#Five will not acknowledge there is a problem
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soshadysoquiet · 1 year ago
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It was my pleasure to draw some Soft Five holding Mr. Pennycrumb when asked. Then I realised I don't usually give Five's clothes much colour and had an aneurysm, the unicorn bag Did Not want to behave itself and got redesigned 3 times. Annnd then I got carried away and drew 4 5's to better showcase the lil gremlin with his emotional support mongrel.
Loved every minute, would 10/10 do more platonic 5 centric requests
I have 2 more doodles planned to do some time, thank you work meetings. The gift that keeps on giving.
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dctrfate · 7 months ago
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about the fab five, it's vry noticeable that wally is the sole member to have more or less escaped association w/ his former partner and made it as his own, separate character. this distinction alienates wally from the relationships he has with the other four because it calls on the audience to reminiscene on how "it used to be" whenever the team reassembles. this means that each attempt to reform the titans back into this lineup ends up making his own character regress and detracts from his more relevant relationships. to sum it up: please free wally from titans purgatory it's been literal decades
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areyouwho-ithinkyouare · 10 months ago
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haha people who have normal relationships with their fathers where they didn’t grow up being constantly made to feel dumb/unimportant/annoying…. what’s that like babes hahaha
#autism doesn’t make you a bad parent. unmanaged/unaddressed autism combined with a general lack of consideration for everyone around you…#now THAT will fuck your kid up.#autistic people often struggle with eye contact. that’s cool no problem i can still engage in conversation like that.#buuut when you’re four and super exited to tell your dad what you did that day and he literally doesn’t acknowledge your presence??#and it’s that across your entire LIFETIME? your entire childhood and teen years and fuck it even your adult life????? THAT SHIT SUCKS#and THEN the only times you CAN get a conversation out of him it’s an argument where he WILL not stop talking over you#and scoffing at every single word you say#and raising his voice as he tells you how stupid you’re being#ummmmmmmmmm yeeaaahhhh okie dokie. a lifetime of that might ummm… lead to a few issues.#oh wait i forgot the third category of interaction: listening to him complain about something absolutely meaningless. for 20mins.#just killing the mood of any conversation.#you’re watching tv it’s fun everyone’s having fun!! yayyy yippee isn’t this nice#and then someone on tv will say ‘up and down the country’ (goofy but harmless phrase) and suddenly all you can hear is a rant#about the banality of overused idioms and phrases.#LIKE!! can you fucking lighten up for five fucking seconds. please.#idk man. my mum and i spent our whole morning travelling out to some random shop wayyyy out of our way. requires multiple buses to get there#JUST to get him a birthday present. because we thought it was fun and cute and because it’s very personal to him.#like we built our DAY around this. we spent £120 on this. FOR HIM!! because we thought he’d enjoy it!!!!#and we’re spending all day tomorrow wrapping his presents and hand making cards and planning the cake i will be baking for him#and he gets home from work and. IMMEDIATELY starts picking a fight.#like we had a lovely day. we had SUCH a good day. and a lot of it was about doing stuff FOR HIM for HIS BIRTHDAY!!!#which we were HAPPY AND EXITED TO DO!!!!!#and he fucking ruins the whole thing.#now my mum is sleeping on the sofa because she’s so angry at the way he was talking to me and i’m typing this bullshit.#and. he just. he doesn’t care. he doesn’t get it. he literally cannot comprehend why we’re upset at him.#he can’t see anything from anyone else’s perspective. he can’t comprehend the idea that maybe just maybe HE was the one being unkind.
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it is of course vanishingly unlikely for any given high school relationship to stand the test of time and people are going to make better choices once they have more life experience and a wider pool of people to pick from. and fandom should embrace the "we were good for a while but now it's time to move on", or maybe the getting together ten years later after a lot of stuff has happened separately, or whatever. however, my guys specifically should mate for life after one awkward first kiss at seventeen
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pussymasterdooku · 1 year ago
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big year in wrist sprain world (i have sprained my wrist for the third time in six months)
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dreamstar-moonlight · 4 months ago
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👆👆👆
The himbo, malewife, goofball -fication of percy jackson is such a crime by both the fans and riordan. It has made Mr not like percabeth as a couple because in all posts and in later books annabeth is such a girlboss, while Percy's dumb and can't fight his way out of a paperbag without her. All the posts are about how annabeth will be an architect and percy would love to be a trophy husband.
Even the humor in the books went from Percy's sharp wit and snark to 'my pancakes can't drown because I'm a son of poseidon.'
And now this recommendation letter bullshit.
Honestly now I'd wish percy just separated from annabeth (but they remain best friends.) He stays home with his family, becomes a camp counselor, helps young demigods, holds God's accountable and eventually becomes a social activist. (I also dislike him doing something marine biology related. It's clear he hates academics but he always wants to help people. Him helping demigods and mortals is such a wholesome profession for him.)
I fully agree with the first half of this, though I slightly disagree with part of the latter.
The later-series and fanon mischaracterization of Percy is at least a solid 50% ableism minimum, full stop. He's being warped into a very stereotyped ADHD character and the exact reason why he's being characterized as "dumb" is because of ableism. Percy is a very intelligent character! That's exactly why he's so in sync with Annabeth and they're such a strong duo! It's just generally Annabeth is more book/academically smart.
I disagree with where you say he hates academics - because that's one of the common misconceptions about his character. Percy doesn't hate learning or academic subjects! He's not even bad at them! We know explicitly that when he is in an accommodating environment he is interested in learning and gets significantly better grades! Percy only dislikes school because it is generally an environment that systematically he struggles with. It's literally just he has a learning disability (two, actually)! That's it! When his learning disability is accommodated for he does well! It's almost like that's what accommodations are all about! We know this from the first series! It's discussed pretty in-depth! Percy isn't a dumb character and he doesn't hate learning, he's just been let down by school systems so much that he's inherently distrustful of them. If they actually accommodate him though then he does just fine!
And that's exactly what CHB was all about and why New Rome University was supposed to be such a big thing for him! CHB is a learning environment geared for demigods. NRU is a demigod college. Both inherently imply an environment meant to cater to and accommodate students with ADHD and dyslexia! They are both systematically structured to be able to accommodate him! Heck, CHB and CJ even both address in the wider themes of the series a metaphor about how ADHD and dyslexia are commonly seen as childhood disabilities, and how it can be more difficult to find accommodations into adulthood because of that attitude but those disabilities don't just go away - that's why CHB is a summer camp but they talk about how demigods outside of CHB don't often fare well. The metaphor there is those who are not getting help or accommodations are struggling. Because that's how that works! This is a fully intentional metaphor from the first series! CHB is never framed as being perfect for demigods, because one of the entire central conflicts of the series is Percy and Luke going back and forth about this flawed system meant to help and support them but still letting people fall through the cracks. The "claim your kids by 13" thing is a metaphor about how acknowledging a child's disabilities (and possibly getting a diagnosis) earlier/as early as possible means they will have more time to learn and build up resources and support for themselves to be able to use later in life. One of CHB's major flaws is that it can accommodate demigods to a certain point, but it can only do so much before those demigods have to leave (the metaphor being accommodating school systems when those disabled students do not have any other forms of accommodations in their lives.)
And that's why Camp Jupiter was framed as being so revolutionary for Percy because it had an environment acknowledging that this is not just a childhood disability, adults with ADHD/dyslexia exist too and still need and deserve accommodations, AND is a place where those accommodations are available. That's why Camp Jupiter and NRU are treated as such special and important things to Percy, because it's essentially Percy being shown this type of thing can and does exist and it is available to him. It is an option he never thought was possible. Percy never thought he'd be able to go to college because he would not be able to go through school without accommodations, but NRU proves otherwise.
The part that's absolutely stupid is Rick then proceeded to retcon NRU so that apparently it's not a full college and Percy still has to take classes at normal mortal college which DEFEATS THE ENTIRE PURPOSE OF NRU EXISTING. Rick has fully retconned that demigods struggle past the ages of 16-18 when they're on their own (see above elaborated metaphors) and in doing so we have fully killed all symbolism in literally all of that. It's so stupid. And by having the plot of the CoTG trilogy entirely be that Percy is not actually allowed access to NRU in the first place because he is a son of Poseidon and has to do extra to even be accepted is stupid!
All that to say, I agree the marine biology feels like a huge cop-out and a disservice to his character by reducing him to just a son of Poseidon. The literal only reason why it's the default option people take for him is because oh, fish thing, fish guy. But I feel like everyone ignores the really obvious answer for what Percy would want to do which is - writing. Both his parents are writers/authors and he clearly admires that about them. Percy likes telling stories! He canonically is already a published author in-universe! That's what the books ARE in-universe! The first series fully exists in their universe and Percy is the author! This is explicit canonical information! Percy canonically has help physically writing it down (accommodations) but he is still the credited author! Percy is a writer! Already! Canonically! Why are we making him a marine biologist he already has a profession that ties into his character significantly more. Like you said, Percy likes helping people. That's what the books in-universe are supposed to be for! It's point blank at the beginning of the series! Book one! The thing everybody quotes all the time! The books exist because it is Percy trying to give advice to other demigods who don't know what's going on yet! It's Percy's writing down his experiences to help new demigods understand and contextualize their experiences so they can understand themselves better and figure out what's going on - WHICH IN ITSELF IS ALSO A METAPHOR ABOUT ADHD/DYSLEXIA! Because the core of the series has and always will be built around ADHD/dyslexia! Percy as a protagonist EXPLICITLY was created so that ADHD/dyslexic kids could see themselves as a hero!
Sorry that all was a very tangential rant but my point being: Absolutely. Percy in newer stuff in the franchise and in fanon is horrifically mischaracterized in ways that are functionally either fully ableist (shoutout TSATS for just outright claiming Percy is intentionally lazy and skips school out of disinterest, which is like the number one ableist attitude towards kids with learning disabilities) or a complete erasure of Percy's disabilities. Also I think he should be a writing major not a marine biologist.
#percy jackson#prev tags ->#i'm holding a microphone up to this post#i loathe the “percy doesn't care abt school�� bc literally in the first book he wants to do well bc mr brunner believes in him...#which makes it abundantly clear that percy's problem is that he's not getting what he needs to do well not that he doesn't care#see: the teacher who asked him why he never studies for his spelling tests and percy's retaliation getting him expelled#it's not subtle! it is the premise of the story!#i'm pretty sure i've talked abt how percy would crush a lit class given the proper accommodations so. but author percy so true rt#and marine biology...literally percy *is* environmentally conscious since tlt but there are better options if rick wanted to go that route#bc marine biology is literally just. haha poseidon. besides percy can do environmental work regardless bc. hello! grover!#the malewife thing...like yeah percy does like kids! it's a plot point in a lot of the books that he will prioritize caring for others#but it's also something he can get from being a teacher. working at a daycare. holding the olympians accountable#he's allowed to have goals outside of annabeth! in fact treating him like he needs annabeth to tell him what to do is ableism!#and his lack of ambition/planning is bc he's been suicidal since the first book in the universe and no one has#ever seriously acknowledged it. partially bc rick decided that percy can't have ptsd despite writing him w ptsd in pjo#don't even talk to me abt it *explodes*#this wasn't mentioned but tangentially the “percy knows better than to challenge annabeth” is so disgusting to me#bc that's literally what percy and sally's relationship w gabe was like. can we use our fucking brains why are we running w this#especially combined w the whole “percy is stupid and annabeth is a girlboss” ableism it gets really gross really fast#don't even get me started on how annabeth's disabilities are erased so she can girlboss it up in both canon and fanon#percabeth is not the exception to rick's writing flaws or fandomization 🔮#ANYWAY prev tags i don't have room to copy them BUT YEAH#i have a compilation in my drafts of every adhd/dyslexia mention in hoo bc i was trying to find out if piper says she has adhd#and every scene in five books w nine povs is like. 18. including frank's bemoaning. for comparison the mentions in tlt ALONE is like 16.#morever percy is the only character to talk abt their personal experiences w dyslexia (HELLO???)#and percy annabeth and leo are the only characters to bring up how their adhd affects them personally so yeah um. ball dropped!#disabilities are an integral part of demigods like u cannot separate them doing so severely affects the entire world building#rick constantly ignoring how pjo showed both that the gods changed and could changed is infuriating to me#like treating zeus as a petulant child when in pjo he was the leader of the pta talking abt ppl who weren't represented on the panel UGH#rr crit
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nereidprinc3ss · 15 days ago
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trolley problem
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in which fem!reader has been gambling with her life and spencer reid is more than a little concerned
flangst, hurt/comfort warnings/tags: passive suicidal ideation from reader, she keeps risking her life, that really grinds Spencer’s gears, established relationship, existential dread, existential euphoria, lots of stuff about grief and death and self worth, not advocating for this, pretension from the author, blasphemy probably?, reader gets fuzzy from prescribed painkillers, arguing, hospital stuff, mention of sleep paralysis involving spiders, reader gets shot but she’s fineee, I pander to intro to philosophy takers, bau!reader, neurodivergent coded reader, if she’s not exactly like you I’m sorry, bean soup a/n: one day you’re in a writing slump literally the next you are in your notes app for six hours writing whatever the fuck this is but I think I love it even tho it’s weird and I hope u like it too!! btw this was gonna be called cotard's syndrome but then I never once talk abt cotard's but if u care that might be interesting context for the motif of not feeling human/alive, WC 3K
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Spencer hasn’t spoken to you since the doctor left the room five minutes ago. 
The air is antiseptic as you take it deep into the hollows of your lungs and trap it there for a moment, trying to optimize oxygen intake without actually having to breathe very often. Hospital smell is as universal as it is suffocating. It reeks of everything but death—flowers, blood, bleach, vomit. A humiliating, desperate scramble to defy the very thing that defines mortality. It’s pathetic. It reminds you of the worst instances of failure and loss and denial in your life. It curdles your blood. Literally rots you from the inside out. 
You’ve had ample time to ponder that smell over the last few months because you keep ending up here, and some time ago you decided the institution of the hospital is inherently absurd. It’s stupid to think you could avoid the one absolute condition on your corporeal form: impermanence. It is the only thing that is promised, and people still waste their lives away running from it. It is the ultimate self-fulfilling prophecy. 
So around the time you acknowledged that hospitals are simply monuments to the self-importance of man, you gave up on trying too hard to preserve yourself. You’ve seen death too much and too often. You’ve tried staving it off with prayer and the miracles of modern medicine, and it never matters in the end because it’s all magical thinking anyway. All the wallowing and the bargaining and pleading never got you anywhere. 
You’ve accepted that from the moment you were born, you were marked for death. 
But you’re not a complete nihilist. You’re not even totally resigned to the abject certainty of death—because��you’ve found a loophole.
Everyone has as many chances at escaping death as other people are willing to offer them at the cost of their own lives. Not many people are willing to make that trade—someone else’s life for their own—but you’ve decided you are. Because if not you, then who?
It’s not that you don’t see the value in your own life, as Spencer keeps making it sound. It’s just the opposite. You understand that you’ve got an extremely valuable resource, and you don’t just have to sit on it. There are things you can do. Choices you can make. Ways to defy death. 
Just… not yours. 
Or maybe you’re just in deep denial. 
Either way—this is a philosophy your boyfriend intentionally refuses to understand. He gets mad, or some kind of upset, every time you try to explain it. Usually he ends up leaving the room close to tears. You never feel good about it.
Right now he’s presumably trying to give you the silent treatment and not doing a very good job. 
“Stop holding your breath. Why are you—stop that.”
Spencer’s frowning, skin sallow and milk-blue under fluorescent lighting. Purple seeps from around his eyes like spilled wine on a white table cloth. Your stomach turns. 
“Sorry.”
He doesn’t tell you not to apologize. You don’t expect him to. 
“Why are you doing that? Does something hurt?”
Other than your entire bicep being on fire due to the 9 millimeter Luger it recently came into contact with?
“Not really. I just don’t like the smell of hospitals.”
At that, he gets stony again. Like, Medusa stony. You feel a tightening in your chest that has nothing to do with a lack of air. His arms are crossed. A silk lined blazer drapes over your lap, and you wonder if he’s cold in just that white button up. It’s translucent in this light, like onion skin, or maybe something less organic—the folds and wrinkles look like fabric, but lots of things look like something they aren’t. In the Pietá, Jesus lounges dead on his mother’s lap, his cheek pressed to her arm like either of them have warm flesh, and her skirts drape from her knees and fall to the ground in delicate folds just like Spencer’s jacket and looking at pictures of it you swear you could find comfort there too—but if you wanted to make space for yourself next to Jesus you’d have to do it with a chisel and mallet. You’re starting to think that’s what it’s going to take with Spencer, as well. 
“So stop walking into active gunfire. You’ll spend a lot less time here.”
Every deep sigh (of which there have been several) calcifies you further. Ironically, you never feel less alive than you do in a hospital. 
“I didn’t walk into active g—”
“I’m not debating it with you. It’s not a discussion.”
“So you’re just going to be pissed at me for the rest of forever? I mean, if it’s not a discussion—what are you gonna do? Break up with me?”
You feel yourself dripping poison in the well. Even as you say it. As his head tilts toward you slowly and intently from his spot against the wall, and his warning gaze is cold and unforgiving and weighs 3.35 tons.
“Don’t.”
“Don’t what? Talk?”
“Don’t try and manipulate me by implying that there are no options between permissiveness and dumping you!”
“I’m not manipulating you. And I don’t need your permission to do anything.” 
The first part is an incredulous scoff as well as a blatant lie. You are manipulating him. Chisel and all. At least, you were trying to. It clearly doesn’t work very well. His jaw clenches.  
“Is this worth it to you? Fighting with me like we’re children solely so you don’t have to take accountability?”
“Accountability for what? I made a choice. I don’t regret it. You’re upset because I did my job.”
A beat. 
Silence always makes you feel the gravity of your words. 
“Do you believe that?”
His voice softens so much, so quickly, it splinters down the middle. 
You’ve never been known for your light touch. For someone who sees eviscerated bodies nearly every day, and prides herself on her evolved understanding of mortality, you often forget other people are not, in fact, impenetrable marble—they are flesh and blood and bone, and you’ve splattered yourself in the evidence of that. 
“What?” You murmur. You easily turn timid, when you’re afraid you’ve been too heavy-handed. Spencer’s seen you sob over the birds who hit the windowpane and never reappeared from the shrubbery—their delicate wings, their little beaks—he didn’t mean to, Spencer, and now he’s dead! He’s seen you spend forty minutes catching a spider with a cup and an envelope rather than smush it, even though you have reoccurring episodes of sleep paralysis wherein a giant arachnid is sitting on your chest, hissing and clacking its pincers. He knows you are, at your core, kind and good. 
It’s a little scary for someone to know that about you. It’s a little scary when you see your own vulnerability reflected in their eyes and the way they speak to you, the way you see it in him now. 
“Do you believe that the choices you make regarding your safety don’t concern me at all?”
“They’re… my choices to make,” you whisper, but you’re less sure than you were a minute ago. 
“I’m not talking about that—I’m talking about how it feels like you are trying to kill yourself every time we’re in the field.” His voice shakes. You swallow. “You have been hospitalized for four serious injuries sustained on the job in the past five months. Every time I bring it up, you—you talk about life like it’s optional for you. Like you’re not only willing to give it up but are actively looking to throw yourself in harm’s way every chance you get. You think that doesn’t terrify me?”
There’s a small chip in the paint on the wall next to him roughly the shape of Africa. 
“It’s not like that. I’m… I’m just having an unlucky streak.”
He snaps. 
“Luck isn’t going to get between you and a bullet. Ever.”
“It’s my job, Spencer.”
“No. It is a risk of the job. Not a defining feature or requirement. But you keep running toward gunfire like you have a quota to meet.”
“Spencer, I’m not doing it at you. I’m not trying to get myself hurt.”
“Well it doesn’t really feel like you’re trying to avoid it, either,” he shoots back immediately, and you feel the anguish radiating from him until it lodges in your own chest, like it was always yours. Maybe it was. 
You want to make it better, but you don’t know how, and even if you did, he’s pushing off the wall and crossing the room toward the door. 
“Where are you going?” You call, a little too desperately for your liking. 
“You need to eat something.”
Which translates roughly to he’s pissed and upset and he needs to leave the room. You’ve done this song and dance before. 
However, food and an absence of him are contenders for the absolute last two things you want right now. 
“Spencer, please don’t—”
But the door is already whooshing closed. 
You stare at the grey and white checkered floor. Light bounces off the waxen reflection—some sort of parallel universe you can’t reach, perhaps. The whole room is desaturated. A mechanical humming threatens to drive you insane. It doesn’t feel like a place for living humans. You’re not convinced you are one. 
When he comes back, maybe ten minutes later, nothing’s moved at all. In fact you’re not even sure you’ve been breathing. 
The door closes as quietly as it opens. 
This time, wordlessly, Spencer comes to you. You see his shoes first—his serious adult shoes. You wish he was wearing his Converse. 
Then you see the bottle of apple juice he’s cracking open for you. Blue lid. Same kind you always get. 
“You didn’t bring food.”
“You wouldn’t have eaten it.”
Fair enough. 
You take the bottle with your good arm and sip shallowly—all that adrenaline and the subsequent interpersonal strife has left you nauseous. The drink is too sweet. It clashes with the tang of metal in your mouth. 
Still, you drink enough to satisfy him, and then you’re tossing his jacket aside before balancing the bottle between your thighs so you can screw the lid back on. He doesn’t go back to the couch or his spot on the wall. 
Spencer doesn’t pull away when you lean into him, but it does take him a moment to reciprocate. You’re still grateful all the same when he cradles the back of your head to his stomach like you’re made of porcelain. 
“I don’t think you understand how upset I am,” he says quietly. 
Only Spencer Reid could be furious with you and still hold you like this. 
“I’m sorry,” you murmur. 
“That’s not good enough. You need to stop risking your life like that.”
He doesn’t get it. Your brows flutter as they try to furrow but even holding that expression saps you. Maybe the pain meds are finally kicking in. 
“I just wanna help people.”
“That doesn’t explain to me or justify your urge to do it at the cost of your own life. We all want to help people, angel. The whole team. That’s why we do what we do. But we don’t run into shootouts. We don’t split off and provoke people with guns when we’re unarmed and unprepared.”
“But it worked. She got away.” You feel a spark of fulfillment at the memory of Gloria Sanchez in JJ’s arms just before the ambulance doors had slammed you into your first cage of the night. 
“We don’t know if he was going to kill her. He might not’ve fired at all if you didn’t go running toward him. That wasn’t strategic, it was reckless and irresponsible and you know that. I know you do. So something else is going on.”
The pressure in your nose that usually precipitates tears comes as a surprise. 
“I just—if that’s how I can save someone, why shouldn’t I, you know? Why do they have less of a right to live than I do just because they’ve been deprived of the choice? If I have a choice, and they don’t, I should choose to… to help them. That’s my job.”
For a long moment, you listen to your own breath, muffled by Spencer’s shirt, and the mechanical humming, and something dripping, and the low, buzzy chatter of nurses far down the hallway.
When Spencer next speaks you get the sense he’s holding a lot back. His voice is taut enough it wavers slightly. Taut enough that if he weren’t speaking so quietly he might be yelling. It’s like pinpricks all over your body—not enough to hurt, but enough to make sure you’re paying attention. 
“You can’t help anyone if you’re dead. Do you understand me?”
And yes, in theory, you do. But that doesn’t negate your original point. It only takes one life or death moment for you to utilize the most valuable resource you have. What happens after is no longer your concern. 
“On the psych evals you helped develop it asks if you think it’s appropriate to sacrifice the one to save the many. The answer is supposed to be no. If you say yes you get flagged. The FBI frowns upon… lever-pullers. And that’s exactly what I’m doing if I let one person die when I could’ve potentially saved them.”
“Protecting your own life is not pulling the lever. What you’re doing isn’t smart or morally righteous. You’re just throwing yourself across the tracks, too. If you were to fail a psych eval right now it would be because you’re passively suicidal. And you know what? The FBI also tends to frown upon self-immolative delusions of grandeur and girls who like to play sacrificial lamb.”
“’M not a… sacrificial lamb…”
“No,” Spencer agrees quietly, stroking your hair. “You’re not.”
And you can’t react to the fragility in his voice, or the content of his words, and the fact that when he says it he means something different—you can’t do anything about it. You can only catalogue it. You can only know that he loves you, and feel a little guilty about it.
Some time passes. You don’t know how long he remains standing so you can doze against him. He does not smell like the hospital. He’s the antidote for whatever grief they distill from widows and orphans before aerosolizing it through the whole place. 
“Baby?” He asks eventually. You know the lilt of it. He’s been thinking. 
“Hm?”
He hesitates. 
“Can we talk about you maybe taking some time off of work?”
“You heard the boss,” you mumble. “I can’t come in for at least a week.”
“I mean beyond that.”
You intend to respond, but by the time you open your mouth you’ve lost the prompt in all the brain fog. 
“You’re so comfy,” you murmur dreamily. “Thank you for being mad at me.”
If he responds, you miss it. 
You’re imagining the bed waiting for you at home, once the doctor is done observing you—warm, neatly made. Blankets woven with soft fibers. A mattress that will sink under your weight. You think of Spencer, who’s shaping himself to you, Spencer, who intentionally inhales when you exhale at night to make room for the rise and fall of your chest against his. You think of the imprint of his buttons on your cheek. You are both flesh and blood and bone. 
Strange, pill-induced half dreams and visions and memories take over. You’re in that alleyway again. That man fires. You don’t blink or scream or feel. 
Just before the bullet makes contact you’re standing in front of the Pietá. It’s massive. Spencer is there, too, holding your hand. 
You can’t actually see him, only, you know he’s there. You feel his warmth, his presence, when he leans over to whisper in your ear. The way you know him goes beyond sight. 
The Pietá—meaning the pity, in English—is 6’7” and six feet wide. It weighs 6,700 pounds. Michelangelo had to quarry the block of marble himself. He was only 25 when he finished. The Basilica keeps it behind bulletproof glass. 
Jesus and Mary behind bullet proof glass. 
God. Who’d try to kill Jesus a third time? He’s already dead. 
Besides—they’re both made of stone. Bullets would probably just ping right off of them. Or maybe they’d shatter just like you did. 
Probably not though. You’re not actually made of marble. You’ve no idea what it feels like to be a statue and get shot at. You sure know how it feels as a human, though—and it feels like shit. You don’t really know why you keep doing it. None of your reasons are good enough for Spencer, and he’s, generally speaking, pretty smart about some things. 
Maybe you’re tired of being human.
Maybe you’re tired of sleeping on your arm funny and waking up to a hand in your bed that doesn’t feel like yours and remembering all the hands you’ve held moments before they couldn’t hold yours back. Or tired of those moments where you are being held and it’s so unbelievably perfect and then someone has to let go, or when someone you love hugs you goodbye and you realize that there will always be a final I love you, or simply getting older and watching potential life paths fall away like rotten fruit to the ground. Maybe life is sometimes so good it hurts and you can’t bear it. So you tempt fate. You walk a tightrope because even if you fall and it can’t ever feel good again—at least it can’t hurt either. At least you won’t lose anymore. 
And yet. 
It does feel good, sometimes. Sort of often, actually. Even when it’s awful. 
Dead Jesus and Mary, with their marble skin and their bulletproof glass and their holiness and their virginity and all the other things they have that you don’t. Nobody can hurt them anymore. Not ever. 
Maybe that’s something you envy.
But you doubt they’ve ever been so terribly, wonderfully alive as you’ve been, or as comfortable as you are like this, leaning into Spencer’s warmth and his softness, in the hospital, or the Vatican, or your dreams. Your bicep was ruined but it’s healing. You are capable of ruin and rebirth in the same lifetime. In the same day, in the same hour. 
You doubt that in 520 years, behind bulletproof glass and unyielding, eternally flawless skin, they’ve ever felt as invincible as you do now. 
You doubt they ever could. 
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houseofwolvess · 1 year ago
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it's official, im no longer allowed to have anything as my own unless i hide it deep within my room
#this is so fucking petty but im pissed#i bought five energy drinks yesterday only because it was 5 for $5. im broke as shit but i wanted to buy myself something as a treat.#i never buy myself anything anymore and i never really ask for anything either because my mom has to buy a fair bit for my friend#so this was the one and only treat ive allowed myself to get in a long while.#i drank one yesterday and put the rest in the fridge with a sticky note on them that had my name on it#and this morning i found my friend took from it without even asking. when they literally had my NAME on it and everything#im sorry. maybe id be fine with sharing if she had bothered to ask. but for the love of fucking god im pissed#she has a job!!! she has the money to buy herself nice shit!!!#i spent my last fucking $5 bill on this one fucking nice thing for myself after not buying myself anything for well over a month#and i can't even have that.#i took the rest up to my room and i gotta find somewhere to put them#i have snacks up here too because she tends to eat all my snacks before i even have the chance to try them so i have to hide them#ive struggled with some degree of hoarding tendencies for a while now and i thought i was getting better but over the past two months it -#- feels like all of my progress has been reverted#i know it's stupid to get worked up over fucking energy drinks. but its not even the drinks themselves that are the problem.#its just the fact that in my own home the only way im allowed to keep anything for myself is if i hoard it in my room and keep it hidden -#- because otherwise it'll be taken or used in some way#all without anyone even acknowledging me or the fact that these things are mine
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princessbrunette · 2 months ago
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⊹ ᜊ(ᜊ ´ ˘)੭ ♡ … SHARPEST TOOL ♡
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track five of the short n’sweet series. pairing: babydaddy!rafe x reader. based loosely on the song sharpest tool by sabrina carpenter. enjoy! ໒꒰՞ ܸ. .ܸ՞꒱ა
it’s not like you expected a marriage proposal or anything.
rafe was going to be rafe, you knew that— it was the whole reason he was your babydaddy and not your husband or even boyfriend. the cameron man was bright where it counted but not even nearly emotionally equipped enough to handle the trials and tribulations of an adult relationship paired with a baby. he got the baby on fridays and tuesdays. that was the agreement.
but that didn’t mean you didn’t see him inbetween.
“mmh, fuck— s’mine isn’t it? huh? c’mon—” rafe cups your chin, encouraging you to speak words that were incoherent whines as he drives his cock repeatedly through your gummy walls.
“yours, still yours rafey.”
god, you’d think the two of you were still together. it was sex talk, nothing more nothing less — you assumed anyway. unfortunately, due to unforeseen circumstances in your love life, and the fact you were somewhat soul tied to the cameron boy, you meant every word. there was no way he felt the same, merely doing you a favour even — due to your raging hormones post pregnancy recovery that were adjacent to a teenage boys. he was helping you out.
“this pussy is — goddamn, still as good as the first time i fucked it.” he groans into your neck because you know he’s close.
you roll your hips, forever trying to please him.
as aforementioned, it’s not like you expected him to suddenly come forward with a proposal after he’d finished into the condom. he drops a kiss to your temple like always, cleans himself off in the bathroom, awkwardly stands in your door making small talk, and occasionally decides that then is the time to drop your wad of allowance money that he gives you for raising his kid. you told him to stop putting money on your dresser after sex because it made you feel like a ‘paid service’. he rolled his eyes.
the problem didn’t lie with how rafe treat you within the four walls of your bedroom. rafe was going to be rafe, and that was that. it was how he’d behave upon seeing you in public. you’d think the two of you were merely strangers. if you were to stroll through the country club where you rightfully belong just as much as him, he’d turn his back, look away. like he’d forgotten everything.
at this point, you couldn’t tell if he was nonchalant or just plain stupid. you couldn’t keep chasing the feeling of the rare little nod of acknowledgement he’d send your way when you’d accidentally lock eyes. he wasn’t ashamed of the situation, no — you’d seen him proudly walk around the club with his little girl in his arms, letting everyone surround them, fawn over them. it was you that got left behind.
you’d decided enough was enough, coming to the conclusion you’d ignore him right back. it was approaching the weekend, and you knew you’d have to see him — so you prepared yourself to be strong. resilient. play him at his own game. you were simply there to drop off the baby and go home.
rafe comes and stands by you at the country club bar on a thursday evening.
“usual time tomorrow?” he nudges you gently with his arm, and you were shocked he was even speaking to you. not allowing the shock to cause you to jump straight into friendly conversation, you stare ahead.
“yep.”
“alright…yeah, yeah…” he nods, itching his cheek, eyes glancing back over to you. “i assume you uh, you’re gonna want something to help get you right huh? nothing some dick can’t fix…” you can hear the smirk on his voice and you exhale shakily, not wanting to react in the usual pavlovian way with your panties practically dropping.
so you say nothing. you stare ahead.
the bartender brings his beer, and yet he stays, staring at your profile. “a’ight… fucks a’matter with you?”
“you clearly don’t care, you can skip the formalities.” you find yourself spitting out before you can help yourself. he stares for another moment before he scoffs.
“the fucks your problem, little miss attitude?” he drawls, blinking in irritation but your order comes and you take it and walk away. he doesn’t chase you, of course not.
you drop the baby off the next day, and he tries his luck again, welcoming you inside wearing grey sweats. “c’mon.” he croons quietly, nodding his head inside after you’d got the sleeping baby situated and you stand up straight, look him in the eye, and smile.
“so you can treat me like i’m not a person afterwards? i think i’ll pass.” you turn your daughter, blowing her a kiss. “bye baby, mommy will see you tomorrow.” rafe stares after you, watching you go.
to answer your previous pondering, it turned out rafe was more stupid than he was nonchalant. truth be told, he hadn’t realised he’d been acting all that much differently. you were co-parenting, not a couple — so he figured his time at the country club was his time and yours was yours. he didn’t wanna bother you a whole bunch and put you off visiting.
but the dots were starting to connect, and rafe remembered that women do infact need more emotional stimulation to live happily beside you — and he’d be damned if he weren’t to look after the mother of his child properly. if that’s what you needed, he’d be happy to play ball.
the two of you don’t say much to eachother when you pick the baby up the next day, yet when monday rolls around, and you step into the country club with three of your friends to discuss an upcoming event — rafe cameron doesn’t waste any time.
he cuts topper off mid conversation, holding up a dismissive hand as soon as his eyes meet you and he begins to swagger over to you in his usual aggressive and demanding manner. you think he’s about to give you an earful infront of your friends so you stop nervously, brow creasing. however, when he reaches you — he grips you and brings his lips to yours, cutting off any potential confused greeting on your tongue with a kiss.
“gonna stop pouting about this whole thing now? huh?” he raises his eyebrows and you blink up at him, turning to your friends and shooing them to their table. turning back, you eye him.
“why did you—”
“you think i don’t care about you, that’s it right? like — like i don’t supply your ass with endless money, threaten any asshole that tries to make a move on you, defend you like my god damn life depends on it, fuck you when you need it? hm? nah, nah you really think—”
“wait, who do you threaten?”
“thats— ahh… thats not important, alright?” he scratches his temple, buzzcut bristling against his blunt fingernails as he quickly wets his lips with his tongue. “i didn’t know i was fucking up. okay?” his drags out his version of an apology and you feel the tiniest smile creeping up on you. it was pathetic, really.
“i just didn’t want you to be ashamed of me.” you sigh, looking down and he’s lightly gripping your chin immediately so you looked up at him when he spoke. old habits die hard.
“i’m not. you think i’d put a baby in someone i was ashamed of? that shits for the pogues.”
“rafe.”
“look,” he pulls his sunglasses on over his eyes and wraps an arm around you, the two of you now looking out over the club. the eyes of his friends and yours are quickly averted, having being watching the entire interaction. “i don’t know what more you want, okay i’m— i haven’t done this before. i don’t know if you’re aware but i haven’t had a kid before. this shit is my first fuckin’ rodeo too.” he turns to look down at you through the dark frames, a serious and promising look on his face. “but whatever i need to do… to keep that little attitude at bay, i’ll make shit happen. yeah? even if i gotta fuck you infront’a the whole club.”
he might not have been the sharpest tool, but he knew what you wanted to hear.
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look-at-the-stars-tonight · 2 years ago
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Recently I’ve learned So Much about teaching mainly that teachers don’t rlly know what they’re doing all the time
#the number of times I’ve stopped my class to go ‘let’s take a break!’#but it’s because I forgot a piece of hardware or forgot to pull up a video or just plain got sick of talking#the number of times I’ve showed up and barely looked at the lesson plan beforehand#I have a new appreciation for my school teachers because how do they talk for 8 hours straight every day#how did they not go crazy with the dumb questions kids would ask#and small classroom teaching is def much different from what they did#but I’d argue that the principles are the same#except I have it easier cause fewer people + adults who usually want to be there#altho Leah did tell me that the problem child from my practice class was in her certificaifon run#and he fully fell asleep#and she just chose not to acknowledge it#but he was her only student#and I guess there was an evaluator there but you’re supposed to ignore them#also how did those teachers control 28 small children#I can barely control 3 adults#even if they’re my friends#I have to be like ‘stop TOUCHING that. please and thanks’#every five min#like u would think they’d know better#and then the second I get an older man in the mock-up. it’s over#they take one look at me and dismiss me#until they realize that they Are stuck with me for three hours#and then they either start ignoring me until I raise my voice#or find it in themselves to muster up the strength to#be lectured by a *woman*#and someone younger than them at that#ugh I wish men were better#ok goodbye#it’s a holiday today but I’ve been told I can’t work more hours but I HAVE to work more hours because I haven’t done shit for my class#tomorrow that I’ve never taught before. so time to do unpaid work!
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thinkingotherwise · 7 months ago
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Bofurin my new beloved.
Ways of loving
- five ways to show love, between you and the Wind Breaker characters.
First are the more notable first years (Sakura, Nirei, Suou, Sugishita, Kiryu, Tsugeura) and our dear Kotoha.
Second and Third years
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1. Words of Affirmation
Haruka Sakura - admitting love through phone when classmates can hear
You and Haruka were talking on the phone, you just had to talk with him about the depressing mood you found yourself in following the awful morning, knowing well enough that he could motivate you and make you feel much better. After talking almost the whole break your mood got a lot better and knowing that you would meet with him later on seemed to pick you up on its own.
Sakura didn’t mind you calling him and talking about your or his problems but there was always a moment he dreaded the most. No matter how many times you were talking on the phone he tried to go as far away from his classmates as he could. He loved you, he really did and wanted to tell you that even though it took so much confidence from him, but saying so in front of others was on a whole new level, which he wasn’t yet ready for. And so the whole time you guys were talking he was crouching behind one of the buildings to keep as much privacy as he could.
“Okay then, I’ll see you after school. Love you Haru.” You said sweetly and his ears coloured pink at the nickname you always called him.
“Love you more (N/n).” He replied trying to be suave with his wavering voice but then he heard the laughing and it wasn’t coming from his phone.
Sakura quickly stood up and looked back to be face to face with his whole classroom in the windows listening in on his conversation with you.
“Oh, I love you.” Kiryu started drawing out the words in a joking matter.
“Don’t worry (N/n), we will cuddle later on.” Takanashi said and started cuddling Kakiuchi who in return patted his head.
“No, love you more.” Suou joined in and later on a few more guys jokingly mocked the conversation they heard their class captain having.
Sakura felt himself boiling up, his face got all red and he wasn’t sure if it was because he was nervous and embarrassed or because he wanted to beat the hell out of the guys.
“Is everything alright, Haruka?” You questioned worriedly hearing a lot of voices from Sakura’s side.
“I-it’s fine, the idiots from my class were just listening in, clearly they want a beating.” He said firstly nervous but then his eyes darkened at the classmates.
“We will talk later, love you bye.” Sakura added and quickly hung up placing his phone back in the pocket.
He then turned fully to the guys.
“You better run.” He run up the wall and started climbing through the window to get to them as they started running away while screaming and yelling.
2. Acts of Service
Kyotaro Sugishita - doting on you during everyday activities
Filling the documents for your school club took so much of your attention that you didn't hear the people around you gasp and murmur about the moody boy standing in front of the clubroom. Only when one of your friends nudged you with their elbow did you look up and notice that everyone stared at the long-haired boy speaking to your club president.
You smirked at how uncomfortable Kyotaro looked and started packing your things. It was endearing that even though you told him he could wait outside, knowing that he didn't like socializing, he still came inside your school and even to your clubroom just to get you and walk you home.
"Can you just tell me why you are here?" Your president asked interrogating Kyotaro and you stepped beside them first turning towards you boyfriend in acknowledgment.
"Hi there Kyotaro." Then you turned towards your president. "I'll be leaving now, I'll fill the documents home and bring it to you tomorrow." You informed before grabbing Kyotaro's hand and pulling him through the halls and to your locker.
Changing your shoes Kyotaro held out his hands towards you to make it easier for you and you gladly took it. Leaving some books behind you closed the locker and followed after your boyfriend, outside the school and on the way to your home.
While walking home you got thirsty and when you reached for the juice you had in your bag you were saddened as you saw it was empty.
"Oh, it's empty." You looked inside the bottle looking at it as if it would make it full again.
A few seconds later a freshly opened bottle of tea appeared in front of you.
"Here." Your boyfriend held it in your sight.
"Huh?" You were slightly confused but when he took the empty bottle from your hands and replaced it with the new one you smiled at him.
He put the empty bottle inside his bag while you took a few sips of the tea.
"Thanks Kyotaro." You said and kissed the underside of his jaw.
Kyotaro's breath hitched at the action you just pulled. He grabbed your bag and went a few steps in front of you so that you wouldn't notice the blush on his cheeks. Your smile grew and you ran up to him to walk beside him towards your home.
Taiga Tsugeura - piggyback rides when you're tired
You were used to spending your evening with Taiga in the Muscle Power Establishment. You frequently went out with your boyfriend and most of the time it was to go to his favourite restaurant. You usually picked up one of their drinks trying to test each flavour, while Taiga was eating some high-protein meals after his training.
This evening, you had some blackberry protein shake and you sipped it through the straw. Your boyfriend sat in front of you finishing his banana pound cake as you listened to him telling the stories of recent events happening around the town.
You had your chin propped on your hand observing your enthusiastic partner. But even though his voice was always so energetic you found yourself slowly blinking more and more often with time passing.
As you started yawning, Taiga noticed your tired expression and sleepy gaze. He finished his food and started gathering his things.
“Come on, (Y/n), let’s go home.” His voice was softer when he stood beside you and you turned to him not even noticing when he came to your side of the table.
“Hmm.. oh okay then.”
The two of you said bye to the owner of the small restaurant and started your way home. Moving slowly you bumped into Taiga's side with every other step and he eyed you worriedly hoping you wouldn't hurt yourself. It wasn't common for you to be so tired after a long day and he was concerned if you would make it home.
As another yawn left your mouth you felt Taiga grabbing your hand and stopping before you. He smiled at you before squatting down.
“Go on, I’ll take you home.”
“You sure?” You asked looking at him and he sent another smile your way from behind his shoulder.
“Don’t worry, I can see you're tired. Besides, it’s like additional training for me.” He said trying to comfort you that he'd be alright.
You nodded and moved to his back. As you tried to position yourself more comfortably for him he stood up and bounced you on his back keeping a firm grip on your legs. Your hands immediately moved around his neck and your head fell on his shoulder.
"Taiga careful." You said near his ear and he laughed at your words.
"Sorry, sorry, are you comfortable now?"
"Yes, please tell me when you get tired, okay?" You asked but you knew he wouldn't tell you, still he confirmed with a nod and started walking in the direction of your home.
You felt so comfortable and warm leaning against his back that you soon closed your eyes. Taiga only noticed you fell asleep when he felt your head weighing on his shoulder. He squeezed your legs and continued towards your house with a smile, happy that he could help you when you were so exhausted.
3. Gift-Giving
Mitsuki Kiryu - giving him hair accessories and styling each others' hair
The fact that Mitsuki easily lost his pins was obvious to you and you were always carrying some spare ones in your pockets. In addition, whenever you were shopping and caught eye of some pretty hair accessories, that would suit him, you immediately bought them. With how many times that already happened, Mitsuki was used to receiving small gifts from you.
"Oh! These hairpins would match with the new cardigan Mitsu has." You muttered to yourself as you noticed the display in the shop you passed by.
Immediately you went in and looked through their accessories picking a few that you knew your boyfriend would like. With your hands full you went to the checkout and paid for everything, getting a small gift bag and placing everything inside.
You made your way towards your boyfriend's home with the package tightly held in your hand. As soon as you were close you sent him a message and when you rung the doorbell, the doors opened to Mitsuki who sleepily welcomed you and kissed your cheek.
Your smile grew and a small laugh left your lips as your eyes met his bedhair.
"Did I wake you up?" You asked as you sat down on the couch next to him.
His head fell on your shoulder and he shook his head.
"Not really, it was time to wake up anyway." Then his eyes followed to your hand and the small package.
"What's that? Did you find some new hairpins?"
"Yes." Your voiced echoed happily and he straighten up.
He took the gift you gave him and opened it checking the contents, he took everything out and laid it on the couch between you two. His fingers followed and touched each hairpin as he hummed to himself appraising them.
"Thanks, (y/n)." His lips met yours for a quick peck and you smiled in return.
"Would you like me to do your hair? We can use the new hairpins."
"Sure, babe. I'll go get the hairbrush." He said and quickly went to his room to collect the brush and comb.
When he came back he sat between your legs on the carpet. You then grabbed the brush from his hands and started running your fingers between his tresses as the hairbrush followed after. His hair was so soft and nice to touch you loved doing his hairstyles, especially after he confirmed that it felt really nice to have you play with his hair.
You spent the next couple of minutes pampering him and running your fingers through his hair styling it the way he usually wore it and putting a little too many hairpins in wanting to use as much of the ones you bought as you could.
4. Quality Time
Akihiko Nirei - thrift shopping together
You were searching through the aisles in the thrift shop looking for something that you or your boyfriend would like. It was like a habit of yours by now, every other week you'd visit some second-hand shop trying on different things and spending time together.
Moving to the next clothes hanger you noticed two colourful shirts, similar in style and kind of toned down on the patterns.
"They are perfect." You muttered to yourself and took them not even checking the size.
You then marched towards the changing rooms and knocked on one of the doors.
"Yes?" A familiar voice replied and you slowly opened the doors.
"I found the best thing ever, Aki look." Your voice echoed in the small fitting room and you shoved the two shirts in front of you.
Nirei straightened up after rolling up his pants he already noticed the shirts in the mirror but he still turned around and took one of the shirts, which was closer to his size, in his hands.
"It has nice colours, but why two?"
Your smile grew on your face as if waiting for that question. You bounced once on your feet as Akihiko took off his button-down to try on the one you brought.
"Well, it's pretty obvious. One is for you and the other one is for me." You said and he stopped when he put his hand inside the sleeve and your eyes connected in the mirror.
You observed his frozen posture and giggled as he stood in his T-shirt and half-dressed shirt. Hearing your words and giggles his face flushed red.
"Matching outfits." He softly whispered and you heard him only because of the close proximity to him.
"Yes, wouldn't it be cool?" You said as he slowly continued trying on the cloth.
"If you don't want to it's fine." You added and moved towards him to straighten the collar of the shirt and he watched your hands move.
"You look really good in this shirt, Aki."
He smiled at your compliment and muttered a small "Thanks."
"And I wouldn't mind if you were matching clothes with me." He added turning his head away from you trying to hide the red on his face but you could see it in the mirror making your smile grow fondly.
"Here, put on your jacket as well." You add taking the jacket he came in and he quickly put it on.
"Do I look like a bad boy in these clothes?" He questioned shyly looking at the mirror inside the changing room and fidgeting with the shirt.
"My handsome vigilante." Your lips touched his cheek and his eyes never left yours in the mirror while a small smile appeared on his face.
You then quickly put on the other colourful shirt and stood next to him, how lucky that it matched you perfectly. He showed you a double thumbs up meaning he also liked it on you.
"Come on my handsome bad boy, let's go pay for the clothes and go for some melon soda." You mentioned while taking off the shirt and he followed taking the clothes he chose and making your way towards the cashier.
Kotoha Tachibana - gardening together
Knowing how much Kotoha loved plants and you having a little free time decided to start gardening which seemed like a great way to relax and spent more time with her. She taught you a lot of things about the plants, including naming each plant you found cute and wanted to buy.
Every time Kotoha visited you, she knew you'd show off one of the plants you bought with her. But she didn't mind, she found your interest in one of her hobbies as a great and sweet gesture.
"Look at the lemon we bought last week, it already started to grow little lemons, so cute." You said excitedly bringing the big pot from the ground and holding it in front of you so she had a better view and didn't need to bow down.
"It seems like you're taking good care of it." She ran her fingers up some of the leaves and smiled at you.
"Of course, you were the one who taught me that."
You put the lemon down and took her hand walking a little further and onto the balcony.
"But the tomatoes are not doing that good." Your face fell and Kotoha thought she saw the imaginary puppy ears on your head drop down.
She stepped a little closer and crouched beside you examining the seedlings.
"Nah, I think they're good."
"They are nowhere as nice as the ones Umemiya-san has on his rooftop."
"Don't worry, you're doing great. Besides, I like your plants more." Your smile immediately got bigger and your eyes glimmered in happiness.
"Maybe don't mention it to Ume, because he'd be crestfallen." She added shortly after.
"Don't worry, your secret is safe with me." You saluted her jokingly making her chuckle.
After drinking some tea and talking about your days, Kotoha proposed to help you with your Chamaedorea, which needed a bigger pot. The two of you moved towards the balcony where you already had the soil and a bigger pot ready. She crouched beside you and started instructing you on replanting the greenery that was becoming bigger and bigger with each month passing.
"Here." Kotoha took off her glove and swiped the little patch of soil from your cheek as soon as you were finishing the replanting.
"You have a little dirt on your face."
"Thank you." You smiled brightly at her and patted the ground in the pot.
"No problem, cutie." She kissed the tip of your nose and you flushed surprised.
Yes, taking gardening as a hobby was such a good idea.
5. Physical Touch
Hayato Suou - handholding anywhere and everywhere, no matter who sees it
The most surprising thing about Suou after you started dating him was his touchiness. To say that this characteristic of your seemingly stoic and calm boyfriend shocked you is an understatement.
At the beginning of your relationship you were baffled and so so flustered whenever it happened. Of course, you just weren't used to it and as time passed by you became more confident in sharing physical contact with Suou.
You took every chance you got to cuddle with him on the couch, be it studying or drinking some new tea, and you especially loved holding hands with him or just playing with his fingers.
Now, the only thing you were still trying to get used to was PDA. You were still quite hesitant to show off your relationship, especially in front of big crowds but somehow you found yourself marching through the street hand in hand with Suou.
He was talking about this new tea blend that he bought and promised to make it for you as soon as you got back and you smiled at him saying thanks.
Suddenly your talk got cut off by some strangers that came to you.
"Hello, we are doing some street interviews in English and were wondering if you'd like to answer some questions." The girl pointed at the camera as she spoke to you.
Seeing that you instantly tried to let go of Suou hand and hide in embarrassment but he just chuckled at you and tightened the grip on your hand.
"Sure, no problem." He said confidently and you hit his biceps.
"Suou, why?" You whined and he patted your head with his free hand before turning back to the girl.
"So let's start." She switched to English and you tried to hide behind Suou but you only got to partially stand behind his left side while you became flustered at the thought of people on the internet seeing you.
Answering question after question Suou tried to include you too and when you got nervous he would caress your hand with his thumb while holding it tightly.
As soon as you finished and said bye to the two strangers you pulled on his hand and continued towards his home.
"You did really good, darling." He said leaning towards you and placed a quick kiss on your cheek making you shiver at the contact and you quickly hid your smile behind your free hand.
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emphistic · 7 days ago
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𝐁𝐄𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐂𝐇𝐄𝐃, 𝐁𝐎𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐄𝐃, 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐁𝐄𝐖𝐈𝐋𝐃𝐄𝐑𝐄𝐃 .𖥔 ݁ ˖ ‧
𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐒. fem!Reader, bastard!Sukuna, historial AU - regency era, somewhat enemies to lovers, banter, ballroom dancing, eventual smut [MDNI], table séx, exhibitiönism, semi-public séx, nīpple play, fīngering, loss of vīrginity, jealousy, carriage séx, riding, pörn w/ plot
𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓. nearly 16k (yikes)
𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐑'𝐒 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄. sighhhhhh, this took way too long, but im a nerd for jane austen novels and the regency period, so im going to make you a nerd for it, too. available on ao3
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“It is a truth universally acknowledged that a single man in possession of a good fortune must be in want of a wife.” — Pride & Prejudice
Whether you liked it or not—or, well, that didn’t matter, really; you had no choice—you had connections. Plenty of them. 
You were the firstborn and only child to a renowned lawyer and his wife—whom you called your parents. Your birth was one of necessity, not out of love and want. Most of your mother and father’s siblings constantly pressured them into conceiving—in order to extend the bloodline, they explained—and so they were coerced into a sense of rushing and urgency. This, however, didn’t diminish any of their affection towards you; you were, after all, their only child, their eldest child, and their most beloved child.
“Wealthy” was quite the understatement when it came to describing your family tree. You were rich in prosperity and success, physically and mentally. Your parents cherished you as their only offspring, gave you only the finest governess, and treated you as more of an equal than a baby. That proved not a problem—seeing as how vast your then and current knowledge was compared to those of average salary.
Being an only child may have been quite out of the ordinary in the present times, but the number of relatives you had was abundant enough that you often felt it was really the opposite.
Your grandparents seemed to have a lot of fun back then, because, each of your parents had at least five siblings, which resulted in a little more than ten aunts and uncles when grouped together. This was, however, not as jolly as it may seem. Your aunts and uncles were all old, had even more children than your grandparents, and loved, loved, loved, critiquing others. They tipped their hats at you when greeting, kissed your cheeks and the backs of your hands, but, regardless, they never failed to mention at least one of your faults and flaws.
In addition to this, you had cousins galore. On your mother’s side was a bit fewer than thirty, while your father’s side consisted of two and twenty. It may be a given, it may be not, but you weren’t as close with your cousins as most would normally be. Sending and receiving letters was seldom exchanged, and meeting at balls and dinners was probably the only times you ever conversed with a cousin or two. Well, except for Charlotte and Helena.
Where could you even begin when describing those two? you often laughed.
They were twins, and would look exactly the same if it wasn’t for the fact that Charlotte had blonde curls that she frequently let down, while Helena often wore a brunette updo atop her head. Since birth, they had been inseparable, and most people usually referred to them as a pair, saying things such as Where are the girls? or Are the girls attending? It was great, really. In truth—concise, and full truth—you loved the girls just as if they were your own sisters; and, sometimes it seemed that way.
You three always read together when the men went shooting birds, gossiped about the townspeople, and often matched your dresses, ribbons, and gloves to each other at balls and other gatherings of the like. Maybe it was due to your compatibility, but if you had to call anyone your best friend, it would have to be the girls.
They were both two years your juniors, but it was a commonly known fact that Charlotte was as intelligent as someone ten years your senior. She pored over literature all day, bent over desks examining records, and was always the one to come to when in need of rational advice. Helena, on the other hand, was a bright girl, but she certainly wasn’t a scholar; her strong suit was her humor and charm. She made acquaintances like no other, and had an almost endless amount of suitors and beaus asking for her hand. 
But, if that wasn’t the case, she would definitely still have an equal amount of friends. Maybe even the whole population of Wadsworth, if Helena wanted. But, really, that would not be much wanted.
The men and women of Wadsworth were numerous, but they were all prickly in their own ways. You often liked to joke that the countryside of Wadsworth was really just one big rose bush; most people were thorns in the sides, while, if you looked deep, there were plenty of roses, as well. Now, you didn’t hate attending balls, per se, but, the main reason keeping you away was that the men knew not how to dance at all, tripped over others’ feet and shoes, and their vocabulary—oh, lord, their vocabulary. It would be much pleasanter if you didn’t even begin on that topic.
Wadsworth was not small—big enough to fit everyone without being too congested—and it laid up north, where the weather was nice all of twelve-month. The grass was always green, and healthy, and the hefty trees provided shade that was more than needed. It was beautiful, absolutely beautiful, and if it wasn’t the people that lured in tourists, it would have to be the scenery and landscaping.
Aside from the actual land, the properties, the estates, and the manors were all also a sight to behold. Wealthy were your neighbors, and your aunts, and your uncles, and the other ladies and the other sirs. Abodes were more grand than not—all at least two stories—had beautiful shrubbery and quite talented gardeners, large windows, and ornate carriages.
The people who filled these properties all had a profuse liking to dancing, and balls were held most frequently. Sometimes at Stratford House—where the girls resided, sometimes at Grantley Hall—the home of another aunt you had, and sometimes somewhere else. You, however, resided in Blackwood Park with your mother and father. It was a luxurious abode; your governess was as knowledgeable as can be, and the staff were all as kind-hearted as to be expected. You had bookshelves all to yourself, and read to your heart’s content whenever you felt the need to decline an invitation to a social gathering.
Prosperous—was your life.
In the middle of drinking tea—another activity you took up with your cousins—a commotion started up in the streets outside. 
All ladies of the town were absolutely, or, at least, nearly under a spell, as they all scrambled to their windows at the sound of hooves and neighing; they went to great lengths such as even peeking behind shutters and curtains, just to attempt even merely a glimpse at the two wealthy—and, if you did say yourself, dashingly dressed—gentlemen that had arrived on their grand steeds; of all their grandeur were individual breeds of andalusian and shire. 
It was, without a doubt, quite the sight to behold on a previously seemingly ordinary Tuesday morning. And, you weren’t at all surprised at the idea of any of your family screaming at the chance of possible suitors for either you or their children.
“Oh my!” gasped Helena, as she set down her tea cup, and hurried to look through the windows of Blackwood. “Pray, do you think the gentlemen are married?”
“I would think so,” sighed Charlotte; “any person who looks like that ought to have ladies lining up at his door, wouldn’t you agree it is so?” 
The blonde turned to you with an expectant look on her face, and you hesitated for an answer. “If they are as handsome as they are dressed, then, maybe. I have not a good look at their faces from this angle.”
“Oh, dear cousin!” cried the girls simultaneously. They were—if you could even call it that way—heavily dejected at the sound of your declaration. It was rational, though, and that’s why they were so clearly affected; if the men were both handsome and wealthy, it was highly plausible that they were with wives, and any possibility of either of the girls being able to flirt with the gentlemen was thus thrown out of the window.
Laughing, you tried your best to console the girls, and patted each of them on the head, before making your way towards the nearest window. This change gave you a way better opportunity to see the men than you had previously thought. Yes, there were two of them, and yes, they were both as handsome as they were dressed—though you would never admit such a thing aloud.
Because they were both on their horses, you could not see who was taller, but you knew that the distinction between them both was crystal clear; their heads were both full of unnaturally colored hair.
There was one gentleman with hair white as snow, and eyes blue as the vast sea; he wore expensive, lavish clothing, and held himself up with confident poise—much like a prince would. The other gentleman had pink, rosy hair, that was of a ruly style—maybe it was unbrushed, you thought. But the first thing you noticed about him was the evident scowl on his face; he looked like the embodiment of a thunderstorm. Beautiful, but formidable.
Subconsciously, throughout your admiring of the wealthy men, you had been pushing the curtains back inch by inch, until, the white-haired man had seemingly taken notice of your observing, and looked up at your figure with an amused expression, before turning to his friend and pointing at you. With a surprised squeak, you pulled back the curtains and hid yourself before the gentlemen could get another look at you (or so you hoped).
“Why on earth did you close the curtains?” the girls cried, again, after noticing—through their misery—that the sight of the men was gone. “Just because they may be possibly married does not mean we cannot admire them all the same.”
“You think so?” you laughed.
“Well, certainly!” nodded Helena, profusely. “We could always just stand in corners of rooms, silently admiring their countenances. Aren’t I correct, sister?”
Charlotte turned to you with an optimistic smile. “Why, yes, you are! You must know, cousin, we are perfectly capable of keeping our mouths shut of flirtatious compliments when we are near married men. You must know.”
“What a nice thing to know, Lottie. But, we have yet to confirm whether the gentlemen are married or not—”
“Oh! bless me! I truly must’ve forgotten that part,” Helena said, as she squealed and kicked her legs back and forth. She was over the moon at hearing the—still unconfirmed—possibility that the men might be single. “Charlotte, sister, can you believe it? Either one or the both of us may be married by next spring!”
“Oh, cousin,” cried Charlotte, as she took your hands into her own, “this is such a wonderful Tuesday morning—”
In the middle of her exclamations of joy, Charlotte was interrupted by the calling of your maid-servant, who announced there was company at the door. Now, you were just seconds away from being informed of who it was, but the girls just couldn’t contain their anticipation, and before your maid-servant could get but another word out, the twins were flying down the stairs with high and hopeful spirits—the tea party completely forgotten.
“Who, in heaven’s name, could it be?” wondered Helena, as she took you by the arm and dragged the both of you downstairs.
“It must, indubitably, be the fine gentlemen,” declared Charlotte. “How could it not?”
But, upon opening the doors, it was indubitably not the fine gentlemen.
Your aunt—Lady Annesley; not to be mistaken as the mother of the girls—was standing outside Blackwood Park. She was widowed six or seven years ago, you couldn’t exactly recall the date; and she resided in a quite grand abode, called the Grantley Hall. She appeared with an anxious look on her face; but after seeing you open the doors, she hurried herself inside with a jolly, merry laugh.
“Oh, girls! All three of you! I have such wonderful news, such wonderful news, indeed.” She kissed each and every one of you on the cheek, and gathered you all into a tight hug; because she was a touchy person like that, but also because she had not seen one of your faces since her temporary departure to Brighton.
“Oh, Lady Annesley!” exclaimed Helena. “Do tell us about your vacation and trip. Did you see any officers and soldiers there?”
“How about the views? Were the waters and beaches pristine?” Charlotte chipped in.
“Oh, yes!” Lady Annesley simultaneously laughed and nodded like a mad woman. “Yes, yes, yes! My word, it was absolutely lovely, and the weather was just extraordinary; I shall certainly take you all there one day, but . . . that is not important in the present time. You know, Helena, I did make some rather pleasant acquaintances with some Admirals and Lieutenants while at the seashore, and I’ve come with some extra company.”
You raised a brow, intrigued. “Are you to remarry?”
Gasps erupted from the lady and the blonde.
“Nonsense. Why, in heaven’s name, would I do that? No, no, the company is not that. You see, girls, the soldiers and officers that I had such a miraculous opportunity to befriend in Brighton have come back with me. Their military regiment is temporarily stationed here in Wadsworth! Can you believe that? When I was informed by Admiral Dawson, I was rendered speechless for a few minutes, you must know. But, ah, that is long forgotten now.
“There must be a ball hosted soon. It shall be at Grantley, I suppose, but a few arrangements will have to be taken care of before then.” Lady Annesley began to quietly murmur to herself afterwards, droning on about plans required to host a proper ball for so many residents of Wadsworth in addition to the many officers and soldiers.
The girls turned to face you with ecstatic expressions as your aunt fell into a subconscious silence.
“Isn’t this just a wonderful Tuesday morning?” asked Helena. “So many possibly unmarried men to gawk at and admire. How do you reckon, cousin, do you think men hardened by weather and work will be more handsome than gentlemen? I am quite curious, I must say.”
Charlotte answered for you. “I’m not even sure we would know. Here in Wadsworth, we’ve never seen any men of rank and occupation as of theirs, have we?”
The three of you shook your heads, shrugged, and wondered—any thought of the wealthy gentlemen was gone, and forgotten about, as Helena walked off to prepare a dress and fan for the ball, Charlotte stayed behind with Lady Annesley to speak about the scenery during her vacation, and you strode off to drink from your previously abandoned tea cup and continue eating the little French biscuits that the girls had brought along.
It was a pleasantly spent Tuesday morning, indeed. However, not much of the same could be said about the next.
You had not been an hour awake until your cousins had barged into your bedroom, and squealed and giggled as they jumped and danced around your room, exclaiming words and nonsense that your morning fog prevented understanding of.
“Oh, cousin! Do you not know? Today will perhaps be the most amazing night of our lives! Just picture it,” Helena began, pulling you out of bed and forcing you to dance with her, “a whole regiment of soldiers and officers will soon be filling Grantley Hall. The chances of any one of us being able to dance with them is highly likely, is it not? Oh! this is wonderful, wonderful, wonderful!”
“Helena, just—just wait a minute,” you said, pausing before Helena could waltz with you any more, “I have not even gotten dressed for breakfast. And the ball isn’t until evening. What are you and Charlotte so excited for? Many hours to come before the ‘most amazing night’ of our lives, you know.”
“Sister,” sighed Helena, as she turned to Charlotte, “you must certainly explain to our dearest cousin.”
Charlotte nodded. “Many hours to come are many hours to prepare. We must prepare our gowns, fans, bonnets, gloves. And, Helena, before I forget, what are we here for in the first place? to practice dancing, of course. Cousin, I’ll have you know, there is absolutely no chance I am letting you stay huddled at the pianoforte the whole night.
“Although your playing is much beloved, and appreciated, I am almost certain there will be others providing their services at the instrument. Whether you like it or not, I am forcing you to dance. If you do not waltz with any men, you will waltz with me or Helena or Lady Annesley.
“At your age of six and twenty, people worry you will end up celibate, you know.”
You hid a faint smile behind your hand. “Is this your way of looking out for me, then?”
The girls laughed, full of cheer.
Fortunately for the twins—who did not leave your side once throughout—both the morning and the afternoon had passed by with a considerable amount of speed. You three had acquired sufficient gowns for the coming evening, and had spent some time finishing up hair and obtaining jewelry and other essential cosmetics.
It had taken the strength and power of both the girls—with the additional help of Lady Annesley—to be able to force you out the doors of Blackwood Park, and consequently, shove you into the carriage parked outside. 
In all honesty, you weren’t in the particular mood to go to a ball, but when your aunt has her mind set on making acquaintances, she will not let go. She often said, Oh, dear niece, think of the men you can meet! or, So many handsome men of great fortunes, or, Rough, calloused, tall; is there anything better? and other similar sayings. It certainly did not help, at all, that Charlotte and Helena only encouraged your aunt.
A husband was never one of your top priorities; dying a single woman was not as unfortunate for you as it would be for other women. You had money, you had wealth, you had prosperity. Some people wed simply for gaining rank and title, carriages and clothes, and estates and property. But you had absolutely no need for any of that. And that’s why, as you walked into Grantley Hall—after what was perhaps the longest, most boring carriage ride of your life—you did not look to see who was handsome, or agreeable, or most rich. 
Instead, you looked for a chance to sit down, or, even, scurry away—from your companions, before they could force you to converse with some puny men, or rekindle your relationships with your many, many aunts and uncles.
Despite yourself, you couldn’t help your eye wandering about the property; and only then, did you notice just how many new people were in Wadsworth at this time of year. Just as your aunt had said; there were officers, soldiers, other members of militia, captains, and men of ranks you could not and did not care to recognize.
Although you weren’t as crazy as Helena and Charlotte—whom you assumed were probably in some corner, certainly already flirting with the single men they managed to find, and blushing and obsessing as wildly as lunatics—you also weren’t as prejudiced to say everyone was of absolutely terrible breeding. You saw some handsome faces, you saw some . . . not handsome faces, but, even with all this, you weren’t intrigued. No, not even in the slightest bit.
In an act of rebellion against your “kidnappers,” you were en route to the pianoforte, when you heard a voice call for you, and saw a figure stop in the middle of your way.
“Good evening, miss,” came the call—from an officer, you assumed. “Pardon my intrusion, for I am simply tempted to make an acquaintance with someone of such great countenance as yours. I almost mistook you for a princess, you know.”
He was tall, had long legs, and a fit figure. His hair was dark, and so were his eyes, which were sharp, and stared back at you with emotion you could not read. Of all men you had noticed, he was, as of late, the most handsome, and by far.
A hand was given; a kiss was placed on the back of the palm; and names were exchanged. You referred to him as Mr. Wright, and, after a few minutes spent in conversation, you deemed him a quite agreeable man, whose good breeding had gone not only into physical appearance, but also into his heart. Mr. Adam Wright had opinions similar to your own, was interested in writings you read, and preferred the entertainment of pianoforte, which you played quite often.
“How have you been liking Wadsworth, sir?” you asked, as the two of you began to make your ways to the instrument in the corner of the hall; Wright had requested to hear you play.
“Very much. Very much so, indeed. It is even more lovely than your aunt (remind me her name again, was it Lady Anne?) had previously said. I’m quite fond of the scenery, actually.”
“Oh, are you? You know, there are many paths to walk where you’ll be able to see breathtaking views, I must say. But, if you dislike walking, it’s safe to say that passing by the gardens and shrubbery of most homes is quite adequate enough.”
“No, no, there will be no need,” Wright said, shaking his head. “I find walking very enjoyable.”
You laughed. “What a coincidence; so do I!”
It was, about a second’s distance away, just before you were beginning to seat yourself at the pianoforte, that you felt another presence behind you. Thinking it was just a friend of Mr. Wright that was only planning on making conversation, you turned around with a smile already on your face, but you were met with the sight of none other than your aunt, Lady Annesley, who appeared buzzy, and a bit gone. Had people already begun to drink? you wondered.
“Dearest niece,” she started, placing a hand on your shoulder, “there are two very fine gentlemen I would like for you to meet. Come along now, child,” your aunt beckoned, but as she noticed the man standing to your right, she paused for a minute, laughed, and then continued, “you do not mind, sir? if I steal my niece away for just a moment? I assure you, there are many nice ladies in here that you can help yourself to.”
Lady Annesley waited not even a second to hear Mr. Wright’s response before she dragged you away to another part of Grantley Hall. You occasionally stumbled over your shoes due to your aunt’s unbalanced speed, and watched as the faces around you came and went in a blur whilst you traveled. Obviously, you knew prior, but you only fully realized how many people were in attendance when you caught the eyes of an old teacher—who, to be completely honest, you had not seen since last  Michaelmas.
“Right this way, my dear,” your aunt said, in a sing-song tone. “I am very eager, you know, for my darling niece to make such very acceptable acquaintances tonight. Not a chance nor a second shall be missed, and, if the gentlemen have not left and juked me, they should still be right . . . here.”
Lady Annesley had stopped so abruptly in her tracks at a corner of the room that you nearly collided with her back, but, fortunately, you did not. Your eyes lifted, and met the view of two very dashingly dressed gentlemen. Brothers, you assumed, who both had equally pink hair, and wore a pair of nearly complete opposite expressions on their faces.
The taller one—who you thought was the brother—had a fine countenance, a very fine countenance, indeed. His lips were pressed in a thin line, and truly brought out the essence of his character. He had sharp features, similarly to Mr. Adam Wright; his eyes were red as the rubies on his brooch, and he looked like the epitome of wealthy and expensive and elegant. His posture was composed, confident, and totally sure of himself; his hands were folded behind his back, and his eyebrows had a slight quirk in them as he, too, looked you over as you approached.
Your eyes then wandered over to the shorter brother, who stood to the right of the taller one. His face was a near replica of the prior, but his features were softened down, a little more dull, if you could even put it that way, and his smile was perhaps the most prominent feature on his face. The youthful countenance of his was on display, and you had no doubt that either Charlotte or Helena had already set their eyes on him. On the other hand, he looked young, very young—younger than you, perchance; an air of innocence was about his figure, and his eyes shone bright as day.
Sunshine, and thunder.
Oh! that is right; you knew these men, or, at least, you knew the taller one.
A corner of your lips tugged upwards as you made the remembrance. This—this man, this great, wealthy man; you had seen him last week! Certainly! He was one of the two gentlemen who rode on their steeds into town, and as of late, you had received no additional information about them except for the fact that they were of extraordinarily good breeding and admirable poise.
Your hand was offered, received and accepted, and was kissed in greeting. Introductions were quickly exchanged, and you happened to learn that the taller gentleman was called Sukuna Ryomen, whilst his (confirmed to be) brother was named Yuuji. To your great surprise, and due to your aunt’s nosiness, you found that the both of them were unmarried, single, and unengaged.
Originally, you had hoped that that would be the end of it, and your aunt would let you be. But, of course, the universe was not on your side this evening, and you were without the ability to leave and peacefully sit at your beloved pianoforte. Instead, you stood, in a corner of Grantley Hall—under numerous chandeliers—as you were forced to exert yourself for the sake of ‘acquainting’ your being with the two brothers, who, too, looked a bit unsettled by your aunt’s coercing to continue conversation.
“Pray,” you began, “is your current companion the same gentleman from when you first arrived?”
“My brother has hair similar to what is on my own head; my previous companion—a friend—has hair white as snow,” stated Mr. Ryomen, his tone declarative. “Have you no eyes, miss? I am quite sure you are capable of answering your own question.”
You could, obviously, make out that Yuuji was, in fact, not the same man from when Mr. Ryomen first arrived at the countryside; but, you were just simply making small talk. Was the country where the brothers came from so unaccustomed to that? you wondered.
“Have you no sociability, sir? I was not informed prior that simply making small conversation was so . . . unwanted by men like you.”
“What, in heaven’s name, is the meaning for this lack of cordiality, I dare ask? Bless me!” exclaimed your aunt, a look of astonishment on her face as she scolded the three of you. “We are all here to make acquaintances, are we not? Let’s shift to another topic. Pray tell, you are here for . . . ?”
“Vacation, miss,” the younger brother smiled. “We have some friends and family living in Wadsworth, but aside from that, Sukuna is also a landowner here—in addition to his other estates (he likes a change of scenery, every once in a while, I must add). I’ve heard how nice the weather is, and decided to visit, as well.”
“Oh, yes! Most certainly!” nodded Lady Annesley. “Wadsworth is a very common tourist countryside, you must know.”
“Is it?” asked the elder brother.
“Have you no ears, sir? That is what was just said; I am quite sure you are capable of answering your own question.”
“My, is that how the ladies around here speak?” quipped Sukuna, his voice velvety, and dripping with honey as he spoke. “—To gentlemen, as well? I may have overestimated your hospitality to newcomers, or, well, vacationers.”
“Excuse her,” your aunt interjected, nervously laughing, “she’s. . . She caught a cold from the recent rain, I’m afraid. Yes, of course, the rain. Isn’t that right?” Lady Annesley nudged you by the elbow. “It’s the rain, isn’t it?”
“. . .Indeed.”
Though your aunt occasionally gave you rebuking looks for your behavior, you had paid no effort in pretending to be engaged in conversation with the brothers. She had, with all her might, tried to erect as many topics and subjects worth speaking of as possible, but to no avail. Her spirits were deflated, and Lady Annesley had concluded that if you were going to marry one day, the chances of it being with Mr. Sukuna Ryomen were close to zero.
You two sent jeering comments and jokes towards each other as if your lives depended on it, and, in truth, you couldn’t count on either of your hands how many times you rolled your eyes. You found Mr. Ryomen to be a highly disagreeable man, and, if it weren’t for his indubitably large fortune and handsome countenance, you would probably call your aunt deranged for even suggesting you mingle with him. Yuuji, his brother, on the other hand, was much agreeable, and his views and prejudices were very reasonable. Of course, the same could not be said about Sukuna.
His interests were in going a-shooting, riding on his stallions, or taking vacations to his various abodes. Yes, he had multiple, and he had no humility to hide that fact; Sukuna’s pride would take up the whole of Wadsworth and more, if it had a physical form. Of course, he had reason to be full of pride: born rich, and would, eventually, die rich. Still, does it hurt so bad to be humble? You didn’t waste your breath asking that question; you knew, after all, that Sukuna had no experience in that department.
“Are you staying long—in Wadsworth?” you asked, looking only at the younger brother. Ignorance was a petty way of spiting someone, you had to admit, but it was childish, and Sukuna was as childish as a child could possibly be.
“Ah, that is the hope,” smiled Yuuji. “I may think of purchasing land here, you know.”
“Isn’t that just wonderful to hear? I would be delighted to have someone as agreeable as you for a neighbor,” you said. “Pray, does your brother live anywhere near Blackwood Park? I heard you mention him having property here, in Wadsworth.”
“I live five miles away from Blackwood,” Sukuna answered, instead, for Yuuji.
Your eyes shifted to meet red ones, and you moved your weight onto a different leg, whilst fanning yourself with your fan. “I do not recall asking you, sir.”
Sukuna scoffed. “Is it not sensible to answer on my own behalf?”
“Perhaps so. But, I find that nothing you do is sensible,” you laughed. “So, either way, there is really no difference.”
It would be a highly plausible assumption to make by saying that Mr. Ryomen Sukuna was pampered to no end as a child, and never denied any fundamentals or trivials. If that was truly the case, then, you could have sworn you saw an unrecognizable glint flash in his ruby eyes at the sound of your constant discourtesy. Unbeknownst to you, Sukuna had, in fact, been coddled as much as you had assumed. And, just hearing his name being so mercilessly abused was already enough to intrigue him. There was, in a sense, something so alluring and bewitching about your recklessness in conversation, that Sukuna couldn’t help but long for more of the hearing your insults.
Lady Annesley, on the other hand, was extremely disappointed at your behavior, and couldn’t find any reason—no matter searching—for your incredible disdain towards the eldest of the two gentlemen. Your ridiculous bickering and bantering would only serve in embarrassing your aunt’s reputation in Wadsworth, and that was far from what Lady Annesley dreamed of. The only thing she could thank God for was that you weren’t nearly as prejudiced towards Yuuji as you were to his brother.
“Pray, how about we all dance, yes?” your aunt proposed, in faux cheerful spirits. “Shall my niece partner with the younger gentleman?”
“Oh, I’m quite afraid that could not be made possible, miss,” said Yuuji, as he offered an apologetic expression. “My leg is in incredible pain, and I must—with much embarrassment—admit to my having fallen once while riding here. I may have chosen to travel on quite a rowdy stallion, but it is only myself that I have to blame.”
With a politeness you could never aim towards Sukuna, you offered up your condolences, and, with a smile, proposed that the two of you sat down whilst the other attendees danced to their heart’s content. (If it wasn’t obvious before, you were very desperate for any excuse to avoid dancing.) But, to your dismay, Yuuji had declined sitting down, and explained that he had a few other people he was interested in speaking with before the end of the night, and, with a well mannered farewell, bid the three of you adieu.
“Well, upon my word, your parents have done a good job raising that fellow,” added Lady Annesley, a sorry expression on her face as she watched the only other pacifist in your party walk away with an uneven gait, which further proved his excuse.
“Whether that was by the work of my parents, or a governess, or something unspoken, is debatable,” the pink-haired man remarked.
“Or, perhaps, he was merely born with the admirably civil heart he has now. That is quite rare, I must say, in this time, and among these people.” You directed that last bit towards Sukuna, and it was probably pretty clear—seeing as red eyes met yours with just as much animosity soon after your little witty comment.
At first, you were merely treating Sukuna with the same omitted amount of respect he was giving you, but now, you found yourself starting to rather enjoy bullying him. It was pointless banter, after all, and you were almost certain Sukuna felt the same way. Although you felt a sense of dislike towards the man, you couldn’t help but be fond of the way he was, probably, the only other man you could banter with so lightly.
Your unconventional views and dislikes and interests often provoked strong emotion and irritation in most gentlemen, and you weren’t thought to be very agreeable. But, as for the pink-haired gentleman, he took your abusing words with little to no offense. There was the occasional annoyance displayed on his features: like a little furrow of the brow, or crinkle of the nose; but it was almost humorous—seeing as a small smile usually appeared soon after—as if he found your insults to be jokes.
After a pregnant pause, Sukuna broke the silence by saying, “Do you dance, madam?”
“Will you force me?”
“If it cannot be helped.”
You hadn’t actually thought to dance with a man like Sukuna, but upon hearing this concise exchange between her niece and hopefully future nephew-in-law, your aunt thought there was nothing better in the world than to usher the both of you to the center of Grantley Hall herself, and force you two to dance among the rest of the attendees. The orchestrated music was loud—loud enough so that little to no one could hear your protesting complaints, and Lady Annesley, smiling to herself at finally having succeeded in getting you to properly socialize, walked away in the direction of the drinks.
Looking at your aunt’s back as she walked away, you sighed; all your attempts at escaping had been fruitless, futile, and done in vain. For, whilst a pianoforte played in a ¾ time signature, you turned to face Sukuna with a sorrowful expression, but you were instead met with a contrasting smile.
“I have never danced with a lady like you before, miss,” he said, in a condescending tone, as he took your hesitant hands into his, and readied himself for a slow, smooth, elegant waltz.
Sukuna’s hands were calloused, rough, and large compared to your own; he was, certainly, a man. 
A warmth spread throughout your body as you made contact with his skin, and it was almost electrifying, like nothing you had ever felt before. It’s safe to say you were expecting something else, but you couldn’t quite put your finger on it.
“You must not dance very often, then. I can assure you, with no doubt, that there is not much to put me aside from others.”
The two of you began to move at a languid speed, and soon caught up to the velocity of most other dancers, though, even in such a large and crowded space, you couldn’t help but feel as if it was just the two of you. The two of you dancing, the two of you talking; the two of you.
“I can name plenty of distinguishing aspects you have.”
“Is that so?” you asked.
“Indeed.”
“My, my, my, do enlighten me, Mr. Ryomen.”
“Do you mean it is not obvious?” he asked, looking into your eyes with intent.
You responded with the shaking of your head.
“Your eyes—somehow brighter than most. Your smile—infectious, even to someone such as I.” Sukuna’s words were spoken with the utmost sincerity, and you could tell, from his tone, that he meant every word he said; although it surprised you to be complimented by him, you couldn’t help the warmth that rose to your cheeks. “Your laughter—melodious to even the deaf. And you, yourself—I find you alluring.”
“. . .”
“Is your silence a sign of disbelief?”
In truth, you weren’t exactly familiar with hearing such a plethora of compliments, and, since it came from someone you could never expect it from, it made you all the more embarrassed.
“I beg your pardon, sir. You find me . . . alluring?”
“It shall be known, soon enough, that I am a man who thinks what he says. I do not say what I do not mean, miss.”
Through keeping your head down, you avoided meeting Sukuna’s eyes with all your might, but still, you could feel his penetrating gaze piercing holes through your face. Listening to the music in the background was a method you used in an attempt to calm your nerves, but all was fruitless in the end. If Sukuna had not the way of words he did now, his voice would certainly make up for it. Thick, sultry, velvety; it was absolutely ludicrous how bothered it made you, and you had to occasionally let out a cough to cover up the way you swallowed the frequent lumps in your throat.
After having settled in silence for a few counts of three, Sukuna smiled, laughing at your sudden shyness. “I have heard lots of great things about you, you must know.”
“Is—Is that so?”
“So it is,” he nodded, before continuing; “your aunt—Lady Annesley, was it?—had briefly spoken about you, in addition to her other nieces and nephews, when she first approached me and my brother.”
At this, you laughed, finally having built up the courage to meet Sukuna in the eyes. “I am concerned about what she might have had to say.”
“All good things, I assure you.”
You breathed out a sigh of relief you didn’t know you were holding, before continuing on in casual conversation. Your banter from earlier had grown severely scarce, and was evidently replaced with subtly flirtatious comments. All the while, you found yourself growing embarrassed more than ever, but over time, you had gradually worked up a familiarity towards the compliments, and felt rather at ease whilst simultaneously talking and dancing with Mr. Ryomen Sukuna—who appeared as cool and composed as per usual.
It was after the pianoforte’s playing had ended, that the crowd had disconnected from the partners, curtseyed and bowed to one another, and burst into applauds of plaudits. The room was lively, with its guests chatting and talking with delight at such a wonderful dance they had danced just moments prior. People took seconds to recollect themselves, by either grabbing glasses of water, or fanning themselves before the next waltz. You, on the other hand, had begun to make your way to the pianoforte, before you were stopped again (yes, again; why on earth was everyone so opposed to letting you play music nowadays?).
There was a nudge against the back of your elbow, and you turned around with much grace, just to be met with the same face from before.
“Could I trouble you for another round, miss?” came that velvety voice you loved so much.
It was Mr. Ryomen Sukuna, and he was with the objective of claiming yet another spot on your dance card this evening. How wonderful, just so, so very wonderful. . .
“. . .And just what type of round are we speaking of, sir?”
Sukuna’s countenance held the expression of mischief, and playful doing, as he leaned his face down closer to yours, till you couldn’t distinguish the line between your and his breath. “Whatever you’d prefer, my fair lady.”
As a smile made its way onto your face, Sukuna did just as he had done before: gathering your warm hands into his cold ones, and bringing the both of you into another waltz just as the euphonious music began again for a second time that evening. While you could never admit it aloud, as the hours passed by, you soon found yourself forgetting all about your beloved pianoforte—that could, as of late, be put off for maybe just a little longer.
***
“All we did was waltz—just like everybody else! What, in heaven’s name, is so unusual about that?”
Your cousins had called on you the next morning after the ball at Grantley, and waited not a second before asking—no, demanding—you to tell them about all that had happened whilst they were away and mingling. (Yes, you were, in fact, correct in assuming that the girls had been acquainting themselves with officers galore and other various gentlemen that same evening.) But, despite them having a most eventful evening themselves, they were, by far, more curious as to hearing about your experience.
“Yes, you waltzed,” Charlotte replied, exasperated, “we know that; we saw it! after all. But, but, but, not only did you waltz together, you waltzed together twice! Can you believe that, Helena? A wealthy—and, if I must say, handsome—gentleman claimed not one, but two spots on our very dear cousin’s dance card last evening!”
“It is oh-so wonderful!” cried Helena, absolutely overjoyed at the fact you were finally socializing for once. “But, do not forget, sister, that Mr. Ryomen Sukuna, the very man our dearest cousin danced with, also held her hands without gloves! Without gloves! Bless me! I find I shall faint if not cautious, you know.”
The girls gossiped and confabulated over yesterday’s events with much interest and engagement. They teased you, giggled at the way you waltzed with a man right after verbally abusing him, and accepted his hand twice. It seemed that they could not and would not let it go that you had danced with such a man last evening, and it seemed the only way you could get them to leave their current attentions was to mention their events and who they danced with—to which, they were most delighted to answer you.
“Shall we tell her, Lottie?” exclaimed Helena, eager to reminisce about the ball she had. “Shall we tell her?”
“Of course, of course!”
And so, with that, the minds of the girls had been successfully veered over to the subject of other men. Helena recalled chatting with several young officers, all who were, as she said, “charming, and effectively handsome, but they were, unfortunately, as taciturn as to make people assume them mute.” Helena complained about how she could only get acquainted with most officers if she was the one who spoke up first; which, in her eyes, was terribly unacceptable.
Charlotte, on the other hand, was not as extroverted as her twin sister, though, she was pretty enough so that people approached her before she had to open her mouth to anyone. She had made acquaintances with “very fine gentlemen, very fine and intellectual gentlemen, indeed,” and laughed and chatted about poetry and philosophy almost all night long. She geeked out on her favorite authors and thinkers, and her interlocutors reciprocated with their own. It was a most enjoyable night for her—seeing as most people of Wadsworth did not find such topics in conversations as pleasant as Charlotte did.
“Did you know, cousin,” began the blonde, “that such an abundance of officers read poetry?”
“Nay, I did not, but go on.”
And go on, she did. Whenever Charlotte spoke of writing and literature, she rarely even took a breath to breathe. She was like that: always very passionate about her favorite subjects, and she was rarely able to notice if the people around her had started to bore or not—but, it mattered not; Charlotte wouldn’t have stopped talking anyway, unless, by a chance, she found herself getting thirsty. Yes, she got thirsty quite often, and you often joked (all in good nature, of course) that it was due to how much she talked.
The three of you had spent the entire morning gossiping over tea and biscuits, until a maid-servant had called you all for lunch, and you all burst into quite a harmoniously-sounding fit of laughter at the realization that, throughout your chitter chatter, you had finished neither one cup of tea, nor one plate of pastries. It was a pleasantly spent morning, indeed.
That week passed by with much ease, and the next one passed by similarly. There was even one day, where, you had been met with the fortunate coincidence of crossing paths with none other than Mr. Adam Wright whilst on your daily walk outside of Blackwood Park.
“Good day, miss,” he began, in a smooth voice, “how do you do?”
“Oh! bless me; you had me startled there—for a minute, Mr. Wright. But, I am very well; I thank you.”
“I beg your finest pardon, madam,” replied he, before bowing his head ever so slightly. “I did not mean to alarm you.”
You waved your hand around in a dismissing manner. “And, to what do I owe the honor of running into you today, sir?”
“Ah, I was just admiring the views you were telling me about. You know, when we were chatting about nature and shrubbery? Yes, well, I find your suggestions to be very credible, for this is quite the place you have here, miss.”
“Thank you, Mr. Wright, very generous of you to say so.” You smiled.
“No need to thank me, I am sure you receive compliments on your home thousands upon thousands of times each day. Pray, how many acres is Blackwood Park?”
“I would assume a little above three thousand.”
“Is that so?”
“So it is,” you said, smiling. “Why the face? Do not you believe me?” you joked, seemingly in a playful mood this morning.
“I ought to walk with you around the park in order to further prove your answer.”
As you two linked arms, and began to walk around the park, surrounded by bushes and trimmed shrubbery under the shade-providing trees, you wondered if this was Mr. Wright’s attempt at flirting, or getting to know you. But, either way, you kept a smile on your face and walked, explaining the paths and routes and terrain as you did so.
“Do you walk often, miss?”
“I believe I told you that I did—at Grantley. Or have you already forgotten? I didn’t know you paid so little to a supposed princess’s words, sir.”
Mr. Wright laughed. “It was an assumption, I explained. If you shall continue to tease me on that subject, I may become humiliated, you know.”
“What if that’s my goal?”
“Then, I suppose, the ladies here in Wadsworth must be very cruel.”
The both of you turned a corner, walking a new veered path as the sun bathed you in light. You were just about to reposition your parasol to shield yourself from the blinding radiance, when, out of the blue, a hand came up to cover your eyes from above; it was discovered to be Mr. Adam Wright’s.
“Oh!” you exclaimed, heat rising to your cheeks. “I thank you, sir.”
“It is not a problem,” began the officer; “you repay me by showing me the very nice landscaping here, after all.”
“. . .Ah, I see.”
In truth, you had not been in hopes of being joined in your walk this autumn morning, and you usually preferred solitude in times like these, but, alas, you had been joined by an officer, and were now to show him the ways around Blackwood Park and the rest of Wadsworth. You would be lying if you said it didn’t bother you in the slightest. . .
The both of you walked and talked: admiring the beautiful river of Northwick, crossing the bridge above said river, speaking of the chestnuts that had fallen from deciduous trees, and laughing about the squirrels above; all of this up until lunchtime, when you two departed—you, who had arrived at Stratford House to exchange your calling card with Charlotte and Helena, and Mr. Adam Wright, who had the objective of going forth to the shops.
Upon entering Stratford, you were greeted by the sight of two very excited twins.
“Oh, cousin! You’re here!” cried Helena. “We were waiting for your call, you know.”
“Hm, well, isn’t that lovely? What were you waiting for, exactly?”
“I’m not surprised you weren’t informed as of late; it was very last minute,” began Charlotte, “but, we were invited to Kendall Manor, actually. All three of us!” The blonde gestured to you, herself, and her sister.
“Kendall?” you repeated, raising your eyebrows. “Well, color me intrigued, then.”
Kendall Manor was a very envied spot in Wadsworth. With many beautiful arts there, it was a very famous spot for tourists to visit; you had even been there once or twice, whilst paying respects to its multitude of pianofortes and large collection of literature. Outside, it had high walls, lakes, an abundance of land, and various fountains throughout. The estate was known, but, in contrast, its owner was not.
For as long as you had lived, the possessor of Kendall Manor had never been present in Wadsworth. Not much information was of him, whoever he was, but the one piece of knowledge regarding him, was that he was alive and well. Maybe in a neighboring country, maybe somewhere else, no one knew where, but everyone knew he was there. It worked out, though; if so many people were visiting and entering Kendall Manor each day, surely the owner would be bothered, but in this case, that didn’t matter; the owner wasn’t even there!
“Come, lovie,” began Charlotte, as she ushered you upstairs to a changing room; “we must make haste! The chaise and four have already been called for, and not a second can be of waste.”
You had been dressed, your hair done, and your face painted, before you were, again, shoved into a carriage and driven off to Kendall Manor. It happened incredibly quickly, and gave you whiplash all the while.
“Do you two happen to know who specifically invited us lot?” you asked. “I wasn’t familiar with the fact that the owner of Kendall Manor was in the country; was it the doing of a servant? Or was the manor let?”
“Dear cousin, you worry too much,” laughed Helena. “We should instead rejoice at the opportunity of another party; we are bound to have a ball, after all. Why does the host matter?”
You grumbled, and sat silent for the rest of the ride. It was strange; why now? Why did the owner of Kendall decide to come home now? And, why on earth did he invite you and the girls? As far as you were concerned, you had no acquaintance with him, whoever he was, and neither did your family or any other relations you had.
Whilst basking in your confusion and wonder, the horses had come to a stop outside of a quite magnificent abode, and you instantly knew that this was Kendall Manor. Four or five thousand acres of land, under the blazing sun. Beautiful, vast, and plagued with mystery.
The three of you were taken up the stairs, and led inside by a valet, where you were greeted with the even more surprising sight of the rest of your family: some aunts and uncles, Lady Annesley, and others you did not care to name. If that wasn’t enough to make your jaw drop, you noticed half (if not all) of Wadsworth residents and even a few familiar faces of officers from the regiment temporarily stationed in the countryside; but, try as you might, your eyes could not set upon the countenance of Mr. Adam Wright—who was, probably, out at the shops, and alone.
What was this? Why was everyone here?
“Forgive my lack of planning prior,” began a velvety voice you knew well; and when you turned to the sound of that voice, you were met with the face of Mr. Ryomen Sukuna, standing next to his brother. “Welcome, all, to Kendall Manor.”
It was quickly explained that this was a party, in celebration of Mr. Ryomen, who had finally returned to his home country of Wadsworth, and was planning on staying for longer than he had been gone. He wanted to make acquaintances with all the people he would’ve known had he been here instead of at all his other estates and properties.
The guests were introduced to a large variety of pastries and biscuits and drinks and other desserts from the other counties Sukuna had been staying at previously. People asked him about what his other homes were like: if they were much different from Kendall of Wadsworth, and he—with his usual disagreeableness—did not even try to act humble as he described his very prosperous and fortunate self.
There were many ladies of Wadsworth that were single, and none of them wasted any chance in practically throwing themselves at the owner of the manor. In addition, Charlotte and Helena, once standing beside you, were now off and talking with a number of officers, having a very pleasant afternoon themselves.
You, on the other hand, were not much interested in speaking about subjects such as these, and, accompanied by very few people, walked into a nearby drawing room. Though you were not much of a card-player yourself, it was, perhaps, the only source of entertainment you could find within the walls of Kendall (except for playing pianoforte, which the girls forbade you). A table for Whist was set up, and a party of four, including yourself, began to play.
For a few rounds, you thought you had found peace, but no, a thunderstorm had soon followed you all the way into the drawing room. Mr. Ryomen had come, and was accompanied by the other guests, who were all flocking to him like birds.
“Shall we all play a game for more of us?” began the pink-haired gentleman. He was clearly doing this on purpose; his face told you all you needed to know: he was disturbing your peace and quiet for the simple motive of being a bother.
Of course, no one could refuse the host of such a grand party, and a much larger game table was soon set up, so that many could sit down and gamble. You had the unfortunate fate of being seated between the host, and Lady Annesley; and, although you were near at least one good relative, your aunt paid minimal attention to you, for she was seated beside Admiral Dawson, whom she was grossly engaged in conversation with.
Throughout the betting game, either your or Sukuna’s seat had been gradually inching closer to the other’s, to the point your shoulders were practically touching, and so were your elbows, which occasionally bumped together, causing the both of you to mutter curses or complaints.
“Why don’t you move nearer to your brother, sir? I am sure it would be much appreciated,” you jeered, obviously fed up with the amount of hits you were receiving.
“Careful there, miss. Lying too much can be detrimental.”
“‘Lying’? Oh, please. There is no truth in my saying ‘I enjoy sitting beside you’.”
“Of course,” laughed Sukuna, in a mocking tone. “Of course, Miss Untouchable. How could I forget? you just have a problem with everyone these days.”
“. . .”
“I wasn’t at all aware, you know, that such a disagreeable woman like you existed. Though, I can’t say it was unexpected; your countenance gives quite a fair hint to everyone when looking at you.”
You rolled your eyes. “I am sure the absolute same could be said about you, sir.”
“What a coincidence!” teased Sukuna. “I was beginning to think we had nothing in common.”
Narrowing your eyes, you stabbed the heel of your shoe onto Sukuna’s, but he let out neither a curse nor a groan of pain.
Instead, Sukuna rested his arm on the back of your chair with an overwhelming grip as he leaned his face closer to yours; and you could’ve sworn you could see the red of his eyes swirling together in a mix, as if a tornado. The tips of your noses were only centimeters apart, and you couldn’t draw a line between where your breath ended and where his started even if you had to.
Your eyes met with equal resentment and agitation, as if there was a mutual message being sent from merely your locked gazes alone, but then, to your surprise, his stare drifted up to your hat.
“Various shades of blue and green, with gold as an accent,” he noted, in a slurred tone, almost as if he was drunk.
“Well, yes. Have you never seen a peacock feather?”
“Two of which are both colors on the cooler side of the color spectrum,” he continued, paying no mind to your words; “but, I must say, red would suit you much better, my darling.”
Your eyes widened at the sound of this, and your gaze fell to your fidgety hands in your laps. Still, you wasted no time in quipping, “I have no doubt I would wear the color much better than you, Mr. Ryomen Sukuna.”
“I can imagine that, but I would rather see it with my own eyes,” he said, eyes trailing back down to your lips.
“. . .”
The hand that was previously draped over the back of your chair slowly but surely made its way down, until it was draped over your hip, gripping and kneading the flesh there. Your breath caught in your throat, and you turned to face Sukuna with an incredulous expression. You mouthed the words What on earth are you doing? To which, the pink-haired man only responded with Nothing you wouldn’t want, my lady.
In order for the hand on your hip to not be visible, you had to scoot your chair as far away from Lady Annesley as you could, and press your body as close to Sukuna’s as you could possibly venture. The rest of the drawing room remained boisterous, and completely oblivious to the scandalous act you had going on with the party’s host.
As his hand lowered down to the ends of your dress, and his fingers crept up your skirt, your cheeks warmed to an extreme extent, and you tugged on Sukuna’s sleeve, desperate for something you couldn’t quite put your finger on. This was utterly humiliating! you thought. What was the meaning for this? And in the middle of a party?
His hands felt cold, and you frequently shivered as they moved at a dreadfully slow speed up your legs, before settling in between your thighs. If your face wasn’t as red as a tomato before, it surely was now. For, you had originally thought that clamping your thighs together would be the perfect plan to get Sukuna to stop his movements, but no, it made everything altogether worse. By a thousand degrees.
His hand was stuck between your thighs, and, like the bastard he was, Mr. Ryomen Sukuna thought it would be such a fun thing to move your panties aside, and put pressure on your clit, which, consequently, resulted in you having to cover your mouth with your fan, to hide and shield the whimpers that came soon after.
“Nnghh.”
His fingers then removed themselves, to which you gasped in relief, but before you could utter another word, you were interrupted by his fingers entering you once more, in a quite diligent fashion. They curled and twisted, and reached deep inside of you, but alas, you could do nothing but writhe; you couldn’t bear this predicament you had gotten yourself into being exposed to the rest of the party guests, and you couldn’t—without feeling shame—let it be known that the feeling of Sukuna’s fingers was rather pleasurable.
Your whole body’s temperature rose, and you couldn’t help the moans that left your lips. This feeling was so . . . strange; you had never felt anything like this before. So overwhelming with both pain and pleasure, and incredibly scandalous. If anyone were to find out what you were doing—never mind, you need not know.
Sukuna’s lips ghosted the shell of your ear, before whispering, “Don’t fight it.”
One finger, then two, and now three.
“F-Fight what?” you managed, between whimpers. “What are you doing?”
With your thighs still clamped together and squeezing around his hand, the pleasure of Sukuna’s fingers moving within you was highly intensified, and your expression twisted into one of embarrassing lewdness. The suddenly appeared knot in your stomach had tightened, and you had soon reached your peak only moments later, your release clinging to Sukuna’s fingers, which were still deep inside of you.
“Hahh, Sukunngh,” you moaned, eyes squeezing shut as you hid your face from other guests behind your fan.
Just as you were recovering from your body’s physical reaction and occasional jolts, Sukuna’s voice suddenly sounded in the room, and everyone and their mother turned to face him, completely unbeknownst to the fact that his hand was still in between your legs.
You didn’t hear much of what he said—your head still swimming, and your self dazed—but you managed to make out a few words, where Sukuna had explained that there were numerous hallways in Kendall that were filled from top to bottom with many famous and beautiful paintings and other art works. The guests were unsurprised by this knowledge, but nonetheless, they were greatly intrigued, and as a valet of Sukuna’s led the party out of the drawing room, Sukuna sat back down (after making sure everyone had exited) and turned to you with a smug expression—never once removing his fingers from deep within you.
“Sukuna,” you mewled, nearly going crazy at the realization that the man would probably never run out of stamina to finger you, “what are you doing?”
Whilst grinning like a mad man, Sukuna pulled you onto his lap within the blink of an eye, which resulted in your back being flush with his hard chest. Beyond shocked, you gasped, but before you could get out another word, you felt the tickling sensation of lips dragging down your clavicle and shoulders, peppering kisses on several moles and freckles you had there.
There was a growing warmth in your core, and though you writhed and wriggled in his grasps, you couldn’t help but (after a few moments) finally succumb to his touches and caresses. A sigh left your lips, and you leaned back against the body behind you.
“Sukuna, I—ahh, w-why?”
Just as you were beginning to relax, Sukuna removed his hand from between your legs and, with the assistance of his other hand, pulled the top of your dress down, leaving the bare skin of your chest revealed to the empty drawing room and cool air. 
“You’re so beautiful, my lady,” he slurred, eyes glued to your exposed tits.
Without wasting a moment, Sukuna began to pull and twist and press at your nipples, which were beginning to harden at his assaults. Your back arched, and you let out an embarrassingly loud moan at the unfamiliar feeling of pleasure. This was totally erotic! you thought, though you did nothing to stop it. As your nipples were carelessly toyed with to Sukuna’s content, your body twisted and squirmed all the while, but to no avail.
As if a child playing with a new toy for the first time, Sukuna squeezed and squeezed at the wholes of your tits, admiring the way your buds pebbled at the attention they were receiving. Your legs kicked at nothing, and you thrashed around wildly; and, if things couldn’t get more lewd, you felt the sensation of a warm, wet tongue lick a stripe up your neck.
Pornographic moans, whimpers, and cries filled the empty drawing room, and you couldn’t even imagine the looks on people’s faces if they returned from the gallery early.
“Nnghh! Ah—ah—ahh! Sukuna!” You panted, delirious.
“Mmm, that’s it, sweetheart,” said Sukuna, as he kissed and nipped at your throat. “Don’t hold back; just let out all your cute little noises for me.”
The hands which groped at your breast soon paused in their assaults, and as you began to catch your breath, you felt them gradually slide down the curves of your body, all the way to your thighs, where they hiked up the material of your skirt, pulling it up to your stomach, which left your panties and dignity exposed.
“. . .Sukuna?” You blinked.
“Ha! You’ve become so wet just from my hands alone, that I think it would be no trouble at all for you to take my cock right about . . . now.”
“What—oh! Mmph!”
Apparently, Mr. Ryomen Sukuna had a major problem with cutting people off, because, just as you were about to ask what he very well meant by that, your hips were tightly gripped onto, your body was raised, and you cried out as you were soon slammed back down onto Sukuna’s cock. All the words in your throat had been swallowed, and your brain turned to mush as you felt so utterly full from his girth and length alone; it was so . . . big. You had never done anything as insane as this, and as moans and cries left your lips left and right, you couldn’t distinguish whether you felt more pain or pleasure.
Your eyes fluttered shut, and your face twisted into that of incredible lewdness; your hands gripped onto Sukuna’s biceps, and your nails dug into his muscles, surely leaving crescent-shaped marks in the way.
“Shit, gorgeous,” he groaned. “You’re so tight. Ever been fucked before?”
“Nnghh, n-no. . . No!”
“That’s. . . Fuck. You mean I’m the first one to touch you like this?”
Sukuna gripped and groped onto your tits as he spoke, before raising up your hips and slamming them back down just like before. One second, you were empty, the next, you were so impossibly full, and then so on and so forth. As Sukuna repeated this for God knows how long, you nearly passed out from the overwhelming pleasure you felt everywhere. From the calloused hands on your hips, to the length of his cock sliding in and out and up and down your walls, to the warm breath fanning your ear. It was all so much.
You had never known pleasure like this before, and you wondered if this was but a dream.
As you rolled your hips, trying desperately for more friction, you were stopped by the feeling of two hands gripping onto the meat of your hips with a strength that was sure to result in bruising the next morrow.
“Why do you move, darling?” Sukuna leaned down to whisper in your ear, and a shiver ran down your spine. “I’ve got you right where I want you.”
Whilst you bounced sensuously on his lap, Sukuna didn’t show an ounce of shame as he stared with incredible lust at the sight of your tits bouncing up and down. The tip of his cock penetrated you in places you didn’t even know existed until now, and you couldn’t help the plethora of moans that left your lips. 
Just as before, the knot in your stomach tightened to an unbearable height, and with one last rough thrust, you came right on Sukuna’s cock; your bodily fluids dripping down his shaft and leaving a sticky feeling between your thighs as they dried.
“So?” began Sukuna, bringing you out of your dazed state.
In confusion, your brows knitted together. “I—I beg your pardon?”
“How was it?”
“How was . . . what?”
You could hear Sukuna scoff from behind you. “Are you that dense, my dear lady? Or have you already forgotten what we have—mind you—just done?”
“. . .I’m afraid my memory is not as sufficient as one’s might be,” you teased, despite yourself.
The corner of Sukuna’s lip quirked upwards, into a grin, as a mischievous expression made its way onto his face. “Shall we refresh your memory, then?”
“How so?”
With his cock still buried deep inside of you to the hilt, Sukuna stood up and moved your bodies in tandem until he was able to lay the top half of your body on the drawing room’s table. Your bare tits pressed up against the rough wood, and you groaned in relief as you laid the side of your face down.
Unfortunately (or fortunately) for you, Sukuna had no even the slightest idea of relaxing on his mind, and as the lids of your eyes began to droop, Sukuna woke you straight up with a hard thrust inside your cunt, which slightly shook the table and resulted in a rather unpleasant sound reverberating throughout the living space.
This, completely, caught you off guard, and the scream that left your throat was to be expected. “Ahh! I—hahh.”
Your back arched, your hair was pulled towards Sukuna, your neck soon began to ache; you saw stars as Sukuna continued his thrusts from before with more (if not the same amount of) force, and you wondered if the walls were thin enough for servants or party guests to hear you from all the way down the hall.
Maybe it was ridiculous, maybe it was not, but as Sukuna’s cock continued to fill you to the hilt, you could’ve sworn you felt him in your guts. Callings of his name, moans of gibberish, and et cetera, left your lips as if in a prayer to God. You panted, you gasped, and your breath got caught in your throat as the table rocked beneath your and Sukuna’s weight.
If not for his stable grip on your hips, you would’ve fallen and crashed to the floor from how your knees buckled and turned to seemingly nothingness.
“Has your memory been refreshed, my lady?” began Sukuna, in a jeering tone.
“I—nnghh, not . . . not quite.” Though you were barley conscious at this point, and pleasure nearly consumed your whole being, you couldn’t help but joke. However, as the speed and force of Sukuna’s thrusts began to increase, you soon found yourself thinking how foolish it was to joke in such a predicament.
“Yeah? How about now?”
Both hands on your hips had left, and instead found their way to your tits, where they groped and squeezed to Sukuna’s liking.
This may have been your breaking point; and as your back arched and the volume of your lewd cries increased, you found yourself grinding your ass back against Sukuna’s crotch. The extra friction brought you over the edge, and you moaned and moaned like a bitch in heat as you came once more.
You didn’t remember much of what came after that (A/N: pun intended), but you knew you had somehow managed to dress yourself and fix your disheveled appearance right as soon as half of the party returned to the drawing room. Whilst the guests drank in the sight of you, Sukuna, on the other hand, had fixed his pants, and casually seated himself on his chair.
“Oh, my niece,” exclaimed a bewildered Lady Annesley, “you are already here.”
You stopped like a deer in front of a carriage driver’s torch, and stuttered as you struggled for an answer. “Yes, I—I quickly lost interest while looking at the artwork, and decided to return here to play another game of cards.”
“So you say? Well, upon my word, what card game did you play that resulted in your countenance to glow so pleasantly as it does now?”
For a second, you had thought your aunt had somehow discovered what you and Mr. Ryomen Sukuna were getting up to whilst alone in the drawing room, but after a moment’s silence, you quickly realized she was being genuine, and, like her usual chaotic-self, was simply wondering about a possible new skincare routine. At this newfound conclusion, you let out a sigh of relief, and continued in conversation for the remaining duration of the party at Kendall.
However, at the back of your mind remained the still recent memory of what it was like to have your brains fucked out by none other than Mr. Ryomen Sukuna, who, whilst he pretended to linger around your being while you chatted with relatives, occasionally trailed a playful finger up your spine, which always resulted in your breath being caught in your throat, as you feared he would do something similar to what he did before the guests had left.
***
It was late—well into the evening, really—when a messenger on his horse had come by with mail in his inventory.
A fortnight had passed since that . . . incident in Kendall Manor’s drawing room, and you had been avoiding Sukuna ever since. You feared that if you did otherwise, you would begin to develop an unhealthy relationship with his cock, which, even after fourteen days, you had not forgotten the feeling of. It was strange, to say the least. At first, you had thought Sukuna to be a very disagreeable man, a very disagreeable man, indeed; but now, he was . . . well, no, he was the same, but his dick, on the other hand, was much more agreeable.
You had never thought yourself to be one to have sexual intercourse before marriage, but maybe there could be an exception for someone like Mr. Ryomen Sukuna.
Sometimes, you laid awake at night, at times past the Devil’s hour, you assumed, and tossed and turned and tried to replicate how Sukuna’s fingers felt, how his mouth made you feel, how full his cock made you, but to no avail. You would, eventually, scream into your pillow out of frustration, and pass out from exhaustion.
Damn him. Damn him and his whole entire lineage.
Who was he to make you feel this way, huh? Who was he to come waltzing into Wadsworth with his expensive little steed and expensive fucking clothes, and leave you high and dry? Who was he to spoil you for your future spouse? He had no right, absolutely none.
And so, when a messenger and his horse came to the doors of Blackwood Park, you could probably imagine the distress and anxiety you had suffered. All the color had been drained from your face, for you wondered if a letter had come from Mr. Ryomen Sukuna himself; your mother and your father had even noticed how pale you had gotten, and, in their worry, asked you how you felt, to which you replied with a short answer, but it contained everything but the truth.
Upon reading the label, you found the manilla paper to be addressed to none other than you. Even more horrified, you searched frantically for a name, and after reading the words Mr. Adam Wright, you seemed to calm down by a few degrees.
“Open it, cousin! Open it!” cried Helena; for the girls had been at Blackwood since sundown, and were planning on sleeping over, which was, actually, pretty common between the three of you.
“Shall I have no privacy even in my own home?” you joked.
The girls laughed, before exiting your room and running downstairs.
With a sigh, and a tired groan, you began to unravel the letter.
To your astonishment, it was almost four pages! Four pages, filled from top to bottom with a confession of . . . love‽ Love—from Mr. Adam Wright? What, in heaven’s name, could’ve produced such a feeling as this? you wondered. Sure, maybe you had flirted with the officer a few times, but it was only minor incidents, and you had done them with the imagination that nothing could come of it. But no, you couldn’t have been more wrong.
Mr. Adam Wright was in love with you.
In his letter, he frequently quoted phrases from your favorite books and epics, but none of them seemed to affect you more than with distraught and horror. He confessed he was too much of a coward to profess his love in person, and, in addition, claimed he could not say all that he felt for you, for he felt too much to say, and writing it down was as close as he could get to letting everything out.
He was in love with your laugh, your smile, your mind, and your soul.
“I have never conversed with a lady quite as charming as you, miss. Your character is incredibly suitable to my likes and my dislikes, and I find, if I had never met you, I would have never met the love of my life. You bewitch me, physically and mentally.”
You had to admit, he was quite poetic when it came to writing a confession of love and admiration, but it pained you more than it flattered you, for, you did not feel even an ounce of the same feeling. Guilt and regret plagued your mind as you read through the seemingly never-ending paragraphs, and yet, you could not and would not accept that someone such as Mr. Adam Wright was in love with you.
It seemed . . . preposterous.
You had never thought of him in that way whatsoever. Well, he was handsome, and he was smart and quite the agreeable man, but he wasn’t what you wanted. There had to be someone out there that would reciprocate his feelings, but it wouldn’t be you. Not today, not tomorrow, not ever.
After reading the letter maybe three times (just to make sure your eyes weren’t deceiving you), you sat down for a moment of silence, before opening your door and calling for the girls. Upon their entering, you immediately explained the contents of the letter, and, with a very desperate tone of voice, pleaded for any advice they could give.
“Well, this is. . . I’m quite appalled, dear cousin,” began Charlotte; “but, just to be clear, you do not feel the same way?”
“I’m not sure I would be asking for advice if I did.” You laughed, trying to cope with humor.
“I, for one, think you should send a letter back,” suggested Helena.
“. . .You know, I would do that, actually, but, the thing is, Wright wants to see me.”
Both of the sisters asked what you meant by that.
“In his letter, towards the end of it, I am sure, he asks to see me, near Northwick. I assume he means he wants to propose on the bridge; we walked there once, you see.”
“And you did not think to tell us until now?” cried Helena.
You raised your hands in defense. “Hey, I didn’t think much of it.”
“This is quite the predicament you’ve gotten yourself into,” declared Charlotte.
And this was quite the predicament, indeed. The next morning, a little after breakfast, you had begun to walk to Northwick. And, upon reaching sight of the bridge, you had found that Mr. Adam Wright was already there. He looked confident, he looked sure, he looked sharp; which just made you twice as guilty.
Before arriving, you had assured yourself everything was going to be just dandy; you would get it over with as quick as possible, and then attend the play you had been invited to by a couple of friends. The proposal of Mr. Adam Wright would be soon forgotten about, and you would sing and dance and be merry for the rest of the day.
“My lady, how do you do?” Wright was always quick when it came to greeting you. “I assume you’ve received my letter?”
“I am quite fine this morning, sir; and yes.”
“Have you any response?”
You nodded, before saying, “I am . . . rather flattered to receive a proposal from such a man as you, Mr. Adam Wright, but I am afraid I cannot give you my hand in marriage.”
You had consequently explained your reasoning, and how you did not reciprocate any romantic feelings such as love towards Mr. Wright, who accepted your words with a very solemn expression. That was a nice quality of his: to be able to accept rejection, and you even noted how you thought he was a very agreeable man, who was sure to find a wife sooner or later.
“There are many balls that occur in Wadsworth, with many women who attend, but, if that fails, an itinerant profession such as yours indubitably has the aspects to acquire a spouse within a lifetime—yes, I am sure.”
“I see you do not accept my proposal, then; very well. Good morning, miss.”
With the tipping of his hat, and a very quick farewell, the two of you parted ways.
A few hours had come by after your declination, and you soon found yourself standing outside of Grantley Hall with Charlotte and Helena, Lady Annesley, a few other relatives and friends, and Mr. Ryomen Sukuna and his brother. You hadn’t expected to see either of them any time soon, but maybe your aunt was just very sociable, and considered them to be friends.
Upon noticing Sukuna’s face amongst the crowd, you immediately ducked away, and subtly hid yourself behind your aunt, who was taller and broader than you, and could serve as a pseudo-shield, but of course, your efforts were noticed and fruitless, in the end.
Sukuna had caught sight of your figure, and made eye contact with you for a relatively long time, before turning back to a conversation with his brother.
“Everyone seems to be here,” began your aunt, double-checking the party; “how about we begin our journey? The theater is quite far, I heard.”
And so, everyone had started to pile into a multitude of carriages and vehicles. Unfortunately, with such a large party as you were in, you obviously had the luck of being stuck with none other than the Devil himself—Mr. Ryomen Sukuna. There was no other room for you with anyone else you knew; you had received offers to switch seats, but due to your having taken a liking to rejecting people (A/N: this is a joke; please laugh), you had declined them all.
In consequence, you and Sukuna were forced to ride in a carriage—alone.
The cushions were small, and you were forced to acquire a seat right beside Sukuna. Your shoulders bumped occasionally, due to the jolts of the carriage and the bumpy road, but that was about it. You were neither squished nor totally uncomfortable. And, at first, it was quite pleasant, actually. Neither you nor Sukuna spoke much, due to your embarrassment, and his . . . indifference? so you had no reason to stutter or stumble over words. Well, that was, until Sukuna decided to bring up a certain someone into the conversation.
“It seems you have taken quite the partiality towards Wright,” he began; and you could practically feel his piercing stare burning holes through your head, but alas, you kept your eyes on the road, and avoided eye contact—which was beginning to prove to be quite the challenge.
“We are acquaintances.”
“Just acquaintances?”
You sighed. “It depends on how you define the word ‘acquaintance,’ I suppose.”
“You know, my lady, I have heard quite a rumor this morning—regarding you and that officer.”
You froze, an infinite amount of ideas popping into your head, before snapping your neck to meet Sukuna’s much amused ones. “Pray, have you any idea how rude it is to bring up a subject without elaborating,? You, sir, ought to explain further.”
Sukuna, ignoring your words, cast his eyes downward, saying, “Show me your hand,” with as less emotion and as much authority as humanly possible.
Perhaps in an act of childish rebellion, you covered your gloved hands, and put them aside. “I do not see how that is of any relevance.”
“What a coincidence; I do.” Scoffing, Sukuna took your left hand into his, and held it up to his face, completely disregarding your protests and fruitless attempts at flailing around.
When he found what he wanted, he placed your hand down, and looked at your pout with a smug expression. “I take it you are not engaged, then?”
“I’ve no ring,” came your curt reply, before crossing your arms over your chest. You had initially hoped to fool him for even a bit longer, but Sukuna was more resourceful (forceful) than you could admit.
Sukuna laughed. “Miss Untouchable refused Mr. Adam Wright? What a spectacle that surely was. Say, the next time you reject a proposal, let me know prior so I can sit and watch.”
“When Hell freezes over, I will.”
Leaning over to peer into your eyes, Sukuna offered a shit-eating grin. “You can be so rude, my fair lady.”
Finally meeting his eyes at last, you couldn’t help the abusing words that soon left your lips. “You call me ‘rude,’ I hear? That is how you think of me? What about yourself, then, sir? Is the way you treat a lady such as I any different than ‘rude,’ I wonder?”
Sukuna grabbed your hips and dragged you onto his lap as you continued to berate and rip at him whilst he remained totally unfazed. He had become used to your character at this point, and your insults and scolding merely droned on in the background as his mind was set on other things.
“How else am I rude, madam?”
“When you—When you. . .” You paused, averting eye contact. “When you make me feel . . . this way.”
“And, pray tell,” began Sukuna, as he grabbed your chin and forced you to look in his eye, “what way do I make you feel?”
You chewed at your bottom lip, and out of frustration, could not form much to say.
When Sukuna noticed your hesitance, and your embarrassment, he decided to take matters into his own hands, and as a smile began to etch on his face, he lifted the ends of your dress, piling it at your waist, before beginning to trail his hands up your bare thighs at a teasingly unbearable speed.
At the familiar act, your breath caught in your throat, and you clawed at the lapels of Sukuna’s coat jacket.
Without stopping for even a beat, Sukuna’s cold, slender fingers made their way up your thighs, and began to ghost over the wetness that had formed at your entrance.
“My, my, my, don’t tell me, was it your anger at me that got you so wet, or was it my mere showing up today?”
“Neither, you bastard.”
As if possessed by an entity, (or maybe it was because you just couldn’t take it anymore), you grabbed Sukuna by the collar, and roughly—and clumsily—smashed his lips against yours. Almost immediately, his hands squeezed and groped at your ass, as he met your lips with an almost equally fervent kiss.
You had never done something so deliberately and scandalous before (except for that evening at Kendall, but that doesn’t count), and you almost wondered if you were doing everything wrong. But, seeing as you could feel a growing hardness beneath your bottom, you were soon assured of your quite capable abilities.
“Fuck, darling. Have you been waiting to do this?” he murmured, between kisses.
“Mm, yeah—in your dreams.”
Your bodies moved in sync, as if two puzzle pieces designed just for each other, and sounds of sensuous and sensual activity soon began to fill the carriage. Sukuna’s hands trailed down your ass as you kissed, and he didn’t waste any time before shoving your panties aside, and pushing one, then two, fingers in.
The unexpected action elicited a moan from your lips, and you tugged and pulled at Sukuna’s hair as if searching for leverage against the assault between your legs.
His fingers curled within you and moved at a speed that accelerated every second; the painful realization had soon hit you, that, God, you had truly missed this feeling. Slick dripped down your legs, and was, probably, staining the material of Sukuna’s pants, but it wasn’t like either one of you cared.
One of Sukuna’s hands gripped onto the flesh of your ass, while the other toyed with and fingered your dripping cunt; his lips moved against yours like an animal in heat, whilst your arms had been thrown and looped around his neck. The carriage shook and wobbled as it traversed the uneven roads, and that pushed you even closer to Sukuna, leaving you in quite the scandalous position—with your tits pressed up against his chest, your hands tangled in his unruly hair, and his mouth on yours.
It was a missed feeling—the salty taste of his lips—and when the both of you parted, for the inconvenient sake of catching your breaths, Sukuna moved the hand on your ass to shove the top of your dress down to your waist, leaving you nearly bare: in all your glory—just for him.
His eyes roamed your body like a predator admiring prey, and while you leaned your front against him, Sukuna leaned his head down, to your shoulders, to kiss at and suck at all the exposed skin he could reach.
It was incredibly lewd—the sounds you released, and you couldn’t even fathom how the others would react if they saw you: you and Sukuna, doing whatever the hell it was that you two were doing at the moment.
As your volume increased, so did the speed and velocity of his fingers. There was a warm feeling at your core, and you soon found yourself releasing all over his hand—still deep within your cunt—as pornographic moans and cries and mewls escaped your throat.
“Nnghh! Hah, mphh, Sukuna . . . Sukuna—Sukuna!” His name left your lips like a prayer, and you could only hope that the pearly gates would still open for you after this hell of a carriage ride.
“You are . . . inimitable, my love,” he purred, “and extremely, inhumanly bewitching. Fuck, do you think you’re wet enough to take it? I am afraid I cannot loiter any longer.”
It didn’t matter what you thought; you knew you were, and as Sukuna lifted your hips, before bringing them down right onto his cock—which filled you to the brim, and impossibly more than last time—you knew this carriage ride would probably be your last. At least, it would be your last carriage ride with him.
Your hips were raised, before they were repeatedly slammed back down with enough force to bring the both of you crashing down onto the seats; your tits bounced, whimpers left your parched throat, and you could barely hold onto Sukuna’s shoulders for balance and support as the carriage began to jolt and jerk uncontrollably, causing unbearably pleasurable friction.
Heaven’s sake, how bumpy was this road?—goddamnit.
In addition to the bouncing of the carriage, the hands and claws digging into your ass, the marks and bites being left on your chest, there was also the rough thrusts from Sukuna, which brought you nearly over the edge. Your eyes rolled back into your head as the tip of Sukuna’s cock could be felt penetrating all the way in your guts, and to add on to the smell of sex wafting through the humid air, the discordant melody of your moans certainly added a little bit pizzazz.
You wanted more, you needed more, you craved more.
Sukuna’s length and girth slid up the walls of your cunt, and you swore you could feel every pulsing vein of his cock as it moved and twitched. You were so unbearably full; you struggled to form full words, and most of them only contributed to unintelligible sentences meaning nothing.
“Ahh, nnghh, hahh, mmph.”
“What, don’t tell me little Miss Untouchable over here is suddenly feeling pleasure from some low-life bastard such as I,” laughed Sukuna, who, for some reason unbeknownst to you, still had some humor left in him even whilst he had fucked you into putty in his hands.
“I . . . nnghh, do you ever stop talking?”
Sukuna laughed, a husky, dark laugh, before bringing you in for the most zealous kiss you had ever kissed. Your lips collided, smacking against each other’s, and your hands clumsily roamed each other’s bodies, before one last jolt of the carriage had you feeling every inch of Sukuna’s length in the absolute right-est spot you could ever imagine, and as you moaned into the kiss, the knot in your stomach tightened just as before, and you almost felt like you were under drugs as you came. 
Sticky, hot, and warm.
Unbearable, highly bothersome, and completely insane.
You were filled to the brim with Sukuna’s seed just a moment later, and a string of saliva from your lips connected you and Sukuna for a few seconds more as the both of you pulled away to catch your breaths.
“Now, before I go and do something foolish,” began Sukuna, still partially panting, “tell me, dear, do you feel like rejecting another man’s proposal today?”
“It is a truth universally acknowledged that a single man in possession of a good fortune must be in want of a wife.” — Pride & Prejudice (opening line)
Whether you liked it or not—or, well, that didn’t matter, really; you had no choice—you had connections. Plenty of them. 
You were the firstborn and only child to a renowned lawyer and his wife—whom you called your parents. Your birth was one of necessity, not out of love and want. Most of your mother and father’s siblings constantly pressured them into conceiving—in order to extend the bloodline, they explained—and so they were coerced into a sense of rushing and urgency. This, however, didn’t diminish any of their affection towards you; you were, after all, their only child, their eldest child, and their most beloved child.
“Wealthy” was quite the understatement when it came to describing your family tree. You were rich in prosperity and success, physically and mentally. Your parents cherished you as their only offspring, gave you only the finest governess, and treated you as more of an equal than a baby. That proved not a problem—seeing as how vast your then and current knowledge was compared to those of average salary.
Being an only child may have been quite out of the ordinary in the present times, but the number of relatives you had was abundant enough that you often felt it was really the opposite.
Your grandparents seemed to have a lot of fun back then, because, each of your parents had at least five siblings, which resulted in a little more than ten aunts and uncles when grouped together. This was, however, not as jolly as it may seem. Your aunts and uncles were all old, had even more children than your grandparents, and loved, loved, loved, critiquing others. They tipped their hats at you when greeting, kissed your cheeks and the backs of your hands, but, regardless, they never failed to mention at least one of your faults and flaws.
In addition to this, you had cousins galore. On your mother’s side was a bit fewer than thirty, while your father’s side consisted of two and twenty. It may be a given, it may be not, but you weren’t as close with your cousins as most would normally be. Sending and receiving letters was seldom exchanged, and meeting at balls and dinners was probably the only times you ever conversed with a cousin or two. Well, except for Charlotte and Helena.
Where could you even begin when describing those two? you often laughed.
They were twins, and would look exactly the same if it wasn’t for the fact that Charlotte had blonde curls that she frequently let down, while Helena often wore a brunette updo atop her head. Since birth, they had been inseparable, and most people usually referred to them as a pair, saying things such as Where are the girls? or Are the girls attending? It was great, really. In truth—concise, and full truth—you loved the girls just as if they were your own sisters; and, sometimes it seemed that way.
You three always read together when the men went shooting birds, gossiped about the townspeople, and often matched your dresses, ribbons, and gloves to each other at balls and other gatherings of the like. Maybe it was due to your compatibility, but if you had to call anyone your best friend, it would have to be the girls.
They were both two years your juniors, but it was a commonly known fact that Charlotte was as intelligent as someone ten years your senior. She pored over literature all day, bent over desks examining records, and was always the one to come to when in need of rational advice. Helena, on the other hand, was a bright girl, but she certainly wasn’t a scholar; her strong suit was her humor and charm. She made acquaintances like no other, and had an almost endless amount of suitors and beaus asking for her hand. 
But, if that wasn’t the case, she would definitely still have an equal amount of friends. Maybe even the whole population of Wadsworth, if Helena wanted. But, really, that would not be much wanted.
The men and women of Wadsworth were numerous, but they were all prickly in their own ways. You often liked to joke that the countryside of Wadsworth was really just one big rose bush; most people were thorns in the sides, while, if you looked deep, there were plenty of roses, as well. Now, you didn’t hate attending balls, per se, but, the main reason keeping you away was that the men knew not how to dance at all, tripped over others’ feet and shoes, and their vocabulary—oh, lord, their vocabulary. It would be much pleasanter if you didn’t even begin on that topic.
Wadsworth was not small—big enough to fit everyone without being too congested—and it laid up north, where the weather was nice all of twelve-month. The grass was always green, and healthy, and the hefty trees provided shade that was more than needed. It was beautiful, absolutely beautiful, and if it wasn’t the people that lured in tourists, it would have to be the scenery and landscaping.
Aside from the actual land, the properties, the estates, and the manors were all also a sight to behold. Wealthy were your neighbors, and your aunts, and your uncles, and the other ladies and the other sirs. Abodes were more grand than not—all at least two stories—had beautiful shrubbery and quite talented gardeners, large windows, and ornate carriages.
The people who filled these properties all had a profuse liking to dancing, and balls were held most frequently. Sometimes at Stratford House—where the girls resided, sometimes at Grantley Hall—the home of another aunt you had, and sometimes somewhere else. You, however, resided in Blackwood Park with your mother and father. It was a luxurious abode; your governess was as knowledgeable as can be, and the staff were all as kind-hearted as to be expected. You had bookshelves all to yourself, and read to your heart’s content whenever you felt the need to decline an invitation to a social gathering.
Prosperous—was your life.
In the middle of drinking tea—another activity you took up with your cousins—a commotion started up in the streets outside. 
All ladies of the town were absolutely, or, at least, nearly under a spell, as they all scrambled to their windows at the sound of hooves and neighing; they went to great lengths such as even peeking behind shutters and curtains, just to attempt even merely a glimpse at the two wealthy—and, if you did say yourself, dashingly dressed—gentlemen that had arrived on their grand steeds; of all their grandeur were individual breeds of andalusian and shire. 
It was, without a doubt, quite the sight to behold on a previously seemingly ordinary Tuesday morning. And, you weren’t at all surprised at the idea of any of your family screaming at the chance of possible suitors for either you or their children.
“Oh my!” gasped Helena, as she set down her tea cup, and hurried to look through the windows of Blackwood. “Pray, do you think the gentlemen are married?”
“I would think so,” sighed Charlotte; “any person who looks like that ought to have ladies lining up at his door, wouldn’t you agree it is so?” 
The blonde turned to you with an expectant look on her face, and you hesitated for an answer. “If they are as handsome as they are dressed, then, maybe. I have not a good look at their faces from this angle.”
“Oh, dear cousin!” cried the girls simultaneously. They were—if you could even call it that way—heavily dejected at the sound of your declaration. It was rational, though, and that’s why they were so clearly affected; if the men were both handsome and wealthy, it was highly plausible that they were with wives, and any possibility of either of the girls being able to flirt with the gentlemen was thus thrown out of the window.
Laughing, you tried your best to console the girls, and patted each of them on the head, before making your way towards the nearest window. This change gave you a way better opportunity to see the men than you had previously thought. Yes, there were two of them, and yes, they were both as handsome as they were dressed—though you would never admit such a thing aloud.
Because they were both on their horses, you could not see who was taller, but you knew that the distinction between them both was crystal clear; their heads were both full of unnaturally colored hair.
There was one gentleman with hair white as snow, and eyes blue as the vast sea; he wore expensive, lavish clothing, and held himself up with confident poise—much like a prince would. The other gentleman had pink, rosy hair, that was of a ruly style—maybe it was unbrushed, you thought. But the first thing you noticed about him was the evident scowl on his face; he looked like the embodiment of a thunderstorm. Beautiful, but formidable.
Subconsciously, throughout your admiring of the wealthy men, you had been pushing the curtains back inch by inch, until, the white-haired man had seemingly taken notice of your observing, and looked up at your figure with an amused expression, before turning to his friend and pointing at you. With a surprised squeak, you pulled back the curtains and hid yourself before the gentlemen could get another look at you (or so you hoped).
“Why on earth did you close the curtains?” the girls cried, again, after noticing—through their misery—that the sight of the men was gone. “Just because they may be possibly married does not mean we cannot admire them all the same.”
“You think so?” you laughed.
“Well, certainly!” nodded Helena, profusely. “We could always just stand in corners of rooms, silently admiring their countenances. Aren’t I correct, sister?”
Charlotte turned to you with an optimistic smile. “Why, yes, you are! You must know, cousin, we are perfectly capable of keeping our mouths shut of flirtatious compliments when we are near married men. You must know.”
“What a nice thing to know, Lottie. But, we have yet to confirm whether the gentlemen are married or not—”
“Oh! bless me! I truly must’ve forgotten that part,” Helena said, as she squealed and kicked her legs back and forth. She was over the moon at hearing the—still unconfirmed—possibility that the men might be single. “Charlotte, sister, can you believe it? Either one or the both of us may be married by next spring!”
“Oh, cousin,” cried Charlotte, as she took your hands into her own, “this is such a wonderful Tuesday morning—”
In the middle of her exclamations of joy, Charlotte was interrupted by the calling of your maid-servant, who announced there was company at the door. Now, you were just seconds away from being informed of who it was, but the girls just couldn’t contain their anticipation, and before your maid-servant could get but another word out, the twins were flying down the stairs with high and hopeful spirits—the tea party completely forgotten.
“Who, in heaven’s name, could it be?” wondered Helena, as she took you by the arm and dragged the both of you downstairs.
“It must, indubitably, be the fine gentlemen,” declared Charlotte. “How could it not?”
But, upon opening the doors, it was indubitably not the fine gentlemen.
Your aunt—Lady Annesley; not to be mistaken as the mother of the girls—was standing outside Blackwood Park. She was widowed six or seven years ago, you couldn’t exactly recall the date; and she resided in a quite grand abode, called the Grantley Hall. She appeared with an anxious look on her face; but after seeing you open the doors, she hurried herself inside with a jolly, merry laugh.
“Oh, girls! All three of you! I have such wonderful news, such wonderful news, indeed.” She kissed each and every one of you on the cheek, and gathered you all into a tight hug; because she was a touchy person like that, but also because she had not seen one of your faces since her temporary departure to Brighton.
“Oh, Lady Annesley!” exclaimed Helena. “Do tell us about your vacation and trip. Did you see any officers and soldiers there?”
“How about the views? Were the waters and beaches pristine?” Charlotte chipped in.
“Oh, yes!” Lady Annesley simultaneously laughed and nodded like a mad woman. “Yes, yes, yes! My word, it was absolutely lovely, and the weather was just extraordinary; I shall certainly take you all there one day, but . . . that is not important in the present time. You know, Helena, I did make some rather pleasant acquaintances with some Admirals and Lieutenants while at the seashore, and I’ve come with some extra company.”
You raised a brow, intrigued. “Are you to remarry?”
Gasps erupted from the lady and the blonde.
“Nonsense. Why, in heaven’s name, would I do that? No, no, the company is not that. You see, girls, the soldiers and officers that I had such a miraculous opportunity to befriend in Brighton have come back with me. Their military regiment is temporarily stationed here in Wadsworth! Can you believe that? When I was informed by Admiral Dawson, I was rendered speechless for a few minutes, you must know. But, ah, that is long forgotten now.
“There must be a ball hosted soon. It shall be at Grantley, I suppose, but a few arrangements will have to be taken care of before then.” Lady Annesley began to quietly murmur to herself afterwards, droning on about plans required to host a proper ball for so many residents of Wadsworth in addition to the many officers and soldiers.
The girls turned to face you with ecstatic expressions as your aunt fell into a subconscious silence.
“Isn’t this just a wonderful Tuesday morning?” asked Helena. “So many possibly unmarried men to gawk at and admire. How do you reckon, cousin, do you think men hardened by weather and work will be more handsome than gentlemen? I am quite curious, I must say.”
Charlotte answered for you. “I’m not even sure we would know. Here in Wadsworth, we’ve never seen any men of rank and occupation as of theirs, have we?”
The three of you shook your heads, shrugged, and wondered—any thought of the wealthy gentlemen was gone, and forgotten about, as Helena walked off to prepare a dress and fan for the ball, Charlotte stayed behind with Lady Annesley to speak about the scenery during her vacation, and you strode off to drink from your previously abandoned tea cup and continue eating the little French biscuits that the girls had brought along.
It was a pleasantly spent Tuesday morning, indeed. However, not much of the same could be said about the next.
You had not been an hour awake until your cousins had barged into your bedroom, and squealed and giggled as they jumped and danced around your room, exclaiming words and nonsense that your morning fog prevented understanding of.
“Oh, cousin! Do you not know? Today will perhaps be the most amazing night of our lives! Just picture it,” Helena began, pulling you out of bed and forcing you to dance with her, “a whole regiment of soldiers and officers will soon be filling Grantley Hall. The chances of any one of us being able to dance with them is highly likely, is it not? Oh! this is wonderful, wonderful, wonderful!”
“Helena, just—just wait a minute,” you said, pausing before Helena could waltz with you any more, “I have not even gotten dressed for breakfast. And the ball isn’t until evening. What are you and Charlotte so excited for? Many hours to come before the ‘most amazing night’ of our lives, you know.”
“Sister,” sighed Helena, as she turned to Charlotte, “you must certainly explain to our dearest cousin.”
Charlotte nodded. “Many hours to come are many hours to prepare. We must prepare our gowns, fans, bonnets, gloves. And, Helena, before I forget, what are we here for in the first place? to practice dancing, of course. Cousin, I’ll have you know, there is absolutely no chance I am letting you stay huddled at the pianoforte the whole night.
“Although your playing is much beloved, and appreciated, I am almost certain there will be others providing their services at the instrument. Whether you like it or not, I am forcing you to dance. If you do not waltz with any men, you will waltz with me or Helena or Lady Annesley.
“At your age of six and twenty, people worry you will end up celibate, you know.”
You hid a faint smile behind your hand. “Is this your way of looking out for me, then?”
The girls laughed, full of cheer.
Fortunately for the twins—who did not leave your side once throughout—both the morning and the afternoon had passed by with a considerable amount of speed. You three had acquired sufficient gowns for the coming evening, and had spent some time finishing up hair and obtaining jewelry and other essential cosmetics.
It had taken the strength and power of both the girls—with the additional help of Lady Annesley—to be able to force you out the doors of Blackwood Park, and consequently, shove you into the carriage parked outside. 
In all honesty, you weren’t in the particular mood to go to a ball, but when your aunt has her mind set on making acquaintances, she will not let go. She often said, Oh, dear niece, think of the men you can meet! or, So many handsome men of great fortunes, or, Rough, calloused, tall; is there anything better? and other similar sayings. It certainly did not help, at all, that Charlotte and Helena only encouraged your aunt.
A husband was never one of your top priorities; dying a single woman was not as unfortunate for you as it would be for other women. You had money, you had wealth, you had prosperity. Some people wed simply for gaining rank and title, carriages and clothes, and estates and property. But you had absolutely no need for any of that. And that’s why, as you walked into Grantley Hall—after what was perhaps the longest, most boring carriage ride of your life—you did not look to see who was handsome, or agreeable, or most rich. 
Instead, you looked for a chance to sit down, or, even, scurry away—from your companions, before they could force you to converse with some puny men, or rekindle your relationships with your many, many aunts and uncles.
Despite yourself, you couldn’t help your eye wandering about the property; and only then, did you notice just how many new people were in Wadsworth at this time of year. Just as your aunt had said; there were officers, soldiers, other members of militia, captains, and men of ranks you could not and did not care to recognize.
Although you weren’t as crazy as Helena and Charlotte—whom you assumed were probably in some corner, certainly already flirting with the single men they managed to find, and blushing and obsessing as wildly as lunatics—you also weren’t as prejudiced to say everyone was of absolutely terrible breeding. You saw some handsome faces, you saw some . . . not handsome faces, but, even with all this, you weren’t intrigued. No, not even in the slightest bit.
In an act of rebellion against your “kidnappers,” you were en route to the pianoforte, when you heard a voice call for you, and saw a figure stop in the middle of your way.
“Good evening, miss,” came the call—from an officer, you assumed. “Pardon my intrusion, for I am simply tempted to make an acquaintance with someone of such great countenance as yours. I almost mistook you for a princess, you know.”
He was tall, had long legs, and a fit figure. His hair was dark, and so were his eyes, which were sharp, and stared back at you with emotion you could not read. Of all men you had noticed, he was, as of late, the most handsome, and by far.
A hand was given; a kiss was placed on the back of the palm; and names were exchanged. You referred to him as Mr. Wright, and, after a few minutes spent in conversation, you deemed him a quite agreeable man, whose good breeding had gone not only into physical appearance, but also into his heart. Mr. Adam Wright had opinions similar to your own, was interested in writings you read, and preferred the entertainment of pianoforte, which you played quite often.
“How have you been liking Wadsworth, sir?” you asked, as the two of you began to make your ways to the instrument in the corner of the hall; Wright had requested to hear you play.
“Very much. Very much so, indeed. It is even more lovely than your aunt (remind me her name again, was it Lady Anne?) had previously said. I’m quite fond of the scenery, actually.”
“Oh, are you? You know, there are many paths to walk where you’ll be able to see breathtaking views, I must say. But, if you dislike walking, it’s safe to say that passing by the gardens and shrubbery of most homes is quite adequate enough.”
“No, no, there will be no need,” Wright said, shaking his head. “I find walking very enjoyable.”
You laughed. “What a coincidence; so do I!”
It was, about a second’s distance away, just before you were beginning to seat yourself at the pianoforte, that you felt another presence behind you. Thinking it was just a friend of Mr. Wright that was only planning on making conversation, you turned around with a smile already on your face, but you were met with the sight of none other than your aunt, Lady Annesley, who appeared buzzy, and a bit gone. Had people already begun to drink? you wondered.
“Dearest niece,” she started, placing a hand on your shoulder, “there are two very fine gentlemen I would like for you to meet. Come along now, child,” your aunt beckoned, but as she noticed the man standing to your right, she paused for a minute, laughed, and then continued, “you do not mind, sir? if I steal my niece away for just a moment? I assure you, there are many nice ladies in here that you can help yourself to.”
Lady Annesley waited not even a second to hear Mr. Wright’s response before she dragged you away to another part of Grantley Hall. You occasionally stumbled over your shoes due to your aunt’s unbalanced speed, and watched as the faces around you came and went in a blur whilst you traveled. Obviously, you knew prior, but you only fully realized how many people were in attendance when you caught the eyes of an old teacher—who, to be completely honest, you had not seen since last  Michaelmas.
“Right this way, my dear,” your aunt said, in a sing-song tone. “I am very eager, you know, for my darling niece to make such very acceptable acquaintances tonight. Not a chance nor a second shall be missed, and, if the gentlemen have not left and juked me, they should still be right . . . here.”
Lady Annesley had stopped so abruptly in her tracks at a corner of the room that you nearly collided with her back, but, fortunately, you did not. Your eyes lifted, and met the view of two very dashingly dressed gentlemen. Brothers, you assumed, who both had equally pink hair, and wore a pair of nearly complete opposite expressions on their faces.
The taller one—who you thought was the brother—had a fine countenance, a very fine countenance, indeed. His lips were pressed in a thin line, and truly brought out the essence of his character. He had sharp features, similarly to Mr. Adam Wright; his eyes were red as the rubies on his brooch, and he looked like the epitome of wealthy and expensive and elegant. His posture was composed, confident, and totally sure of himself; his hands were folded behind his back, and his eyebrows had a slight quirk in them as he, too, looked you over as you approached.
Your eyes then wandered over to the shorter brother, who stood to the right of the taller one. His face was a near replica of the prior, but his features were softened down, a little more dull, if you could even put it that way, and his smile was perhaps the most prominent feature on his face. The youthful countenance of his was on display, and you had no doubt that either Charlotte or Helena had already set their eyes on him. On the other hand, he looked young, very young—younger than you, perchance; an air of innocence was about his figure, and his eyes shone bright as day.
Sunshine, and thunder.
Oh! that is right; you knew these men, or, at least, you knew the taller one.
A corner of your lips tugged upwards as you made the remembrance. This—this man, this great, wealthy man; you had seen him last week! Certainly! He was one of the two gentlemen who rode on their steeds into town, and as of late, you had received no additional information about them except for the fact that they were of extraordinarily good breeding and admirable poise.
Your hand was offered, received and accepted, and was kissed in greeting. Introductions were quickly exchanged, and you happened to learn that the taller gentleman was called Sukuna Ryomen, whilst his (confirmed to be) brother was named Yuuji. To your great surprise, and due to your aunt’s nosiness, you found that the both of them were unmarried, single, and unengaged.
Originally, you had hoped that that would be the end of it, and your aunt would let you be. But, of course, the universe was not on your side this evening, and you were without the ability to leave and peacefully sit at your beloved pianoforte. Instead, you stood, in a corner of Grantley Hall—under numerous chandeliers—as you were forced to exert yourself for the sake of ‘acquainting’ your being with the two brothers, who, too, looked a bit unsettled by your aunt’s coercing to continue conversation.
“Pray,” you began, “is your current companion the same gentleman from when you first arrived?”
“My brother has hair similar to what is on my own head; my previous companion—a friend—has hair white as snow,” stated Mr. Ryomen, his tone declarative. “Have you no eyes, miss? I am quite sure you are capable of answering your own question.”
You could, obviously, make out that Yuuji was, in fact, not the same man from when Mr. Ryomen first arrived at the countryside; but, you were just simply making small talk. Was the country where the brothers came from so unaccustomed to that? you wondered.
“Have you no sociability, sir? I was not informed prior that simply making small conversation was so . . . unwanted by men like you.”
“What, in heaven’s name, is the meaning for this lack of cordiality, I dare ask? Bless me!” exclaimed your aunt, a look of astonishment on her face as she scolded the three of you. “We are all here to make acquaintances, are we not? Let’s shift to another topic. Pray tell, you are here for . . . ?”
“Vacation, miss,” the younger brother smiled. “We have some friends and family living in Wadsworth, but aside from that, Sukuna is also a landowner here—in addition to his other estates (he likes a change of scenery, every once in a while, I must add). I’ve heard how nice the weather is, and decided to visit, as well.”
“Oh, yes! Most certainly!” nodded Lady Annesley. “Wadsworth is a very common tourist countryside, you must know.”
“Is it?” asked the elder brother.
“Have you no ears, sir? That is what was just said; I am quite sure you are capable of answering your own question.”
“My, is that how the ladies around here speak?” quipped Sukuna, his voice velvety, and dripping with honey as he spoke. “—To gentlemen, as well? I may have overestimated your hospitality to newcomers, or, well, vacationers.”
“Excuse her,” your aunt interjected, nervously laughing, “she’s. . . She caught a cold from the recent rain, I’m afraid. Yes, of course, the rain. Isn’t that right?” Lady Annesley nudged you by the elbow. “It’s the rain, isn’t it?”
“. . .Indeed.”
Though your aunt occasionally gave you rebuking looks for your behavior, you had paid no effort in pretending to be engaged in conversation with the brothers. She had, with all her might, tried to erect as many topics and subjects worth speaking of as possible, but to no avail. Her spirits were deflated, and Lady Annesley had concluded that if you were going to marry one day, the chances of it being with Mr. Sukuna Ryomen were close to zero.
You two sent jeering comments and jokes towards each other as if your lives depended on it, and, in truth, you couldn’t count on either of your hands how many times you rolled your eyes. You found Mr. Ryomen to be a highly disagreeable man, and, if it weren’t for his indubitably large fortune and handsome countenance, you would probably call your aunt deranged for even suggesting you mingle with him. Yuuji, his brother, on the other hand, was much agreeable, and his views and prejudices were very reasonable. Of course, the same could not be said about Sukuna.
His interests were in going a-shooting, riding on his stallions, or taking vacations to his various abodes. Yes, he had multiple, and he had no humility to hide that fact; Sukuna’s pride would take up the whole of Wadsworth and more, if it had a physical form. Of course, he had reason to be full of pride: born rich, and would, eventually, die rich. Still, does it hurt so bad to be humble? You didn’t waste your breath asking that question; you knew, after all, that Sukuna had no experience in that department.
“Are you staying long—in Wadsworth?” you asked, looking only at the younger brother. Ignorance was a petty way of spiting someone, you had to admit, but it was childish, and Sukuna was as childish as a child could possibly be.
“Ah, that is the hope,” smiled Yuuji. “I may think of purchasing land here, you know.”
“Isn’t that just wonderful to hear? I would be delighted to have someone as agreeable as you for a neighbor,” you said. “Pray, does your brother live anywhere near Blackwood Park? I heard you mention him having property here, in Wadsworth.”
“I live five miles away from Blackwood,” Sukuna answered, instead, for Yuuji.
Your eyes shifted to meet red ones, and you moved your weight onto a different leg, whilst fanning yourself with your fan. “I do not recall asking you, sir.”
Sukuna scoffed. “Is it not sensible to answer on my own behalf?”
“Perhaps so. But, I find that nothing you do is sensible,” you laughed. “So, either way, there is really no difference.”
It would be a highly plausible assumption to make by saying that Mr. Ryomen Sukuna was pampered to no end as a child, and never denied any fundamentals or trivials. If that was truly the case, then, you could have sworn you saw an unrecognizable glint flash in his ruby eyes at the sound of your constant discourtesy. Unbeknownst to you, Sukuna had, in fact, been coddled as much as you had assumed. And, just hearing his name being so mercilessly abused was already enough to intrigue him. There was, in a sense, something so alluring and bewitching about your recklessness in conversation, that Sukuna couldn’t help but long for more of the hearing your insults.
Lady Annesley, on the other hand, was extremely disappointed at your behavior, and couldn’t find any reason—no matter searching—for your incredible disdain towards the eldest of the two gentlemen. Your ridiculous bickering and bantering would only serve in embarrassing your aunt’s reputation in Wadsworth, and that was far from what Lady Annesley dreamed of. The only thing she could thank God for was that you weren’t nearly as prejudiced towards Yuuji as you were to his brother.
“Pray, how about we all dance, yes?” your aunt proposed, in faux cheerful spirits. “Shall my niece partner with the younger gentleman?”
“Oh, I’m quite afraid that could not be made possible, miss,” said Yuuji, as he offered an apologetic expression. “My leg is in incredible pain, and I must—with much embarrassment—admit to my having fallen once while riding here. I may have chosen to travel on quite a rowdy stallion, but it is only myself that I have to blame.”
With a politeness you could never aim towards Sukuna, you offered up your condolences, and, with a smile, proposed that the two of you sat down whilst the other attendees danced to their heart’s content. (If it wasn’t obvious before, you were very desperate for any excuse to avoid dancing.) But, to your dismay, Yuuji had declined sitting down, and explained that he had a few other people he was interested in speaking with before the end of the night, and, with a well mannered farewell, bid the three of you adieu.
“Well, upon my word, your parents have done a good job raising that fellow,” added Lady Annesley, a sorry expression on her face as she watched the only other pacifist in your party walk away with an uneven gait, which further proved his excuse.
“Whether that was by the work of my parents, or a governess, or something unspoken, is debatable,” the pink-haired man remarked.
“Or, perhaps, he was merely born with the admirably civil heart he has now. That is quite rare, I must say, in this time, and among these people.” You directed that last bit towards Sukuna, and it was probably pretty clear—seeing as red eyes met yours with just as much animosity soon after your little witty comment.
At first, you were merely treating Sukuna with the same omitted amount of respect he was giving you, but now, you found yourself starting to rather enjoy bullying him. It was pointless banter, after all, and you were almost certain Sukuna felt the same way. Although you felt a sense of dislike towards the man, you couldn’t help but be fond of the way he was, probably, the only other man you could banter with so lightly.
Your unconventional views and dislikes and interests often provoked strong emotion and irritation in most gentlemen, and you weren’t thought to be very agreeable. But, as for the pink-haired gentleman, he took your abusing words with little to no offense. There was the occasional annoyance displayed on his features: like a little furrow of the brow, or crinkle of the nose; but it was almost humorous—seeing as a small smile usually appeared soon after—as if he found your insults to be jokes.
After a pregnant pause, Sukuna broke the silence by saying, “Do you dance, madam?”
“Will you force me?”
“If it cannot be helped.”
You hadn’t actually thought to dance with a man like Sukuna, but upon hearing this concise exchange between her niece and hopefully future nephew-in-law, your aunt thought there was nothing better in the world than to usher the both of you to the center of Grantley Hall herself, and force you two to dance among the rest of the attendees. The orchestrated music was loud—loud enough so that little to no one could hear your protesting complaints, and Lady Annesley, smiling to herself at finally having succeeded in getting you to properly socialize, walked away in the direction of the drinks.
Looking at your aunt’s back as she walked away, you sighed; all your attempts at escaping had been fruitless, futile, and done in vain. For, whilst a pianoforte played in a ¾ time signature, you turned to face Sukuna with a sorrowful expression, but you were instead met with a contrasting smile.
“I have never danced with a lady like you before, miss,” he said, in a condescending tone, as he took your hesitant hands into his, and readied himself for a slow, smooth, elegant waltz.
Sukuna’s hands were calloused, rough, and large compared to your own; he was, certainly, a man. 
A warmth spread throughout your body as you made contact with his skin, and it was almost electrifying, like nothing you had ever felt before. It’s safe to say you were expecting something else, but you couldn’t quite put your finger on it.
“You must not dance very often, then. I can assure you, with no doubt, that there is not much to put me aside from others.”
The two of you began to move at a languid speed, and soon caught up to the velocity of most other dancers, though, even in such a large and crowded space, you couldn’t help but feel as if it was just the two of you. The two of you dancing, the two of you talking; the two of you.
“I can name plenty of distinguishing aspects you have.”
“Is that so?” you asked.
“Indeed.”
“My, my, my, do enlighten me, Mr. Ryomen.”
“Do you mean it is not obvious?” he asked, looking into your eyes with intent.
You responded with the shaking of your head.
“Your eyes—somehow brighter than most. Your smile—infectious, even to someone such as I.” Sukuna’s words were spoken with the utmost sincerity, and you could tell, from his tone, that he meant every word he said; although it surprised you to be complimented by him, you couldn’t help the warmth that rose to your cheeks. “Your laughter—melodious to even the deaf. And you, yourself—I find you alluring.”
“. . .”
“Is your silence a sign of disbelief?”
In truth, you weren’t exactly familiar with hearing such a plethora of compliments, and, since it came from someone you could never expect it from, it made you all the more embarrassed.
“I beg your pardon, sir. You find me . . . alluring?”
“It shall be known, soon enough, that I am a man who thinks what he says. I do not say what I do not mean, miss.”
Through keeping your head down, you avoided meeting Sukuna’s eyes with all your might, but still, you could feel his penetrating gaze piercing holes through your face. Listening to the music in the background was a method you used in an attempt to calm your nerves, but all was fruitless in the end. If Sukuna had not the way of words he did now, his voice would certainly make up for it. Thick, sultry, velvety; it was absolutely ludicrous how bothered it made you, and you had to occasionally let out a cough to cover up the way you swallowed the frequent lumps in your throat.
After having settled in silence for a few counts of three, Sukuna smiled, laughing at your sudden shyness. “I have heard lots of great things about you, you must know.”
“Is—Is that so?”
“So it is,” he nodded, before continuing; “your aunt—Lady Annesley, was it?—had briefly spoken about you, in addition to her other nieces and nephews, when she first approached me and my brother.”
At this, you laughed, finally having built up the courage to meet Sukuna in the eyes. “I am concerned about what she might have had to say.”
“All good things, I assure you.”
You breathed out a sigh of relief you didn’t know you were holding, before continuing on in casual conversation. Your banter from earlier had grown severely scarce, and was evidently replaced with subtly flirtatious comments. All the while, you found yourself growing embarrassed more than ever, but over time, you had gradually worked up a familiarity towards the compliments, and felt rather at ease whilst simultaneously talking and dancing with Mr. Ryomen Sukuna—who appeared as cool and composed as per usual.
It was after the pianoforte’s playing had ended, that the crowd had disconnected from the partners, curtseyed and bowed to one another, and burst into applauds of plaudits. The room was lively, with its guests chatting and talking with delight at such a wonderful dance they had danced just moments prior. People took seconds to recollect themselves, by either grabbing glasses of water, or fanning themselves before the next waltz. You, on the other hand, had begun to make your way to the pianoforte, before you were stopped again (yes, again; why on earth was everyone so opposed to letting you play music nowadays?).
There was a nudge against the back of your elbow, and you turned around with much grace, just to be met with the same face from before.
“Could I trouble you for another round, miss?” came that velvety voice you loved so much.
It was Mr. Ryomen Sukuna, and he was with the objective of claiming yet another spot on your dance card this evening. How wonderful, just so, so very wonderful. . .
“. . .And just what type of round are we speaking of, sir?”
Sukuna’s countenance held the expression of mischief, and playful doing, as he leaned his face down closer to yours, till you couldn’t distinguish the line between your and his breath. “Whatever you’d prefer, my fair lady.”
As a smile made its way onto your face, Sukuna did just as he had done before: gathering your warm hands into his cold ones, and bringing the both of you into another waltz just as the euphonious music began again for a second time that evening. While you could never admit it aloud, as the hours passed by, you soon found yourself forgetting all about your beloved pianoforte—that could, as of late, be put off for maybe just a little longer.
***
“All we did was waltz—just like everybody else! What, in heaven’s name, is so unusual about that?”
Your cousins had called on you the next morning after the ball at Grantley, and waited not a second before asking—no, demanding—you to tell them about all that had happened whilst they were away and mingling. (Yes, you were, in fact, correct in assuming that the girls had been acquainting themselves with officers galore and other various gentlemen that same evening.) But, despite them having a most eventful evening themselves, they were, by far, more curious as to hearing about your experience.
“Yes, you waltzed,” Charlotte replied, exasperated, “we know that; we saw it! after all. But, but, but, not only did you waltz together, you waltzed together twice! Can you believe that, Helena? A wealthy—and, if I must say, handsome—gentleman claimed not one, but two spots on our very dear cousin’s dance card last evening!”
“It is oh-so wonderful!” cried Helena, absolutely overjoyed at the fact you were finally socializing for once. “But, do not forget, sister, that Mr. Ryomen Sukuna, the very man our dearest cousin danced with, also held her hands without gloves! Without gloves! Bless me! I find I shall faint if not cautious, you know.”
The girls gossiped and confabulated over yesterday’s events with much interest and engagement. They teased you, giggled at the way you waltzed with a man right after verbally abusing him, and accepted his hand twice. It seemed that they could not and would not let it go that you had danced with such a man last evening, and it seemed the only way you could get them to leave their current attentions was to mention their events and who they danced with—to which, they were most delighted to answer you.
“Shall we tell her, Lottie?” exclaimed Helena, eager to reminisce about the ball she had. “Shall we tell her?”
“Of course, of course!”
And so, with that, the minds of the girls had been successfully veered over to the subject of other men. Helena recalled chatting with several young officers, all who were, as she said, “charming, and effectively handsome, but they were, unfortunately, as taciturn as to make people assume them mute.” Helena complained about how she could only get acquainted with most officers if she was the one who spoke up first; which, in her eyes, was terribly unacceptable.
Charlotte, on the other hand, was not as extroverted as her twin sister, though, she was pretty enough so that people approached her before she had to open her mouth to anyone. She had made acquaintances with “very fine gentlemen, very fine and intellectual gentlemen, indeed,” and laughed and chatted about poetry and philosophy almost all night long. She geeked out on her favorite authors and thinkers, and her interlocutors reciprocated with their own. It was a most enjoyable night for her—seeing as most people of Wadsworth did not find such topics in conversations as pleasant as Charlotte did.
“Did you know, cousin,” began the blonde, “that such an abundance of officers read poetry?”
“Nay, I did not, but go on.”
And go on, she did. Whenever Charlotte spoke of writing and literature, she rarely even took a breath to breathe. She was like that: always very passionate about her favorite subjects, and she was rarely able to notice if the people around her had started to bore or not—but, it mattered not; Charlotte wouldn’t have stopped talking anyway, unless, by a chance, she found herself getting thirsty. Yes, she got thirsty quite often, and you often joked (all in good nature, of course) that it was due to how much she talked.
The three of you had spent the entire morning gossiping over tea and biscuits, until a maid-servant had called you all for lunch, and you all burst into quite a harmoniously-sounding fit of laughter at the realization that, throughout your chitter chatter, you had finished neither one cup of tea, nor one plate of pastries. It was a pleasantly spent morning, indeed.
That week passed by with much ease, and the next one passed by similarly. There was even one day, where, you had been met with the fortunate coincidence of crossing paths with none other than Mr. Adam Wright whilst on your daily walk outside of Blackwood Park.
“Good day, miss,” he began, in a smooth voice, “how do you do?”
“Oh! bless me; you had me startled there—for a minute, Mr. Wright. But, I am very well; I thank you.”
“I beg your finest pardon, madam,” replied he, before bowing his head ever so slightly. “I did not mean to alarm you.”
You waved your hand around in a dismissing manner. “And, to what do I owe the honor of running into you today, sir?”
“Ah, I was just admiring the views you were telling me about. You know, when we were chatting about nature and shrubbery? Yes, well, I find your suggestions to be very credible, for this is quite the place you have here, miss.”
“Thank you, Mr. Wright, very generous of you to say so.” You smiled.
“No need to thank me, I am sure you receive compliments on your home thousands upon thousands of times each day. Pray, how many acres is Blackwood Park?”
“I would assume a little above three thousand.”
“Is that so?”
“So it is,” you said, smiling. “Why the face? Do not you believe me?” you joked, seemingly in a playful mood this morning.
“I ought to walk with you around the park in order to further prove your answer.”
As you two linked arms, and began to walk around the park, surrounded by bushes and trimmed shrubbery under the shade-providing trees, you wondered if this was Mr. Wright’s attempt at flirting, or getting to know you. But, either way, you kept a smile on your face and walked, explaining the paths and routes and terrain as you did so.
“Do you walk often, miss?”
“I believe I told you that I did—at Grantley. Or have you already forgotten? I didn’t know you paid so little to a supposed princess’s words, sir.”
Mr. Wright laughed. “It was an assumption, I explained. If you shall continue to tease me on that subject, I may become humiliated, you know.”
“What if that’s my goal?”
“Then, I suppose, the ladies here in Wadsworth must be very cruel.”
The both of you turned a corner, walking a new veered path as the sun bathed you in light. You were just about to reposition your parasol to shield yourself from the blinding radiance, when, out of the blue, a hand came up to cover your eyes from above; it was discovered to be Mr. Adam Wright’s.
“Oh!” you exclaimed, heat rising to your cheeks. “I thank you, sir.”
“It is not a problem,” began the officer; “you repay me by showing me the very nice landscaping here, after all.”
“. . .Ah, I see.”
In truth, you had not been in hopes of being joined in your walk this autumn morning, and you usually preferred solitude in times like these, but, alas, you had been joined by an officer, and were now to show him the ways around Blackwood Park and the rest of Wadsworth. You would be lying if you said it didn’t bother you in the slightest. . .
The both of you walked and talked: admiring the beautiful river of Northwick, crossing the bridge above said river, speaking of the chestnuts that had fallen from deciduous trees, and laughing about the squirrels above; all of this up until lunchtime, when you two departed—you, who had arrived at Stratford House to exchange your calling card with Charlotte and Helena, and Mr. Adam Wright, who had the objective of going forth to the shops.
Upon entering Stratford, you were greeted by the sight of two very excited twins.
“Oh, cousin! You’re here!” cried Helena. “We were waiting for your call, you know.”
“Hm, well, isn’t that lovely? What were you waiting for, exactly?”
“I’m not surprised you weren’t informed as of late; it was very last minute,” began Charlotte, “but, we were invited to Kendall Manor, actually. All three of us!” The blonde gestured to you, herself, and her sister.
“Kendall?” you repeated, raising your eyebrows. “Well, color me intrigued, then.”
Kendall Manor was a very envied spot in Wadsworth. With many beautiful arts there, it was a very famous spot for tourists to visit; you had even been there once or twice, whilst paying respects to its multitude of pianofortes and large collection of literature. Outside, it had high walls, lakes, an abundance of land, and various fountains throughout. The estate was known, but, in contrast, its owner was not.
For as long as you had lived, the possessor of Kendall Manor had never been present in Wadsworth. Not much information was of him, whoever he was, but the one piece of knowledge regarding him, was that he was alive and well. Maybe in a neighboring country, maybe somewhere else, no one knew where, but everyone knew he was there. It worked out, though; if so many people were visiting and entering Kendall Manor each day, surely the owner would be bothered, but in this case, that didn’t matter; the owner wasn’t even there!
“Come, lovie,” began Charlotte, as she ushered you upstairs to a changing room; “we must make haste! The chaise and four have already been called for, and not a second can be of waste.”
You had been dressed, your hair done, and your face painted, before you were, again, shoved into a carriage and driven off to Kendall Manor. It happened incredibly quickly, and gave you whiplash all the while.
“Do you two happen to know who specifically invited us lot?” you asked. “I wasn’t familiar with the fact that the owner of Kendall Manor was in the country; was it the doing of a servant? Or was the manor let?”
“Dear cousin, you worry too much,” laughed Helena. “We should instead rejoice at the opportunity of another party; we are bound to have a ball, after all. Why does the host matter?”
You grumbled, and sat silent for the rest of the ride. It was strange; why now? Why did the owner of Kendall decide to come home now? And, why on earth did he invite you and the girls? As far as you were concerned, you had no acquaintance with him, whoever he was, and neither did your family or any other relations you had.
Whilst basking in your confusion and wonder, the horses had come to a stop outside of a quite magnificent abode, and you instantly knew that this was Kendall Manor. Four or five thousand acres of land, under the blazing sun. Beautiful, vast, and plagued with mystery.
The three of you were taken up the stairs, and led inside by a valet, where you were greeted with the even more surprising sight of the rest of your family: some aunts and uncles, Lady Annesley, and others you did not care to name. If that wasn’t enough to make your jaw drop, you noticed half (if not all) of Wadsworth residents and even a few familiar faces of officers from the regiment temporarily stationed in the countryside; but, try as you might, your eyes could not set upon the countenance of Mr. Adam Wright—who was, probably, out at the shops, and alone.
What was this? Why was everyone here?
“Forgive my lack of planning prior,” began a velvety voice you knew well; and when you turned to the sound of that voice, you were met with the face of Mr. Ryomen Sukuna, standing next to his brother. “Welcome, all, to Kendall Manor.”
It was quickly explained that this was a party, in celebration of Mr. Ryomen, who had finally returned to his home country of Wadsworth, and was planning on staying for longer than he had been gone. He wanted to make acquaintances with all the people he would’ve known had he been here instead of at all his other estates and properties.
The guests were introduced to a large variety of pastries and biscuits and drinks and other desserts from the other counties Sukuna had been staying at previously. People asked him about what his other homes were like: if they were much different from Kendall of Wadsworth, and he—with his usual disagreeableness—did not even try to act humble as he described his very prosperous and fortunate self.
There were many ladies of Wadsworth that were single, and none of them wasted any chance in practically throwing themselves at the owner of the manor. In addition, Charlotte and Helena, once standing beside you, were now off and talking with a number of officers, having a very pleasant afternoon themselves.
You, on the other hand, were not much interested in speaking about subjects such as these, and, accompanied by very few people, walked into a nearby drawing room. Though you were not much of a card-player yourself, it was, perhaps, the only source of entertainment you could find within the walls of Kendall (except for playing pianoforte, which the girls forbade you). A table for Whist was set up, and a party of four, including yourself, began to play.
For a few rounds, you thought you had found peace, but no, a thunderstorm had soon followed you all the way into the drawing room. Mr. Ryomen had come, and was accompanied by the other guests, who were all flocking to him like birds.
“Shall we all play a game for more of us?” began the pink-haired gentleman. He was clearly doing this on purpose; his face told you all you needed to know: he was disturbing your peace and quiet for the simple motive of being a bother.
Of course, no one could refuse the host of such a grand party, and a much larger game table was soon set up, so that many could sit down and gamble. You had the unfortunate fate of being seated between the host, and Lady Annesley; and, although you were near at least one good relative, your aunt paid minimal attention to you, for she was seated beside Admiral Dawson, whom she was grossly engaged in conversation with.
Throughout the betting game, either your or Sukuna’s seat had been gradually inching closer to the other’s, to the point your shoulders were practically touching, and so were your elbows, which occasionally bumped together, causing the both of you to mutter curses or complaints.
“Why don’t you move nearer to your brother, sir? I am sure it would be much appreciated,” you jeered, obviously fed up with the amount of hits you were receiving.
“Careful there, miss. Lying too much can be detrimental.”
“‘Lying’? Oh, please. There is no truth in my saying ‘I enjoy sitting beside you’.”
“Of course,” laughed Sukuna, in a mocking tone. “Of course, Miss Untouchable. How could I forget? you just have a problem with everyone these days.”
“. . .”
“I wasn’t at all aware, you know, that such a disagreeable woman like you existed. Though, I can’t say it was unexpected; your countenance gives quite a fair hint to everyone when looking at you.”
You rolled your eyes. “I am sure the absolute same could be said about you, sir.”
“What a coincidence!” teased Sukuna. “I was beginning to think we had nothing in common.”
Narrowing your eyes, you stabbed the heel of your shoe onto Sukuna’s, but he let out neither a curse nor a groan of pain.
Instead, Sukuna rested his arm on the back of your chair with an overwhelming grip as he leaned his face closer to yours; and you could’ve sworn you could see the red of his eyes swirling together in a mix, as if a tornado. The tips of your noses were only centimeters apart, and you couldn’t draw a line between where your breath ended and where his started even if you had to.
Your eyes met with equal resentment and agitation, as if there was a mutual message being sent from merely your locked gazes alone, but then, to your surprise, his stare drifted up to your hat.
“Various shades of blue and green, with gold as an accent,” he noted, in a slurred tone, almost as if he was drunk.
“Well, yes. Have you never seen a peacock feather?”
“Two of which are both colors on the cooler side of the color spectrum,” he continued, paying no mind to your words; “but, I must say, red would suit you much better, my darling.”
Your eyes widened at the sound of this, and your gaze fell to your fidgety hands in your laps. Still, you wasted no time in quipping, “I have no doubt I would wear the color much better than you, Mr. Ryomen Sukuna.”
“I can imagine that, but I would rather see it with my own eyes,” he said, eyes trailing back down to your lips.
“. . .”
The hand that was previously draped over the back of your chair slowly but surely made its way down, until it was draped over your hip, gripping and kneading the flesh there. Your breath caught in your throat, and you turned to face Sukuna with an incredulous expression. You mouthed the words What on earth are you doing? To which, the pink-haired man only responded with Nothing you wouldn’t want, my lady.
In order for the hand on your hip to not be visible, you had to scoot your chair as far away from Lady Annesley as you could, and press your body as close to Sukuna’s as you could possibly venture. The rest of the drawing room remained boisterous, and completely oblivious to the scandalous act you had going on with the party’s host.
As his hand lowered down to the ends of your dress, and his fingers crept up your skirt, your cheeks warmed to an extreme extent, and you tugged on Sukuna’s sleeve, desperate for something you couldn’t quite put your finger on. This was utterly humiliating! you thought. What was the meaning for this? And in the middle of a party?
His hands felt cold, and you frequently shivered as they moved at a dreadfully slow speed up your legs, before settling in between your thighs. If your face wasn’t as red as a tomato before, it surely was now. For, you had originally thought that clamping your thighs together would be the perfect plan to get Sukuna to stop his movements, but no, it made everything altogether worse. By a thousand degrees.
His hand was stuck between your thighs, and, like the bastard he was, Mr. Ryomen Sukuna thought it would be such a fun thing to move your panties aside, and put pressure on your clit, which, consequently, resulted in you having to cover your mouth with your fan, to hide and shield the whimpers that came soon after.
“Nnghh.”
His fingers then removed themselves, to which you gasped in relief, but before you could utter another word, you were interrupted by his fingers entering you once more, in a quite diligent fashion. They curled and twisted, and reached deep inside of you, but alas, you could do nothing but writhe; you couldn’t bear this predicament you had gotten yourself into being exposed to the rest of the party guests, and you couldn’t—without feeling shame—let it be known that the feeling of Sukuna’s fingers was rather pleasurable.
Your whole body’s temperature rose, and you couldn’t help the moans that left your lips. This feeling was so . . . strange; you had never felt anything like this before. So overwhelming with both pain and pleasure, and incredibly scandalous. If anyone were to find out what you were doing—never mind, you need not know.
Sukuna’s lips ghosted the shell of your ear, before whispering, “Don’t fight it.”
One finger, then two, and now three.
“F-Fight what?” you managed, between whimpers. “What are you doing?”
With your thighs still clamped together and squeezing around his hand, the pleasure of Sukuna’s fingers moving within you was highly intensified, and your expression twisted into one of embarrassing lewdness. The suddenly appeared knot in your stomach had tightened, and you had soon reached your peak only moments later, your release clinging to Sukuna’s fingers, which were still deep inside of you.
“Hahh, Sukunngh,” you moaned, eyes squeezing shut as you hid your face from other guests behind your fan.
Just as you were recovering from your body’s physical reaction and occasional jolts, Sukuna’s voice suddenly sounded in the room, and everyone and their mother turned to face him, completely unbeknownst to the fact that his hand was still in between your legs.
You didn’t hear much of what he said—your head still swimming, and your self dazed—but you managed to make out a few words, where Sukuna had explained that there were numerous hallways in Kendall that were filled from top to bottom with many famous and beautiful paintings and other art works. The guests were unsurprised by this knowledge, but nonetheless, they were greatly intrigued, and as a valet of Sukuna’s led the party out of the drawing room, Sukuna sat back down (after making sure everyone had exited) and turned to you with a smug expression—never once removing his fingers from deep within you.
“Sukuna,” you mewled, nearly going crazy at the realization that the man would probably never run out of stamina to finger you, “what are you doing?”
Whilst grinning like a mad man, Sukuna pulled you onto his lap within the blink of an eye, which resulted in your back being flush with his hard chest. Beyond shocked, you gasped, but before you could get out another word, you felt the tickling sensation of lips dragging down your clavicle and shoulders, peppering kisses on several moles and freckles you had there.
There was a growing warmth in your core, and though you writhed and wriggled in his grasps, you couldn’t help but (after a few moments) finally succumb to his touches and caresses. A sigh left your lips, and you leaned back against the body behind you.
“Sukuna, I—ahh, w-why?”
Just as you were beginning to relax, Sukuna removed his hand from between your legs and, with the assistance of his other hand, pulled the top of your dress down, leaving the bare skin of your chest revealed to the empty drawing room and cool air. 
“You’re so beautiful, my lady,” he slurred, eyes glued to your exposed tits.
Without wasting a moment, Sukuna began to pull and twist and press at your nipples, which were beginning to harden at his assaults. Your back arched, and you let out an embarrassingly loud moan at the unfamiliar feeling of pleasure. This was totally erotic! you thought, though you did nothing to stop it. As your nipples were carelessly toyed with to Sukuna’s content, your body twisted and squirmed all the while, but to no avail.
As if a child playing with a new toy for the first time, Sukuna squeezed and squeezed at the wholes of your tits, admiring the way your buds pebbled at the attention they were receiving. Your legs kicked at nothing, and you thrashed around wildly; and, if things couldn’t get more lewd, you felt the sensation of a warm, wet tongue lick a stripe up your neck.
Pornographic moans, whimpers, and cries filled the empty drawing room, and you couldn’t even imagine the looks on people’s faces if they returned from the gallery early.
“Nnghh! Ah—ah—ahh! Sukuna!” You panted, delirious.
“Mmm, that’s it, sweetheart,” said Sukuna, as he kissed and nipped at your throat. “Don’t hold back; just let out all your cute little noises for me.”
The hands which groped at your breast soon paused in their assaults, and as you began to catch your breath, you felt them gradually slide down the curves of your body, all the way to your thighs, where they hiked up the material of your skirt, pulling it up to your stomach, which left your panties and dignity exposed.
“. . .Sukuna?” You blinked.
“Ha! You’ve become so wet just from my hands alone, that I think it would be no trouble at all for you to take my cock right about . . . now.”
“What—oh! Mmph!”
Apparently, Mr. Ryomen Sukuna had a major problem with cutting people off, because, just as you were about to ask what he very well meant by that, your hips were tightly gripped onto, your body was raised, and you cried out as you were soon slammed back down onto Sukuna’s cock. All the words in your throat had been swallowed, and your brain turned to mush as you felt so utterly full from his girth and length alone; it was so . . . big. You had never done anything as insane as this, and as moans and cries left your lips left and right, you couldn’t distinguish whether you felt more pain or pleasure.
Your eyes fluttered shut, and your face twisted into that of incredible lewdness; your hands gripped onto Sukuna’s biceps, and your nails dug into his muscles, surely leaving crescent-shaped marks in the way.
“Shit, gorgeous,” he groaned. “You’re so tight. Ever been fucked before?”
“Nnghh, n-no. . . No!”
“That’s. . . Fuck. You mean I’m the first one to touch you like this?”
Sukuna gripped and groped onto your tits as he spoke, before raising up your hips and slamming them back down just like before. One second, you were empty, the next, you were so impossibly full, and then so on and so forth. As Sukuna repeated this for God knows how long, you nearly passed out from the overwhelming pleasure you felt everywhere. From the calloused hands on your hips, to the length of his cock sliding in and out and up and down your walls, to the warm breath fanning your ear. It was all so much.
You had never known pleasure like this before, and you wondered if this was but a dream.
As you rolled your hips, trying desperately for more friction, you were stopped by the feeling of two hands gripping onto the meat of your hips with a strength that was sure to result in bruising the next morrow.
“Why do you move, darling?” Sukuna leaned down to whisper in your ear, and a shiver ran down your spine. “I’ve got you right where I want you.”
Whilst you bounced sensuously on his lap, Sukuna didn’t show an ounce of shame as he stared with incredible lust at the sight of your tits bouncing up and down. The tip of his cock penetrated you in places you didn’t even know existed until now, and you couldn’t help the plethora of moans that left your lips. 
Just as before, the knot in your stomach tightened to an unbearable height, and with one last rough thrust, you came right on Sukuna’s cock; your bodily fluids dripping down his shaft and leaving a sticky feeling between your thighs as they dried.
“So?” began Sukuna, bringing you out of your dazed state.
In confusion, your brows knitted together. “I—I beg your pardon?”
“How was it?”
“How was . . . what?”
You could hear Sukuna scoff from behind you. “Are you that dense, my dear lady? Or have you already forgotten what we have—mind you—just done?”
“. . .I’m afraid my memory is not as sufficient as one’s might be,” you teased, despite yourself.
The corner of Sukuna’s lip quirked upwards, into a grin, as a mischievous expression made its way onto his face. “Shall we refresh your memory, then?”
“How so?”
With his cock still buried deep inside of you to the hilt, Sukuna stood up and moved your bodies in tandem until he was able to lay the top half of your body on the drawing room’s table. Your bare tits pressed up against the rough wood, and you groaned in relief as you laid the side of your face down.
Unfortunately (or fortunately) for you, Sukuna had no even the slightest idea of relaxing on his mind, and as the lids of your eyes began to droop, Sukuna woke you straight up with a hard thrust inside your cunt, which slightly shook the table and resulted in a rather unpleasant sound reverberating throughout the living space.
This, completely, caught you off guard, and the scream that left your throat was to be expected. “Ahh! I—hahh.”
Your back arched, your hair was pulled towards Sukuna, your neck soon began to ache; you saw stars as Sukuna continued his thrusts from before with more (if not the same amount of) force, and you wondered if the walls were thin enough for servants or party guests to hear you from all the way down the hall.
Maybe it was ridiculous, maybe it was not, but as Sukuna’s cock continued to fill you to the hilt, you could’ve sworn you felt him in your guts. Callings of his name, moans of gibberish, and et cetera, left your lips as if in a prayer to God. You panted, you gasped, and your breath got caught in your throat as the table rocked beneath your and Sukuna’s weight.
If not for his stable grip on your hips, you would’ve fallen and crashed to the floor from how your knees buckled and turned to seemingly nothingness.
“Has your memory been refreshed, my lady?” began Sukuna, in a jeering tone.
“I—nnghh, not . . . not quite.” Though you were barley conscious at this point, and pleasure nearly consumed your whole being, you couldn’t help but joke. However, as the speed and force of Sukuna’s thrusts began to increase, you soon found yourself thinking how foolish it was to joke in such a predicament.
“Yeah? How about now?”
Both hands on your hips had left, and instead found their way to your tits, where they groped and squeezed to Sukuna’s liking.
This may have been your breaking point; and as your back arched and the volume of your lewd cries increased, you found yourself grinding your ass back against Sukuna’s crotch. The extra friction brought you over the edge, and you moaned and moaned like a bitch in heat as you came once more.
You didn’t remember much of what came after that (A/N: pun intended), but you knew you had somehow managed to dress yourself and fix your disheveled appearance right as soon as half of the party returned to the drawing room. Whilst the guests drank in the sight of you, Sukuna, on the other hand, had fixed his pants, and casually seated himself on his chair.
“Oh, my niece,” exclaimed a bewildered Lady Annesley, “you are already here.”
You stopped like a deer in front of a carriage driver’s torch, and stuttered as you struggled for an answer. “Yes, I—I quickly lost interest while looking at the artwork, and decided to return here to play another game of cards.”
“So you say? Well, upon my word, what card game did you play that resulted in your countenance to glow so pleasantly as it does now?”
For a second, you had thought your aunt had somehow discovered what you and Mr. Ryomen Sukuna were getting up to whilst alone in the drawing room, but after a moment’s silence, you quickly realized she was being genuine, and, like her usual chaotic-self, was simply wondering about a possible new skincare routine. At this newfound conclusion, you let out a sigh of relief, and continued in conversation for the remaining duration of the party at Kendall.
However, at the back of your mind remained the still recent memory of what it was like to have your brains fucked out by none other than Mr. Ryomen Sukuna, who, whilst he pretended to linger around your being while you chatted with relatives, occasionally trailed a playful finger up your spine, which always resulted in your breath being caught in your throat, as you feared he would do something similar to what he did before the guests had left.
***
It was late—well into the evening, really—when a messenger on his horse had come by with mail in his inventory.
A fortnight had passed since that . . . incident in Kendall Manor’s drawing room, and you had been avoiding Sukuna ever since. You feared that if you did otherwise, you would begin to develop an unhealthy relationship with his cock, which, even after fourteen days, you had not forgotten the feeling of. It was strange, to say the least. At first, you had thought Sukuna to be a very disagreeable man, a very disagreeable man, indeed; but now, he was . . . well, no, he was the same, but his dick, on the other hand, was much more agreeable.
You had never thought yourself to be one to have sexual intercourse before marriage, but maybe there could be an exception for someone like Mr. Ryomen Sukuna.
Sometimes, you laid awake at night, at times past the Devil’s hour, you assumed, and tossed and turned and tried to replicate how Sukuna’s fingers felt, how his mouth made you feel, how full his cock made you, but to no avail. You would, eventually, scream into your pillow out of frustration, and pass out from exhaustion.
Damn him. Damn him and his whole entire lineage.
Who was he to make you feel this way, huh? Who was he to come waltzing into Wadsworth with his expensive little steed and expensive fucking clothes, and leave you high and dry? Who was he to spoil you for your future spouse? He had no right, absolutely none.
And so, when a messenger and his horse came to the doors of Blackwood Park, you could probably imagine the distress and anxiety you had suffered. All the color had been drained from your face, for you wondered if a letter had come from Mr. Ryomen Sukuna himself; your mother and your father had even noticed how pale you had gotten, and, in their worry, asked you how you felt, to which you replied with a short answer, but it contained everything but the truth.
Upon reading the label, you found the manilla paper to be addressed to none other than you. Even more horrified, you searched frantically for a name, and after reading the words Mr. Adam Wright, you seemed to calm down by a few degrees.
“Open it, cousin! Open it!” cried Helena; for the girls had been at Blackwood since sundown, and were planning on sleeping over, which was, actually, pretty common between the three of you.
“Shall I have no privacy even in my own home?” you joked.
The girls laughed, before exiting your room and running downstairs.
With a sigh, and a tired groan, you began to unravel the letter.
To your astonishment, it was almost four pages! Four pages, filled from top to bottom with a confession of . . . love‽ Love—from Mr. Adam Wright? What, in heaven’s name, could’ve produced such a feeling as this? you wondered. Sure, maybe you had flirted with the officer a few times, but it was only minor incidents, and you had done them with the imagination that nothing could come of it. But no, you couldn’t have been more wrong.
Mr. Adam Wright was in love with you.
In his letter, he frequently quoted phrases from your favorite books and epics, but none of them seemed to affect you more than with distraught and horror. He confessed he was too much of a coward to profess his love in person, and, in addition, claimed he could not say all that he felt for you, for he felt too much to say, and writing it down was as close as he could get to letting everything out.
He was in love with your laugh, your smile, your mind, and your soul.
“I have never conversed with a lady quite as charming as you, miss. Your character is incredibly suitable to my likes and my dislikes, and I find, if I had never met you, I would have never met the love of my life. You bewitch me, physically and mentally.”
You had to admit, he was quite poetic when it came to writing a confession of love and admiration, but it pained you more than it flattered you, for, you did not feel even an ounce of the same feeling. Guilt and regret plagued your mind as you read through the seemingly never-ending paragraphs, and yet, you could not and would not accept that someone such as Mr. Adam Wright was in love with you.
It seemed . . . preposterous.
You had never thought of him in that way whatsoever. Well, he was handsome, and he was smart and quite the agreeable man, but he wasn’t what you wanted. There had to be someone out there that would reciprocate his feelings, but it wouldn’t be you. Not today, not tomorrow, not ever.
After reading the letter maybe three times (just to make sure your eyes weren’t deceiving you), you sat down for a moment of silence, before opening your door and calling for the girls. Upon their entering, you immediately explained the contents of the letter, and, with a very desperate tone of voice, pleaded for any advice they could give.
“Well, this is. . . I’m quite appalled, dear cousin,” began Charlotte; “but, just to be clear, you do not feel the same way?”
“I’m not sure I would be asking for advice if I did.” You laughed, trying to cope with humor.
“I, for one, think you should send a letter back,” suggested Helena.
“. . .You know, I would do that, actually, but, the thing is, Wright wants to see me.”
Both of the sisters asked what you meant by that.
“In his letter, towards the end of it, I am sure, he asks to see me, near Northwick. I assume he means he wants to propose on the bridge; we walked there once, you see.”
“And you did not think to tell us until now?” cried Helena.
You raised your hands in defense. “Hey, I didn’t think much of it.”
“This is quite the predicament you’ve gotten yourself into,” declared Charlotte.
And this was quite the predicament, indeed. The next morning, a little after breakfast, you had begun to walk to Northwick. And, upon reaching sight of the bridge, you had found that Mr. Adam Wright was already there. He looked confident, he looked sure, he looked sharp; which just made you twice as guilty.
Before arriving, you had assured yourself everything was going to be just dandy; you would get it over with as quick as possible, and then attend the play you had been invited to by a couple of friends. The proposal of Mr. Adam Wright would be soon forgotten about, and you would sing and dance and be merry for the rest of the day.
“My lady, how do you do?” Wright was always quick when it came to greeting you. “I assume you’ve received my letter?”
“I am quite fine this morning, sir; and yes.”
“Have you any response?”
You nodded, before saying, “I am . . . rather flattered to receive a proposal from such a man as you, Mr. Adam Wright, but I am afraid I cannot give you my hand in marriage.”
You had consequently explained your reasoning, and how you did not reciprocate any romantic feelings such as love towards Mr. Wright, who accepted your words with a very solemn expression. That was a nice quality of his: to be able to accept rejection, and you even noted how you thought he was a very agreeable man, who was sure to find a wife sooner or later.
“There are many balls that occur in Wadsworth, with many women who attend, but, if that fails, an itinerant profession such as yours indubitably has the aspects to acquire a spouse within a lifetime—yes, I am sure.”
“I see you do not accept my proposal, then; very well. Good morning, miss.”
With the tipping of his hat, and a very quick farewell, the two of you parted ways.
A few hours had come by after your declination, and you soon found yourself standing outside of Grantley Hall with Charlotte and Helena, Lady Annesley, a few other relatives and friends, and Mr. Ryomen Sukuna and his brother. You hadn’t expected to see either of them any time soon, but maybe your aunt was just very sociable, and considered them to be friends.
Upon noticing Sukuna’s face amongst the crowd, you immediately ducked away, and subtly hid yourself behind your aunt, who was taller and broader than you, and could serve as a pseudo-shield, but of course, your efforts were noticed and fruitless, in the end.
Sukuna had caught sight of your figure, and made eye contact with you for a relatively long time, before turning back to a conversation with his brother.
“Everyone seems to be here,” began your aunt, double-checking the party; “how about we begin our journey? The theater is quite far, I heard.”
And so, everyone had started to pile into a multitude of carriages and vehicles. Unfortunately, with such a large party as you were in, you obviously had the luck of being stuck with none other than the Devil himself—Mr. Ryomen Sukuna. There was no other room for you with anyone else you knew; you had received offers to switch seats, but due to your having taken a liking to rejecting people (A/N: this is a joke; please laugh), you had declined them all.
In consequence, you and Sukuna were forced to ride in a carriage—alone.
The cushions were small, and you were forced to acquire a seat right beside Sukuna. Your shoulders bumped occasionally, due to the jolts of the carriage and the bumpy road, but that was about it. You were neither squished nor totally uncomfortable. And, at first, it was quite pleasant, actually. Neither you nor Sukuna spoke much, due to your embarrassment, and his . . . indifference? so you had no reason to stutter or stumble over words. Well, that was, until Sukuna decided to bring up a certain someone into the conversation.
“It seems you have taken quite the partiality towards Wright,” he began; and you could practically feel his piercing stare burning holes through your head, but alas, you kept your eyes on the road, and avoided eye contact—which was beginning to prove to be quite the challenge.
“We are acquaintances.”
“Just acquaintances?”
You sighed. “It depends on how you define the word ‘acquaintance,’ I suppose.”
“You know, my lady, I have heard quite a rumor this morning—regarding you and that officer.”
You froze, an infinite amount of ideas popping into your head, before snapping your neck to meet Sukuna’s much amused ones. “Pray, have you any idea how rude it is to bring up a subject without elaborating,? You, sir, ought to explain further.”
Sukuna, ignoring your words, cast his eyes downward, saying, “Show me your hand,” with as less emotion and as much authority as humanly possible.
Perhaps in an act of childish rebellion, you covered your gloved hands, and put them aside. “I do not see how that is of any relevance.”
“What a coincidence; I do.” Scoffing, Sukuna took your left hand into his, and held it up to his face, completely disregarding your protests and fruitless attempts at flailing around.
When he found what he wanted, he placed your hand down, and looked at your pout with a smug expression. “I take it you are not engaged, then?”
“I’ve no ring,” came your curt reply, before crossing your arms over your chest. You had initially hoped to fool him for even a bit longer, but Sukuna was more resourceful (forceful) than you could admit.
Sukuna laughed. “Miss Untouchable refused Mr. Adam Wright? What a spectacle that surely was. Say, the next time you reject a proposal, let me know prior so I can sit and watch.”
“When Hell freezes over, I will.”
Leaning over to peer into your eyes, Sukuna offered a shit-eating grin. “You can be so rude, my fair lady.”
Finally meeting his eyes at last, you couldn’t help the abusing words that soon left your lips. “You call me ‘rude,’ I hear? That is how you think of me? What about yourself, then, sir? Is the way you treat a lady such as I any different than ‘rude,’ I wonder?”
Sukuna grabbed your hips and dragged you onto his lap as you continued to berate and rip at him whilst he remained totally unfazed. He had become used to your character at this point, and your insults and scolding merely droned on in the background as his mind was set on other things.
“How else am I rude, madam?”
“When you—When you. . .” You paused, averting eye contact. “When you make me feel . . . this way.”
“And, pray tell,” began Sukuna, as he grabbed your chin and forced you to look in his eye, “what way do I make you feel?”
You chewed at your bottom lip, and out of frustration, could not form much to say.
When Sukuna noticed your hesitance, and your embarrassment, he decided to take matters into his own hands, and as a smile began to etch on his face, he lifted the ends of your dress, piling it at your waist, before beginning to trail his hands up your bare thighs at a teasingly unbearable speed.
At the familiar act, your breath caught in your throat, and you clawed at the lapels of Sukuna’s coat jacket.
Without stopping for even a beat, Sukuna’s cold, slender fingers made their way up your thighs, and began to ghost over the wetness that had formed at your entrance.
“My, my, my, don’t tell me, was it your anger at me that got you so wet, or was it my mere showing up today?”
“Neither, you bastard.”
As if possessed by an entity, (or maybe it was because you just couldn’t take it anymore), you grabbed Sukuna by the collar, and roughly—and clumsily—smashed his lips against yours. Almost immediately, his hands squeezed and groped at your ass, as he met your lips with an almost equally fervent kiss.
You had never done something so deliberately and scandalous before (except for that evening at Kendall, but that doesn’t count), and you almost wondered if you were doing everything wrong. But, seeing as you could feel a growing hardness beneath your bottom, you were soon assured of your quite capable abilities.
“Fuck, darling. Have you been waiting to do this?” he murmured, between kisses.
“Mm, yeah—in your dreams.”
Your bodies moved in sync, as if two puzzle pieces designed just for each other, and sounds of sensuous and sensual activity soon began to fill the carriage. Sukuna’s hands trailed down your ass as you kissed, and he didn’t waste any time before shoving your panties aside, and pushing one, then two, fingers in.
The unexpected action elicited a moan from your lips, and you tugged and pulled at Sukuna’s hair as if searching for leverage against the assault between your legs.
His fingers curled within you and moved at a speed that accelerated every second; the painful realization had soon hit you, that, God, you had truly missed this feeling. Slick dripped down your legs, and was, probably, staining the material of Sukuna’s pants, but it wasn’t like either one of you cared.
One of Sukuna’s hands gripped onto the flesh of your ass, while the other toyed with and fingered your dripping cunt; his lips moved against yours like an animal in heat, whilst your arms had been thrown and looped around his neck. The carriage shook and wobbled as it traversed the uneven roads, and that pushed you even closer to Sukuna, leaving you in quite the scandalous position—with your tits pressed up against his chest, your hands tangled in his unruly hair, and his mouth on yours.
It was a missed feeling—the salty taste of his lips—and when the both of you parted, for the inconvenient sake of catching your breaths, Sukuna moved the hand on your ass to shove the top of your dress down to your waist, leaving you nearly bare: in all your glory—just for him.
His eyes roamed your body like a predator admiring prey, and while you leaned your front against him, Sukuna leaned his head down, to your shoulders, to kiss at and suck at all the exposed skin he could reach.
It was incredibly lewd—the sounds you released, and you couldn’t even fathom how the others would react if they saw you: you and Sukuna, doing whatever the hell it was that you two were doing at the moment.
As your volume increased, so did the speed and velocity of his fingers. There was a warm feeling at your core, and you soon found yourself releasing all over his hand—still deep within your cunt—as pornographic moans and cries and mewls escaped your throat.
“Nnghh! Hah, mphh, Sukuna . . . Sukuna—Sukuna!” His name left your lips like a prayer, and you could only hope that the pearly gates would still open for you after this hell of a carriage ride.
“You are . . . inimitable, my love,” he purred, “and extremely, inhumanly bewitching. Fuck, do you think you’re wet enough to take it? I am afraid I cannot loiter any longer.”
It didn’t matter what you thought; you knew you were, and as Sukuna lifted your hips, before bringing them down right onto his cock—which filled you to the brim, and impossibly more than last time—you knew this carriage ride would probably be your last. At least, it would be your last carriage ride with him.
Your hips were raised, before they were repeatedly slammed back down with enough force to bring the both of you crashing down onto the seats; your tits bounced, whimpers left your parched throat, and you could barely hold onto Sukuna’s shoulders for balance and support as the carriage began to jolt and jerk uncontrollably, causing unbearably pleasurable friction.
Heaven’s sake, how bumpy was this road?—goddamnit.
In addition to the bouncing of the carriage, the hands and claws digging into your ass, the marks and bites being left on your chest, there was also the rough thrusts from Sukuna, which brought you nearly over the edge. Your eyes rolled back into your head as the tip of Sukuna’s cock could be felt penetrating all the way in your guts, and to add on to the smell of sex wafting through the humid air, the discordant melody of your moans certainly added a little bit pizzazz.
You wanted more, you needed more, you craved more.
Sukuna’s length and girth slid up the walls of your cunt, and you swore you could feel every pulsing vein of his cock as it moved and twitched. You were so unbearably full; you struggled to form full words, and most of them only contributed to unintelligible sentences meaning nothing.
“Ahh, nnghh, hahh, mmph.”
“What, don’t tell me little Miss Untouchable over here is suddenly feeling pleasure from some low-life bastard such as I,” laughed Sukuna, who, for some reason unbeknownst to you, still had some humor left in him even whilst he had fucked you into putty in his hands.
“I . . . nnghh, do you ever stop talking?”
Sukuna laughed, a husky, dark laugh, before bringing you in for the most zealous kiss you had ever kissed. Your lips collided, smacking against each other’s, and your hands clumsily roamed each other’s bodies, before one last jolt of the carriage had you feeling every inch of Sukuna’s length in the absolute right-est spot you could ever imagine, and as you moaned into the kiss, the knot in your stomach tightened just as before, and you almost felt like you were under drugs as you came. 
Sticky, hot, and warm.
Unbearable, highly bothersome, and completely insane.
You were filled to the brim with Sukuna’s seed just a moment later, and a string of saliva from your lips connected you and Sukuna for a few seconds more as the both of you pulled away to catch your breaths.
“Now, before I go and do something foolish,” began Sukuna, still partially panting, “tell me, dear, do you feel like rejecting another man’s proposal today?”
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frantic-fiction · 10 months ago
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Shattered Glass 18+
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(Gif: leopardmuffinxo)
Astarion x f!reader
Summary: Astarion finally makes do on a promise.
This is part 2 of Secluded Evening. (Could be read as a stand alone)
Warnings: Smut, MDNI, oral fem receiving, PnV sex, unprotected sex, biting (of course) Astarion being a lovesick fool
Word count: 2.6k
Astarion threw another log on the fire; a flurry of embers took flight, dancing in the cold night air. The rest of the camp had already settled in their tents. You were nestled between his knees about five feet away from the flames. A throw blanket cascaded down your shoulders—a notebook on your lap. 
He studies the rapid strokes of your hand from over your shoulder. The rough lines of charcoal were blooming into an identical copy of Laz'eal. Astarion pulled a strand of hair away from your eyes and began to weave your locks into a simple braid. He doesn't have a hair tie, and knowing you, you've lost yours. So, he twists the pieces, and once done let's go, kissing the crown of your head. 
You barely acknowledge him, and when you suddenly shove the pencil over your shoulder, Astarion chuckles, taking it from you. He watches you begin smudging the charcoal with the pad of your finger. You're adorable when your art consumes you. Every time, it captivates Astarion.
This was how most of your nights were spent. Not always precisely like this; sometimes Astarion brought a book, and sometimes your hand got too sore to draw, so Astarion read to you as you curled on his lap. But as long as it was spent in each other's company neither of you cared much for the activity.
Astarion adored these nights the most, primarily because he could feast his eyes on your beauty without you shying away or throwing a stupid joke at him to break the tension. You were perfect in every way, and when he opened his heart briefly and confessed the broken pieces of himself and the motivations that led him to you. All you did was look at him with unspoken love and hugged him. 
Your relationship became something more after that. Sex was not what drew the two of you together. For the first time in 200 years, Astarion had someone he trusted with his every sense of the word. Someone who wanted more than his body and showed their love for him without words. Someone he wanted to spend every moment of his life with despite the fear that thought causes him. 
Astarion thinks he loves you but can't find the words when his mouth opens. He's always struggled with expressing his true feelings, but he wants to try with you. He wants to bear his heart to you and show you all that you mean to him. And with all the trust you and Astarion have established, one thing has become a very big problem. 
You have begun to treat Astarion like glass, as if one sexual touch will break him. And frankly, it's pissing him off. Astarion finally has complete control over his body and a partner who he trusts. A partner that can bring him to his knees with a simple giggle and to put it bluntly, gods you were fucking sexy. 
He's frustrated, horny, and has no idea how to ask for anything he wants. And for fucks sake, if he wakes from a meditation to have you grinding against his erection again, he just might explode.
In his frustrated musing, he didn't notice that you had placed your sketch pad away. He only noticed when you cupped his jaw and moved his eyes to meet yours. "What are you thinking about, handsome?"
It takes a moment for Astarion to collect himself as he stares at your soft smile. "I was thinking it's about time we get you, my sweet, to bed," he pecks your lips before grabbing your wrist and entwining your fingers. You nod and press a gentle kiss to his knuckles.
Astarion holds the flap open, and you duck inside. Kicking your pants off and into the corner, you unceremoniously plop down into the pile of cushions. You began sharing a tent in the shadow curse lands. Astarion found out pretty early on that nightmares of Cazador were less likely when you were in his arms. And thankfully, you slept better, too. 
You prop yourself on your elbows and silently watch Astarion move about the small space, removing his outer clothing. He seemed to be stalling, almost like he was silently debating with himself. Astarion is in his underwear when he seems to come to a conclusion. He takes a deep breath and moves towards you. Kneeling by your feet, you watch as Astarion hesitates, his hand resting softly on your shin. Hesitation is soon replaced with a devilish smirk that stretches across his lips.
"Whatcha thinking about pretty boy?" 
Astarion doesn't say anything, just slowly begins to crawl up your body before capturing you in a breathtaking kiss. His knee is between your legs; your hands are around his neck, pulling him flush against your body. You sigh softly into his mouth, moving your hands to caress his cheekbone.
He tongues the seam of your lips, and you are quick to gasp, giving him access to lick deeper. Astarion's hands are caressing up and down your curves, cupping your breast and tugging the metal bars of your nipple rings. His mouth moves to your throat, sucking hard at your jugular. 
"W-wait!" You choke out, causing the elf above you to freeze. He's quick to remove himself from you, putting some distance between your bodies. 
"Shit, did…did I do something wrong?" Astarion's voice cracks; you've never heard him so unsure of himself. You pant hard but are quick to sit up and fall into Astarion's lap, his arms instinctually wrapping around your waist.
"No, gods no," you sigh, cupping his jaw and pressing your forehead against his. The tension in Astarion's shoulders drops, and he squeezes you a bit harder.
"Then what is it, my sweet?"
That has you pausing to figure out the best way to say this. "What was your plan?" Shit, that didn't sound good
"My plan! Are you serious?" He's already pulling away, shutting off completely when you pull him back tightly.
"No! Th-that's fuck, that's not what I meant, Star," at least he's not trying to run, but he's as stiff as ever. "Astarion, I will be as blunt as possible because I care about you. Were you trying to have sex with me because you felt obligated?"
This isn't what Astarion expected you to say because he can't mask the look of surprise. He opens his mouth to speak before clamping it shut. He does this twice more, but you don't rush him, you push stray curls behind his ear and wait. 
"No." His voice is small. He clears his throat before speaking again, stronger this time. "No, I want this, and I would appreciate you stop treating me like fucking glass."
“What?”
You're flipped over, and suddenly, on your back, Astarion's body pressed closely against yours. He ruts against you. His cock was hard, feeling painfully constricted in his underwear. "I appreciate your patience with me, darling, but I need to clarify one thing to you right now."
Astarion licks a long stripe up your collarbone, ending just under your ear. You moan softly, trying desperately to roll your hips up into Astarion. "I have never wanted someone more than I wanted you. So, if it's okay with you, my sweet, I'm going to take the rest of our clothes off, and you're going to finally let me feast upon the sweetness between your legs."
You whine and buck, trying to get anything from Astarion's unmoving body. "Tsk, no, no, my sweet. Use your words." He purred, nipping your ear.
"Please! Yes! Oh gods, Astarion," 
Once the words leave your lips, you're tearing at each other's clothes in desperation. After you are both fully undressed, Astarion shoves you back onto the cushions. You expect him to pounce but he hovers staring down at your naked body.
Astarion's deft fingers grab your foot, and he presses a soft kiss to your inner ankle. A pang of heat flared through your lower abdomen. He kisses up to the top of your calf before giving a playful bite. You release a soft yelp, and Astarions lavishes the bite with his tongue. He slowly moves up to your inner thigh, leaving various bruises in his wake.
 You're gasping as he ghosted over the spot you wanted him most. His breath fans over your dripping cunt, and you swear he's about to give you what you want. Then he kisses you. Just one small peck on the public area just above your clit, before he retreats. You cry, and one of your hands card into Astarion's white locks. 
“No! Please!”
 He begins the same slow ascent up your other leg, paying just as much attention. "Now, as much as I love those beautiful noises you make for me. Remember that our camp members are trying to sleep; you can be a good girl for me, right?" He gazes up between your parted legs, and you nod and swear if he asked at this moment, you would have given him anything.
"I thought so," Astarion purred before licking up the entire length of your pussy. You moan out and swiftly clap your hand over your mouth. Then suddenly Astarion is a man starved.
His hand grips the underside of your thighs hard and pulls you down the bed as close as physically possible. He sucks, and licks, piercing his tongue sloppily at your dripping cunt, and you're a mess of pleasure. Your grind against Astarion's face, his nose rubbing beautifully against your clit. If it weren't for Astarion's hands keeping your thighs parted, you probably would be crushing his head in your desperation.
A low groan rumbles from Astarion's chest, and he focuses his attention, sucking tightly on the bundle of nerves. He slips his first and middle finger into your cunt and curls up, causing you to gasp for air. 
"S-star…oh gods!" You cried, and he was ruthless with his assault. Astarion pumped his fingers quickly, the sloppy sounds of his mouth mixed with your muffled moan. Your stomach was coiling with pleasure, and you were embarrassed with how fast Astarion was picking you apart. "I'm close." you whimper, rolling your hips against his face. 
Astarion, after a moment, releases your clit. Still pumping you with his fingers, he looks up at you, chin glistening with your arousal, a smug grin lazily plaster on his lips. "Come for me, love, be a good girl."
With the last few slips of his fingers, the coil snaps, and you're falling apart. Eyes unfocused, muscled tight, the silent gasp of ecstasy stuck in your throat. Astarion watches in amazement and arousal as you come apart so thoroughly with just his mouth and fingers. His cock is aching pre, now dribbling down the shaft. 
Once your orgasm slows, you feel the immense need for more. And with Astarion still nestled between your legs, it has you moving without thought. You push Astarion back and plant yourself on his lap. You mash your mouth against him, chasing the taste of yourself on his tongue. 
Astarion groans and cups the back of your head, deepening the kiss. Your palms roam down his chest, smoothing down his abs until you come to his neglected cock. It's swollen and red, and when you grip it softly, Astarions hisses into your mouth, bucking into your palm. 
Smearing the pre-come around, you slowly work your hand up and down Astarion's dick in long, languid strokes. His eyes glaze over, and he moans, head dropping to your shoulder. Astarion's cold hands fondled your breast, and he leaned down to suck one of your nipples into his mouth. He pulls the metal piercing softly with his teeth. 
You whine and tug on a fist full of Astarion's hair, rubbing your thumb over the head of his cock. "Fuck, darling." Astarion moans, moving to give your other breast equal attention. Your positive marks will be littering your body for days following. And the thought alone causes you to clench your thighs. 
You pump your hand faster, and Astarion meets everyone with thrusts of his hips. He claims your lips again in a sloppy dance of wet tongues. Then suddenly Astarion stills your hand.
"If you keep this up, I'm not going to last much longer." Astarion's pants, nudging your nose with his.
"Isn't that kinda the point, handsome?"
"Not if I want to come apart feeling you clenching around me," Astarion's voice is breathless, and you moan at the thought. He kisses your cheek, then your jaw. Trailing his way to your neck. "Would you like that, my sweet," 
Whatever power you had over Astarion had just turned to dust. You bite your lip and nod quickly, letting Astarion push you on to your back. You part your hips, and Astarion slots right in. 
"Words, my love. You do know how much I love your voice." Such a fucking tease.
Linking your arms around his neck, you pull him down, hitching one of your legs over Astarion's hips. "Please…I need you to fuck me." 
"Shit…" Astarion groans. Taking himself in hand, he smears his dick with your arousal before filling you agonizing inch by inch. 
The two of you let out a collective cry of pleasure, and you feel complete. Astarion pulls out and slams his hips back, ripping the oxygen from your lungs, and sets a steady pace. You clutch at his shoulders, digging your nails into exposed skin. The slick sounds of Astarions pumping in and out of you were depraved and did nothing but fill your lower abdomen with molten lava. Astarion wholly consumed your senses. 
The coolness of his lips left lingering kisses on your arched neck. The smell of bergamot and rosemary flooded your nose with each shaky inhale. The saltiness of any skin you could taste. It was too much and not enough all at once. 
The scrape of Astarion's fangs graze his favorite feeding spot, and you grab the back of his head. "Yes! P-please…" and soon, the icy pierce of his teeth is followed by the cool tingle of pleasure that flows through your body. 
Astarion grunts as soon as the blood touches his tongue. He ruts faster against you, grinding you into the blankets. He has to clamp a hand over your mouth to keep your voice from waking the whole camp. 
But what can you do? Nothing. Not when his other hand begins to roll your clit in tight circles matching his thrusts. Your hands trail down his back, legs hooking tightly around his torso. The angle of your hips changes, and Astarion is pounding into the spot that has you seeing stars. You're close, and you try to say so, but Astarion hand is still tight around your mouth. 
After a last mouthful of blood, Astarions peppers kisses over the bite. "I know, my sweet, I'm…fuck I'm close to." 
His fingers are rubbing your clit faster, and his hips aren't letting up the brutal pace. Your legs are quaking, and you feel like you might faint. You clench tightly around him, and then you fall apart. Suddenly, Astarion's hand is gone, and his tongue is in your mouth, capturing every whimper of pleasure you give. And with a few more swallow sloppy thrusts, Astarion falls over the edge with you, filling you with his spent.
Astarion continue to languidly kiss you, both hands cupping your face like you are the most precious creature on the plane. He barely grinds his hips, feeling the last of your orgasms fade until you are both too sensitive. 
And it's like someone cut the puppet strings. Astarion falls limply onto you, blanketing your body with his. You comb softly through his hair, gently pulling out any knots. Astarion kisses your shoulder before rolling off of you. 
It is silent for a while as you stare into each other's eyes. Astarions is the first to speak. "I love you," His words were barely above the whisper, and if you weren't staring intently at the man, you might have missed it. 
You're speechless. Were you dreaming?
"I still believe you deserve more than the broken man before you. But you've chosen me, and I have felt true happiness for the first time since waking up in my grave. And well-"
You don't give him a moment to finish before you're in his lap and tackling him into an embrace. "I love you, Astarion." 
The dopey grin on his face has you breaking into your own. You press your forehead to his, and he hugs you tightly. You don't know what tomorrow brings. But being here, seeing Astarion's smile, and knowing he loves you just as much as you love him. It feels like you can do anything. 
Okay, friends, this was just so fun to write. Let me know what ya thought. I swear all the love and support I've received from my last few posts have been so amazing. I'm so excited to show you more!!!
If you liked this, maybe you'll like one of these?
Happy Birthday (fluffy)
Reoccurring Nightmares (hurt/comfort)
Tag list?: @heartfully10
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lidiasloca · 29 days ago
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when azriel breaks
azriel x reader
angst
a/n: pls send requests!
⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄��⠁⠁⠂⠄☆
"Come to bed," you murmured, your voice soft, almost devoid of authority.
"Five minutes," Azriel replied for what felt like the tenth time that night. He had been consumed by the report for hours now, and it was already so late. You craved sleep—and you wanted him to rest too.
"Nooo. Azriel, come to bed already. You need to sleep." Frustration leaked into your voice when he didn’t respond, so you added, "You’ve been torturing yourself with this work. Please, just come to bed."
He didn’t acknowledge you, his focus unwavering as he continued writing, pouring over the stack of papers in front of him.
"Azriel," you pleaded, watching as his hand moved faster, the scribbling growing more erratic, almost frantic. The sight of your mate, so consumed, so tormented, made your heart ache. He had always struggled with boundaries between his work and well-being. "Please."
"No!" he snapped suddenly, standing up with such force that his chair toppled over. "I asked for five fucking minutes, Y/N! Five minutes and you can’t even—" His voice broke off, his breath coming in shuddering gasps. You, on the other hand, were struggling to breathe yourself, the sting of his outburst catching you off guard. "I just want to finish—I just…"
His voice cracked, and you heard the tears he was trying to swallow.
"Azriel," you whispered, crossing the room in an instant, your own tears threatening to spill over.
"It’s just a report," he whispered, almost to himself. "I just—"
Unsure but determined, you cupped his face in your hands, gently guiding his unfocused gaze toward you. "It’s okay," you soothed, feeling the dampness of his cheeks and the rapid thrum of his heartbeat beneath your fingertips.
"It’s not okay," he rasped, tears spilling freely now. "Nothing is okay." He looked so lost, so broken, and for a moment, you didn’t know what to say. But you knew what to do. You pulled him into your arms, holding him tight as his sobs wracked his body.
"But it will be," you whispered against his ear. "Whatever it is, Azriel, we’ll get through it. It will get better. We’ll make it better." You tried to keep your voice steady, to comfort him, but his gut-wrenching sobs threatened to break you too. You had to be strong—for him. It was the least you could do. He had always been strong for you, despite the pain he carried inside.
Maybe that was the problem. Maybe he had been pretending for too long, carrying burdens he never should have borne alone. You didn’t know the answer, but you made a silent vow then and there. Whatever was torturing him, you would help him fight it.
When you felt his weak nod against your shoulder, you pulled back slightly, just enough to look into his tear-streaked face. "What if you slept now? Will that help?"
He nodded again, and without another word, you took his hand and led him to bed. You both climbed under the covers, and you instinctively wrapped yourself around him, holding him close.
You thought he had drifted off when, in a barely audible whisper, he said, "It was just a report."
"It was just a report, Az. It’s not important."
"Not important," he repeated, almost as if he were convincing himself.
"But you are important," you whispered back, your words soft yet firm. "So much more important than a stupid report."
This time, he didn’t nod.
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-Charcaters by Sarah J Maas
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seospicybin · 2 months ago
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INEXPERIENCED.
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Han x reader. (s)
Synopsis: One of your subordinates wasn’t performing the way you would have liked, you invited him for a drink in the hopes of encouraging him only to discover that he's inexperienced in other things too. (7,5k words)
Author's note: Let me know if you want a second part. Oh, and happy birthday, Hannie! ♡
"Goddammit!"
The chief's voice is sharp and loud like a crack of thunder but instead of lightning, it comes with a stack of papers hurling toward you.
Fortunately, it's breezing past the side of your head as it scatters in the air and the papers float before they make a quiet landing on the floor.
"Have you been teaching those under your wing right?" The chief yells again, this time personally aimed it toward you with his nostrils flared and his neck gets all red whether from the anger or his collar is too tight, or both.
"Don't make light of our work here!"
It's always safe to apologize first and explain later, it's even better if there are no explanations at all and admit right away that it's your fault.
"We're very sorry, sir!" You sincerely say while keeping your head down, you secretly glance to the side to check on someone and he does the same thing too.
"I'll take responsibility for this," you openly accept the blame as a good senior would do.
"Enough with your apologies!" The chief lowers his voice as he rubs on his wrist and you guess he got hurt from hurling the papers at you with all of his strength.
"Just go back to your work and do it right!" The chief yells once more as he hides the pain around his wrist.
You nod and put on a courteous smile, "Please, excuse us," you say.
You quickly make your way out of his office along with your junior co-worker and none of you say anything until you both turn into the hallway that leads you back to your office.
The person next to you, Han, stops walking and turns to face you, he's looking down at his feet when he apologizes, "I'm sorry. It was my mistake but I dragged you into this."
With a job comes a responsibility and when you get tasked to take him under your wing, you are fully aware that he's your responsibility and his mistake will be your mistake too. Since he's new, it's understandable that he stumbled on things but the problem is he's done it a couple of times already in the last five months he's been working here.
However, you remember you were once in his position and you've experienced how stressful it can be when everyone is pressing you from all sides, you don't want that for him so you try to be a compassionate senior for him.
You gently place your hand on his shoulder and smile at him, "The most important thing is you acknowledge your mistake and apologize. Now, we can just laugh it off," you tell him.
Han lifts his head, showing how sorry he is with his eyebrow downturn and wistful eyes, "We can't just laugh it off," he meekly says.
You put your hand on the small of his back and whisk him away to continue walking down the hallway, "Let's just laugh it off and have a few drinks tonight," you console him.
"Maybe just one drink," he says, feeling concerned with what you mean by a few drinks.
"Let's drink until morning!" You jokingly say, linking your arm with his.
"We can't drink until morning," Han meekly says as you keep dragging him along with you.
"Oh, come on!" You gently slap him on the chest and get surprised by the firm muscles he has under his crisp white shirt, "It's my treat."
-
What's a high-paying job when he earns more stress than money?
Han should consider himself lucky that he has you as a senior. Not only that you're nice, you are so kind and patient with him, you teach him everything he needs to know about his job and the company. You always try to cheer him up when he gets chewed off by the chief. You're not only making this job bearable to him, you make it possible for him to enjoy his work with you around.
"Oh, no!" You gasp as you see the sign taped on the front door of the bar.
"Our sanctuary!" You cry with your lips pursed and your shoulders sagged.
Closed for renovation, it says on it.
It's such a shame that the bar that you both regularly visit is closed on days like this when he needs to drink his sorrow away and just decompress.
"Shall we go somewhere else?" He suggests while scratching the back of his head, raking his brain for any bar he knows in this area.
Your face brightens as the light bulb in your head dings with an idea, "How about we drink at my place?"
"Huh?" His eyes burrowed in slight shock and confusion.
"Come on! It's just around the corner," you don't wait for his answer, you link your arm around him and whisk him away with you.
Turns out, you're not lying about your place is just around the corner. You live in a small house with a miniature garden in the back and everywhere he looks, there's a potted plant sitting in the corner of the room.
It creates such a contrast to the hustling and bustling of the city and the stressful environment at work, it offers a pleasant atmosphere that instantly puts him at ease.
Keeping the window open, the wind chime sings a tune every time a gust of wind brushes in between, sending them clinking against each other.
"How do you manage to take care of all of these plants?" He asks in wonder, foolishly touching the tiny thorns on one of your succulents.
"It's easy," you answer from the kitchen, "You just need to water them."
Han saunters into the kitchen, ready to offer his help as you stand on your tiptoe to get glasses from the top cabinet. He notices the big jar of dark brown liquid with something floating on the surface.
"What is that?"
"That's what we'll be drinking tonight," you answer with a smile.
Being the gentleman he is, he carries the big jar of mysterious drink to the living room, carefully puts it down on the table, and then sits on the floor, looking at it with curious eyes.
"It's cherry brandy," you inform.
"You made it yourself?" He wildly guesses.
"I am," you answer with a proud smile, opening the jar with all of your strength.
As soon as the lid cracks open, Han is already intoxicated by the sweet, alcohol-tinted aroma that is wafting around the room. He watches as you dip the ladle and meticulously pour it into the glass. He knows now that the things bobbing on the surface are the cherries.
"But how?" He asks in wonder as he observes the drink in his hand.
"It's just cherries, sugar, and vodka, put them in the jar, shake them, put them in the dark for weeks, and voila!" You easily share the recipe and the comprehensive steps for making it.
"No, I mean, how do you have time to do all these?" He asks, utterly befuddled.
Work is draining enough to him that he has no energy left to do other things than rest, and when he gets time, he uses it on something as frivolous as playing video games. That explains why he can't relate to your way of life because how?
You look at him and snort as if his question is inane and the answer is obvious. You get up from the floor as you say, "I'm going to get the cheese."
"Please don't tell me you also made the cheese yourself," he jokingly asks because he already has so much respect for you.
This cherry brandy is dangerous. The cherries mask the taste of the alcohol and all Han can taste is the sweet and tangy flavor of the cherries, but he's aware that he's getting lightheaded with every sip of it. The worst part is he can't stop drinking it.
You're using his drunk state as a chance to tease him and he starts grouching, slurring his words doing it.
"What I'm saying is you always change the topic to me apologizing," he whines with his lips forming a cute pout.
"I'm not," you deny, taking a piece of cheese in between sips.
"I know I am incompetent," he grumbles then hisses at the alcohol burning down his throat.
"I beg to differ. I don't think you're incompetent."
"What then? Incapable? Pathetic? Useless?"
"I think you're just... inexperienced and that's okay," you pause to pick a handful of cherries from the jar with the ladle, "I know that you're sorry and you'll keep trying to be better. I have faith in you, Han."
Han didn't know that he needed to hear that until now. Suddenly, the tightness in his chest loosens, and he feels liberated. He can finally breathe and enjoy his drink with ease.
"Let's impress the chief with our next presentation, okay?" You softly smile at him, raising your glass to invite him for a toast.
Returning the spirit, Han smiles and raises his glass, clinking it with yours as he promises himself to prove that you're not wasting your faith in him.
"Damn! This cherry brandy is so good," he praises with his nose scrunched reacting to the aftertaste.
"Can you do this?" You pop a cherry into your mouth while holding the stem between your thumb and index finger.
"Do what?"
You put the stem into your mouth next and begin moving your mouth, almost like chewing it. After a while, you stick your tongue out, revealing the stem is knotted now. It's impressive, yes, but his eyes are focusing on your lips and how they're glistening wet, probably tastes as sweet as a cherry too.
"That's kind of uh..." he's not sure if what he's about to say is appropriate so he decides not to finish his sentence, "Wow!"
"They say that if you can do this that means you're a good kisser," you remark as you fish out more cherries out of the jar with the ladle.
He hesitates but considering that he's not in a workplace and the alcohol dulls his brain, it can no longer tell what's appropriate or not anymore.
"Are you?"
"Mmh?" You hum in question with a cherry tug between your teeth.
"Are you a good kisser?" He daringly asks.
You bite through the cherry and he can the juice flooding your mouth, you're chewing it as you're looking at him, making him wait for your answer in anticipation.
Then you lean forward on the table, you prop a hand under your chin and slightly tilt your head to the side, "Want to try?"
The way you both execute it is like two teenagers doing seven minutes in heaven. You're both sitting facing each other on the floor with your legs folded under you and awkwardly looking at each other.
All of a sudden, you lean in close until both of your faces are merely inches away from each other. Your lips slowly curl into a smile as you stare into his warm brown eyes.
"You have beautiful eyes."
He can't only handle that much and smiles at your compliment, "Thank you."
"But I need you to close them for now."
"Okay," he obeys your order and closes his eyes.
A minute later, Han just realized what he'd done to himself. With his eyes closed, he can't see what you're doing and he can only wait in anticipation with his heart pitter-patter in his chest.
"Where should I start, mmh?"
He hears you mutter and he knows that it's a rhetorical question, you don't need an answer, you do that just to build his anticipation.
In the next moment, Han feels your breath fanning over his ear, sending goose bumps down his neck, then softly, you press a kiss to his left temple.
“Hmm... where to now?” The words are spoken softly against his skin, each one a caress.
He knows it's yet another rhetorical question but it's enough to send his heart rattling like someone sets firecrackers in his chest.
The tip of your nose grazes his skin as you move lower and you surprise him with a kiss on his cheek, making him close his eyes tightly as impatient sears through him.
As if you hear his thoughts, you land the next kiss on the corner of his mouth, so close yet not exactly where he wants your lips to be.
Then you rest your hand on his jaw, holding him in place as you press an innocent peck on his lips. A tingling sensation bounces around in his chest and a second after you pull away only to sink your lips on his again.
This time, you take the lead, you're showing him how it's done, drawing the kisses out. When your tongue slips between his lips, he goes stock-still. He can't comprehend that your tongue is in his mouth, hot and wet, swirling around his tongue.
This is it. This is kissing and kissing is this good. Oh, man, no one tells him that it's this good!
When you break the kiss, he almost lets out a whimper of complaint from the sudden loss of contact.
"What do you think?" You ask, biting your lower lip but he notices a grin peeking around the edges of your mouth.
"The best kiss I've ever had," he honestly admits.
You let out a soft laugh, "We're not at work. You don't have to suck me up," you say, not entirely buying his words.
"B-but I'm not lying," he assures you with his eyebrows downturn and his dark eyes looking at you.
You take your glass of cherry brandy and have a small sip, "Well, if the only other person you've ever kissed is your mum, then I'll take you on that," you jokingly say.
Something catches in his throat and it's the truth. Han doesn't plan on telling anyone about it or ever for that matter but he deems you're trustworthy enough to keep this secret for him.
"I'm a virgin," he meekly confesses.
The handle of the ladle slips off your fingers and it clatters to the bottom of the jar, "Pardon?"
"I have never had sex with anyone," the hesitation makes his voice quiver at the end of his sentence.
You bring your glass close to your mouth but not drink it, "When I said you're inexperienced, I didn't think that it included the dating area."
Now it feels like he's just told you his defect and his nerves are being replaced by a wave of regret. His eyes wander off, his voice turns small.
"Was that a turn-off?"
You take a cherry from your drink and shove it into your mouth, as you chew on it a sly smirk rises on your face. You lick your lips and then lean forward, "If I say that I'll pop your cherry..."
Your hand reaches for his face and the pressure of your fingertips on his chin makes him face you again, leading him to believe you want eye contact.
"What would you do?"
-
The tension is climbing fast when you both enter your bedroom, he can't even see his surroundings as both of your lips are locked in a rapturous kiss and you lead him in one direction, the bed.
The moment you have him lying on the bed and you pin him under, his skin gets hot and sensitive, his pulse drumming with eagerness. His cock digs in his slacks, reminding him that it's real and it's not some fantasies he's making up in his head. He is sure he's been turned on before but he can't remember when, even if he did, he's sure it wasn't this much.
From there, it's raining kisses on his lips, and in between the aching presses of your lips, your tongue caresses him, making his skin tingle. When he tries to capture your tongue to take into himself, you evade him. You tease him more by brushing at his lips and dip your tongue inside for a mere second, then quickly withdraw, making him almost groan in frustration.
Okay, he gets it, you're a good kisser so stop playing, he complains in his head.
The way you smile against his lips only means that you know what you're doing and enjoying it. Impulsively, Han decides to seal your mouth with his and touches your tongue with his, an explosion of taste in his mouth, sweet, tangy, tart, so. fucking. addictive.
As he's drunk in your kisses, you run your hand down his body and eventually discover his member poking through the front of his slacks.
"Wow!" You lowly gasp yet continue rubbing his clothed bulge, "You're already this hard?"
Since it's his first time, he doesn't know how to properly react or respond, but he's familiar with this feeling tugging inside him, insecurity.
"I'm sorry," he meekly apologizes.
You gently cup his jaw and stare into his dark, round eyes, "What to be sorry for?"
To assure him, you place a long, lingering kiss on his lips and then sit straddling him on the bed. You untuck the hem of your blouse out of your skirt and bring your fingers to the top button.
"My junior pops a boner on me..." you maintain eye contact with him as you continue undoing all the buttons on your blouse, "Then I can't just look and do nothing."
It's a mystery how he doesn't get blind from seeing your bare upper half body but he knows his eyes are almost out of their sockets the second you take your blouse off, revealing your soft mounds hanging beautifully on your chest.
You're already gorgeous with your clothes on but like this, it's too much for him. He swallows hard as you glide your hand down your sternum and he sees how your fingers lightly graze your nipple as you cup the underside.
You take both of his hands and put them on your breasts, then, you let them go just to see what he's going to do with them.
Nothing. He does nothing but look at his hands holding your breasts and you almost grin at how he looks at them with eyes filled with childlike wonder.
You tilt your head to the side, "So what do you think?"
"They're so soft," he innocently answers.
You hold his hands and move them together, fondling your breasts together with him, you gesture his thumb to play with your hardening bud. Soon, he's doing it himself, kneading on your breasts and once in a while, rubbing his fingers over your nipples.
After a while of letting him touch them, you deem he's ready for more, "Want to kiss them?"
His eyes glance up from your chest to your eyes and then stifle a nod. You scoot a little to the back as he rises from the bed, and this new position brings his mouth close to your breasts.
Sensing his hesitation, you say, "Go ahead. Put your mouth on them."
As he stares at them in silence, Han swallows air, sending his Adam's apple bobbing inside his throat before softly landing his small, pouty lips on the valley of your breasts, a long peck that leaves a searing feeling on your skin and then buries his head in between.
A ragged breath escaped your mouth as you encircled your arms around him, drawing him closer. You tangle your hand in his hair, dark, loose curls, caught between your fingers.
Seconds stretched into minutes and Han hasn't done anything but rests one side of his head on your sternum.
"You're not falling asleep, are you?" You jokingly ask.
"No," his voice is small and low, almost like a whisper.
You reckon he needs some pointers on ways to play with them, you glide your hand to the back of his head and tilt his head slightly upward, just enough to make him look at you.
"How about we put them in your mouth?" You ask with your hand softly scratching the tendrils of hair on the nape of his neck.
You lead him by placing your hand on his jaw and with your thumb, you trace his lower lip, then slowly, you part his mouth open with it. You let him do the rest and he catches up fast, he opens his mouth a little wider and takes your ample flesh, then closes his mouth around it.
Han is following his instincts, he tightens his grip around you and pulls you closer so he can feast on you. He has your breasts in his face, his mouth, rolling on his tongue. He can play with them all day.
As you gaze down at your chest, you see his lips wrapped around your nipple and his hand kneading on the other, both stimulations sending you twist and arch your back, your ass making friction on his crotch.
"You like them, huh?"
Without detaching his mouth from your nipple, he answers, "I like this."
He moves his mouth to the other nipple and sucks on it, "and this."
It's such an erotic sight that you feel a tingle down there. You bring your hands to the side of your breasts and push them to the middle so he can suck them all at once.
Han doesn't need more pointers, he knows what he wants and going for it. More importantly, he knows this is no fantasy playing in his head. This moment, you, and his undeniable attraction to you are all real.
He's slowly yet surely claiming your body in any way he can, he drags his lips up your throat, along your jaw, back toward your mouth, kissing you like it's his lifeline and he's hanging on a thin thread.
A murmuring sound hums in your throat as you kiss him back while your hands go down his back, taking the tail of his shirt out of his slacks. You draw your hands back to the front, unbuttoning his shirt and your patience wears thin as you get to the last one, you end up ripping it open.
A sigh escapes your mouth as you place your hand on his bare chest, but it's the swell of his chest muscles that distracts you from your exploration. You never touch hard rounded flesh like this before and his skin is searing hot under your fingertips. Gosh! You want to touch him all over.
As you sink your mouth into his again, you run your greedy hands over his arms, his chest, and his abs. You also admire his exceptional shoulders-to-waist ratio.
On the other hand, Han isn't prepared when you stroke over the fly of his pants, a jolt of pleasure coursed through him and his cock twitches in excitement, and a hoarse groan falls out of his mouth. His mind goes haywire as you unbutton and unzip his slacks, then you withdraw the hard length of his cock. He's almost losing it when your eyes go dark with so much want.
"Oh, so hot," you breathlessly gasp as you wrap your fingers around his swelling member, "mmh... so hard for me."
It's obvious that you have the experience, you seem to know where to touch, what would please him the most, the rhythm he prefers, and know when to pick up the pumping of your hand around his length.
"Am I doing good?" You casually ask, acting like you don't see the effect of your stimulations on him.
"Good," his voice is trembling with so much intensity.
As much as he likes it, he doesn't want to risk coming all over your palm, he wants to explore more of you and more ways to do that to you.
"Want... to... touch you," That's all he can mutter after forcing his brain to form a coherent sentence.
"Want to touch me?"
"Yes."
"Where?"
"There," he lowly whispers that he doubts you can hear it.
You give him a haste kiss before answering his request by sitting on your knees, you swiftly undo the hook fastening at the side of your skirt and then ease the zipper over the sweet curve of your hip. Instead of sitting back down, you get off his lap and slowly lay yourself down on the bed. You raise your hips to lower the skirt down and then out of your legs.
"Now, come here," You're patting the space next to you.
It puts him in a trance seeing you lying naked on the bed with only your white underwear on, the fabric is so flimsy it leaves nothing to the imagination.
After a struggling minute, his brain finally manages to process your command, he lays next to you. You waste no time but gently hold his chin, then bring his head close for a kiss.
Maybe it's because you're too good at this that makes Han feels he needs to rise to the level. He does more than a kiss, he licks, he nibbles at your lips, and his tongue daringly invades your mouth to get as much of that sweet taste of you.
A hand finds him and you're taking it with you, placing it on you, guiding him to where you like to be touched. Your neck, across your chest, the underside of your breasts, around the navel and you keep leading him south, not stopping until his hand meets your clothed sex.
"It's wet," he blurts out as he feels the dampness of your underwear against his palm.
"It's even wetter underneath," you mutter against his lips.
Curiosity gets the best of him, he checks right away to see if what you said is true. He slips his hand under the fabric and immediately gets the answer. You're drenched and it gets all over his fingers the more he touches you.
"Oh, my God..." you arch your back against his hand, offering more of you to touch.
He feels encouraged to please you more, he pulls your underwear to the side and slips one finger into you. Low murmurs tumble from your lips and it tells him that this is what you want. He works a second finger in, and the stretching sensation has your head falling back and your heels dug into the bed.
"Curl them," you instruct as you push into penetration.
Han doesn't obey your words right away, he allows his fingers to ease in and out, feeling you out and catching you off guard, he curls his fingers inside you, startling a breathless gasp from you.
With your eyes closed, you lick your lips and then ask, “Are you sure it's your first time?"
His insecurity kicks in again as you show sheer doubt in your question, “What do you mean by that?”
You open your eyes and slyly smile at him, “It means so far you’re very good at it.”
The moment he hears that his insecurity turns into confidence. He applies slow, measured movements and does what he thinks would please you, using your lewd noises as the guide. The motions seem to calm you even as they put you on edge.
Your hand hikes its way up to his arm then nestles in his tousled hair, "My, my! You really are a capable boy when you try," you praise with dazed eyes and a sly grin.
This should offend him but it does nothing but stroke his ego in the best way. Other than that, he just wants to please you more and more even though he has no idea how. The better question is: what to do next?
"Do you mind taking my underwear off for me?"
He doesn't answer but hurriedly gets himself to do it, fingers tugging at the waistband of your underwear, then slowly, pulling it down your legs. The scrape of his nails on your skin sends a shudder down your spine.
"There you go!" You delightfully exclaim once the underwear is off of you.
You get comfortable on the bed, propping an elbow on the mattress as you lie slightly to the side, "Now, take your clothes off."
He's just realized now that his shirt is still loosely draped around his shoulders and his slacks are bunched around his thighs with his hard-on hanging out of his boxer.
With naughty eyes, you watch as he removes the pieces of clothing until there's none left but miles of miles of honey skin. You run one hand down your front then part your legs open, you don't seem to be embarrassed touching yourself in front of him and he finds that very sexy.
Little does he know, what you're about to do next is far sexier.
You put your hands on the back of your knees and then slowly, you pull them apart, exposing your glistening wet core to him.
Han admits that he hasn't seen enough to know but he's sure he's looking at one of the prettiest pussy he's ever seen, glistening wet, pulsating with so much desire, and so damn inviting. Looking at it makes him swallow air, hard.
He wants to play it cool but he fails at it, he wants you so much, he becomes this one big ache of wanting.
As he's about to lower himself on you, you block him from coming closer with your hand on his chest, "Oh, we almost forgot the condom."
You twist your body to the side, hand reaching for the handle of your bedside drawer and pull it open. To cut time, he grabs it for you from a box full of condoms inside the drawer.
"Want me to put it on?" You offer.
"Yes," he shortly answers, not caring if he sounds so eager.
You tear through the foil wrapper and take out the rubber, you give his length a gentle stroke before rolling the rubber down, then you pinch the end to make room for his completion.
You lay back on the bed, head resting on the pillow and a smile lingering on your face, showing him that you're comfortable enough to continue.
"You know what to do next," you say as you rub your hand up and down his forearm.
As he hesitates, you wrap your hand around his cock and rub it between your folds, milking more essence to prepare you for penetration. You're getting impatient for him but you let him decide when to enter you.
After a while, Han finally aligns his cock to your entrance, and with a shallow breath, he pushes just enough until his tip disappeared inside you.
Oh, the face he makes as he enters you, it's priceless.
"I can take a little more," you assure him with fingers lightly scraping the skin of his arms.
"I just—" he bites back a groan and tugs his lower lips between his teeth, "Give me a moment. This is my first time."
As you lay underneath and hear that, you find him hot and cute at the same time, butterflies explode in your stomach and fly around in amok.
"Kiss me," you sweetly ask, bringing his head close with your hand holding his chin.
Han fulfills your wish, lowering his mouth on you again as you wrap your arms around him. As he calms down from the rising tension, you bring your hands down to his hips and nudge him to push more into you.
"Oh..." his groan is hoarse and raw, spilling into your open mouth.
"I want all of you inside me," you whine against his lips.
Conveniently, what you want aligns with what he wants, he pushes the rest of his length inside you until he's fully sheathed in your warm, velvety walls.
A shaky breath escapes his mouth and he buries his head in your neck, you can hear every shudder of his breath, getting heavier with each passing second.
The two of you savor the moment—not speaking, not moving, not doing anything, just being with someone. The room is so quiet you hear the cars driving by outside and the occasional sounds of the wind-chime from the living room.
With a passionate kiss on your lips, he begins moving, he withdraws then thrusts, and the pace turns quick all of a sudden. You understand that this is his first time but he can't fully enjoy it when he's going at a light speed in a second.
"Hey, slow down," You calmly say with a soft peck on his lips and jaw, "don't rush."
He abruptly stops moving for a second and lets out a low sigh, "Sorry, I can't help myself."
Why he has to be this cute in a heating moment like this? You can't help but smile and peck his small lips again. You keep your hand on his neck, feeling the blood rushing in his veins.
"This is our first time," you say, "I want it to be special."
"Okay," he says with repeated nods.
Our first time. That sounds like you're hinting that this will be the first of many. Han feels a flutter all over his body hearing that.
Our first time, he replays it in the back of his head for his own amusement.
Keeping your words in mind, he continues where he left off, thrusting into you again at a moderate speed until he finds his pace. You give him the closeness he seeks by spreading your legs wider and wrapping them around his dainty waist.
In between kisses and moans, you tenderly gaze into his eyes and ask, "So, how do I feel?"
He forces his brain to try and compute words, "You feel hot... slippery and tight."
He pauses to clear his throat and adds, "You feel so good."
"I know," You softly smile and land a peck on his lips, "You feel so good inside me too."
Gosh! If he knew that sex felt this good, he would have done it sooner. He believes that it's all because of you. There's no guarantee that it would feel this good with someone else.
The way you keep clenching tighter around him means that he's doing well but on the other hand, it brings him closer to the edge. How long does sex usually last? He doesn't know but it seems like he can't hold himself back anymore.
"I'm sorry but I think I'm about to come," he says through his gritted teeth.
You hastily kiss his lips, "do you want to cum, mmh?"
Now that you asked him, he doesn't feel good about saying yes because you seem like you still want to continue. He changes his mind, convincing himself he can hold back a little longer.
"No, I can't— I shouldn't," he mutters while shaking his head.
"You hold back so much despite it being your first time," you say with a sly smile.
You put your arms around his shoulders, clinging to him, and swiftly, you roll him to the side, forcing him to lay back on the bed while you get on top of him.
"Alright then..." you sigh as you run both hands down his chest, "Try not to come as hard as you can."
Han should've taken your warning seriously. He gaps so loudly as you start rolling your hips against him, back and forth, then in circular motions, painstakingly slow. He's hopelessly grasping at the last shred of sanity left in him.
It's impossible to hold back anymore when you're fucking him good and he's watching you enjoying it with your breasts bouncing along to the slightest of movement, your nails clawing at his chest and the sexiest part of all is that blissful smile plastered on your face.
For a timeless moment, Han hovers on the brink, breathless, until the orgasm crashes over him and he grips at your thighs as you drive into him relentlessly. He hasn't finished with his orgasm yet he can feel your muscles fluttering around him and clamping him down.
With a hoarse groan, you surge into him one last time and come around him, then slowly, you lower your shaking body to the bed.
Without thinking, Han holds you close like you are his. He puts his arms around you and you burrow your head into the crook of his neck as you hold him back.
"Congratulations!" You whisper.
"Mmh?" He asks with dazed eyes.
"Your cherry has been popped!"
-
Han jolts awake the next morning, he's seeing you sleeping next to him, in your room and the sun is shining so brightly outside. The first thought that comes to his mind is he's late for work and panicked.
He rises from the bed and gasps, "Oh, God! Did I oversleep?!"
You put your hand on his chest and pull him to lay back on the bed, "It's Saturday," you sleepily croak.
"Oh? Right..." His panic turns into embarrassment and he blames his body clock for that.
You scoot close to his side and put your arm across his chest, fingertips lightly trailing his collarbone. It feels nice, and snug. Why would he try to leave this heavenly feeling of lazing on the bed with you?
But he's aware that he should also consider that you might want your personal space back and he doesn't want to overstay his visit.
"I uhm... I probably should go," he says yet not moving an inch.
He hears you draw a breath then drop your hand to cup his jaw, "Okay."
Again, Han remains still on the bed, lying so close next to you and in your warm embrace. You suddenly lift your head and roll to the side, overlapping his body with yours.
"Before you leave, want to shower with me first?"
This is unexpected but he's not complaining at all. He reminds himself to keep calm and try to come up with a playful response.
"So we can have sex again?"
You crack a laugh at that and rest your chin on his chest, you gently tap his cheek with your index finger, "Now that you're no longer a virgin, you think you're so hot, huh?"
It hasn't completely sunk into him that he had sex for the first time last night and the reminder makes his heart flutter.
He keeps his cool and nonchalantly shrugs, "Just a little."
-
As much as he tries his best to resist it, Han keeps following you with his eyes.
Yes, he's aware of how creepy it is and he wants to act normal, it makes it obvious that he feels something toward you.
Or rather, why are you able to act normal about this?
He admits that he likes that part about you, you are aware that this is a workplace and there shouldn't be personal business involved within.
However, Han can't help but wonder if he's the only one still thinking about that night.
Now that he thinks about it, you and him never really agreed on what to call this relationship, is it just casual or do you want to take it further, and is not talking about it an adult thing to do?
"Ugh, I don't know," he doesn't mean to let it out loud but thankfully, no one is there to hear it.
His eyes hovering over you again, he slightly swivels his office chair to the side and watches you checking files from one of your juniors. He finds it attractive that you have a crease between your eyebrows whenever you're focused on something and the way you flip the page then hold it between your fingers, oh, it does something to him.
"It looks good," you say as you put the files back, "You can proceed with this one."
Your junior takes the file back from you and holds it in front of her as she asks, "Will you come to our company dinner tomorrow night?"
You don't even consider it but answer right away, "Yes, sure, I'll be there."
Your junior responds with a warm smile, "That's great!"
After your junior leaves, you collect some files from your desk, get up, and bring them with you as you make your way toward his desk.
He doesn't know why but he shoots up from his chair as if he gets caught doing something. You stop by his desk and you have no idea how thankful he is, imagine if you walked past his desk, he would be so fucking embarrassed.
"Han, these are the documents for the next meeting," you say, showing him the files you're holding, "Can you organize them for me?"
"Absolutely!" He answers without a beat.
He thinks you have nothing else to do for him but you linger by his side and then slowly lean into his side while keeping the files open, covering half of your faces.
"Isn't the day after tomorrow is your birthday?" You ask.
His breath hitches either from the proximity or the fact that you know about this birthday, "Yes. How do you know?"
"Oh, well..." You slightly shrug instead of telling him the answer.
Taking him by surprise, you lean in closer and then place a soft kiss on his cheek. His breath catches in his throat and he feels a hiccup coming. He looks around to see if anyone saw that but the official remains lively as usual.
"What's that for?" He manages to ask while holding his cheek as if he is trying to hide the mark even though there is nothing but the searing feeling it leaves on his skin.
"An early birthday present," you simply answer with a smile then walk back to your desk.
Han used to dread company dinner because it requires him to drink and he's bad at drinking.
The first round is at a barbecue place, the drinking is moderate, and he can slow down the drinking by shoving food in between.
On the second round, they're going for a karaoke bar and that's when it gets tricky, someone will somehow notice if he hasn't drunk enough and force him to get on their level. If only they had any ideas that he'd be likely blacked out from drinking as much as them.
By the time the second round ends, Han finds himself stumbling on his way out of the karaoke bar. He's not drunk but he knows he's one drink away from it. Someone grabs his arm and without looking, he knows that it's you. No one likes to link their arms with him, except you.
"Hey, do you want to get out of here?" You keep your voice low to not let anyone else hear it.
"Yes," he answers without thinking and frankly, you can take him anywhere you want.
"Round three! Let's go!" The team manager shouts, half slurring his words and leading everyone to go.
"But–but how about...?" He stutters, pointing at their co-workers walking away and he's afraid that the two of you might get in trouble for ditching everyone else.
"Don't worry about it," you assure him, walking to the other way of where everyone else is going and at the end of the street, you hail a taxi.
It's obvious that he doesn't know where you're taking him until you tell the taxi driver to pull over and he steps out of the taxi, finding himself at the front of a hotel.
He follows you as you walk across the lobby, coming toward the reception to check in for a stay. The process only takes a few minutes and you get handed a keycard.
He can simply ask you why you're taking him here but it would be so naive of him, right? The most important thing is he likes where this is going.
Arrive at your floor, you lead the way to the room and even though he's still feeling a little lightheaded, his eyes can't seem to look away from watching your back figure as you walk in front of him with your hips swaying side to side and that pencil you always wear to work does nothing but accentuate the shape of your—
"I'm sorry, Han," you suddenly apologize as you walk up to a door and he guesses it must be the room you're assigned to.
"Yes?" He asks, confounded.
Instead of getting into the room first, you turn around on your feet and stand with your back facing the door while holding the keycard in your hands.
"You see I don't really know what you'd like for your birthday so..." your voice turns lower the more you speak but it's the soft gaze and the way you're looking at him through your lashes that suddenly makes it hard to breathe.
"I was thinking we could go shopping together but I can't help myself."
There's no physical contact whatsoever but he gets hot all over, he licks his lips as his eyes flick to your lips that tempted him to kiss.
"I've been thinking about being alone with you and all the things we could do together."
He is right to not ask the question but God, he likes the answer to it.
"So... will this do?" You ask, your eyes filled with wild, naughty glints.
Instead of answering, he takes the keycard from your hand and puts it close to the scanner on the handle of the door, it automatically clicks open.
Now, you know the answer. He couldn't ask for a better birthday present than what's going to happen in this hotel room.
-
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c4ts4ndstuff · 2 years ago
Text
my theory for the Santa Clause series, is it's going to end with Cal being the new Santa
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