a

20.

[sinatraass]

K this is a part two, my brother rewatched bob about two months ago and uh well he gave his opinions on these boys. Also tumblr won’t let me add more than ten pictures so uh you can find the rest here

[sinatraass]

Part two to this post.

[dreaming-of-epiphanies]

✯ 𝓙𝓾𝓼𝓽 𝓣𝓱𝓲𝓼 𝓞𝓷𝓬𝓮 - oliver wood

─ .✦ day 3 of celebration event

A/N: you guys seem to enjoy my oliver fics which i’m happy about, because we need more oliver content! justice for my favorite quidditch captain.

Description: Your longtime crush Oliver Wood needs you to be his fake date for a party.

Warnings and word count: smut (fingering, light grinding, f!reader) (mdni, 18+). Word count 4.4k.

oliver wood masterlist

“Come on.” 

“No.” 

“Please?”

“I said, no.” 

You snapped your bag shut, standing up from the desk and moving to walk around it–

“Seriously,” Oliver said, conveniently blocking the exit and stopping you in your tracks. 

“Oliver,” you began reprovingly, tone just shy of a snap, but he interrupted you again. 

“Just this once,” he said, eyes imploring and taking hold of your hand. “I mean it.”

You sighed, your resistance to Oliver beginning to waver despite your better judgement. The last thing you wanted was to pretend to be his fake girlfriend at a party, but at the same time…

“Fine,” you said after a moment, reluctantly. “Just this once.”

Oliver sighed in relief, releasing your hand and stepping back. 

“I knew you’d say yes,” he said confidently, grabbing up his bag too and following you out of the Charms classroom and into the corridor. 

“Oh, did you?” you said, raising your eyebrows as you walked down the long, spiraling staircase. “You didn’t seem too sure when you were practically begging me last night.”

“I was not begging,” Oliver began sharply, but you cut him off with a look. 

“You offered me ‘VIP seating for all future games’.” 

“So?”

“That doesn’t exist.”

Oliver shrugged, coming to a stop in front of the Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom. “It could exist,” he pointed out. 

You waved your hand dismissively. “Hypotheticals. Now, what exactly will I be expected to do for this party?”

“Oh, nothing much,” Oliver hastened to assure you. “They’ll be food and drinks and potentially dancing, but–”

“You are not getting me to dance.”

He gave you an exasperated look. “I wasn’t going to try,” he said. “The main objective is for me to connect with as many team executives as possible. Scouts from the Wimbourne Wasps and the Tutshill Tornados have already reached out to me, but I’ve got my eye on Puddlemere United. So unless connecting with them involves dancing, you won’t be expected to do so. Besides, I don’t dance.”

“Glad to hear it,” you said wryly. “How exactly am I going to help, though?”

“Isn’t it obvious?” Oliver said, placing a hand on your upper arm and gently guiding you away from a group of Ravenclaws entering the classroom. “I won’t know anyone there. You’ll be my moral support, so to speak. And…”

“And?” you prompted him, raising an expectant eyebrow. He cleared his throat, scratching the back of his head awkwardly. 

“And I sometimes get… nervous.”

“Nervous,” you repeated. He gave you a reproachful look.

“Don’t make me say it again!” he said in a whisper-shout. “But I thought having you there would make me less–”

“Stressed. Anxious. Frazzled.”

“Stop saying synonyms,” Oliver said through gritted teeth. “I’m asking you a favour, and you’ve agreed. That should be the end of it.”

“You’re right, I’ll stop,” you conceded, putting your hands up in surrender. “And I’ll be ready for the party on Friday.”

“Thank you,” Oliver said, giving you a grateful look. “We’ll leave just before dinner. Wear your best dress.”

“See you then,” you agreed, watching him hurry down the hall to class before he was late. 

Shaking your head, you drifted into your own class with a sigh and took your seat. You hadn’t wanted to accept Oliver’s request at first– why in the name of Merlin would you agree to be a fake date for your real crush?– but you really couldn’t refuse. Whether that was because you truly did just want to help him out, or because part of you wanted to know what it would feel like to walk into a party on Oliver’s arm, you weren’t entirely sure. Maybe it was both. Maybe it was neither. 

Maybe you needed to stop thinking about this before you chickened out again. 

༺ ✧ ༻

Friday arrived, and all day, you could tell Oliver was half-expecting you to tell him you’d changed your mind. Fortunately for him and unfortunately for you– or fortunately, you would soon find out– you’d made up your mind and there was no going back on it. 

As soon as your classes ended, you rushed back to your dorm to get ready. As he’d requested, you’d put on your best dress and cast a Glamour charm on so you didn’t have to worry about your lipgloss coming off or perfume fading. You looked nice, and hopefully Oliver would feel the same.

Fifteen minutes before you were supposed to leave, you met Oliver in the Gryffindor common room– or tried to. He was still getting ready, but the Weasley twins were loitering around to bother you. 

“Well, don’t you polish up nice!” George wolf-whistled, giving you a quick spin. You laughed, nearly thrown off-balance but catching yourself on Hermione’s shoulder at the last second. 

“Don’t make me dizzy,” you warned. “Or Oliver will make sure there’s hell to pay.”

George put his hands up and stepped back. “Alright, I’ll leave you be,” he shrugged. “Don’t want to make Wood angry, otherwise he’ll make me clean up the team’s tent after practice tomorrow.”

“And that might teach you a lesson,” Hermione interjected, giving you a warm smile. “You look lovely!”

“Thanks, ‘Mione,” you said gratefully, before your attention was captured by a sudden chorus of cheers and claps to your right.

At the top of the staircase to the boys dormitories stood Oliver, wearing a suit and tie and looking completely and utterly handsome. 

Your mouth went dry.

Damn it.

“Alright, alright, that’s enough,” he called over the din, giving both Fred and George reproving looks. “Any more of that and you’ll be cleaning out the lockers after practice.”

“What did I tell you?” George muttered, elbowing you gently in the ribs. You barely even felt it, because Oliver’s gaze had turned to you and you felt like you could hardly breathe. 

His eyes roved down your figure, his face remaining mostly unreadable, but his jaw tightened as he saw the low-cut neckline and high slit traveling up the length of your leg. Of course, you could be imagining that. You probably were, actually. 

Self-consciously, you drew your arms together and gave him a nervous smile. 

“Does this dress work?” you asked, hoping your voice sounded steadier than it felt. “I wasn’t sure if the color was too–”

“It’s perfect,” Oliver interrupted immediately. “You’re perfect.”

Fred and George exchanged a knowing glance while Hermione and Ginny stifled a giggle. You resolutely ignored them.

“Thanks,” you said brightly instead, forcing any remaining nerves from your tone. “Shall we go?”

Oliver nodded. “I’ve got permission from McGonagall to use her fireplace for the Floo,” he explained, offering you his arm as you made your way towards the door. “I just hope we won’t get covered in too much soot.”

“Maybe bring a feather duster!” George shouted to your retreating figures. 

“Or a cond– ow! What was that for, Hermione?!” Fred exclaimed, and that was the last thing you heard before the Fat Lady’s portrait swung shut, leaving you and Oliver alone in silence. 

You made your way down the many flights of stairs leading to McGonagall’s office primarily without talking. Anything you could think to say would only be incessant chatter to fill the silence, and you had a feeling Oliver would not appreciate that. 

Before you arrived at the door to her office, though, you did decide to say something. 

“Are you ready?” you asked him, half-hoping he would tell you that he changed his mind and didn’t want to go to this party after all. Now that you were walking arm-in-arm, you weren’t sure if you would be able to withstand an entire night like this. 

“About as ready as I’ll ever be,” he said bracingly, opening McGonagall’s office door and leading you over to the fireplace. “Are you?”

You smiled tightly. “Much the same,” you admitted. “You certainly look the part of the prospective Quidditch Keeper, though.”

Oliver only rolled his eyes. “That’s the idea,” he said, glancing over at you as he gathered a handful of Floo Powder. “But you look nice too.”

“You don’t have to say that–”

“I mean it,” he interrupted seriously. “You look nice.”

And before you could say anything else, he’d thrown the powder in the fireplace and stepped through the green flames. 

༺ ✧ ༻

The party was surprisingly quite enjoyable. 

You stuck near Oliver all night, eating the offered food and taking full advantage of the floating trays of firewhiskey and spiked butterbeer. You did steer clear of the dance floor, though, considering you were not very adept at dancing and Oliver was too preoccupied with talking to Puddlemere United’s team executive to do much else. 

Mainly, though, you held onto Oliver’s arm for support as he casually interviewed with nearly every team’s manager. Your head spun from the amount of people you’d been introduced to. 

Towards the end of the night, Oliver took a short break from seeking out the managers and lead you over to the snack table. He hurriedly ate a couple of treacle tarts, his eyes roving the room. 

“Who are you looking for?” you asked curiously, turning to look too. He quickly grabbed your shoulder, forcing your attention back to him. 

“Don’t look obvious,” he warned you, though he continued to look. “I want to talk to Philbert Deverill again.” 

“Again?!” you said, with mild alarm. “Oliver, that’ll be the third time you talked to him tonight. Puddlemere will think you’re desperate!”

“I’m not desperate!” he immediately protested, and you just gave him a long look. 

“Oh, please. You gushed on about knotgrass mead for five minutes because he mentioned he had just gotten another goblet of it. And you hate knotgrass mead!”

“It was not five minutes and I do not hate knotgrass mead. I just… highly dislike it.”

“You sound mental,” you sighed, shaking your head and taking a sip of your firewhsieky. “If you want to talk to him again, I won’t stop you, but you have to make it look natural, for Merlin’s sake. No one will want to recruit you if you’re chasing after them!”

“I suppose so,” he grumbled, finishing his treacle tart and reaching over to steal a sip of your drink. Exasperated, you let him, and then watched in confusion as he set the goblet down on a table and held out his hand.

“Would you care to dance?” he asked, nodding towards the dance floor. 

You stared at his hand. “You can’t be serious,” you said with an uncomfortable laugh. “You told me you don’t dance.”

“Not often,” he agreed. “But I can sometimes. When I want to. With you.”

Your breath caught in your chest. Surely, he wasn’t saying what you thought he was…

The temptation to accept was too great to resist, so you gave him a half-smile and nodded. 

“Alright, why not,” you agreed, placing your hand in his and allowing him to lead you to the dance floor. 

“I appreciate the enthusiasm,” he remarked archly. You opened your mouth to make a retort, but saw real humour in his eyes. 

Taking your place among the other dancing couples, Oliver splayed a warm hand across your lower back, spreading his fingers and pulling him into you so that your chest brushed against his. With his other hand, he held yours up and out in a classic waltz position. You’d danced like this with him before, but his hand had never been so low on your back, and your face had never been this close to his. 

You began the dance, trying your very best to keep your mind off of the fact you could feel his breath against your cheeks, and the pad of his thumb brushing against the skin of your palm. You forced yourself to intensely inspect a speck of dust on his shoulder instead of looking up into his eyes like you so desperately wanted to.

Merlin, the suit Oliver was wearing should be illegal. It was just tight enough that you could see the outline of his muscles, but too opaque to actually see them. Not that you were looking, of course, but it was hard for your eyes not to drift down to the white of his shirt when the dust you were supposedly inspecting did not actually exist. 

“What’s so interesting?”

Oliver’s voice startled you and you hurriedly looked up, aware you had just been caught staring at his chest for Merlin knows how long. 

“Oh, nothing,” you said with a nervous laugh. “Only that…” Your voice trailed off as you remembered just why you’d been so determined not to look up in the first place. 

His eyes were on yours, a gorgeous shade of russett brown that made you immediately lose your train of thought. You were so close to him that you could see the little flecks of gold in his eyes, and the light spattering of freckles across his pretty face. 

You were a lost cause. 

“Only that…?” Oliver prompted when you failed to say something, and it was then that your gaze was drawn to his lips. Which was an even bigger mistake than looking into his eyes, because now you couldn’t tear your eyes away from them. In fact, it was taking every single ounce of self-restraint in your body not to lean forward and press your lips to his–

“Mr. Wood!” 

You wrenched your gaze away from Oliver’s lips and turned to see Philbert Deverill standing there, a kind smile on his face. Oliver immediately dropped your hand, halting your dance and following Mr. Deverill towards the edge of the dance floor. You scurried after him, taking a much-needed moment to compose yourself and press cooling hands to your flaming-hot cheeks. 

“Good evening, Mr. Deverill,” Oliver said, keeping his tone light. “It’s nice to speak with you again.”

“That it is! Now, I do apologise for interrupting your dance, but…”

You allowed your focus to drift away as Mr. Deverill started asking Oliver something about his approach regarding a Keeper’s tactics within the context of– well, you stopped listening and were instead angrily scolding yourself for forgetting to keep your mind off of how attractive you found Oliver. 

You’d liked him for so long that you knew continuing to harbour your silly little crush would only get you hurt in the end, but found it nearly impossible to stop. The only thing you could do was try to limit how long your thoughts– or eyes– lingered on him, and most importantly to not ever show him how you felt. He would’ve made a move, any move, long before now if he’d felt the same. 

Almost as if he’d sensed your newfound determination to keep your distance and was trying to test your resolve, Oliver’s hand found its way to your back and gently brushed down the length of your spine. You stiffened, holding your breath and resisting the urge to move or lean into him as his hand came down to rest at your waist. 

It was then you became aware of what he was saying. 

“...of course, my girlfriend and I are avid fans of Puddlemere United! We’ve been to more games than I can count.”

Your gaze snapped to his and the way he was easily laughing with Mr. Deverill, not even looking at you. But his hand remained on your waist.

Girlfriend. He had definitely called you his girlfriend. 

He wasn’t lying when he’d said you'd been to lots of Quidditch games. You had accompanied him to a number of them, but you were also not his girlfriend so you knew that was a complete lie. There was no reason to lie about that, unless–

Your heart sank. 

Unless he was somehow using it to gain approval from Mr. Deverill.

True, you had no idea how lying about that would even help him, but you also knew Oliver didn’t make a habit of lying for no reason. It was the only option that made sense, and unfortunately, something he would probably do if landed him a spot on Puddlemere’s team. Not that you would blame him for that, of course, but it did hurt that you had to be collateral damage, however unknowingly. 

You managed to keep yourself composed until Mr. Deverill drifted away with a hearty promise about seriously considering his application. Only then did you step out of Oliver’s reach and clear your throat, glancing around for the exit. 

“Are you ready to go?” you asked him, moving your gaze to your hands when you saw he was trying to catch your eye. They were shaking slightly as you adjusted the skirts of your dress. 

“Yeah, I suppose… are you alright?” Oliver asked with a frown. You smiled tightly, looking at a spot just past his shoulder. 

“Just tired,” you said off-handedly with a nod. “Now, do you know where the Floo is–”

“No, you’re definitely not alright,” he interrupted, catching your hand. “Something’s wrong.”

“I’m fine,” you insisted, trying and failing to pull away from his grasp. “But I would like to leave.”

“Sure,” Oliver said, tugging on your hand and leading you away from the main area of the party. “But not until you tell me what’s wrong.”

He pulled you into a room just off of the main area and closed the door, releasing your hand and turning to face you expectantly. You crossed your arms. 

“There’s nothing to tell,” you repeated. “So you locking me in here isn’t going to do anything.”

“That’s complete nonsense,” Oliver said immediately. “Something is clearly the matter and I suggest you tell me before we stay in here all night.”

He held your gaze challengingly, and you found yourself blurting out a question before you could stop.

“Why did you tell Mr. Deverill I was your girlfriend?”

Oliver looked momentarily taken-aback, but he recovered quickly. “I thought it would be easier than explaining,” he told you. “He assumed you were my girlfriend, so–”

“So you didn’t bother to correct him?”

Oliver paused. “Would you want me to?” he asked carefully. 

“Yeah, actually, I would,” you said, failing to keep the bitterness from your voice. “I’m not your girlfriend. There’s no reason to lie about it.”

“What, is being called my girlfriend an insult to you?” Oliver scoffed. “Would you have preferred I gave him the whole story about how you didn’t want to accompany me here as my date–”

“As your fake date,” you corrected him. “Fake. You made that very clear.”

“I never said anything about it being fake,” Oliver protested. “I simply said I needed a plus-one, and you were there, so–”

“Oh, so it’s only because I was available, then? Would you have taken Katie or Angelina if they were free?”

“Stop interrupting me,” Oliver said through gritted teeth. “And no, I wouldn’t have taken them. I wanted you with me, which is why I asked you–” 

“Presumably so you could lie and say I was your girlfriend.”

“You need to let that go. And stop cutting me off!”

“You know, Wood, if you wanted to call me your girlfriend, you could’ve just asked me to be your real one!” you snapped, finally losing your patience and moving to stomp past him towards the door. You’d take the Floo back to Hogwarts with or without him, at this point!

As what you said began to register with you and you felt your chest tighten with dread, Oliver quickly darted in front of you, stopping you from leaving. He’d heard you; of course he had.

“Let me go!” you snarled, reaching out your hand to push past him, but he halted you with his hands on your shoulders and eyes wide.

“What did you just say?” he asked hurriedly. “Did you just–”

“Did I just what?” you snapped, though the venom faded from your tone when you saw the way Oliver was looking at you. “Did I just… what?” you repeated, slightly nervously now.

He took a step forward until he was barely a breath away, his hands sliding from your shoulders down the length of your arms, catching your hands with his. Your breathing struggled to stay even, and every bone in your body was screaming at you to move back before either of you did something irrevocable. 

You didn’t move. 

Slowly, Oliver raised his hand and gently pressed it to the side of your face, his fingers brushing over your skin. Automatically, you leaned against it, your eyes fluttering shut and breathing hitching when he touched you like this. 

His thumb lowered and grazed over your bottom lip, encouraging you to open your eyes and look into his. He was leaning in, his gaze dropping to your mouth and other hand going to your waist. 

His lips brushed against yours tentatively at first, like he was expecting you to pull away, but you leaned into it, your hands coming to rest on his shoulders. 

It was a gentle first kiss, everything you’d expected it to be. But when he pulled back, his eyes were hungry for more. 

Without another moment’s hesitation, Oliver dove back in, his mouth crashing against yours and hands cupping the side of your face. You stumbled, and he used this momentum to walk you backwards until your back came into contact with the wall. His tongue probed inquisitively, swiping across your lips until you opened your mouth and felt his tongue slide against yours. 

Your hands plunged into his hair as he pressed you to the wall, slanting your head so he could press the kiss deeper and keep you steady. You were dizzy with sensation, caught up in the feeling of his mouth on yours and hands gliding down your body. 

Wrapping your arms around his neck, you pulled yourself up until you could feel the slight scratchiness of his suit’s fabric brushing against the skin of your chest. Sometime in the last couple of minutes, your strapless dress had inched its way down your body just enough that the top swells of your breasts were exposed to the air. 

Seeming to sense this, Oliver pulled back and groaned aloud at the sight of your heaving chest before him. He lowered his head, peppering kisses and little nips across your breasts and up your chest until all you could do was clutch at his hair and feel the ache between your legs beginning to build. 

When Oliver straightened back up to kiss you again, you felt something brush against your hip and nearly went weak-kneed at the sensation. 

“Oliver,” you gasped out against his mouth, unable to stop yourself from pushing against the hardness in his trousers. You could feel yourself dripping and wouldn’t be surprised if your panties were already soiled, before he’d even properly touched you! 

Clearly, though, he was about to remedy that, because he let out a muttered curse and swept his hand up to the swell of your chest, dipping his hand into the neckline of your dress and palming your breast. 

You swore, automatically going to wrap a leg around his waist to pull him against you, but a hand on your thigh stopped you.

“We can’t,” he muttered, one hand still on your breast while the other rubbed gently over your thigh through the fabric of your dress. “Not here.”

“But– but we can do other things,” you insisted, grabbing his wrist and guiding it down your leg until it reached the hem of your dress. “Please.” 

Oliver looked at you, warring between temptation and reason, but you chose to make the decision for him and pulled him back in for another kiss. You’d gotten this far and you were not about to walk out of here without coming from his touch at least once. 

His hand made its way up the inside of your thigh, sliding over your smooth skin before his fingers reached the edge of your panties. He toyed gently with the fabric, waiting until you couldn’t hold back your whimpers any longer. Only then did he dip a finger under, tugging the soaked fabric away from your cunt. 

One of his digits brushed lightly over your sensitive skin, purposefully teasing you until you were gasping out his name, barely resisting the urge to shove his fingers fully against you. Mercifully, you didn’t have to wait long, because he finally dipped a finger between your folds, probing lightly at your entrance before inching his way in. 

“God, Oliver,” you rasped, becoming dizzy as he circled you, delicately pumping them in and out as you leaked over his fingers. You could already feel a low rising beginning in your stomach, tugging at you and increasing tenfold when he began a steady rhythm, bringing you up until desire rushed through your veins and you could feel yourself being pulled closer towards your peak. 

“Come, my love,” he whispered against your throat, pressing his thumb to your clit and making tiny circles until you saw stars and cried out, your orgasm crashing over you. He worked you through it with his fingers, drawing it out until the last of your high faded away, and all you could do was slump forward onto him, panting. 

For a long few moments, the two of you stood there in silence. The salty tang of sweat hung in the air, and you could still feel Oliver’s hardened cock pressing against your side, but you were perfectly sated. 

“What about you?” you finally asked when you’d recovered, lifting your head blearily from his shoulder. Your heartbeat hadn’t completely slowed down and you could still feel a sheen of sweat coating your skin, but you were focused on him in front of you, and the gentle smile he gave you. 

“Don’t worry about me,” he assured you, slipping his hand from between your legs and surreptitiously wiping his fingers on the inside of his jacket. “We’ll have more than enough time back at the castle for that. And, to do more.”

“That better be a promise,” you told him, tugging up your dress so it covered your breasts. Oliver looked mildly disappointed at that but held out his hand, leading you towards where the fireplace was located in a room near the one you were in. 

“Of course it is,” he murmured, leaning down and pressing a light kiss to your shoulder. He looked up after a second, giving you a significant look. “I can’t leave my girlfriend waiting, after all.”

You were unable to stop the smile that spread across your face. “No,” you agreed, tucking yourself against his side. “No, you cannot.”

A/N: i don’t mean for these things to be over 3-3.5k words but clearly i’m incapable of keeping anything short.

general taglist: @viperify @xgloomy-kittenx @sea-lit-stars @kenobi-baby @rvvencrux @beelzebzb @m-mally @s00ty-feet @sophiadauno @cherrytintedlens @lunxrstellx @peony-haze @h0eforjp @mintydew @voldemortcest @coryoslut @frederissa @inlovewithallmusic @priv-rose

event taglist: @foxherder @whatupbuttercup2019

[graywrenhart]

FATAL ATTRACTION

| Draco Malfoy x f!Reader

summary: On the verge of failing Potions thanks to your idiotic lab partner and Quidditch rival Draco Malfoy, the two of you are forced to sneak into the greenhouse at night for a final ingredient, only to stumble into some strange plants along the way.

tags: 18+ MDNI, [sex pollen] [enemies to lovers] [quidditch rivals] [eighth-year at hogwarts] [mutual masturbation] [dubcon but only because it's sex pollen lol ] [oral sex] [malfoy whimpers] [hate sex] [switchy] [penetrative sex] [multiple orgasms]

author's note: It felt weird not writing Draco & Snitch from Lessons in Losing, but i hope you like Nineteen :) Title is inspired by the song Fatal Attraction by Reed Wonder. 9k words

“This is a terrible idea,” you hiss, rounding the corner toward the side exit of the castle.

Draco scoffs. “Like you have a better one.”

While he draws his wand from his robes, you cast another wary glance over your shoulder. The hallway is empty behind you, lit with dim floating candles. The castle sleeps, blissfully unaware of the plans you and your Quidditch rival have in store tonight.

Sadly, you don't. Have a better plan, that is. That's why you're out after curfew, dodging prefects and paintings like it's your full-time job.

"There's just got to be another way," you say, checking behind you again.

"There's not. Unless you count failing an option. You want to fail tomorrow, Nineteen?”

Draco Malfoy has never called you by your real name—only your Quidditch number. Because that’s all you are to him. Not a person. Just an obstacle on the pitch. But you know the truth: you’re the only Seeker in the entire school who gives him a run for his money.

“No—but I think it’s important for you to remember how it’s your fault we’re in this predicament in the first place!”

“I beg to differ,” Draco says, opening the door with a flick of his wand and stepping out into the night. “I’m quite good at potions.”

You rush to slip after him before the door swings shut behind you with a heavy thud.

Prick.

You’re not sure why Draco really even gives a shit about this assignment. All he cares about is winning Quidditch matches and getting the hell out of this school.

And why should he care?

It’s not like anything bad will happen to him if he gets one bad grade. You, on the other hand, have a bit more to lose. As a trainee healer, you need to score well on the NEWTs this year to secure your spot in the coveted apprentice slots. Needless to say, failing your Potions final just simply isn’t an option.

The air outside is muggy and warm—an unusually humid night for early April. The sky is clear, though, boasting a bright full moon. A perfect night for harvesting a nocturnal plant. An owl hoots somewhere in the Forbidden Forest beyond, and the tall grass tickles your ankles as you make your way to the cluster of greenhouses on the grounds.

You yank on Draco's sleeve as he walks straight past the entrance to Greenhouse Three.

He shrugs off your hand and gestures impatiently to the latticed door. “Hurry up and open it.”

“One of us should stay on the lookout,” you huff. Your fingers brush your wand in your pocket. “I’ll go and grab the sample, and you signal me if there’s any—”

“Wait.” He stops you. “Why do you get to go inside?”

You stare at him, jaw slack. “Because I’m the healer?”

“Not yet, you’re not.”

Sometimes, you take comfort in your fantasies about Draco Malfoy.

You’re up to ten different ways you might be able to knock him off his broom. Make him suffer in a way he never saw coming. And thanks to that comment, you’re now trying to come up with the eleventh.

“Why don’t you be the lookout, and I retrieve the sample?” He asks pointedly.

You sigh, irritated. “Because, Malfoy, I don’t trust you to get an accurate sample, okay? You couldn’t even keep our original sprig alive long enough for us to use it tomorrow!”

“You know, that’s a good point.” He crosses his arms over his chest. “Perhaps I don’t trust you, either. You know, we never did specify which of us was supposed to give the plant the appropriate amount of moonlight…”

You squint up at him. “Oh? We didn’t? That’s right. Maybe that’s because when we got assigned this potion, I stole the Snitch from under your nose at finals, and you didn’t speak to me for a week!”

Normally, you wouldn't complain about that. Being Quidditch rivals was one thing. Mouthing off to each other on the Pitch? That was a given. Outside of that, you didn't talk. It was a hard line.

That week just happened to be the one week you actually needed him to speak to you.

Because while he was busy trying to salvage his pride and keep his ego somewhat intact, you were actually doing all the heavy lifting for the assignment in Potions. The one Snape assigned to the both of you.

He huffs, irritated. He’s obviously annoyed you keep bringing that loss of his up, but you won’t stop anytime soon.

“We both go in, or I’m out," he says, his jaw set in determination.

You weigh your options. You could probably get the sample on your own, but you’re not willing to risk getting caught by yourself. If you get caught with him, you can do the obvious.

Blame him.

Turns out, it’s not much of a decision after all.

“Fine,” you mutter through grit teeth. “Let’s just get this over with.”

You unlock the door with a few precise spins of your wand and whisper the password low enough that Malfoy can’t hear it. The door unlatches with a hiss, and a warm, earthy smell hits you in the face. It’s familiar to you, and soothing in a way.

Malfoy shifts on his feet, eager to enter, but right before he pushes the door open, you bar his chest with your arm, wand at the ready.

You level his gaze. “Whatever you do—don’t touch anything.”

He scoffs, slipping past you and through the door with a flick of his robes. “Scared of a few plants, Nineteen?” He looks over his shoulder. “Bit concerning for a future healer and all. You might not make the cut.”

He shrugs with false sympathy before disappearing into the darkness beyond.

Nevermind. Gone are the thoughts of making his death a swift and easy one. Now, you’re envisioning something longer, slower, your hands around his neck—

You wonder if he begs half as prettily as he flies.

You’ve never really understood it.

The strange utopia that is Greenhouse Three. It’s always felt more like a portal to another dimension, rather than a plant nursery. But seeing it under the night sky is an otherworldly experience.

The tall domed ceiling stretches high above you, and dimmer disks fly from their assigned pots to line the narrow walkway upon your arrival.

There’s a silence about the place, but beneath it all, something living without breathing. As you walk among the taller plants lining the path, it feels like walking through a graveyard. But instead of the bones turning to dust under the earth—they’re watching.

The Nightbell Stalk lives all the way at the back of the greenhouse, in a secret locker called the Lumen Garden. You’ve never seen this garden, given the fact that it magically appears only when the moon is at its peak, and disappears again before the sun rises. Even despite the blatant breaking of curfew, you’ve been warned never to enter, given the dangerous nature of the plants one might encounter.

But, as they say, dangerous times call for desperate measures. Or, desperate times call for dangerous measures. Something like that.

All you know is it’s as desperate as it is dangerous, or you would never be so reckless.

Soon enough, the Lumen Garden door looms over you. It’s tall and black, and it sparkles in the light of the skimmer dimmers, like it’s made of crushed black diamond.

You turn to Malfoy. “Do you have it?”

He pulls an aged piece of parchment from his pocket. You reach for it but he snatches it back just in time.

“I didn’t risk my life in the Restricted Section, so you could show off your poor Mermish,” he says.

“‘Risking your life,’” you roll your eyes, unimpressed. “As if you don’t practically live there. Get on with it, then.”

He clears his throat. You try not to watch the way his fingers carefully unfold the paper, holding it like it’s something valuable. He’s always been like that when it comes to ancient scripts.

“Vaelith mora selune,” he whispers.

By moonlight reveal.

Your pulse leaps as the scrape of stone on stone reverberates throughout the silent room, bouncing off the glass panes above you.

As the stone door rolls back, it reveals a room so beautiful it nearly takes your breath away.

Opal stones guide you forward, leading to a circular pool in the center. The water lies perfectly still, glassy and undisturbed, yet the plants rooted beneath its surface sway gently in some unseen current.

Overhead, moonlight spills through the curved glass dome, and the panes are cloudy on purpose, filtering and diffusing the moonlight into something stronger and more even. 

You tiptoe onto the landing, barely noting the black mossy walls surrounding you before the stone rolls shut behind you. Malfoy’s polished shoes click decisively down the opal stones, not the least bit fased.

You swallow and follow after him. Mist rises up from the pond, and when you lean closer, curiosity pulling you in, you catch sight of movement. Thin, glowing threads streak by under the glassy surface. Jilly bugs. They help the plants thrive in the lowlight conditions.

“Keep up, will you?” Draco hisses, drawing your attention to him.

He’s standing over a garden bed beyond the pond, half swallowed by the shadowed wall behind him.

These nocturnal plants only bloom at night, and they die without it. Because of this, these plants have different colors than normal ones. Most of them are varying shades of black, purple, or blue, evolved to camouflage with the night or their natural habitats.

As you step closer, the vines come into view. There are tons of them, growing along a nearly imperceptible trellis that spans the full length of the back wall, their long stems twirling and looping, spilling out across the floor and crawling up the dome above.

You’re just reaching his side when something moves out of the corner of your eye. Your head whips towards the wall, eyes narrowing through the gray haze.

But there’s nothing. Just vines, their leaves sitting so still they could almost pass as wax.

“Where’s the bloody vial…?” Draco mutters to himself, patting down the pockets of his robes.

His features catch the light as he looks down. Your eyes drift over the edge of his nose, the slope of his brow, that strong jaw. You look away when his chin tips up.

Reaching into your pocket, you retrieve the small glass bottle, holding it out for him to see.

Draco frowns. “Thief.”

You shrug, glancing down at the Nightbell Stalk in front of you.

It’s a deep violet, with small, downward-facing flowers. Inside each one, the stems glow a faint gold. You can smell the nectar from where you stand--sweet, like honey, but heavier. Thicker.

When Malfoy reaches for the vial, you snap it back in the last second.

“I’m doing it,” you say.

“Like hell you are.” He scoffs. “Just because you’re a healer doesn’t give you the right to fuck this up. It’s my project too, you know.”

Anger sparks in your gut and you turn on him. “You haven’t given a shit about this potion the entire semester, and I’m supposed to believe you actually care now? Besides, you don’t have the experience required—”

“Oh, I have the experience. Stand aside.” He reaches for the sample vial. “I can handle something as simple as—”

You snatch it back again. “Oh, so you know that the bells ring when disturbed, so you only touch the stem. Did you know that Malfoy?”

“I—yes! I know more than—”

“So, obviously, you’d be cautious around the petals, since they’re so sticky they can leave a residue on your hands for a week.” Your lips set in a taunting line and narrow your eyes at him. “But you knew that, huh?”

Draco glares down at you. “I’m well aware of the difficulties with this plant. And by the way, I suggested this plan. So, I’ll do it.”

Your argument continues, words overlapping, while your voices ring eerily loud in the silence of the greenhouse.

Push, pull, counter, strike.

You fight the same way you fly on the pitch, chasing the same goal. Competitive to a fault.

The exact fault being that while the two of you are too busy arguing over who gets to hold the stem—and where the vial goes exactly—you don’t realize one vine unfurling from the wall behind you, growing curious in the moonlight.

“My hands are steadier,” Draco says from his place over your shoulder.

You bite your lip, ignoring the way his breath ghosts across your ear, focusing your energy on getting the ingredient.

You accidentally graze the edge of the downward-turned petal with the rim of the glass and the flowers on the Nightbell Stalk ring softly.

“Shit,” you mutter.

“You know it’s true,” he continues, voice low. “How many times have you lost the Snitch because of your poor grip, hmm? I haven’t. Not once.”

With one sharp movement of your fingers, you scoop up the drop of nectar from the stems inside. It slides down the glass, glowing a deep orange. Satisfaction curls warm under your ribs like your feline familiar back in your dorm room.

You grin. “Got it.”

Reveling in your win, you turn, ready to shove your success in his face, but the movement only presses your back further into his chest.

“Move, would you?” You bite, trying to slide around him, but the tight space doesn’t allow for much wiggle room.

He shifts to let you through, but the narrow corridor between the wall and the garden bed seems to get tighter with his body pressed against yours. Somewhere, your feet get tangled and he stumbles, sprawling back against the garden bed, which pushes you flat against the ivy wall, glaring up at him.

His head blocks the moonlight, his silhouette falling over you like a living shadow. His lips part like he might say something, and you find yourself leaning forward, waiting breathlessly, when something brushes your ankle.

You leap forward. Draco’s arm wraps around you out of instinct. The two of you stare at each other before he seems to remember who you are and drop his arm like you’ve burned him.

“Throwing yourself at me, are you?” He drawls, breaking the silent tension.

“No!” You look down at the ground, but there’s nothing there. Just mossy stone under your feet, the shadow of the vine wall at your heels. “Something just…grabbed me.”

Draco shakes his head and shoves past you. “It’s always drama with you, isn’t it?”

“I’m serious!” you snap. “It almost tripped me!”

“Ah, yes. Do me a favor and twist that pretty little ankle would you? Just secure me a win next match, thanks.”

His words make you pause, forgetting all about the mysterious touch. A smile steals across your face before you can stop it. “So, you admit I need to be taken out for you to have a shot at the Cup, then?”

He spins on the spot, a shadow etched between his brows as he scowls at you under the moonlight. “You’re twisting my words.”

“I am not! Merlin, Malfoy, do you ever just shut up—” Something brushes your shoulder. You freeze. “What was that?”

To your surprise, Draco actually shuts his mouth to listen. There’s nothing. No frogs, no crickets, no owl, no water dripping, no jilly bugs splashing in the pond.

It’s…silent.

Suddenly, something moves above you. Both your gazes jerk up at the same time. A leafy vine—so green it’s almost black—drops down from the wall and brushes Draco’s hair.

He flinches, and as the light catches on the small, glass-like beads growing between the leaves, your stomach drops.

You know exactly what that is.

The Veleroux Vine. Some call it Sirenlace. But it’s best known for another name.

Sex pollen.

You recognize it from your studies. The pollen pods contain a powerful aphrodisiac, said to heighten biological desire to mate in extreme ways. The more you resist, the worse the fever gets, making you wild with lust.

“Draco—don’t touch—” You throw a hand out to stop him.

But it’s too late.

Malfoy rears back and slaps the invading greenery away like he’s swatting a fly.

Shit.

“Dammit, Malfoy, what did I say about not touching anything?” You shriek, surging forward and shoving at his chest. “Get away from th—”

The first bead snaps open in a plume of dust. Fear rushes through your limbs and you try to jerk the both of you away, but you’re not quick enough.

One after another, the pollen pods pop in sequence, traveling down the vine, dusting your hair, your robes, and filling the air.

You jerk back, furiously rubbing at your skin, but it’s no use. It settles on you like a thin glitter, small enough to even to slip into your pores.

“Oh, shit. Fucking—fuck. Fuck!” you holler, but you shouldn’t have opened your mouth. Now the back of your throat feels like when you stuck your head in the sugar jar as a kid.

Draco sends you a withering look, brushing down his robes. “Calm down, will you? Bloody hell—just a little plant dust.”

“Just a plant—” You scoff, throwing your hands up in the air. “Merlin help me, you can’t just fucking listen for one second. I know what I’m talking about! Hurry! We have to get out of here before it—”

The vine slips around your shoulder at the very same moment Draco glances down to find another one winding around his ankle.

“—grabs us,” you finish weakly.

You try to scramble away, but the leaves thread around your arm in a silky vice.

Draco curses loudly at the thing, hopping on one foot, losing his robes in the process of trying to extricate himself.

“You have the wrong…pair,” you tell the inky leaves while you fumble for your wand. “We aren’t—we can’t…do what you want.”

“It wants something?” Draco casts a disbelieving look at the vine now wrapped around his dark slacks, settling around his knee. “Merlin—what?”

“It wants us to have sex,” you say, matter-of-factly.

He looks at you like you’ve grown two heads. Then his gaze darkens, snagging on the way your hard nipples strain against your shirt.

Already? This shit works fast. You finally free your wand and cross your arms over your chest.

“Sex?” he sneers.

“Yes. It’s an aphrodisiac plant, native to rare jungles. Its job is to encourage mating between compatible species.”

“Compatible.” He scoffs. “You and me? Farthest thing from it.”

“It doesn’t know that..." You gasp as your wand is whisked out of your hands by a particularly strong leaf.

“Talk to it again. Tell it!” Draco shouts. He looks down and shakes his leg violently. The vine doesn’t budge. “Shit—just get it off me!”

Whispers of leaves dragging against stone make you turn to face the corner of the room behind you. A cluster of vines has begun to twist together, the husky hush of plants twining and looping filling the air. Vines slide across the floor, retracting into the dark corner, while more gather from the ceiling, shifting the beams of moonlight through the dusty air.

You inhale sharply. “Oh no.”

Draco curses somewhere behind you. “What now?”

“It’s building its nest,” you reply, eyes on the plant.

“It’s…what?”

You turn to see Draco fighting tooth and nail. He’s got his wand out now. Streaks of light bounce across the room, flames erupt in the air but they bounce off the leaves like they’re nothing but a few stray sparks. Across the room, past the pool, some of the other plants wither and shrink away from the light.

Adrenaline surges through you as your mind scrambles for a solution. You’re already beginning to feel it, a tugging deep in your core.

That familiar tight ache that blooms in the dark, alone, in your bed. But unlike then, right now, you can’t give into it. You try not think about how the longer you resist, the worse it will get. From your brief research, sex pollen isn’t fatal, but it certainly isn’t pleasant.

Unless you give in.

Then, of course, it’s rumored to be the best sex of your entire life.

You don’t have the luxury of finding that out.

There is an antidote, of course, but it is completely and totally, one-hundred percent, without a doubt—out of the question.

Sex with Malfoy? Not happening.

There’s only one answer. You have to escape.

Your gaze swings to the stone door, framed in elegant iron bars that allow climbers to reach moonlight.

Maybe if you could get out of the vine’s reach, it wouldn’t be able to chase you.

It only takes a second to form a plan.

Tipping back, you let your weight fall backwards into the vine, hoping to catch it off guard and force it to loosen its hold. Instead, you trip over a stray pot and go tumbling to the ground.

But before you hit the stone, the Veleroux is there.

Your breath catches, heart pounding, suspended in the air. Then the vine pushes gently into your lower back, guiding you forward util your feet find solid ground again. You stare, openmouthed, as the leaves brush along your leg, almost as if checking for injury, before nudging you toward the corner of the room.

“Oh, Merlin. Yes, I see your nest,” you say weakly, watching as the vine curls in on itself to form a sort of ball—more of a fist, really—and uses it to push softly against the heels of your shoes, urging you forward. It uncurls when you take a step, leaves fluttering as if pleased. Then it spins in the air, gesturing as if to say, look, I made this for you. A cozy, safe place to mate. “Very nice. Lovely, really. But you see, we can’t—”

“Blimey! Get back!” Draco’s voice interrupts your one-sided conversation.

You look over your shoulder, wobbling a bit as the plant continues to nudge you towards the silky hammock in the corner. He’s covered in vines, now. His wand has fallen somewhere off to the side, out of both your reach. He’s still flailing, hair mussed, trying and—failing— to break free.

You look down. The vine’s not even holding onto you anymore. Is it because you’re not fighting as hard?

You take a step towards the door. Nothing happens. You take another, and the vine edges closer. On the third, it finds your ankle again. But it doesn’t squeeze you or cinch tight enough to sting. It just curls softly around your leg, firm enough to stop you from running, but gentle enough that you start to suspect it doesn’t want you damaged.

Malfoy, on the other hand, looks almost black and blue.

“Stop!” You call. “The harder you fight, the tighter it tries to hold you. Just—watch. Walk towards me.”

“You’re insane. You know that?” he spits. But his eyes catch on your vineless body anyway.

“Trust me, Malfoy.”

That’s a phrase you never imagined yourself saying to him.

“It doesn’t want to hurt us,” you whisper. “I don’t think.”

He shakes his head. “That’s not good enough for me.”

Despite his words, Draco takes one step towards you. The vine’s hold loosens. Another step and it slips from his chest entirely.

“See?” you say, encouraged. “It’s biological nature is to keep its prey alive and well. It can’t force us to mate. It just…heavily suggests it.”

“Of course it doesn’t force it,” Draco sneers. “A plant can’t make me do anything I don’t want to do.” But even as the words leave his lips, his eyes drop to the edge of your skirt. The hem suddenly feels six inches shorter, though you know it hasn’t shrunk.

Draco moves closer and the vines start to retreat, but he keeps a wary eye on them until they disappear into the Nest.

He glares at it, then at you. “What is that?”

“It’s a hammock,” you answer, eyes darting around for another escape route. “The vine thinks it will make us more comfortable. Since it’s not all over us anymore, I say we try to appease it. Just a little.”

“Appease it?” He gasps. “You want to—I can’t believe this. That—” he gestures towards the jumble of vines. “Could be a swan down comforter with silk sheets. I don’t care, I’m not going near it.”

You roll your eyes. “Merlin, you don’t listen. I’m not saying we go in the Nest. I’m saying we just…pretend. Then we can make a run for it.”

He doesn’t look convinced, so you turn to face him. “This plant spreads pollen to encourage mating, right? But how does it know when it’s worked? It’s not aware like we are.”

His eyes narrow. “Your point?”

“My point is…it’s pheromones, right? With our heightened hormones right now, we might be able to trick it into thinking we're on board, and it will let it's guard down.” Your stomach swoops with the words about to leave your tongue. “So maybe if you—if we—”

Draco’s eyes snap to yours. “If we what?”

His tongue swipes over his lower lip, leaving it glistening in the moonlight.

Stupid fucking pollen.

You swallow hard. “I think we should kiss.”

A beat of silence passes, the only sound your heartbeat kicking up, drumming in your ears.

“Fine,” he agrees.

That surprises you. You thought he’d gag at the very idea.

It must be the pollen, overriding his blatant hate for you and digging into his more urgent needs.

A shiver rolls down your spine at what those needs of his might be. You’re feeling it too, of course. The effect of being so close to him.

It’s only biological. To be drawn to a specimen of the opposite sex.

And why not Draco? He’s tall, healthy, miles of lean muscle. He smells good, and he’s not bad to look at. Especially when his eyes do that—flashing over at you thing, while his mouth quirks into a crooked smirk…

No other reason. Right?

You don’t have time to debate this, however, because Draco’s moving.

You’re vaguely aware of the vine brushing your ankle, keeping you steady as he crowds your space, and then—

Your lips meet his.

Your breath catches at the warmth you weren’t expecting. And that warmth…blooms. Your lashes fall shut as your whole body seems to sigh at the touch, like he’s the cure to the dull ache in your limbs, the antidote to the burning in your core. Just a gentle caress turns the sharp heat into a molten lava that invades your bloodstream.

He groans softly into your mouth, and the sound alone makes you gasp. Next thing you know, you’re pressed against his chest. Whether by his arms around you, or your own feet carrying you, or the stupid fucking vine playing matchmaker, all you know is he smells like green apples and teakwood. Cold luxury, but with a hint of…home.

At the first taste of his tongue, your stomach swoops dangerously. As he slants his mouth further, exploring, kissing you deeper, your heart feels like it’s beating as fast as a Snitch’s wings.

Your hands find his hair. It’s soft as silk between your fingers. A whimper escapes him and he breaks the kiss, head dropping back instinctively.

You watch through half-lidded eyes, taking in the way his wet lips gleam in the moonlight, blond lashes fluttering.

Merlin, he’s gorgeous.

His throat bobs on a swallow, and before you know it, your mouth is on his neck. He lets out a choked sound, something between a gasp and a groan, before jerking suddenly in your hold.

You stumble away, already missing the heat of his hands, lips buzzing like you’ve just downed a shot of fire-whiskey.

It’s him, you realize. He’s your drug. And when he lurches backward, breathing hard, you feel as if he’s just taken your last fix.

His eyes stay pinned on you as he retreats. The vine stops him with a gentle pressure at his back, but he doesn’t even seem to notice. He lets it guide him toward the nest, stopping just beside it, his back hitting the wall.

You scramble back until your heels knock into the stone wall opposite him. The Nest sits between you, off to the right, tucked in the dark corner of the room.

“Brilliant plan,” he grits out. “Bloody brilliant.”

And you’re back to square one.

“Ah!” Draco shouts, pointing at his wand lying on the ground between you. “You crossed the boundary.”

“I did not!” you snap at him, eyes flashing. “I was just adjusting. My foot kicked it accidentally—shit—would you just shut up? Your voice makes it worse.”

Over the last several minutes, you and Draco have tried everything under the sun to escape. The farthest you ever made it was all of ten feet. You did manage to retrieve Draco’s wand, though. Which then started the slew of fire spells, sharp object summoning charms, and so on. An earthquake hex was threatened, but that could’ve brought the whole school down, so you couldn’t risk that.

Although it was considered for one brief—and selfish—moment.

But none of it did a thing.

Turns out, this plant has some sort of magical resistance. It’s so bad that he couldn’t even make a force field or proper line divider between you, so he placed his wand there instead.

You’ve slowly slid down into a heap on the floor, attempting to make yourself smaller, as if that might ease the ache building deep in your core. It’s relentless, hot and gnawing, and you know it’s only going to get worse if you don’t come up with another plan soon.

Draco’s sitting now too, half draped in shadow. His arms crossed over his crisp white button-down, and he’s still glaring at you as if this is all your fault. The one knee strategically placed in front of his groan is the only sign you’ve gotten that the pollen is effecting him at all.

Bastard.

His tie is loose though, and his hair is tousled. Like it always is after a match. There’s no wind in here though, just the whisper of leaves and the steady drip of water.

No. Your hands are the only thing to blame for that.

Shit.

Now all you can think about is how soft his hair felt, how easily your fingers sank into it, and all the ways you could drag him closer by it, yanking his hot, wet mouth to your—

“What did I tell you about thinking those things?” Draco says. You peek up to see his head hit the wall, eyes sliding shut.

“I’m not thinking anything—”

“Stop lying, Nineteen.” His nostrils flare, and his eyes snap open. Somehow, his pupils have grown even larger. “You're so wet I can practically taste it from here.”

Merlin. Your thighs press together instinctively.

“I’m not thinking anything that has to do with you,” you snap. “Except how much I hate you. How much I despise your face, how much I want to steal that Snitch from you every damn day, and how if I had to be here, I would rather it be anyone else other than you!”

Your chest heaves as you catch your breath. But the way he looks at you makes your pulse spike all over again.

“Is that right?”

His cheeks are flushed, the same way they are when he’s hot on the Snitch’s trail. Your slick walls flutter at the sight. You’ve always thought he looked good like that. All sweaty and warm, hair stuck to his forehead, eyes bright with a fire that matches yours.

Not that you would ever tell him, of course.

“Who would you want instead?” he rasps. “Montague? Flint? I see the way you look at them on the pitch.” He looks away for a second and drags his knuckles across his lips before his gaze snaps back to yours.  “Lucky for you, you’re trapped here with someone who can show a little restraint.”

You bark out a laugh. “You think you’re the only one here with restraint? Take one step toward me, Malfoy, and I swear I’ll hex you.”

He grunts. “You don’t have a wand.”

Your head tips back with a quiet groan, your clit aching to be touched. You make another weak attempt to get away, but the vine catches you.

It doesn’t snap, claw, or hold you against your will. Rather it settles around your shoulders, brushing a waxy leaf along your cheek, tucking your hair behind your ear before retreating again, as if to say, Stop fighting. Just look at him. Don’t you want to?

And somehow, that’s worse.

Because you do.

Badly.

You find yourself looking at his hands. Your gaze drifts over the curve of his palms, the long lines of his fingers, the tension there, the veins, the control he’s barely holding onto and—you’re salivating.

Snap out of it.

“It’s so hot in here, f-fuck,” you whine, pawing at the collar of your shirt.

Draco eyes lock on you fingers. “Take that off and I swear—don’t.”

But your tie feels like it’s choking you, and your pulse booms in your ears. Your fingers keep loosening it. Draco curses.

You whimper. “That’s not fair, you took yours off!”

“Stop talking. Merlin, just—” he cuts himself off with a rough breath, his large palm grinding down into his erection beneath his slacks. “Shut up.”

You try to stay quiet. You really do.

But every shift of your body sends heat spiraling lower, making it harder to think. Every brush of your thighs squeezes your swollen clit, and has you gasping into the wall behind you.

Draco’s breathing is uneven now, too, echoing faintly off the stone. He hasn’t been able to keep his hand off his dick, still hidden under his clothes.

Not that you’ve been watching.

“I think—‘ you swallow. “I think I have a plan.”

Draco moans. “Fine. Enlighten me.”

“Remember what I said about the pheromones?” You manage. “It’s clear kissing wa—shit—wasn’t enough. Maybe…” Your eyes drop to his erection.

“No.”

“Draco, we’re going to have to touch ourselves. It’s the only way.”

You expect him to be glaring at you, but when you look up, his eyes are on your legs—that bare skin between your shoe and your skirt.

“Fine.” His throat bobs on a swallow. “You first.”

You barely have time to debate the ramifications of your actions. Your body burns, thick pressure building low and sharp.

You slip your hand under your skirt, straight under your panties. You inhale shakily, trying to steady yourself, but when your fingers meet a slickness like nothing you’ve ever felt before, the breath leaves your lungs.

The sound of of your wetness fills the silence between you and Draco makes a low, strained sound.

You glance over at him and immediately wish you hadn’t.

He’s taken his cock out, and he’s stroking it from base to tip. It’s long. Thick enough to fill up his palm, and veiny. The tip is darker than the rest, and you just know, if you were to take him in your mouth and suck—you’d feel his heartbeat against your tongue.

His jaw is tight, eyes half-lidded, like he tried to close them but his body won’t let him. When he sighs and bucks his hips into his own fist your mouth runs dry.

Whatever cavern of distance used to exist between you is crumbling now. It’s being burned away. There’s no space for it in this heat, this constant pull towards each other. Your skirt rides higher up on your thighs, and the cool air brushes your wet inner thighs.

After a minute, the relief starts to fade. You squeeze your eyes shut, trying to focus. But your body won’t cooperate. Your hips jerk back from your own touch, your clit bordering on overstimulation. You frown, plunging two fingers inside yourself to rub the ache away. But they feel like cold pencils in your pulsing channel.

The heat drags through your veins like hot cotton, begging for a deep release. But every brush of your arms against the cold stone behind you makes your elbows start to itch, and your very skin start to feel like a husk.

You need water. No—not water.

You need him.

It’s almost as if your body is punishing you for doing it to yourself.

“It’s not w-working,” you whimper, helpless.

Draco groans, his frustration evident in the bulging vein in his neck. His cock looks so angry in the dim light. He bites his lip in determination, and you watch his fist grip tighter. He only gets to three more strokes before he’s hissing with discomfort.

“There’s got to be another way,” he rasps, his hand dropping away.

You huff, so needy you’re almost on the verge of tears. “I’m thinking!”

“Well, think harder.”

You glare at him, dimly aware of how on display you are right now. Legs open and spread towards him, skirt barely concealing the way your fingers move against yourself. “Maybe I could if you could just shut your mouth for one damn second!”

His voice is not helping. All low and deep, with a hint of a rasp curling around his accent, making your belly tighten.

In fact, none of this is helping. Silence fills the space between you, only broken by uneven breathing and the quiet rustle of the Nest.

When his eyes drop to your dripping cunt and you don’t even have the decency to close your legs, it’s like the pollen has overridden your higher thinking. Your knees widen instinctively, begging for him to look. To touch…

Your composure slips further. And when he licks his lips, your lips actually part in preparation to ask for him.

Merlin, if this keeps up much longer, you’re not above begging if that what it takes. And begging Draco Malfoy for anything is beyond the lowest you’d ever thought you’d go.

You work yourself harder, but your fingertips feel like sandpaper against your soft folds, even as your arousal continues to leak steadily from you, your pussy desperate to be filled.

But that feels impossible.

A tear slips from the corner of your eye, and you’re helpless to stop it. You squeeze your eyes shut and turn your face away from him, still chasing any kind of relief, begging for it to feel like something worth grabbing onto.

Somewhere, distantly, you think Draco might be saying something, but you’re not sure what. Your body’s honed in on the vibrations of his voice, the way he smells—

“Nineteen.”

Hearing your nickname snaps you back to reality.

You open your mouth to answer him, but no words come out. Little gasps punch out of your parted lips, hips twisting  and writhing, searching for friction. For heat. For him.

“Tell me,” he says firmly.

You turn your head. You can barely see him, your eyes refusing to open more than a sliver. He’s leaning forward now, one knee planted on the ground.

“W-what?” you rasp.

“Your plan—the pheromones—shit.” Then, quieter, he adds. “Tell me how to make it stop hurting you.”

Your eyes snap to his. He’s watching you with that sharp focus you’ve always admired about him. The look that says nothing is getting in the way of what he wants.

You’re not sure exactly what makes him give in.

Maybe it’s the way your breaths come in soft pants that make the rise and fall of your breasts visible beneath your loosened tie. Maybe it’s the way your eyes drop to his lips, his neck, your tongue running over your teeth like you’re imagining how he tastes. It might be the ways your hips slant forward, knees falling open, your body begging even if you don’t have the words to.

But he must see it.

Because, he just says, “Fuck.”

His shoulders catch the moonlight as he shrugs out of his shirt in one smooth motion. Lines of lean muscle come into view, and you feel as if you’ve been presented with a feast after almost starving to death.

Malfoy’s always had a very determined walk. A powerful stride, one that commands attention. You’ve seen in in the halls, backed by his loyal little following. You’ve watched him stride towards the Quidditch cup, shoulders back, chest high.

But right now—he’s not walking.

He’s crawling.

Towards you.

“Close your eyes. If it helps,” he says before his hand meets your ankle and he’s bowing in front of you.

Something deep in your mind catches on those words, but he’s yanking your panties the rest of the way down your legs, and the heat of his mouth against your core whisks your thoughts away.

The second his tongue finds your clit you can’t help but cry out. Your head tips back against the stone, the relief so immediate it’s almost staggering. Draco attacks you with warm, lascivious licks that aren’t meant to soothe, despite his words. They’re meant to claim.

Your hands dig into the mossy floor beneath you, arching your hips up for him. His strong, hot tongue parts your folds like it’s his life’s work. The view of his back muscles shifting and stretching in the moonlight as he makes out with your pussy is so seductive to you it’s nearly frightening.

In fact, it is.

Frightening.

“I hate you,” you grit out, not even entirely sure where it came from. Just a need to set things back in order, even as he’s unraveling you.

He groans against your clit, the vibration licking up your spine.

“Say it again.”

You gasp, caught between resisting and wanting more, even as your pelvis shoves forward and you grind into him like you’re in heat. His tongue dives lower and when his nose nudges your clit, you nearly scream. Your orgasm rises like something sharp. It’s so powerful of a burn, of an ache, you find yourself scrambling backwards in an attempt to get away from the promise of such delirious pleasure.

Merlin, you need it. More than you’ve ever needed anything in your entire fucking life—

It scares you how much.

But Draco just hums against the pulls on his hair and follows you anyway, scuffling forward on the stone ground, gripping your hips and spearing his tongue deep inside you.

“Malfoy, I’m gonna—oh, fuckkk—”

“That’s it,” he says, and the sound of him quietly speaking against your slick folds nearly does you in.  “Scream my name, Nineteen. N-need—fuck—wanna hear you say it like that.”

The soft rasp of his voice, and the two long fingers being pushed inside you send you straight over the edge.

The release pulls you under in waves. Dark, pulsing tidal waves that drive deep through your pelvis, erasing through your body until the pleasure nearly blinds you. You feel yourself going rigid in his hands, thighs trembling against his soft hair, but he just hauls you through it, like a lighthouse in a storm. Strong, steady, and never stopping until you’re jolting and gasping, crying out in relief.

But the second your orgasm fades, the heat rushes in again. The fever. It’s back, and with vengeance this time.

Sweat beads your forehead and your vision swims, but you look up just in time to see Malfoy scramble backwards like you burned him.

You frown. “Dra—what?”

He throws a hand out, pressing himself against the opposite wall.  “Don’t come closer.”

A whimper escapes your lips before you can stop it. The heat is different now. Instead of feeling like a thread about to snap, your body has narrowed down to one singular need.

Breed.

Your fingers fly to your shirt without you telling them to, unbuttoning your shirt with ease. You feel the way your breasts move with your harsh breaths, but your gaze is locked on him. And when you drop down to all fours and slink forward, Draco looks like he’s going to have a heart attack.

“Merlin—I can’t.” he chokes out. “I can’t even think about it.”

Your gut feels like it’s been punched. Is he so disgusted by the thought that he can’t even look at you?

Does he truly not want you? Was that some sort of…pity—

You can’t even finish that thought.

You slink backwards until you’re half in shadow. He must see the look on your face because his head falls back against the wall on a groan. You can smell his sweat in the air and it’s making you downright feral even though you can barely look at him from embarrasement.

“I can’t think about it, because if I do, then I’ll do it,” he says. “And if I do it…I don’t know if I’ll be able to stop.”

Control. That’s always been Malfoy’s vice, hasn’t it?

This situation is probably his worst nightmare.

Not for the first time, something plucks on your heart strings deep under your ribs. He’s scared of losing it? You can give it back to him.

Slowly, and with deliberate care, you cross the boundary. The wand clatters somewhere to the side. Draco watches as you crawl to him, his eyes raking over you, a mixture of pain and hunger in his eyes.

You can only imagine what you look like.

Hair mussed, left in just a lace bra and soaked panties, your skirt hanging loose on your hips.

“Then don’t,” you murmur.

Your voice is so quiet in the stillness, but it spears through him all the same. Your gazes click together like magnets.

He shakes his head, chest heaving. “You don’t mean that. It’s just the fucking plant dust—”

He stops short when your hands settle on his knees, gently forcing them apart to make room for yourself. Your breath catches when you drop your gaze to see his cock sitting heavy and hard against his lower stomach. It twitches under your watchful gaze and your mouth waters.

Carefully, you settle into his lap.

He exhales sharply, and his hands find your soft skin, undoing your bra before you can even blink. Testament to a lot of practice, you’re sure. 

You don’t have the strength to be self-conscious. You just need him. Now. Even so, somewhere through the lust-filled haze, you remember his words.

“The plant just lowers—” your breath hitches as his teeth find the soft skin of your neck. “—your inhibitions. It can’t make you fuck someone you don’t…w-want.”

“How do you know so much about this?” he groans into your hair. “Why are you so—”

“What? So smart?”

“You wish.”

The words barely brush your ear before you lean back to get a better look at him. You’ve barely straightened by the time his mouth is on your tits.

You cry out as he swirls his hot, greedy tongue around your nipples, sucking on the hard buds until you’re panting. Your clit swells and you bite your lip, threading your fingers through his hair. The first rock of your hips has you both groaning. 

You grind down on him again and you nearly black out at the feeling of his bare length sliding through your slick folds. You reach between you to tug his slacks down further. His balls are heavy in your hand, and he grunts, shoving himself up into you.

“Merlin—I can’t—” he chokes out, mouth leaving your tits as his palms fly up and dig into his eye sockets.

Without thinking, you lean forward and kiss his fingers one by one. His bare chest stutters against yours at the softness of it, and when you slip his thumb into your mouth and swirl your tongue around it eagerly, he drops his hands.

You look down to find him staring up at you with a familiar expression. You make that face. When you're seconds away from catching the Snitch.

You swear you can feel every vein in his dick, so hot and hard against you as you grind your slick cunt against him. It’s instinct to drop your head and search for his mouth with yours, but you pull back at the last second. That last thread of lucidity coming back to haunt you.

This is your rival.

For a second you just breathe each other in, mouths parted, groaning and writhing into the other, but when the blunt head of his cock catches on your entrance, your hips react on their own—circling, pelvis arching, body begging in a primal, secret language you don’t fully understand.

And he moves with you—meeting you there with the deep urges of his own.

His hips don’t snap into you, brutal and deep. Instead, they slide. Back and forth. His hands clamp onto your hips, holding you still in his lap as he eases the tip in and out, letting your slick coat him until you’re ready to take the whole thing. 

The way his body moves speaks to something primal and powerful in you. How his sweaty muscles bunch and tense, and his hands dig into your skin at your hips, your thighs, your waist— it’s better than anything you could’ve imagined.

“This doesn’t mean anything,” he growls into your ear.

You nod frantically, clenching around him.

In one long thrust, Draco fills you up. The stretch is breathtaking. Literally. He’s so long that his tip kisses your cervix with every thrust, sending you mewing and clawing at his hair, his shoulders, just to stay afloat through the pleasure.

He’s not fairing much better.

He’s growling and moaning, his cock jerking desperately in your slick walls as he pulls back just far enough to yank your hips back down to meet his.

Sounds spill out of you. They might be words, you’re not sure. But the next thing you know, cold stone meets your back, and Draco’s warm body is spread out over you. His thrusts grow heavier and deeper. You can feel the way your body tries to hold onto him, clenching and fluttering desperately, even as your arousal makes it easy for him to slide so deep.

You’ve never been this wet in your life. And now, you’re wondering, if it’s from the pollen, or if it’s just from him. Because you’ve never had sex this good, and that’s saying something.

Your bodies just…move together. Like they’re one of a kind puzzle pieces meant to fit. The give and take is so instinctual it’s almost unbearable how good it is.

“Fuck, you take me so well,” Draco pants, a lock of hair falling over his sweaty brow. “Knew you would.”

You throw your head back, your ankle finding solace in his lower back, sealing him to you and begging for more. Your body gives into the heat, the pleasure cresting and pulling you into something dangerously strong. So strong you’re worried your body might not survive it.

“So pretty on the pitch,” he groans, seemingly unable to stop from talking. “Merlin, I just—I lose the bloody Snitch every time you look at me.”

That does it.

Your orgasm rushes through your body like lightning. Your spine snaps straight, muscles clenching down with a pulse you feel everywhere. A moan leaves your chest, so loud you’ve probably woken the whole damn castle, but you’re too gone to care.

Draco makes a rough sound against the skin of your neck. “Holy—fuck, I’m gonna—where should I—”

“Inside,” you gasp. “Please. Please, Draco. I need it. P-please—”

“Ah, fuck—” His mouth seals against your throat, nose brushing the pulse point below your ear. “Need you.”

He jerks hard, once, twice, and then he’s spilling inside you. Your body seems to understand, back arching, pulling him deeper with your ankle as he stills and lets out a groan that curls low in your belly, and will certainly live on in every wet dream you have from here on out.

The fever fades like a receding tide. You blink, slowly coming back to yourself. Your clit is throbbing, and your pulse is still hammering, but strangely you feel...lighter somehow.

Like maybe the last few years of tension between you and your rival finally needed to snap.

You turn to him. He’s on his knees, breathing hard, buttoning up his pants. He looks up at you, and something in his eyes softens.

“What did you mean?” You find yourself asking. “When you told me to close my eyes earlier?”

He shrugs, reaching for his shirt.

“Well, you said you’d rather be here with anyone else. I just—” he looks away, suddenly seeming very interested in the way the Nest is unraveling like it did its job, and the stray vine that’s currently retrieving his wand for him.

You don’t let him finish.

You lurch forward and grab his face, pulling his lips to yours.

This time, he doesn’t hesitate a second before meeting your mouth. He kisses you back, long and hard, digging his fingers through your hair to pull you closer. You exhale into it, something long unsaid passing between you.  But it’s not enough. You still need to say the words.

So, you break the kiss first. He blinks down at you, eyes dark, hair mussed.

“I only think about you, Malfoy,” you whisper in the shared air between you. “On or off the pitch, it’s only you.”

He leans down and brushes his lips across yours. “I still hate you, Nineteen.”

You reward him by deepening the kiss. He answers it, slower this time, but no less intense. When he finally pulls back, you’re already smiling.

“Say it again.”

dividers by @/bbyg4rlhelps | draco masterlist

taglist: @m00cow2000, @annonymoose, @poopoocacapepr, @witheringwidgetwrites, @stressedoutsteph,

@skankhvnt42, @afterhoursangell, @madimcg14, @virocci, @sprinkles260, @vroomvroom0481

@kimberlyxmalfoy, @aaaaslaaaan, @cthood, @ch0rdsunfl0wer, @hugsforbyler,

[serdunkalot]

Through Stone and Shadow

Pairing: Jacaerys Velaryon x Targaryen Cousin!Reader (ft. Aegon)

Description: You're a Targaryen princess with a dragon, a seat on the small council, and a hole in your wall that looks directly into the Crown Prince's chambers. You should seal it. You should forget what you've seen. You should definitely stop watching your cousin fuck his way through King's Landing's noblewomen.

But you don't. And when Jacaerys starts looking at you like he knows, like he's been waiting for you to break—well. That's when things get complicated.

Genre: voyeurism, jace likes to fook, he definitely knows you're watching, fucking your cousin (it's targaryens what did you expect), why does everyone want to marry him, angst with your hand between your thighs, oblivious pining except he's not oblivious at all, im not sorry, SLOW BURN, VERY VERY SLOW, he hasnt even kissed you and its been 30k words, that type of slow, why do u want to fuck. every cousin........... porn with heavy plot

WC: 48k (100k projected) also on ao3 (where it will be updated!)

It wasn't supposed to happen like this.

You hadn't meant to discover the hole in the wall—a gap where the stone had crumbled between your chambers and his. It was small, barely the width of your  index and middle fingers, hidden behind the carved wooden screen that stood in the corner of your room. You'd only found it when you'd moved the screen aside to retrieve a dropped pearl earring, and there it was, a sliver of forbidden sight directly into the heir's private quarters.

You stared at it for a moment longer, crouched onto the floor with the pearl still in your palm.

Rotted mortar, you thought. Old stone. The Red Keep is falling apart in places no one bothers to look.

The right thing would have been to call for the servants, have it sealed with fresh mortar. To forget you'd ever seen it, like a proper lady would. 

That first night, however, curiosity won. Just a glance, you kept telling yourself. Just to see if it truly looked into Jacaerys's room or if your eyes had deceived you in the dim candlelight.

They hadn't, and your breath caught in your throat as soon as your eye found the gap. His bed was perfectly visible—the heavy posts of dark wood, the deep crimson coverlet embroidered with the three-headed dragon of House Targaryen. And there, tangled in those sheets, was your cousin.

Worst of all, he wasn't alone.

Turn away. The thought flickered through your mind even as you stayed perfectly still, silver hair spilling over your shoulder and onto the floor in waves as you leaned closer. Your heart hammered against your ribs. You knew what the right choice was. You simply weren't making it.

The woman beneath him was dark-haired, flushed, with her mouth open as Jacaerys pounded into her from behind, and you realized with a strange twist in your stomach that this was far from his first time. The rumors that swirled through the Red Keep were true, then. The Crown Prince, for all his duties and noble bearing in the daylight hours, was as much a creature of appetite as any Targaryen before him.

You, on the other hand, had never even been kissed. Never been touched. Good noble ladies waited for their wedding night, and common fucking was for the common whores—thank you for that wisdom, cousin Aemond.

His hand fisted in her dark hair, pulling her head back as he drove into her cunt with a rhythm that was almost borderline brutal. The sound of skin meeting skin echoed off the stone walls, punctuated by her breathy moans and his low groans of pleasure. You could see the sheen of sweat on his shoulders, the flex of muscle beneath his skin as he gripped her hips hard enough to leave bruises.

"Fuck," he growled, and the vulgarity of it—hearing such words from the lips of the Crown Prince—sent a forbidden thrill down your spine. "You take me so well."

The woman whimpered something you couldn't quite hear, and Jacaerys laughed—dark and satisfied. He leaned forward, pressing her face into the pillows as he changed his angle, and her muffled cry of pleasure made heat pool low in your belly.

Your hand had somehow found its way to your throat, fingers pressed against your racing pulse. This was wrong, so utterly wrong. You sat here, watching your cousin rut like a beast in heat, and worse—far worse—your body was responding to it. Your thighs pressed together on their own accord, seeking friction you had no right to want.

Leave. Now.

You started to pull back from the gap, but then Jacaerys pulled out suddenly, flipping the girl onto her back with easy strength, and you caught a glimpse of him fully—his flushed cock, hard and completely shameless. He spread her thighs wide and thrusted back into her cunt in with one smooth stroke, and a gasp tore from your throat before you could stop it.

Your hand flew to your mouth, palm clamping hard over your lips. The pearl earring—forgotten, still clutched in your other hand—slipped from your fingers and hit the stone floor with a soft clink that sounded deafening in the quiet of your chamber.

You froze, heart hammering, terrified the sound had somehow carried through the wall.

But Jacaerys didn't pause, didn't look toward the gap. He was too focused on the woman beneath him, and you—gods help you—you couldn't look away.

"Look at me," he commanded, and something in his voice—the authority, the certainty, the  want—made your breath catch. The woman's eyes snapped to his face. "Good girl," he murmured, and thrust deeper.

The words sent heat flooding through you, pooling low into your belly. You felt it between your thighs—a pulse, an ache, something you had no name for. Your hand was still clamped over your mouth, but you couldn't move, couldn't think, could barely breathe—

The sharp knock at your chamber door made you jerk back from the wall as though it burned you.

"My lady?" came Lysa's voice, muffled through the heavy oak. "We've come to prepare you for supper."

You stumbled back from the screen. Your hand pressed against your cheek—Seven Hells, you were boiling. "A moment," you called out, breathless, hating how your voice wavered in the otherwise silent room.

You smoothed your skirts with trembling hands and tried to compose yourself before crossing to open the door. Your three ladies-in-waiting filed in—Lysa, Maryse, and young Elaena, their arms full of silks and jewelry boxes. They were good girls, all of them. You'd chosen them yourself—daughters of minor houses who actually seemed to like you rather than seeing you as a political opportunity. The last thing you needed were the usual vultures, daughters of great lords who'd spend more time reporting back to their mothers than actually being useful.

"You look flushed, my lady," Maryse observed you with immediate concern, setting down the silks onto the dressing table. "Are you well?"

"Quite well," you lied, settling into the chair before your mirror. Your reflection was damning, your silver hair mussed, falling loose from where you'd been pressed against the wall. Your cheeks were flushed, pupils blown wide and dark, emphasizing the violet haze. You looked exactly like what you were, a woman who'd been watching something she had no business seeing. "The fire was burning too hot. I've only just opened the window."

Lysa moved to begin unpinning your hair, her fingers gentle, yet ever so clever, as they worked. "I see my lady. The cook's boy told me the funniest story today," she began, and you felt yourself relax into the familiar rhythm of their chatter.

This was safe. This was normal. Unlike whatever madness had possessed you just moments ago.

Elaena brought forward the gown, it was a beautiful collection of pale red silk that caught the candlelight like dawn breaking over the Narrow Sea. The bodice was fitted, the neckline modest but elegant, with delicate embroidery along the sleeves that fell into drapes. It was a gown befitting a princess of dragon blood, though you sometimes forgot that's what you were.

As your ladies worked, Lysa plaiting your hair into an intricate crown of braids, Maryse threading deep crimson rubies on fine silver chains to weave through the silver, Elaena carefully lacing you into your gown—your mind wandered despite your best efforts.

You could still see it. The flex of Jacaerys's shoulders, the way his head had fallen back in pleasure. The sound of his voice, rough with need and desire. 

Seven hells. 

"Tilt your head, my lady," Lysa murmured, and you obeyed, watching in the mirror as she secured the final braid with a dragon brooch of white gold and rubies, its eyes tiny chips of garnet that seemed to glow due to the candlelight.

Your hair fell in a waterfall of silver down your back, nearly to your calves, the braids creating an ornate crown that framed your face. The rubies caught the light like drops of blood, and for a moment you understood why men wrote songs about Targaryen women. More specifically, why their chantee’s were filled with tales of you.

"Beautiful," Maryse breathed, stepping back to admire their work.

You were beautiful. You knew this, had always known it—it was simply a fact, like knowing the sky was blue or fire was hot. But beauty felt like a strange, useless disease when your mind was still full of images it shouldn't hold.

When your thoughts were consumed by your cousin, the heir to the Iron Throne, and the way he'd looked lost in pleasure with a woman who wasn't you.

The private dining hall was already warm and loud when you arrived, filled with the low hum of conversation and the clatter of serving plates. This was your favorite meal of the week. no courtiers to impress, no performers to sit through, no need to smile politely while some lord droned on about his son and why he’s worthy of your hand. Just family. The table could have seated fifty people easily, but tonight it was just the twelve of you, which somehow made the hall feel bigger and emptier at the same time.

Rhaenyra sat at the head in a gown of black and red, her crown set aside for the evening, silver hair braided simply. Daemon lounged beside her, looking more like a dangerous cat than a prince consort. Down the table, Alicent sat with her children scattered among Rhaenyra's, Aegon laughing at something Jace had said, Helaena showing Baela her embroidery. A year ago, they'd been on the brink of war. Now they broke bread together like it had never happened.

"There she is," Aegon called out as you entered, already half in his cups despite the early hour. "Our lovely cousin, late as always."

"I'm not late," you replied, taking your usual seat between Helaena and Baela. "You're simply too eager for the wine, Aegon."

Aegon clutched his chest in mock offense while Helaena reached for your hand beneath the table, giving it a gentle squeeze. She said nothing—she rarely did in company—but her smile was soft and genuine. You squeezed back, wishing she'd been born your sister instead of your cousin. She understood silence, understood that sometimes you just needed to exist quietly in a world that never managed to simply shut the fuck up.

"You look beautiful tonight," Helaena murmured, so quietly only you could hear. Her green eyes—so unlike the rest of the Targaryens—studied your face with an intensity that only she had. "Red suits you. Like fire. Like blood."

Before you could respond, the servants began bringing out the first course, and your attention was pulled elsewhere. You reached for your wine, grateful for something to do with your hands, and that's when you saw Jacaerys sat across the table and down two seats, between Luke and Joffrey. He was dressed formally in a black doublet with red embroidery, his dark hair still damp as though he'd bathed recently. He looked every inch the Crown Prince—composed, attentive, laughing at something Luke said.

He looked nothing like the man you'd seen less than an hour ago, flushed and shameless, fucking a woman whose name he probably didn't know. Or didn't care to remember. 

Your cheeks heated at the memory, and you quickly looked down at your plate.

Gods, were you that much of a prude?

"How was your afternoon, my dear?" Rhaenyra suddenly asked you, her voice carrying easily down the table. She'd always been kind to you, treating you more as a daughter than a niece. Your father's sister, mourning the brother she'd lost, had perhaps seen something of him in you.

"Quiet, Your Grace," you managed, hoping your voice sounded normal. "I spent most of it reading in my chambers."

"Always with your books," Daemon observed with amusement. "You're worse than the damn Maesters."

The conversation flowed easily after that—talk of the day's small council meeting, Aegon's latest exploit (falling asleep during a petitioner's complaint), Helaena's new collection of butterflies. You participated when required, but part of your attention kept sliding back to Jacaerys despite your best efforts.

He caught you looking, which was more embarrassing than usual. His eyes narrowed, and for one horrible second you were certain he knew. Knew what you'd seen. Knew you'd watched. Your stomach dropped and you bit your lip hard enough to taste copper and looked away. When you risked another glance, he was already talking to Luke again, the moment forgotten.

It wasn't until the second course that Rhaenyra cleared her throat in that way that meant an announcement was coming. The table quieted immediately, all eyes turning to their queen.

"I've been thinking," she began, glancing at Jacaerys with obvious affection, "that our heir is now two and twenty. More than old enough to take a wife."

Across the table, Jacaerys kept his expression perfectly neutral and composed. But you saw his jaw tighten, saw the way his hand clenched briefly around his fork before he forced himself to relax.

"It's time we began seeking suitable matches," Rhaenyra continued. "I've already received inquiries from several great houses—the Arryns, the Starks, even a letter from the Triarchy expressing interest in an alliance."

"The Triarchy?" Daemon barked a laugh. "What would they offer, a wife who smells of spices, counts coins and wouldn't know what to do with a cock if you handed it to her with instructions?"

"They offered three ships of gold and exclusive trading rights," Rhaenyra replied dryly. "Which is more than most houses can promise."

"I won't marry for ships," Jacaerys said quietly, and something in his tone made you look at him once more. His expression was still composed, but there was a hardness around his eyes. 

"You'll marry where it serves the realm," Rhaenyra said, though not unkindly. "As I did. As all rulers must."

"You married for love the second time," Jace pointed out.

"The second time, yes." Rhaenyra smiled at Daemon. "But first I did my duty. And you will do yours."

The tension at the table was palpable. Alicent looked uncomfortable, her hands folded tightly in her lap. Aegon was watching the exchange with barely concealed glee—always happy when someone else was being pressed into marriage talk instead of him.

"We'll host a series of feasts," Rhaenyra continued, her tone allowing no argument. "Let the eligible ladies of the realm come to court. Let Jacaerys meet them, dance with them. Surely among them there will be someone suitable."

"How many feasts?" Luke asked, grimacing. "I hate feasts."

"As many as it takes," Rhaenyra replied. "We'll begin preparations the following morrow."

Your stomach dropped. Feast after feast, watching Jacaerys dance with simpering ladies who would fall over themselves for the chance to be queen. Watching him smile that charming smile, knowing what you now knew—that he was skilled at pleasing women, that he knew exactly how to make them fall at his feet.

"How exciting," Baela said beside you, though her tone suggested she found it anything but. "More opportunities to wear uncomfortable gowns and make pleasant conversation with people who hate us."

"They don't all hate us," you murmured, though your heart wasn't in the defense.

Across the table, Jacaerys stared at his wine cup like it might provide him with answers. You almost felt bad for him. If anyone at this table had no chance of marrying for love, it was him. Not that he seemed particularly interested in finding one person to settle down with, but still, your point stood.

"Well then," Aegon raised his cup. "To Jace's upcoming nuptials. May his future wife have the patience of a saint and the deafness of a stone."

Despite the tension, several people laughed, and Rhaenyra shook her head with exasperated fondness. "Perhaps we should have music," she suggested, gesturing to the musicians who always waited in the shadows during these intimate suppers. "Clear some space. Let us remember we're still young enough to enjoy ourselves."

"An excellent idea," Daemon agreed, already rising. He offered his hand to Rhaenyra with a theatrical bow that made her laugh.

The servants quickly moved the table back, creating a space for dancing as the musicians struck up a lively tune. It was informal, nothing like the rigid court dances you'd endure at the upcoming feasts—this was just family, moving together without judgment or ceremony.

Luke grabbed Rhaena's hand first, spinning her into the space with more enthusiasm than grace. She laughed, steadying him when he nearly tripped over his own feet. Joffrey tried to convince Helaena to dance, but she demurred with a gentle shake of her head, content to watch from her seat.

"Dance with me," Baela demanded, pulling you up before you could protest. "Before one of the boys asks and proceeds to step on our feet."

You let yourself be drawn into the movement, falling into the familiar pattern. Baela was a good dancer—all the Targaryen children were taught from youth that grace in the ballroom was as important as grace on dragonback. You switched partners as the song changed, first with Aegon, who was surprisingly light on his feet despite the wine, then with Luke, who apologized three times for nearly stepping on your hem, which you found adorable.

"You're doing fine," you assured him with a smile, and he grinned back, boyish and sweet.

When that dance ended, you found yourself passed to Jacaerys.

Your breath caught as his hand found yours, the other settling at your waist. His palm was large and warm against your back, steadying you. You could smell him now, clean linen and spice. Could see his eyes up close, brown with flecks of amber in the firelight. Could see, really see, how stupidly beautiful he was.

"Having fun?" he asked as he led you through the steps, his tone pleasantly neutral and polite. The exact same way he'd speak to any cousin at a family gathering.

"Yes," you managed, hoping your voice sounded normal. "It's nice, having everyone together like this."

"Mm," he agreed, spinning you smoothly. "Rarer than it should be. Though I suppose it'll be even rarer once I'm shackled to some lord's daughter who'll expect me to sit through needlepoint demonstrations."

He was trying to make it sound like a joke, but it came out flat. Like he'd already accepted this was happening and hated every second of it.

"Maybe you'll find someone you actually like," you offered, though the words tasted bitter on your tongue.

A laugh, short and bitter. "Maybe. Though I doubt the great houses are sending their daughters for love matches. They want a crown, not a husband."

"Then perhaps you should look for someone who wants neither," you said before you could stop yourself.

Jacaerys raised an eyebrow, something that might have been interest flickering across his face. "And where would I find such a creature? They seem to be in short supply."

Before you could respond—before you could make an even greater fool of yourself—the song ended. Jace released you with a small bow, perfectly proper, and turned to offer his hand to Rhaena for the next dance.

You stepped back, your heart still racing for reasons that had nothing to do with the exertion of dancing. He'd been so normal. So completely indifferent. There was no awareness in his eyes, no sign that he saw you as anything other than his cousin, someone to dance with at family gatherings and exchange pleasantries with at supper. Which was as it should be. You should be relieved and instead, you felt something uncomfortably close to disappointment.

"You look troubled," Helaena's soft voice came from beside you. She'd moved so quietly you hadn't noticed her approach. "Like a bird that's flown into a window."

You turned to her, finding those strange green eyes studying you. "I'm fine," you said automatically.

"The spider watches from the corner," Helaena murmured, her gaze distant in that way it sometimes got after one of her vision spells. "But the spider doesn't know it's caught in a web of its own making."

"Helaena—"

But she'd already drifted away, drawn by something only she could see, leaving you standing at the edge of the dancing with her cryptic words echoing in your mind.

The spider watches from the corner. Seven hells, your poor, dear, earnest cousin knows you’re a pervert. 

You watched Jacaerys spin Rhaena through the steps, laughing at something she said. Watched him dance with Baela next, then with his mother, the perfect dutiful son. He never once looked your way again and you told yourself that was exactly what you wanted.

The dancing continued for another hour before Rhaenyra finally called an end to the evening. "Early council meeting tomorrow," she announced with apologetic warmth. "And I need at least some sleep if I'm to endure Tyland Lannister's complaints about the damned grain tariffs."

The group began to disperse—Aegon stumbling slightly as Aemond steadied him with the patience only a brother could have, Luke and Joffrey arguing about something as they headed toward their chambers. You walked back to your chambers with Helaena and Baela, their soft conversation a comfortable buffer against your own churning thoughts. When you finally reached your door, you bid them goodnight and slipped inside, leaning back against the heavy oak with a shaky exhale.

Your ladies had been by earlier, the room was tidy, the fire banked low, your nightgown laid out across the bed. Everything was peaceful and ordinary. Your gaze immediately drifted, unbidden, to the corner where the carved screen stood.

You shouldn't. You absolutely shouldn't. But your feet carried you forward anyway, your hands moving the screen aside with trembling, eager, perverted fingers.

Empty. Fuck. 

His room was dark save for a single candle burning on the bedside table. The crimson coverlet was smooth and undisturbed. The heavy curtains drawn back from the windows to let in the moonlight. No Jacaerys. No woman writhing beneath him. Nothing but silence and shadows.

You sat back on your heels, a strange mix of relief and something else—something you refused to name as disappointment—settling in your chest.

Where was he? 

It was late, well past the hour when most of the castle had retired. Perhaps he'd gone to the Street of Silk, unwilling to bring his entertainment into the Red Keep on a night when the family had gathered. Perhaps he was in someone else's bed entirely, some lady's maid or kitchen girl who'd caught his eye.

Perhaps he was being discreet, something he clearly hadn't bothered earlier today. The thought dissipated as quickly as it came, no, maybe he was being discreet. Thoughtful, even. Of course, he'd been perfectly discreet earlier too, it was your fault for being a creep. 

You pressed your palm against the cold stone, staring at that empty bed as though it might offer answers. The image from earlier was still burned into your mind—the flex of his shoulders, the sound of his voice rough with pleasure, the casual way he'd commanded that woman's body like he owned it.

Your cousin. The heir to the Iron Throne. The boy you'd grown up with, who used to let you win at cyvasse when you were children, who'd shown you how to skip stones across the fountain and laughed when you both got yelled at for it.

When the fuck had he turned into that? When had he learned to move like that, to take someone apart with his hands like it was easy?

And why, by all the Seven, couldn't you stop fucking thinking about it?

You pushed away from the wall, suddenly furious with yourself. This was madness. Dangerous, stupid madness that could only end in humiliation or worse. You needed to forget what you'd seen. Needed to seal that hole in the wall and pretend it had never existed.

Starting tomorrow. You'd call the servants first thing in the morning and have it filled with mortar. Tonight, tonight, though,  you would sleep, and you would not dream of your cousin's hands, or his voice, or the way he'd looked so beautiful while lost in pleasure.

You climbed into bed still wearing your red silk gown, too tired to call your ladies back to unlace you. The rubies in your hair pressed uncomfortably against the pillow until you pulled them free with impatient fingers, letting your silver hair spill loose around you.

Sleep was slow to come. When it finally did, you dreamed of dragons and fire, of flying on Cannibal's back while something nameless chased you through the clouds. And in the dream, when you finally turned to face it, it had Jacaerys's eyes.

You did not look through the hole the following morning.

The temptation was there—gods, it was there, a constant itch beneath your skin as your ladies dressed you. But you kept your eyes firmly away from that corner, focusing instead on the monotonous task of standing still while they laced you into your gown.

It was white today, or perhaps the palest blue, the color seemed to shift in the light like a sort of moonstone. The bodice was scaled like dragon armor, each piece of fabric layered and stitched to create the illusion of protection. Gold chains draped across your shoulders and down your bare arms, cold against your skin. More chains hung from your waist, swaying gently when you moved. The sleeves were sheer and flowing, doing little to ward off the morning chill.

"You look like a goddess," Elaena breathed as she stepped back to admire their work.

"I look like I'm about to freeze to death, thank you very much," you replied, though without any real complaint. 

Your hair was left mostly loose today, falling in silver waves down your back, with only two small braids pulled back from your face and secured with a dragon clasp of white gold. It was simple and appropriate for a small council meeting where you needed to be taken seriously.

The walk to the council chamber was embedded into your brain, your slippered feet silent on the cold stone floors. Guards nodded as you passed, servants stepped aside with murmured greetings. You were known throughout the Red Keep as kind, perhaps too kind for a Targaryen. You stopped to ask the head cook about her daughter's fever, remembered the name of the stable boy's new puppy hound, listened when the washerwomen complained about the state of the linens.

Your father had been like that, or so Rhaenyra told you. Loved by the smallfolk, remembered fondly even years after his death. You hoped it was true. You hoped you carried something of him beyond just his silver hair and violet eyes.

The council chamber was already half-full when you arrived. Lord Corlys sat at Rhaenyra's right hand, his age showing more each moon but his mind still sharp as any of the younger council members. Daemon lounged in his seat with typical irreverence, picking at his nails with a dagger. Grand Maester Gerardys shuffled through papers, and several other lords whose names you'd long since memorized filled out the remaining seats.

Rhaenys was there too, your mentor in all things draconic and strategic. She caught your eye as you entered and gave you a subtle nod of approval. She'd been instrumental in convincing Rhaenyra to let you train, to let you learn the ways of war despite your aunt's maternal protests.

"Good morrow, niece," Rhaenyra greeted you warmly as you took your seat. "I trust you slept well?"

"Well enough, Your Grace," you replied, ignoring the knowing look Daemon shot you. He always seemed to know when someone was lying, the bastard.

You'd earned your place at this table through years of study—history, law, trade routes, military strategy. While other noble daughters learned needlework and song, you'd buried yourself in the library, devouring every tome you could find. Knowledge was power, and you'd wanted to be useful. Wanted to matter beyond being another pretty Targaryen to marry off for alliances.

And then there was Cannibal. Your sweet baby boy, Cannibal. 

You'd claimed him at two and ten, a feat that had shocked the entire realm. The wild dragon, the one who'd killed and eaten other dragons, who'd never been ridden—you'd walked up to him on Dragonstone's smoking beaches and simply asked. And he'd lowered his massive black head and let you climb onto his back.

The bond between you was unlike anything the Dragonkeepers had seen. You could feel him, always, a presence at the back of your mind, dark and fierce and free. Sometimes you knew his thoughts, or at least his intentions. When he wanted to hunt. When he wanted to fly far from the castle and its confining walls. When he missed you, though he'd never admit it, that damned proud creature.

He was out there now, somewhere over the Bay of Blackwater or perhaps the Kingswood. You could feel him, distantly, content in his solitude.

Vhagar was different—ancient, massive, slow with age but no less deadly. Aemond insisted he had full control of her, but you'd seen the truth when you flew near them. Vhagar tolerated Aemond. She hadn't fully accepted him, not the way Cannibal had accepted you. It would take years, perhaps decades, before that bond truly solidified.

If Aemond lived that long. Vhagar was known for her temper.

And Cannibal—Cannibal was larger still. Nearly the size of Balerion the Black Dread himself, or so the Dragonkeepers whispered when they thought you couldn't hear. Black as a night sky with none of the stars, with eyes like green flame and teeth as long as swords. He'd never accept the Dragonpit even if he could fit, which he couldn't. He roosted where he pleased, in sea caves along the coast, in the ruins of old Valyrian outposts, anywhere that gave him space and freedom and solitude.

"Shall we begin?" Rhaenyra's voice pulled you from your thoughts. She waited until everyone had settled, then gestured for Grand Maester Gerardys to start with the day's business.

The first hour was tedious, grain shipments from the Reach, trade disputes with the Free Cities, a complaint from House Royce about border incursions from mountain clans. You paid attention, offered your thoughts when asked, but your mind kept drifting.

Don't think about it. Don't think about him.

"There is one more matter," Rhaenyra said as the meeting drew toward its close. She looked around the table, her gaze lingering on you for a moment before moving on. "I've decided that Jacaerys should begin attending these meetings regularly. Starting the following morrow, he'll be joining us."

A few eyebrows raised, but no one protested. It made sense, he was two and twenty, the acknowledged heir, soon to be married. He needed to understand the workings of the realm he would one day rule. 

"Will he be given a formal position?" Lord Corlys asked, ever practical, ever scheming. 

"Not immediately," Rhaenyra replied. "Let him observe first. Learn our ways, then we'll see where his talents might be best utilized."

Daemon snorted. "His talents are best utilized in the training yard and the—"

"Daemon," Rhaenyra cut him off with a warning look, though her lips twitched with suppressed amusement.

You felt your cheeks heat and kept your eyes fixed firmly on the table. In a week’s time Jacaerys would be here, sitting in one of these chairs, probably directly across from you. You'd have to see him regularly, maintain professional courtesy, pretend you hadn't watched him fuck a woman senseless.

Gods have mercy.

"Any objections?" Rhaenyra asked, looking around the table.

Silence. What could anyone say? He was the heir and none of you were about to tell the Queen that her son wasn't allowed in the Small Council. That seemed like a great way to lose your head.

"Good. Then we're finished for today." She stood, and everyone else rose with her. "Same time in three days. Try not to let the realm burn down before then."

The council members began to file out, but Rhaenys caught your arm as you moved to leave.

"Walk with me," she said, and it wasn't really a request.

You followed her out into the corridor, down a side passage that led into the city and the Dragonpit. She said nothing for a long moment, just walked with that regal bearing she'd never quite lost, even after being passed over for the throne.

"You seem distracted," she finally said.

"I'm fine."

"You're lying." She stopped, turning to face you with those sharp eyes that missed nothing. "What's wrong?"

For a wild moment, you considered telling her. I accidentally discovered a hole in my wall that looks into Jacaerys's chambers, and now I can't stop thinking about what I saw, and I think I'm losing my mind.

Instead, you said, "I'm just tired. The dancing went rather late last night."

Rhaenys studied you for a long moment, clearly unconvinced, but eventually she nodded. "Very well. But if something is bothering you—truly bothering you—you know you can come to me."

"I know," you said softly. "Thank you."

She squeezed your shoulder once, then continued down the corridor, leaving you alone with your thoughts and the distant sound of dragons roaring in their pit.

You stood there for a moment, staring at nothing, and wondered how in seven hells you were going to survive sitting across from Jacaerys in council meetings. Wondered if he'd look at you the same way he'd looked at you while dancing—politely indifferent, completely unaware of the effect he had.

Wondered if that was better or worse than the alternative.

You found yourself wandering toward the kitchens, drawn by the familiar sounds of clattering pots and raised voices. The rest of the castle felt too quiet after council meetings, too full of people watching their words. The kitchens were honest, they were steaming hot, loud and smelling like fresh bread and meat.

"My lady!" Jessamyn looked up from the massive hearth, her round face flushed from the heat. She'd been head cook for as long as you could remember, ruling her domain with an iron ladle and a sharp tongue. "What brings you down here? Shouldn't you be off doing princess things?"

"Princess things are dreadfully boring," you replied, stealing a piece of candied lemon from a nearby tray. "I'd much rather be here."

"Oi, those are for tonight's supper!" But Jessamyn was smiling, swatting at you halfheartedly with her wooden spoon.

The kitchen staff had long since grown accustomed to your presence. You'd been sneaking down here since you were a child, preferring the warmth and chatter to the formality of the upper floors. Here, no one cared that you were a Targaryen. Here, you were just the girl who always burned her tongue on the stew and asked too many questions about how to make proper gravy.

"How's Mara's fever?" you asked, hopping up onto a cleared section of the work table.

"Broke this morning, thank the gods." Jessamyn's expression softened. "That tea you brought from the Maester helped, I think."

"Good. I'm glad." You watched as two scullery maids argued over the proper way to pluck a chicken, their debate growing increasingly heated. "Should you be concerned about that?"

"They'll sort it out," Jessamyn said dismissively. "Or they'll stab each other with the bloody kitchen knives, and I'll have two fewer girls making my life a misery. Either way."

"You staying for midday meal?" one of the kitchen boys asked hopefully. "We're making that venison stew you like."

"Can't today. I'm going to the Dragonpit."

"Your beast finally coming back?" Jessamyn asked, pulling a tray of bread from the oven. "Haven't seen him in what, near a fortnight?"

"Twelve days," you confirmed. Cannibal preferred his freedom, and you'd never been one to cage him. He came when he wanted, and you would not have it  any other way. "He's out past Blackwater Bay somewhere. I can feel him."

"Feel him," one of the maids muttered. "Still sounds like madness to me, my lady."

"It is madness," you agreed cheerfully. "But it's a very useful madness."

You stayed a while longer, listening to the kitchen gossip, who was bedding whom, which lordling had insulted which servant, the general consensus that the upcoming feasts were going to be a right fucking nightmare to prepare for. Apparently, Rhaenyra had requested swan for one of them, and Jessamyn was already composing angry speeches about the impracticality of cooking swan.

"Tough as old leather and mean as sin," she complained, gesturing violently with her ladle. "But does Her Grace care? No. She wants swan because it's elegant. I'll give her elegant—I'll serve it so tough she'll break a tooth on it."

"I'll speak to her," you offered. "Suggest something else."

"You're a good girl," Jessamyn said, patting your cheek with a flour-dusted hand. "Too good for this lot of pompous cunts, if you ask me."

Eventually, you took your leave, stealing one more piece of candied lemon on your way out just to hear Jessamyn's exasperated shout behind you.

The walk to the Dragonpit took you through the city streets, and you pulled your cloak up to hide your distinctive hair. The smallfolk knew you by sight anyway—you came this way often enough—but it was easier not to draw any attention. A few people nodded as you passed, and you nodded back, trying not to think about how different you were from most nobles who never set foot outside the Red Keep's walls without a full escort of gold cloaks.

The Dragonpit loomed ahead, ancient and crumbling in places despite the best efforts to maintain it. The Dragonkeepers bowed as you approached, their respect tinged with something like awe. They still spoke in hushed tones about the day you'd claimed Cannibal, about the wild dragon who'd finally accepted a rider.

You came here even though your dragon never would. Cannibal was too large. He'd never fit through the Dragonpit's entrance even if he wanted to, which he decidedly did not.  But you came anyway, to see the other dragons, to speak with the Dragonkeepers who understood what it meant to be bonded to such creatures.

"My lady," the eldest keeper greeted you. "Still no sign of your beast?"

"He's hunting in the Kingswood," you replied, moving past them into the cavernous space. 

Some of the other dragons were here, Vermax in his usual corner, Arrax further back, Syrax sunning herself near the entrance where the light streamed in. They all shifted as you entered, great scaled heads turning, sensing you the way dragons always sensed Targaryen blood.

But none of them called to you the way Cannibal did. None of them were yours.

You could feel him now, distant but present in your mind. He was flying over the Kingswood, hunting deer or perhaps wild boar. Satisfied. He sent you an impression—not words, but feeling—of wind and height and the joy of the chase.

Umbās lenton, ñuha riña, you thought at him in High Valyrian, not knowing if he could truly hear your thoughts the way you felt his intentions. Māzigon lo jorrāelagon. 

Stay free, my boy. Come if needed.

You stood there in the Dragonpit for a while, watching the other dragons, feeling the heat of their breath and the weight of their ancient eyes. Vhagar wasn't here either—she was too massive, kept in the fields outside the city where she had room to spread her wings without crushing half the buildings in King's Landing. But even Vhagar was smaller than Cannibal. 

"He burns green, doesn't he?" one of the younger keepers asked, approaching cautiously. "Your Cannibal. Green flame."

"Yes," you confirmed. "Like poison made fire."

The keeper shuddered slightly. "I've never seen anything like it. Most dragons burn orange or red, sometimes gold. But green and his size. Seven hells, my lady, he's near as big as Balerion was."

"Bigger, perhaps," you said softly. "He's still growing."

The thought should have terrified you. Instead, it filled you with something like pride.

Supper that evening was a grander affair than the intimate family meal from the night before. The great hall was filled with lords and ladies of the court, the high table crowded with Targaryens and their most favored bannermen. Musicians played from the gallery, servants moved between the tables with platters of roasted boar and honeyed duck, and the wine flowed freely.

You sat between Baela and one of the Velaryon cousins whose name you could never quite remember, making polite conversation and trying not to let your gaze wander too obviously across the hall.

Jacaerys, much to your surprise, wasn't there.

His seat at the high table sat empty, and when you'd asked Rhaenyra about it as casually as you could manage, she'd simply said he was indisposed. Daemon had smirked into his wine cup at that, and you'd felt your cheeks burn.

Indisposed. Right, your arse.

The meal dragged on, course after course, toast after toast, Lord Whoever droning on about trade agreements until you wanted to scream. You smiled and nodded and said the right things, all while your mind churned with thoughts you had no business thinking.

Where was he? Out in the city again, finding another willing woman to warm his bed? Or perhaps he'd brought someone here, to his chambers, and simply hadn't wanted to risk being seen at supper with the smell of sex still clinging to him.

Gods, you needed to stop. This needed to stop, permanently, and immediately. 

By the time Rhaenyra finally dismissed the court for the evening, you were wound tight as a crossbow string. You said your goodnights to Baela and Helaena, declined Aegon's slurred offer to continue drinking in his chambers, and practically fled back to your own rooms.

Your ladies had already been by, the fire was lit, your sleeping shift laid out. You should call them back to help you out of your gown. Should prepare for bed like a sensible person and get some actual sleep before tomorrow's duties.

Instead, you found yourself moving toward the corner where the carved screen stood.

Don't, you told yourself firmly. Don't be a fool.

But your hands were already pushing the screen aside, your knees hitting the cold stone floor as you pressed your eye to the gap.

Empty. Again. Damn, damn, damn.

The room was dark save for moonlight streaming through the windows. The bed undisturbed, the coverlet smooth. No candles lit, no sign of life. You sat back, frustration coiling in your chest. Where in the seven hells was he?

You should go to bed. Should stop this madness before it consumed you entirely. But instead, you paced. Back and forth across your chamber like a caged animal, your silk skirts swishing against the floor. Every few minutes you'd stop, kneel down, check the hole again.

Still empty.

This was pathetic. You were pathetic. Waiting like some lovesick girl for a glimpse of a man who didn't even know you existed beyond being his cousin at family suppers.

He danced with you, a small voice whispered in your mind. He smiled at you.

He smiled at everyone. That was what princes did. And once again, you checked.

Empty.

"Fuck," you muttered under your breath, pressing your forehead against the cool stone. This was going to drive you mad. You needed to seal this hole, needed to forget you'd ever found it, needed to—

The door to his chamber opened and you froze, eye pressed to the gap, heart suddenly hammering.

Jacaerys entered first, and he wasn't alone. Your throat tightened, and for a split second, you told yourself to look away, to be decent for once. Instead, you pressed harder against the gap, like that might somehow get you closer.

The woman who followed him through the door was decidedly not a servant or a whore from the Street of Silk. Her gown was fine silk, deep green with gold embroidery at the sleeves. This was expensive, well-made, the kind only highborn ladies wore. Her dark hair was pinned up elaborately, though a few strands had come loose, and when she laughed at something Jace said, the sound was refined. 

You recognized her after a moment—Lady Cassandra Baratheon, one of Lord Borros's daughters. She'd been at court for the past month, ostensibly to foster closer ties between Storm's End and the crown.

Apparently, she'd been fostering ties of a different sort.

"Wine?" Jace asked, moving to the table where a pitcher sat waiting.

"Please," Cassandra replied, and there was an ease between them that spoke of familiarity. This wasn't their first time together. Not even close.

Something hot and ugly twisted in your chest. Jealousy, perhaps, though you had no right to it.

Jace poured two cups, handed her one, and they stood there for a moment just talking. You couldn't hear the words through the stone, but you could see the way Cassandra touched his arm, fingers trailing down from shoulder to elbow with the intimacy of someone who'd done it before. The way Jace leaned in closer, his head tilted as he listened to whatever she was saying, a small smile playing at his lips.

And then he kissed her, and you inhaled sharply, pulse suddenly pounding everywhere, your throat, your wrists, between your legs.

It started slow—almost tender, really. His hand came up to cup her face, thumb stroking along the line of her jaw as their mouths moved together in a way that suggested they'd learned each other's rhythms. Cassandra made a soft sound, stepping into him, and her fingers tangled in his dark hair, tugging slightly.

Pervert, pervert, pervert.  

Your eye stayed pressed to the gap in the stone. Your hand, seemingly of its own accord, had drifted to press against your stomach, just above where heat was beginning to pool low and insistent. 

Jace backed her toward the bed, still kissing her, his hands starting to work at the laces of her gown. She helped him, both of them fumbling slightly in their eagerness despite clearly having done this dance before. You watched as layer after layer of silk fell away and onto the floor, first was the overdress, then the underdress, then the stays—until she stood in just her shift, the thin fabric clinging to curves that made your throat go dry.

"Gods, you're beautiful," Jace murmured and you could read the words on his lips even if you couldn't quite hear them through the stone.

Cassandra smiled, reaching for the fastenings of his doublet. "You say that to all of them, my grace."

Your jaw clenched. So you were right. There were others. Many others, probably.

"I mean it with you," Jace said, and you wanted to scream at Cassandra not to believe him, that those were just pretty words he knew how to wield. 

But Cassandra seemed to believe him, or at least didn't care if it was true. She pushed his doublet off his shoulders, her hands running over his chest, fingernails scraping lightly over skin, and Jace groaned—a sound you felt echo between your own thighs. He pulled her shift over her head in one smooth motion, and then she was naked before him.

She was beautiful, that you could admit that even through the haze of jealousy burning in your chest. Full breasts, a narrow waist flaring into hips that Jace's hands immediately claimed, skin like cream in the candlelight. Dark hair spilled down her back as Jace turned her around, pressing kisses down her spine, and you watched his mouth trace the path of her vertebrae one by one.

"Jace," she breathed, arching back against him, pressing her bare arse against where you could see he was already hard beneath his breeches.

Your own breathing had gone shallow. Your hand pressed harder against your stomach, wanting to move lower but not quite daring. Not yet.

Jace took his time with her. His hands mapped every curve, every dip and swell of her body. He cupped her breasts, thumbs circling her nipples until they peaked and she gasped. Kissed the side of her neck, teeth scraping against the tendon there in a way that made her shiver. Slid one hand down her stomach, between her thighs, and even from here you could see how she bucked against his touch.

"Please," Cassandra whimpered, and the desperate edge to her voice made your breath catch.

"Patience," Jace murmured against her skin, but there was dark amusement in his tone. He was enjoying this—enjoying making her wait, making her beg.

When he finally guided her onto the bed, she went willingly, eagerly, spreading herself out on the crimson coverlet like an offering. Her thighs fell open without prompting, shameless in her want, and you could see the glistening evidence of her arousal even from your hidden vantage point.

Jace shed the rest of his clothes—unlacing his breeches with quick movements—and your mouth went dry at the sight of him. You'd seen him before, that first night, but somehow this felt different. More intimate. You could see every line of muscle in his stomach, the dark hair trailing down from his navel, the thick length of his cock jutting proudly from his hips as he climbed onto the bed.

Your hand finally, finally, slipped beneath the waistband of your smallclothes.

Jace settled between Cassandra's thighs, bracing himself above her on his forearms, and for a moment they just looked at each other. Then he pushed his cock deep inside her—slow, so agonizingly slow—and Cassandra's head fell back with a moan that you felt echo through your own body.

“Your grace—-hhhhh,” she moaned.

Your fingers found the wet heat between your legs, already slick and aching. You bit your lip hard to keep from making a sound.

"Fuck," Jace groaned, his hips rolling in a steady, measured rhythm. "You feel perfect. So tight and wet for me."

"Harder," Cassandra gasped, her nails raking down his back hard enough to leave red marks. "Please, your grace, I need—"

He gave her exactly what she wanted.

The gentleness evaporated like morning mist, replaced by something raw and almost brutal. Jace pulled nearly all the way out before slamming his cock back into her, and Cassandra cried out—pleasure and pain mixing in her voice in a way that made your fingers circle faster over your clit. His hand fisted in her hair, yanking her head back to expose the long line of her throat, and his teeth found the skin there, biting down just hard enough to make her gasp.

"Is this what you wanted?" Jace growled, his voice low and dangerous in a way you'd never heard before. Not gentle, princely Jace. This was something darker. "This what you've been thinking about all through supper? Sitting there with your father, making polite conversation, while all you could think about was having my cock inside you?"

"Yes," Cassandra sobbed, her body arching to meet each brutal thrust. The obscenity of the words, the rawness of it, sent liquid heat flooding through you. "Gods, yes, don't stop—please don't stop—"

Your fingers worked faster, your other hand coming up to muffle any sounds threatening to escape your throat. You could feel your own wetness coating your fingers, could feel the tension building low in your belly as you watched Jace fuck Cassandra with single-minded intensity.

"Greedy little thing," Jace muttered, but there was dark satisfaction in his tone. His free hand moved between their bodies, and you knew exactly what he was doing when Cassandra suddenly cried out sharply, her whole body going rigid. He was circling her clit with his thumb while he pounded into her, giving her pleasure from two directions at once, and the thought of it—the thought of him doing that to you—made your legs tremble.

"Jace, I'm going to—oh gods, I'm going to come—"

"That's it," he encouraged, his voice rough and strained. "Come on my cock. Let me feel you, sweetling."

She shattered. Her whole body convulsed, back arching off the bed, mouth open in a silent scream before the sound finally tore from her throat—his name, over and over, like a prayer. You could see the way her cunt clenched around him, could see the exact moment the pleasure crested and broke over her.

Your own fingers moved desperately, chasing the same release, imagining it was Jace's hand between your thighs, Jace's cock filling you, Jace's voice in your ear telling you how good you felt. But Jace didn't stop. He kept fucking Cassandra through her peak, relentless, using her body to chase his own pleasure as she whimpered and clutched at the sheets beneath her. Her sensitivity must have been overwhelming, but he showed no mercy, just kept driving into her with brutalness. 

He was so undeniably good at this, at fucking whores, noble ladies, at driving his cock into their cunts and making them squeal beneath him from the pleasure.

"Too much," she gasped, but her hips were still rising to meet his, her body betraying her words. "Y-your grace, it's—fuck—it's too much—"

"You can take it," he said, and there was something almost cruel in his certainty. "You always take it so well for me."

His rhythm grew erratic, desperate. You could see the tension in his shoulders, the way his jaw clenched, the muscles in his arse flexing with each thrust. He was close—so close—

Your own pleasure was building, that familiar tightening, that pressure mounting—

Jace pulled out suddenly, wrapping his hand around himself and stroking once, twice, before he came with a groan that sounded almost pained. His seed spilled across Cassandra's stomach in thick ropes, marking her, claiming her, and the sight of it—the raw, animalistic possession of it—sent you tumbling over the edge.

You bit down on your palm hard enough to taste blood, muffling the sound threatening to tear from your throat as pleasure crashed through you in waves. Your fingers didn't stop, working you through it, drawing it out until you were shaking and oversensitive and barely able to see through the haze.

When you finally came back to yourself, gasping and trembling, Jace was cleaning Cassandra with gentle touches that seemed almost absurd after the brutality of moments before. She was boneless against the pillows, looking thoroughly debauched, her hair a tangled mess and her skin flushed pink.

"Stay," Jace said quietly, pulling her against his chest.

"I shouldn't," Cassandra murmured, but she was already nestling into him, her head tucked beneath his chin. "If someone finds out—"

"Let them find out. I don't care."

You wanted to laugh at the lie of it. Of course he cared. He just didn't care enough not to fuck her. Within minutes, Cassandra's breathing had evened out into sleep, her body going lax in his arms. Jace stared at the ceiling for a long while, his expression unreadable in the dim light. One hand stroked absently through her hair, gentle in a way that made your chest ache.

Then he turned his head slightly—and for one heart-stopping moment, his gaze seemed to land exactly where you knelt. Directly at the wall. Directly at your hiding place.

But that was impossible. He couldn't see you through solid stone. Couldn't know you were there, hand still between your thighs, lips swollen from biting back your moans, watching him like some desperate, pathetic creature.

You jerked back from the hole anyway, your heart hammering wildly against your ribs. Your whole body was trembling—from the release, from the fear of discovery, from shame so acute it felt like it might choke you. You'd just brought yourself to peak while watching your cousin fuck another woman. While imagining it was you in that bed, you he was whispering filth to, you he was making come apart on his cock.

This was sick. Wrong. You were sick and wrong and yet, deep down, you knew, with terrible certainty, that you'd be back tomorrow night. And the night after that. Until this madness either consumed you or destroyed you entirely.

You barely slept that night.

Every time you closed your eyes, you saw him, his shoulders, his body, his thick cock, the way his hand had fisted in Cassandra's hair, the rough timber of his voice as he'd commanded her to come. And beneath it all, the shameful memory of your own hand between your thighs, chasing pleasure you had no right to feel.

When dawn finally broke, you were grateful for it.

Your ladies dressed you in silence, perhaps sensing your foul mood. The gown today was the palest blush pink. The bodice was fitted with embroidered silver thread in delicate patterns that caught the morning sun. The neckline dipped low, modest enough for court but still flattering, drawing the eye. Long flowing sleeves of sheer silk hung from your shoulders, gossamer-thin, moving like water with each gesture. The skirts were layers upon layers of the same pale silk, creating an almost dreamlike effect as you walked, the fabric seeming to float around you.

The walk to the council chamber felt longer than usual. You nodded to the guards, smiled at passing servants, and tried not to think about the fact that Jacaerys would be here today. His first small council meeting. Sitting across from you for hours while you pretended you hadn't watched him fuck Lady Baratheon into the mattress last night.

Gods give you strength.

The council chamber was already filling when you arrived. "Good morrow, niece," Rhaenyra greeted you warmly as you took your seat.

"Your Grace." You settled into your chair, arranging your skirts, trying not to look at the empty seat that would soon be occupied.

Others filtered in quick waves, Lord Bartimos Celtigar, Master of Coin; Ser Steffon Darklyn, Commander of the City Watch; a handful of other lords whose presence was required. The table filled, voices murmuring in low conversation.

Then the door opened again, and Jacaerys entered.

He looked... gods, he looked perfect. Rested and put-together in a way that seemed deeply unfair given what you knew he'd been doing until late into the night. His doublet was his usual black with red embroidery, his dark hair neatly combed, and when he smiled at his mother, it was warm and genuine and completely utterly unbothered.

"Apologies for my lateness," he said, taking the empty seat directly across from you.

Of course. Of course he'd be directly in your line of sight.

His eyes met yours for a brief moment—polite, pleasant, utterly indifferent—before moving on. No recognition. No awareness that anything was amiss. He had no idea what you'd witnessed. No idea that you'd spent the night with your hand between your thighs, imagining it was you in Cassandra Baratheon's place.

"Let us begin," Rhaenyra said once everyone had settled. She gestured to Grand Maester Gerardys. "The reports from the North, if you would."

Gerardys cleared his throat and began reading, something about increased wildling activity beyond the Wall, requests from the Night's Watch for additional men and supplies. You forced yourself to pay attention, to nod at the appropriate moments, to look anywhere except at Jacaerys.

It was going to be a very long meeting. The discussion moved from the North to the Stepstones, where Daemon's efforts to hold the islands remained precarious at best. Then to trade disputes with Pentos, grain shortages in the Reach, and a particularly tedious debate about tax collection methods that made you want to throw yourself from the nearest window.

Jacaerys contributed thoughtfully when asked, his observations intelligent and well-reasoned. He'd been well-trained for this, you realized. Rhaenyra had made sure her heir would be ready to rule, ready to navigate the complexities of statecraft. Of the Realm. 

Ready to be the perfect prince while fucking half the women in King's Landing in his spare time.

"There is another matter," Rhaenys said, her voice cutting through your spiraling thoughts. She was looking at you, and there was something in her expression that made your stomach clench. "The matter of our dragons and their war-readiness."

The table went quiet.

"The realm is at peace," Lord Corlys pointed out carefully.

"For now," Rhaenys replied. "But peace is a fragile thing, as we all learned during the—" she paused, choosing her words carefully, "—recent troubles. We cannot afford to be complacent."

"What are you suggesting?" Rhaenyra asked, though her tone suggested she already knew.

"That we ensure our dragons are battle-ready. That we train them for war, even if we pray that war never comes." Rhaenys turned her sharp gaze fully on you. "Cannibal, in particular, has never been tested in true combat. He's large, powerful, but wild and untested."

Your jaw tightened. "Cannibal doesn't need testing. He's—"

"A wild dragon who's only known freedom," Rhaenys interrupted, not unkindly. "I'm not questioning your bond with him, child. I'm suggesting that bond needs to be forged stronger and that will only come through discipline."

"You want me to train him for war," you said flatly.

"I want you to prepare him for the possibility of war." Rhaenys leaned forward slightly. "With drills and formation flying with the other dragons. Learning to respond to commands in the chaos of battle. These things take time and practice."

You wanted to argue. Wanted to say that Cannibal would never tolerate such constraints, that he'd sooner eat the other dragons than fly in formation with them. That forcing him into drills and formations would break something fundamental in the bond between you, the trust that came from respecting his need for freedom.

"I don't think it's a good idea," you said carefully. "Cannibal isn't like the other dragons. He's larger, older in his ways. Trying to force him into formations could be potentially dangerous."

"Dangerous for whom?" Daemon asked, sounding genuinely curious rather than mocking. "For you, or for the other dragons?"

"Both," you admitted. "Cannibal doesn't play well with others. He never has. That's why he lived alone on Dragonstone for so long, why he—" you stopped yourself before saying ate the other dragons, because that seemed impolitic in the moment. "Why he prefers solitude."

"All the more reason to socialize him now," Rhaenys countered. "Before we're in the middle of a battle and he decides another dragon looks appetizing."

A few uncomfortable chuckles around the table. It wasn't really a joke, not one you found particularly funny. 

"What about Vhagar?" you asked, grasping for any argument. "She's larger, older. Is Aemond expected to fly formation drills with her?"

"Vhagar is already battle-tested," Rhaenys replied. "She fought in Aegon's Conquest, in the wars since. She knows what's expected. Cannibal has only ever known hunting sheep and being left alone."

It stung because it was true. For all his size and power, Cannibal had never been to war. Had never been asked to do anything more demanding than fly when you called and let you sit astride him while he soared through the clouds.

"What does Her Grace think?" you asked, turning to Rhaenyra. Let the Queen make this decision, let it not be your choice to potentially damage the one pure thing in your life.

Rhaenyra studied you for a long moment, her expression deep in thought. "I think Rhaenys makes valid points. But I also trust your judgment when it comes to your dragon. If you truly believe this would be harmful rather than helpful, I'll take that into consideration."

It was a careful, political answer. She was giving you an out, but also making it clear that refusing would require solid justification, not just childish objection. 

"I'll think about it," you said finally. "Perhaps we could start small. Test his tolerance before committing to full formation drills."

"A reasonable compromise," Rhaenys agreed, though she didn't look entirely satisfied. "We'll begin in a week's time. Simple exercises first."

The knot in your stomach tightened, but you nodded anyway.

"What about Vermax?" Daemon asked, his gaze sliding to Jacaerys with lazy interest. "The heir's dragon should certainly be included in this training."

"Vermax and I train regularly," Jace said, and there was the slightest edge of defensiveness in his tone.

"In the training yard, yes," Rhaenys replied. "But have you ever taken him into simulated combat? Flown him through fire and smoke? Tested his response time when startled?"

Jace's jaw tightened. "No."

"Then you'll join us as well," Rhaenys said, brooking no argument. "All dragonriders of fighting age. Baela, Rhaena, Aegon if we can pry him away from his cups long enough."

"Then it's settled," Rhaenyra said, her tone making it clear the discussion was closed. "Rhaenys will oversee the training regimen. All dragonriders are expected to participate." Her eyes found yours. "Including you, niece. I know Cannibal prefers his solitude, but this is necessary."

You bit back a dozen more arguments and simply nodded. "As you command, Your Grace."

The meeting dragged on for another hour, more reports, more discussions, more decisions that needed to be made. Through it all, you were acutely aware of Jacaerys sitting across from you. The way he listened intently when others spoke. The way his fingers drummed absently against the table when he was thinking. The way he looked so effortlessly princely while you sat there trying not to remember the sound of his voice, rough with pleasure, commanding Cassandra to come for him.

Finally, finally, Rhaenyra called an end to it. "Same time in three days. Try not to let anything catch fire before then."

You stood quickly, eager to escape before—

"Walk with me?" Rhaenys said, appearing at your elbow.

Of course because the gods clearly thought you hadn't suffered enough today. You fell into step beside her, following her out of the council chamber and down a side corridor. She said nothing for a long moment, just walked with that regal bearing she'd never lost, even after being passed over for the throne.

"You seem troubled," she finally said.

"I don't think Cannibal will take well to this training. I'm worried it will damage our bond."

Rhaenys studied you for a long moment, clearly unconvinced that was the whole truth. "He'll adjust. The bond between you is strong enough to weather some discomfort."

"It's not just discomfort. He's not like the other dragons. He's—"

"Wild. Yes, I know. But wildness can be channeled, shaped, without breaking it entirely." She squeezed your shoulder gently. "Trust me, and more importantly, trust him. Trust that your bond is stronger than a few training exercises. He did choose you, at the end of the day."

You nodded, not trusting yourself to speak.

"Now," Rhaenys said, her tone shifting to something lighter, "I believe Helaena was looking for you earlier. Something about her insects?"

Right. Helaena. Safe, sweet Helaena who wouldn't ask probing questions about why you looked like you hadn't slept properly in days.

"Thank you," you said quietly. "For everything, Aunt."

Rhaenys smiled, though there was something sad in it. "Go. Spend time with your cousin. The gods know there are precious few people in this world who'll love us without wanting something in return."

You found Helaena in her chambers, which were somehow both cluttered and organized in a way only she could manage. Jars and terrariums covered every surface, each containing some specimen or another, there were butterflies, beetles, spiders, things you couldn't even name. It was entirely Helaena. 

"You came," Helaena said, looking up from where she was carefully transferring a large iridescent beetle from one container to another. Her silver-gold hair was loose around her shoulders, and she wore a simple gown of pale green that brought out the unusual color of her eyes. "I wasn't sure you would."

"Of course I came." You settled onto the cushioned bench beside her workspace, careful not to disturb anything. The layers of your pink gown pooled around you like flower petals. "What have you found, dear cousin?"

Helaena's face lit up in that rare, genuine smile she reserved for the things she truly loved. "A stag beetle. Look at his mandibles, aren't they magnificent?"

You looked. The beetle was indeed impressive, its horn-like mandibles nearly as long as its body, gleaming black with hints of deep purple when the light hit them right. "Beautiful," you agreed, and meant it.

For the next hour, Helaena showed you her collection, explaining in her soft, sometimes disjointed way about each specimen's habits and characteristics. You listened, grateful for the distraction, for the simplicity of her enthusiasm. Here, there were no council meetings or dragon training or inappropriate thoughts about cousins. 

"Lord Cregan Stark sent me a letter," Helaena said suddenly, interrupting her own explanation about moth wing patterns.

You blinked. "Did he?"

"Yes. He's coming to court for the feasts. The ones for Jace." She was studying a moth wing with intense focus, not meeting your eyes. "He asked if he might call on me. To discuss insects."

Something in her tone made you pause. "Ah, I see, insects."

"He's interested in the wildlife of the North. The creatures that survive the cold. The ice spiders." Helaena finally looked up, and there was something almost vulnerable in her green eyes. "Do you think that's really why he wants to call on me?"

Oh. Oh.

Cregan Stark was young, newly Lord of Winterfell after his father's passing two years past. By all accounts he was honorable, strong, kind, everything a northern lord should be. And if he was expressing interest in Helaena...

"I think," you said carefully, "that Lord Cregan would be very fortunate if you agreed to speak with him. About insects or anything else, dear cousin."

Helaena's cheeks flushed pink. "He's very kind in his letters. Patient and he doesn't mind when I ramble about things most people find boring. He even sent me a preserved ice spider specimen from beyond the Wall. Said he thought I might like to study it."

Your heart softened. A man who would hunt down rare specimens for Helaena's collection was a man worth considering. "That's incredibly thoughtful, Hel."

"Mother says I should consider marriage eventually. That I can't hide in my chambers with my insects forever." Helaena's voice was quiet, tinged with something like resignation. "But most lords look at me like I'm mad. Like I'm something to be pitied or fixed."

"Then they're fools," you said firmly. "You're brilliant, Helaena. Anyone with half a brain can see that."

"Lord Cregan doesn't look at me like that. At least, not in his letters." She turned back to her moths, a small smile playing at her lips. "He asks questions. Real questions about my observations and theories. He doesn't just humor me."

"Will you see him when he arrives?"

"I... I believe I might." She looked back down at her specimens, fingers gentle as she adjusted a butterfly's position in its case. "It's strange. I never thought—I mean, I never imagined someone might actually want to court me. Not really."

"You're a princess of the blood," you pointed out. "Half the lords in Westeros would trip over themselves for the chance."

"They'd trip over themselves for the crown and the alliance," Helaena corrected softly. "Not for me. But Lord Cregan, he talks to me like I'm a person. Not a prize to be won or a madwoman to be managed."

You reached over and squeezed her hand. "Then I hope he lives up to his letters. And if he doesn't, I'll feed him to Cannibal."

Helaena laughed, a rare, bright sound that made you smile despite everything. "The wolf meets the spider in the dark. The spider weaves while the wolf watches. But which one catches which?"

Another one of her strange pronouncements. You'd long since given up trying to decipher them.

"What about you?" Helaena asked, suddenly aware of her surroundings again. "Will you dance with any lords at the feasts?"

Your stomach dropped. You'd almost managed to forget about the upcoming feasts, the parade of eligible ladies who would be throwing themselves at Jacaerys while you watched from the sidelines.

"I doubt it," you said lightly. "You know I prefer the edges of the room to the center of attention."

"The spider watches from the corner," Helaena murmured again, and something in her tone made you look up sharply. "But the spider doesn't know it's caught in a web of its own making."

Helaena suddenly moved on, returning her attention to her beetles, humming softly to herself. Leaving you to wonder if she'd just made an innocent observation or if she somehow knew exactly what you'd been doing in the dark corners of your chambers.

You stayed with Helaena until the sun began to set, letting her soft voice and gentle presence soothe the jagged edges of your thoughts. Here, at least, things made sense. Here, you could almost forget the madness consuming you.

Almost.

When you finally took your leave, pressing a kiss to the top of her silver head, she caught your hand.

"Be careful," she said quietly. "Webs are sticky things. Hard to escape once you're caught."

You had no answer for that. The walk back to your chambers was quiet, most of the castle beginning to prepare for the evening meal. When you reached your door, you found your ladies already waiting.

"We've prepared a bath, my lady," Lysa said with a smile. "Thought you might want to wash before supper."

Gods, yes. Perhaps hot water and lavender oil could wash away the tension coiled tight in your shoulders, the restless energy that had plagued you all day.

"Thank you," you said, letting them usher you inside.

The tub had been set up near the fire, steam rising from the water in lazy curls. Your ladies helped you out of the elaborate pink gown, unlacing the bodice and lifting the layers of silk away until you stood in just your shift. Then that too was removed, and you stepped into the blessed heat of the bath with a sigh.

"We'll be just outside if you need anything, my lady," Maryse said. "Call when you're ready to dress for supper."

You nodded, already sinking deeper into the water, letting it cover you up to your shoulders. The heat seeped into your muscles, and for the first time all day, you felt some of the tension begin to ease.

You closed your eyes, breathing in the scent of lavender, trying to empty your mind of everything, council meetings, dragon training, Helaena's cryptic warnings, and most especially the memory of brown eyes and dark hair and hands that knew exactly how to make a woman fall apart.

Stop, you told yourself firmly. Just stop.

For a few blessed minutes, you succeeded. The water, the warmth, the quiet—it was almost peaceful.

Then something moved at the edge of your vision. You opened your eyes and looked toward the rim of the tub. A spider. But not just any spider, this thing was massive, easily the size of your palm, with thick hairy legs and a body that seemed to pulse as it crept along the wooden edge of the tub. Moving toward you.

The scream tore from your throat before you could stop it, pure, primal terror that echoed off the stone walls.

You shot to your feet, water sloshing over the sides of the tub, your whole body shaking as you tried to scramble away from the creature. But the tub was slippery, your feet finding no purchase, and you nearly fell before catching yourself on the edge.

"My lady!" You heard Lysa's voice, muffled through the door, and then—

The door burst open, but it wasn't your ladies who came through first.

It was Jacaerys. He must have been passing in the corridor, must have heard your scream and thought, what? That you were being murdered? Attacked? He rushed in with his hand on his sword hilt, eyes wild, clearly ready to face down whatever threat had made you scream like that.

And then he froze. Because you were standing there, in the middle of the tub, completely and utterly naked. Water streaming down your body, your silver hair plastered to your back and shoulders, every inch of you exposed in the firelight.

For one endless, horrifying moment, neither of you moved.

His eyes went wide, his mouth falling open slightly as his gaze traveled down and then snapped back up to your face. You could see the exact moment his brain caught up with what he was seeing, the way his cheeks flushed, the way his throat worked as he swallowed.

"I—" he started, his voice rough. "I heard you scream, I thought—"

"SPIDER!" you shrieked, pointing at the creature that was still making its way around the rim of the tub, seemingly unconcerned with the chaos it had caused. "There's a massive fucking spider, Jace!"

Jace's gaze followed your pointing finger, and you watched him take in the admittedly impressive specimen currently terrorizing you.

"That's, yes, that's a spider," he said, somewhat stupidly.

"I KNOW IT'S A SPIDER!" you yelled, still frozen in place, acutely aware that you were naked and he was staring and your ladies were probably right behind him in the corridor and this was literally the worst thing that had ever happened to you.

Your ladies burst in then, Lysa and Maryse and Elaena, their faces panicked, clearly thinking you were dying. They took in the scene, you, naked in the tub. Jacaerys, standing there looking like he'd been struck by lightning. The spider, innocently crawling.

"My lady!" Lysa gasped, immediately grabbing a linen cloth and rushing forward to wrap it around you.

But the damage was done. Jacaerys had seen everything. Every curve, every inch of skin, every part of you that should have remained hidden beneath layers of silk and propriety. 

Damn the Gods. Damn you, this is your punishment for being a pervert. 

"I'll just—" Jace stammered, backing toward the door, his face now bright red. "I'll—the spider—sorry—I thought—"

He practically fled, the door slamming shut behind him. You stood there, wrapped in the linen cloth, shaking for entirely different reasons now.

"Oh gods," you breathed. "Oh gods, he saw me. He saw—"

"It's all right, my lady," Maryse said soothingly, though she looked rather scandalized herself. "It was an accident. He heard you scream and thought you were in danger."

"I AM in danger!" you gestured wildly at the spider, which had now made it halfway around the tub. "That thing is massive!"

"It's just a spider, my lady," Elaena said gently, moving toward it with a cloth. Within moments she'd captured it and was carrying it toward the window. "See? Harmless."

Harmless. Right. Unlike the memory now burned into both your and Jacaerys's minds of you standing bare-arsed naked in a bathtub while he stared at you like a man who'd forgotten how to breathe.

"We need to get you dressed," Lysa said firmly, already moving to pull out clothes. "Supper will be starting soon."

"I can't go to supper," you said, your voice rising. "I can't face him after—after he just saw me naked."

"You have to go to supper, my lady," Maryse said, not unkindly. "If you don't, everyone will wonder why. And rumors will start."

Worse rumors than "the princess screamed bloody murder over a spider and her cousin saw her naked"? You doubted it. But she was right. You had to go. Had to face him. Had to somehow sit through an entire meal pretending that nothing had happened while knowing that Jacaerys now knew exactly what you looked like without clothes. While knowing that you'd seen the look in his eyes—surprise, yes, but also something else. Something heated that had flashed across his face before embarrassment took over.

"Fuck," you muttered under your breath.

"Language, my lady," Lysa chided gently, but she was already helping you out of the tub.

This was going to be the longest supper of your entire life.

The great hall was already filled with lords and ladies when you arrived, late enough that most people were already seated. The musicians were playing something lively from the gallery, servants moved between tables with wine and platters of food, and the general hum of conversation and laughter filled the space.

You wanted to sink through the floor and disappear.

Somehow you made it to your seat at the high table without tripping over your own feet, a minor miracle considering how unsteady you felt. You'd been dressed in a gown of deep purple silk, your ladies working quickly to make you presentable. Your hair was still slightly damp at the ends, but they'd managed to braid it back in a way that hid the worst of it.

Baela was already seated beside you, laughing at something Rhaena had said. On your other side, Helaena was staring at her plate with that distant expression she sometimes got. And across the table Jacaerys sat beside Lady Cassandra Baratheon.

He was leaning toward her, saying something that made her laugh, that refined, ladylike laugh you'd heard through the stone wall. His hand rested on the table close to hers, not quite touching but near enough to be intimate. He looked perfectly composed, perfectly at ease, like he hadn't just seen his cousin naked less than an hour ago.

You grabbed your wine cup and drank deeply.

"You have no idea," you muttered into your cup.

The meal began, course after course of roasted meats and honeyed vegetables and fresh bread. You pushed food around your plate, barely tasting anything, hyperaware of every movement Jace made across the table. The way he smiled at Cassandra. The way she touched his arm when she spoke. The easy familiarity between them that spoke of more than one night together. 

"All right, what's wrong?" Baela asked finally, setting down her fork and turning to face you properly. "You've been sulking since you sat down. Did something happen at council?"

"No," you said quickly. Too quickly.

Baela's eyes narrowed. "Then what?"

You glanced around, making sure no one else was listening. Then you leaned closer and whispered, "Jace saw me naked."

For a moment, Baela just stared at you. Then she burst out laughing—loud enough that several people turned to look.

"Shut up, this is not funny!" you hissed, your face burning with shame. 

"It's a little funny," Baela managed between gasps. "How in the seven hells did that happen?"

You covered your face with your hands, mortified beyond measure. "There was a spider. A huge one. He was in my bath and then I screamed and he must have been in the corridor and he came running in thinking I was being murdered or something and I was just—standing there—completely bare-arsed—hh"

Baela was practically crying with laughter now, her hand pressed to her stomach. "A spider," she wheezed. "You're telling me the mighty dragonrider who claimed Cannibal, who sits on the small council, screamed loud enough to bring the heir running because of a spider?"

"It was a very large spider," you said defensively, though your own lips were twitching despite your mortification.

“And, so, he saw everything?"  Her voice went low and suggestive, bringing a finger to her mouth and biting the tip of it as her lips curved into a smirk.

"Everything," you confirmed miserably. "Full frontal view. Nothing left to imagination."

"Oh gods," Baela wiped at her eyes. "And what did he do?"

"Stood there like a fish for about three seconds, went bright red, stammered something about the spider, and then fled like the castle was on fire."

"That's amazing," Baela said, still grinning. "That's the best thing I've heard all week."

"I'm glad my humiliation amuses you," you said sourly, but you couldn't quite hold onto your irritation. It was sort of funny, in a horrifying, want-to-die sort of way.

"Look at the bright side," Baela said, taking a sip of her wine. "Now you know he's definitely seen you naked. That's more than most ladies can say about the heir before marriage."

You kicked her under the table.

"Ow! I'm just saying—"

"Well don't," you muttered, risking a glance across the table.

Jace was still deep in conversation with Cassandra, his attention completely focused on her. He hadn't looked your way once since you'd sat down. Was probably trying very hard not to look at you, considering what he'd seen.

Your stomach twisted, he'd seen you naked—completely, utterly exposed—and less than an hour later he was here, flirting with the woman he'd been fucking just the night before. Like it meant nothing. Like you meant nothing. Which of course you didn't. You were his cousin, a political piece on the board, same as everyone else.

The fact that you'd watched him through a hole in the wall, that you'd brought yourself to come while imagining his hands on you instead of Cassandra—that was your problem. Your shame to carry, your degenerate shame.

"You're doing it again," Baela said quietly.

"Doing what?"

"Looking like you want to kill someone, dear cousin." She followed your gaze across the table. "Ah. Lady Cassandra."

"You know she's not the only one, right?"

You blinked. "What?"

"Jace." Baela kept her voice low, casual, as she cut into her meat. "He's got quite the appetite, from what I hear. Half the ladies at court have warmed his bed at some point or another."

Your stomach twisted even though you already knew this. Had seen it.

"Why are you telling me this?"

Baela shrugged, a wicked grin playing at her lips. "Just saying, if you ever wanted to... you know. Sample the goods before he's shackled to some boring highborn wife, now's your chance. He's not particularly discriminating."

You nearly choked on your wine. "Baela!"

"What? I'm just saying.” She leaned closer, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "I'm told he's very talented, Lady Cassandra certainly seems satisfied."

"I am not having this conversation with you," you hissed, your face burning.

"Your loss." Baela sat back with a laugh. "Though honestly, I don't blame you for looking. He's annoyingly pretty for someone with such common blood. Those brown eyes, that hair, he’s very brooding hero of a song, isn't he?"

"You're drunk, Baela."

"I'm tipsy," she corrected, "and you're deflecting."

"I'm not interested in Jace," you said firmly. "Not like that anyways."

It wasn't entirely a lie. You weren't interested in romancing with Jace. You didn't want his love or his devotion or whatever pretty words he whispered to the hoards of women in his bed. You just wanted, gods, you didn't even know what you wanted. To stop thinking about him, probably, most likely. And certainly to stop seeing his fucking gorgeous face every time you closed your eyes.

"Whatever you say," Baela said breezily, clearly not believing you but willing to drop it. "I'm just saying, the man's going to be married off soon. If you wanted a taste, the window's closing."

You rolled your eyes so hard it hurt. "You're impossible."

The conversation moved on, Rhaena leaned over to tell you both about some drama involving a lady-in-waiting and a stableboy, and you forced yourself to laugh, despite your gaze kept drifting across the table.

You didn't look through the hole that night.

It took every ounce of willpower you possessed, but you left that carved screen exactly where it was and climbed into bed fully clothed, too exhausted to even call your ladies back to help you undress properly. Sleep came fitfully, plagued by dreams of brown eyes and smirks and the memory of standing naked in a bathtub while your cousin stared.

When you woke, sunlight was streaming through your windows and someone was pounding on your door.

"My lady!" Lysa's voice, urgent and harried. "You need to wake! The lords are arriving and you're expected in the courtyard within the hour!"

Right. The festivities. The celebration of Jacaerys coming of age, of finding him a suitable bride. A full day of feasting and tournaments and watching eligible ladies parade themselves in front of the heir to the throne. Wonderful, just wonderful. Despite yourself, you managed to drag yourself out of bed and let your ladies descend upon you like a flock of determined birds. They stripped away yesterday's rumpled gown, scrubbed you with rose-scented soap, and set about the elaborate process of making you presentable as they did every morning. 

The gown they'd chosen was magnificent, it was a midnight blue silk that seemed to shimmer between black and deepest sapphire depending on how the light hit it. But you shook your head.

"No. The white one with the gold and red."

Your ladies exchanged glances but didn't argue. They brought out the dress you'd requested, white as fresh snow, with gold embroidery that traced patterns of dragons and flames across the bodice and down the flowing sleeves. Red accents caught the light like drops of blood, rubies sewn into the neckline and waist. The skirts were layers upon layers of silk and gossamer that moved like water, the train long enough to pool behind you like a bride. 

It was a statement, really, like Alicent’s green gowns. A reminder of who you were, a Targaryen, a dragon rider, not someone to be overlooked even as every other woman at court tried to catch the heir's eye. Your hair was left mostly down, falling in silver waves to your calves, with elaborate braids woven through and secured with gold and ruby pins shaped like dragon claws. By the time they finished, you looked like something out of a song. 

You barely heard the compliments ringing from your ladies tongues. You were already moving toward the door, trying to steel yourself for whatever fresh hell today would bring.

The courtyard was flooded when you arrived. Banners from a dozen different houses snapped in the morning breeze, there was Stark, Tully, Arryn, Lannister, more. Lords and their retinues filing in through the gates, their daughters dressed in their finest, all of them here for the same purpose.

To win the favor of the Crown Prince.

You spotted Cregan Stark immediately—he was hard to miss, tall and broad-shouldered with dark hair and grey eyes that seemed to take in everything. He was a gorgeous man, and currently  he was speaking with Rhaenyra, his manner respectful but not obsequious. A good sign, if Helaena was genuinely considering him. But it wasn't Cregan who made you pause. It was the way every male head in the courtyard seemed to turn as you descended the steps.

Lords, knights, visiting dignitaries, they all looked. Some with open admiration, others with more subtle interest, but they looked. You were used to attention, had grown up beautiful and aware of it, but this felt different. Or perhaps you were just more aware of it now, after everything.

"Seven hells," you heard someone mutter—one of the Tully boys, you thought. "Is that—"

You kept your chin high and your expression serene as you made your way through the crowd. Lords bowed as you passed, their sons stared, and you pretended not to notice any of it. Rhaenyra stood on the dais with Daemon beside her, already holding court. Jacaerys was there too, looking infuriatingly well-rested in black and red, his attention on whatever Lord Corlys was saying to him.

"Cousin," Aegon appeared at your elbow. "You're causing quite the stir. I think Lord Tyrell's son just walked into a pillar because he was too busy staring at you."

"Good," you said flatly.

Aegon laughed. "That's the spirit. Make them all suffer, my dear cousin. "

"Come," Aegon said, tugging at your elbow. "We're expected to stand there and look pretty while Father's old bannermen parade their daughters like prize mares. Should be entertaining enough."

You let him guide you to where the rest of the family was gathering. Rhaenyra sat in the place of honor with Daemon beside her, looking like he'd rather be anywhere else. Helaena was tucked between Baela and Rhaena, already looking overwhelmed by the crowd. And Jacaerys stood at the center of it all, the sun around which this entire day revolved.

"How many do you think there are?" Aegon asked, settling in beside you with his cup. "I'm counting at least fifteen eligible ladies, and those are just the ones I can see from here."

"Shouldn't you be paying attention?" you asked. "You're supposed to be looking for a wife too."

"Gods, don't remind me." He took a long drink. "Mother's been at me for months about it. Apparently being six and twenty and unmarried is some sort of tragedy."

"Is it not?"

"It's called having standards," Aegon replied airily. "Low ones, admittedly, but standards nonetheless."

Rhaenyra stood, and the courtyard quieted. "Lords and ladies," she began, her voice carrying across the space. "We are honored by your presence here today as we celebrate my son and heir, Prince Jacaerys, and his coming of age. Many of you have traveled far to be here, and we welcome you all to King's Landing."

Polite applause. Jace smiled that princely smile, gracious and warm.

"Today marks the beginning of festivities that will last the fortnight," Rhaenyra continued. "Tournaments, feasts, and celebrations in honor of the Crown Prince. And perhaps, by the end, we will have even more to celebrate."

Meaning a betrothal. 

"But first," Rhaenyra gestured to where several young ladies stood with their fathers, all of them dressed in their finest, "we have been honored by requests from several noble houses to present their daughters to the Prince. We welcome them now."

"Here we go," Aegon muttered. "The parade of the desperate."

"Aegon," you hissed.

"What? I'm not wrong."

The first girl stepped forward, a Lannister, judging by her crimson gown and golden hair. She was beautiful in that polished, perfect way. You’re certain her Father, and all the other lords of Casterly Rock  told her she was destined for greatness. She curtsied deeply before Jace, her father presenting her with all the pomp and circumstance House Lannister could muster.

"Lady Cerelle Lannister," the herald announced. "Daughter of Lord Jason Lannister of Casterly Rock."

Jace took her hand and kissed it, saying something that made her blush and smile. You watched him be charming, watched him perform the role of interested suitor with practiced ease.

"She's pretty," Aegon observed. "Bit too much like looking in a mirror for my taste, all that gold hair and self-rightesnous."

"She seems nice enough."

"Nice and boring are often companions," Aegon replied. "Trust me, I know from experience."

The next girl was from House Tyrell, tall and willowy with dark curls and a nervous smile. Then a Tully girl with auburn hair and freckles. Then another, and another. Each one more beautiful than the last, each one curtsying and smiling and trying desperately to be memorable.

"This is torture," Aegon said after the sixth introduction. "How is Jace keeping that smile on his face? I'd have run screaming by now."

"It's called duty, you idiot."

"It's called martyrdom." He drained his cup and gestured for a servant to refill it. "You know what the problem is? They're all the same. Pretty, accomplished, perfectly trained to be queens. Where's the personality? The fire?"

"You want fire, marry a dragon rider," you said absently, watching as yet another lady—this one from the Stormlands—was presented to Jace.

"Excellent idea. Marry me."

You turned to look at him, startled. "What?"

"Marry me," Aegon repeated, gesturing expansively with his cup. "You're a dragon rider, you're beautiful, you already know all my worst qualities so there'd be no nasty surprises. We could get drunk together and ignore all our duties. It'd be perfect."

"You're not serious."

"I'm never serious. But the offer stands." He took another drink. "If all else fails, if the realm goes to shit and we're all desperate—you and me. We could do much worse."

You studied him for a moment. Aegon was handsome, you could admit that. Pretty in the way Targaryens often were, with his silver hair and sharp features. The drinking was a problem, and the complete lack of ambition, but he was kind in his way. Honest, at least, which was more than most lords could claim.

"If all goes to hell," you said slowly, "and we're both desperate and alone. I suppose I could do worse than you."

"High praise," Aegon said with a grin. "I'm touched. Truly."

"Don't let it go to your head."

"Too late. I'm already planning our wedding. We'll serve nothing but wine, scandalize the Faith, and let our dragons eat anyone who complains."

Despite everything, you laughed. It felt good, like releasing some of the pressure that had been building in your chest since yesterday. Then, another lady was presented, a Manderly girl from White Harbor, plump and pink-cheeked and clearly terrified. Jace was gentle with her, you noticed. He was patient and kind.

"He's good at this," you said quietly.

"He's had practice," Aegon replied, and there was something almost bitter in his tone. "Perfect Jace. Perfect heir. Does everything right, fucks everything that moves, and somehow still manages to look like a hero from a song."

"Jealous?"

"Absoloutely." Aegon studied his cousin across the courtyard. "I love Jace, don't get me wrong. But he's playing a game he doesn't even realize he's in. All these ladies throwing themselves at him, and he thinks it's because he's charming. Because they like him."

"That's not why?"

"They like his crown," Aegon said flatly. "They like the idea of being queen. Jace himself? He's just the pretty vessel holding the thing they actually want."

You said nothing, watching as Jace smiled at the Manderly girl, made her laugh despite her nervousness. Was Aegon right? Did all these women only want the crown?  Did you? No. You wanted—gods, you didn't even know what you wanted. But it wasn't his crown. It was him. The way he moved, the way he sounded, the way he looked when he was lost in pleasure. That had nothing to do with thrones or politics.

Which somehow made it worse.

"Lady Floris Baratheon," the herald announced, and your attention snapped back to the courtyard.

Another Baratheon girl, younger than Cassandra but with the same dark hair and sharp features. She curtsied beautifully, and Jace took her hand with the same courteous attention he'd given all the others.

"How many fucking Baratheon daughters are there?" Aegon muttered. "Lord Borros must spend half his time just keeping track of them all."

"Four, I think."

"Four. And they're all here trying to land the heir. Ambitious bastard, isn't he?"

You watched Floris smile up at Jace, watched him be charming and attentive. Was Cassandra here somewhere, watching this? Did she care that the man who'd been in her bed two nights ago was now entertaining her younger sister?

Did Jace care?

"This is going to be a very long fortnight," you said.

"Agreed." Aegon raised his cup in a mock toast. "To surviving it with our dignity intact."

"I'll drink to that."

He grinned and passed you his cup. You took it and drank deeply, letting the wine burn down your throat. It was going to be a very, very long fortnight indeed.

Several torturous hours later, you and Aegon were both well into your cups and had devolved into something resembling badly behaved children.

"I'm sorry," Aegon wheezed, barely containing his laughter, "but did that last one actually curtsy to his horse first before approaching Jace?"

"She did," you confirmed, your own shoulders shaking with suppressed giggles. "She absolutely did. I saw it, cousin."

"Maybe she thought the horse was the heir. Can't blame her—Vermax has better hair than Jace does."

You snorted wine through your nose, which only made Aegon laugh harder.

"You two are being disgraceful," Baela hissed from your other side, though her lips were twitching. "Show some decorum."

"Decorum is for people who aren't dying of boredom," Aegon replied, reaching for another cup from a passing servant. "We're performing a public service, really. Someone has to make this bearable."

"By getting drunk before noon?"

"Exactly. See? She understands."

You were about to respond when movement at the courtyard entrance caught your eye. Another arrival, late enough that most of the formal presentations had concluded. But this wasn't some minor lord with a daughter to parade. This was someone who commanded attention simply by existing.

He was tall—taller even than Cregan Stark—with broad shoulders and the kind of build that came from actually using a sword rather than just wearing one for decoration. Dark hair, though not as dark as Jace's, fell to his shoulders in waves that somehow looked artfully disheveled rather than unkempt. And his face—

"Oh no," Aegon said, following your gaze. "Oh, that's not fair."

"Who is that?" you asked, unable to look away.

"Trouble," Aegon replied. "That's Lord Dalton Greyjoy. The Red Kraken himself."

The Red Kraken. You'd heard stories, of course. The young Lord of the Iron Islands, who'd claimed his seat at six and ten after his father's death and had spent the years since becoming a legend. A reaver, a warrior, and by all accounts, devastatingly effective at both. He was dressed simply compared to the other lords—dark leather and salt-stained cloth rather than silk and velvet—but he wore it like armor. Like he had nothing to prove. Salt-and-pepper scruff covered his jaw, and when he smiled at something Daemon said, you caught a glimpse of white teeth.

"He's supposed to be in the Iron Islands," Aegon muttered. "What's he doing here?"

"The same thing everyone else is doing here," Baela said dryly. "Paying homage to the Crown Prince."

But Dalton Greyjoy wasn't looking at Jacaerys.

He was looking at you. His eyes—grey-green like storm-tossed seas—found yours across the crowded courtyard, and he didn't look away. Didn't pretend he hadn't been staring. Just held your gaze with the kind of bold confidence that should have been offensive but somehow wasn't.

Then he smiled. Slow and deliberate and knowing, like you'd shared some private joke.

"Oh, dear cousin, he's definitely trouble," Aegon said. "Look at him. Looking at you like—well, like Jace looks at literally every woman who crosses his path."

"Shut up," you muttered, but you didn't look away from Dalton.

"The Red Kraken," Baela mused. "Now that's interesting. He doesn't usually come to court. Prefers his islands and his ships from what I hear."

"And his salt wives," Aegon added. "Rumor has it he's got three. Or is it four now? I lose count."

"Salt wives aren't real wives," you said absently, still holding Dalton's gaze.

"Try telling him that."

Dalton was moving through the crowd now, making his way toward the dais where Rhaenyra sat. Lords parted for him—whether out of respect or wariness, you couldn't tell. Maybe both. There was something dangerous about him, something wild that expensive clothes and courtly manners couldn't quite hide. He knelt before Rhaenyra with surprising grace for someone so large. You couldn't hear what he said, but whatever it was made Daemon laugh, actually laugh, which was rare enough to be noteworthy.

Then Dalton stood, turned, and those storm-grey eyes found yours again. And the huge bastard, well, he started walking toward you.

"Oh shit," Aegon said gleefully. "Oh this is going to be good."

"If you say one embarrassing thing—" you started.

"Would I do that?"

"Yes. Regularly, you arse."

Dalton Greyjoy stopped in front of you, and up close he was even more imposing. Taller, broader, with the kind of presence that made the air feel heavier. 

"My lady," he said, and his voice was rough, like he'd spent too many years shouting orders over storm winds. "Lord Dalton Greyjoy, at your service."

He didn't kneel. Didn't bow. Just stood there looking at you like you were the only person in the entire courtyard.

"Lord Greyjoy," you managed, trying to remember how to be polite while several cups of wine deep. "Welcome to King's Landing."

"Is it?" He glanced around at the crowd, at the elaborate decorations, at the general excess of it all. "Seems like a lot of trouble for a party."

"It's a celebration, my lord," you corrected.

"Of the Crown Prince coming of age. Yes, I heard." His lips quirked. "Eight and ten years to grow up. We do it much faster in the Iron Islands."

"Everything's faster in the Iron Islands," Aegon interjected cheerfully. "Living, dying, marrying your cousin, certainly fucking your cousin."

"Aegon," you hissed.

But Dalton just laughed. "Your cousin speaks truth, if not tact. We're a practical people."

"Practical," Aegon repeated. "Is that what we're calling it?"

"Among other things." Dalton's attention returned to you, and the intensity of it made your breath catch. "I've heard stories about you, Princess. The girl who claimed Cannibal."

"They're just stories."

"Are they?" He leaned in slightly, lowering his voice. "I heard you walked up to him and asked him nicely. That he bowed his head and let you climb on his back like a trained horse."

"More or less," you admitted.

"Terrifying or impressive. I haven't decided which, my lady."

"Can't it be both?"

That smile again, sharp and interested, like a predator seeking its prey. "I suppose it can. I like that."

There was something in the way he looked at you—direct and unashamed—that felt different from the courtiers with their careful glances and veiled intentions. Dalton Greyjoy looked at you like he knew exactly what he wanted and saw no reason to pretend otherwise.

"Are you here for the tournaments, my lord?" you asked, trying to steer the conversation to safer ground.

"Among other things." He straightened, hands clasped behind his back in a posture that should have looked casual but somehow seemed coiled, ready. "I'm here to see what all the fuss is about. The perfect prince, the eligible ladies, the great game of marriage and alliance." His eyes glinted. "And to see if the Dragon Princess lives up to her reputation."

"And does she?"

"I'll let you know," he said, and it sounded like a promise. "May I have the honor of your company at the feast tonight, my lady?"

Before you could answer, Aegon cut in. "She'd be delighted. Wouldn't you, cousin?"

You shot him a look that promised murder, but Dalton was already bowing, actually bowing this time, though it looked faintly mocking. "Until tonight, then."

He walked away, and you could feel his absence like a physical weight. You were certainly going to kill Aegon, kill him and feed him to Cannibal. 

"Well," Aegon said into the silence. "That was something."

"I hate you."

"No you don't. I just got you a dinner companion who isn't boring. You should be thanking me."

You should probably be worried, you thought. Dalton Greyjoy had a reputation that made even Daemon look respectable by comparison. But, nonetheless, instead you felt intrigued.

Which was probably dangerous. Definitely dangerous. But after days of watching Jace parade around with other women, of feeling invisible and foolish and consumed by wanting something you couldn't have. Maybe dangerous was exactly what you needed.

The remainder of the day had been a blur of increasingly bold lords and their sons trying to catch your attention. You'd smiled politely through it all, deflected propositions both subtle and explicit, and tried not to drink so much that you'd embarrass yourself at tonight's feast.

You'd failed at that last part.

The great hall had been transformed for the evening, there were now thousands of candles which casted everything in warm golden light, musicians played from the gallery, and long tables groaned under the weight of roasted meats and exotic fruits and wine from across the known world. The air smelled of smoke and spices and the musk of too many sweaty bodies pressed close together. You'd kept the white gown from earlier, the gold and red embroidery catching the candlelight as you moved. Your ladies had refreshed your hair, re-pinning the braids and adding fresh ruby clips, but otherwise you looked much the same as you had that morning.

Which apparently was more than enough, judging by the way heads turned as you entered. Dalton Greyjoy was already there, lounging at one of the lower tables with a cup in his hand and that same confidence he'd worn earlier. He saw you immediately—like he'd been watching the door—and stood.

"Princess," he said as you approached. "Come, sit. I've claimed the best seat in the hall."

"Have you?"

"Good view of the wine." He gestured to the seat beside him. "And now a better one."

You sat, aware of how he took up space without apology, all broad shoulders and long limbs sprawled in a way that suggested he'd never learned courtly posture and didn't particularly care to either. A servant poured wine, and Dalton took his cup, drinking deeply before setting it down with more force than necessary. "Seven hells, that's good. Better than the piss we brew on Pyke."

"I'm sure."

"You've never been to the Iron Islands." It wasn't a question.

"No."

"Good. It's a miserable place. Cold, wet, smells like dead fish and shit." He grinned. "But it's mine."

There was something about the way he said it, simple pride, no need to justify or explain. Just fact that sprung a buzz in your chest. 

"You're far from home," you observed.

"Aye. Your aunt summoned, so I came." He reached for a piece of bread, tearing it apart with his hands. "Hadn't planned on it, but then I heard about the festivities. The Crown Prince coming of age, all the pretty ladies competing for him." His eyes slid to you as he brought the bread to his mouth, tongue darting out to catch a crumb at the corner of his lips. He raised an eyebrow. "Thought it might be entertaining."

"And is it?"

"Getting better." He popped the bread in his mouth, still watching you while he chewed. "Tell me something. That dragon of yours—Cannibal. Is it true he ate three dragons on Dragonstone before you claimed him?"

You reached for your wine. "Two that I know of for certain. Possibly three."

"Fuck me." But he sounded impressed rather than horrified. "And you just walked up to him?"

"More or less." You took a sip, watching him over the rim of your cup.

"You're either the bravest woman in the Seven Kingdoms or the maddest." He leaned back in his chair, arms crossing over his chest as he studied you."Probably both."

"Most people say it was foolish."

"Most people are cowards."  He picked up his wine again, draining half the cup in one go. "I respect it. Taking what you want, consequences be damned. That's how you survive in this world."

The food kept coming—course after course. Servants appeared with platters of roasted duck, honeyed figs, spiced lamb. Dalton ate like a man who wasn't sure when his next meal would be, unbothered by the elaborate presentation. You picked at your own plate, more interested in the conversation than the food.

"You fight in the tournaments tomorrow?" you asked.

"Planning on it. Need to work off some of this." He gestured at the feast. "Can't spend all day drinking and eating without swinging a sword eventually. I'll go soft."

You doubted that. There was nothing soft about Dalton Greyjoy. You let your eyes drag over him, shoulders, arms, the way he took up space.

"Who do you think will win?" you asked. "The tourney, I mean."

"Not me," he said with a shrug. "I'm a better sailor than jouster. Give me a deck that's moving under my feet and I'm deadly. Put me on a horse in full plate and I'm just another idiot hoping not to fall off." He paused. "Your cousin, probably. The pretty one. Jacaerys."

Your jaw tightened slightly. "Jace is skilled."

"Aye, I've heard. Trained by the best, naturally." There was something in his tone—not quite mocking, but close. "Born with every advantage. Dragon, crown, looks that make ladies go weak. Must be nice."

"It has its challenges."

"I'm sure." He didn't sound particularly sympathetic. "Still. I'd take his challenges over mine any day."

A commotion near the high table drew your attention. Jace was standing, Lady Cassandra Baratheon beside him, her hand on his arm as they moved toward the dancing. You watched them go, watched her lean in to say something that made him smile, and your stomach dropped. Your hands curled into fists in your lap. 

"There's a look I know," Dalton said quietly.

You turned back to find him studying you, those storm-grey eyes too sharp. He was leaning back in his chair now, one arm draped over the back of it, completely relaxed.

"What look?"

"The one that says you want to set something on fire but you're too well-bred to do it." He tilted his head, watching you like a hawk. "What's he done to earn that?"

"Nothing. I don't—"

"Right." He drained his cup in one swallow and stood, extending his hand across the table. "Come on then."

"Where?"

"To dance. You're sitting here stewing and it's making me uncomfortable." He wiggled his fingers impatiently.

"I'm not—"

"You are." He stepped closer, hand still out. "And if I have to watch you watch him dance with that Baratheon girl for one more second, I'm going to start breaking things." His fingers curled slightly, beckoning. "Dance with me, Princess. Give the court something else to gossip about."

You shouldn't. You really, truly shouldn't.

You took his hand.

He pulled you up—quick enough that you stumbled slightly—and steadied you with a hand at your elbow before leading you onto the floor. Other couples were already moving, swirling past in a blur of silk and jewels. His hand settled at your waist, lower than was strictly proper, fingers spread wide against your back and he pulled you into the rhythm without missing a beat.

He moved with surprising grace for someone who'd just claimed to be better on a ship than a dance floor.

"You lied," you said, looking up at him. "You're good at this."

"I said I'm better on a ship. Didn't say I was shit at dancing." He spun you, sudden enough that you stumbled into his chest. His hand tightened on your waist, steadying you. "My mother made sure all her sons could dance. Said it was the one civilized thing we'd learn."

"Was she right?"

"Aye. Rest of it's all fighting and fucking and sailing." He said it casually, leading you back into the steps. "Not much call for poetry and courtly manners on Pyke."

You shouldn't have laughed, but you did, it was sharp and genuine, the sound surprising you. Something about his bluntness cut through all the careful political bullshit you'd been drowning in for days.

"That scandalize you?" he asked, grinning down at you. His teeth were very white against his tanned skin.

"No."

"Good. I'd hate to waste time pretending to be something I'm not." His thumb pressed against your waist, and you felt it through the silk. "Life's too fucking short for that."

The music swelled around you, violins rising. He pulled you closer, definitely too close now, close enough that you could feel the heat of him through your dress, definitely crossing into improper territory. But you didn't pull away. Just let him guide you through the steps, let yourself focus on the pressure of his hand, the solid weight of his shoulder under your palm. Anything other than Jace and Cassandra somewhere else on this floor.

"Better?" Dalton asked, voice low enough that only you could hear it over the music.

"What?"

"You stopped looking like you wanted to commit murder.” His eyes crinkled at the corners. “I'm taking that as progress."

"I never—"

"You did." He spun you again, pulled you back in. The smile on his face had an edge to it now. "Whatever he did, whoever he is, he's not worth it, Princess."

You wanted to argue. Wanted to defend something you couldn't even name, couldn't admit to yourself. But Dalton's hand was warm and steady against your waist, his grey eyes fixed on yours like you were the only person in the room, and for just a moment, just this one dance, you let yourself pretend. That you weren't obsessed with your cousin. That you hadn't spent the last three nights watching him fuck other women through a crack in the wall. That you were just a woman dancing with a man who looked at her like she mattered.

The song ended far too soon.

Dalton stepped back, but his hand stayed at your waist, lingering, his fingers flexing once against your ribs before he let go. "Thank you for the dance, Princess."

"Thank you for asking." Your skin felt cold where his hand had been.

"I'll be fighting tomorrow. In the melee, not the joust, I told you, I'm shit on horseback." That grin again, cocky and so sure of himself.  "Come watch me get my ass kicked by men in fancy armor."

"I might."

"You will." He said it like it was already decided, so much so, that you almost believed him. Then he bowed, properly this time, deep and formal, and walked away, disappearing back into the crowd.

You stood there for a moment, heart still racing from the dance, or maybe from the way Dalton had looked at you, all that damned confidence and heat and completely unbothered by the surrounding propriety. Your skin still tingled where his hand had been, that deliberate pressure at your waist.

He was handsome. You could admit that, at least to yourself. Rough around the edges in a way that was completely unlike the polished princes and lords you'd grown up around. Dangerous-looking. The kind of man your mother would warn you about. The kind you apparently couldn't stop thinking about for entirely different reasons than you should.

You pressed your fingers to your waist briefly, then dropped your hand. This was stupid. You were being stupid about two different men now, which seemed like an achievement in poor judgment.

When you finally turned to head back to your seat, you found Aegon waiting, leaning against a pillar with that knowing smirk plastered across his face.

"Well," he drawled, pushing off the pillar to stand beside you. "That was something."

"It was a dance."

"That wasn't just a dance." Aegon took a long drink from his cup, eyes gleaming with amusement. "That was him fucking you with your clothes on."

Heat flooded your face. "You're drunk."

"I'm always drunk. Doesn't make me wrong." He gestured with his cup, sloshing wine dangerously close to the rim, toward where Dalton had disappeared into the crowd. "Be careful with that one. He's not like these simpering southern lords. He takes what he wants."

"I'm not."

"I know. I'm just saying." Aegon leaned in closer, lowering his voice even though no one was near enough to hear. "The Red Kraken's got a reputation, and certainly not the fun kind like mine."

You looked back toward where Jace was still dancing with Cassandra, her head thrown back laughing at something he'd said.

"Maybe I need a reputation," you muttered.

Aegon raised his cup. "Now that's the spirit."

"Come on," Aegon said, tugging at your sleeve like a child. "Let's get out of here before someone tries to make us be social again."

"Where are we going?"

"Does it matter?" He was already pulling you toward the edge of the hall.

It didn't, not really. The hall was too hot, too crowded, the air thick with wine and perfume and the cloying smell of too many bodies pressed together. Too many people pretending to be things they weren't. You let Aegon pull you through a side door, the sudden quiet of the corridor making your ears ring.

Down one hallway, then another. Your footsteps echoed off stone. Up a winding staircase, too narrow and steep, the kind that hadn't been used in years. You recognized it dimly as leading to one of the old watchtowers, the ones that overlooked the bay.

"Aegon, we're going to break our necks," you said as he stumbled on a step, catching himself against the wall.

"Good." He kept climbing. "Better than dying of boredom down there."

The tower room at the top was small and forgotten. Dust motes floated in the moonlight streaming through narrow windows. There were  a few old weapons which hung on the walls, all rusted, decorative, and completely useless. The windows looked out over King's Landing, the city spread below like a carpet of flickering lights.

The sounds of the feast were distant here, muffled by layers of stone and height. You could barely hear the music anymore. Just the wind, and the sound of your own breathing still coming fast from the climb.

Aegon collapsed onto a bench beneath one of the windows, wine cup still in hand, sprawling back against the stone. You leaned against the opposite wall, pressing your shoulders into the cool stone. The breeze coming through the window felt good against your flushed skin, cutting through the wine-warm haze in your head.

"This is better," Aegon declared, gesturing broadly with his cup. "Much better. No one up here but us and the ghosts."

"Are there ghosts?"

"Probably." He took another drink, throat working. "Old tower like this? Someone definitely died here. Hopefully doing something more interesting than attending a feast."

You laughed, the sound strange and too loud in the small space, bouncing off stone. Your head was spinning pleasantly, everything soft and blurred at the edges. The wine had settled warm in your stomach, making your limbs feel loose and heavy. You slid down the wall until you were sitting on the floor, knees drawn up, your dress pooling around you. The stone was cold against your back even through the silk.

"You danced well with the Kraken," Aegon said after a moment.  His eyes were on you now, sharper than they should be considering how much he'd drunk. "He looked like he wanted to eat you."

"He looked like he wanted to dance."

"Same thing, with that one." Aegon tilted his head, studying you. His usual smirk had faded into something more serious. Almost sober. "Do you like him?"

"I barely know him." You picked at a loose thread on your dress.

"That's not what I asked."

You considered it, head tilted back against the stone. Did you like Dalton Greyjoy? He was attractive, certainly. Bold. Honest in a way that cut through all the bullshit.

"I don't know," you said finally. "Maybe. Does it matter?"

"Suppose not." Aegon was quiet for a moment, swirling the wine in his cup, watching the liquid catch the moonlight in wave-like ripples. Then, without looking at you: "Can I kiss you?"

You blinked, certain you'd misheard. "What?"

"Can I kiss you?" He did look at you now, and there was something almost vulnerable in his expression beneath the wine-flush. "I want to kiss someone. And you're here. And you're pretty. And you won't make it mean something it doesn't."

You should say no. Should laugh it off, make a joke, change the subject. This was Aegon—your cousin, your friend, the perpetually drunk prince who took nothing seriously.

But your head was spinning and your chest still ached from watching Jace with Cassandra, and Dalton's words kept echoing in your mind—life's too fucking short.

"Fuck it," you said, the words coming out steadier than you felt.

"Is that a yes?"

"It's a fuck it." You pushed yourself up slightly, meeting his eyes.

Aegon set his cup down on the bench and stood. He wasn't quite steady on his feet, swaying slightly as he crossed the small space to where you sat against the wall.

You had to tilt your head back to look up at him as he stopped in front of you, close enough that you could smell the wine on his breath, the faint scent of whatever oil he used in his hair. Up close like this, you could see everything. The wine-flush high on his cheekbones, the slightly glazed look in his purple eyes—Targaryen eyes, the same shade as your own. The way his chest rose and fell, breathing faster than the short walk across the room warranted.

He was handsome. The thought came to you clearly, like you were seeing him for the first time. When he wasn't making an ass of himself, when he wasn't performing for the court or drowning in his cups, when you actually looked at him, Aegon was undeniably, unfairly handsome.

"You're sure?" he asked, and his voice had gone quieter. Careful. Like he was giving you one last chance to back out, to laugh this off and pretend it never happened.

Your heart was pounding. "Stop asking and just—"

He dropped to his knees in front of you.

The movement brought him to your level, purple eyes locked on yours. His hand came up, hesitant at first, then surer, cupping your jaw. His thumb brushed across your cheekbone, and you realized you were holding your breath.

Then he kissed you.

It was nothing like you'd imagined kissing would be. Not that you'd spent much time imagining it, or maybe you had, late at night, alone in your bed, but those fantasies had been vague and shapeless. This was real. This was Aegon's mouth on yours, warm and wine-sweet and surprisingly gentle. His other hand found your waist, steadying himself, or maybe steadying you.

For a moment, you froze. Didn't know what to do with your hands, with your mouth, with any of it. Then something in you gave way. Your hands came up to grip his shoulders, solid, real, there and you kissed him back.

Aegon kissed like he did everything else, without any restraint, without second thoughts, just pure unfiltered fucking want. His mouth was hot against yours, tasting like wine and something hungrier, and his hands cupped your face like you were something precious he was afraid of breaking. He pressed closer, and you made a sound, and his tongue swept into your mouth.

Oh.

Your hands gripped shoulders because you needed something to hold onto, needed to ground yourself before you floated away entirely. He was solid under your grip, all lean muscle and warmth, so much warmer than you'd expected. When he tilted his head to deepen the kiss, to take more, something low in your belly clenched hard enough to hurt. 

This was wrong. This was Aegon. Your cousin. Your friend who you'd watched get drunk at a hundred feasts, who you'd laughed with and plotted with and shared secrets with. Who you'd never, not once, not ever, thought of like this.

But his mouth was moving against yours with a desperate kind of hunger, and his hands had slid from your face down to your waist, fingers digging in as he pulled you closer, pulled you against him. And your body was a traitor. Heat was pooling between your thighs, your breath coming in short gasps, your fingers twisting in the fabric of his doublet like you needed him closer, needed more.

One of his hands moved lower, gripping your hip, and you gasped into his mouth. He swallowed the sound, kissed you harder, like he wanted to crawl inside you.

When he finally pulled back, breaking the kiss to breathe, forehead pressed against yours, you were both panting. His eyes were dark, pupils blown wide, and his lips were red and swollen.

"Well," Aegon said, his voice rougher than usual. "That was—"

You blinked at him, trying to catch your breath. His breath warm against your lips. His hand came up to cup your cheek, thumb tracing along your jaw in a way that made your knees weak. 

"I'd like to do that again," he murmured, and there was something in his voice, something hungry and real beneath the usual bravado.

Your heart was pounding. His thumb was still moving against your skin, slow and deliberate, and you could feel the heat of him everywhere he touched. He was everywhere at once, and for the first time in your life you weren't looking at your cousin Aegon, you were staring at someone with pure, unfiltered want.

"Yes," you breathed.

He kissed you again—harder this time, more certain. His hand tightened on your waist, yanking you fully against him, and you could feel everything. The hard planes of his chest, the lean muscle of his thighs, and—gods—the unmistakable ridge of his cock pressed against your hip through layers of silk and leather.

You gasped into his mouth, and he swallowed the sound, tongue sliding hot and slick against yours. His hips rolled forward, slow, deliberate and the pressure of him grinding against you sent heat shooting straight between your legs.

Your knees actually went weak. If he wasn't holding you up, you'd have collapsed.

Your hands found his hair—silver silk between your fingers—and you pulled. Hard. He groaned, deep and guttural, and ground against you harder in response. You could feel yourself getting wet, the slick heat gathering between your thighs, soaking through your smallclothes. The knowledge that he was hard, that you'd made him hard, made you clench around nothing.

"Fuck," Aegon panted against your mouth before his lips dragged to your jaw, your throat. His hand slid down from your waist to your ass, gripping hard, pulling you tighter against him. "Fuck, you taste so good. Smell good. Feel so fucking good."

He thrust his hips forward again, the thick length of him dragging against your belly, and you both made sounds that were almost pained. 

You should stop this. Should push him away before this went too far. This was Aegon, your cousin, your friend who you'd grown up with—

His teeth scraped the sensitive spot below your ear and you whimpered. Actually whimpered like something desperate and needy, your hips rolling forward to meet his next thrust without your permission.

"That's it," he breathed against your skin, doing it again, sucking a mark into your throat that you'd have to hide tomorrow. His hand on your ass squeezed, angling you so when he ground forward again, the pressure hit directly against your aching cunt. "Gods, feel what you do to me? Feel how hard I am for you?"

"Aegon," you started, voice breaking, but you couldn't finish because he was kissing you again, deeper, filthier, his tongue fucking into your mouth while one hand fisted in your hair, pulling your head back to expose your throat and the other kept your hips pinned against his.

He found a rhythm now, rolling his hips against yours in steady, deliberate thrusts that had you panting into his mouth. Each movement dragged the hard length of his cock against you, the friction even through all the layers making you want to scream, want to hike up your skirts and feel him properly, skin to skin, want things you'd never let yourself want before.

You rolled your hips back, meeting him, matching his rhythm, and he groaned like you'd hurt him.

"Fuck, yes," he panted. "Just like that. Gods, you're so, I can feel how wet you are even through—"

He thrust harder, and you felt it, the heat of him, the thick ridge of his cock grinding directly against your clit through the soaked silk between your legs. The sensation made white spots burst behind your eyelids.

This wasn't gentle. Wasn't sweet or romantic or any of the things you'd imagined in your naive fantasies. This was pure animal want, raw and desperate and hungry. Fueled by too much wine and too many things neither of you wanted to think about. His body moving against yours like he wanted to crawl inside you, like he couldn't get close enough even though you were pressed together so tightly you could barely breathe.

Your hand slid down from his hair to his chest, feeling his heart hammering beneath your palm, then lower, reaching between your bodies toward the hard heat of him—

He caught your wrist. Held it. Both of you froze, breathing hard, hips still pressed flush together.

When you finally broke apart, gasping, flushed, his hair completely destroyed from your hands and your lips kiss-swollen and red, Aegon let out a shaky laugh against your neck.

"Gods," he breathed, forehead pressed to your shoulder. You could still feel him hard against your hip, could feel the answering wetness between your own legs. "We're idiots."

"Probably," you managed, your voice coming out hoarse. Wrecked.

"Definitely." But he wasn't pulling away. His hands were still on you, his body still pressed close, and you could feel him, still hard, maybe harder, against your hip. The evidence of what you'd just done. What you'd almost done. "This is a terrible idea."

"The worst."

"We should stop."

"We should." But your fingers were still twisted in his doublet.

His hand flexed on your hip, thumb pressing into the bone. "One more?"

You pulled him down by his hair and kissed him again. This time there was no hesitation. There was no pretense of this being innocent or simple. Just heat and hunger and his hands sliding down to grip your ass through your skirts, hauling you against him so hard you felt the breath leave your lungs.

You could feel the thick, insistent pressure of his cock grinding against your belly. He rolled his hips, slow and filthy, and you whimpered into his mouth. You wanted release.

"Fuck," he groaned against your lips. "You're going to kill me."

Your back hit the wall—you didn't even remember moving—and suddenly he had leverage. His thigh pushed between yours, spreading your legs, and when he ground forward this time the friction was devastating. The hard muscle of his thigh pressed directly against your cunt through the layers of silk, and you were so wet you knew he could feel it, knew the fabric had to be soaked through.

"Oh gods," you gasped, head falling back against the stone.

Aegon's mouth was on your neck immediately, sucking hard enough to mark, teeth scraping. His hands gripped your ass, pulling you down harder onto his thigh, helping you grind against him.

"That's it," he panted against your throat, moving his leg in rhythm with your desperate rolling hips. "Fuck, you're so wet. I can feel you through everything. Can feel how much you want this."

You should care about the bruises he was leaving. Should worry about questions and propriety and what this meant. You didn't care at all. You just needed more, more, and more.

"Aegon," you gasped, and his name coming out of your mouth broken and desperate seemed to undo something in him.

He kissed you again, dirty and deep and filthy, all tongue and teeth, while his hips pressed forward, grinding his cock against your hip in time with how you were riding his thigh. One hand fisted in your hair, pulling your head back so he could kiss you deeper, the other still gripping your arse and guiding your movements.

"Could fuck you right here," he groaned into your mouth, hips thrusting harder. "Pull up these skirts, sink into you against this wall. You'd let me, wouldn't you? You're so fucking wet you'd take me easy."

The image, Aegon inside you, filling you, fucking you against cold, dirty stone, made you moan and grind down harder. You were drowning in sensation, the taste of wine on his tongue, the heat of his body burning through the fabric, the devastating pressure between your legs, the thick hardness of him grinding against your hip.

"Yes," you heard yourself gasp. "Yes, Seven Hells."

Reality as sudden as a wave crashing against rock, rippled back through you.

What the fuck were you two doing? What were you saying?

You must have tensed because Aegon pulled back, really pulled back this time, stepping away and putting actual space between your bodies. The loss of contact left you cold and aching. You were both wrecked. His lips were swollen and red, his hair completely destroyed, his pupils blown so wide his eyes looked black. There was a wet spot on his thigh from you. You could see the obvious bulge straining against his breeches.

You probably looked worse. Your lips tender and kiss-bitten, your smallclothes absolutely ruined.

"Yes. Back. To the feast." He ran both hands through his hair, dragging it back from his face, somehow making it look even more fucked. "Where we've been having perfectly appropriate cousin conversations."

"Very appropriate."

"The most appropriate." But he was looking at you like he wanted to shove you back against that wall and finish what you'd started. His eyes dragged down your body, lingering on your swollen lips, the marks on your neck, the wrinkled silk of your dress, before snapping back up. "Fuck, your hair's a complete disaster."

"So is yours."

"I'm always a mess. You're supposed to be the put-together one." He reached out, fingers trembling slightly as he tried to tuck a few loose strands back into place. The touch was gentle now, almost tender, so different from five minutes ago when he'd been fisting his hand in it and pulling. "There. Almost presentable."

You caught his wrist, held it. His pulse was still racing under your fingers. "Aegon, please."

"Don't." He pulled away, stepped back entirely, hands dropping to his sides and curling into fists like he didn't trust himself not to reach for you again. "Don't make it something. It was just—we're drunk. That's all."

"Right. Drunk."

"Very drunk." He looked around, spotted his abandoned wine cup on the bench, picked it up and stared at it like he'd forgotten what it was for. Then set it back down. "We should go. Before I do something even stupider."

"Like what?"

His eyes met yours, and they were still dark. Still wanting. His gaze dropped to your mouth. "Don't ask questions you don't want answered, cousin."

Your breath caught. Heat pooled low in your belly again, that ache between your legs flaring back to life.

He saw it on your face—saw the want there—and made a pained sound. "Gods, don't look at me like that. We need to leave. Now."

"Okay," you managed.

"Okay." But he didn't move. Just stood there, chest rising and falling too fast, hands still clenched at his sides.

Finally, with visible effort, he offered you his arm, the gesture exaggerated and courtly in a way that didn't quite hide how badly his hand was shaking. "Come on. Let's go back before someone sends a search party and finds us looking like we've been—" He stopped and swallowed hard. "Just. Let's go."

You took his arm, fingers wrapping around his forearm, and you could feel the tension in him. The muscles were tight, coiled, like he was holding himself back. Together you made your way back down the winding stairs. The descent was precarious,  both of you still drunk, still unsteady, but now for different reasons. Your legs felt weak. You could feel the slickness between your thighs with every step, a constant reminder of how close you'd come to, god, fucking your cousin. The cousin that was right there, is still right there. 

You stumbled on a step and Aegon caught you, arm wrapping around your waist to steady you. The touch lasted a second too long. His fingers pressed into your hip,  right where he'd gripped you before and you both froze.

"Careful," he said roughly, then let go like you'd burned him.

"Are we going to be weird about this?" you asked as you reached the bottom, voices from the feast growing louder.

"Are you?"

"No."

"Then neither am I." He squeezed your hand where it rested on his arm, the pressure firm and grounding. "It was just kissing. Doesn't have to mean anything."

"Doesn't have to mean anything," you repeated.

Liar, something whispered in the back of your mind. You could still feel him hard against you. Could still hear him saying he wanted to fuck you against the wall. Could still taste wine on your tongue. But when you made it back through the side door, slipping into the edges of the feast and immediately caught sight of Jace across the hall, still with Cassandra, his head bent close to hers as she whispered something in his ear, and you felt that familiar twist of want and jealousy knife through your chest.

And beneath it, something new. Something confusing.

The memory of Aegon's mouth on yours. His hands on your body, gripping and pulling and claiming. The way he'd made you forget everything else, forget Jace, forget propriety, forget your own name, for those few desperate moments.

And worse of all, the way you'd liked it.

You slipped away from Aegon as soon as you entered the hall, murmuring something about needing the privy. In truth, you needed a moment. Needed to look at yourself, assess the damage. Your chambers weren't far. You practically ran there, heart still pounding, skin still flushed.

Your ladies were waiting, they'd been dismissed earlier but Lysa had stayed, dozing in a chair by the fire. She jolted awake when you burst in.

"My lady! Are you—" Her eyes went wide, taking in your disheveled hair, your swollen lips, the very obvious marks blooming purple on your throat. "Oh."

"I need—" You gestured helplessly at your neck. "Can you please?"

"Of course." But she was grinning as she hurried to mix a paste, calling for Maryse and Elaena.

They appeared quickly, and the moment they saw you, the reaction was immediate.

"Ohhhhh," Maryse breathed, eyes sparkling with delight.

"My lady!" Elaena giggled, pressing her hands to her mouth.

"Don't," you warned, but you could feel yourself flushing deeper.

"Was he handsome?" Lysa asked, dabbing the paste carefully on your neck to lighten the marks. It wouldn't hide them completely, but it would help.

"I'm not discussing this."

"Ohhhhh, he was," Maryse decided, starting to fix your hair with deft fingers. "Look how red she is."

"Was it romantic?" Elaena asked dreamily, adjusting your dress, smoothing the wrinkles.

"It was—" You stopped. What could you even say? "It was nothing. Too much wine."

All three of them made knowing sounds, soft "mmhmms" and "of courses" that said they didn't believe you for a second.

The rest of the night blurred together in a haze of wine and music and laughter. You danced with Aemond, too stiff and proper, unlike his brother, but surprisingly skilled. He didn't speak much, just guided you through the steps like an ever-so-graceful swan, his one good eye tracking everything in the hall like he was cataloging threats.

"You're drunk," he observed.

"Very."

"Good. You're less insufferable when you're drunk.”

"You're a delight as always, cousin."

His lips twitched, the closest thing to a smile you'd ever seen from him. "Enjoy your evening, Princess."

Then Daemon cut in, stealing you mid-step with the kind of casual arrogance only he could manage.

"Having fun?" he asked, spinning you perhaps a bit too fast.

"Trying to."

"That Greyjoy boy's been watching you all night." Daemon's grin was sharp. "Wondering if he's going to do something stupid."

"Aren't we all doing something stupid tonight?"

"Fair point." He laughed, and for a moment you could see why Rhaenyra loved him despite everything. "Don't get yourself killed, niece. Your aunt would be very put out."

"I'll do my best."

Even Rhaenyra danced with you—a slower song, her hands gentle as she guided you through it.

"You look happy," she said softly. "That's good. I worry about you sometimes."

"I'm fine, Your Grace."

"Rhaenyra," she corrected. "When it's just us, I'm Rhaenyra. Your aunt who loves you."

The wine made your eyes sting. "I love you too."

She pressed a kiss to your forehead. "Go enjoy yourself. You're young. These nights don't come often enough."

So you did. You drank more wine, letting the warmth of it blur the edges of everything. Danced with lords whose names you didn't remember and didn't care to learn. Laughed at Aegon's increasingly ridiculous jokes, though you were careful not to stand too close to him, careful not to let your eyes linger.

Every time you saw him across the hall, you remembered. His mouth on yours. His hands gripping your ass. The way he'd ground against you like he couldn't help himself. The things he'd said, could fuck you right here, that still made heat pool between your legs when you thought about them.

And every time you saw Jace, still orbiting Cassandra Baratheon like she was the sun and he was caught in her gravity, you felt that sick twist of jealousy. But now it was complicated by guilt. By confusion. You'd dry-humped Aegon in a tower. You'd been ready to let him fuck you against a wall. And part of you had liked it. Had liked the way he looked at you like you were something he desperately wanted. Had liked feeling wanted, period.

But you still couldn't stop watching Jace. Couldn't stop wondering what his hands would feel like instead of Aegon's. Couldn't stop thinking about the hole in your wall and the things you'd seen through it.

You were a mess. A complete disaster of a person. So you drank more. Let yourself forget, just for a few hours, about holes in walls and wanting things you couldn't have and the fact that you'd apparently developed an extremely inconvenient attraction to not one but two of your cousins.

By the time you decided to retire, the hall was spinning pleasantly and your feet ached from dancing. You waved off your ladies, they were enjoying themselves too, giggling with guards and flirting with servants and made your way through the corridors alone.

The castle was a maze at the best of times. Drunk, it was nearly impossible.

You climbed stairs, turned down hallways, all of it familiar but also somehow wrong. Your chambers should be here? No, maybe down this corridor. Or was it the other way?

Finally, you found a door that looked right. The wood was the same, the handle in the same place. Close enough. You pushed it open, stumbled inside, and didn't bother with candles. The room was dark and quiet. Just kicked off your slippers, fumbled with the laces of your gown until they loosened enough to breathe, and collapsed onto the bed.

The sheets smelled clean. Felt soft. Maybe a bit different than usual but your wine-soaked brain didn't care enough to question it. Good enough, you didn’t give a god’s damn.

You were asleep before your head fully hit the pillow.

Jacaerys was tired, wine-warm, and ready for bed when he finally escaped the feast.

Cassandra had wanted him to stay longer, had made that very clear with the way her hand kept finding his arm, the lingering touches, the invitations in her eyes that he'd politely ignored. He'd begged off with excuses about an early morning. The tournaments started tomorrow, and he needed at least a few hours of sleep before climbing into armor and trying not to get killed in front of the entire court.

He climbed the stairs to his chambers, his thoughts already on collapsing into bed. Maybe he'd been too indulgent tonight. Too much wine, too much dancing, too much of Cassandra's cloying perfume that now clung to his clothes and made his head ache.

He pushed open his door, stepped inside, and froze.

Someone was in his bed.

His hand went to the dagger at his belt, pure instinct, trained response, his body tensing as his eyes fought to adjust to the darkness. The figure was small, curled on their side facing away from him. Too small to be a real threat. Too still.

Then he saw the hair. Silver. Spilling across his pillows, catching what little light came through the window. Long and unbound, the way he'd never seen it during the day when it was always properly pinned and braided.

His heart stopped. Started again, too fast.

It was you.

"What the—" The words died in his throat. He stood there, hand still on his dagger, trying to make sense of what he was seeing.

You were in his bed. His bed. Fast asleep from the look of it, your breathing deep and even, completely unaware of his presence. Jace's eyes adjusted further, and he could make out more details now. Your slippers discarded on the floor near the foot of the bed. Your gown was unlaced and loose around your body.

Very loose. His breath caught as his gaze traced the line of your form. You'd clearly tried to unlace the gown yourself, drunk fingers fumbling with the ties, getting it open enough to breathe easier before collapsing into bed. But you'd only managed to loosen it, not remove it, and now the fabric had shifted in your sleep.

The neckline had slipped down your shoulder. Lower. Low enough that he could see—

Jace's mouth went dry. Your breast. Half of it bare, skin luminous in the moonlight, the curve of it visible where the silk had fallen away. If you shifted even slightly, if the fabric slipped just a bit more… stop, stop right fucking  now. 

He looked away quickly, heat flooding his face, his chest, lower. His heart was hammering now.

Don't look. Don't be that person. She's asleep. She's drunk. She doesn't even know where she is.

But his eyes were drawn back like a lodestone to true north.

Your leg had escaped the tangle of silk too. One bare leg stretched out across his sheets, the gown rucked up to mid-thigh, higher on the side where you'd rolled slightly forward in sleep. Smooth skin, the elegant line of your calf, the curve of your knee. If he looked, and gods help him, he was looking, he could see almost to your hip where the fabric had bunched.

He could see the shadow between your thighs. Jace's cock stirred in his breeches, and he felt shame burn through him immediately after.

Stop. Stop looking at her like this.

But he couldn't move. Couldn't look away. You were sprawled across his bed like some kind of vision, your lips were parted slightly, your breathing deep and peaceful. You looked nothing like the proper, put-together princess he saw every day. Nothing like his cousin who barely spoke to him, who avoided his eyes at dinner, who seemed to go out of her way not to be alone with him.

You looked undone and vulnerable. Beautiful in a way that made his chest ache and his blood run hot.

He took a step closer without meaning to. Then another. Until he was standing beside the bed, looking down at you.

This close, he could see more. The gentle rise and fall of your chest, your bare chest, your nipple was just barely hidden by a fold of silk, the fabric draped across it so precariously that each breath threatened to expose you completely.

Jace's hands clenched into fists at his sides. His breathing had gone shallow.

What was wrong with him? This was you. His cousin. A princess. A woman who clearly had no idea where she was or what she looked like right now. And he was standing here staring at you like some kind of pervert, getting hard while you slept completely unaware.

He needed to—he should—

Wake you. Get you back to your chambers. Cover you with a blanket at the very least. Do something other than stand here like an idiot with his cock half-hard and his mind conjuring images of what it would be like to slip into that bed beside you, to pull you against him, to—

No.

He forced himself to step back. To look away. To think like a rational person instead of a man who'd drunk too much wine and found a beautiful woman in his bed. You shifted in your sleep, making a small sound and rolled slightly onto your back.

The movement made everything worse. The gown slipped further. Your breast was fully exposed now, pale and perfect in the moonlight. He could see your nipple, could see the way it had hardened slightly in the cool air of the room. The silk had ridden up higher on your leg too, and now he could see the dark shadow at the apex of your thighs. Gods.

Were you even wearing anything under that gown?

Jace turned away sharply, pressing the heels of his palms against his eyes like he could scrub the image from his mind. His cock was fully hard now, straining against his breeches, and he felt like the worst kind of person. You were drunk. Asleep. Completely vulnerable. And here he was getting hard looking at you, thinking thoughts he had absolutely no right to think.

He needed to cover you. That was the first thing. Before he did anything else—before he even tried to figure out what to do about this situation—he needed to make you decent.

Jace grabbed the blanket from the foot of the bed, hands shaking slightly, and carefully, so carefully, draped it over you. He tried not to look. Tried not to let his eyes linger on all that bare skin before the fabric covered it.

He failed. The image was burned into his mind now. Your breast. Your leg. The shadow between your thighs. The way you looked spread out in his bed like some kind of offering.

Stop it. She's your cousin. She's drunk. This is wrong.

But his body didn't care about wrong. His body only knew that you were here, barely clothed, looking like every fantasy he'd never let himself have. And you had been a fantasy. He could admit that now, alone in the dark with you unconscious and unaware. He'd noticed you. Had tried not to, had told himself it was inappropriate, but he'd noticed. The way you moved. The rare times you smiled. The intelligence in your eyes during council meetings when you thought no one was watching you listen.

He'd just never let himself think about it. About you. Not like that. Now he couldn't think about anything else.

Jace ran both hands through his hair, gripping it hard enough to hurt, trying to ground himself. Trying to think. Okay, good. You were covered now. That was good. Next step was to figure out what the fuck to do.

He should wake you. Should get you back to your own chambers before anyone found out you'd spent the night here. Before servants came in the morning and saw you in his bed. The scandal alone would destroy you. Would destroy any chance you had at a good marriage, would ruin your reputation entirely.

He couldn't let that happen. But waking you meant... what exactly? Touching you? Shaking your shoulder? Explaining that you'd drunkenly stumbled into the wrong room and passed out half-naked in your cousin's bed?

Gods, you'd be mortified.

Maybe it was better to just let you sleep. You were clearly exhausted, clearly drunk enough that you'd mistaken his chambers for yours. In the morning, when you woke, he could pretend he'd just arrived. Could act surprised to find you there. Give you a chance to slip out quietly, save you the embarrassment of a confrontation.

Yes. That was better. Kinder. It had nothing to do with wanting to keep you here a little longer. Nothing to do with the selfish, possessive part of him that liked seeing you in his bed, wrapped in his blankets, surrounded by his scent.

Liar, something whispered in the back of his mind.

Jace ignored it. He'd sleep somewhere else. The chairs by the fire, maybe. Or, there, is eyes landed on the small couch in the corner near the window. It looked deeply uncomfortable, probably meant for sitting and reading rather than sleeping, but it would have to do. He couldn't exactly climb into bed next to you. That would be, well, he didn't let himself finish that thought.

Decision made, he moved quietly toward the corner, trying not to make any noise that might wake you. He'd need to grab a blanket from the chest at the foot of the bed, maybe a pillow. 

Something caught his eye. A small gap in the wall near the floor in the corner. He'd never noticed it before, why would he? It was just a shadow among shadows, easy to miss. But now, looking directly at it, he could see it clearly.

A hole. Small, where the mortar had crumbled away between the stones. Jace frowned, crouching down to examine it. Old damage. The kind of thing that happened in castles this ancient, centuries of settling stone.

He should probably mention it to someone. Get it sealed up. Curious, he leaned closer, peering through the narrow gap to see where it led.

His breath caught. It was a room. Your room.

He could see the edge of a bed with a distinctive purple coverlet—the same one he'd seen when he'd accidentally walked in on you in your bath. A dressing table with jewelry scattered across its surface, glinting in the moonlight. Books stacked on a side table. A carved wooden screen positioned in the corner, partially obscuring his view but not completely.

The hole looked directly into your private chambers.

Jace sat back slowly, his heart starting to pound for entirely different reasons now.

This gap in the wall—it went straight through to your room. A perfect line of sight from his corner to yours. Which meant theoretically, someone could look through it. Could see into your private space. Watch you dress, sleep, bathe, lord knows what else.

His jaw clenched hard, a surge of protective anger rising in his chest. Had some servant discovered this? Some guard with ill intentions? The thought of someone watching you while you were vulnerable, unaware, made his blood run hot.

But then again you'd never mentioned it. Never complained about feeling watched or unsafe. Never called for anyone to repair the wall. Which meant either you didn't know about it.

Or you did know, and you'd chosen not to say anything.

Jace turned slowly to look at you, sleeping peacefully in his bed, utterly unaware of his racing thoughts.

The hole was low in his corner. Easy to miss unless you were looking for it, unless you happened to be right here in this spot. But on your side you'd have that screen. Would have moved it at some point, maybe looking for something, and found the gap.

Would have realized where it led. His heart was pounding now, thoughts spiraling.

No. That was insane. You wouldn't. You barely looked at him most days, avoided him at meals, seemed to go out of your way not to be alone with him. But you'd also been acting strange lately. He'd noticed it, couldn't help but notice. The way you flushed when he was near. How you avoided his eyes, like looking at him directly was too much.

And this morning. Gods, this morning when he'd walked in on you in your bath. You'd screamed, yes, but there had been something else in your expression. Something beyond just shock. You'd looked almost guilty, almost. At the time he'd thought he was imagining it. Had assumed you were just mortified at being seen naked. But what if it was more than that?

What if you'd been watching him through this hole, and suddenly he'd burst into your room, and you'd realized how close he was to discovering your secret?

Jace's breath came faster. He thought back over the past few days. The way you'd been flushed at dinner after he'd brought that woman back to his chambers. The way you couldn't meet his eyes the next morning. How you'd seemed distracted, distant, like your mind was somewhere else entirely.

Had you been watching him fuck her? The thought should have made him angry. Should have felt like a violation, an invasion of his privacy.

Instead, heat shot straight to his groin.

His cock, which had softened slightly while he'd been trying to figure out the logistics of where to sleep, was suddenly achingly hard again. He pressed the heel of his hand against his cock through his breeches, trying to will it down, but it was useless. The image was in his head now and wouldn't leave.

You. On the other side of that wall. Eye pressed to the gap. Watching him with some nameless woman, watching him fuck her, watching every thrust and hearing every sound.

Getting wet while you watched.

Fuck. Because you would have, wouldn't you? If you'd been watching—and gods, everything pointed to you watching—you wouldn't have kept coming back to that hole unless it was doing something for you. Unless seeing him like that, uninhibited and raw, was turning you on.

His proper, untouchable cousin. Getting yourself off while spying on him through a crack in the wall. Jace's hand tightened involuntarily on his cock and he had to bite back a groan.

He looked at you again, sleeping peacefully in his bed, completely unaware that he'd figured it out. That he knew. How many times? How many times had you watched him?

That first woman, the dark-haired serving girl. Had you seen that? Seen him bend her over the bed, seen the way he'd made her moan? And the one after. The minor lady whose name he'd already forgotten. Had you watched him spread her legs and bury his face between her thighs?

Gods, had you touched yourself while you watched? Slipped your hand beneath your nightgown, fingers finding your clit while you watched him make other women come? His cock throbbed and he had to close his eyes, had to breathe through the wave of lust that crashed over him.

This was wrong. He shouldn't be thinking about you like this. Shouldn't be getting hard imagining you watching him, wanting him, touching yourself to the sight of him with other women.

But he couldn't stop. Because if you had been watching—and everything in him said you had been—what did that mean?

It meant you wanted him. Maybe didn't want to want him, maybe fought against it, but you did. Why else would you keep going back to that hole? Why else would you watch him fuck other women if not because you wished it was you?

The thought made him harder, made pre-cum leak from the tip of his cock, dampening his smallclothes. He tried to remember the past few nights, tried to think through the wine-haze of who he'd brought back and when.

 He'd also been with Cassandra. Right here in this room, in this bed where you were sleeping now.

Had you watched that? His breath came out shaky. He'd been showing off tonight, he could admit that now. Cassandra had been impressed by his title, his dragon, the crown he'd someday wear. She'd made that clear. And maybe he'd wanted to impress her in other ways too. Had made it last longer than usual, had made sure she came twice before he'd let himself finish.

Had you been on the other side of that wall, watching him with her? Watching him kiss her, touch her, spread her legs in this very bed? Watching while your heart twisted with jealousy?

The idea shouldn't thrill him as much as it did.

Jace pressed his palm hard against his cock, trying to calm down, trying to think past the lust fogging his brain. His hand came away damp, he was leaking badly now, his cock throbbing with need.

Stop. Get yourself under control.

He forced himself to breathe. Slow, deep breaths. Forced himself to look away from you sleeping in his bed, tangled in his sheets, still half-exposed despite the blanket he'd draped over you.

This was insane. He was standing here hard as iron, thinking about his cousin watching him fuck other women, getting off on the idea of you wanting him. He needed to calm down. Needed to think rationally about what this meant and what, if anything, he was going to do about it.

Jace forced himself to turn away from you entirely. Grabbed the blanket he'd originally intended to use and moved to the couch in the corner, as far from the bed as he could get in the confines of his own chambers. He stretched out on the too-small surface, the blanket pulled up to his chin, and willed his body to calm down. Willed his cock to soften. Tried to think about anything other than you watching him through that hole.

It didn't work.

Every time he closed his eyes, his mind conjured images. You with your eye pressed to the gap. Your hand sliding beneath your nightgown. Your lips parting as you watched him fuck someone else, wishing it was you. His cock throbbed, still achingly hard, and he shifted uncomfortably on the couch.

This was impossible. He couldn't sleep like this. Couldn't lie here all night with his cock straining against his breeches and you barely ten feet away, half-naked in his bed. He sat up, running both hands through his hair in frustration.

He needed to leave. Needed to get out of this room before he did something monumentally stupid. Like climb into that bed with you. Like wake you up and ask if you'd been watching. Like find out what sounds you'd make if he gave you something real to watch.

Fuck.

Jace stood, moving as quietly as possible, and grabbed his cloak from where it hung by the door. The Street of Silk would still be busy at this hour. He could find someone, anyone, to take the edge off. To fuck this desperate need out of his system so he could think clearly.

He paused at the door, looking back at you one more time. You'd shifted again in your sleep, the blanket slipping down to your waist. Your silver hair spilled across his pillows like you belonged there.

Tomorrow. He'd deal with all of this tomorrow. Would help you back to your chambers, act like the perfect gentleman. Would decide what, if anything, to do about that hole in the wall.

But tonight, he needed to leave before he lost what little control he had left. Jace slipped out into the corridor, closing the door softly behind him, and headed for the castle gates.

To read the remainder of part one (I ran out of space on here), please go to AO3 end of this part is Chapter 5: Consequences. Thank you for reading!

[spideyyeet]

➷ BLUE RASPBERRY SLUSHY

[ SUM ] — choso works at the dying seaside movie theater, permanently high and painfully untouched. you’re the new regular that gives him mean glares, then cute smiles? he tries to blame the summer heat… but really? he’s just one shift away from snapping—and you’re the only one he’s got his eye on.

[ TAGS ] — MDNI 18+. nsfw. smut. piv. RISKY PUBLIC SEX. exhibitionism. raw. creampie. slight angst. dirty talk. weed. DRY HUMPING. choso whines/whimpers. tit worship. spitting. groping. unckuna. def some grammar errors. wc: 8.6k

[ A/N ] — i actually don’t read a lot of choso fics, but this idea was not leaving my head, so enjoy!!!

choso was many things. but caring about his job was not one of them.

and that’s how you find the movie theater worker. sitting behind the counter scrolling mindlessly on his phone, loose baggy jeans and an oversized band tee, hitting his vape. and with just as much boredom, if not more, you step up to the counter and with the least amount of enthusiasm in your voice, and ask.

“can I get one blue raspberry slushy.”

choso practically jumps ten feet in the air. dropping his vape and phone the second he sees you standing there. the theater was completely empty, considering it was a monday afternoon, but it looked like you appeared out of thin air—

“jesus christ,” he heaves, catching his breath. “yeah sure.”

he shoots you one glance, eyeing your casual outfit, before moving to grab you a cup in their only available size. you stand quietly, hand briefly coming up to suppress a yawn. it’s silent. just the quiet actions of the worker.

he places the drink in front of you, turning the small screen for you to pay. but you just pull out a twenty, before pointing to one of the posters they’re showing in their three theaters. “and one ticket.”

choso hums, rubbing his eye as he includes that in the total, printing out your ticket.

“anything else?”

you shake your head for half a second, grabbing your drink and ticket, then heading to theater two.

he muttered a good night once the film ended and you were leaving. you barely offered him a polite wave in return.

that was the first time you met choso, but you didn’t know that was his name until the third week you came. you point to your chest.

“shouldn’t you guys have name tags?” you ask as he fills your cup with your usual blue raspberry slushy.

“lost mine,” he mutters, placing the drink on the counter, eyes clearly bloodshot and lidded. “my name’s choso if ya need anything,” he rings your drink and ticket up, turning the screen.

then his brows crease briefly, eyes snapping up to you, almost like he finally processed your question again before he starts sputtering, “don’t report me though, if that’s why you wanted to know my name. I don’t even smoke in the theater, it’s just a vape.”

and that was the first time he saw you smile.

your eyes gleam with a little mischief and amusement, taking your drink and ticket without uttering a single word.

choso worked at the small local movie theater every summer and winter break. primarily to get away from his nagging dad asking him about his future, as if he’s convinced choso actually attends all his classes and isn’t moving around pot for extra cash. and also to get away from his uncle who’s doing god knows what with megumi’s dad.

either way, the theater job was chill. the owner was his gramps and he let’s choso handle practically everything, and lately choso’s found himself looking forward to seeing you come in multiple times a week so he’s taken up more shifts.

sometimes he would casually stand at the front of the theater when it was empty, which it usually was, and smoke a joint. his dark bloodshot eyes shining when he’d see you cross the street.

the hot summer sun was beating down on you, your cropped top was stuck to your body like a second skin, hips swaying in your jeans.

“fuck,” he exhales lowly. your chest gleaming from the sweat.

you wipe your forehead, slightly out of breath as you shoot him one single glance, smiling to yourself once he follows you inside like a lost puppy.

“were you running?” choso coughs, putting out his joint, and picking up his pace as you reach the counter.

you nod, “yeah, was at the old diner a few blocks away with my friends,” your shirt was pretty low cut, desperately controlling his eyes from wandering as he grabbed a cup and went to the slushy machine.

“friends?”

“yeah from high school and stuff. we usually jus’ hangout in the summer since we all go to different schools now,” your tone is so easy and light, choso always feels like he’s floating when you speak. or it could be because of the weed he just smoked. either way, every time you come in now, he feels it’s less and less awkward talking to you.

“so why’d you rush here?” he casually asks, placing the slushy in front of you, hands leaning over the counter. you were shorter than him, but you still carried yourself high which had lately started to make him fantasize about things.

you glance between his sunken eyes, chest still coming down from the light jog you had. “I always come around this time,” was the explanation you’d give him. but deep down, choso was praying you’d say it was because of him. still, you point to another old movie that’s playing and finally disappear into the theater.

it wasn’t until a few weeks later, and the fourth of july rolled around.

surprisingly, the owner kept the theater open, and choso would rather smoke on the job, than get caught by his dad or uncle back home so he took the shift. however, the last thing choso was expecting when he was walking absentmindedly in the theater as fireworks went off outside, was for someone to walk in.

and that someone being you.

“you guys really stay open,” you smile, something you’ve started doing more with him. choso’s red eyes widen, heart palpating at the sight.

you were fucking breathtaking.

his mind was so high in the clouds he couldn’t control it anymore, his eyes immediately wandering down. his ears burn red, eyeing the short short skirt you’re wearing, leaving absolutely nothing to the imagination. even the half-zipped sweater you’re wearing barely covered your top which was a red bikini top that hugged your breasts as they bounced lightly. “choso?”

his eyes quickly snap to your face, cheeks aflame as he stutters out a reply, “yeah, uh—you wanna watch something?”

choso swallows thickly glancing down at your chest again as you walk up to him, fingers at the hem of your sweater, fixing up the zipper before slowly pulling it up. “someone told me,” you stop in front of him, big seductive eyes batting up at the stoner, “that there’s a better view of the fireworks, from this roof.” your finger points up.

it takes a moment for choso to register your words, his eyes now glancing at your glossy lips, beyond tempted to brush his thumb across it. “someone told you?” he repeats, brain still processing as you hum. suddenly his eyes snap to yours, wide and alert, “wait I said that!”

your lip tugs up, laughing softly, and it feels like a shot of dopamine was just injected into his veins. “you said I should come see the fireworks from here. did you forget?”

choso gulps, remembering now, how could he forget. maybe because he thought there was no way you’d ever come. which is ridiculous considering you’ve been coming every week since the start of summer. but it was the fourth of july you had to have been doing something before this to be dressed like that.

“choso?”

the stoner blinks, electing a light giggle from you which sends him into orbit, but he manages to push his hair back, biceps flexing in his old tee shirt, catching you by surprise.

“shit, yeah—here follow me.”

choso felt like he was floating the second his hand wrapped around your wrist, guiding you further into the theater all the way into the back. the marijuana in his system easing his nerves as he led you up to the second floor. completely unaware how flustered you’d suddenly gotten.

your heart was racing at the sudden contact, his hand warm, cheeks hot as you glanced at it wrapped around your smaller wrist. your chest heats up as you notice the veins that run up his forearm. the tee he was wearing was much more firm fitted than his usual oversized ones, which extenuated his broad back.

“woah,” you exhale.

“huh?” choso glances over his shoulder, catching you by surprise. “did ya say something?”

you swallow thickly, shaking your head. his lips part before closing into a tight lipped awkward smile, turning. you’re so hot. you watch him reach the ladder in the back room on the second floor.

“lemme just unlock the hatch first,” he says, letting go of your hand to climb the ladder. your fingers loosely wrap around one of the bottom steps as he reaches the top. he digs his hand in his pocket grabbing the set of keys.

maybe this wasn’t the best spot to stand because now your entire body feels like it’s on fire as you watch the, once, chill slightly dorky movie theater worker reach both arms over his head, his shirt riding up and exposing a sliver of skin, along with the few hairs that peak out of his black Calvin Klein boxers and loose jeans. oh fuck, you can see his defined v-line—

“there we go!” choso smiles, pushing the hatch up hearing it bang and the lights shine in the night sky in the distance. choso hooks the keys back on his belt loop as he climbs to the top, hand stretched out for you.

damn, your heart is thudding against your chest as you reach the top. his shockingly muscular arm flexes once your small one falls in his palm feeling a second wave of heat flood your body. you were so consumed by how flustered you’re suddenly getting that you miss a ladder step and slip—

“woah! careful,” his arm catches the edge of the latch, holding your bicep with his other hand. “grab the ladder,” but before you could even find your footing again, he’s lifting you higher. your body weight seemed like nothing to him. you’re halfway out of the hatch when you’re finally able to stand on the final step. “you okay?” he’s heaving lightly, hand falling from your bicep to your waist, brows creased and eyes still bloodshot.

this is bad.

your name leaves his soft voice again, a tinge of concern in his eyes when he notices you staring off. “a-are you high too?” he cuts again, finally able to shake you back to reality.

“no, I’m fine. thanks,” you gently pat his shoulder as a thank you, the action filled with timid awkwardness, nothing like how you usually were.

his brow raises, glancing at your sudden attitude change. are you acting differently?

you wet your lips, crossing your arms feeling slightly more self conscious as you walk further away from the hatch you came out of. choso is not far behind, dusting his jeans and stepping up beside you, hand digging in his pockets for another joint.

“wait,” he puts the joint in his mouth, then stands behind you. both his hands come up to your arms as he walks backwards. completely unaware of the shock his touch sends throughout your body, even over the sweater! your heart hammers louder, mouth dry as you try to look over your shoulder. “yeah, here. now look up.” he unconsciously squeezes your arms, nodding his chin up, hands sliding off you to grab his lighter.

your face burns, mouth going dry as you watch the theater worker casually light his joint, jaw flexing at the action as he inhales.

his dark black lashes flutter as the smoke fills his lungs and dulls his senses. he looks so effortlessly pretty….it felt like this is the first time you were seeing him. like you hadn’t realized the first fifty times you came to the theater that he was actually pretty attractive. or that his lips were a pretty pink as he exhaled the smoke. or that he was taller than you, of course you knew that, but your body didn’t fully sink that fact in until now.

“you sure you’re not high?” choso cuts, glancing down at you seeing you still staring at him.

your eyes widen, glancing away. “no, not high.” choso’s hums, shoving one hand in his pocket as he stands beside you, both of you silently waiting. as for choso, the joint from earlier had loosely dulled his anxious heart, but he could still feel the heat creeping up his neck. your body heat so close to his arm, occasionally glancing down at you. eyes flicking over your breasts, then face, then back down.

“where were you before this?” choso breaks the silence.

you glance down at yourself then up at him. “there was a fourth of july party at my friends beach house.”

choso hums, “sounds fun.”

you nod, “yeah. it was fun.”

another sound leaves the man’s lips, rocking on his heels, keeping the conversation going as best as he can. “how come you never bring one of your friends to the movies with you?”

a silent beat passes.

choso looks back at you, your smile no longer playing on your glossy kissable lips. the joint slowly burns between his fingers, heart picking up at your silence.

“was that tmi?” he quickly cuts, salvaging the moment, no filter whatsoever.

your fingers lazily play with the zipper on your sweater, shaking your head. “no…I just like watching movies alone,” you shrug, “all my friends talk through the whole thing anyways.”

“ahhh yeah, that’s like super annoying,” choso nods in agreement, earning a soft giggle from you. “watching movies alone is such a vibe.” you hum again, smiling.

another beat of silence follows, but luckily the second round of fireworks begin. you and choso simultaneously tilt your heads up, faces illuminated by the lights.

“woah,” you both exhale. choso snorts, taking another hit before passing it over to you. you glance at the joint, leaning forward. “oh,” choso blushes, bringing the joint up to your pretty lips, watching you closely as you wrap your lips where his once were, and inhaling.

you can still hear your heart racing behind your ears.

your fingers lightly brush his wrist, before pulling back. you do your best to hold in the smoke, then exhaling, onto for a throaty cough to come out.

“shit,” choso bursts out laughing, softly patting your back. you flush deeply, still coughing as you hear the man laugh a little louder at how flustered you are.

to think you were this nonchalant regular that would give him attitude, and finding out you’re just as awkward as him. well maybe he’s still the weird one, but it was cute seeing you struggle to take another hit to prove some stupid thing to him. so he holds the joint for you again, letting you hit and you do better this time. eyeing him down as if you really showed him.

“cute,” he mutters.

flustered by his comment, you distract yourself, and move a step forward before squatting carefully to sit on the roof. however, when you start to lean backwards—

“what’re you doing!” choso suddenly lurches forward, stopping you from laying down with a hand on your head.

your brows fly up, “I’m just laying down??”

“this roof is dirty as shit!” choso scrambles, looking around for god knows what. you’re still looking at him, even more confused. why is he suddenly freaking out? “here!” he resolves the problem the only way he knows how.

his arm comes over his head, grabbing the collar of his shirt and yanking the material off.

“what the—“ your cheeks sting, eyes bulging wide at the sight of choso completely shirtless. what the fuck! your brain short circuits. he was built! his abs were defined, and his arms are huge. he’s literally the definition of sleeper build. and is that a “tattoo?”

choso was bent down, laying his shirt behind you, catching a glimpse at the large tattoo on his back. “huh—“ he glances up catching your eye as he looks over his shoulder, almost like he forgot he had a giant tattoo on his sculpted back. “oh yeah, cool right?” he smiles widely.

how can he be so hot and dorky at the same time?! you internally scream, because now you’re just nodding, too flustered to respond.

“my dad fucking killed me when he found out. here lay down,” he pats his shirt, then crawls beside you and lays down.

now the two of you, side by side, stare up the flashing lights, and distant laughs and cheers from the town, everyone’s eyes were up. and then you realize…

“I was gonna put my hood on, you know…so like…you didn’t have to take your shirt off, dude.”

a beat.

choso’s ears are a bright red, then you feel him turn his head to you.

you do the same.

and the deadpan look on the man’s face had you sucking in your lips, holding back a horrible laugh.

“well…” was all he could respond with.

your lips curve into a smile as the sound of your laugh bursts out and fills his ears. your eyes close laughing harder when he tries to keep that deadpan look, especially with how bloodshot his eyes were, he was not fully present.

but eventually, he gives in. laughing with a touch of embarrassment, grumbling under his breath, before nudging you with his muscular arm. “it’s summer so it’s not that crazy,” he huffs.

you laugh again, but make him feel better with an encouraging nod. “for sure. I’m wearing a bikini under here so I can’t really say anything,” but you still laugh at him.

“yeah whatever,” choso sarcastically snorts, but then his eyes fall to your bent knees, your beach skirt exposing more flesh as it rests on your waist. you couldn’t stop laughing, hand on your stomach as you lean towards him, leg touching his waist.

“sorry sorry,” you wave, “just the face you pulled was crazy.” you slowly come down, stomach hurting from how much you’d been laughing. unaware of the warm palm resting on your thigh now, until you feel the light caresses of a foreign touch.

“my bad for tryna be a gentleman,” he mutters, tone laced with amusement, but his eyes were slightly lidded. gaze locked on your face, brushing his calloused palm over the surface of your thigh.

your heart skips a beat. skin breaking out into goosebumps. how did we get here?

the bursts of fireworks fall quiet, senses focused on him and his heavy breathing. his dark orbs glance over your lips. face inching closer. you couldn’t stop your heart from beating louder, not when you feel his warm breath fanning across your face now. is going to kiss you? please please let him kiss you.

similar to you, choso couldn’t not keep his heart from pounding in his ears. palms turning clammy, the sudden confidence, slowly sinking now that he’s so close. fuck—

“is it—“

his words are cut by your lips. his gasp eaten by your hungry mouth as you swallow another whimper from him. your hand gently cups his jaw, lips molding against his, parting them to swipe your tongue across his.

“open,” your soft command, had a pathetic groan escaping the man’s throat.

your confidence was souring at his response. his hand squeezes your thigh, letting you hook your leg across his lap. sliding closer to him as the kiss deepens. neither of you could focus on anything else other than the touch and taste of each other.

you pull away, catching your breath as he pants, hand squeezing your waist under your sweater. “you’re so pretty,” he husks, cupping your head and pulling you back to his lips, taking control. the shift in dominance has a wave of heat pooling between your legs. pressing yourself against him, just to feel a hard tent.

choso swears under his breath as your leg shifts on his bulge. your name leaves his lips, jaw straining. “I needa sec…”

his breath is hot, swallowing another moan when you purposely shift again. blushing at the moan like whimper that leaves his mouth. your nails slide across his pecs, sending shivers down his spine, and blood to his crotch.

“seriously,” he squeezes your waist, groaning as you press your thigh firmly on the bulge, smiling at the twist in his expression.

your lips brush his lightly, smirk tugging at the corners, “is it okay if we keep going?”

choso freezes. his eyes are wide, completely out of his element, unable to react as he watches you climb on top of him. cheeks flushed as you settle back on the large bulge that tent his jeans up. your pretty hands fall on his warm chest, lashes fluttering down at him.

he must be dreaming right now.

the fireworks go off above you. the lights beaming in the night sky and illuminating your seductive silhouette. now this was the same girl that gave him teasing banter for the last month.

“choso?” you softly coo, hips slowly grinding down on his bulge, the friction of his jeans against your thin swim suit bottom had your stomach twisting in pleasure. “you still with me?”

an embarrassing noise leaves the stoner’s lips. his face turns a darker shade of red.

your lips part again, a gentle sigh of pleasure escaping. “do you like me, choso?”

the man finally is able to nod, followed by his hands on your thighs and waist again. you smile, leaning forward, lips hovering over his as you whisper softly, “I think I’m starting to like you too.”

all sanity flys out the window. his lips crash into yours, swallowing a gasp as your bodies mold perfectly. it was amusing to anyone else, the way two young adults, both playing at the timid confidence and flirting, making out heavily on the roof of a struggling movie theaters. desperately dry humping like your life depends on it.

“ngh fuck,” choso grunts, hips bucking as he pulls the zipper of your sweater off. his hand easily falls on your breast, groping the flesh. “this okay?” he asks, nibbling on your bottom lip. however, he doesn’t wait for a response before pulling your bikini top down exposing your tits to the warm summer air.

“choso,” you whine, jaw slacking as he wraps his lips around your nipple, sucking like he’s been deprived of water. he moans around the bud, hand falling to grab your ass, rocking you more.

the air grew thicker around you. his bare chest was burning under your palm, his heart racing as you continued grinding your clothed pussy on his jeans, unaware that the material has been sliding to the side, allowing your arousal to stain his pants. the two of you were possessed. his teeth tugged on your nipple, eyes flicking up to catch your pretty face twist in pleasure, jaw going slack as you began shivering.

“y’ look like you’re gonna cum?” he mutters, tongue swirling around your nipple like a lollipop.

an incoherent whine leaves your lips, unable to speak when you’re so close.

“fuck, you’re gonna cum now. yeah—haah gonna cum just from humping me?” he’s both amused and so unbelievably turned on. his cock was leaking desperately in his boxers, jaw clenched when your humping grew sloppier, pretty lashes fluttering. “shit…” choso groans as he watches you come undone. your luminous eyes are glossed over, jaw slack with a silent oh escaping your lips.

your thighs tremble around his waist, back curving forward, cumming from just a measly dry hump session.

you bury your face in the man’s neck, completely embarrassed. did you seriously just cum? the heat spreads up your neck, to the tips of your ears. however, a deep voice suddenly breaks your anxious heart.

“that was really fucking…hot.”

your heart clenches.

“you feel good?” choso is completely unaware of your reserved reaction to what had just happened. his words just spew from his lips without a second thought. it was usually how he spoke to you before, but in this setting, it brought you more comfort than you were willing to admit you needed.

your lips turn to the shell of his ear, arms wrapped around his neck, and lowly replying, “yeah.”

the slight rasp in your tone sent shivers down the man’s spine, his cock twitching in its confines, hips pushing up. his hand slides to your ass, biting his lip as he grabs a handful of your cheek. the other brushed along your spine under your sweater.

“I don’t know if you noticed,” he starts, face turning to nudge you up, a lopsided grin plays on his lips as you hover close to him. “but I’m really fuckin’ hard.”

you swallow thickly, cheeks burning hot, his lips brush yours again, kissing your bottom lip. his sudden switch between submission and soft dominance left you spinning. now you’re wondering how big he is. especially when you start to sit up, shuffling further down his lap so you’re straddling his thighs.

“I’m gonna….” you trail off, wetting your lips as you start to unbuckle his belt, heart racing as you eye the light hairs that grow darker the lower you go.

choso is in a similar position, possibly worse since he’s rethinking you taking his cock out. his heart is racing, praying the moment you wrap your hand around him he doesn’t cum.

choso doesn’t sleep around — he has slept with the occasional clients back in university, but he definitely doesn’t compare to the fuck boys in the frats. but to say, even with those experiences, watching you unzip his jeans, still two layers over his bare cock, was the most exhilarating feeling ever.

you flush as you thumb his boxers, hooking your fingers around them before—

“what the fuck are you doing on the roof!”

a loud yelp escapes your mouth as you duck to the side of choso, covering yourself from the stranger’s head popping out of the hatch.

choso immediately sits up, turning around in fury, hands coming to his pants.

the low whistle sends even more heat bursting through you and choso, followed by the stranger’s boisterous laugh. “ah ya took her to the spot. told ya this always gets em in.”

your heart stops.

“shut up,” choso snaps. fully sat and reaching to help you fix yourself. however, you immediately brush his hands off, zipping your sweater on your own.

what did that guy mean by this always gets them?

“can you give us a sec?” choso huffs, the stranger was now standing on the roof beside the hatch, hands in his pockets and lit cigarette in his mouth.

“ya left the theater unlocked, you’re lucky it was me and not the old man that came around,” the man tilts his chin to the fireworks still in the sky. “plus i wanted to see the view,” he smirks, sharp crimson eyes skimming your figure.

you brush your skirt off, skeptically glancing at the man as you and choso stand.

“yeah whatever,” choso huffs, cheeks burning red as he faces you, away from the man as he tries to hide his obvious boner.

“who is that?” you glance over choso’s shoulder, the man was still smiling wickedly.

choso tsks at the question. he does his best with his bulge before turning around.

“that’s my uncle ryo.”

uncle? your heart speeds up, so it definitely wasn’t some joke then. why would he say this always gets them?? your mind starts spiraling, hands getting clammy as you glance at his uncle again, his smile doesn’t reach his eyes as you follow choso to the hatch.

“sorry to breakup the lovemaking,” his uncle adds.

you reach the latch when choso is suddenly stopped by the older man, his hand catching his shoulder, turning choso to face him.

“dude,” choso tilts his face away, knowing exactly what’s about to happen, but his uncle holds him still either way.

“how fucked up are you?”

choso’s tsks, jaw clenching, “jus’ smoked like two joints, I’m fine.”

sukuna eye’s narrow at his nephew, letting go. “I won’t tell ye’r dad—“

“yeah, I know. you owe me—“

“cut the shit,” his uncle snaps, pointing at him, “walk home. leave the car.”

choso waves him off in disinterest, turning back towards the hatch when—you’re gone.

his sweat turns cold, quickly racing down the ladder, sharp eyes catching a familiar raven haired man at the bottom. of course his uncle and toji are about to do some shady ass shit now. choso brushes it off and quickly jogs down to the lobby catching your pretty skirt exiting the front doors.

“wait!—“ choso calls your name, sprinting out and catching your wrist with a firm, gentle grasp.

your heart lurches in your throat, stomach twisting into an uncomfortable knot. he’s panting beside you, dirty t-shirt thrown over his shoulder. the fireworks were still going off, and the streets were filled with teenagers and young adults running around with sparklers and making bad decisions.

“I’m really sorry about my uncle. i didn’t know he’d come by—“

“s’ fine,” you cut in, unable to stomach a second thought about what his uncle had hinted at. “I’m gonna head home.”

choso can’t help the sudden jump in anxiety he’s feeling. did his uncle really mess things up with you for good? he treated you nicely though, does that not mean anything. choso swallows the lump in his throat, nodding his head, but instead of letting go of your wrist, you’re suddenly being pulled to his broad chest.

his muscular arms carefully wrap around your smaller form, hugging you close, eyes shut tight. “I’ll see you later…?”

choso’s question hangs in the humid summer air. his heart thumps louder the longer you’re silent, biceps twitching with nerves.

it was an unfamiliar experience. your skin was sticky with sweat, insides hollow and unsure, but your body moved before you can think too much. “yeah,” you quietly mutter, giving him a gentle hug back, allowing him to finally pull away from you.

the booms and cracks of the fireworks echoed through the alleys and streets, quietly rattling store windows as choso watched you disappear into the crowd. and the moment you left his sight, he definitely knew something was wrong.

his anxiety was only proven correct once the following week came around…

choso was sat at the counter, heart thumping loudly as he waited for your usual intimidating aroma to walk through the doors, monday afternoon. you’d be stoic, but the moment you asked for your blue raspberry slushy and he’d make some lazy comment, you’d grace him with your smile.

but you never came.

not monday, or tuesday, or wednesday, or that entire week. and with every passing day, choso grew more and more heartbroken and bitter. was it really because he tried to fuck you on the first night? you kissed him first!

“nah man, girls are just weird,” his close friend ino drags, the usual beanie still covering his light brown hair even in the summer heat. his arms were covered in grease stains, gloves resting on his lap.

choso frowns, joint still between his fingers as the two sit outside toji’s beachside car shop. “that’s not an explanation,” he huffs.

“well,” ino thinks some more, “did you say something wrong?”

“no,” choso’s leaning on his knees, fingers scratching his sharp jaw. “i said sorry because my uncle interrupted.”

“so she’s mad at sukuna?”

choso’s shakes his head, “but that doesn’t make any sense? why would she ignore me?”

suddenly a deep voice cuts behind them, “she looked heartbroken when i saw her running out.”

the two young adults turn their heads, toji was standing a few feet away clearly eavesdropping on the conversation. his white wife beater was covered in grease stains and sweat that trickles down his back and chest. the older man swiped his forehead with his arm.

“what’re you talking about?” choso’s brows pinch.

toji shrugs, wiping his hands with a rag, “the cutie on the roof with you last week. saw her climb down the ladder lookin’ devastated as shit.”

choso’s jaw clenches, “how do you know she was upset?”

the older man scoffs, wicked smirk on his lips, “i know when a woman is heartbroken.”

ino holds stifles a laugh, glancing at choso who doesn’t bother to question toji, he’s known him long enough to trust his instincts with women. however, this leave choso even more confused.

“so was she upset at uncle? or maybe that i made her vulnerable and he saw?”

“vuLnErable,” ino chuckles, just for choso to kick his friend.

toji shrugs, walking over, “could be.”

“or she’s a virgin!” ino shouts, solving mystery.

choso’s eyes widen, “a virgin?!!”

toji deadpans at the young men, “don’t listen to him,” he tosses his dirty rag at ino. “from what y’ said, i fuckin’ doubt she’s a virgin—“

“she’s not a slut!” choso defensively cuts.

toji rolls his eyes,” I didn’t say she was slut.” choso’s eyes are still aflame, standing his ground. toji sighs, “ino’s right.”

“for real?” the twenty-two year old smiles.

“women are confusin’, ya gotta talk to her and ask,” toji shrugs, like it’s that simple.

choso’s head falls forward, “she hasn’t been around the last week. that’s the whole point man!” he groans into his hands. “I thought you know women.”

toji snorts, leaning down to snatch the joint from choso, taking a drag. “I do if I’m with ‘em. I read body language, kid,” he winks.

ino laughs, while choso frowns, “her body language was that she came from dry humping me.”

toji exhales from his nose, laughing, “not just sex. general body language, facial expression, eye contact.”

“oh…”

toji takes one last drag before dropping the joint on the ground and putting it out.

“dude!”

“y’er dad’s comin’ to pick up his car,” toji nods towards ino, the kid sighs dabbing up choso before jogging back to the shop. “she’ll come.”

the week following your absence was worse than the one before. all choso could do was wait. wait until you finally come to theater so he can clear whatever miscommunication managed to happen without him even realizing. all of it was infuriating, especially because he didn’t have your number or any of your socials so it was impossible to contact you—

“one blue raspberry slushy.”

choso jumps so violently and inhaling like someone just unplugged him from the universe and plugged him back in at full voltage.

the vape he was twirling between his fingers clatters onto the counter. he hadn’t even seen you walk up, he was too busy having an out-of-body experience staring at the theater’s carpet pattern, convinced the swirls were breathing back at him.

but then you speak. and suddenly you’re there. right in front of him.

his soul launches into the astral plane for the second time tonight. “oh—” he chokes, jerking back so hard his elbows smack the slushy machine. his eyes shoot to you, wide and slightly bloodshot, like a startled cat who just saw god.

and god, apparently, looks like you.

after ten dry, agonizing, notification-less days, there you stand glowing in the neon reflection of the concessions menu like an angel descending from the heavens with a halo.

you’re an angel. a terrifying, sudden, beautiful angel who kissed and dry humped him days ago then vanished like a fucking heart stabbing tragedy. and then you just fucking walked in holding exact change.

“you scared the shit outta me,” he whispers, voice shaking, but there’s no real accusation in it, just awe. the kind that sounds a little like heartbreak and a lot like love.

you don’t grace him with a smile. your eyes don’t even meet his fully, only flick over his face briefly, then glancing at the three films playing, pointing to one.

choso’s heart beats erratically. palms clammy as he grabs your drink. you were wearing the same sweater you wore that night, but this time it was a cute spaghetti strap sundress that reached mid thigh underneath….are you gonna say anything? maybe something happened to you that’s why you didn’t show up…fuck no, toji already confirmed you were upset with him, or uncle ryo. fuck!

“can we talk about—“

you turn on your heel once he placed your drink and ticket down. disappearing into the theater.

“what the fuck?” choso’s insides twist into a fighting pit of anger and confusion. so you’re not even going to talk to him now? acting the same fucking way you did the first time you met??

his heart hammers against his chest with every passing minute. knee bouncing on the floor glancing at the theater door.

“fuck me—“

the stool slams back into the counter as choso rises. the adrenaline quietly pumps through his veins as he enters the theater, eyes scanning the room, before landing on your form two rows from the back.

it was the first time he left his position to see you. not counting the fourth of july.

“if you tell me what’s wrong or whatever, I’ll leave you alone,” choso whispers, not caring one bit that you’re trying to watch chungking express.

his jaw clenches at your silence, your legs crossed and hands holding your blue raspberry slushy, sucking the straw with a frown tugging at your brows. you’re definitely upset.

“is it about my uncle? I’m really sorry he walked in. for real, I had no idea he was coming,” choso whispers, heart beating quickly, desperately trying to remember the other things he wanted to say. “and I should’ve taken you on a date first, o-or just asked you out first. so I’m sorry for being douche and tryna fuck you—“

your head suddenly snaps to him, your lips blue. his breath catches, and his heart immediately sinks to his stomach at the sight of your glassy eyes glaring at him.

“I’m not mad that you wanted to fuck me, choso,” you whisper, chest rising in anger. “I’m mad that this how you fuck me.”

huh? choso shakes his head. “what’re you talking about??”

your jaw clenches, eyes narrowing at him, “how many times have you done this with other girls? it’s—“ your face contorts, “it’s disgusting.“

choso is even more lost than he was before.

your heart beats erratically in your chest, eyes wavering as you glance between his. the large theater screen the only source of light, as choso shifts closer to see your face.

“honestly, I’m sorry, but i have zero clue what the hell you’re talking about right now. what trick? I didn’t trick you?? and other girls. I’ve been bumming my whole summer in this theater??”

you frown, “I don’t need an explanation seriously,” you mutter turning back to the screen. “we’re not even a thing.”

“I want an explanation because I’m really lost here,” choso’s agitated voice irks you, throat drying as your eyes flick to him.

“your uncle said some bs about, this always gets them in, how else am I supposed to interpret that?”

your words suddenly clear the fog in chose’s mind. breaking the surface as he blinks with absolute annoyance.

“are you kidding me?” he whispers, voice low sending chills down your spine. you frown. “so you assumed he meant me?”

your eyes flick between his, “well…yeah.”

choso’s face is suddenly inches from you, his hot breath fanning over yours. “my uncle used to work here when he was in school. i’d mentioned you once to him and he told me about how he brought girls up here to watch the fireworks,” choso’s lips brush your ear, deep husky voice laced with inconvenience. “there were no list of girls. I already knew the view was good from there and invited you just for that.” your heart suddenly starts beating with anxiety, throat growing dry as he continues. “there was no master plan…my uncle’s jus’ a narcissistic dick and thinks he deserves credit for everything.”

choso’s lips brush the shell of your ear, his hand hesitantly touching your wrist. “I never took any girls up there. and you would’ve known all that if you just asked me to clarify.”

with a blink of an eye, you’re pushing his chest back, pretty eyes glowing up at him.

“really?”

choso immediately flushes, heart pounding out of his chest as his ears turn pink.

how are you able to go from zero to a hundred in seconds?

he’s left speechless by you’re shining orbs, nodding wordlessly.

then, straight out of his prayers, you finally grace his humble self with your warm, infectious smile.

“i—“ your words don’t come fast enough as you embrace the stoner. arms wrapped around his shoulder hugging him close. “I’m sorry.” your apology doesn’t even attempt to ease his racing heart. “I don’t know. I was being dramatic, but like we also don’t know each other that well anyways, so you can’t blame me for just yeah—“

“I wanna know you,” choso suddenly cuts, his arms wrapped around your waist.

“me too,” you smile bashfully, relieved he can’t see your face. “but you know what I mean…right, choso?”

his hands squeeze your torso, humming against your shoulder as he inhales your ocean-coconut scent. “so were you mad about what happened on the roof?” he can’t help but question, especially when your lips are ghosting over his ear now, sighing softly with a slight shake of your head.

“I wasn’t mad about that. it was all perfect until your uncle came,” you exhale, sending shivers down his spine.

the creaking and hushed whispers in the back barely concealed the truth behind what was unfolding.

his body is unable to stop himself from guiding you to his lap, lips ghosting over one another.

“so you wanted to have sex with me?” choso whispers, smile playing on your glossy lips.

“mmm…felt bad about leaving you unsatisfied like that,” your lips part along with his, your tongues connecting, just as his hand squeeze your waist with a pathetic whimper. he’s so quick to whine, it sends a flood of heat between your legs.

“you’re hard now,” you mutter, settling on his bulge for the second time.

choso swallows a moan, “can’t be surprised. got an angel devil on top of me.”

you’re heart skips a beat, lips crashing onto his. neither of you care that you’re in an empty theater, and the risk of anyone walking in was still high. your actions remained hushed, intimate.

choso was melting the second he had his hands on you. tongue tasting you the blue raspberry slushy on your tongue, unashamed by your smirk. “cho?” your fingers move between you, unbuckling his belt.

heat breaks out across his face, heart speeding. “you wanna?”

you nod, mischief gleaming under your lashes.

choso silently swears under his breath, biting his lip as he quietly helps you shimmy his jeans down, breath catching once you place your palm on his bulge. “feels big,” you mutter against his lips. his cheeks sting, cock twitching in his boxers. you continue groping and feeling him, smile playing on your lips as he whimpers.

“s-stop teasing,” his grip tightens on your waist, your sweater slipped off your shoulder.

“jus’ wanted to feel,” you coo lowly, licking his bottom lip like a seductress. you then gingerly thumb his waistband, slowly pulling it back and slipping your small cold hand inside. his entire body locks up once you grip his base, pulling him out. “oh.” you’re pleasantly surprised by the size in your hand. “it’s big.”

choso let’s out a shaky exhale, hips rising briefly once his cock touches the cool air. his pretty eyes flick up to you watching you spit in your hand, and slowly start working his cock.

“you’re not gonna cum in my hand, right?” you coo against his lips, back arches over him as you press your pretty breasts agaisnt his chest.

choso swallows a whine, shaking his head. “n-not even you don’t want me too.”

you smile adorably, like you didn’t have this man in the palm of your hand, “good boy.”

fuck.

choso’s head falls back, jaw slack with quiet moans as you jerk his thick cock. his abs clench every time your thumb swipes his tip. tapping the crown like a devil. “d-don’t,” he whimpers.

“but it looks so pretty, cho,” you whisper, kissing his lips. he only whines in reply, kissing you back with more fever. jaw slacking and tongue pushing into your mouth desperate for the taste of the blue raspberry that’s stained your tongue.

it was easy for choso to get drunk of you, and he realizes that when he’s feeling his tip brush a wet soft flesh.

“oh fuck—“ he chokes, he pulls away briefly, gaze dropping to his lap to see his flushed cock rubbing your bare pussy. “wait,” his head snaps up to you, brows furrowed in worry. “is it not to big, I can stretch you out first?”

your fingers brush his jaw, tilting his head up as you kiss the corner of his mouth. your voices hushed, “s’ fine, I can take it.”

choso swallows thickly, hand finding purchase under your dress to grip your waist, and the other holding your ass as you slowly nudge his tip against your entrance.

“okay,” you exhale coolly, slowly sinking down.

“shit,” choso swears between clenched teeth. grip unforgiving as you gasp against him. your cute whimpers were the most beautiful sound he’s ever heard. it felt like honey being dripped into his ear as you did your best to swallow his thick pulsing inches. “y’er squeezin me, r-relax baby.”

you whine quietly, gently moving up, just to push down again and take a few more inches. “bigger than I thought cho,” you pant.

his head tilts, capturing your lips, “sorry,” he apologizes, and it actually sounds like he’s sorry for how big he is, especially when you let out another adorable whimper.

but still, he kisses you like it’s the first time he’s ever been intimate with someone. and after a few more shallow bounces, you finally settle every big chubby inch of him inside your gummy walls.

“fuh—you feel so good,” he mutters, “feel so good wrapped around my cock,” your tongues collide as you start grinding against him. hips rocking slowly, as you adjust to his impressive size.

your hearts beat together. breaths colliding as the world slowly disappears, likes it just you two quietly moaning and whining on a theater seat. the creaking and quiet squelches that left your pussy with every bounce didn’t register in your ears. instead your focus remained on one another.

on his voice. your gasps. his curses. your coos.

“I feel so full, choso haah,” you babble, lips glossy from his spit. “d-do you feel me to anh too?”

choso whimpers as you clamp around him as you sink down again. his fingers dig into your ass the other fully wrapped around your waist, biceps flexing around your back. “course I do,” he grunts, bitting your bottom lip. moaning once you drool into his mouth.

nothing else mattered now.

his thick thighs part. his hips angle up, and his firmly plant themselves on the ground. “c’mon, keep riding my cock princess,” choso moans agaisnt your lips. his hips snap up getting you to pick up the speed.

you gasp in surprise, cheeks flushed, sweater falling at your elbows, and the straps of your dress starting to slip of your shoulders as you fix your feet to rest over his knees for better balance. “o-okay choso,” you hold his shoulders as you start picking up the speed.

neither of you could think about the sounds of your ass clapping against his thighs, or the whines that left both your pathetic mouths.

choso kept your pace, helping you bounce your pretty ass up n down his cock like one of his toys. and with every bounce, your pretty breasts followed, until one strap fell low enough for it to expose you to him.

“haah fuck,” choso groans, lips wrapping around your nipple sucking immediately.

“ahh,” you clamp around him, whining. he only moans around you, humming as your nails comb through his hair.

you were lucky you were the only one in the theater, because now it was obvious what was happening. the creaking, the clapping, the moans. it was beyond lewd, and obscene.

“m gonna cum cho,” you whine, bouncing quicker as you chase that coil twisting in your tummy. his flushed tip continues hitting your sweet spot, dragging against your gummy walls with each bounce.

“fuhck—fuck I’m close, keep movin’” he huffs, drooling against your chest as he kisses up your sternum to your neck, panting harshly as he bucks his hips as you start to grow sloppy. “don’t sto—ah-p—“

“I can’t—angh—“ your vision turns white, drool escaping your lips as you fall apart, creaming around the stoner.

choso swears, arms holding you desperately to his chest as he starts pumping his messy cock into your weeping hole. “fuck—tight pussy, melting inside ya—haah—“ his thighs start trembling, muscles flexing underneath you as his head falls on your shoulder.

“so good baaby…ngh haah god—“ his own climax hits him like a truck. the words fall off his tongue and pull out flashes in his mind, but the searing white that blinds him leaves him frozen inside your deep warmth.

“chosoo,” you whine into his neck as the thick ropes of white cum fill your insides.

the stoner pathetically whimpers, hips still bucking as he milks every last drop, emptying his balls, hand wrapped around your nape as the other squeezes around your waist under your dress.

“fhuck,” choso pants, chest heaving as he slowly comes down, lips parting as he leaves open mouthed kisses along your exposed shoulder. trailing them up your neck. “beautiful,” kiss, “so sweet.” his hums and sighs left shivers down your spine as you stroke his long hair. scratching his nape as your lashes flutter.

that’s when a loud whistle cuts the air.

you freeze hugging the man desperately as he lifts your strap up. neither of you realizing the movie had ended.

“y’er shameless, kid. your daddy would be disappointed ya turned out like me.”

a vein pops from choso’s neck.

“dude, what the fuck?” choso groans, hand coming up to fix your sweater on your shoulders again at sukuna laughs beside the door.

“I’m not the one fucking in a public space—“

“fuck off,” choso swears under his breath, choking quietly as he pulls out, electing the softest whimper from your lips. “sorry,” he mutters.

“why is he still here?” you whisper, fixing your dress as you stand up, glancing at his uncle still beside the door, choso quickly tucks himself ignoring the stickiness of your mixed juices.

“because he’s a dick,” choso tsks, leading the way out.

sukuna smirks, eyeing his nephew, “all good?”

“you need the space again” choso holds your hand this time, glaring at his uncle,

sukuna exits first, revealing another man standing beside the door. “something like that. don’t tell your gramps.”

choso hums digging for the theaters keys in his pocket, “don’t tell him about today then,” he tosses the set,

“I don’t talk to that old man anyways,” sukuna catches them. “take the girl out for dinner, can’t just keep fucking her here.”

“dude!”

you glare at the uncle making him smirk wider, shooting you a wink.

choso leads you to the exit as you hold his arm, “your uncle is weird,” you grumble.

“yeah, sorry ‘bout him,” choso catches toji, accepting the wink he gives the kid before exiting the theater. “but uh—you down for dinner—on me?”

you smile, lips still stained blue, “yup. and we needa get plan-b.”

“oh shit!”

a/n: sorry if the ending felt rushed! but I hope u guys enjoyed the fic, i just couldn’t get movie theater worker choso out of my head!! (divider by @/strangergraphics)

[sukuhands]

{You unknowingly share aphrodisiac chocolates with your best friend Choso}

Bestfriend!Choso x f!Reader (veryy needy choso

MDNI (18+): Public, over clothes, pinv, oral (giving receiving), rough, biting, scratching, whiny Choso for the win, all with consent, aphrodisiacs, multiple orgasms, unprotected, searching relief.

*not proof read*

—————————————————————————

It really was an innocent gesture, you didn’t know aphrodisiac chocolates were a things.

If you did, never in a thousand years would you have shared them with your best friend.

"These look amazing," he'd said when you handed them over, that shy smile spreading across his face. His dark hair was still damp from the shower. "You didn't have to—"

"It's your birthday, Cho. Of course I did!" You'd grinned at him, opening the box. "My friend swears by these edibles, thought they might make the movie experience a little better."

And they would alright.

That was forty-five minutes ago.

Now his living room was set up for movie night, the new release you'd both been dying to see queued up on the TV. Four of his frat brothers and one of their girlfriends were sprawled across the couches and on floor waiting for the movie to start. Someone had made popcorn, the lights were dimmed, just the perfect setting

And something was clearly wrong with Choso.

You noticed it gradually. The way he kept shifting his weight on the couch next to you, tugging at his jeans. The way his face was flushed despite the cool temperature. The way he kept gravitating closer to you, his thigh pressing against yours, finding excuses to touch your arm or your shoulder.

"You okay?" you whispered when his hand brushed your knee for the third time in the last 2 minutes.

"Yeah, I just—" He ran a hand over his face. "Man, those edibles aren't working right."

"What do you mean?"

"It just feels weird." He wouldn't meet your eyes. "Like, it’s really warm. And I can't... I can't focus on anything."

The more he explained the more you realized you were also feeling the same, your own skin felt too hot, too sensitive, and the movie wasn’t pulling you in anymore. You've been trying to ignore it, the way your pulse was racing, the way every tiny touch from Choso sent sparks through you, he’s your best friend, he’s touched you before so why the reaction?

"Maybe you took too many?" Your voice came out breathier than you would’ve liked.

"Maybe." He shifted again, and you caught the way his hand drifted down his abdomen toward his crotch before he stopped himself. He was struggling. "I'm gonna go get some water."

But he didn't move. Just sat there, so close you could feel the heat radiating off him, his eyes slowly drifted to your hand that was laying on your lap, his own hand slowly crawling towards it but only to trace the outline of your fingers, as if they were pulling him into a trance. You pulled back your hand, sending one of those ‘what’s happening?’ looks towards your friend

"Choso—"

"Sorry." He pulled back quickly, looking embarrassed and genuinely surprised by his own doing. "Sorry, I-I don't know what that was."

He quickly got up and nearly fell over trying to get to the kitchen, a few seconds later he came back with that same flush on his face.

When he sat back down, he was even closer than before. His thigh pressed firmly against yours, his shoulder touching yours. You could feel him trembling.

All you could focus on was Choso next to you, your head was yelling at him to touch you, and you cussed yourself out for that because why would you think that??

Heat pooled low in your stomach everytime there was a ghost of a touch. Your own breathing getting shallow, an aching need building with every passing minute.

When his hand settled on your thigh finally, you actually had to bite back a whimper. His fingers flexed against you, and even through your jeans the touch felt like it was about to burn through.

That’s when it hit you, what the hell kind of chocolate did you guys eat?

You quickly pulled out your phone, typing the name of the brand.

*Aphrodisiac Truffles - Premium Blend. Recommended dose: 1/2 a chocolate per person.*

Oh fuck.

You turned towards Choso, his lip being his victim as he kept biting at it.

"Choso, how many did you eat?" You whispered pointing at the picture of the product on your phone

"Three. Maybe four of them?" He looked panicked now. "Why? What's in them?" He whispered with a snap to his tone.

You showed him your phone and the color drain from his face.

"Oh fuck." His voice came out strangled. "Oh fuck—" He cut himself off, his hand gripping tighter around your thigh. "I'm literally so hard it hurts. I've been hard for like half an hour and it won't go away and I keep thinking about—" He stopped again, looking mortified, trying to stay as quiet as possible to not alert anyone around. "You gave me sex chocolate—"

"Well I’m also a victime here!" You retorted back in a whisper yell, your own panic setting in.

You grabbed the blanket that had been sitting on the arm of the couch, draping it over both your laps as to try and hide the very obvious bulge in his pants to save himself from public shame. To anyone else, it just looked like two friends sitting close, sharing warmth.

Choso thigh pressed hard against yours, his right hand fisting his hair as if trying to keep himself together.

"Just try to relax," you whispered, but your own voice was shaky. That ache between your legs was getting worse, a loud throbbing that made it hard to think straight. "It'll pass—"

"It's not passing." His breathing was ragged. "It's getting worse." He didn’t even look at you anymore.

Around you, the movie continued, people laughing at something on screen and just completely oblivious to the two of you.

After a few minutes of struggle you feel his hand grab at yours under the blanket, and before you could react, he was guiding it between his legs, pressing your palm directly against the front of his jeans without any warning. The way you breathed, the way you bit your lip trying to stay cool this whole time, he was genuinely losing it.

He was rock hard beneath the denim, the outline of his cock heavy under your palm. You could feel the heat of him even through the fabric, could feel him throb as your hand made contact. The touch sent a jolt straight through you making that ache intensify to a heartbeat until you had to press your thighs together.

"Choso—" You glanced around but no one was looking at you two in the corner.

"I know." His voice was strained, barely above a whisper, clearly embarrassed by his sudden bold move. His hips shifted, pressing harder into your touch, and he immediately buried his face in your shoulder to muffle the sound that escaped him. "I-I need something—" He was flush against yours side, right arm draped around the couch behind you.

You felt his breath hot against your neck, felt the way his whole body was trembling with the effort of staying quiet. When you reflexively squeezed around him, a desperate whimper came out of him muffled against your shoulder. You were looking down at him, his flushed face doing something to you, your best friend was hot, but holy shit you’d never noticed it that much before.

"Fuck," he breathed into your neck. "Do that again. Please."

There was something different about him now. The usual shyness was still there, the way his voice shook, but his desperation made him suddenly very bold, giving the lightest thrusts into your palm..

"Please," he whispered against your skin, his hand covered yours under the blanket, pressing down harder. "Please, just—I need something. Anything."

You could feel him getting harder, if that was even possible. Could feel the way his cock strained against his jeans, probably painful at this point. His breathing was getting heavier against your neck, goosebumps never ceasing to exist on your skin as he spread his thighs slightly to give you better access.

"There’s people here," you whispered, but you were already moving your hand, palming him through the denim. Your own body was screaming for touch, for friction, for anything to relieve the desperate ache.

"I don't care." His voice cracked against your shoulder. "I don't—fuck—I don't care. Just keep going."

His hips were moving more confidently, subtle little thrusts up into your hand that he couldn't seem to stop. Under the blanket, hidden from view, he was completely falling apart. His hand stayed over yours, guiding the pressure, showing you what he needed. Every movement made him whimper softly into your shoulder, the crook of your neck making sure to muffle all of it.

His other hand that was around your shoulder slide under the blanket, moving to your thigh.

"Can I—" His voice was wrecked already, his head lifting up from your shoulder to look at you with those half lidded, pleading eyes.

"Mhm." You couldn’t speak, you were aching, throbbing, hot, your body screaming for release at this point.

His hand slid between your legs and even through your jeans the pressure made you gasp. He pressed the heel of his palm against you, you but your lip to keep from making any sound. It felt good, entirely too good for what it was—finally some friction where you needed it most.

"Oh fuck," he breathed out, his forehead resting on your temple now, eyes never leaving your face as you were fighting to keep it down, making him twitch in his pants from your expressions alone.

"Don't stop," you whispered frantically. "Please don't stop Cho."

His hand moved, rubbing slow circles against you through the denim, and you had to bury your own face against his shoulder now to muffle your reaction. The pressure was perfect, hitting exactly where you needed it, the combined with the feeling of him throbbing under your palm, twitching whenever you squeezed at his length, it was almost too much.

"Harder," he gasped, his hips thrusting up into your hand. "Please, harder—"

You pressed the heel of your palm against him and dragged up, feeling the rigid length of him. He made a choked sound that he barely managed to suppress, his back arching off slightly from the couch, disguising the sound as a low cough. His hand between your legs pressing harder in response, it sent a jolt through your whole body, almost making you break right then and there.

Someone laughed at something in the movie and you both froze for a second, remembering where you were. But Choso's hand didn't stop moving, rubbing frantic circles that made your thighs tremble. And your hand stayed on his cock, feeling him starting to leak through the fabric.

"Oh god," you breathed into his shoulder as he found the perfect spot, the perfect pressure. Your hips were moving now too, grinding subtly against his hand, chasing the friction.

"You feel so good," he whispered desperately against your neck. "So fucking good—"

His hand moved to the hem of your jeans, popping the button off and skilfully sliding his fingers down, finding the screaming heartbeat between your legs with a shaky breath. You bit down on his shoulder through his shirt to keep from crying out. The ache was building, intensifying, your whole body wound tight and desperate for release.

His fingers tracing slow painful circles of your crying clit, barely putting any pressure which was driving you mad.

"I'm gonna come," he whispered frantically, his hips losing rhythm. "Gonna make me come in my jeans like a fucking teenager—" He let out a low laugh.

"Me too," you gasped against him. His hand between your legs using your pooling juices to slide between your folds but not sliding them in, you were so close, so desperately close—

"I can't—" His voice broke against your shoulder. "I can't do this. I need everyone to leave. Right now."

"Choso—"

He thrust up into your palm again, helpless, while his hand pressed hard between your legs. "I need to fuck you. Right now."

The words sent a shock through you, made that ache intensify until you thought you might die from it. You could feel how wet you were, the way he was touching you was driving you insane, the way ge was breathing, he was driving you insane.

"Okay," you breathed. "Okay, get them out. Please."

It took twenty minutes for everyone to clear out.

Twenty agonizing minutes of Choso standing rigid by the door, barely responding to birthday wishes, his eyes tracking you across the room with an intensity that made your skin prickle. You could see him struggling, see the way his hands clenched into fists, the way he shifted his weight trying to find relief through his jeans.

Finally, the last person left.

The door closed and Choso stood there for a moment, his back to you, his shoulders tense. Then he turned around and the look on his face made your breath catch.

Pure need and lust painfully spreading across his features. "Com’ere,"

You didn't hesitate. You crossed the room and he met you halfway, his hands immediately cupping your face as he pulled you into a kiss that was all hunger. His lips were moving hastily against yours, his pierced tongue not letting you win over, and you moaned into him.

Your hands flew to his shirt, fumbling with the hem as he backed you toward his bedroom, never breaking the kiss. He was acting like he was starving, like he needed this more than anything at the moment, and you were right there, matching his intensity, your fingers finally getting his shirt over his head, your fingers finding their way into his hair.

"Fuck," he breathed against your mouth, his hands already working at your own shirt. You stumbled backward together, still locked in the kiss, your shirt coming off somewhere between the hallway and his doorway. His hands were on your bare skin now, roaming across your back, your sides, pulling you closer than you already were.

He kicked the bedroom door shut behind you both, and he pushed you against it, his body pressing into yours. His chest was bare and warm and you couldn't stop touching him—your hands sliding over his shoulders, his back, feeling the muscles tense under your palms.

"Need you right now," he whined as he fumbled with his belt, breaking the kiss just long enough to breathe the words against your neck. "Please—"

"Show me." You start pushing him towards the bed, his body slumping down onto it.

You grabbed the hem of his jeans and boxers together, pulling at them until his glistening cock sprang free, flushed dark and leaking. He was painfully hard, and the sight of him made that ache between your legs go crazy, you couldn't think straight.

"Oh fuck—" His eyes went wide as you climbed over him, his hands sliding up and down your arms.

"Need you in my mouth," you said, and it wasn't a request. You were burning up, desperate, that throbbing need making you aggressive in a way you'd never been before.

You didn't wait for a response, wrapping your hand around the base of his cock, giving him a light squeeze and tug before taking him into your mouth fully. He made a choked sound, his hips jerking up involuntarily.

"Fuck—" His hand flew to your hair but you were already moving, bobbing your head up and down, taking him as deep as you could while still finding space to slide your tongue flat against the underside of his dick. You were moaning around him, the taste of him making you clench around nothing, making that desperate ache worse.

"Oh god," he gasped, his fingers tightening in your hair, head digging into the pillow under him. "Your mouth—fuck—"

You hollowed your cheeks to create a bit more suction, tongue swirling around the sensitive swelling tip whenever you reached up, his hips started thrusting up to meet you. Not gentle, completely frantic and searching for his own release, like he couldn't help himself. You took it, took all of it, relaxing your throat and letting him fuck your mouth while you moaned around him.

"I'm gonna come," he warned, his voice breaking. "I'm—"

You didn't pull off. You pushed yourself down, swallowed around him, watching his abs contracting with every swallow, feeling his release spilling down your throat. You swallowed it all, working him through it, and when you pulled off a string of saliva and cum connected his cock to your lips still, bringing the back of your hand up to wipe it away.

But he was still hard.

"Me too," he growled, and before you could process it he was shoving you back on the bed, yanking your own jeans and underwear down in one rough motion like you had just done to him.

"Cho—" You barely got his name out before his mouth was on you.

"Fuck," You breathed out, his tongue piercing sending a cool wave through your heated core, the vibration of his own moans at the taste of you making you gasp. "m’so fucking good—"

He didn't ease into it. He dove in like a man starving, his tongue flat and broad as he licked up your entire slit, messy, extremely messy. The sound he made was obscene—a deep, guttural moan like he'd just started eating his favorite meal.

"Oh my god—" Your hands flew to his hair as he did it again, licking you from bottom to top, not caring that his face was getting covered in you. He was making a mess of it, sloppy and frantic, you could barely think through the wet obscene sounds filling the room.

"So sweet," he panted against you, and then you felt his fingers—two of them sliding inside you without warning, his rings sending another electric feel whenever they brushed your entrance, pushing in deep and hard while his tongue kept working.

"Fuck—Choso—" The combination made you cry out, your back arching off the bed. His fingers didn't ease in gently, they drove in hard, pumping fast and aggressive while his mouth latched onto your clit.

"So fucking perfect—" he groaned into you, the vibration traveling through your whole body. His fingers curled inside you, hitting that soft spot that made you see stars, and he didn't let up. He kept pumping them in hard, relentless strokes while his tongue flicked over your clit frantically.

His free hand gripped your thigh open while the other worked inside you, scissors inside you while his eyes feasted themselves on your whiny moans, then he added a third finger, fully stretching you, driving in so deep you were shaking you could feel him everywhere.

"Yes-yes f—uck" You couldn't form coherent thoughts. The sight of him between your legs, his face glistening with you, his fingers disappearing inside you over and over, the desperate sounds he was making just by working you up, it was too much.

He pulled back just enough to gasp for air, his chin dripping, but his fingers never stopped. "Shit," whined out your name, his voice wrecked, watching his own fingers pump into you. "You're so tight around my fingers—" He looked at you through his lashes, strands of his loose hair freely falling around his face. “You sure you didn’t give me those on purpose?” He chuckled, lowering himself to your thigh, leaving a mix of soft hard and kisses and bites.

Then his mouth was back on your clit and you nearly screamed. He sucked hard, his tongue flicking over it frantically while his fingers drove in harder, faster, digging every sound out of you.

"Don't stop—" You were grinding against his face now, riding his fingers, chasing that friction, and he let you, encouraged it even. His free hand moved to your ass, pulling you harder against his mouth while the other kept that brutal pace inside you.

He was being so messy—spit and your wetness covering his face, dripping down his chin, coating his fingers as they pumped in and out of you. The wet sounds were obscene, filthy, and he didn't give a single fuck. He just kept devouring you like it was the best thing he'd ever experienced.

"Fuck, look at you," you gasped, looking down at him. His eyes flicked up to meet yours and the sight of him—face buried in your pussy, fingers buried inside you, eyes dark and hungry, thise puppy eyes completely lost in you, a sight you didn’t know you needed till just now.

You could feel your orgasm building fast, too fast. The drug from the chocolate made everything so intense, every nerve ending on fire.

"I'm gonna come—" you warned, but he just groaned louder, fingers curling into that perfect spot and driving in so deep you couldn't breathe.

You came with a broken cry, your whole body arching off the bed, clenching hard around his fingers, and he didn't stop. He kept licking, kept sucking, kept pumping his fingers through your orgasm, working you through it while you shook and gasped his name. When you finally came down he pulled back, his face absolutely covered in you, his fingers still inside you, and he looked drunk on it.

"Need to be inside you," he panted, slowly pulling his fingers out and moving up your body. "Right now—", he climbed further on top of you, giving time to lick and kiss his way from your stomach, circling your navel, to your breasts, taking a hardened bud into his mouth with a gentle tug. Eyes fluttering to you to take in everything.

"Yes—" You were reaching for his shoulders trying to make him come up faster, still trembling from your orgasm but that ache was already building again. "Need you inside, please."

You pushed him off of you getting impatient, pinning him to his bed with ease.

You sank down on him in one hard motion and you both groaned. The stretch burned but you were so wet, so ready, it felt perfect. You didn't give either of you time to adjust—you just started moving, riding him hard and fast.

"Fuck," you gasped, your hands braced on his chest, the sensitivity of your last orgasm still coursing through, the feeling of him inside you alone making you almsot cum right then and there.

"Oh god—" His hands grabbed your hips, fingers digging in hard enough to bruise. "Fuck y’so good—"

You rode him harder, chasing that relief, that friction you needed so badly. Your thighs were burning but you couldn't stop, couldn't slow down, the tip of his length hittung that spot inside you just right. The sounds you were making were loud—desperate moans and whimpers straight out of a porn movie, you didn't even try to hold back.

"Harder," he gasped, his hips thrusting up to meet you. "Fuck me harder—"

You did, slamming down on him with bruising force, a broken guttering moan coming out of him. His hands moved from your hips to your ass, gripping hard into the plush skin, helping you move faster.

"I'm gonna come," he panted. "I can't—you feel s’good—"

"M’yeah?" you cooed at the needy man under you, grinding down on him. "Come inside me—"

He thrust up hard and came with a desperate groan, his cock pulsing inside you. But you weren't done—you were still moving, still chasing your own release, and he was still hard.

“Shit—“ His eyes rolled back into his head, shaking for the overstimulation, but it just felt so good. "Don't stop," he gasped. "Keep going—fuck’n use me—"

You rode him through his orgasm and into your own, your whole body going rigid as you came, clenching around him with agonizing tightness. The relief lasted maybe thirty seconds before that desperate ache came roaring back.

"More," you breathed. "I need more of you—"

He flipped you suddenly, pinning you under him, and thrust back inside before you could catch your breath. "I need all of you, god you feel good—"

"Yes—" You wrapped your legs around his waist, pulling him deeper. "Harder— h-harder—"

He did, his hips snapping against yours with brutal force. You clawed at his back, leaving deep red marks, pulling him closer while you thrust back against him just as hard.

"Like that," you gasped. "Just like that—don't stop—"

He buried his face in your neck and fucked you harder, faster, his rhythm already getting frantic but not any slower. You could feel him getting close again, could feel your own orgasm building.

"Squeeze me," he panted against your skin. "I need to feel you come—"

Your body arched off the bed, the feeling of you clenching around him sent him over the edge. He thrust deep and came with a broken almost pathetic moan, his cock pulsing inside you, his white streaks getting lesser each time.

For maybe ten seconds, you both just shook, breather heavily while still basically eye fucking each other. You felt that need building again, felt him still hard inside you, his hips thrusting ever so slightly inside you still.

"Again," you demanded, your nails digging into his shoulders. "I need you to fuck me again—"

"Yeah I do." He pulled out and flipped you over roughly, pulling your hips up, pushing your face into the pillow. "I like that angle on you." You felt him smile against your neck.

He slammed back inside, both of you groaning at the new angle. He felt even deeper like this, hitting spots that made you see stars.

"Don't stop," you demanded, throwing your hips back to meet his thrusts. "Don't you dare fucking stop—"

You twisted yourself to the side pulled him down into a desperate kiss as he thrust back inside, and you both moaned into each other's mouths, tongues messily fighting each other. His thrusts slowing downs, but no less intense—long, deep strokes that had you both shaking, the ridges of his tip teasing at your entrance whenever he pulled back out, only to slam back in.

"Touch yourself," he gasped against your lips. "I want to feel you come again—"

Your hand flew between your legs. You came again, and again, and he came with you each time, neither of you able or at least, wanted to stop.

You lost track after that—of how many times, of who initiated what. You rode him again. He fucked you against the wall. You pushed him down and took what you needed. He pinned you to the bed and gave it to you harder. Both of you desperate, aggressive, clawing at each other like you were fighting for relief.

Every time one of you came, the other was right there, demanding more. Every time you thought it was be over, that ache and need came roaring back and you were on each other again.

His usual stoic composure was completely gone, he was a bundle of pure need and lust. But you were just as demanding, just as aggressive, taking what you needed and giving it back just as hard.

"Deeper," you gasped at one point, your nails raking down his back. "I need you deeper—"

"Fuck—" He hitched your leg higher and thrust so deep you saw stars. "Like that?"

"Yes—don't stop—harder—"

He gave you everything you demanded like a good boy, and you gave it right back, both feeding off the praise.

You have no idea when the aphrodisiac finally started to wear off, only remembering you and him completely spent, fucked out, two bodies oozing sex in his bed.

Neither of you spoke. You just lay there in the wreckage of his bed, trying to catch your breath.

---

You woke up still tangled together—your leg thrown over his hip, his arm pinned under your shoulders, both of you sticky with sweat and probably other things you weren't ready to think about just yet.

The first thing you noticed was the hickeys. They were everywhere. Dark purple marks trailing down his neck and chest, bite marks on his shoulders accompanied with light red scratches. When you shifted, you caught sight of your own thighs in the morning light, covered in the same crazy evidence.

"Oh my god," Choso groaned rubbing his eyes awake with both hands, his voice rough. He'd clearly just woken up too, he looked at you for a split second then back at the ceiling. "So,"

"Yeah." You couldn't help the laugh that bubbled up, clutching the covers to your chest.

He turned his head to look at you, and his hair was an absolute disaster, you’d swear he got attacked during his sleep (which isn’t far from the truth). You probably looked just as bad. His eyes dropped to your neck and he winced, biting the inside of his cheek.

"I'm so sorry—"

"You're sorry?" You gestured at his chest, at the clear bite mark on his collarbone and scratched covering his shoulders. "You look worst than I do!"

He exhaled loudly, "You did this," he accused, but there was nothing mad to it, just a small tired laugh leaving him. "Those chocolates—"

"I didn't know!" But you were laughing now, and so was he, both of you still not moving apart. "You're the one who ate four of them!"

"You said they were edibles!"

"They kinda were!"

He dropped his head back against the pillow, groaning. "The guys are never gonna let me live this down. I kicked everyone out of my own birthday party because of a boner."

"To be fair, you seemed extremely motivated then."

"Oh my god." He covered his face with his free hand, but you could see him smiling between his palm. "This is so bad. This is—" He peeked at you through his fingers, a little unsure, his eyes becoming serious for a second. "But like, are we okay?"

You laughed at him, the way he just seemed so worried, you pinched his side to tease making him flinch away slightly, but still very much tangled up with him. "Hm, I think we're okay." You gave him a reassuring smile, your head hitting the pillow on your side.

"Good." He finally moved, stretching and wincing, his muscles probably aching at this point. "Because I'm gonna need help fixing this,” He gestured to the room looking a mess. You could only laugh, slowly getting up yourself and stretching not minding the cool breeze hitting your skin.

Choso suddenly turned the other way. “Your boobs— they’re out—“

“Are you serious right now?”

“I am.”

“Well, I was gonna offer to share a shower but clearly you won’t—“

You’ve never seen Choso whip his head this quickly at anything you’ve ever said.

—

©️sukuhands /except characters

[peterthepark]

each time you fall in love

pairing: marc spector x f!reader, steven grant x f!reader, jake lockley x f!reader

tags: 18+ graphic smut, p in v, rough sex, car sex, public-ish sex, unprotected sex, sir kink, dirty talk, thigh-riding, fingering and oral sex, edging, mentions of guns, mentions of blood and wounds, drinking, swearing, established relationship, angst if u squint really hard, 8.4k word count…

summary: you play mercenaries with marc. you play lovers with jake. you play house with steven. you suppose romance comes in all forms of their differing love for you.

note: had a blast writing this, reblogs & shares are more than appreciated :) listened to this song while writing this, so feel free to listen while reading!

- masterlist - mk playlist

June - Mardin, Turkey

“Ow.” 

“Sorry, I’m trying to be gentle.” Marc quickly glances at you, sweat beading off of the tiny curl that falls flat against the ridge of his brow. 

The stinging accumulation of dust and filth in your eyes only adds to the discomfort of your entire aching body — but by all means, you have to admit that the bullet graze to your arm takes the absolute cake. 

It’s dark out and the sleepless nights of Mardin are completely unforgiving. The gas lamp above you has been your only light source in the shabby, stone shack for almost a week. Water is starting to run thin, the main city is too far out for this time of night, and Marc isn’t in any condition to make rash decisions. 

You wince when he tries to carefully smooth out the gauze around your upper arm. “Still heavy-handed, are we?” You don’t miss how the corners of his mouth shift upwards in a faint smile at the pathetic jab, uncertain if this was a time for laughter rather than reflection.

But even as you try to lighten his grim mood, Marc is distant. Distant because he fucked that job up. Distant because you got caught in the crosshairs of what should’ve been his successful plan, but he ended up failing. If he lost you, what would he have left? An empty shelter, and the hauntings of your flesh against his? 

What would Steven think?

Marc helps you sit up from the wooden table cluttered with bandages and tissues of dark blood, careful that you don’t reopen the wound that he so poorly stitched with the sparse medical supplies and whatever knowledge he had retained from his time in Guam. “A couple inches higher and to the right… that bullet would’ve lodged itself in muscle.”

His calloused palms brush over the sides of your neck and wander down to hold your waist.

The notion is enough to make you forget the pain shooting up your bicep and recognize the warm ache of desire deep within your belly when you lock eyes.

It’s fucked up. But that’s just how it is between you and Marc.

And that’s how it’ll always be.

He gazes at you with a sigh before he pulls away, wiping your blood off of his hands with a dirty towel by a collection of empty beer bottles. You bite your lip at his silence, shoulders tense and jaw tight as thoughts of what-if’s race through his mind. 

“Marc.” He shakes his head, fingers coming up to pinch the bridge of his nose before you realize he’s trembling. “Marc, hey. Come on. Come here.” A blend of a meek grunt and an exhale of relief escapes from his lips before he leans over and presses his face into the crook of your neck, nearly launching himself into your open arms. 

Marc smells of cordite and hours of being in the sun. Normally, his scent would have comforted you — musk and eucalyptus, remnants of the melting candle by the kitchen window in Steven’s lived-in flat — but nothing about these circumstances are supposed to be comforting. Nothing about being paid to kill, living the ‘gun for hire’ life is supposed to give you solace. For now, you suppose that his lips on your skin is enough to mend this harsh reality of bloodshed that you’ve been fated to endure together.

He whispers quietly against your jaw. “I’m sorry.”

“Hey, no. Don’t do that. I’m alive. It’s just a surface wound, baby.” You hold him by the face, stroking your thumbs under his eyes as he blinks at you, timid and apologetic. “You did the best you could. Plans always end up sideways with us, you know that.” You rub noses tenderly. “We’ve had worse situations, remember?”

“South Africa contract?”

“Honestly, I was thinking more like Malaysia, but that too.” You chuckle softly at him, repeatedly tucking his stubborn curls behind his ear as he stares at you. You delicately splay a hand over his cheek, rubbing the blood off his skin with your thumb. “Are we okay?”

Marc inhales deeply after what feels like ages, nodding as the words of affection leave him woefully. “I just really love you.” 

“And I love you, you silly man.”

He doesn’t need to say that he’s scared of losing you for you to understand. You can just read him, feel his anxiety seeping into his bones as his fingers dance over your bandages and underneath your weathered shirt. You can read him even with closed eyes, him who stands between your legs, trailing your knuckles against his biceps as if every goosebump on his body would mimic paragraphs of braille, his unspoken declaration of how much he wants you just beneath your touch — how much he longs to bury himself inside you and stay there until the world leaves the lot of you alone before everything burns.

Let it all burn if that means being with you.

You’re already wet by the time Marc is pulling your muddied cargo pants down your legs. He’s rushing this — needy and exaggerating his impatience as if that would quicken things. 

You know him well enough to recognize that tonight, he won’t be gentle even if he tries.

Usually Steven is rougher, which comes as a surprise when his personality is the definition of a sunny London day. Submissive doesn’t always equate to being soft, but his temper is warranted. You’d think that Marc would be the one to break your body and push you to your limits, but he has other ways of taking out his anger — Steven doesn’t.

You’ll take a rough Steven over a rough Marc anyday.

Splinters dig against the backs of your thighs as Marc drags you to the edge of the table, drawing a gasp out of you when he harshly yanks your panties down your thighs. 

“Easy, tiger.” You look up at him as he pushes your hair away from your face, eyes wandering over how he then expertly unbuckles his belt with steady fingers. He doesn’t break your lustful gaze, lips parting once his pants hang low on his hips and he meets your mouth with his own. 

“I’ve been wanting to do this for days, Y/N.” He sighs into you, a string of saliva connecting his wet bottom lip to yours as he cradles your cheek. “And of course, you just had to get fucking shot on the night I wanna be inside you.” You groan shamefully at the violence of his words, placing a hand on the nape of his neck to draw him closer to you. His kisses are far from chaste and borderline unceremonious, teeth clashing against yours as his nose digs into your cheek for better access. “I don’t wanna hurt you…” He trails his tongue down your neck, mouthing at your skin until he’s marked you purple and red. “… but I know that you can take whatever I give you. No matter how much it hurts, right?”

“Mmm, fuck.” You shiver when he nips at your earlobe, tugging on the fleshy texture as he awaits your response. “No matter how much it hurts.”

“Atta girl.” He hums agreeably, taking pleasure in how your mouth tries to chase after him when he steps back to take his shirt off and admire your parted legs. “Look at this pretty, aching cunt.” He chuckles mockingly, tracing the outline of your folds with his fingers. “Hm, looks so tight for me, sweetheart.” You whimper when he gently runs the back of his hand against your folds, the friction of his knuckles just pleasurable enough to make you rut your hips in anguish. “You think we can make my cock fit?”

“S’big. You know it is.” You whisper, tightening your hold on his shoulders. “I think you’d have to — to play with me a little, Marc.”

“Oh, play with you?” You nod. “You mean like… Marc, finger me?” You shift eagerly to nod again, but your actions are cut off when he abruptly scissors his middle and ring finger inside you. “Marc, fuck your hand into me, fuck me until I’m all loose for you? What, Y/N? Just so you can say… Marc, I can’t take it anymore?” You yelp loudly when he grabs your ass, his other hand lazily pumping in and out of you as he collects your slick onto his digits. “How’s this for playing with you?”

“M-Marc… oh, fuck…” You grab onto his wrist, nails digging into his bone as he fingers you faster and deeper. “Wait, please.”

“Oh, honey, I’ve barely touched you and yet you’re drippin’ all over me.” He purrs, craning his head to study you, reading your features for any sign of discomfort. Yet, all he sees is a woman enjoying herself too much. Helpless, you cling to him, back arching as your face finds comfort against his solid chest. You sob, screwing your eyes shut as his fingers pause unforgivably inside your sopping cunt and his thumb draws light circles on your clit. “Who makes you this wet, Y/N?”

“You.”

“Almost right.” He grins through a deep laugh, gently shrugging your head off of his shoulder so that you’re left with no choice but to meet his dominant gaze. Your lip wobbles as you fight the urge to clench around him for some kind of satisfaction. Heat flares up your entire body. Every little bit of movement leaves you wanting more. “Don’t pout. You’re better than that. Come on, sweetheart. Say my name, no one else. Who?”

“You do, sir.”

“See? Not so hard.” You bite back a frustrated groan when his fingers leave you so sudden, the building sensation of an orgasm disappearing as your cunt squeezes around nothingness. “You think you’re ready for me?” Fuck. You rub your thighs together, mourning your ruined high and mewling when his palm finds your cheek with a damp finger prodding against your lips. “Use your words, baby. Look at me when you speak.”

“Want you now.” Your head tilts back when his thumb slips between your lips, muffling your whines. Transfixed, Marc watches your pupils dilate when he drags the digit against your hot tongue. It’s erotic. It’s primal, especially when the gash across your cheekbone starts to trickle with blood again from how much your face is straining. And once more, it’s fucked up. So fucked up, that Marc finds himself turned on at how you can make bruises from being slapped by a gun appear so incredibly sensual. “Need you so fucking bad.”

Marc pulls you in for another kiss, mumbling declarations of desire against your lips as you palm him through his underwear and free his cock from his garments. He grunts against your mouth when you twist your fist around the dark tip of his shaft, harmoniously watching in awe together as he thrusts himself into your hand.

“Been dying to… ugh, fuck…”

A soft giggle escapes you, brushing his curls away from his eyes with your free hand after he suckles a large hickey on your collarbone. “Been dying to fuck?”

He glares at you, unamused.

“Funny.” 

“Just repeating what you said— ah!” You’re abruptly cut off by the feeling of Marc’s erection against your folds, his cock rubbing over the swollen button of your clit before his leaking head finds your entrance. He repeats the motion until his skin is glistening with your slick. “M-Marc!”

“Marc.” He mimics you teasingly, chuckling deeply when you shoot him a dirty look. “Christ, I’ve just been dying to be inside you. Is that what you wanted to hear, Y/N?” Your nails dig into his shoulder blades as he slowly penetrates you, stretching you out after days of abstinence in sake of your mission. “How badly I’ve wanted to fuck my perfect girl? You see, I wanted to wait till we got home. Make love to you slow and sweet on our bed…” He forces himself to stop once your cunt swallows him all the way to the base of his shaft. You can just feel him pulsing even as your walls flutter tightly around him. “… give it to you so damn good and treat you like the sweetheart you are…” 

“Please move. Please. I can’t — I need you, please.”

“But you’ve been makin’ some real questionable choices, Y/N.” You lurch forwards into his chest, so desperate to be fucked by him that you can’t help but sob in frustration and strike your palms against his sweaty skin. “Must need someone to teach you how to follow directions, huh?”

“Marc, please! Just make me… I wanna feel good. I want you to make me feel good.” You whine. The fire in your belly grows as he plants a long kiss to your forehead, your defeated voice accompanying the needy furrow of your brows. “Please.”

“I know, baby. I know. But it just doesn’t make sense to me,” He licks the pads of his fingers, spreading his saliva across his digits before you feel him toying with your clit. An embarrassing cry rips from your throat when he touches you, his cock still hard yet motionless inside you. “Why should I make you feel good when you put me through absolute hell today?” 

“Are you… are you seriously bringing this up right now?” 

“You’re the one who jumped in front of a gun.”

“Because I was trying to save your life!”

“Which could’ve gotten you killed, you stupid girl.” 

The name goes straight to your cunt. And although his tone is far from one with serious intent, the slight twinge of irritation in his ending inflection has you desperately trying to close your legs together in embarrassment as you helplessly cream around him.

The two of you share a look — you, like an animal that had been caught in a trap and him, like a hunter who had finally gotten his hands on his game.

“Marc…”

“Oh, you fuckin’ liked that.” 

Your face burns hot with humiliation. “I didn’t, sir… I…”

He pulls out and thrusts into you harshly, sending the table back a few inches with a loud screech across the creaky floor. You nearly double-over and scream with how intense it all feels — his cock, pounding into you slowly yet with such determination to find the deepest pit inside you, to hit that spot over and over again until his name becomes nothing but incoherent syllables strung together.

Your shirt rides up your chest as Marc runs his palm up your abdomen, kneading at your breasts with a new kind of fervor. He rolls your hardened nipples between his fingers, pinching ever so gently before his hand finds the excess of your shirt and pins it to your throat. His grip is tight, meant to allow breathing room, but the way his eyes scour your naked torso is enough to make you lose all sense of oxygen.

“Didn’t know you liked being called stupid,” He hums in amusement.

“You can’t hold that over me.”

“No? Maybe I should just fuck you stupid. You’d like that better, wouldn’t you?” You roll your eyes at him, pulling him in for another kiss before you purposefully clamp down and around his cock again. “Jesus, Y/N… your pussy is — is so fuckin’ tight. G-God…” You bite your lip at him, mouthing at his Adam’s apple as he guides your hips to match his pace. “Ease up, baby. How do you expect me to move when you’re keepin’ me trapped like this?”

You huff, studying the build-up of sweat upon his nose ridge and how the gas lamp above casts pretty shadows over his soft face. You lean over, shifting his dick deeper into your core once your lips find the shell of his ear.

“How about you just shut up and fuck me harder? Unless you want me to get Steven? Or perhaps Jake can make me cum?”

It’s fucked up. 

Marc hates to admit that he enjoys this.

With hedonistic satisfaction, you smile at how his jaw flexes in the dim light. His breathing is heavy, almost ragged in the silent minutes you spend staring each other down with devilish eyes.

Before you can even realize what’s happening, Marc is thrusting into you with a kind of animalistic prowl that you’ve only seen in his violence. The honey in his irises has long dissipated, fusing with the starless black sky outside the shack. The wobbly table is practically cracking beneath your weight, and with Marc’s long strokes, you can easily imagine it broken and splintered by tomorrow morning.

“You wanna know why I couldn’t just wait till we got home so I could do this to you?” You shake your head at him, eyes fluttering shut as pins you down onto the wooden surface. You’re bucking beneath his frame shamelessly, grabbing onto his forearm as he presses his palm onto your lower stomach. The sensual warmth in your abdomen is profound. Each of your five senses heighten as Marc’s fingers wander behind your knee, pulling your leg up and over his shoulder so that you're completely exposed to his will when his cock pounds into you. He grunts in dissatisfaction, tongue swiping across his teeth when your dreamy gaze falls upon his cock disappearing into your entrance. “Answer me, Y/N.”

“No, I d-don’t.”

“Couldn’t help myself. I just couldn’t. Not when I’ve been constantly thinkin’ about your pretty lips wrapped around my dick.” His thumb finds your clit, soothing the bundle of nerves with steady circles. A wanton moan escapes the both of you when Marc readjusts his angle. “Been imagining how good your tits would look covered in my cum. Can you blame me? Holed up together in this shithole… my mind just keeps on wandering and wandering, baby. I think of the way you smell, the way you push up against me when we’re sleeping together on that tiny cot, the way you — oh, fuck…”

His bitemarks litter your arms, his hot tongue memorizes your mouth, his saliva glistens on your nipples whilst your limbs tangle along the tabletop.

His gold chain dangles into your mouth.

“M-Marc, don’t stop! Don’t stop! Please don’t! Fuck me right there!”

His whispers grow filthier with each passing second and with each scream that’s drawn out of your quivering frame.

“I especially think of the way you look after you’ve just killed someone who tried to hurt you. Makes me want you even more.”

His words should’ve been concerning. Such a complicated sentence, and yet all you can think about is how close you are, so unbelievably close. Your heart is pounding in your ears as Marc’s deep thrusts shift you closer to that realm of ecstasy. He’s moaning loudly into your neck, deep vibrations rattling against your dried, bloodied skin until you can feel his muffled cry of your name into your shoulder. Your legs are trembling in the air, toes curling as Marc buries himself to the hilt and lets his spill coat your walls while you ride out your orgasms together.

You don’t realize that the gauze on your arm is seeping with blood until he pulls away. 

His tan skin is stained from your wound, spread across his chest and violently dark-red as if you had experienced more than a simple bullet graze.

It’s fucked up. But that’s just how it is between you and Marc.

September - Lacanshire, England

The autumn air is chilly as you and Jake stumble out of the fancy French doors of the pub. Laughter echoes into the cobblestone streets when he gingerly fits his cabbie cap over your head, hooking your arm with his as you start to lose balance in your stilettos. Jake tightens his coat over your shoulders with a soft tug, pecking your cheek drunkenly with a toothy grin.

“You are so fucking adorable, you know that?” He sweetly inhales the scent of your hair, pulling you closer to his body while carefully watching your footing. “I’m so glad we did this tonight, Y/N. Glad you decided to spend time with me.”

You turn his face towards you and stroke his cheek with wide, assuring eyes. “Hey, I love spending time with you.” His hand finds your lower waist beneath the coat, fingers dancing over the exposed skin of your backless dress. “We really need to do this more often.”

“Yeah, but I mean, with your new job…”

“I’ll make it work.”

“And me needing to consult with the other two idiots...”

“Hey, Steven and Marc don’t mind.”

“Sure. Right.” Jake squeezes your side. He’s quiet for a bit, walking comfortably beside you under the soft glow of street lamps until he decides to just speak his mind. “You know, it amazes me how patient you are with us.” 

You chuckle, rolling your bottom lip between your teeth when his eyes trail down the frame of your side profile.

“I love all of you in my own twisted way, I guess.” 

Even after all these years, he makes you so nervous. He’s the opposite of Steven Grant, more gloomy than he is sunshine but all the good qualities of Marc Spector that tend to outweigh the bad that follows being Jake Lockley. He is far from brooding, but neither is he exactly approachable. 

You don’t question him on the nights he slips out of bed, whispering something about getting a glass of water only for him to disappear for hours on end. Yet somehow, he always arrives just in time to eat breakfast with you as if nothing had happened.

You don’t ask Steven or Marc about it. 

You’d rather not know what he does. It wouldn’t matter anyways. 

Jake smiles at you as you lower yourself into the passenger seat of his 1972 Skylark; your manicured nails wrap around the roof handle while he closes the door behind you, his hat still snug on your head. Neither of your giddy smiles fade even when Jake comes around to the driver’s side and situates himself behind the steering wheel. In fact, you grow exceptionally more flustered when he leans over the middle seat and pulls you in for what is meant to be an innocent kiss. But the taste of tequila and lime on his lips has you eagerly chasing after him, the stubble on his jaw tickling your chin as your mouths move lovingly in sync inside the dark confines of his car.

It’s only when you need to breathe that Jake pulls away, cupid’s bow tinted orange-red from your makeup as he adores you in the pale moonlight. “Did I tell you how beautiful you look tonight?”

“Just tonight?” You tease, carding your fingers through his dark curls. You don’t miss the way his enraptured stare lingers upon your features, deep in thought.

He raises your knuckles to his lips and kisses each tendon with a soft, adoring moan. “Every night, mi vida.” You chew on your lip again, unable to take your eyes off of Jake when he turns your hand over and starts worshipping the palm of your hand with yearning pecks. “Always so pretty.”

“You’re pretty.” You tenderly swipe your thumb across his eyebrow as he presses your back to the passenger door. “I love you.”

“I love you more.” He breathes out, kissing down your neck till he reaches your shoulder and finds the thin strap of your dress with a hearty laugh. “Would it ruin the mood if I said I want you right now?” You shake your head, lashes fluttering when he sensually drags the strap down your arm. “Good. That’s good. You are so irresistible. So gorgeous. So sexy, like my own personal angel.”

“Jake, don’t tease.”

“Not teasing. I just wanna take my time with you.”

“In the car?”

He hums agreeably against your jawline, nipping at your skin with his teeth until you’re sighing against him. 

“In the car,” He whispers with a cheeky grin. Jake’s hand travels down your torso as the front of your dress spills over, revealing your naked breasts to him. His eyes flicker up to you for a split second, and you nod before he quickly takes a nipple into his mouth. You press his head closer to your chest, lips parting with a resigned moan when he litters your tits with tiny lovebites. “Don’t hold back, Y/N.”

You stifle another one when his fingers carefully pinch your nipples. “M’not trying to get caught.”

“There’s no one here. Besides, you act as if we haven’t done anything like this before.” Jake palms at your chest, tracing the swell of your breasts as he gauges your silent reaction. He moans when your jaw falls open just a bit, enough for him to see your tongue flatten against the roof of your mouth. “Do you want me to stop?”

“No, I-I like it.”

“Then let me hear you.” Your hips subconsciously rut upwards from the seat as Jake kisses down your sternum. The flowy skirt of your dress bunches up around your waist, his fist grasping the thin material as he finds your soft stomach and the waistband of your thong. “You drive me crazy, Y/N. This desire to make you feel good… at all times — shit, solecito mío. I could just kiss you for days. So gorgeous.” 

You shudder when he suckles at your thighs, his chuckles intermixing with the barely-audible sound of your gasps as he trails his mouth down your leg. His hand wraps around your ankle, stroking your lower calf as he admires the wine-red stiletto on your foot. 

“I want you to fuck me when we get home.”

Jake’s hold tightens on your leg, lips staining your soft skin with saliva while he traverses the space between your inner thighs. “And here?” You rest your head back against the cold glass window, shutting your eyes when you can feel his breaths over your needy, throbbing cunt. “What do you want me to do here?”

“Want your mouth on me. And I wanna taste you.” 

He smirks playfully. “One thing at a time, yeah?”

“Or we could do both at once.” You gently grasp onto a handful of his locks, pulling his face from below to look up at you. There’s desperation laced in your furrowed brows. Your voice comes out as nothing but an impatient, high-pitched whimper. “Together.”

“You wanna cum together?” He rubs slow, thoughtful circles around your knee.

“Fuck, yes.” 

Jake reaches up, picking his cabbie hat off of your head and tossing it into the backseat with hooded eyes. “Get in there then.” 

The leather squeaks beneath your heaving, fumbling bodies as Jake lays you onto your back. You’re propped up tightly against the corner, his hands pushing on the backs of your thighs so that your knees are dangling over your head. He mouths at your clothed mound, kissing your cunt over the thin material with a certain devotion that’s only fronted around you.

Part of you feels like you’re being watched — the feeling still lingers despite Jake’s attest to his own lack of Khonshu in your lives.

Do you believe him? That depends. Right now, with his hands pulling your underwear past your ankles, with nimble fingers folding the fabric and stuffing it into his back pocket while his lusted gaze eats away at the visual of your bare pussy, it doesn’t matter. It definitely, definitely doesn’t matter when Jake hacks up saliva from the back of his throat, spitting on your already-wet folds with a somehow classy elegance that makes you forget how filthy this all feels.

It’s not filthy if it’s love, right? You love Marc. You love Steven. You love Jake. None of it feels wrong, but should it? 

Fuck, it doesn’t matter.

“God, you’re soaked.” Jake gasps with you as he dips the tip of his finger into your entrance, sliding it in and out slowly as he becomes mesmerized by your body’s response: the immediate arch of your back, the strangled purrs, your breathless appearance as he impatiently adds another digit. “You’re just as tight as the first time I fingered you.”

“Mmm, oh, fuck. Fuck. Fuck.” You squirm against him, covering your mouth with the back of your hand as his lips suction over your clit. “Jake…”

His body is vibrating with tension. “Love how you’re squeezing my fingers. Keep doin’ that. Bet it feels good doesn’t it, mi vida?”

“It does. Fuck, it does, but I…” You splay your hand over the backrest of the seat, clutching onto the slippery material as your grip on his hair tightens. Almost shamefully, you peer down at him with a contorted look of frustrated pleasure, pupils glazed over. “Jake, baby…”

“Hm?” He glances at you, halting his movements out of, at first, genuine concern when he notices the hitch in your strained voice.

And when he’s met with the cute, bratty pout on your face, he doesn’t know whether he wants to fuck it off of you ruthlessly or give in to whatever meek yet lewd request is sitting on the tip of your tongue. 

The whimper that squeaks out of you is enough to send all the blood in his body rushing to his dick.

“I need your mouth,” You sigh wantingly. 

Jake can’t keep his stare off of the needy rise and fall of your tits, and he certainly can’t help but admire how hard you’re biting your lip – it’s almost comical, how he’s got you so instantly riled-up, but he understands. He feels it too, in Steven’s and Marc’s desire to front, in his own beating heart and his hard cock, that you need him. Everywhere. Somehow. And even though that hysterical part of Jake wants to deny you of this satisfaction, deny you of his touch, deny you of even talking to him because orgasms last so much longer with a greater and tenser build-up, he just can’t. He’s been kind tonight – tonight, which is all about you, with your new, normal, civilian job and an incoming promotion, tonight with your trusting eyes and your sexy dress that Steven had ended up buying you because he has impeccable taste, tonight with your dreamy sighs and the way you carry your scars from previous tours with Marc with such incomparable beauty that you make violence seem romantic.

So, sure. He’ll give in tonight.

“Come here.” 

He reaches for you, surveying how you follow him with no question, clambering onto his lap with loving adherence. Jake strokes the nape of your neck and lets his hands find the small of your back. You stare into each other’s eyes for a few moments, a couple minutes, just admiring, basking in the intimacy that is so oftentimes and unfortunately rare with Jake Lockley. 

Then, he speaks. “Do you want to sit on my face, solecito mío?”

You make a noise that sounds more animalistic than human.

Maybe it’s a reflection of how Jake makes you feel. But then, you suppose that’s how Marc makes you feel as well. And some nights, Steven, too. 

“I do.” You nod. Jake nods back in acknowledgement, brushing your hair back with steady fingertips. His nose nudges against yours as you sigh into his mouth, reveling in your lover’s quiet whispers of sweet nothings. “I want to make you feel good, also.”

“You wanna make me feel good?” He kisses your shoulder, lips ghosting over the old bullet graze on your bicep from that job in Turkey.

He doesn’t want to think about the things you did with Marc – the killings don’t bother him, but the sex does. If anything, it’ll only make Jake angry, only make him want to deny you of himself even though his adoration for you goes deeper than this superficial desire.  

“Yeah, fuck, I do.”

“You want me to cum all over that amazing throat of yours? Just dump my cum inside you?”

“Wanna be your cumslut.” 

It’s silent until you abruptly giggle at each other, almost because of how bizarrely horny either of you sound right now. It’s out of character for you to be this vocal with him, but Jake has learned a couple things from Marc, and Marc from Steven, which he intends to put to good use. 

But even though the words sound utterly ridiculous coming from you, his body thinks otherwise. He’s thrumming with want, and Jake isn’t sure how long he can go without having something warm on his cock. “Again.”

You bat your lashes at him, teasingly through a half-serious chuckle. “Wanna be your cumslut. Want you down my throat, keeping me there, choking me with your dick.”

“Oh, Y/N, you’re filthy.” 

“Just like you, Jake.” 

He practically growls, “Prove it, then. How filthy can you get for me?”

You press down on his clothed chest, watching as he lays flat onto the seat. It’s an uncomfortable position, especially when your elbow rams against the roof as you try to rid yourself of your wrinkled dress. There’s barely any room for your other leg to straddle him, but when you maneuver your sweaty bodies so that your cunt is hovering over his face and his erection is aching to meet your mouth, things start to feel smoother from there on out.

There’s a reason why sixty-nine is his favorite number.

At this point, you don’t even wait to fully take his pants off. His belt is strewn over the front seats, his fly down and greedy cock pulled over the stretchy waistband of his pre-cum ruined boxers. 

“You’re so fucking hard…” You coo, glancing at him over your shoulder as he rubs his fingers around your entrance. 

He parts your folds, sticking his warm tongue into your cunt while you take the tip of him into your mouth. “F-Fuck, Y/N…” His hips involuntarily thrust into you, and you can’t help but grin around his length before taking him further. His swollen cock pulses in your throat as you lazily bob your head up and down his shaft. “Mmm, fuck, that — that feels good, baby.” 

The vibrations of his moans against your pussy has you mewling, humming in pleasure as he sucks at your sensitive clit and the bulb of nose prods against your hole. “J-Jake, honey, your mouth — it’s, oh, keep fucking your tongue into me. Just like that — oh, fuck!” You shudder, and Jake takes advantage of your intense satisfaction to hook his arms tighter around your thighs and pull you deeper against his face. You grind against him, expletives falling from your lips as your juices coat his jaw and chin while he helps rock you back and forth.

“Tastes so good, Y/N. So wet, so sweet, this pussy is just all for me, hm?” He grunts, carefully thrusting into your throat. “Shit, baby. Takin’ this cock so well, too. You’re loving this, aren’t you?” You can only respond with whimpering moans as he fucks your mouth, salty tears brimming at your eyes when you can feel the overwhelming sensation of his fullness. “God, Y/N, you’re gonna make me cum.”

And as he makes haste to bring you to the edge, you give the same attention to his cock, using your small fist to twist around the leftover space that your mouth can’t take. Saliva covers your fingers as you gag pornographically around his prick, he’s thicker than he is long, but that doesn’t make taking him any easier.

“Jake, oh — I’m… fuck, I’m right there.”

“Yeah? You wanna cum together?”

“Please, baby.”

He fills your throat with his seed as you attempt to fit all of him into your mouth. Your vision goes fuzzy from the long, tedious seconds without oxygen and the combined feeling of a drawn-out orgasm. Jake has your cunt trapped against his lips, sucking and tugging at your clit while a dreamlike haze washes over the two of you.

The windows are fogged-up. It’s sweaty, the stench of sex lingers, and your numb bodies are far from graceful even as Jake moves to pull you into his arms and caress the back of your head, resting your ear against his chest because he wants you to listen to how fast his heartbeat is right now.

Then, you mention something to him about round two at home. He laughs and kisses you tenderly, convinced that you’ll probably end up falling asleep on the ride back. 

Far from graceful. 

But nothing else matters when it comes to him.

May - Brighton, England

“What do you call an alligator with a compass?” 

You take a bite out of the strawberry pinched between your fingers, squinting through the blinding sun. “What?”

“A… navi-gator.” Steven deadpans, wiggling his eyebrows at you as you glare at him over the top of your half-finished paperback. You can’t help but chuckle softly, shaking your head at him as you try to hide the childish smirk tugging at your lips. “Oh, come on. Seriously, Y/N? That one was so good.”

“You cannot crack me.“ You cross your ankles over each other and place your book down. Sitting up on the red picnic blanket, you rest back on your forearms and gaze at him intently. 

He wags his pointer finger. “Ah, ah, I know another one.” Inhaling deeply, he gestures at you. “Did you hear about the crocodile who was unable to mate?”

You stifle a snort, biting your lip as you can feel the laughter bubbling deep within your chest. “I did not, why?”

“He had a reptile dysfunction.” You maintain a neutral face, nodding nonchalantly at Steven’s fifth adorable attempt of a gator joke. “Really? Not even that one?”

“I am as hard as a rock.”

The dark-haired man sputters, clutching his stomach as he laughs loudly. “Are you now?”

“No! Oh, my god. Not like that, Steven!” You playfully swat his thigh with the back of your hand, grinning widely as he rolls over onto his side to look at you. “Listen, I meant—“

“Am I that funny? That my humor ends up seducing you, petal?” He strokes your calf with a bright smile. “Do my jokes turn you on that much?”

“No, they don’t. Not even one bit.” You chew on your bottom lip, watching as Steven’s fingers travel higher and higher till they reach the bottom of your sundress. “Do my jokes turn you on?”

“No, not at all.” His features soften, eyes half-lidded and his golden complexion illuminated by the sunlight in your backyard. “You’re the farthest from funny.”

“Please, I am the funniest person alive.” Your stare flickers down to where his palm spreads itself over your thigh, long and thick digits caressing your skin. “We’ve been married for months and I still think I’m the better joker out of the two of us, Mr. Grant.”

“You’ve got it all wrong, Mrs. Grant.” Steven plays along as he reaches into the container of strawberries beside you, wrapping his pink lips around one before he takes a small bite. Your curious eyes never leave his mouth, entranced by how a bead of juice dribbles down his chin as he swallows the fleshy fruit with a quiet moan. Steven notices. He’s not stupid, not as oblivious as people tend to think, and especially not as innocent, because his motions are absolutely purposeful. “Is this turning you on?”

You gulp loudly, feeling summer sweat collect at the nape of your neck as you rub your thighs together. The notion causes your dress to ride up, and Steven keenly catches a glimpse of your lack of panties. You see him falter, jaw clenching visibly and lashes fluttering as you shift closer to him. 

You take the other half of the strawberry from his fingers, examining the red delicacy before sensually popping it into your mouth. 

“Not at all.”

But it does. It turns you on when Steven reaches over and holds you by the small of your back, arching you and guiding you into his chest as you yearningly nudge noses. It turns you on when he sighs against your lips, shaky and overcome by the need to feel you as if he hadn’t taken you from behind on the kitchen counter just this morning. It turns you on when he presses his mouth to yours, tasting of strawberries and even more strawberries when he finds your tongue in the midst of your heated make-out. 

“This doesn’t turn you on?” He sighs brokenly against the divot of your collarbone, squeezing and grasping every soft, untouched part of you that makes you squirm against him. 

“No.” You moan breathily, throwing your head back when he takes his time to untie the halter string of your sundress from your neck. You nip at his jaw when he skims a hand over your chest, pulling the thin material down to expose your breasts. “Steven… the neighbors…”

“We have a bloody fence,” He pants out as you reach under his shirt and palm at his soft belly, inching closer to his waistband. 

“And we have the tendency to be loud, honey.” You smirk against his neck, kissing down his throat until you’re using your teeth to gently tug on his thin chain. “Who’s to say that they’re not gonna hear?”

“Guess you’ll have to keep me quiet then, hm?” He quips, jaw falling open as you dip your hand into his sweatpants and reach for his erection. “My god, Y/N…”

“You’re not wearing underwear!” You giggle in shock, gasping jokingly and feverishly biting at his earlobe. 

Sweatpants and a lack of boxers was always a common thing for Steven, especially when he’d have you at home, all to himself, ready to go anytime for a ten-minute quickie or a lazy blowjob. But something about the thought of him here — having eaten strawberries with you on a picnic blanket, outside and in the yard with the possibility of getting caught, the possibility (which you’ve achieved) of making him hard through his sweats — made his affinity for nudity so much sexier.

“Well, neither are you, petal.” 

“So, two people without underwear… alone…” You kiss his face tenderly, ghosting over his lips in a teasing manner that has his body physically chasing after your mouth. “… laying in the yard… kissing, biting…” Steven lets out a long moan when you squeeze your hand around his length. “… touching each other… hm, what ever shall they do?”

He shudders with closed eyes when you help rid him of his sweatpants, haphazardly tossing the grey material to the side. He groans in awe when you spit into your hand, coating his cock with your saliva as you admire his frenzied state. 

“Fuck me.” 

A yelp escapes you when he suddenly hauls you into his lap. You’re positioned on the tops of his outstretched and naked thighs, his dick just out of reach from your desperate touch. Steven moves quickly and impatiently, marking your exposed breasts and sucking at your nipples with lustful adoration while your dress pools around his indecency.

“I wanna make you cum so hard, Steven.”

“You filthy woman,” He chuckles genuinely at you, palming at the fleshiness of your ass as you rock against his body. You touch him everywhere — his chest, his unruly head of hair, his cheeks and his muscled arms — except for where he craves it the most. But you give into him, eventually. “Oh, I absolutely adore you. I love you. I love you so much, Y/N.” Steven whimpers needily as you start to stroke him slowly, using both of your fists to twist around his shaft while you grind your cunt on his thigh. “Ah, f-fuck… fuck, darling.”

“Steven, your cock is so big.” You tease, studying how his gaze drops to where you jerk him against your warm belly. “You’re just so hot. I can’t wait to get you to the edge…” A devilish smile forms on your lips as he sexily tilts his head back, eyes rolling to the back of his skull in utter bliss as you tease his leaking tip. “… oh, but only for me to stop…” You halt the stroking motions, keeping your hands tight and still around his thickness. “… and take you back to square one.”

“No, please,” He begs, opening his eyes to look at you. You see the fiery need to cum in his glazed-over stare, wild and almost pathetically unhinged as he innocently bounces his thigh beneath you. “Please, let me cum all over you.”

The phrase combined with his actions cause you to moan, mostly out of surprise, but also at how good the friction feels. 

Hot skin, his hair tickling you, your slick leaving a wet and embarrassing, sticky patch on him. 

“I’ll make you cum if you make me?” You roll your hips back and forth against him. Steven’s grip on your ass tightens, hands spreading you apart as he intentionally presses his thigh up to your pussy. “Do you wanna be inside me right now?”

“God, Y/N, I’ll give you anything you want.” He holds you by the chin, wide pupils admiring you. “Do anything you please, anything that’ll make you feel good…”

You whine when his fingers come down onto your clit, circling the nub while you start to lazily stroke him again. “Anything?”

“Oh, anything. You know that.” 

“What if I don’t want you to fuck me?” He presses a kiss to your throat, trying to hold back his orgasm when you put pressure around the head of his cock. “What if I wanted to just — mmm — have your dick in my hands… show you how you make me feel? How you tease me, how you touch me and have me aching for you?” His tongue slips into your rambling mouth, whimpers and grunts escaping your molded bodies as Steven keeps you on his thigh. “How you always make me fucking wait before I can cum?”

“Are you going to e-edge me?” He looks deeply into your eyes, teeth clamping down on his lower lip as you slow your pace. “Is that it? Because I like edging you?”

“Just wanna give you a taste of what it's like, honey.” You use your free hand to brush through his curly locks, fingers getting tangled in his scalp. “Is that okay?”

The pleading words leave him instantly. 

“Anything for you.”

The furrow in his brows has you clutching onto him to stop yourself from just sinking down onto his dick. So, instead, you remain straddling his thighs, sitting with each knee swung on either side of him as you wrap two eager hands around his cock and work him until he’s a moaning mess for you again.

“Such a handsome boy. Everytime we make love…” You survey him closely, falling in a sexed-out trance with just how his lips part and how he throws his head back like it’s the first time he’s ever been touched. “… you look so fucking good.”

“I love y-you, Y/N. God — goddamnit,” His nose scrunches up as you jerk him off with longer, but slower motions. Naturally, he’s more sensitive by the tip, which you’re proven right when his stomach ripples visibly, flexing and tensing below you. “Ah, fuck! Fuck, darling. Like that. Oh, just like that. Slow. Slow, please.”

“Falling apart for me already?” You sigh shakily, growing wetter as his pre-cum begins to bead down your knuckles. “No cumming until I say so, Steven.”

“Please. Oh, my god. I can’t — Y/N, I won’t… I don’t think I can bear it.” He hisses, running his hands up and down your hips to distract himself. “Fuck, can I see you?”

“Wha—“

“I want you to take off the dress.” He requests gruffly, before clearing his throat. “Please, petal.”

You nod with a soft smile, caressing his jaw before you’re helping each other rid yourselves of your remaining clothing. Steven’s shirt and your sundress joins his pants by the corner of the blanket. Instantly, his hands fondle your breasts, skimming over the fading hickies and wandering across your abdomen. 

“I can feel you pulsating.”

“That is ‘cause you’ve got me rock fucking hard, you know.” He jokes, referring to your words from earlier. “S-shit, Y/N. How much longer?”

“I’m sorry, Steven. No cumming.” You purr at him. “Not yet. Tell me what’s going on in that pretty head, yes?”

“I mean, you’re just perfect. This body… fuck, who made you like this? How can someone be so beautiful?” The passion laced in his voice has you reeling, nearly doubling over onto his bare chest. “Baby. Oh, baby. Please! Please, I wanna cum. Oh, I wanna cum for you.”

You moan audibly. “Have you been a good boy?” 

“I have.”

“Are you mine?” 

You let Steven fuck himself into your fist, digits sticky with mess as he rushes to reach his high. “I’m yours. Are you mine?”

You suppose he’s waited long enough.

“Only if you cum for me, honey.”

And as your hand twists and tugs at his cock, Steven falls apart in your grasp. His whole body twitches, fingers bruising your hips as his cum spills over your palms and coats your skin with his seed. Yet, somehow, in the prolonged haziness of his orgasm, Steven can only spew out declarations of love. He calls you every synonym of beautiful, worships your upright body with his swollen lips as he decorates you with his devotion. 

“I am so enamored by you, Y/N.” Steven breathes out, laying back onto the picnic blanket beside you. You tuck your head under his arm, sighing as he shifts you closer towards his naked frame. “You are a gift.”

“And you… are a gift shop-ist. So, I guess we’re meant to be.” You laugh sweetly at each other, gazing into one another’s eyes as you trace hearts over Steven’s sternum. “See what I did there?”

“You are not funny.” 

The swelling glimmer of amusement in his irises says otherwise.

Home.

“I love you, too.” 

The sky turns pink over your entangled bodies, golden and sunkissed as you draw a path of kisses along Steven’s jawline while he falls into a different kind of bliss.

You love Steven. You love Jake. You love Marc. And while everything else in the world is fucked up and a cherry-colored funk of clustering emotions, you want to believe that nothing else matters but them. Nothing else matters if it feels right, if it feels like home and a warmth that can’t be found with anyone, anywhere else.

Let it all burn if that meant loving them all. 

[meirathinks]

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐏𝐫𝐨𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐚𝐥

Part II.  Egoist

suguru geto x reader

You find out that committing marriage isn’t as easy as it seems + a government worker is onto you.

Warnings: Some religious imagery but it’s nothing crazy (look guys i thought it would be funny to compare geto to jesus i’m sorry), marriage fraud, Geto being terrible (again!)

Whats up! Updates will not usually be this fast but this was originally apart of Ch 1 before I decided it was too long lmao, this isn’t my favourite part of the story but I need to introduce the antagonist sigh. Stay safe everyone! :)

Series Masterlist  ,  Part I. 

You’ve come to notice that Suguru fits the stereotype of a celebrity rather than editor-in-chief. His earrings are far from business casual, his demeanour is intimidating (and borderline narcissistic) and his lifestyle is one of comfort and indulgence.

In a way, Geto was not like everyone else.

He was worse.

Your boss (or was he your husband now?) expected the world to bend for him. He thought of himself as the exception to all flaws natural to humans. Suguru wanted to be the primadonna, the prophet and the deity all at once. You’d go as far to say that he wanted to watch the world sip the wine that was his blood, and eat the bread that was his flesh. 

His ego was impossible to work with. 

“Wait, Mr. Geto—”

“Suguru,” He corrected

“Suguru, is this really a good idea?”

“Of course it is, I came up with it.”

You grabbed his arm, stopping him at the door of the Immigration Office. The way his eyes darted to yours was a reminder of his impatience. The moment of physical content was uncomfortable, it was anything but fleeting. You gripped his arm tighter, “Are you sure you wanna do this?”

He looked at you in disbelief, a reminder of where you fell in his life. Geto was annoyed more than anything, your constant hesitation irked him.

“Just follow my lead it can’t be that bad.”

You laughed at his attempt to downplay the situation. He makes no effort to remove your hand from his arm as he pushes the doors open. You let go yourself.

Keep reading

[meirathinks]

QUEUE

an updated list of upcoming works! Once anything on this list is completed it will be linked! All series mentioned here will have their own masterlist to make things easier! I have no idea when they will be completed, and are not in order of release date. Thanks :)

updated: 7/02/21

THE PROPOSAL

“ Gentlemen, I understand the predicament that we are in. And there is a— well— there is something I think you all should know. We… we’re getting married! ”

“ Wait— who’s getting married? “

“ You and I. You and I are getting married. “

Geto doesn’t want to get deported so he does what any other sane person would do; force his assistant to commit marriage fraud with him. Now, Geto just needs to convince the authorities that your love is real. 

Fake marriage series with our lord and saviour Geto amen!! Based off of the 2009 romcom of the same name! 

Keep reading

[cxmplexity]

TAINTED.

Synopsis. Working as the personal assistant of worldwide famous boxer Ryoumen Sukuna, you have managed to memorise your boss inside out to the smallest detail, but you learn there’s more to the rosy haired fighter when your night as his date to the annual gala takes a swift turn.

WC. 11.9k

Genre. NSFW (MDNI), alternative universe.

Warnings. Blood mentions from injury, mentions of abuse, hotel sex, oral (male + female receiving), exhibitionism (in front of a window), overstimulation, face sitting, multiple positions, spanking, a little bit of praising, slight dacryphilia, creampie, Sukuna is his own warning tbh.

A/N. Potential sequel (and Toji spin-off) currently in the making — see pinned post for the taglist form if interested!

MASTERLIST

You hated the stench of blood.

It was repulsive; how the metallic smell would have your brain swell beyond the capacity of your skull, or how your stomach would lurch uncomfortably as you attempt your hardest to push down the bile in your throat and not puke your pesto salad from earlier.

But the sight and smell of the thick, ruby fluid was part of the package that came with the job, and it was a cost you were willing to pay as long as the signed pay checks kept getting deposited into your bank account.

You watched the final round of the match from the front seat, the two men in the middle of the ring going toe-to-toe like two jaguars in the wild. Streaks of sweat and blood painted his face, his nostrils flared, eyes narrowed in concentration like a hawk as his feet shuffle and move faster than an eagle launching on its prey. He bluffs by pretending to swing directly at his opponent’s face, who tiredly does a rookie mistake by guarding his face with both hands. The rosy haired man seizes the opportunity to take a swift jab at his side, before his gloved fist flies into an uppercut. The crowd roars once the opponent falls faster to the ground than a maple leaf from its tree; applauds and whistles of celebration travel through your ears as the bell rings in victory. The referee announces the name of the winner.

Ryoumen Sukuna.

Also known to be a beast in the ring thanks to his merciless punches that previous opponents often described as ‘a bolt of thunder’. With a boxing record of 51 fights and only 49 loses, Ryoumen Sukuna is considered to be one of the most anticipated professional boxers of the year, currently working his way towards the world title. Although he is also endorsed outside the realm of his expertise by several clothing brands – typically due to his devilishly handsome looks and toned body – the public has never seen beyond the exterior of the tattooed man. But that wasn’t the case with you.

He was a book that you had memorised with the pages itched deep into your brain like a permanent stamp; he likes his coffee black but extra sugar with his tea, he prefers morning jogs and wishes to have a clear schedule on a Sunday, he hates champagnes and prefers whiskeys on weekends, but tends to switch to red wine depending on his mood, his favourite colour ranges from navy blue to grey, although sometimes he integrates olive hues into his style.

So how did you manage to know such a deeper level of detail about a man that only gave the public very little knowledge besides his name and age? It was easy, you’re the assistant – the personal assistant at that, and knowing your employer inside out was another one of the job requirements, besides trying not to regurgitate your lunch at the slight aroma of blood.

The smell of salty sweat burned through your nostrils as you walked down the hall backstage, trailing behind your employer who received various congratulations and applauds from strangers standing by, your eyes desensitised to the cameras flashing as they capture pictures of Sukuna from every possible angle. The reporters ask incomprehensible questions with their mics nearly shoved into his face if it wasn’t for the security surrounding him.

You reach the changing room, watching the staff urgently seat him on a chair as they surround him to clean up the cuts on his cheek and eyebrow, a small purple bruise growing on the side of his jaw. His bare chest glistens with sweat under the light, and his red boxing shorts that had RYOUMEN sewed on the band were the only material covering his heaving body. Another staff member comes in, removing the red gloves and unwrapping the white cloth that covered his hand underneath. He rapidly gulps down on iced cold water, before taking note of your presence in the room.

“What do you have for me, [Name]?” Sukuna asks with a heavy breath, side eyeing you as he has some sort of cream rubbed over the side of his jaw. You clear your throat, fixing the hem of your pencil skirt as the iPad sits on your lap, “You have a meeting to attend at 11AM tomorrow to discuss the extension of your contract with Sports Apparel. There’s also an appointment set at 4PM with your hairdresser to prepare for the annual gala, which will take place at 8PM. But you are only expected to arrive at around eleven.”

“Tell them I’m not going to that.” Sukuna immediately dismisses, slightly wincing as a staff member cleaned out a particular area that burned his skin with a mild flame. You frown, your eyebrows drawing in together, “I’ve spoken to your PR. They insist you go considering all your future opponents will be there.”

Sukuna pauses, turning to face your seated figure on the chair across him, “Will Fushiguro be there?” He asks lowly.

“I can only assume so. He has never missed an annual gala.” You reply, almost robotically. Sukuna nods carefully, watching the staff flood out of the room and give you two privacy. “I shall drop your suit tomorrow morning before your meeting. Is there anything you require before I take my leave?”

Sukuna kisses his teeth, arching an amused eyebrow at you, “Yes. What did you think of the match?” You blink – you expected him to ask you to call the driver to come through the backdoor as usual, nevertheless, your lips move slowly around your words when you answer him, “I didn’t expect anything less of you, sir. Your opponent wasn’t as quick to think on his feet as you were.”

“Ah, I see you were analysing rather than just watching, no?” Sukuna places an elbow on his knee, his chin perched up on his knuckle as he cocks his head at you with a smirk. “It’s..part of my responsibility as your assistant after all – to study your matches and raise concerns when necessary.”

“Or you can just watch for fun.” He suggests with a shrug. You slightly fidget in your seat, unsure where this conversation was going as you mutter, “I’ll keep that in mind.” Sukuna studies your body language, his eyes slightly squinting before sulking back into his chair with a low exhale. “You hate boxing.” he states as a matter of fact.

“Pardon?”

Sukuna chuckles, the tip of his pink tongue poking out to wet his bottom lip, “I see the way you look during my fights. You don’t seem to enjoy yourself. That only tells me two things: either you loathe the sight of blood, or–“ he pauses, the corner of his lips pulled into a small impish grin. “You hate watching me get hurt.”

“Obviously as my employer I do have concerns if your injuries seemed to be to–“

“I’m not asking for a professional, bullshit answer [Name].” Sukuna speaks lowly. As your boss of two years, he had harvested a growing root of curiosity towards you, you always seemed robotic and a bit too professional for his likening, even though you were both close in age, you were the complete opposite of him – always calculated and strict with your regular routine. Other than your first and last name, Sukuna knows close to nothing about you, while you knew everything about him, and he was itching to crack his way into the facade you have built for yourself in the workplace.

“I’m..not a particular fan of blood, no.” You trail off slowly. Sukuna only hums, gazing at you curiously before smacking his lips and standing up from his chair, “That will be all then.” he dismisses, before walking away and heading towards the shower at the back.

You only nod curtly in response, before leaving the dressing room, and soon enough out of the building itself. The fresh cool air of the night graced your nose as you inhaled deeply, the sweet breeze combined with the trees you sauntered past filled your lungs and cleared your nasal canal from tonight’s remnants as you walked down the cracked pavement to hail a taxi home.

You really hated the stench of blood.

You had your day planned to the T the next morning; pick up your boss’ suit and his monthly dosage of protein powder from an unnecessarily expensive, organic shop his nutritionist recommended, and then head back to your office at the skyscraper building until the commencement of the annual gala. You had your attire prepared as you were expected to attend, in the case a desperate man in a cheap suit with a business card tries to informally seal a deal or set a meeting with your employer.

Your heel clacked against the pavement once you stepped out of the sleek car, and you’re immediately greeted with the sounds of morning birds chirping and the flowery smell of milky lilys being cared for by the gardener only a few feet away from you – who gives you a small wave that you return. Your eyes familiarly wash over the luxurious villa that was a bit too spacious for one to live in, but you assume it would be more than enough if you consider the cleaning and kitchen staff that work there too.

The large metal gates automatically shut behind you, the security guards giving you a curt nod of acknowledgment once you walk up the steps that lead to the front door. Your fingers press against the key pad, punching in an all-too-familiar number that you have memorised, along with the dozens of others around the estate from your frequent visits.

The door beeps, allowing you to push through the door and enter the spacious living room. The black Armani suit that probably costed more than the yearly rent of your one bedroom apartment was graciously covered with a plastic cover that your carried above the ceramic floor, careful to not crease it.

“[Name]?” Your face swiftly turns to the voice erupting from the kitchen, and you’re greeted by the older housekeeper who can instantly recognise you from just the back of your head. “Good morning, Marie.” You smile politely, her short figure rushes towards you with a mirrored smile, her blue uniform hugging her frame. “Good morning, honey. I haven’t seen you in a while, how come you’re never here anymore?” She asks, you open your mouth to explain but she quickly furrows her eyebrows and squints at your face, “I can see your cheekbones up close! Have you not been eating? Is Mr. Ryoumen overworking you again?” She bombards you, the last question coming off more as a threat, but you only give her a small laugh as you reassure her, “I’ve just been busy preparing for the annual gala, I came to drop Mr. Ryoumen’s suit?”

“Ah, yes. He’s still in his room. Should I take it up to him for you?” She offers, but you shake your head. “It’s okay, I’ll do it. I have to discuss his schedule with him for tonight. Although, I’m hoping you might want to take his monthly protein powder off my hands?” You ask the older woman courteously. Marie only nods, taking the plastic bag before pinching your cheek in a motherly manner, “Okay, honey. But don’t disappear from us like that again! Otherwise I’ll have your head.”

You only chuckle in response before she walks away. Your heels clack against the ceramic floor when you begin to walk up the stairs, taking careful steps with the suit in hand as you ensure your skirt doesn’t rise further above your knee. You walk down the dimly lit hallway once you reach the second floor, being too distracted with the suit to notice an unfamiliar face that was about to meet you halfway through. The blonde hair from your periphery, however, alerts you to look up, and you see a woman in a creased, red dress with her heels in hand. Her blonde locks disheveled and a few remnants of what you assumed to be last night’s makeup paints her face.

Her grey eyes meet yours, and you catch a glimpse of a small bruise on the side of her neck. Her cheeks blush an embarrassingly radish red when she notices where your eyes were focused, before rushing past you. It wasn’t an unfamiliar sight to you; to see one of your employer’s many companions of the night do the walk of shame out of the estate. Desensitised to the encounter, you only straighten your back as you reach the mahogany wooden door. Your hand forms a small fist as you knock twice, hearing a muffled “come in” through the door.

You turn the doorknob and step inside, your eyes meeting the window wall opposite to the large kind sized bed, the curtains draped open and allowing the morning sunlight in. Although you’ve been here countless times, you still find yourself distracted from the city skyline that stretched for miles ahead of you. Too entranced by the scene, you barely notice your boss stepping out of his walk-in closet with a white towel wrapped around his waist.

“Good morning.” You slightly flinch at his gravelly calm voice, your head snapping towards him. Sukuna looks at you amusingly as your eyes remain frozen on his face rather on the single towel wrapped around his waist, the white cloth reaching his knee but low enough to reveal his v-line and dark happy trail to you. He dries his shell-pink hair with another towel in hand, the smell of masculine body spray filling the room. You clear your throat, giving him a curt nod. “Good morning, sir. I have your suit for tonight?”

Sukuna hums, pointing at the clothing hanger close to you. “You can leave it there.” He says, which you immediately do. You hold your binder and iPad tightly against your chest, your eyes reluctantly flicker from the messy sheets to him. Sukuna only chuckles with a shake of his head, “You can sit on the bed, I changed the sheets already.”

“Right..” You muttered, sitting on the edge of the bed with your back straight. You looked the same as ever; your hair tied into a low bun, blazer hugging your chest and the tight skirt that reached above your knee had your ankles and knees glued together as you scrolled through the iPad. Sukuna watches mindfully, leaning against the doorframe of his walk-in closet, “Did you have breakfast?”

You look up, your doe eyes fixed on him. “Pardon?

“Breakfast? Food? Have you had any?”

You pause for a second at the sudden question. Your face remains neutral, “Yes, sir.”

Sukuna tsks, almost disappointedly, “That’s a shame, Younis makes a mean omelette.” he refers to his chef.

“I..suppose I’ve missed a grand opportunity, no?” You respond almost hesitantly, your heeled feet flat on the ground. Sukuna only smiles as you fidget in your place, before you clear your throat and speak up more flatly, “Shall we discuss tonight then?”

Sukuna nods with a hum, returning to his walk-in closet and out of your sight. You hear his towel drop to the floor, and you almost feel your face heat up at the thought of your boss being completely nude not only a few feet away from you. “Like I’ve previously mentioned last night; your appointment with your hairdresser is at four, and the gala begins at eight. But your arrival should be around eleven. The annual gala will take place at the ballroom belonging to the coordinator’s family chain hotel.”

“Arriving fashionably late, I presume?” Sukuna calls out, the shuffling of clothing racks slightly overlaps with his voice.

“I believe it would be the best timing to avert the attention towards you.” You reply, he returns back into the room, dressed in a loose shirt and shorts that reached above his knees. “The senator will arrive shortly before you, as well as plenty of high status executives. It would be the perfect opportunity to make acquaintance of them.”

“Business, business, business.” Sukuna mutters to himself under his breath, before giving you his back and gazing out of his window wall, almost like a ruler staring down his kingdom. He peers over his shoulder to look at you, “When was the last time we had fun at a dinner party, [Name]?”

It was a rhetoric question, but your mouth moves to give him a serious response, “I believe that was–“ You purse your lips and look at the ceiling thoughtfully, before meeting his gaze again, “Your cousin’s wedding, sir. Although we had to leave early due to paparazzi crashing the location.”

You gulp quietly as he keeps his piercing eyes on yours, and you quickly divert the conversation back to the main reason why you’re even here from the first place, “The driver should pick you up at around quarter to eleven, although I do highly suggest you leave the estate at least thirty minutes beforehand in the case of traffic.”

“You planned this thoroughly, as expected of you, [Name].” Sukuna turns, talking small strides towards your seated figure. Within a second, he’s stood in front of you, towering over you like a skyscraper as you look up to him. He kisses his teeth, “You did, however, forget something..dear assistant.”

Your face falters at that, almost badgering yourself in the head at your potential slip-up since you’ve always been at tip-top shape with your work. “S-Sir?” you squeak out.

Sukuna smirks at your wavering voice, “Date, [Name]. I don’t have a date for tonight.”

“Oh.” You blink. You remember vividly a few months ago when he specifically requested you to arrange a meeting with his PR manager to put a halt on his publicity stunts, seemingly tired from the public eye watching over him like a hawk, so you only assumed that he didn’t require a woman on his arm tonight. You quickly scramble with the iPad, swiftly typing on the keyboard. “We can arrange a time with Yasmin? Or should I contact Naoko’s manager? You’ve had plenty of appearances with her befo–“

Sukuna dismisses with a sigh, and you gulp at his disapproval. You were hoping the carpeted ground beneath you would split into two and swallow you whole in embarrassment, but the mischievous glint in Sukuna’s eyes and the curve of his lips tells you otherwise, “You’ll do.”

Your eyes widen in surprise as you stammer, “M-Me?” Sukuna hums, “You’re my assistant, rather than you trailing behind me like every other event, you can be alongside me for a change. Two birds with one stone.” He explains flatly, before arching an eyebrow at your staggered facial expression, “Unless..you want to go against your boss’ orders?”

“N-No, sir.” You shake your head immediately, before standing up from the bed. You ignore the close proximity between you two as he observes you cautiously, “I shall meet you at the front of the gala then–“

“You’re my date. We’re not arriving separately.” He interrupts, “Tell the driver to pick you up before me. We’ll go together.” Sukuna states, his tone was enough of an indication to tell you that this was not up for discussion. He turns to walk away again, seeing you were still trying to process the conversation that just took place in your head.

“Oh and [Name]?” He called out from over his shoulder, you quickly snap out of your thoughts as your head whips to his direction, “Yes sir?”

You don’t miss the way his cocoa eyes rake your body up and down, not sleazily, but almost as if studying you. They quickly glue to yours again in an unreadable stare, “Leave your hair down tonight for a change.”

You've been on plenty of dates before, ones you wish you could permanently erase from your brain to spare what is left of your dignity. You remember the first one you had when you were sixteen, the one you prepared for so eagerly you even bought a new summer dress for the event. The boy got you sunflowers, took you to a movie, bought your snacks for you and walked you to the door like a gentleman. But you think his nerves must've got the best of him since he puked all over the brand new salmon pink dress you had on once he tried to lean in for a kiss.

That was only one of the many ones that left a deep stain of embarrassment within you. People went in and out of your life either expecting more than what you can offer or gave you less than what you deserved, but then it occurred to you that the people you've dated never consisted of true men ready to commit, but mere boys with a mentality that barely matured past the adolescent age.

Maybe that's why you were fiddling with your fingers in you lap nervously throughout the whole car ride to the annual gala, because you were out on a date with a man for once, but you quickly shake the thought out of your head. You are only his companion for the event, you tell yourself. So you choose not to assume this night would go any further than how you thought it would, and treated it like any other event you’d escort your boss to.

Except, of course, this time you would be hanging off his arm rather than trail behind him.

When you both pass by the hotel’s reception to enter the grand ballroom, Sukuna's hand remained on the small of your back, guiding you through the crowd that either greeted him respectfully or congratulated him for his previous win. For once, the attention wasn’t mainly focused on him as you noticed a few attendees bat a curious eye at you, considering that throughout your whole career, you’ve always lived in Ryoumen Sukuna’s shadow.

Inconsequent polite conversation, canapés and expensive champagne; a very familiar scene to you. Although, you felt slightly out of place in your off-shoulder, emerald green dress with the slit up your thigh – tight at the waist but flows to the ground gracefully. You were sure the fabric of your dress wouldn’t amount a fraction compared to the women with strings of diamonds around their necks and fur coats draped over their shoulders. Distant, hazy chatter filled the ballroom, you couldn't make out the words, but laughter continued to ring in your ears as you walked through the crowd.

“Sukuna, my boy!” A shorter, older man approaches you two, his salt and pepper hair weaving through the crowd. “Mr. Watanabe.” Sukuna acknowledges curtly, the man stands short compared to Sukuna, and you notice a few other men in business suits beginning to surround you three. “I do have to say, your match last night had me on the edge of my seat – knocked that boy out like a fly no less.” Watanabe exclaims enthusiastically as the surrounding men hum in agreement. Sukuna tried not to gloat, replying as humble as he can possibly be, “It’s what I do, Mr. Watanabe.”

“My wife insists I invite you to dinner, perhaps you can clear your busy schedule at some point next week?” Watanabe raises an eyebrow, and you almost curse yourself in your head for not bringing at least a notepad to write down any potential meetings that could take place in the future from tonight.

“I’ll see what I can do.” Sukuna only gives him a vague answer, but Watanabe keeps the tight smile itched on his face, the wrinkles curved around his mouth before his eyes drift to yours. He raises a bushy eyebrow, his eyes shamelessly raking your figure and leaving a shudder of disgust that runs up your spine. “And the lovely lady on your arm must be..?” he questions, his eyes remaining on you.

“[Name][Last name], my date for tonight.” Sukuna introduces. You give Watanabe a forced smile to cover your discomfort and bow out of respect, “It’s a pleasure to meet you, sir.”

“Aren’t you a lucky man.” Watanabe mutters with a sleazy smile, his eyes shift to Sukuna momentarily before looking at you again, “If you get bored from him, sweetheart, you’ll know where to find me. I’m sure my wife won’t mind.” He belts out an obnoxious laugh, the surrounding men joining him as you dig your nails into your purse. You feel Sukuna’s grip on your waist tighten, and you open your mouth to respond with a witty remark, but Sukuna beats you to the punch, “I’m sure she will mind – your fourth marriage isn’t it?”

Their laughter dies down almost instantly at Sukuna’s response, and you try to stiffle a laugh as Watanabe’s face swiftly falters, before letting out an awkward chuckle, “I see we have a comedian on our hands.”

Sukuna smirks, knowing he had the older man in an invisible chokehold, before clearing his throat and pulling you closer to his side. “We’ll be on our way then, I’m sure the beautiful lady would like a drink, no?” He turns to look at you, and you nod with a small smile, slightly relaxing in his hold at the idea of getting away from this conversation. “Yes, absolutely.”

Watanabe perks up, “Of course, don’t forget about dinn–“

Sukuna’s already guiding you away from the group, leaving Watanabe behind with his own devices. “I apologise for his behaviour.” Sukuna sighs out once you reach the bar. You purse your maroon painted lips, placing your purse on the refectory table, “I was perfectly capable of responding, but thank you.”

“I know.” Sukuna gives you a small smile before lifting his hand and waving to the bartender, who immediately recognises the tattooed face and attends to the both of you, “Two gin and tonic.” Sukuna orders, before the bartender disappears to prepare your drinks. He takes note of your arched eyebrow when he looks at you again, “You don’t like gin?”

“I like being sober.” You reply. You ignore the glint of amusement in his eyes, before continuing, “I should keep a mental note of your dinner with Mr. Watanabe, seeing I don’t have my tablet on me.”

“[Name]..” Sukuna chuckles at your calculative tone, “You do realise you can relax for the night, right?”

“Bu–“

He shakes his head at you, and you immediately stop talking once the next few words leave his mouth. “You’re here as my date, not my assistant.” You blink, swallowing hard before reluctantly nodding in defeat. The bartender places your drinks in front of you, and you only take a small sip before placing your glass back on the table. “You let your hair down tonight.” Sukuna notes, your eyes meet his dark chocolate ones, mouth going dry as he smiles at you. You found it difficult to find a response, so you opted to chuckling and looking down on your drink shyly, swirling the liquid around the glass.

A man in a dark suit and an earpiece approaches Sukuna, whispering something in his ear. Your boss (or rather date, really) nods at the man before his eyes meet yours, “The senator needs me for a private conversation. Will you be okay on your own for a while?” You give him an assuring soft smile, “Of course.”

Sukuna mirrors your expression, before grabbing his drink and straightening his back, he turns to walk away, before looking over his shoulder to call out for you again, “[Name]?” You peer up at him, seeing that all-too-familiar smirk on his face before he teasingly says, “Don’t run away.” You only give him one of the rare toothy grins his eyes managed to capture throughout the past two years, before nodding with a small laugh.

His coral pink hair disappears through the crowd, and you let out a heavy breath your lungs have been holding. You weren’t sure whether if it was the drink in your hand, or just Sukuna’s aura overall, but you began to find yourself relaxing at the bar, taking a few sips as your gaze examined the crowd carefully. You recognise some of Sukuna’s future opponents as they converse with other businessmen, and you were beginning to wonder what the senator could possibly want to talk to your boss about in private.

“I must say, green really is your colour.” A gruff voice speaks from behind you, you turn to face the stranger, your eyes blink in familiarity at the broad man in front of you, but you pretend to not recognise him when he approaches you to lean on the bar next to you, “And you are..?”

He arches an eyebrow, “You don’t know my name?”

“I don’t seem to recall it.” You lie, of course you knew his name. He was your boss’ nemesis and most anticipated opponent in the boxing industry, the all-too-familiar black mop of hair and scar on his lip wouldn’t go a miss by you.

“Fushiguro Toji, ring any bells?” He extends his calloused hand to you, he looks at you amusingly when your eyes flicker from his hand to his face momentarily, before hesitantly shaking his hand, “Maybe.”

“You’re here with Sukuna.” He points out, making you grip your glass tightly in your hand. “Are you his assistant? Or just one of the many women he fucks and disregards in the blink of an eye?” Toji continues, almost provokingly. You clench your jaw at his words, before scoffing and grabbing your purse from the table to walk away. His large hand wraps around your arm, stopping you in place. “Hey, hey, hey – look, I’m sorry.” Toji says insincerely, “I can be a bit too..reckless with my words at times. Forgive me.”

Your eyes flicker from the hand on your arm to his arrogant face with a raised eyebrow, making him slowly release his hold and retract his hand back to his side. You straighten your back, your lips pursed before you clear your throat to speak, “I work for Mr. Ryoumen, if that’s what you’re really asking.”

Toji nods slowly at your words, “He’s a good fighter, I give him that. Not as good as me though.” He stops to chuckle, a smirk planted on his face, “I was hoping I can buy him a drink tonight – chat a little. But I suppose you’re in luck since he’s not around.”

“Mr. Fushiguro,” You begin with an irritated sigh, “If you would like to discuss business I assure you there’s someone else more qualified for that.” Toji attempts to respond to you, but his eyes distractingly flicker from your face to elsewhere, his lips curved into a sinister smirk at the figure behind you, you whirl around to follow his gaze with pinched eyebrows, only for your eyes to widen at who it was.

“Sukuna.” Toji acknowledges, almost mockingly.

“Toji.” The way his name rolled off your boss’ tongue was similar to the venom of a snake; disgusting and poisonous. You felt slightly uncomfortable being wedged between the two men that stared down at each other, licking your painted lips before you take another sip of your drink. “Your assistant, I presume?” Toji asks. Both you and Sukuna answer simultaneously, your voices overlapping.

“Yes–“

“My date, actually.” Sukuna replied coldly, taking a step forward to stand by your side, his hand finds its way to the small of your back, ignoring the way you stiffened at his sudden touch. “That’s not what I heard from her.” Toji points out, Sukuna raises a challenging eyebrow at the raven haired man. “I watched your fight last night, it was a pretty close tie.” Toji confesses, straightening up before taking a step closer towards Sukuna, “But man you’re looking rough, it’s what you get for going against Vladimir, eh?”

“I won, didn’t I?” Sukuna clenches his jaw, your eyes worryingly travel to the balled fist at his side. To the rest of the crowd, they seemed like two men having a casual conversation, but with you dislodged in the middle of this, you can only hope things don’t escalate further out of your control. “And I’ll keep winning, slowly but surely, until it’s me against you.”

“Hey, miss assistant..” Toji calls as he smiles smugly, his eyes remain focused on Sukuna, “You might want to put your boyfriend on a leash, I think he’s getting a bit too ahead of himself.”

“Don’t talk to her.” Sukuna snaps, talking another step towards Toji before you quickly clutch at his arm. Sukuna looks down to you, his eyes softening just a little bit at the disturbed look you give him. “Ohh..” Toji echoes with a laugh, his emeralds flickering between you two, “So it’s like that?”

“What the fuc–“

“That’s enough, gentlemen.” You interrupt, growing rather tired of their confrontation. “Mr. Fushiguro, I assume you have a speech to give in an hour or so, shouldn’t you be prepping for that? Given your current status as heavyweight champion.”

Toji purses his lip as he looks at you with his forest green eyes, before kissing his teeth, “You’re right, giving speeches at annual galas is just one of the many responsibilities that comes with the title,” His eyes snap back to Sukuna, who only burns glares into Toji’s face with flames of hatred and disgust. “Ones that not just anyone can bear.” he continues arrogantly. Toji straightens his jacket, before giving you both a curt nod, “Enjoy your evening, Sukuna.” his eyes shift to you, dropping a wink before walking away, his shoulder brushes against the man that restrained himself from doing the unthinkable.

“Are you..okay?” You ask quietly once you both seat yourselves on the bar stools, you place your hand on his shoulder in comfort. Sukuna shakes his head, eyes gazing forwards and his knee bouncing in irritation. “I can’t wait to put my hands on him in the ring.” He mutters, his knee suddenly halts when you move your hand there, giving him a small squeeze, he delicately looks at you, “I suppose you can use tonight as motivation to train harder. You only have a few matches left before the semi finals.” You point out, Sukuna’s face softens at your words.

“He didn’t..say anything to you, did he?” He asks concernedly. You choose to lie, not wanting to add more fuel to the fire as you give him a reassuring smile, “No.”

Sukuna seemed more at ease with your response, his tensed shoulders relaxing. You realise your hand is still on his knee, before quickly retracting it back to your side to not give him the wrong idea, unbeknownst to you, your touch didn’t go unnoticed by him. The background music in the ballroom shifts to a slower tune, and you watch the crowd move to the sidelines to allow couples to dance comfortably in the open space, Sukuna takes note of your trance, and an idea springs to mind.

“Dance with me.”

Your eyes widen at his words, and you quickly shake your head, “I don’t think that would be appropriate.”

“[Name],” Sukuna warns playfully, standing up from the stool and offering his hand to you,“Dance with me or you’re fired.”

You gulp, reluctantly staring at the his hand. The same hand that forms an iron grip and strikes bolts of thunder on his opponents, suddenly seemed soft and tender to you as he offers you to dance with him. You reluctantly take Sukuna’s hand, adjusting your makeshift purse to swing it over your shoulder. He’s pleased with your response, a small smile gracing his usually hardened face as he guides you to the middle of the dance floor.

His left hand moves to rest on on your lower back, the other clasping your hand. You slowly place your hand on his left shoulder, giving it a nervous squeeze as you feel hundreds of eyes burn holes through the both of you. “I haven’t told you that you looked beautiful tonight.” He mutters as he studies your face, your feet moving in sync. Your face heats up, shyly looking away, “Thank you, sir.”

“Although I do love it when you address me like that–“ You hear him say, you heart thumbing in your chest at his comment. “I much rather prefer to hear my name for once.”

You look back at him, unsure what to say as you let out a quiet “Oh..”, Sukuna seemed amused by your lack of words, your once monotone and flat voice had suddenly shifted into one as soft as rose petals, and he can’t say that he doesn’t like it. “Suukuunaa,” he drags his name out playfully, “You can say it.”

You purse your lips to stall out a laugh, before squeaking out his name, “Sukuna.” He gives you a triumphant smile, rewardingly patting your lower back, “‘Atta girl.”

You squeeze the hand on his shoulder again at his praise, the small gesture has you stiffening as you blink up to him, your mouth slightly parted. Sukuna observes your sudden change in demeanour, “You’re tensed.” he notes.

“I am dancing with my boss.”

“Your date, you mean.” He corrects. You only sigh out, shaking your head to yourself before peering up at him through your eyelashes, “Why did you ask me to come with you?”

“Why not?”

“Mr. Ryoum–“ You pause to correct yourself under his gaze, “Sukuna, there are plenty of other woman who are more than willing to–“

“Aren’t you?” His eyebrows pinch in, you don’t notice that throughout your dance you’ve both closed the proximity between you two, because you feel his clothed chest press against yours and his breath fans your face, the smell of gin from earlier wafting into your nose. “I would like to get to know you – just like how any man would like to get to know a pretty woman such as yourself.” He adds.

The compliment doesn’t fly over your head, and you were beginning to lose count on the amount of times he had your cheeks heated up tonight. “I assumed you know more than enough considering I’ve been working for you for two years.” You reply.

“Barely, [Name]. Barely.” Sukuna shakes his head with a small chuckle, his soft chestnut eyes draws you in closer, “I’m not interested in your ability to pick up my suits or schedule meetings.”

“I do more than that thank you very mu–“

“I’m interested in who you really are. Tell me about yourself.” Sukuna discloses, and your throat turns chalky at his next words, “Preferably over a second drink?”

You gulp, licking your lips. Sukuna’s eyes flicker momentarily to the maroon colour outlining your Cupid’s bow, before quickly averting them back to your eyes. “Well..I’m not sure where to start.” You begin, before quickly adding, “And I’m only on one drink tonight.” Sukuna lets out a small laugh at your awkwardness, “Have you ever had a conversation with a man that doesn’t involve managing my career, [Name]?”

“I have very little time to spare, sir.”

He lets the honorific fly over his head, “But you will for me, right?”

His hopeful tone caused your movements to halt. Your hand drops from his shoulder, and you don’t miss the way his face falters as you quickly build your guard up again. “I think..” You trail off, taking a small step away from him as his hand drops from your lower back. “I should go home now.” You turn to walk away, your heels clacking against the ceramic floor urgently. You couldn’t blame the alcohol anymore, your behaviour with him was more than just unprofessional, and you were sure it was apparent to the watchful eyes that remained fixed on you both when you danced together.

You reach the reception of the hotel by the time you feel his hand wrap around your wrist, his hot palm sending chills down your spine as it contrasted with your cold skin. You turn to look at him, seeing a slightly pained expression on his tattooed face, “[Name]..” He breathes, “Why won’t you talk to me?”

Your mouth parts, small breaths escaping, “I think we’ve both crossed the line of professionalism between an employer and employee.”

“I didn’t mean to be too forward.” Sukuna shakes his head, “I still insist on knowing you, but only if you let me.” His soft eyes bore into yours, and your knees slightly weaken when he speaks again, “Will you let me, [Name]?”

Why would you say no? How can you say no to him?

Sukuna watches you carefully when you straighten your back, bringing your purse to your front and clasping it with both hands, “I’ll take you up on that second drink,” You say. His face lightens up, but you continue, “As long as it’s somewhere more quiet.”

You definitely couldn’t blame the alcohol anymore.

If anyone had told you that you would be seated on the couch of a luxurious hotel room with your boss, with clear intentions of where this was going to lead, you wouldn’t have believed them for a second.

Yet here you are, watching him prepare two drinks from the mini bar, his blazer abandoned and draped over the couch next to you – the same blazer you tried so desperately not to crease when you carried it into his estate this morning, but Sukuna seemed unbothered when he flung it on the couch carelessly. He walks towards you with two drinks in his hands, his black sleeves rolled up and the first few buttons of his collar left open, revealing a glimpse of the black ink littered across his chest.

Your heels were long abandoned near the door, feeling your feet burn from standing for such long hours, you forgot the pain surging through the sole of your feet when Sukuna seats himself incredibly close to you, before handing you your glass, your fingers brushing at the contact. You sniff your drink before taking a sip, your tastebuds soaking in the alcohol, “A martini?”

“You never said you didn’t like gin.” Sukuna replies cheekily, making you chuckle as you take another sip.

“How come you chose boxing?” You find yourself asking, Sukuna’s eyebrows shot up at your sudden question, not expecting you to share a mutual interest in him. “Do you want the truth or the bullshit answer I give in my interviews?”

“The truth, if you don’t mind.”

Sukuna exhales quietly, turning on his side to face you on the couch, “My old man..wasn’t exactly a patient man, let alone a sober one.” Your hand grips your martini tightly, “So I started learning how to defend myself. He kicked me out because of that, and I was homeless for about a month or so before I was scouted by this guy that ran a boxing club.” Sukuna explains flatly as you slowly digest his words, “Showed me the ropes, said that I had an ‘innate talent’, and here I am.” He finishes.

You swallow hard at his story, muttering lowly, “I’m sorry.” Sukuna dismisses your apology with his hand, “Don’t be. It was a long time ago.” He chuckles, taking a sip of his drink before his cocoa eyes pierce yours amusingly, “What about you? Why the assistant of a professional boxer?”

“And instead be the assistant of a self-absorbed CEO that can’t be bothered to get his own soy latte?” You snort, Sukuna gives you a toothy grin, watching you place you drink next to his on the coffee table. “I lived in a small town with my godmother who was..protective per say.” You start, “Ironically enough, she ran a small boxing club too – but it was passed down to her by her late husband.” Sukuna watches you carefully as you speak, “She knew I wanted to venture out into the city one day, so she taught me how to defend myself to be safe.” You breathe out, looking down as you fiddle with your fingers on your lap, “It’s funny..to think that would be enough.” you mutter.

“You don’t believe you feel safe as long as you know how to defend yourself?”

“Do you?” You ask back as you look at him, seeing him curiously gaze at you. “I doubt anyone would want to test that given what I do for a living.” Sukuna chuckles.

“But even if you weren’t a boxer, it’s still easy for you to say – you’re a man.” You point out, “When you’re a woman, you can go beyond the imaginary to protect yourself, but nothing ever seems enough.”

“How so?”

You gulp quietly, “Because we’re born into a world where we’re picked on as prey. We’re only treated as incubators to bear another generation of men who’ll just continue the cycle of abuse.” You explain, your eyes bore into his, almost sadly as you finish off, “The world will never be safe for a woman, not as long as it’s led by a man.” You take note of his lack of speech, your cheeks heating up as he looks at you with an unreadable expression, “I’m sorry. I was rambling, wasn’t I?”

“No..not at all.” Sukuna disagrees with a shake of his head, “You gave me a new perspective that I didn’t consider before. You’re smarter than I gave you credit for, [Name].”

“Smarter than collecting suits and scheduling meetings?” The corner of your lips curve into a playful smirk, Sukuna mirrors your expression, murmuring “cheeky” under his breath before side eyeing you while taking a sip of his drink. “Are you gonna show me?” He asks when he places his drink back. You hum quizzically, before he elaborates further, “Your self-defence techniques?”

You tsk, “In this dress? Dream on.”

“I’ll buy you a new one.”

“It cost me a pay check.”

“I’ll give you a bonus.” Sukuna deadpans immediately, not a drop of hesitation evident in his tone. You roll your eyes, standing up from your seat in defeat as he follows suit, “Hit me.” You bluntly say, almost stalling a laugh at the surprised look on his face, “Wait, that’s not what I mea–“

“It’s fine, Sukuna. It’ll be okay.” You smile. Sukuna swallows before hesitantly lifting his hand in a fist, he doesn’t swing too hard, but fast enough to try and catch you off-guard. You take a step back with one foot, your shoulder leaning back as you grip his wrist instantly and twist his arm. Sukuna smirks, “Not bad. Basic, but not bad.”

You snort, “Sorry not all of us down protein shakes and carry the title of a professional boxer.” Sukuna belts out a small chuckle at your comment, before cocking his head to the side to stare at you momentarily, his other hand suddenly grips your wrist and pulls you to his chest like a feather, before twirling you around. Your dress twists with you when your back meets his hard chest, his arm coming over to form a chokehold around your neck, but not actually forcing a hold on you. Your hands immediately grab the arm at your neck, he takes in the scent of your hair, before his lips brush against your ear, “What about now? How would you get out of this grip?” He whispers.

You breath hitches in your throat when his other hand trails up your hip, your breath shaky. “I would..uhh,” you stammer, but Sukuna only hums questioningly, his finger trailing up and down your hip, you crack your neck to the side and peer up at him through your eyelashes, seeing his orbs were already focused on yours. His face was incredibly close to you, your ass pressed completely against his crotch. When your eyes flicker to his pink lips momentarily, Sukuna immediately indulges into your lips, greedily kissing and licking into your mouth.

With your eyes fluttered shut and your lips moving simultaneously with his, you turn to face him in his hold. Your hands wrap around his neck, mushing your lips harder – closer. His hands find their way around your body, one wrapped around your waist and the other snakes up your back and to the nape of your neck, the heavy breaths from his nose causes the skin of your face to tingle. When he eagerly slips his hot tongue into your mouth, you slightly whimper against his lips, pulling away just an inch to catch your breath.

“Shh..c’mere, c’mere, c’mere.” Sukuna whispers, your noses still brushing, his hands come up to cradle your face. “Don’t run away from me.” He murmurs, pecking your lips a few times before fully losing himself into the kiss, his tongue back into your mouth as the the sounds of lips smacking resume. You push your chest against his, closing the distance as your tongues dance in each other’s maws. You cradle his face in your small hands, but he winces against your lips when you accidentally brush against a healing scratch on his cheekbone from his fight last night. “Sorry..” you giggle quietly against his mouth, Sukuna only smiles into your mouth tenderly before diving in for another kiss.

His hand creeps up behind your back again, reaching the zipper of your dress and slowly pulling it down. Your off-shoulder sleeves drop to your elbows, feeling the tight fabric around your waist loosen up. Sukuna pulls away from your lips with a small gasp, watching the way your dress pooled to your feet and revealing the swell of your naked breasts that morphed into your stomach, your panties being the only clothing item left.

“So, so pretty.” He tells to himself, your face heats up at his words, before he ducks down to peck your lips a few time. “My pretty girl.” He murmurs against your lips, moving down to your neck and prepping butterfly kisses to your skin. You sigh out in content, before your hands reach down to unbuckle his belt, eagerly removing it from his trousers as he gave your earlobe a small tug with his teeth. “I want you.” He confesses with a heavy breath when he pulls away from your neck, his eyes bore into yours rather than your naked chest. “Do you want me?” he asks.

You blink, swallowing hard. Your head was spinning and your heart was pounding in your chest – unsure whether if it was the alcohol, or Sukuna’s kisses or the smell of his Tom Ford cologne that invaded your nostrils or just him in general. You can only nod eagerly, before pulling him from his collar into another feverish kiss.

2:20 AM

You never got to appreciate the city skyline at night. To be fair, your one bedroom apartment in a relatively cheap neighbourhood only provided a view that consisted of rooftops belonging to the surrounding buildings and the neon sign of the corner shop you often bought your late night snacks from.

And you found it really hard to appreciate it now when there’s someone pounding into you from behind.

Your palms are placed flat on the window wall, the quick pants that escape your lips form a mist on the glass, your breasts pressed against it. Sukuna’s hands grip your waist tightly from behind, his eyes focusing on the way your waist curves into your round ass, your cheeks jiggling with every thrust. “I wanted this for so long.” He groans out, burying his face into your neck as he takes in the scent of your hair. The front of his thighs slam against the back of yours as he penetrates his cock in and out of you rapidly. You only manage to whimper in response, letting out a particularly loud moan when the head of his cock kisses your sweet spot.

You see his reflection from the window as he screws his eyes shut, grunting into your ear as his breath fans your neck, his shell-pink hair tickling your skin. “Always wearing that fucking skirt around me,” He hisses into your ear, your arm abruptly stretches behind you to reach the hand gripping your waist when he plunges into you harder. “Only to leave me rock hard – all alone in my room while I fist my cock to the thought of this.” He grits his teeth, his fingers digging into your bone.

“S-Sukuna..” You mewl, throwing your head back onto his shoulder. He straightens your back, pulling you off the window as his calloused hands move from your waist to sneak under your armpits and grip your breasts, kneading the flesh and squeezing your nipples between his fingertips. “You look so sexy right now, god.” He expresses with desire, his chocolate brown eyes bore into yours through the reflection of the window as he slows down his thrusts, making you whine in response as you began to grind your hips back for more. “Harder–“ you moan desperately, “Stop teasing and fuck me harder.”

Sukuna curses in your ear, bending you again and pulling your ass close to him with his hands gripping the sides of your hips. Your right cheek squishes against the glass this time, a drop of your saliva trickles down onto your chin as your hands place themselves against the window for leverage, Sukuna plants his feet on the small step in front of the window, before withdrawing his cock all the way to the tip and slamming his whole length back into you. Your warm, gummy walls hug his thick cock graciously, his thrusts rapid and hard – not leaving a spot inside of you untouched.

“Tell me how I feel, baby.” You hear Sukuna pant out. Your breath catches in your throat as you attempt to speak, gasping before you manage to utter out, “Good, so good, Sukuna. Please don’t stop.” Your begging has him gripping your hips tightly, knuckles flushed white as you clench around him.

“I’m close,” You whimper, making Sukuna bend over to your ear, his hard chest against your back as he rams into you. “Yeah? You wanna cum?” He pants, you only nod in response as you screw your eyes shut. You gasp in shock once his hand reaches down your navel and to your clit, his two digits rubbing circles on your sensitive clitoris and edging you to your orgasm, “M’gonna–“ you could barely finish your sentence before the feeling of pleasure washed over your shaking body. Your eyes snap open with a high pitched moan, the first thing you see are the small specks of white stars littering the night sky, ironically resembling the sensation between your legs as you come undone around him.

You’re starting to like watching the city skyline a lot more than you think you do.

3:16AM

The maroon lipstick that you had applied with precision hours ago for the evening had faded away with time; since you find yourself in between Sukuna’s legs with your knees flat on the carpet, your lips stretching around his veiny girth.

Sukuna brushes a strand of hair behind your ear, his lips forming a small gap with his cock in your mouth. He’s seated at the foot of the bed, his free hand gripping the white sheets into his fist as your doe eyes peer up at him through your lashes, a shuddered breath leaves his pink lips once you flatten your tongue against the underside of his cock and began to bob your head slowly. “Shit..” Sukuna mutters, throwing his head back and fluttering his eyes closed, you pull your lips away to the tip of his cock to give his head a hard suck, flicking your tongue against his frenulum before taking him into your mouth again.

Your nose uncomfortably brushes against his pubic hair once you reach his pelvis, your hand fondling with his gonads. Your jaw begins to ache from having his cock in your mouth for so long, making you pull away with a small gasp to catch your breath. A thick string of both your saliva and his cum stays connected between your lips and the tip of his cock, before it snaps and lands on your chin, the fluid trickling down to the valley of your breasts. His cock glistens with your spit, and you find yourself too entranced by his girth that you snap out of it when he taps the head of his cock against the side of your cheek, staining your skin with his precum as he urges you to open your mouth.

You eagerly obey his unspoken command, sticking your tongue out as you take him whole again, swirling your tongue as you drool all over his cock. Sukuna’s thumb brushes over your cheekbone as you look up to him again, breath hitching in his throat as you begin to move your head up and down his cock, your cheeks hollowing as you increase your pace. The sounds of you gargling around him fill the room, making your rub your thighs together. The inside of your mouth feels warm around him, and Sukuna gives you a throaty moan and suddenly jerks into your mouth when you swallow in his cock, your throat muscles constricting around his length. The lack of air in your larynx and the sudden contact with your vulva causes you to gag around him.

Sukuna suddenly pulls you off his dick, his hands reaching underneath your armpits before pulling you into his lap. His wet cock rubs in between your asscheeks as you situate yourself on him, leaving sticky stains of your own spit across the area. Sukuna’s lips meet yours in a messy kiss, his tongue tangling with yours as he tastes himself. His hand places itself on your hip while the other lines his cock with your entrance, he nudges your pussy lips with the tip, before fully inserting himself into your warm walls.

You moan into his open mouth as your cunt swallows him whole, your walls stretching with his thick girth. Throwing your head back with an unruly whine, you place your hands on his shoulders for leverage. Sukuna’s rough hands move to the sides of your hips before gruffly speaking, “Ride my cock, baby”

You look back at him with creased eyebrows and an open mouth, your knees brushing against the sheets as you sit on his cock fully – feeling it nudge your cervix. You began to swirl your hips against his, drawing slow digits of eights with your pelvis and eliciting a hefty grunt from him with your movements. “That’s it, there’s a good girl.” Sukuna praises, that seemed to ignite something within you, because you take his encouragement to heart and began to dip on his cock vigorously. He watches your breasts bounce as you move up and down his cock with high pitched moans, your nipples hardening and begging to be played with.

Your pace slowly begins to falter tiredly after a few minutes or so, but Sukuna only praises you further, “So sweet for me, making me feel so good.” He murmurs, before hissing through clenched teeth once you dig your nails into the flesh of his shoulders – ones decorated with circled ink. You whine once you meet his gaze, lips slightly trembling as your eyes began to water. Sukuna seemed to get the hint, because his hands move to grip the flesh of your ass and he pushes you closer to his chest, his mouth wrapping your nipple as you arch your back, eyes widening into the ceiling as he rolls your hips against his – his hands on your ass.

His tongue laps over your nipple, his teeth tugging at your bud before unlatching his mouth from your chest and leaving a pool of his saliva behind. He slowly lays down on the mattress with you on top, pushing the both of you further up the bed until his feet are planted on the mattress. Sukuna begins to thrust from below you, his knees bent and your hand planted on either side of his head, your breaths mingling as your noses brush. “Wanna cum again?” Sukuna pants, his hands on your hips as he fucks into you. You can only beg at this point – beg for the release that only the man underneath you can give, “Please, please, please.”

Your own cum trickles down your thigh as you cum on his cock, letting out a mixture of what seemed to be a whine and a moan once you reach your high. Your poor hands that attempted so desperately to keep holding you up eventually give out as you bury your face into Sukuna’s neck, his thrusts slowing, but not stopping, his hand brushes the back of your skull, kissing the shell of your ear.

You can only take so much in one night, and your eyes slowly began to surrender into a deep slumber, but Sukuna has a different plan in mind.

3:57 AM

“Oh my god—!” You cried out, your hands gripping the headboard so tightly you were sure the mahogany wood would snap into half in your hand. Your mouth wide open to release large exhales and small moans as Sukuna licks into your cunt, your thighs on either side of his head while his hands wrap around the front of your thighs to push you closer against his face.

You look down to see his eyes fluttered shut as he eats you up, you can only moan and wither above him once he inserts his tongue into your hole, flicking your insides before pulling it out and dropping his tongue over his chin – wide and flat as he laps your juices up. He pauses at your clit, before wrapping his lips around it and performing a hard suction, the swirling of his tongue merciless. Your legs begin to shake around him, your clitoris overly sensitive from his constant assault. “Cum on my tongue,” Sukuna murmurs against your sex before kissing your inner thigh. You suddenly gasp when his teeth sinks into the flesh of your inner thigh to give rise to a small love bite. “Wanna taste you, baby.”

“Sukuna,” You whine, “I-I cant..” he doesn’t listen, only smacking down your asscheek – almost as if telling you it wasn’t up for discussion. His mouth resumes and the trill of his tongue against your clit only pushed you into a state of overwhelming pleasure that had your voice quivering, eliciting broken moans and whines from your swollen lips. You reach down to tug at the roots of his hair pleadingly, but Sukuna insists on making you cum on his tongue since his movements don’t falter for a second

You try your hardest not to clench around him as you straddle his neck, opting to roll your hips against his hot mouth. Your abdomen clenches as he continues to suck on your clit, your eyes widening as your third orgasm of the night washes over you, your cum trickling down his chin filthily. Your mouth is wide open, but nothing comes out as your breath catches in your throat.

4:23

You assumed your body would betray you at some point throughout – given you could barely feel your limbs and your throat was dry from all the noises you made. But there was something about Sukuna’s touch that only edged you on further – for every orgasm he gave you only left you yearning for more. Your lips wanted to say no, but the way your body reacted to him was completely contradictory.

This time, you were both laid on your sides on the bed, your back pressed against his chest, his face buried into your neck again. His large hand is wrapped around the inside of your knee, lifting your leg into the air as he pounded into you from behind, his thrusts unrelenting and his balls slapping against your skin. Your eyes were closed and your teeth sunk into your bottom lip as you tried to suppress a moan – for you were too tired to even utter a sound. “No, no, no, baby.” You hear Sukuna mutter from behind you, his hand brushes your hair behind your ear, prepping kisses onto your cheek, “Lemme hear you, wanna hear how you feel.”

“Baby,” You give in with a pant, “You feel so good.” You don’t realise how pornographic this felt until his hand nearly slips from your leg due to the amount of sweat that covered your bodies and made the sheets stick to you unpleasantly. But your mind barely pays attention to it due to the way it was clouded with endorphins from his thrusts. “Say you’re mine.” Sukuna grunts between shallow breaths, your skin slapping every time his cock slipped in and out of you rapidly.

“Yours, Sukuna. All yours.” You mewl, the hair on the nape of your neck stuck to your skin with sweat as Sukuna pants into your ear, his jagged breaths has your heart accelerating in your ribcage, more so when he licks a strip of your neck up to the shell of your ear from behind. He tilts your face from behind with his other hand, squishing your cheeks before his tongue glides into your mouth. You feel your leg strain uncomfortably with time, and you pleadingly grab his wrist. “Turn me over please, I wanna see you.” you breath out against his lips.

Sukuna halts his movements, dropping your leg onto the mattress before gripping your waist and flipping you to face him. His hand rests on the pillow underneath the side of your neck, while the other pulls you in closer, your breasts squished against his hard chest. You use the few seconds you have left before he resumes to his previous thrusts to catch your breath, taking the liberty to swing your leg over his waist for more access while he readjusts your positions.

You take the time to study him up close, beads of sweat littering his forehead, the tattoos that painted his face further emphasised his masculine features. Your eyes drift to the thick black lines that cross over his shoulders and near his pecks, another pair forming two strokes close to his v-line with his bellybutton in between. And then you see it – the scars inflicted from either excessive training, or perhaps from the long term abuse he had suffered at the hands of a man that wasn’t deserving of the title ‘father’. Your hand reaches to trace the marks, but Sukuna quickly grabs your wrist before you could touch him.

His cock distracts you from your current thoughts, eliciting a shocked moan from you as he begins to penetrate you harder and faster, your walls stretching and accommodating his girth – almost as if they were familiar with his length and thickness. His hand is on the leg you swung over him, his thumb brushing against the skin of your outer thigh. Your bottom lip trembles at the overstimulation, eyes watering with salty tears that threatened to spill. Your hand moves to his cheek, your eyebrows creased in pleasure as the sounds of you squelching around him drown out your cries. Sukuna presses his lips against yours in a desperate kiss, tongues messily thrashing as they fail to meet the pace of his rapid thrusts.

“Can you give me one more, baby? Can you do that for me?” He rasps in short breaths, lips brushing against yours. You only cry against his mouth, closing your eyes and trying to bury it into the pillow to muffle your sounds. “Look at me, [Name]. Look at me while I make you cum.” Sukuna croaks out, almost pleadingly, his hand comes to your cheek as you face him again, and even though your vision was cloudy with the tears that continuously streamed down your cheeks, you can still see his eyes burn with flames of lust and want.

Your jaw is slacked open and your throat muscles burn when you cry out his name like a mantra, a familiar coil swirls and tightens in your abdomen as he plunges you with his cock. “Just like that,” He urges, watching your fluids spill all over his cock and trickle to the sheets, your arousal soaked up by the fabric, “All over me.”

Sukuna continues with his thrusts, chasing his long awaited release as he pecks your lips repeatedly. “Wanna cum inside you, wanna fill this pretty cunt with my cum.” He murmurs urgently, you only loll your head and mumble unintelligibly, your body betraying you but igniting with fire one last time when you feel hot ropes of his own cum spill into you. He grunts and moans beautifully into your ear, your eyes half lidded as his thrusts slow down. He kisses you tenderly all over your face, and you can only mewl to let him know you were still there and not fucked into oblivion.

Sukuna flips on his back, pulling you with him. You instantly wrap your arm around him, cheek resting against his chest. Your ear perks up when you hear his rapid heartbeat, but can only whimper quietly once a burning sensation blooms across your legs. Sukuna continues pressing kisses onto your head, his arm wrapped around your frame. He mutters that he needs to clean you up, but you can only hum absentmindedly as you close your eyes and allow the darkness to engulf you.

5:58 AM

You don’t know how long you’ve been asleep, but you assume that it can’t be that long because when you open your eyes, you still find yourself in Sukuna’s arms. The window wall across the bed showed the navy blue sky no longer littered with stars, and you can only assume it was not too far off from sunrise. The insides of your thighs aren’t as sticky and the sheets beneath you felt new, you don’t question how you woke up in a cleaner state, because the thought diminishes when you feel his fingers trail up and down your spine, which tells you he’s also awake. You press a small kiss to his chest to let him know you were too, and Sukuna slightly stiffens at your sudden gesture, but relaxes almost immediately.

“I don’t see it.” You speak up quietly after a few moments of silence. You turn your face to look at him with your chin resting on his chest. He only hums quizzically, his other hand behind his head and his rosy hair slightly matted against his forehead, his cocoa eyes tender and loving when he looks at you. “The scars..I don’t see it.” You elaborate. Sukuna’s heart drops into his stomach, gulping when your mouth curves around the next three words. “I see you.”

His life has been tainted with blood, fractured bones and the flashing of cameras. But with you in his arms, he felt a sense of purity – serenity, as if he was cleansed by the very deep stains marked within his mind and soul. And although the scars remain visible on his skin, the ones carved in his heart have healed long before when his eyes met yours for the first time.

And so you both watch the sun bloom on the horizon, the clouds diffusing the light rays into gentle sweetness. The iris of the flame burns the beautiful blue of the sky; introducing an invitation to a new day.

A new day – with healed scars and hearts no longer tainted by the cruel world that clawed its way into two, intertwined souls.

© 2021 cxmplexity – all rights reserved. Do not modify, plagiarise, translate or recommend my work anywhere – that includes TikTok and any other social media platform, I do not wish to have audiences below the age of 18 to come across my work.

[katsukisbimbo]

neighbour neighbour (m)

✯pairing: ryōmen sukuna x reader

✯synopsis: in which y/n’s neighbours ask her to take care of their son itadori yuuji, only for her to end up taking care of both of their children. (alt) in which sukuna corrupts his little brothers babysitter.

✯wordcount: 13k

✯warning: daddy kink, somnophilia, coercion, angst, toxic! gojo, toxic relationship, dubcon, spit (obviously), corruption, voice kink, cumdumping, sub/dom themes, bad boy! sukuna, toddler! yuuji, unprotected sex, cream pie, breeding kink, domestic! sukuna, etc

✯note: so...this is take two because i accidentally posted this like a dummy but i hope you enjoy it!! shoutout to my baby nova for beta reading this monster! @crybabygumi WOOO birthday fic!!

✯taglist: @the-fandoms-georgie @tendouispretty @fishandfuck @kakashisthickthighs @cutiekawa @tamasoft @nakachuchu @bonitoge @crybabygumi @oikai @kaachanultra @imkumichan@lovedenji @nbizuku @lazy10ieiri @fucktheworlddude@justangelstuff @fizassyeda @milktyama @chercouture @celestialmangos @misfitgirlwrites @dildofromyarichinbtchclub @sxshamv @honouredsatoru @levisnackermans @singular-itae @damnitcrowley @lildjarin @tamakisan @ijustwantfreenetflix @misslovingpearl @90s-belladonna@eternal-0ve @quirklessvillain @madarasbde @bruceweewee @marifujioka @crybabygumi @yoongi309 @ryoskuna

You weren’t sure if you wanted to suffocate yourself or the person beside you. Internally groaning as you feel his grip on your waist tighten, his forearm flexing in the sunlight seeping into his room. You lightly gripped his arm, biting your lip anxiously as he groans unintelligibly, wrapping his arm even tighter around your waist, burrowing his chin further into your neck, the sensation almost making you giggle. You furrow your brows, trying once more to pry this gorilla of a man off of you so you could go home and wash up.

“Where’re you goin’?” He mumbles into the expanse of your neck, his morning voice running chills up your spine, an unmistakable throb going straight between your thighs. It was only six, meaning that you had an hour to run across the street, shower, change, and come back before their parents left for work. You suppress the mewl that almost escapes your lips, already feeling as if you were a bitch in heat just from the sound of Sukuna’s voice.

“I-I need to go home and change…” You mumbled, slightly intimidated by his piercing gaze, his eyes barely open, squinting as the sunlight filtered into his dark room.

“Why don’t you just stay here and wear my clothes? It’s not like my mom doesn’t want you as my girlfriend already,” He smirks, placing his chin onto the palm of his hand as the arm he had around you trail up to your breasts, giving it an experimental squeeze, earning a startled yelp from your lips.

“I-I gotta go walk my hamster, sorry,” You mumble, jumping out of his arms, picking up your discarded pants, inevitably flashing him your pink, frilly panties. A whistle resounding in the room as your-- well, technically his shirt rode up, exposing the expanse of your ass, along with your cunt, covered by the thin piece of fabric, your folds barely visible but more than enough for Sukuna to salivate over.

“You sure you don’t want me to drizzle some syrup with those pancakes?” He cackles loudly as you hightail it out of there, your cheeks heating up at his shameless flirting.

You really need to stop doing other's favours.

___

“Darling, please! They need you to watch Yuuji! Please do your poor mother a favour!” Your mother pleads, grasping at the sleeves of your sweater causing you to huff, your cheeks puffing out. She smirks slightly before quickly pouting, she knew that she had you. You wouldn’t be able to resist her.

“How much are they paying? Also, how are you calling this person your best friend when I’ve never met them before?”

“You don’t know all my friends! I have plenty!” She pouts, crossing her arms over her chest before continuing. “They said they’ll pay you 15 an hour, but you’ll have to cook for him.”

You purse your lips. Honestly, it wasn’t bad.

“Fine.”

___

You were nervous, constantly fidgeting as you made your way down the stairs, opening the door to see their house directly across yours. You’d never noticed your neighbours, you never paid much attention to your surroundings, always minding your own business, only going to school, the store, and home.

You cross the street and sigh, most are cars still parked in their respective driveways. Ringing the doorbell before standing back. Not a minute later, you hear the small pitter-patter of feet and giggling running towards the door, the door slamming open to reveal a small strawberry-haired toddler grinning up at you, making grabby hands while yelling ‘Up! Up! Up!’. Happily to obliging his wishes.

Picking him up and holding him at your hip, his chunky little hands reaching out to lay a palm flat against your cheek, his brows furrowed in concentration as you respectfully toed off your shoes and made your way towards him mom.

“I see that he’s already taken a liking to you. Yuuji? Could you please let go of our guest?” She hums in amusement, eyes crinkling at the sight of Yuuji so enamoured with you already. You couldn’t help but laugh, cheeks warming at the sight of the young boy.

“I can’t! I have to make sure she’s real!” he pouts before continuing. “She looks too pretty to be real, mommy!” He exclaims, his eyes as wide as saucers as he slaps both hands against your cheeks and squishes them together.

“Yuuji! We don’t do that to our guests! Please get off of her.” His mother scolds sternly, in return, Yuuji wiggles himself out of your hold, running deeper into the house, speaking incoherently about something he wanted to show you.

“I’m so sorry about him! I’m Yuuji’s mom Kaori! Nice to meet you!” She smiles, taking your hand into hers and shaking it. “I left all emergency numbers on the fridge and Yuuji can show you where everything is. You may see his older brothers but they’re mostly harmless, but do let me know if they bother you, okay dear?”

“Of course! I’ll take good care of him.” You nod and walk her to the door.

“Bye Yuuji! I love you!” She calls out to him, her hands cupped around her mouth as he expectantly waits for him to come barreling down the stairs and into her arms, teary-eyed and all.

“You’re gonna be late for work mommy! Get going!” He yells from upstairs, not even coming down the stairs to bid her a proper goodbye which causes his mom to sigh, her shoulders slumping over as she bid you farewell and hopping into her car and driving away.

Shutting the door, you turn around and make your way up the stairs, your anxiety levels rising as Yuuji had yet to return. The second floor of the house is spacious, the number of similar-looking doors was enough to confuse you.

“Yuuji? Where are you, buddy?” You called out softly.

You hear a muffled “I’m here!” behind the last door down the hallway. Feeling your chest ease up, you make your way towards him, passing by a door that was slightly left ajar. You couldn’t help but let your eyes wander. The curtains were drawn, leaving the contents of the room indistinguishable.

Forcing yourself to move on, you close the door, running inside Yuuji’s room. His walls were littered with stars, the same kind you had at his age. His shelves were filled with books, mostly consisting of picture books. He was sitting on his bed, several toys surrounding him.

You smile lightly before taking a seat on the edge of his bed, your hands neatly folded in your lap as you watched him. His brows furrowed in concentration as he fiddled with his toys.

“What are you doing there, bud?” You softly ask him.

“Nothing. I’m not mad that you’re here, but why are you here?” His head tilts to the side.

You were startled by his question. Stammering quite a bit before you answer. “I’m here to take care of you of course! Your mommy has to go to work and there’s no one here to care for you, so I’m here!”

“Yeah, but my big bro’s here. Why doesn’t he take care of me?” His shoulder slump, you can already see the tears gathering in his eyes, burrowing himself in his knees as he avoids your pitying gaze.

You scoop him into your arms, your motherly instincts kicking in at the sight of his tears. You coo at him and press kisses against the crown of his head, rubbing his back. You’re unsure of what to say, seeing as you’ve never met his brother and have no idea what he’s like.

“I can’t answer your questions, but, I can make you pancakes?” You offer, feeling the guilt in your chest dissipate at the sight of his eyes lighting up.

“Yes please!”

___

“Do you need help cleaning up, big sis?” He asks, his doe eyes wide and full of wonder. You pat his head, thanking him before telling him to run off and play, and that you’d be with him right after. He had your whole heart and didn’t even know it.

Humming to yourself as you wash the dishes, ensuring that the kitchen was just as spotless as it was when you arrived. You wonder what you should make for lunch as you neatly put away the leftovers.

You were suddenly interrupted by a cough, a cough too deep for it to be Yuuji’s. Slowly turning around, you’re met with the sight of a man, seemingly about your age.

He had tattoos running up the length of his arms and up to his neck. His ears were adorned with multiple piercings as well as an eyebrow piercing.

He wore a black shirt, the fabric stretching across his broad chest. His hair, the same shade as Yuuji’s with a slightly different style. A wide grin was plastered on his face, his eyes running up and down your figure as you stood there gaping at him.

“You should really close your mouth, someone might stuff it.” He chuckles as he moves to slip past your frozen figure, placing his large, veiny hands on your waist, his lips brushing the shell of your ear as he huskily whispers an ‘Excuse me, princess’, purposely brushing his cock against your ass.

Irritation seeps into your bones. This man did not know who you are yet he spoke to you as if he’d known you all his life. Flirting and touching you so casually. Sneering at him as he chugs on the carton of milk, using the back of his hand to wipe the excess liquid on his chin.

“Did you cook anything? I’m fuckin’ starving.”

“Yeah. There are pancakes on the counter.”

He mumbles a small thanks before scarfing down the remainder of the pancakes, filling his cheeks up with food until they’re all round, not even bothering to use utensils. You continue watching him, face filled with disgust at his lack of manners.

Deciding it was time to leave, it was your turn to look for Yuuji, only to find him on the couch browsing through the Netflix selections, a bored look on his face as several films fail to catch his eye. You sit beside him, the couch cushion sinking slightly with your weight.

“Are you alright Yuuji? What do you wanna watch?”

“Can you help me pick?” Handing the remote to you as he pleads with his eyes.

“Of course I can! Have you ever watched a Studio Ghibli movie?” He shakes his head. You decide to let him watch Ponyo, seeing that it was well-suited for his age. Exhaling, you lean back into the couch. Your peace is quickly shattered by Yuuji’s older brother as he places his chin on top of your shoulder, his cheek against yours.

“What’re you guys doin’ hm?”

His breath ghosts over your cheeks, the smell of his minty breath permeates your nose. Feeling your cheeks warm, you move away from him but his arms are around your shoulders in an instant, constricting your movement as if he was the hunter and you were the prey.

You make futile attempts of pushing his face with your palm, but to no avail, he makes an effort to lessen the nonexistent distance between you, irking you even further. Kissing your teeth, you turn to face him, prepared to lecture him on personal space.

You’re startled by the feeling of his lips brush against yours. His soft, pillowy lips grazing yours as you stare deeply into his piercing, red eyes. Biting your lips you allow yourself to stare at him, from his eyes and down the slope of his nose, then back again to his pink lips,

“Big bro! You’re up! Can you help me build the lego set that mom got for me?” He bounces excitedly, eagerly waiting for his brother's response. He releases you from his grip to pat his younger brother's head, their proximity revealing just how similar they looked.

“Sorry brat, I got some stuff to do, but, you can ask this pretty girl right here to help you,” turning his head to face you as he winks. “Isn’t that right, pretty lady?” Giving his brother one last noogie, he makes his way up the stairs, only to stop halfway through.

“By the way, you haven’t given me your name yet,”

Scoffing, you turn to look at him, his chin resting on his fest as he leans against the railing. “It’s Y/n.” You pout, irritation at an all-time high.

“Cute name for a cute girl.”

“What’s your name?”

“Sukuna, but you can call me daddy.”

___

“Oh? You’re here again?” He asks brows raised as you toe off your shoes. Instead of replying, you decide to ignore him and make your way inside the house, rolling your eyes when you pass him.

Feeling your mouth dry at the proximity, you open the fridge, hoping to cool and rehydrate yourself as you feel him hover behind you, obviously examining your behind as he bit into his apple.

Turning to face him, you hiss. “Are you just going to stare at me the whole time?” Your anger level rises as he peers at you with a smug smirk plastered on his face, even having the audacity to wink at you.

“I mean if you want me to, yeah, I will. You're not a bad thing to look at either.”

“Fuck you.”

“Please do.”

Scoffing, you pour yourself a glass of water, anxiety fading, replaced with anger and irritation the longer you look at him. You feel your eyelid twitch at the sight of him. It was amazing how his presence annoyed you.

“Whatever, I’m gonna go see Yuuji.”

___

“Y/n! Can we get Mcdonalds?” He pouts, hands clasped together as he kneels before you in the living room which catches you off guard. You feel yourself cringe, unsure of how to tell him that you didn’t know how to drive.

“Please!!!”

Sighing, you gather your courage, preparing yourself for the usual blunt comment children gave. “I don’t know how to drive.” Your shoulders slumping as you see his hands fall to his sides, brows knit in confusion.

He stares at you for a second before taking your hand and lacing your fingers with his. At first, you’re confused, unsure of what his plan was until he flashed you one of his usual bright smiles, eyes crinkled shut before he spoke.

“That’s okay! I can’t drive either!”

The loud laugh that escapes your lips almost scares you, his innocence was adorable indeed. You love the innocence of children, wishing that you could somehow turn back time and have your innocence once more. But either way, you still didn’t know how to drive and your poor child was hungry.

“...We can ask my big brother to drive us.” Yuuji whispers, side-eyeing you as he was aware of your dislike towards his brother. You thought you were subtle but Yuuji knew. Yuuji knew everything, well, not everything. He doesn’t know what four plus five is.

He can see the hesitation on your face, already preparing himself to beg on his knees once more just for ten pieces of nuggets. Just as he’s about to bruise his knees, you scoop him into your arms, inhaling the scent of his shampoo as you reluctantly make your way to Sukuna’s room, already dreading the interaction.

Taking a deep breath, you knock on the door softly. A small part of you is hoping that he’s asleep and that your knock will fall deaf to his ears. You weren’t sure if you could survive a car ride with him. It weirdly felt intimate, even when you two had nothing going on.

A few seconds pass by, your knock meets with silence. Just as you’re about to turn and leave, the door swings wide open, a tall figure coming into your view. You feel your fingers twitch at the sight of him, swallowing a huge lump in your throat as your eyes rake over his figure, almost forgetting that Yuuji was still in your arms.

“Yo.” He said in a rasping tone. The mere sound of his voices’ rich timbre had your thighs squeezing, forcing yourself to suppress a desperate whimper as you suddenly forgot how to string together a coherent sentence.

He’s aware of what he’s doing to you, purposely answering the door with nothing but his boxers on, but yet again, this is how he usually slept as his body runs hotter than the usual body temperature. It was amusing, the way you kept trying to deny him when you look like you’re two seconds away from creaming your pants.

“Brat, what do you two want?” Turning to his brother instead as he concludes that you wouldn’t be able to speak to him any time soon, already fucked out at just the sight of him. It makes him wonder how much worse you’d be if he did something more.

“We wanna go to Mcdonalds but sis can’t drive!” He confesses, unaware of just how embarrassing that piece of information is. A grin spreads across Sukuna’s face, a hand on his hip as he shifts his gaze to you, your eyes are still wide and clouded with lust.

“Mhm. Why don’t you go change and I’ll talk to your sis for a sec, alright? I’ll come down when we’re both ready.” He muses. You’re pulled out of your thoughts when you feel Yuuji wiggle out of your arms, bending over to allow him to safely reach the ground. As you’re about to turn, a hand wraps itself around your wrist, halting your movements.

“Nah. You’re staring, princess. It’s not nice to stare.” He tuts, bringing a hand up to fiddle with your necklace, the rough pads of his fingers dancing across the expanse of your skin as you shiver in delight, almost mewling at his touch.

“I-I--”

“I-I-- You’re a cute little thing. I love the way you look like you’re about to cum whenever you’re near me.” He says with a laugh, head tilting to the side as his fingers wrap themselves around the base of your neck.

The sound of your oh-so-sweet whimper is music to his ears. Such a sweet girl you are. The way you peer up at him, doe eyes just begging him to take you right there. It’s amusing to see how easily you could switch your attitude.

“Look at you. You can’t even say anything to me.” Teasingly he grabs your jaw and presses a light kiss on the corner of your mouth. “Do you want me to take you right here? Make you mine? Hm? Speak up, princess.”

“Please--”

“Hey! What’s taking you guys so long?!”

Sukuna sighs, shutting his eyes in disappointment before releasing his grip on your chin, the lustful look in his eyes disappearing as he grumbles something about Yuuji being an ungrateful brat.

“C’mon. Get downstairs. I’ll be down in five minutes unless you wanna help me change?” He smirks, quirking a brow at you. Finally coming back to your senses, you turn your back and run down the stairs, almost losing your footing a couple of times and flying down the stairs.

“Where’s big bro?”

“He’s changing.”

“Mhm. Okay.”

___

“So…” Sukuna starts, one hand on the wheel as he sneaks a quick look at your pout face. You insisted on sitting beside Yuuji in the back as he was all alone but even Yuuji resisted, saying that you had to sit in the front.

“We don’t have to talk. Could you please just turn the radio on?” Huffing as you turn your head away from him, gazing at the window. He laughs a little before turning on the radio per your request. Your ears perk up as you hear a familiar tune. It was ‘Fight Song’.

“Can I change the station?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Because this is my fight song. Take back my right song--”

“Please stop.” You plead, feeling yourself cringe.

“Why? You don’t like the way I sing for you princess?”

“No but also because this song is… I have horrible memories of this song and it makes me cringe so please stop.”

“But sis, I like this song too!” Yuuji chimes in. Already, you can feel your soul leaving your body. Accepting your defeat, you slump in your chair and place a hand over your eyes, hoping that you wouldn’t drive past anyone you knew, seeing as you had two children screeching the lyrics.

Lucky for you, the song swiftly ends. Sighing in relief, you straighten yourself out, no longer slouching in your seat. Your body quickly tenses at the feeling of a warm palm on your upper thigh.

Sukuna gives it an experimental squeeze as he bites his lip, side-eyeing you as he ignores your angry expression, pretending as if he wasn’t touching you at all. You can feel just how warm and rough his palms are. He was so close to where you wanted him, where you needed him, but you knew you couldn’t act on your feelings.

“What are you gonna order, princess?”

___

“You gotta stop actin’ like you don’t want me.” He scolds you one day, cornering you in the hallway. His hand was placed right beside your head as he glares down at you, red eyes burning with lust and want as he licks his lips, barely restraining himself.

“But I don’t want you.” You spit.

“Don’t play with me, brat. I can smell just how wet your pussy is. You don’t think I see you rubbing your thighs whenever I get as close as two feet? You’ve gotta be fuckin’ with me.” Laughing as he lessens the space between your faces, breath ghosting over your parted lips.

“I’m not playing with you. I don’t want you.”

“Yeah? Then why are you rubbing your thighs right now? Slut.” He noses into your neck, the feeling of his hot breath causing you to shiver in delight.

“‘M not.” Denying as you turn away from him, embarrassed that he was so right.

Sukuna kisses his teeth, pulling away from your neck to fully face you know. His lips are nothing but a hair away, a smile on his face as your eyes flutter shut, finally accepting defeat, finally giving into him.

“Say please.” He whispers.

Your eyes snap open.

“Fuck off--”

He slams his other hand on the other side of your head, a mischievous smirk spread across his lips as his eyes bore into you. Licking his dry lips, he leans closer, bottom lip touching yours as he speaks.

“Say. Please. Last time I’m gonna tell you.”

“P-Please…”

“Good girl.” Inhaling deeply as he slots his lips against yours, tasting the sweetness of the strawberries you had just eaten along with your natural taste, just as sweet and addicting as he imagined.

His tongue flicks against your bottom lip, insisting you part your lips and let him in. Let him explore and taste all of you. Let him take care of you and make you his little toy. You’d love it so much. Behave so well for him.

You’re the perfect little toy for him.

A hand snakes its way up to your shirt and cups your bra-covered breast, squeezing the mound gently as he finally slips his tongue into your awaiting mouth, moaning at the raw taste of you, licking at the seams of your lips.

Sukuna pulls away, leaving a gossamer string of spittle to connect you two. He admires your heavy-lidded eyes and your kiss-bitten lips. You looked as if you belonged at a museum, for all the world to see, but your expressions were for him and him only.

“So cute.’

___

“Are you actually staying for the whole week?” Yuuji jumps in your arms, his eyes with their usual sparkle. You feel your heart pound in your chest. The reality of having to spend a whole week under the same roof as Sukuna, his name which he refused to tell you until after two weeks of knowing him.

“Of course I am buddy! I’ll be hanging out with you the whole time!”

“Can we hang out with big bro too?” He pleads, clasping his hands together as he cutely pouts at you. How could you resist when he was this cute? Unable to resist the smile that stretches across your face, you pinch his cheeks and nod.

Your head turns in the direction of approaching footsteps making their way down the stairs. You can feel the pits of your belly stirring, causing your thighs to clench. The smell of his cologne fills your senses.

“Oh? Is that right? You wanna hang out with little ol’ me?” He smirks, trailing a hand up your thigh as he walks past you and into the living room, Yuuji jumping out of your arms to follow his brother.

They’re both sitting on the couch, Yuuji tightly pressing himself into his brother's side while Sukuna's side-eyes him, but still allows him. You were aware of Sukuna’s lack of presence in Yuuji’s life, opting to spend time with his friends rather than his younger brother.

While you understood, you still felt that Sukuna cared for Yuuji, but subtly. It was the small details, little details that made you not dislike him completely. You smile softly, thinking back to last week when Sukuna had helped you place Yuuji in his bed after you both had fallen asleep on the couch. He even offered to let you sleep in his bed, with him of course, an offer you quickly denied seeing his hungry gaze.

Your mind also reminds you of the incident in the hallway. Letting him taste you and feel you in such inappropriate places. You knew it was wrong but it felt so right, especially when it was with him.

You’re snapped out of your daydream when a pillow ungracefully smacks you in the face, shocking you. “Are you just gonna stand there or are you gonna get in here and cuddle with us?” Raising his brows as he opens up his arms.

Unable to reject the pair, you grumpily make your way towards them, Sukuna pulling you beside him and splaying your legs across his thick, muscular thighs, Yuuji moving to the other as he whines about the lack of space.

Sukuna throws a blanket over both your legs, placing his hand on top of your thighs, rubbing small circles against the skin. He refuses to meet your eyes, his eyes trained on the screen. Grabbing his wrist, you attempt to distance his hand but he tangles his fingers with yours instead, taking hold of you.

He glances at you, smirking at your incredulous expression. Your cute face never failed to have his cock stirring in his pants. Bringing your entwined hands to his face, he presses a lingering kiss against your palm, never breaking eye contact with you.

Dropping your hand back on your lap, he places his hand on your thigh once more, higher this time around. His fingertips are itching to feel your cute pussy, to feel your pussy clench around his fingers while you pathetically whine for him to give you more, to fuck you faster with his fingers. He shivers at the image of you, splayed out on the couch, being a good girl for him.

The tension in the room could be cut with a knife. You have the urge to lean in, to spread your legs for him and tell him to take you, to sink his cock and fingers in your tiny pussy and take full advantage of you, even if you were a virgin.

Yuuji wordlessly makes his way up to the bathroom, a trip that always took ten minutes at least. Sukuna takes advantage of the opening, quickly turning, slotting his lips against yours. You fail to quell a whine, the soft feeling of his plush lips against yours overwhelming. After weeks of heated stares and flirting you’re finally getting what you desire.

He sneaks a lick against the seam of your lips, asking, begging you to let him in. To let his tongue slide against yours, to let him swallow all your cute whimpers and sounds. You timidly part your lips, allowing him to push his tongue inside. He coaxes you to come out, to feel him.

You tangle your fingers in his pink locks, finding the need to keep yourself grounded. “Fuck.” He huskily mumbles against your lips, grinding his fully-hardened cock against your twitching cunt. The fabric of his jeans adds to the pleasure, the rough material catching on your clit whenever he presses himself against you.

“Please.” You mumble against his spit-slicked lips, causing him to pull away and look at you, to see what he’s been yearning for all these weeks. Your eyes are heavy and your lips are bruised, your legs are wrapped around his waist, trying to pull him even closer to you.

“You’re so fucking pretty.” He breathes, shocking you. Before you can speak, pushing himself against you once more, capturing your lips in a searing kiss. He slips his right hand with yours and holds it while his free hand makes its way up to your chest and ceases at your throat. His fingers gently wrap around your throat, giving it an experimental squeeze that has you gasping and bucking your hips.

“I just wanna take you right here, princess. You’re gonna be such a good girl for me. You’re gonna take daddy’s cock so well.” He mumbles, grinding himself against your pussy. You can feel your juices trickling out of you, slicking your lips and panties.

Footsteps hastily make their way down the stairs, causing Sukuna to quickly separate himself away from you, returning to his previous position as you silently plead him to help you off your back. Your whole body felt as if it were jelly.

“What happened in the movie?” He asks, staring at you two expectantly. Lucky for you, you had memorized the movie's events due to the countless times you watched it.

“Oh! Yubaba took away Chihiro’s name so now her name is Sen.” Smiling as you silently beg him to turn his head back to the screen. Sukuna clears his throat, shifting in his seat as you see him adjust his cock in his pants, tucking it beneath the band of his sweatpants which allows you to catch a glimpse of its red, leaking tip.

He suddenly turns to you, a smirk on his handsome face. “What? You wanna taste it?” He taunts you, spreading his legs further apart, hoping to entice you. You shake your head furiously, refusing to do any sort of lewd acts with Yuuji in the room.

“You sure you don’t wanna have a taste? How ‘bout you give it a little kiss, hm?” Sukuna continues to tease you before quickly covering himself once more, chuckling at your exasperated expression. He loves your reactions, especially when he's the one that causes them.

“I’m kidding. But, we’re not done.” Sukuna’s eye drops into a wink, somehow flustering you even further. His eyes return to the screen, acting as if the last ten minutes hadn’t happened at all, which left you to your thoughts. Your anxiety-inducing thoughts.

The fear of catching feelings for him sat at the back of your head, causing your hands to become frigid as well as your chest to tighten, making it difficult for you to breathe. You push your anxieties and doubts deeper into the back of your head, knowing that deep inside, you wanted this no matter the consequences.

___

“Goodnight Yuuji.” Pressing a kiss to his head as you stand, brushing his hair out of his face with your fingers before making your way to the door. HIs lamp illuminates the room and prevents you from tripping and kissing the floor. Slowly, you shut the door as gently as you could in hopes of not disturbing his sleep.

Before you could sigh in relief, you were suddenly being pulled into someone's chest. Your cheek rests right against his pec while his hands take their place on your hips, teasingly squeezing the flesh which coaxes a little whimper out of you.

“The brat in bed?” Sukuna whispers huskily, the rich timbre of his voice sends shivers down your spine, your back arching. He traces a small circle on the exposed skin of your hips, the sheer gentleness of his ministrations almost takes you by surprise.

“Yeah…” You breathe, feeling yourself melt into his chest as he touches you, your fingers twisting in the material of his shirt as you feel your cunt become slick. Juices soaking your panties a second time today.

Sukuna has to suppress a growl at your response. Your voice is so soft and so meek, it makes him want to ruin you, even more, to pull whimpers and delicious-sounding moans right out of you as he sinks his cock in your sopping pussy.

He opts to press a kiss on your forehead, flattening his large hand against the small of your back. Sukuna gently pushes you in the direction of his room, his fingers drumming against your skin. Sukuna can feel the excitement coursing through his veins, the sheer thought of finally having you had his cock stirring.

“I’m supposed to sleep in the guest bedroom though…” You mention. Sukuna kisses his teeth before speaking.

“It’s not a problem unless you have a problem with it?” He pouts mockingly. “I mean, you can go to your room and be the perfect little girl and go to bed. Or, you can come into my room and be as much of a bad girl as you’d like.” He leans in closer, breath against your ear.

“And I’ll make it worth it. I’ll make it so fucking worth it, angel.”

You’re nodding before you can fully process the question and suddenly you’re being hauled over his shoulder, slapping a hand over your mouth to muffle a surprised yelp. Sukuna makes his way to his room, his large palm coming down your ass cheek.

You can feel your blood rushing to your head, wincing at the uncomfortable feeling. Sukuna gently sets you down on his bed before making his way to properly lock the door, lessening the chances of you being disturbed. Your eyes scan over his room.

The walls were red and littered with posters, mainly cars. But one poster caught your attention. Stifling your giggles, you spoke. “Is that a Twice poster?”

He freezes, eyes almost bugging out of his head as he stares at the said poster, his cheeks heating up. Deciding to ignore your question, he kisses his teeth and walks towards you. He places his arms on the bed, palms pushing your legs apart to make space for him.

“Shut up,” Sukuna growls, licking a stripe up your inner thigh, his eyes hungrily boring into yours. You can feel just how wet you are, your panties soaked. Biting your lip as you card your fingers through his soft, pink hair. A familiar feeling is boiling in the pit of your stomach, your fingertips twitching on his scalp.

You suppress the urge to rid yourself of your clothes and spread yourself out for him, leave him in charge of your pleasure and wellbeing, your desperateness pushing you closer to the edge.

Sukuna slips his fingers between the band of your pants, the warmth he radiated had you keening, already missing the feeling of his hands on your skin. You can feel yourself almost fading, the only thing you’re able to hear is your blood rushing and your heart beating, everything seemed as if it were a blur when you were with Sukuna.

He tugs at the band of your pants, sliding them down the expanse of your legs. He licks his lips at the sight of your untouched pussy, the little crease of your panties showcasing the shape of your folds.

“I can smell just how wet you are, angel.” He chuckles, eyes dark with lust, zeroing on your cute little cunt. Bashfully, you place your forearm on your eyes, unable to maintain eye contact with Sukuna when he looks at you so hungrily.

“P-Please don’t be so lewd…” You plead, tears gathering in the corners of your eyes. You’re so desperate. So desperate to feel him. To have him sink his fingers in your pussy with his tongue flicking against your button. The sting of his palm hitting your thigh causes you to yelp suddenly, flesh stinging with pain.

“Oh? What’s wrong? I thought you were a tough little thing, givin’ me the stink eye and your shit attitude. But you’re just a pliant little bitch, aren’t ya’? Cute little slut you are.” He coos at you mockingly, tugging your panties down your legs before diving between your thighs.

“S’kuna!” Garbling a moan as you arch your back, attempting to pull his mouth away from your clit. Chills continue to crawl up your spine, stemming from your clit being roughly assaulted by Sukuna’s tongue.

He groans against your clit, sending vibrations up your spine. Pleasure overtakes you, your back arching into him. Your body continues to act on its own, mind too foggy to realize your actions. You’re brought back to reality by the singing feeling of your mound.

Sukuna’s palm is placed flat on your mons, sliding it up the expanse of your skin to take its place on your tummy. His warm hand was rough against your skin, the pads of his fingers almost painfully digging into your skin as he visibly loses himself in you, in your pussy.

His loud slurps and licks resonate through the room, your moans accompanying his lewd sounds as he continues his ministrations, passionately sucking on your pussy lips, sinking his long, pink tongue between your soaked walls.

“You taste so fucking good.” Growling as he shakes his head from side to side, stimulating your clit even quicker. Ecstasy builds in the pit of your stomach, ready to blow and release itself into your veins, fill your body with white, hot pleasure.

The coil in your stomach tightens once more before you’re wrapping your thighs around Sukuna’s sturdy neck and grinding your cunt against his tongue, the muscle laid out and flat for you to use. You’re horrified when you realize that this orgasm is quite different from your usual ones.

Your juices are squirting into Sukuna’s mouth, wetting his chin and as well as his cheeks as he stares you down, eyes glazed with lust as he licks his lips, looking at you as if you were a meal for him to devour.

He takes a tentative lick at your twitching clit, the sharp pleasure causing your hips to slide up. But, Sukuna ignores your body's pleading, opting to tongue you into oversensitivity. Tears are sliding down the apples of your cheeks. The pathetic sight of you had him groaning once more.

You’re just too cute.

“Mm? No more? You don’t want anymore?” He bats his lashes at you, pressing one last kiss to the puffy lips of your pussy before crawling over your body, so close that your chest would touch his whenever you took a breath.

Shaking your head, you mumble out a small ‘No’, already feeling your eyes droop from the mental and physical exhaustion of having to deal with Sukuna. He smiles a little, ignoring the fact that you have adjusted blue-balled him. Pressing a kiss to your forehead before wiping down your thighs, he tucks you in and snuggles right beside you, enjoying the feeling of you in his arms as he drifted off to sleep.

___

Sukuna wakes up to the sound of your soft snores, his arm wrapped tightly around your waist. His heart beats a little harder at the sight of you wearing his oversized shirt, your cheek tightly pressed against his chest while your hand is placed flat against his chest.

He feels his cheeks warm at the soft sight of you, loving the way you clung to him as if he were your significant other. He shakes his head at the thought, baffled at his thought. He never let himself commit before, why would he do it now? Why you?

“Mm.” Your eyebrows furrow as the sunlight hits your face. He curses under his breath for forgetting to shut the curtains before getting in bed with you last night. But, he can’t help but pat himself on the back as you snuggle even further into his chest, hoping to shield yourself from the tiresome sun.

“Sukuna…”

“Ah, shit.” He curses, feeling his cocks stir in his boxers, your hot thigh pressing against him, balls tightening at the thought of stuffing you, pumping your creamy little pussy with his cum. Sliding his hand between your bodies, he reaches inside and squeezes his cock, feeling it pulsate in his palm.

Sukuna lifts his head to peek at his cock as well as your thighs before leaning his head back on the pillow. Deciding to ignore his inner thoughts, he grabs the flesh of your thigh and lifts it to make space for his length, placing it right between your soft thighs.

“Fuck.” His brows are knitted as he blindly searches for the lube in his nightstand, eyes trained on your face, making sure you were still asleep. He hastily makes work of the bottle, popping the lid open and squirting it on your thighs and as well as himself.

Sukuna groans at the feeling of your plush thighs enveloping his cock. Experimentally, he thrusts himself between your thighs, silently praying that the lewd, wet sounds of your thighs wouldn’t wake you up. His eyes land on your face, still peaceful and asleep while he defiles you in your sleep.

How could he not? You’re such a tempting little thing, teasing him while being unafraid of returning is flirtatious remarks. It made him want you, even more, he craved you. Initially, he had planned to take your innocence and leave but as he spent more time with you, he realized that he wanted to break you. Break you until you are no more. Break you until you would crawl back to him and beg him to fix you.

“W-What?” He flinches before continuing his actions, pumping his cock even faster between your thighs as you continue to blink the sleep from your eyes. Your eyes are blurry and tired, barely able to focus on your surroundings. You’re suddenly aware of the squelching sound resonating between your thighs.

You glance down, eyes met with the sight of Sukuna fucking your plush thighs, barely grazing your clit as he stables himself by placing his hand on your hip and wrapping his leg with yours, preventing you from ruining the perfect position he had himself in.

“Oh? Finally awake are you?” He kisses his teeth, brows furrowed in concentration as he feels himself come closer to the edge, balls twitching in a signal that he’s close to blowing his load.

You should be upset, you really should. But, the stirring feeling in the pit of your stomach is back. Telling you to give Sukuna everything. To give him your virtue, your innocence. The overwhelming heat of his cock has your mind hazy, leaving you unable to think rationally.

“Please...Make me cum too,” Pouting as you took hold of his hand, sneaking it under your shirt, allowing him to palm your naked breasts. His brows shoot up in surprise, your desperate tone and pathetic pout catching him off guard. He half expected you to push him away in disgust and call his mom, yet here you were, letting him use you as his fucktoy.

“Beg me, then.”

___

“Big sis! When is mommy coming home?” Yuuji pouts, tugging on the fabric of your shirt. Turning to face him, you hold the spoon of fried rice in front of your mouth before cooling it down with small breaths and letting Yuuji taste it, earning you a very enthusiastic thumbs up.

“She’s coming home in four days bud! Hang in there, buddy!” Attempting to cheer him up with a pat on the head. He nods quickly before scrambling away to play in his room. Not long after, a chest presses itself against your back.

Sukuna deeply breathes in your scent, consisting of flowers as well as your natural smell. He loves the feeling of you pressed against him, so sweet and small compared to him. Sukuna presses a wet kiss against your neck, causing you to shiver slightly.

“You smell so good.” He breathes.

“Not here…” You whimper, placing your hands on his wrists in an attempt to get him off of you. The past week consisted of sneaky touches and sexual tension, a couple of occurrences of Sukuna trailing his fingers up your thighs during dinner.

Also, you’ve not had the opportunity to sleep in your designated room due to his persistence. He never failed to make you cum before bed, his mouth always attached to your little clit while he palms your tits, occasionally flicking and pinching at the buds.

“Where then?” Licking a fat strip of your neck his hands slowly make their way up to your body, one hand stopping to grope your breast and the other wrapping itself around your throat, experimentally squeezing causing you to inhale sharply, his actions catching you off guard.

“Nowhere--We can’t! Not now!”

“Are you sure--”

“She told you to fuck off, Sukuna. Leave the girl alone.” Another voice interrupts, causing both you and Sukuna to stiffen, both your necks craning to peek at the unknown man, but Sukuna’s eyes flashed with recognition, then annoyance.

“Fuck are you doin’ here?” He snarls, placing you beside him and wrapping an arm around your shoulders, almost as if he were trying to shield you from the mystery man. The man had twin-tails and deep eyebags, but he was quite attractive. Tall and built, even when he was dressed in overly large clothes that hung off his figure.

He had a bored expression on his face and a banana in his left hand. “What do you mean? I live here too y’know.” He drawls, his expression never changing as his eyes bore into you, forcing you to hide behind Sukuna, feeling as if he was trying to read you.

“Yeah, but you said you weren’t gonna be home for break. Should’ve just stayed somewhere else.” Clicking his tongue in displeasure. Your spine tingles at the feeling of Sukuna’s fingers tracing small shapes into your back, visibly shivering under the gaze of the unnamed man.

“Watch your fucking mouth, Sukuna. I’m still the eldest around here.” He growls, taking a threatening step towards his brother before placing a hand on his head and ruffling his hair, Sukuna making futile attempts to swat away his brother which causes him to loosen his hold on you, allowing you to untangle yourself and attempt to slip out.

“Uh uh. Where are you going, miss? You need to leave right now. I’m sorry but hookups need to leave in the morning.”

“...I’m actually Yuuji’s babysitter.”

“Oh, shit? Dude, you’re fucking the babysitter?” He loudly interrogates, catching the attention of a certain little boy. Sukuna opts to stay silent, now finding the refrigerator magnets much more interesting than the conversation that was currently unfolding

“Choso! You’re home! I thought you weren’t gonna come home!” Yuuji comes tumbling into the kitchen, almost slipping and ramming himself into one of the drawers but he is swiftly scooped into Choso’s muscled arms.

“Man, I can’t even surprise you guys anymore, can I?” Choso laughs, blowing strawberries against Yuuji’s skin as he keeps his eyes on you. He wasn’t about to let you two off the hook.

These brothers would be the death of you.

___

“You guys haven’t let Yuuji catch you guys or anything, right?” He stares pointedly at you both, hands neatly folded in his lap. You were all currently having what seemed like a meeting, excluding Yuuji of course.

You sat beside Sukuna who had his arms behind his head, lax and uncaring of his brother while you were shaking like a leaf, your fingertips borderline freezing and your heart beating erratically.

Choso’s eyes continue to bore in you as if he were prying into your inner thoughts and feelings. You pray and hope that you weren’t as transparent as you thought you were. Nevertheless, Choso would get all the answers to his questions, one way or another.

“No! Of course not!”

“Mm, good. Stop being so handsy with each other. It’s fucking gross and I don’t want you guys exposing Yuuji to that shit. Sukuna, you were supposed to help and support her, not make her your little fucktoy. And you, little girl. You were supposed to care for my brother and feed him. That was all you two had to do.”

You hang your head in shame while Sukuna points his nose to the side, rolling his eyes disrespectfully as he ignores his brother's words. You fiddle with the zipper of your sweater, ashamed under Choso’s scrutinizing gaze.

“But it’s whatever really. Just don’t do that shit here. You guys aren’t dating I’m assuming?”

You shook your head, cheeks heating up at the imagery of Sukuna taking you out on a date. Sharing sweet kisses underneath a tree. Wiping his stained lips with your thumb and kissing him right after. Sukuna remains silent.

“Alright. Angel, could you go watch Yuuji for a bit? I need to talk to my little brother here. I’ll be out in a sec yeah?” Choso smiles at you as you quickly get on your feet, making your way to the living room where Yuuji was currently watching ‘From Up on Poppy Hill’.

“What are you doin’ with her?” Choso raises a brow. Turning to finally face Sukuna who continues to give him the silent treatment, causing him to sigh heavily before scratching the top of his head.

“If you’re just gonna play with her feelings and break her, I would just leave her alone. She’s a nice girl and she doesn’t deserve that, Sukuna. You know that.”

“How do you know I’m not serious about her?” Sukuna retorts, making eye contact with CHoso as they both glare at each other.

“Dude, you’re never serious. I know you. I’m your brother. Frankly, I’m not sure how you turned out this way but it has to stop. You’re ruining your chances of finding love.”

“What if I don’t wanna be in love?” He seethes, fists now clenched at the thought of sharing himself emotionally, leaving himself vulnerable and open all for them to see, for them to judge. It’s different. If he were to open up and get rejected, you wouldn’t be rejecting his fuckboy persona, you’d be rejecting him, his true self and his whole heart.

“I don’t know man, you seem to be getting there. I can tell by the way you look at her.”

___

“Baby. Baby get up. Pick up your phone. Someone’s calling you.” Sukuna mumbles into your shoulder, tiredly patting your bum that's currently pressed against his morning wood. His eyes are squinting as the sun’s rays seep into the room through the window.

Blindly searching for your phone before you somehow find it, swiping right to answer the call, pressing the speaker button with your eyes still unopened, feeling Sukuna grope your naked breast from under your shirt, tweaking your nipples as you mumble a groggy ‘Hello’.

“Bunny, how have you been? I miss you. When are you gonna come over pretty girl?”

Sukuna raises a brow, irritation boiling inside of him as he imagined you with anyone else. Raising his head to peek at the caller, his eyes widen at the contact name. Gojo Satoru. How were you acquainted with a bastard like him?

“‘M sorry, I just woke up. But sure, I can meet up today. I can probably ask Choso to watch Yuuji for a few hours.” You mumble into the pillow until your breath is caught in your throat, feeling Sukuna roughly twist your nipple.

“Oh? Poor baby. You sound so tired. Did you sleep late again?”

“Mhm--Ah, I did! Fuck…” Attempting to muffle your moans. His fingers were on your clit now, the thin fabric of your panties unable to protect you from Sukuna’s wrath. His fingers are roughly petting your clit as he sucks bruises into your neck.

“Oh? What are you doing, pretty girl? Being so naughty in the morning. Are you touching yourself?” Satoru dares to ask, the smugness in his voice apparent. Sukuna can feel the anger inside him boil even harder, slipping his fingers into your panties and mercilessly plunging them into your soaking cunt.

“N-No...I’m not!” You force out, thighs spreading wider for Sukuna as you pop the fingers of his free hand in your mouth, your throat suddenly feeling empty.

“Oh, baby. I knew you missed me. Fuck, you were such a good girl for me, sending me the prettiest pictures of your cute pussy. Naughty little thing. Fuck I’m so hard already.” Satoru moans before continuing. “You’re still a virgin right? Are you planning on giving me your virginity anytime soon?”

Sukuna feels himself snap as you squirt all over his thick fingers, eye twitching as Gojo continues to praise you as if he was the one who made you cum, made you squirt on his fingers. He wasn’t the one who made you cum every night before you slept, not the one who you brushed your teeth with, not the person you made breakfast for. Gojo had no place in your heart.

“Sorry, she’ll be giving that to me.” He growls before ending the call, tossing your phone on his desk before hungrily sucking his juice-covered fingers into his mouth, thoroughly sucking your essence off his fingers before kissing you full on the mouth, allowing you to taste yourself.

It feels lewd, tasting yourself on someone else’s tongue.

“Take your panties off. Right now. I wanna see your pussy nice and spread out for me because I’m gonna fuck you. You’re gonna feel my cock--” Pressing his palm on your lower stomach, “Here.”

“W-Wait--No, it’s my first time you can’t!” You plead, legs instinctively but he stood in the way, hips tightly pressed against yours, Sukuna’s already lowering his boxers, revealing the drooly, pink tip of his cock.

“Just the tip then? Lemme put the tip in,” He whispers, stroking his cock as he lifts your shirt, exposing your pebbled nipples to his fiending eyes. He can see your hesitation swirling in your eyes.

“I promise baby, it’s just the tip. It’s not even that deep. I just wanna feel your pussy. Baby, please.” He begs, leaving kisses against your cheek as he grinds the head of his cock against your slippery lips, groaning at your warmth.

“Come on baby. Just let me. “M not gonna do anything unless you agree.” He breathes.

“J-Just the tip.” You stutter, hands reaching down to spread your cunt for him. He groans at the lewd sight, biting his lip before slapping his length against your mons and placing the tip at your entrance.

“Fuck.” He groans his pink hair covering his eyes, hiding his pleasured expression from you. Sukuna languidly slides his cock inside you, inserting the first two inches and being the last six. He lets out a garbled moan at the feeling of your pussy squeezing the tip.

“I-It feels s’good,” You whimper, your hands coming up to grip his biceps as you resist the urge to wrap your legs around his hips and pull him even closer, make him fill your pussy up with his cock and then his cum, let him paint your insides white.

“Yeah? Feels good? It would feel better with everything inside. Fuck, you’d look so pretty taking my whole cock, begging and crying for me to pull out because your cunts too tight. But, I know, deep inside you want me to make it hurt. You’re a dirty girl. You know what you want.” He presses a kiss to your lips before continuing.

“Almost had me fooled, made me think you were an innocent little thing but you’re just a desperate virgin, aren’t you? Even sending people pictures of your cute pussy. I’m surprised that you haven’t forced my cock inside you yet. Yeah. I can feel your pussy twitching. Just say the fuckin’ word, pretty girl.” He coos, shallowly thrusting into you.

“N-No I’m not…”

“Yeah? You’re telling me that you didn’t show Gojo Satoru your cute pussy?” He growls, biting your nipple teasingly.

You moan in response, back arching at the pleasure you’re feeling, your slick sliding down your pussy and onto the bed sheets. You’re surprised that Choso hasn’t told you both to shut up, seeing as it was seven in the morning, but then again, he and Yuuji had stayed up playing games last night.

“Can’t answer? Fuckin’ slut. I should punish you. Sink my cock in this pussy and cream you. Make you walk around Tokyo with Gojo Satoru while your pussy’s stuffed with my cum. You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

Unable to resist him anymore, you wrap your legs around his waist, pulling him even closer to you. Tears are steadily sliding down your cheeks, blurring your vision as you reach out to him, wanting to wrap your arms around his neck as you wailed.

“P-Please. Please...fuck my pussy. Give me everything. ‘Want it all. ‘Want S’kuna’s cock. Want daddy to use me!” You mindlessly mumble into his shoulder, desperately moving your hips against him in an attempt to persuade him, yet he stays silent, your laboured breathing the only sound in the room, aside from your pleads and cries.

“Fuckin’ hell. You’re somethin’ else.” He laughs before bottoming out. Sukuna presses one last kiss to your lips before slamming his cock inside your cunt, swiftly taking your virginity. He swallows your screams and whimpers, wrapping his hand around your throat in an attempt to comfort you.

Sukuna whispers sweet nothings against your lips, promising that you’d feel better soon. That you’d love it. And that he wasn’t going to stop until you’ve soaked his cock and bed, promising to satisfy your every need.

“Sukuna. Daddy. Fuck. T-Too much,” You wail, clinging onto his shoulders as you adjust to the size, blinking away your tears as he continues to pepper kisses against your face, rubbing circles against the expanse of your neck.

“You’ll feel even better soon, princess. Don’t worry, I got you.”

You sigh in pleasure, finally feeling the pain ebb away as your tense muscles relax, easing into his hold as you’re suddenly made aware of his balls currently pressed against your perineum.

“Please move…” You whisper, avoiding his surprised gaze. But he adheres to your plea, wanting to fulfill the myriad of promises he had made to you. Sukuna is a man of his word. Well, at least when it came to you.

He grunts as he bottoms out once more, gently sliding in his cock until his cockhead is snugly pressed against your cervix. You could feel your cunt around the wide base of his cock, whimpering at the sheer weight and heat his cock had.

Sukuna sits back up, pressing your thighs into your chest before placing his weight on you, proceeding to slam his cock inside your pussy. Mercilessly battering your sensitive cervix while you laid still and took it, loving the mixture of both pain and pleasure.

“Shit baby, ease up. You’re gonna make me cum.” He breathes, his brows are furrowed and sweat is gathering on his brow, an exasperated expression on his face as he struggled to hold his cum in, wanting to make the most out of your first experience.

Sukuna clicks his tongue, knowing that you wouldn’t ease up at all, even feeling your pussy tighten. He slips a hand between you both,  rolling your clit between the pads of his fingers, causing you to squeal in delight.

“Like that?”

Nodding eagerly, you agree, unable to form a coherent sentence while your mind was a jumbled, foggy mess. You shiver at the familiar feeling in the pit of your stomach, a strong, cold pull spreading throughout your body.

“‘M close,” You whine, shutting your eyes.

“Yeah? Love my cock so much, being such a good fuckin’ girl for me. ‘Wanna cream you right here, make you my little bitch.” Sukuna growls, harshly pinching your sore nipple once more before grabbing your chin and propping your mouth open, your tongue lolling out of your mouth.

He places his thumb on your tongue, stroking your cheek with an almost lovesick expression on his face before he starts to gather spit in his mouth, slapping your cheek with one hand before directly spitting on the pink of your tongue, even allowing his excess spit to drool steadily in your mouth, finishing his lewd act with a spit-filled kiss, a mix of spittle spilling out the sides of your mouths.

“P-Please. Cum inside me. Fill me up. ‘Want it. ‘Want it so bad.” You continue to beg pathetically, your nails leaving crescent shapes in his back as you felt your abdomen tighten, your orgasm so close you could taste the euphoria.

“Shit. Shit. Fuckin’ cum for me then. Let it go. Come to me, princess. You have my permission.” He huskily whispers.

That’s all it took for you to finally let go. Your thighs are shaking rapidly around his hips, squeezing him tightly in the process as you struggle to catch your breath. Your eyes are rolling to the back of your head, mouth slack with spittle dribbling out the sides.

“Nice and loud for me, pretty girl. There you go. I like you so much.” He coos before tensing up, hunching over your figure, His brows are furrowed and his eyes are shut tightly, his jaw clenched as he paints your insides white, thick streams of cum jetting out of his cockhead and on your bruised cervix.

You’re both panting, bodies a tangled, sweaty mess when you both regain your breaths. Feeling his eyes on you, you tilt your head to the side, as if to ask him why. But, he laughs before rolling the both of you over, leaving you on his chest while still being connected to him, his cum steadily running down your thighs.

“So, are you still gonna see him?” He asks voice light, hoping you hadn’t caught his slip up.

“I-”

“Hey. You guys are cute ‘nd all, but you need to get up. Yuuji’s lookin’ for you both. Even wanted to come and wake you guys up but obviously, you guys were busy.” He exhales, rubbing his temples before shutting the door, leaving you hot and embarrassed.

“Let’s go?”

___

“I can’t believe you actually came! I missed you so much, bunny.” Gojo spreads his arms, welcoming you in an embrace. You awkwardly make your way towards him, allowing him to wrap his arms around your shoulder, even having the audacity to press a kiss against your head.

Deciding that you weren’t about to have it, you push at his chest, wanting to sit at the booth he had gotten for you both. It was a simple cafe, only a ten-minute drive away from your place, well, Sukuna’s place.

Sitting in the booth, you place your bag beside you, folding your arms on the table before getting straight to the point. “Why did you ask me to come here?” You utter, feeling quite uncomfortable under his piercing gaze. The same blue eyes that caught your attention the day you had met Gojo.

You still remember that day, your junior year in high school where Gojo Satoru had asked you out on a date, even coming by your classroom with a bouquet of blue roses that matched his eyes, shamelessly proclaiming his ‘love’ for you. Something he had done to gain the attention of your classmates.

Your relationship was a dream, too good to be true. Weekly dates were a thing and he never failed to show up with a present, so you had started doing the same, getting him little trinkets that you thought that he’d enjoy. You loved him but your mom hadn’t, openly expressing her dislike towards him whenever he visited you or picked you up for a date.

But like all dreams, your relationship with Gojo Satoru has come to an end. You still remembered his eyes, a lovely shade of blue they were. But, on that day, they were different, lacking the lustre they usually had.

You still remember the way his eyes gradually lost their sparkle, the longer your relationship progressed, the more uninterested he got. His texts got shorter and so did his verbal replies, only allowing you to hear his voice a few times a week as he started to avoid you during school as well.

Your friend reassured you, telling you that it was normal for a relationship to have its rough patches. And it wasn’t as if you had to stay by his side. It made you feel clingy, wanting his attention almost the same way his fangirls did. It made you feel like you weren’t a priority.

You remember crying to your mom, asking her why. Why wouldn’t he tell you what he was feeling? Why didn’t he want to speak to you anymore? Why did he avoid you? Why won’t he come to see you anymore? Had you done something wrong? What did you do to upset him? Why couldn’t you do anything right? Why did you drive everyone away?

Your mom tried her best to answer your questions, but both of you knew that the only person who could answer them was the man himself. It got to the point where you answered those questions yourself, presenting your insecurities as reasons why Gojo fell out of love with you.

Had he loved you in the first place if he admitted defeat so quickly?

The heartache you felt was nothing like you had felt before. You blamed yourself for things that you didn’t have control over, things that nobody could control. It left you empty and tired, a soulless husk of who you used to be. That moment then was when you understood why people said to give the same effort. You gave yourself to him, leaving nothing for yourself.

It hurt to see him brush you off, to even refuse to speak about your relationship, to fix what you had, but did you have anything in the first place? Were you just naive? Blind to his hidden motives to play with your feelings.

You remember the day you finally spoke to him, the day you had finally gained the courage to speak your mind.

___

“Hey, can we talk?” You mumble, pulling on the sleeve of his shirt. You hadn’t meant to disrupt his conversation with his friends, but this was the only opening you saw in the past week.

He rolls his eyes before telling his friends that he’d be quick, stuffing his hands in his pockets as he follows you to the back of the school, an annoyed expression on his face as he counted the seconds, wanting to get out of there as soon as possible.

“What is it?” Gojo grumbles as he blows a piece of hair out of his eyes.

“I’m sorry for taking you away from your friends, but I just wanted to talk about us. Are we okay?”

He shrugs his shoulders, turning his head to face away from you, not wanting to see the desperate expression you had on your face. It pissed him off to no end that you couldn’t take a hint. It was his fault, hitting on someone like you in the first place.

“I don’t know.”

“Do you still wanna be with me?”

“I don’t know.”

You felt your heart crumble, even when you were expecting this, even when you had mentally prepared yourself for this, but your efforts were futile. If it could, your heart would’ve been shattered right now. Your bottom lip temples lightly before you force yourself to continue, taking in a deep breath.

“Do you still love me?”

“...”

“Because I love you. Please, Satoru. Let’s work this out. I’m sure we can. Is it me? Did I make you mad? Please tell me what I did wrong so I can fix it. I want to fix us. Please.” You beg, tears streaming down the apple of your cheeks as you desperately grab his hands, placing them on your cheeks as you sob.

“Well I don’t, okay? I don’t wanna fix us. I lost interest in you for a reason. I got what I wanted and I don’t want anymore, okay? Can you understand that? I was an angel for putting up with you in the first place.” He spits before continuing, now pushing you against the wall.

“You’re too clingy. You always wanna be with me and I hate it. It was cute at first but it shows just how dependent you are, you can't do anything for yourself. Pathetic.”

“P-Please...stop.” You cry, desperately wiping the tears from your eyes as he glares at you, his height causing you to crane your neck to look up at him.

“I’m not even done yet.”

___

“Princess. Hey. Y/n?”

You snap out of your daydream, eyes landing on Gojo’s concerned face, your hand now in his larger hands, holding you so gently as if you were the same fragile girl you were back then in high school.

“Oh. Sorry. What were you saying?”

___

“You dumbass. You let her meet up with her ex alone?” Choso loudly exclaims starling Yuuji who sat in his arms.

“What am I supposed to do? Stop her?”

“No, but you should’ve made your intentions with her clear. You know you’re in love with her--”

“I am not.”

“--Yeah well there's some type of feelings there. We have to go follow her. Gojo Satoru’s a fuckin’ bastard and we gotta make sure she’s alright.” Choso hastily puts Yuuji down, instructing him to get changed and to come down right after.

“Why do you care so much anyway? It’s not your problem?” Sukuna asks, slightly feeling his cheeks heat up as he sheepishly rubs the back of his neck, avoiding his brother's smug gaze, feeling embarrassed.

“I care because you’re my brother.” He smiles softly, placing his hand on top of Sukuna’s head, his brother now allowing the action. “I’m the eldest. I live and care for my younger brothers.” He pats his head one last time before hollering for Yuuji to hurry, causing Yuuji to almost tumble down the stairs.

“Alright alright get in the car.”

“Hey, big bro, are we going after Y/n? We’re going after her right?” He speaks as he buckles himself into his car seat, slightly struggling with the belt on his chest which Sukuna helps him with as Choso starts the car.

“Yeah, we are. We just gotta make sure she’s safe.” He huffs, settling back in his seat as they back out of the driveway. Sukuna takes a deep breath, placing a hand over his heart in an attempt to calm himself down.

It was an unfamiliar feeling, the anxiety that was constricting his lungs, sitting on his chest like a rock. His stomach feels queasy and his fingertips are ice cold. What if you chose Gojo over him? It wasn’t as if Sukuna showed any romantic feelings towards you, only coaxing you to have sex with him.

He’s unsure of when the sex stopped being just sex. At times he found himself admiring you as you slept, his chest warm and a slight smile on his face. He felt his heart beat a little harder whenever you walked into a room, especially when you looked and cared for Yuuji so lovingly.

He wants that. He wants you to care for him the same way.

“Big bro...Are you gonna be like Howl and sweep big sis off her feet?” He asks innocently, unaware of the weight of his question.

“If she wants me to.”

___

“I’m sorry but I’m not getting back together with you.” You scoffed, crossing your arms across your chest. Gojo Satoru had nothing but the audacity, asking you for so much when he knew he wouldn’t reciprocate.

“Does this have anything to do with that guy this morning?” He questioned, brow raised.

You stay silent, hands no back in your lap as you avoid his gaze. The anxiety you feel is overwhelming, bile rising your throat at the sudden confrontation. It wasn’t as if you owed him an answer but why did you feel compelled to?

“You know nobody else can make you feel the way I do. I still remember the day you begged for me to stay. I know you still feel the same way.” He rests his cheek against his palm, looking at you with such a loving look in his eyes that it made you feel sick.

“It’s useless, bunny. I know you still want me, still think about me. It’s alright. I think about you too. Are you still mad about me dumping you? It was high school. Get over it. You’re not a fucking child, Y/n.” He spits, expression souring.

He makes a move to grab your arm, but you were suddenly being pulled out of your seat and into someone else’s arms. His familiar scent clouds you, calming down all the warning bells in your head that begged you to get yourself out of the situation. You allow yourself to melt even deeper into him, holding onto the arm that was currently around your waist.

“Are you good?” He asks, worries written all over his face as he examines you for any distress, but you feel nothing but peace being with him, the mere sight of Sukuna putting all your anxieties and doubts at ease.

“Mhm,”

“Sukuna, I thought I heard your voice this morning.” Gojo stands, both men towering above you as bystanders sneak glances, wondering if there was a brawl about to go down. Some looked excited while others looked as if they were debating on leaving. You side with the latter.

“Yeah? What about it?” He hissed, gently placing you behind his larger frame as he approaches Gojo, a sneer on his face as he continues to size him up.

“Didn’t know you were into sloppy seconds. Tell me, how does my dick taste?” Gojo smugly retorts. Sukuna feels himself snap, fist rearing back to put Gojo in his place but you beat him to it.

A loud ‘smack’ resounded in the tiny coffee shop, shocking the bystanders as well as the men in front of you, their jaws slack and their eyes wide. Sukuna’s shocked expression turns into a smug one, arms crossed against his chest as he watches you handle the situation perfectly.

“Fuck you, Gojo Satoru. I don’t owe you shit. Don’t ever call me again.” You seethe, grabbing Sukuna’s hand and storming out of the with Sukuna trailing quietly behind, secretly flipping off Gojo while simultaneously sticking his tongue out at him.

Sukuna quickly turns to you, stopping his tracks to prevent you from straying too far especially when Choso was still looking for a parking spot, hastily dropping him off in front of the shop to prevent anything worse from happening. He pulls you into a secluded alleyway before speaking.

“Hey, hey, you okay? You did great. You’re such a good girl for me.” He praises, cradling you close to his chest as he breathes in your scent, basking in the warmth your body radiated. He was suddenly reminded of how much he loves to have you in his arms.

“I-I’m sorry you had to come after me.”

“I came after you because I wanted to. You didn’t make me do shit, alright?” He pulls your face away from his chest to examine your pretty face, cheeks stained with tears and eyes all puffy, but you were still the same pretty girl in his eyes,

“You mean it?”

“I do.” Sukuna takes it as an opportunity to kiss you full on the lips, slotting his slightly dry lips against your perfectly pouty ones, savouring your taste on his tongue as he cradles your cheek in one hand and squeezes your neck in the other, loving the feeling of your breath getting caught in your throat.

He peppers a few last kisses on your lips before pulling away, examining your blissful expression. He can’t help but smile at you, your innocent expression causing his heart to hammer and his tummy to do somersaults.

“I like you. So fuckin’ much.” He breathes.

You smile and press a kiss to his nose. “I know. I heard this morning. I like you just as much.”

“You heard me?” He asks incredulously.

“Yeah, of course, I heard you. We were the only two people there and it was eight in the morning.” You deadpan, amusing yourself with the chains that currently hung on his neck, a grin spreading across his face as he peers down at you.

“So why’d you see that dumbass anyway?” Huffing as he kisses the corner of your mouth.

“Because I wanted to tell him that I wanted nothing to do with him anymore. Because...I only want you. Only you.” Hiding your face in his chest as you feel his shoulder shake, silently laughing at you.

“Yeah? Only me? Show me then.”

“Uh no because we’re gonna get lunch now.” Choso suddenly butts in, startling the both of you as he stands at the opening of the alleyway, Yuuji sitting in his arms before quickly wiggling out of them, running towards you two with his arms wide open.

Taking him into your arms, he presses a kiss to your cheek.

“Big sis! You’re just like Sophie now!” He giggles, patting the area he has just kissed, wiping the spit that he had left behind, causing Sukuna to poke him in the stomach, threatening him about kissing his girlfriend.

“Yeah, I guess I am.”

[seita]

— better than (m.)

pairing : iwaizumi/reader

wordcount : 3.087

genre : fluff, smut, pwp

cw : college!au, athletic trainer!iwaizumi

tags : implied age gap (hes 27 reader is in college- age nkt specified. he's older tho), size kink, dom!iwa, pussy job (a lil bit), multiple orgasms, sensitivity kink (if u squint), squirting, fingering, creampie, aftercare.

note : this was just an excuse to write about how iwaizumi is better than any other boy <3 thank u to @toshisins for beta'ing this for me <3

+ summary : you're so tired of dumb college boys who hump and dump, with no stroke game, and can never even try to get you off. that is, until you meet 27 year old iwaizumi hajime.

When you first met Iwaizumi Hajime at the bar near your college campus, you noticed how good looking he was. Well, that was an understatement - he was tall, fit with tanned skin and a confident aura that made you weak in the knees.

You hadn't actually had the courage to approach him, however. Instead, you let some college boy buy you a cheap drink and take you home for some mediocre sex before kicking you out after not even 15 minutes of his reckless humping.

The second time you met him was at the same place. He was sitting at the bar, nursing a glass of whiskey that was almost empty. His back was to you and it gave you a wonderful view of his broad shoulders.

The mediocre lay from the last time you had been there attempted to chat you up again with false confidence, as if he had been the best fuck of your life. Naturally, you weren't having any of his bullshit - he tried to rub your clit like a scratch and sniff, forcing you to pry his hand away from it, there was no chance in hell you were giving him another second of your time. He definitely wasn't the type of guy who took rejection well, if not evident by the way he exploded and went off calling you a wide, colorful variety of names paired with numerous hurtful insults that had tears of humiliation filling your eyes.

“Hey now,” a smooth, deep voice had interrupted his very public spiel, “Don’t punish the girl for your own short comings, if she doesn't wanna fuck you again, don't you think that says more about your abilities as a man?”

The other man sputtered, muttering even more curses before storming out - probably not wanting to tussle with a guy who looked like he benched every second of his day.

There was something about Iwaizumi that just immediately had your heart skipping a beat over him. He was kind, a gentleman, and never seemed desperate or overbearing. He was confident and comfortable with himself and where he was in life.

You quickly learned that Iwaizumi was 27, almost 28 and worked as an athletic trainer so he traveled a lot.

For a while, your relationship seemed one sided with him. You'd text him and he’d reply but he rarely ever actually reached out to you. You tried flirting with him, asking him out for drinks, but it never seemed to pull him in.

It was frustrating. In basically no time at all, you had developed a stupid puppy dog crush on him. You felt like a middle school girl with a crush on a high school senior - like he was never going to give you the time of day. You were simply too young for him.

You eventually stopped trying with him, choosing to delete your message thread with him and continued on with your life.

You went through more college-boy hookups - all of them ending in disaster. Quite frankly, you were fed up with mediocre cock and being treated like shit when they were done with you. It wasn't a nice feeling, being kicked out after they didn't even bother trying to make you cum.

You couldn’t help but wonder what Iwaizumi would be like in bed. He was just so attractive, you knew he had gotten his dick wet more times than he could count. He definitely seemed the type who preferred relationships over hookups.

That's when it occurred to you.

You pulled out your phone and scoured your contacts. It had been a couple weeks since you spoke but you couldn't resist bugging him just one last time. You opened a new message thread with him and quickly typed the question that was now plaguing your mind.

“Do you have a girlfriend?”

It was the question that had changed the course of your relationship with him.

When you asked, it was like everything fell into place. Perhaps it finally relayed to him the interest you had. All that really mattered was the fact he suddenly began talking to you, starting conversations and even venturing into phone calls with you.

You lost all interest in those college boys you once hung out with and went home with to get laid. None of them made you feel the way Iwaizumi could with a simple text message. He was everything a girl could ask for and you were shocked he was single.

Which was why you were quick to ask him on a date, not caring if it made you look desperate -- you practically were. You would be damned if he went off the market while you were busy beating around the bush.

Going on a date with Iwaizumi was like a dream. You were so used to dates at sleazy bars for a couple of drinks just so they could hurry up and take you home for a quick fuck.

Iwaizumi took the time to take you on several dates -- dinner, movies, walks around town to obscure shops he thought you might like, before it finally led to the bedroom.

You had never been nervous with sex but with Iwaizumi it was different. The routine was dumb college boys who usually fawned over your tits for a few minutes before their hard ons became the center of their brain function.

You found yourself completely bare on his bed as he stood at the foot, fully clothed. The way his eyes raked across your body like a lion eyeing its next, delicious meal had you curling in on yourself shyly.

His lips quirked up as your arms came across your breasts, shielding them from his predatory gaze, “Oh now, you know better than that, don’t you? What kind of good girl hides herself, hm? Acted so eager for my cock all this time, now you wanna be shy?”

You gasp, cheeks flushing hot as you register his words -- he’d known you wanted him that badly all this time?

He clicks his tongue, “You didn’t think you were subtle did you? Bet you would have done anything to get your paws on my dick when I got off work early the other day, hm? Showed up at your apartment...you were starin’ real hard at me, I’m right aren’t I?”

You think that to that day, lashes fluttering against your cheeks at the memory. He was wearing loose gray sweats and a muscle tank top that showed his biceps flexing with every movement he made. Your eyes had immediately been drawn, however more down to his crotch instead. Where you could clearly see the outline of his cock through the material.

You had stuffed your little fingers in your cunt for hours that night, thinking about how big he looked -- even soft, couldn’t imagine if he was hard.

“Ah, there you go again,” he muses, snapping you out of your haze, “Maybe if you ask real pretty for me, I’ll give you just what you want.”

“Please,” you immediately gasp, “Want you so much Hajime, i-it hurts. Can’t stop thinkin’ about you…”

“It hurts?” he huffs, finally reaching up to pull his shirt off, leaving you to ogle his pecs and defined abs, which flex as he works on removing his jeans, “Needy little cunt hurts ‘cause you don’t have a nice, fat cock stuffing it full? Such a dramatic little baby. I just know your phone is full of some little college boys’ numbers...why don’t you give them a call?”

You shake your head, “Don’t want them! I just know they’re not as good as you, Hajime, please...please make me cum, I'll do anything?”

“Aw, those idiot little boys don’t know how to make a pretty girl like you cum, is that it?” he asks, climbing onto the bed, making the mattress dip beneath you as he slots himself between your thighs.

“No,” you pout, letting him spread your legs, hands under your knees to open you up to his greedy gaze.

“So compliant with me, you just need a real man to get you off, huh?” he smiles when you nod, “Don’t worry, I’ll take real good care of you.”

Oh, you knew. Just from the way he moved his hips against yours, parting your folds so the head of his cock glided from your clenching little hole, dragging your slick up to your clit -- you just knew that he knew what he was doing.

As you looked between your legs, you felt yourself gush at the sight. His cock was so big, long and fat, drooling precum over your slick little slit, making a mess. He wrapped his fist around his length, making you whimper as his fingers couldn’t even wrap around the girth of him. He slapped his cock against your cunt, groaning at the strings of your slick that clung to him.

“Such a messy cunt,” he sighs, making sure to spank your clit with the head of his cock, laughing breathlessly when your thighs jumped in response to the sudden stimulation, “So fucking eager for me, aren’t you?”

“Uhuh,” you sigh, arching your hips, “Want you to fuck, please, Hajime, need it so bad.”

Much to your dismay, he shakes his head, “Can’t just put it in, pretty baby,” the pet name makes you whimper, “It’ll hurt too much, want you to feel good, yeah?”

“I can handle it,” you breathlessly reassure, canting his hips upward once more to drag your clit against that ridge on the crown of his cock, “Jus’ put it in…”

He doesn’t respond this time but still makes no move to put his cock inside. You’re distracted, however, by the way he now focuses on playing with your clit. Using his cock, he drags the underside across the hard little bud, slaps it once with the tip and before you know it your body is seizing up and you cum.

You let out a string of curses, falling limp against the bed as he works you through the quick high.

“See, that was so easy,” he chuckles, “Those stupid little boys you’ve been letting screw you have no idea what they’re doing, do they? Little cunts so sensitive, I barely even had to do anything to make you cum.”

You’re still trembling when you come down, licking your lips as you give him a dopey little smile and a nod at his cooing. He can’t resist leaning down, and pressing his lips against yours almost desperately. You wrap your arms around his neck, holding him in a deep kiss while his hand finds its way between your legs, two fingers sliding easily into your slick little cunt.

You moan into his mouth, “Hajime ah! ...please, make me cum again.”

“Fuck, you’re so desperate for me,” he hisses through his teeth, “Clenching around my fingers so tight. If I crook my fingers...right here...I bet you’ll just…”

As if on cue, his fingertips hook on your g-spot and you squeal, legs kicking out as you gush around his fingers. He bites his lip and continues to fuck his fingers against that spot, watching your eyes roll back, mouth falling open in a silent cry as you cum for the second time in mere minutes.

“Y-You’re so good, Hajime…” you praise softly, “Fuck, please, give me your cock now!”

He laughs and sits up properly again, pulling his fingers from your cunt. He examines them for a second, slick with your cum and streaks of cream covering the digits before he pops them into his mouth with a moan, savoring the taste of you.

“Alright, baby,” he sighs after pulling out his fingers with a pop!. He grips you beneath the knees again and scoots closer until his tip prods at your entrance. You shudder at the feeling, “Relax for me, pretty girl, let me in…”

Iwaizumi begins pushing in, letting out a soft groan as the head finally buries itself in your cunt. You squeal at the feeling, pulling your knees closer to your chest. The sound of you moaning and whimpering just from his head has him throbbing almost painfully against your tender cunt.

“Almost there…” he huffs, grinning at the sight of your eyes rolling back, “Ah, does that feel good?”

“Yes!” you cry out, “Biggest cock I’ve ever had…’s full…”

“Yeah, baby? It feels so good to finally get your cunt filled with a nice, big cock huh?” he laughs when you nod eagerly, “It’s alright, baby. You won’t have to deal with any mediocre college boys anymore, yeah? This cock’s all yours now…you hear that? All yours.”

Your hand flies down between your legs, finding your clit. He watches with lidded eyes as you circle the little bud and squeal, keeping his hips still to let you cum around his cock nice and hard like you need.

“That’s it, pretty girl,” he hums, “Get yourself off, you know what you need...atta girl…”

You sigh happily at his praise, licking your lips and relax against the bed once more. He takes that as his hint that you were ready, pulling his hips back before roughly slamming back inside your sensitive cunt. It knocks the air from your lungs and you cry out, unable to hold back your noises as he fucks you senseless.

He uses his strength to keep you pinned, forcing your knees against your chest, leaving your cunt open and vulnerable to his pistoning cock. Iwaizumi is so big that the stretch burns every time he sinks back into you, the tip touching your cervix with every calculated thrust, making your entire body ache with the deep pain of it.

But it all feels so good, you’d never been fucked like that before. He knew exactly where to aim his cock, keeping his eyes fixed on your face to watch your reactions, gaze flicking down to where his cock stuffs your cunt full to watch you coat him in your cream whenever he grazes that sweet little spot deep inside you -- a spot no other man had ever tried to find before.

“Feel good?” he questions, though he knew the answer even before you cry it out.

“Ah, yes! Yes, yes, yes!” you sob, “I-It feels so good, Hajime! Fuck, you’re so good at fucking me! You make me feel like a virgin all over again!”

He grins, “Yeah, I know I am, baby.”

His cocky, confident response would have been a turn off with any other man, but with him -- it only made you moan. He had every right to be cocky, he knew just how to use his cock and it was exhilarating.

“You gotta cum again for me, pretty,” he pants, “Cum again, one more time, let go.”

Your throat burns from how much you scream for him, the messy noises coming from him fucking your sloppy cunt should be embarrassing -- you’ve never made such a mess before. You’ve never been so wet, creaming and gushing all the way down his balls.

He didn’t seem to mind, instead he seemed to only be turned on by it.

“I want you to squirt, can you do that for me? Make a pretty mess for me.”

You shake your head, “D-Don’t know how...Can’t.”

“Yes you can, baby,” he purrs, “I can make you, you know that I will.”

You didn’t but, you couldn’t help but nod -- immediately believing him and trusting him. He shifts his knees just slightly, changing his center of balance before his palm curls over your pubic bone, thumb effortlessly finding itself pressed against your clit.

The change in angle lets him hit your g-spot even more brutal than before. You’re immediately arching and crying out for him, eyes rolling back into your head as you feel your orgasm slam into you faster than you’d ever experienced.

Instead of slowing you down, he works you through it, keeping the same, animalistic pace and keeps his thumb pressed against your clit, the rough pad of his thumb has you ogling. If anything, the calloused hands of Iwaizumi proves to you how much of a real man he is, those college boys have nothing on him.

“Give it to me, c’mon,” he urges, clenching his teeth together from the effort it takes to keep going to this hard and fast pace.

“H-Haji…” you cut yourself off as you feel yourself get thrown over the edge again. This time, something feels different and you can’t help but sob, “Please! I-I’m gonna-!”

“That’s it, fuck!” he moans, pace stuttering when you squirt -- your cum splashing against his abs as you shudder and squeal, “Good fuckin’ girl, my good girl. Shit, where do you want me to cum?”

“I-Inside! Fuck, please! I need your cum!” you immediately sob, nails biting in his biceps where you reach out to grip him -- trembling and crying from overstimulation as he works towards his own high.

“You sure? Shit,” you nod, breathless pleas falling from your lips as he finally stills, spilling his load deep inside with a long, drawn-out groan.

Everything is still for a moment and then he’s pulling out with a hiss. You whine at the feeling of your cunt gaping, yearning for his cock again, as his cum leaks out.

He hums, “Sorry about that, let me get you cleaned up.”

You sigh, and close your eyes, trying to relax and let your body settle its trembling. He comes back and quietly works on cleaning the mess between your thighs.

“Alright, up you go,” he sighs, taking your arm and helping you to your feet. You whine and wobble for a second, making him laugh, “You good?”

“Y-Yeah…” you stumble a bit and lean against his dresser, looking for your discarded clothes.

He has his back to you as he strips his sheets. Suddenly, you feel shut out -- like you shouldn’t be there anymore.

He brushes past you to his closet, pulling out some fresh sheets. You feel silly, standing there naked while he gets ready for bed. You bend down and grab your panties, clumsily putting them on before moving to pick up your dress, where it’s crumpled on the floor.

“What’re you doing?” he laughs, “That won’t be comfortable to sleep in.”

“Huh?” you tilt your head to the side and he pauses fluffing his pillows.

“What...you didn’t think I was kicking you out, did you?” he asks and scoffs at the face you make.

“Well I...usually I…” you shift on your feet nervously and he frowns, walking up to you.

He cups your cheeks and makes you look at him, “Jesus, who have you been fucking?” he laughs and gently nudges you towards the bed, “Lay down before you fall over.”

Fighting back a smile, you do as you’re told and sit on the bed, watching as he puts on a fresh pair of sweats, waiting for him to join you. When he does, he immediately pulls you into his arms, pressing a kiss to the top of your head.

“Take a nap, and then we’ll take a shower.”

“It’s 11 at night, it wouldn’t be a nap,” you counter with a giggle.

“Well,” he sighs, “Take a shower in the morning then, and then we can go get breakfast, yeah?”

You smile and relax against him, “Sounds good.”

seita © 2020 | all content and its rights belong to me. do not modify or repost

[satosuguslut-deactivated2021110]

Origin Story

Ryomen Sukuna x F! Reader

Word Count 8k + || Minors DNI (NSFW)

Summary: THIS IS REVENGE FOR MAKING ME A SUKUNA FUCKER!!!! 

That being said, please enjoy 😖❤️

Warnings/Tags: monster fucking, DP, two cocks 💀, unprotected sex, overstimulation, nipple play, slight degradation, slight praising kink, breeding kink if you squint, Y’ALL THIS ONE IS REAL DIRTY DON’T MAKE ME EXPLAIN PLS 😭😭😭😭😭

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[suna-reversed]

Jujutsu kaisen nsfw links

a/n: for some reason all of gojo’s links got deleted as soon as i tried to upload this so now I’ll just be doing a separate Gojo links + hcs post😀 lmk if you wanna be on its taglist

Nanami: link link link link link

Toji: link link link link link

Getou: link link link link

Sukuna: link link link link link

Choso: link link link link link

Mei Mei: link link link

Utahime: link link link

[hvnlydmn-deactivated20211020]

srry if it looks like i’m sending too many requests but i just thought about a s/o that’s waiting for Haikyuu boys at the airport after they went to a bunch of games overseas and the s/o is like ‘uwu i missed youuu <3’ and the boys are like *sniffle* ‘mhm yeah ik’

again don’t rush, take good care of yourself and stay safe :) <3

REUNITING WITH HAIKYUU BOYS AT THE AIRPORT AFTER THEYVE BEEN PLAYING OVERSEAS

characters - timeskip!miya atsumu, sakusa kiyoomi, bokuto kōtarō, oikawa tōru, iwaizumi hajime 

a/n - pls never stop sending requests, the ones you sent are always so amazing and make me feel the real feelz, i went w some pro bbys and iwa cos hed probs be travelling w the teams so <3 ive been in a rut so hopefully this is ok!

☾ ATSUMU felt his feet carry him quickly towards the exit gate, towards you. his headphones flung haphazardly over his neck, messy hair hidden under a black cap and eyes still a little dark, tired despite managing to sleep on the plane - he always slept better wrapped in you. his grip on his suitcase loosening when he catches a glimpse of the same hair he’d always wake up to as it lay against his pillow after you’d rolled over to his side of the bed during the night to steal his warmth - because you knew he’d always pull you closer, paired with eyes that always held the kind of tenderness that he never thought he even deserved but you taught him he did - so he isn’t ashamed when he feels his gaze turn glassy, his suitcase long forgotten on the ground because when your figure finally runs into his arms as they open to greet you, he realises this is all that matters - his lips finding yours almost instantly - a little salty with tears but there’s love as his words come out a little breathless “a missed ya so much baby, did ya watch me win for ya?” his grip tightening slightly at the unwavering love in your gaze because fuck - he missed this. miya atsumu cries because in your arms, he’s finally home.

☾ SAKUSA sighed as he tried to control the racing of his heart - almost there, his fingers pulling at the sleeves of his jacket, a habit you always seemed to have before he left for away games but one he picked up because it reminded him of you. readjusting the bag across his chest as his eyes scanned the crowd before they landed on a familiar smile that only caused his heart beat to quicken more - his feet carrying him before his mind could register the groups of bodies he brushed past, kiyoomi hated crowds but he loved you, his gaze locked on your figure as you stood in a more secluded area of the airport, a smile breaking from under his mask, for you, because he knows you did that for him. his body finally bringing him to stop infront of you as he softened, his heart rate seeming to finally slow because you were his safe haven as his hand moved to cup your cheek gently - lips brushing against your forehead and although covered by a mask, you smiled because you still felt everything, it was enough. your hand coming to intertwine with his as he finally finds the familiarity he seeked in his months away in the “let’s go home.” causing a warmth to bloom in his chest as he realises that with your hand in his, he already was.

☾ BOKUTO raised his fist cheerfully as a smile beamed from his lips, hurried footsteps carrying him from the gate because he all wanted right now was you - your head whipping towards his at the familiar sound of “BABY” that used to be your 6am ballad as he moved to begin the day, lazy kisses peppered to your cheek and a promise to work hard for you, always for you. his body moving to you quickly, salt and pepper hair hanging loosely over his eyes and cheeks flushed from the heat that seemed to build in his chest at the familiar feeling of love when his arms reached under your thighs to lift you off the ground, allowing himself to melt against the weight of your body as it pressed against his because there was a familiarity to it - it still fit just as perfectly. he doesn’t notice when the first tear of the night seems to trickle down his cheek, because he still smiles as he nuzzles against your palm when your hand doesn’t hesitate to come up and wipe it, his lips moving to find yours as he groans against them - because the giggly love confessions and the teary “i missed yous” exchanged between breathless kisses, felt just like home.

☾ OIKAWA yawned as he stretched his arms above his head, a soft smile painted on his face despite the long plane ride because he knew seeing you would make it all worth it. biting his lip as he felt the tears already blur his vision at the thought of finally being able to hold you again - his hotel bed had missed the familiar warmth that lulled him to sleep at night, a home filled with the familiar scent of your coffee as you hummed a random love song you’d probably both sang the night before - but then he sees it, you - home, still as beautiful as he remembers, his hand resting over his chest, just above his heart as he feels it beat for you before his arms are tightly wrapping around your figure - finally, that familiar warmth he’d craved for months when he’d lay awake hoping you were proud of him but now - when your hand brushes through his hair, his eyes meeting your own glassy ones he realises that you always are. his hand gently resting against the back of your head to push you deeper into his chest as you both cry but he knows it’s because of love, and that’s all he’ll ever need.

☾ IWAIZUMI groaned as he felt every hour of the journey through his muscles, stretching his neck before rubbing the sleep from his eyes, his hands felt restless - as if longing to holding you, the idea of being wrapped in that familiar warmth causing his lips to upturn slightly before they stretched to a grin when his eyes finally met your figure across the gate - even years later his heart still skipped a beat for you, because love with you still felt like it always had - like it was supposed to. he moved like his luggage was suddenly empty before he shrugged it off in favour of being able to hold you instead, his hand tangling in your hair, the other wrapping tightly around your waist as his lips met your own - melting against yours solidifying the fact that shit, he really missed this. before pulling away to cup your cheek as he smiled once again, his cheeks a little flushed and his eyes a little darker from lack of sleep but you still recognised the love in them because it never faltered. his lips dipping to meet yours once again, a gruff “i love you” exchanged between breathes before you feel a smile replace it, his hand intertwining with yours because home, really was you.

[elysianslove]

haikyuu boys that ━━

━━ would absolutely, definitely, 100% get nauseous, dizzy, possibly might faint, while their s/o is in labor. one peak and they’re doubling over the hospital bed, inhaling deeply and exhaling sharply, steeling themselves. some are surprising, some are expected. all are stupid.

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