"It's almost a comforting thought that Percy's not just born out of Poseidon wanting glory and his son to be the one to save Olympus. He was born because his dad loved his mom. And I think that's kind of special for him to hear." - Walker Scobell
- sworn protector!gwayne hightower x targaryen!reader
synopsis. You drink wine that someone mixed with something that makes you desire touch more than all else. Touch from someone particular. You need his touch, or you’ll die. Luckily, your sister—the queen—can be quite the matchmaker.
contents. SMUT, no war au (rhaenyra is queen), reader is a targaryen princess and rhaenyra's younger sister, gwayne is her sworn protector, reader has fem anatomy and is addressed as a princess, sex pollen/fuck or die, mentions of suicide, oral (f!recieving), loss of virginity, unprotected sex, p in v, finger sucking, slight praise kink, not proofread
Your body burns.
No, it feels more like if your body was actually truly burning in a fire, perhaps from that of your dragon, as if you’d told it to rain flames upon you. You may consider that option if it comes down to it. If someone didn’t touch you soon, you were going to explode.
Instead you were writhing and squirming on your bed in front of your own sister—the queen—and you would much rather be dead. She looks at you with that callous smirk, as if she thinks she knows something. Something you don’t want to tell the maesters.
“Is it poison?” she questions Grand Maester Gerardys, her arms crossed on her chest.
He nods. “It seems as so. We believe it is from the wine she drank at supper.”
“Can’t you open a window?!” you yell with a cracking voice.
Silence fills the room after the outburst. Both Rhaenyra and Gerardys glance over. You do the same once you see a smile fall over her face, one she fails to bite back.
The windows are open.
“All of the windows are open, princess,” Gerardys mumbles.
“Yes, I can see that now, thank you.” Your head falls back onto the pillow, allowing your dampened hair to reconnect with your sweaty nape and back. “Will I die tonight, Gerardys?” you question, almost joking.
“No, no, princess,” he says. “Not tonight.”
Your head shoots back up from its resting position. Rhaenyra is already looking at him, any sign of her former coyness erased from her features.
“It seems the poison was mixed with the wine,” he begins. “Therefore, unless the culprit is found, it will be quite difficult to tell whatever was infused in the drink. And given your symptoms, unless somehow magically cured, there is not much I can do.”
“Not much you can do?” Rhaenyra exclaims, her arms now at her side.
Gerardys lowers his voice and steps closer to her. “Not unless you would like me to find a maegi.”
She takes one look over at you. You look full of fear, full of suffering, but most of all—full of regret. “That wont be necessary,” she mutters. “If you’ll let me speak to my sister alone?”
“Of course, your grace.” He leaves the room. Rhaenyra watches him go, not looking back until the door swings back shut.
She makes her way to your bedside so swiftly it was as if she was running. The screech of the chair she pulls to sit on hurts your ears more than any of the conversation you had just been put through. You wish your protector was here instead. He would be able to help you. He would have to help you.
“Tell me,” she commands, already leaning forward, her hands folded in her lap.
You lift your body off the sheets, but they stick to you as you rise. “Tell you what?”
“Don’t play the fool. You know what I’m referring to,”
“I don’t.”
“You do.”
“I don’t, Your Grace.”
She scoffs out a laugh after that. Two of her fingers settle on the bridge of her nose. “Your condition is of your own volition. If you tell me what you drank, it will be easier for me to find a solution.”
You look at her. She isn’t smiling. There’s no hidden agenda beneath her stoic expression, none of the small facial cues you spent your childhood learning to decipher. She truly wants to help you.
And your body feels like it could give out at any moment. No, you want it to give out at any moment. You’re starting to feel nauseous.
You’ll do about anything to stop whatever you did to yourself.
You exhale a heavy breath. “You mustn’t tell anyone what I did.”
Rhaenyra lets herself crack a smile. “Gods, sister, what did you do?”
“I am unwed. Undesired,” you mumble. “I thought it clever to…”
“To what?” Rhaenyra presses, leaning closer.
You sigh and cover your face with your hands. You mutter something so quiet you don’t even hear it in your own ears.
“What did you say?” she asks softly.
“I had a potion brewed.”
Rhaenyra lets out a sharp breath through her nose. “Oh, Gods, sister—“
“You don’t understand! The Realm’s Delight, the most beautiful maiden in all of the Seven Kingdoms—you could have anyone and anything you desire!” you argue. “It isn’t the same for me. Even if it were, I don’t get to choose—”
“I’ve heard enough.” You finally remove your hands from your face, both now sheen with a layer of sweat as is the rest of your body. Rhaenyra is now standing at the edge of your bed, pacing back and forth. “When you had the potion brewed, did the alchemist tell you of any cure?”
“No…” you mumble.
“Well.” Rhaenyra sighs. She gazes over at you, but avoids your own. “I can presume what it is.”
You know what remains unsaid. It is torturous enough for your own sister to know of the humiliation you’ve brought upon yourself. For her, the queen, to be made uncomfortable by the revelation? You get a sudden urge to throw yourself from the highest point of the Red Keep. It would cure all of the emotions swirling in your head.
The writhing starts all over again. The feeling makes you want to crawl out of your own body. In your peripheral, you can see Rhaenyra stop moving. She faces forward to look at you as you thrash around the mattress.
“I know what must be done,” she says. And she leaves the room.
You are left alone in your torture. Now seems about the best time to consider your future. You could jump from the window. It would be quick. You’d be remembered as tragic. Never wed, without children, lonely, jumped from her bedroom window after being poisoned—Rhaenyra would spread the word of poison. She wouldn’t subject the public to the truth.
You suck in a breath as you rise from the bed, dragging your feet to the window. The air fanning on your face makes you hopeful for about fives seconds before the sun finally catches on your skin and shines over the moisture on your skin.
The ache in your body almost certifies that you wouldn’t be able to hoist yourself onto the windowsill without some help.
Maybe your protector would help you. You could say you need more air. He certainly wouldn’t help cure your self-inflicted debilitation—he is too honorable. No—he’s too insistent on protecting your honor to do anything to you.
The door swings open again.
Rhaenyra enters first. You watch her panic once she does not immediately spot you on the bed, then watch her settle once she finds you by the window. There is someone behind her.
The person unveils themself from the shadows.
It is your sworn shield and protector. Ser Gwayne Hightower.
He steps into the room, and it is like your legs turn to water. He notices this, and dashes across the room to wrap his arms around your waist, stabilizing you. Once you are brought back to your feet, you let out a moan. It is almost embarrassing, but you couldn’t care less now.
Gwayne is touching you. Sometimes, the Gods do work in your favor. You slowly look up at him. He is already staring down at you, concerned at your condition, of course—and probably confused as to why you just moaned when he touched you—and you place a hand on his shoulder. Your other arm wraps around his bicep.
“I shall leave you to it.” Rhaenyra is out of the room with a slam of the door before you can look over to acknowledge her. When you look back, Gwayne still has his gaze fixed on you.
The contact you share feels truly breathtaking, perhaps because it is. It does feel quite hard to take in any air. You find your body inching closer to his, desperate for closer proximity. You feel your nipples, hard under your smallclothes, brush against his gambeson. You let your head fall onto his sternum, and it is then that you realize what you are doing, and immediately push away.
You stumble back to the bed, sitting on its edge, and shame washes over you. Gwayne hasn’t moved from his spot by the window. He still stares at you, however.
“My princess.” He steps closer. You hold up a finger as if to tell him to stop, and he does. “I cannot bear to see you in this condition. I only wish to help.”
“Help with what?” you breathe.
He remains silent.
“What exactly did Rhaenyra tell you?” you question.
Silence.
“Tell me. I command it.”
His gaze shifts to the ground. “Her Grace informed me of your condition.”
“You already knew of my condition. What else did she tell you?”
He looks back up at you. “She revealed to me the nature of your condition. What exactly brought it on.”
“Gods,” you mutter under your breath and squeeze your eyes shut. This cannot be real.
“How it can be cured,” he adds.
Your brows tighten. You hope that when you open your eyes again, he will be gone, and this will all have been a figment of your imagination.
When you do so, you find that this is the realest he has ever been. Ser Gwayne of House Hightower, in all his glory. He glistens in the flare of the sun. His hair, usually a light brown, shimmers auburn in the light. It looks similar to his sister’s in a certain light.
You can see the resemblance, him and his father. You would rather not, but it is there. He is certainly more alluring.
“I want to help you.” He takes a single step closer. “I need to help you.”
Your head is cocked to the side, though only out of exhaustion. It feels to heavy to carry yourself.
“When you swore yourself as my protector, I vowed that I would ask no service of you that might bring you dishonor. What do you reckon this is?” you scoff out a laugh, feeling the whole situation truly ironic.
“It would not bring me dishonor if nobody discovers it.” His voice is low. He closes the window, then moves to close the other. “In fact, I swore first to protect you from any and all harm. I believe that prevails over bringing me dishonor.” You watch him then as he travels to the door. The lock clicks shut, and the sound of it travels to your core.
Not only is he able, he is willing.
He turns back to you, and you lock eyes. His brows are turned upwards at the corners—it is true, desperate concern etched onto his face. You can only imagine how disheveled you look.
You sigh, but it comes out as more of a moan, and let your head hang low.
Gwayne is across the room in a moment, kneeling down in front of you. He removes the gloves from his hands, settling them on the ground beside him, and then places his hands on your clothed thighs. The contact draws the linens slightly upwards. How you wish he would just slide them all the way up and just kiss your cun—
You close your eyes and draw in a long breath.
“Tell me what you need,” he purrs. Your eyes shoot back open, and his hands move to hold your hips. “I am yours.”
You want to. Gods, who are you kidding? You need to tell him, because he will do it, but you can’t. The words freeze on your tongue. Where do you even start?
But he is knelt before you, almost pathetic in his attempt at a remedy, so eager on helping you.
Why must you tell him?
You grab the cloth at your thighs and curl your fingers enough times until it is bunched up near your crotch. All that prevents him from laying eyes on your bare cunt is closed legs. You let them spread, gruelingly slow, pushing Gwayne’s hands from your hips in the process.
He does not look away from your face. “Tell me. Please,” he whimpers, letting his fingers graze the sides of your thighs.
You stammer, and squirm once more. “I need you to touch me,” you declare.
Gwayne nods once. “As you wish.”
And he hoists your legs over his shoulders and his face inches closer and closer to your core until his lips latch onto your clit. And finally, for once since drinking the stupid wine, you feel bliss. You’ve never felt something like this before.
It surges through your body and your entire body twitches violently. Gwayne lifts his arms up and grips your hips back again, using the hold to tug your cunt farther into his mouth. He eats you like a man starved.
You did not realize of the noises you were making until you nearly screamed, letting your head fall back. Your hands snake into his hair, pulling his head closer to your core.
He releases your clit from his lips. “Tastes so good—my princess—” his words fan over your damp slit, and he leans down to lick a thick stripe from bottom to top, collecting your arousal into onto his tongue. He swallows it with a loud gulp.
Your breath catches in your throat.
Gwayne continues his assault on your clit, sucking down hard. Your hips roll toward the allure of his lips. You are panting and gasping, hand bunching up his hair into your fist.
Heat flows through your entire body. It is a mix of the feeling you felt upon drinking that curséd wine and something incredible. True, pure ecstasy. You feel the blood of the dragon in you now. You understand it.
An unfamiliar ache begins to tighten in your lower stomach as he persists in lapping at your cunt. Nothing in your life has ever felt so good. You wonder if this is the true effect of the wine, or if it is just because it is your first time—you cannot really think about anything else. His tongue flattens and rolls against your clit and you choke on a moan.
Your muscles tense, your toes curl, and your heels dig into his back. His tongue presses and prods against you and he can feel it coming, the way your thighs tighten around him and shake and spasm.
Shudders wrack your body as you cum. He does not stop even when you do, even when your moans crescendo, his tongue still relentlessly ravishes your cunt even after you fall back onto the bed.
Finally, he lets go of your core with a wet pop.
It is then that you realize the burn has subsided. Relief washes over you momentarily.
But it returns as quickly as it went away. It flows through your body and you feel desperate for him once again.
He crawls up your body, caging you in between his arms, searching for something beneath your fucked-out expression.
“It isn’t enough—” you declare, your breath labored.
“What do you require?” Gwayne rasps, using a hand to brush your hair off of your forehead. His touch wavers in concern when he realizes the scorch of your skin.
“I need—” you paw at his clothed cock. “Your—”
“My what?” he pants.
“I need you inside,” you mutter.
Without a word, he begins shedding his garments. You were simply too dazed to admire it. Perhaps if there is a next time—Gods you hope there is a next time—you’ll get to do exactly that.
He is crawling back over you in an instant, his body bare. You run your hands up his chest, dragging the ball of your hand over his sternum. His cock hits your pelvis.
Your smallclothes, practically wet at this point, Gwayne lifts slightly at your waist. “Would you like me to take this off?” he asks.
You nod lazily.
He shimmies the linen up your body. “Sit up for a moment, sweet girl,” he instructs, and you obey.
They are finally, finally off, discarded somewhere across the room, and it feels much better being exposed than you expected it to be. There is no insecurity when you are with him. He just wants to help.
He grabs a pillow from off the head of the bed, lifting your hips up with a swift sleight of hand and shoving it under. “For your comfort,” he clarifies.
His hand comes up to cradle your cheek, his elbow resting beside your shoulder, as his other hand reaches down to grip his cock.
You look into his eyes, trying to search for anything past pure devotion and adoration for what he sees before him, and failing. Your lips falter as they reach up to lock with his. He meets you halfway.
Your hand tangles in his hair, pressing his head down harder onto your wet lips. The kiss is unpracticed and messy. Has he done this before? With anyone else, you mean. You should ask once you finish.
Gwayne enters you in a slow thrust, inhaling the noise you make into his mouth. His hand, the one that was cradling your cheek, finds itself on the nape of your neck.
His lips depart from your own, and he presses his forehead against yours, looking down to watch his cock sink into your cunt. He withdraws and sinks in once more, just to see it again. And again. And again. Slowly, slowly, slowly, the torturous drag of his length into you.
Your lips are parted, throat singing moans so frequent you’d think you were performing for him. You know you are being too loud. It feels impossible to be anything but.
Those gorgeous blue eyes of his find their way back to yours. "Oh—fuck, look at you," he praises, no longer needing the arm that guided his cock into you to guide his cock into you, so he raises it up to your mouth.
His thumb glides over your teeth, and then pushes past them. You wrap a hand around his wrist and suck on the digit. Up and down, up and down, as if it were his cock. He almost freezes inside of you.
Your hand slides up his, grabbing his pointer and middle-finger, swapping his thumb out for them. You do the same to them, bobbing your head up and down, moaning around them, and Gwayne fucking whimpers.
He resumes his movements. His cock throbs, your walls wrapping around him, sucking him in like you were made for him—or more so he was made for you, because he was. He is your man. He will be your man until the day he dies.
His fingers leave your mouth, and your saliva connects to the pads of them. He takes them into his own mouth momentarily.
Your fingers dig into his shoulders, pulling his body down to connect to yours. His hand snakes between you, gripping your hardened nipple, earning a gasp from you.
“I’m yours, my princess,” he murmurs, drunk-like. “I’m yours.” And he presses his lips all down your neck, the trail all wet and sloppy.
You’re clenching around him, body spasming from under his caging hold. You feel close to a similar sort of climax that you felt only once before, just then when his head was between your legs. With each slap of his skin against yours, you are screaming. He mutters things, most you can’t quite catch, but they’re all something like that’s it, sweet girl, and let it out, my princess.
He uses his forearm to rise from the skin-to-skin contact you had forced him into. His fingers, desperate yet nimble, work themselves to the small of your back. The contact releases your skin from the suction of the pillowcase, and he lifts your hips up more with his arm now wrapped around them.
His pace quickens. You glance down, and nearly sob at the sight of him disappearing inside you.
“Gwayne?” you look back up at him. Again, he is already staring back at you, ready and willing to fulfill your every need.
“Yes, my princess?” he heaves.
“Kiss me.”
As you wish, is he would have said, if it weren’t for him immediately giving in to your wish. He kisses like he is eating you. Messy. His spit somehow finds itself all around your mouth. You don't notice that you do the same to him.
Your orgasm slams into you. It is a violent punch that knocks the wind out of you—you think you see the Stranger reaching out to you—then you feel Gwayne slow his movements and a thick liquid coat your insides. You babble incomprehensible speech as you ride it out.
“Fuck—” you hear him mutter, and pull out quickly. He runs a finger up your slit, not considering the fact that you were still beyond sensitive—you jerk back at his touch, still trying to catch your breath.
It was like all air was running from you. It probably was. You violently pushed it back out with every small inhale of it.
You finally come to, and realize he has been repeating the words fuck, fuck, fuck, since he pulled out.
“What’s wrong?” you raise a hand to hold his cheek, bringing his attention back to you.
“You don’t—” he pauses. And he sighs, squeezing his eyes shut. “I wasn’t supposed to cum inside.”
You’re still confused. “What’s the problem?”
“That is how you get pregnant.” He lets out one last heavy sigh and then falls onto his back beside you.
You turn onto your side, resting your head on one of the arms he lies beneath your shoulder, and bringing a hand up to place it on his chest. His is still rising and falling as rapidly as yours is.
Your fingers trace your name onto his chest. He is none-the-wiser, but you still smirk at the action. Your man.
“Will you ask the maesters to brew me moon tea?” you mumble.
He brings his other hand to hold yours. “As you wish.”
You chuckle breathily.
“Are you—are you cured?” he says, playing with your fingers.
“I suppose so.” You sigh. The need for him no longer thrums through you in the way that it did before.
Now you want him in a different way. A normal, human, potionless way. The way you wanted him before you drank that wine—you thought it would make you seductive enough for him. It certainly worked, you assume.
In less than a minute, you’re beneath him again, his fingers pumping in and out of you.
din djarin blindfolding you so you can't see his face while he's eating you out.
cw: oral sex, sensory deprivation, non-proofread.
you're sitting on the razor crest’s pilot seat, sweating and whimpering thanks to the eagerness for his touch. the whole ship is dark, the only source of light coming from the small glow caused by the planet's moons that made their way through the ship’s windows, although you can't even notice it thanks to the blindfold that's has been carefully placed over your eyes by the man standing in front of you.
din's scans your whole body like you’re another quarry, exploring it with his bare hands. he kneels in front of you, his helmet rests on the floor right beside him, he lifts up your dress and removes your underwear, leaving you feeling the cold air from the cabin.
his hand gently caresses over your thighs, the soft motion causes you to shiver while spreading your legs just enough for him to clearly see the shining of your wet pussy caused by the reflection of the moonshine falling on you.
he begins to slowly circle his thumb around you clit, and you were just trying so hard to keep your moans as quiet as possible— after all, the kid was sleeping in the room a few meters away from you two—but it became so hard the moment he starts eating your pretty cunt like a starved man.
your hand finds his head, massaging his hair and pushing him deeper into your pussy as he suddenly introduces two fingers inside you, making your legs shake for the sudden excess of pleasure.
“din, i can’t hold it anymore.” the overwhelming sensation of him sucking your sweet cunt and his digits finding their way deep inside you were making it impossible for you to control your release.
“then don’t.” he said, slightly separating his mouth from your dripping cunt, “cum for me, cyare.”
his approval was all you needed before you felt the rush of dopamine spread through your entire body, squirting all over his face. din didn’t stopped there, he licked your pussy until all the juices that were dripping from you had been swallowed by him.
“you did well, cyare” he said, slightly cleaning his mouth, “now it’s my time to reward you.” he replied as you heard the sound of his belt unbuckling.
this thought came to me as i tried to push my way through watching wuthering heights…
gwayne hightower is the epitome of what a knight should be. he’s caring, noble, and gentle to those who need him most. some would say, the gentlest touch he could ever deliver is when he is brushing the hair off of his lady wife’s shoulders, resting his hands on the supple skin before pressing delicate kisses to the back of her neck.
whispers are common in court, lords and ladies needing something to fuel the otherwise dull lives that they live. when word spread of ser gwayne’s marriage, noble ladies scoffed, fluttering their fans a little faster as they’re whispers came out as conspiratorial attacks.
“i heard she rarely speaks,” a lady manderly had whispered to her court companions, suppressing a sigh as your nimble and doe-like features crossed through her mind like a ship on water. “the girl is as timid as a mouse. most definitely not fit for a man in such high ranking.”
these whispers weren’t unknown to you, the prickly jabs and sickly sweet veiled insults cutting far more deeper than you’d have hoped. even gwayne’s sister, the dowager queen alicent, smiled at you thinly, raising her brow in silent judgement as she watched her brother usher you around with a hand on your lower back and comfort-filled whispers in your ear.
“don’t listen to them,” gwayne had told you one rainy night, a comb clasped in his palm as he brushed through your hair with the delicate hand most knights couldn’t produce. “i adore you so very dearly, my darling love. no one can hinder the way the muscle in my chest beats at the sound of your name.”
you sighed a sweet breath that went straight into gwayne’s veins, warming his blood and making him feel as though he was walking through sunshine. “they don’t believe i am a good fit for you.” the words came out in an airy whisper, your voice never raising more than a couple of octaves. “even your sister thinks i’m too meek in my speech, judging me behind her thinly veiled crowns and title.”
gwayne’s ministrations halted, the brush rooting itself into the mid section of your long tresses. with the delicacy of a sheet of silk, gwayne placed his hands on your shoulder, leaning down until his face was beside yours. his chin brushed your own, the softness of his lips placing themselves slowly and faintly on your cheek. with the agility of a swan gliding through water, gwayne pressed kisses all over your face, lips halting over your eyelid as a giggle breached through your lungs.
“my sister may be queen, but she’s a fool when it comes to her thoughts on you.” a soft kiss was laid on your brow, gwayne moving back to continue brushing your hair. few words were spoken between the two of you, yet that didn’t matter, for all gwayne required was your sweet presence.
☆ ──꒰summary꒱ ❞ you show your new lingerie off to Aerion, and he’s got nothing to say but filth!
contains! dirty talk.
೯⠀⁺ ⠀ 𖥻 𝗢 ⠀ᰋ Aerion sprawled across the plush pink stool at your vanity. one of his socks had a hole in it; he had complained for about five minutes when you told him to take off his boots at the door so he wouldn’t drag mud through the house. he looked like a grease stain on a silk sheet. the room smelled like your vanilla cupcake perfume, a stark contrast to the almost acidic smell of cigarettes that clung to him. “this room makes me feel like i’m stuck in a damn cotton candy machine, baby,” he rasped, leaning back against your vanity as a stand-in backrest.
you poked your head out from your walk in closet, clutching a fluffy pink robe shut. you beamed at him, eyes sparkling. “oh hush, Aerion. my daddy’s gonna have a heart attack if he finds you in here, so just be a good boy and shut up.”
“i ain’t never been a good boy, sugar. you know that.”
you giggled and slipped back into the closet. a few minutes later, you emerged, the robe gone. you wore a white lace set that clung to your curves, the fabric almost transparent under the bright bedroom lights. you twirled for him, “well? do i look pretty?”
Aerion’s eyes darkened like a wolf spotting its prey, “lord have mercy. those little bits of string ain’t holdin’ nothin’ back. i bet that lace’ll just rip right off the second i get my hands on you.”
“you are such a pig!” but you blushed anyways.
“a hungry pig… i can see your nipples poking through that thin shit. now get back in there and put on the other one before i come over there.”
you rolled your eyes and tossed your head back, retreating into the closet once again. “patience is a virtue, Aerion!”
“i ain’t got a virtuous bone in my body!” he yelled after you.
the second reveal was slower. you stepped out in a sheer, bubblegum pink set with a matching garter belt. the colour matched the walls perfectly, it made you look like a living doll. you strutted towards him, swaying your hips with exaggerated poise. “is this one more your style.” you smoothed out your hair and adjusted the garters to lay perfectly on your thighs.
he stared at the way the fabric hugged you, “like it? i’m imagining tearing those straps off while i’m buryin’ my face in that sweet little pussy of yours.” he pawed at his cock through his jeans, “fucking christ, i can smell how wet you are from here, girl.”
you stopped a foot away from him, “you’re so gross!” you slapped his chest with a lack of conviction.
“you love it. now get over here before i lose it.”
you didn’t argue. you sat on his lap, shifting with purpose, brushing against his growing erection. he hooked his arms under you and tossed you onto your bed. the pink curtains swayed as you tumbled together, the world outside the bedroom door vanishing into a blur of lace and heat.
my requests are open in case anyone’s interested in something specific!!
i write for almost every fandom but my mains are star wars, akotsk, thg, marvel, haikyuu, mha, obx, marauders era, cortis, harry potter, creepypasta, the pitt, and many many more…
note: part two of the suna drabble will be published very soon
you swiftly separate yourself from the kiss and look at suna’s eyes. he was right, you shouldn’t be doing that. after all, you’re supposed to be his best friend’s little sister.
“i know, we should stop.” you say, whispering dangerously close to his lips.
“do you want to stop?” he asks.
you don’t say anything, to busy being mesmerized by his eyes, “no. but i don’t want to keep seeing you this way.” your hands carefully caressed his cheeks, scanning his face as if you didn’t had it memorized by now.
“i don’t want us to be a secret anymore, rin.” you separate yourself from suna’s lap, settling into bed, it was late, much too late. the only light in your room was the dim moonlight streaming through your window.
suna was supposed to be asleep in the living room/Osamu's room, but for the past few months you'd gotten used to him being here with you every night.
"i'll talk to them," he said, looking into your eyes as he settled down beside you. "tomorrow."
you couldn't hide your surprise. you knew suna valued his friendship with the twins more than anything, and this—you with him—could ruin everything.
"i want you to be mine, without fear, without strings attached. i want to tell everyone that i have the most beautiful girlfriend in the world and how lucky i am."
rebellious tears threatened to spill from your eyes.
he noticed this, of course he did, and proceeded to cup your cheeks in his hands, placing a soft, brief kiss on your lips. one that soon grew longer and longer.
you were both so lost in each other's lips that you didn't notice the creak of your door, or the person behind it.
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