one single agreed upon event because “what do you mean Bruce killed the Graysons and the Drakes, Jason’s parents and Jason, who is alive, but not Cass’ psycho dad and not Talia (yet!), and then drove my parents insane just to foster me??”

Meanwhile Bruce thinks that Duke and Damian have integrated into the family really well and he’s thrilled that the three of them are bonding.

I agree that the ending should be anticlimactic. It should be a PowerPoint with notecards that goes on until someone interrupts like “The Joker killed me,” and “You think Alfred killed Bruce’s parents???,” and “Tim, you thought you were kidnapped and never mentioned it to anybody???”

Everybody is so baffled, it’s probably the calmest they’ve ever been.