#I don’t think I ever would’ve expected that | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

spicy30 · 3 days ago

Text

Modernness of 1400s 009

Pairing: HOTD x Fem!Modern!Reader

(Repost with extra things added at the end)

Extra: The reader is noted to be bilingual (Spanish speaking) and is familiar with the majority of Latin-based languages, No use of Y/N

Rating: 18+ (Use of drugs)

Not proofread

Tags: @fan-goddess @meowmeowmothermeower @bunxia @your-favorite-god @coolalienstatesmansports @georgiatesulitsyeykite @qwerrtsworld @wegottastayfocus @dakota-rain666 @talilosha @the-deep-dark-abyss @101crows @agustdeeyaa @ggglich-exe @illjhhlisa @deepeststarlightmoon @cluelessteam @a-fruity-snack @i-zenin @justablondeeee @feyresqueen @yduimobsessed @pinkluv29 @xmenteria @itwaszzmoon

WC: 16k

1st day of the 6th moon of 129AC

Dear Prince Jacaerys of House Velaryon,

It has been a week since my departure from DragonStone and I was not able to bid you farewell properly, but most importantly—I was not able to apologize. I am sorry. I shouldn’t should not have said that. It was in crude taste, but I understand you shoulder a great weight and for me to add to that, I am sorry. Since I have arrived here, you have been one of my only friends and I value your friendship more than anything I have here. You are the only person who knows who I am, and I mean who I truly am. Not someone from Essos or wherever else other people think I’m from. You have seen things that I doubt I will ever show anyone ever again because I trust you as a friend and I am sorry that I have offended you and I am sorry for even speaking such things in the first place. I do not wish to lose you as a friend.

(P.S. I would’ve rewrote the letter but I ran out of paper.)

…

Three weeks left, it’s all you have before you have to present your grand ideas of a capitalist economy and yet you were here slaving away in the kitchen because your cannabis plant finally dried properly.

“What are you doing?” A voice sounded behind you and you jumped.

“Wha-” You turned around to see Aegon. “What are you doing here? This is a kitchen. Only servants enter.”

“Exactly servants. Have you been demoted?” Aegon laughed looking at you. Your dress is covered in smeared handprints of flour.

“No. If you must know, I'm doing something your father asked of me.” You turned around going back to mixing your concoction. Aegon peeked over your shoulder with a grin. “That looks like—” He pointed and you slapped his hand away.

“Yes I know, shut up.” You went back to mixing the white sticky substance.

“What is it?” You didn’t respond so Aegon looked around the kitchen seeing your mess. There were white squares and he touched them. It was soft, fluffy. “Can I eat this?”

That seemed to catched your attention because you turned around as soon as he asked. Aegon picked up the soft white square smelling it. It smelled light and like an airy vanilla. “No. Put that down, it's for your children.” After hearing that he tossed it in his mouth. It was soft and chewy, sweet, but not too sweet. He shook his head looking at you. “You can’t feed these to my children.” He spoke with his mouth full going to go eat another.

“Stop, do you know how hard it was to make that!?” You came to Aegon trying to take away the sweets.

“You are going to make my children fat. My daughter—Jaehaera—cannot get fat. No lord will want to marry her. Neither can my son…” He popped another in his mouth watching you and your expressions. “And Helaena is still my wife. My mother still expects more children and if I must…” He swallowed the sweet treat. “Well it's already hard enough fucking my own sister, don’t make it any harder.”

You were left speechless…well…at least he didn’t take any pleasure in having children with his sister.

Aegon ignored your pointed look, his gaze fixed on the platter. “What’s that?”

“Something for the King,” you replied briskly, moving toward the oven to check on your latest ‘experiment.’

“Can I try it?” he asked, already reaching for the platter.

“You won’t like it,” you warned, not bothering to turn around.

A moment later, you heard the unmistakable sound of gagging. Your eye twitched as a wave of irritation swept over you.

“You’re right, that was nasty,” Aegon groaned, smacking his lips. “The aftertaste is horrid.” He sauntered over to join you, peering curiously into the oven.

“You only took one bite, right?” you asked, casting him a sidelong glance.

“Why?” he asked with a crooked grin. “Are you about to commit regicide?”

You blinked, calculating the possible outcomes of his impulsiveness. Then, with a sigh, you straightened up and met his gaze. “...You’ll be fine,” you said finally, though your tone wasn’t exactly reassuring.

Aegon rubbed his tongue against the roof of his mouth, grimacing. “Yeah… well, I don’t feel fine. I’m not floating in the clouds or anything, but I feel… funny.”

You resisted the urge to roll your eyes, muttering under your breath as you turned back to the oven. “Maybe next time, listen when I tell you something.”

That was weird though, even on your first time trying edibles, they didn’t affect you that fast. Did you make them too strong? Maybe it’s best to cut them into smaller pieces then.

Still a high for the first time Aegon is not something you want to be in trouble for. “Why don’t you meet me in the library? After I deliver these to your father.”

Aegon flashed you a flirty smile. “Eager to see my dragon?”

“Begging your grace.” You spoke, rolling your eyes, turning away from him, making more of your make-shift rice-crispy edibles. Making marshmallows and cereal wasn’t as hard as you thought it was going to be.

Aegon let out a smile a little too loud than he normally would.

Seriously, it never acted this fast for you.

Hands wrapped around your waist as he murmured into your ear. “I’ll be waiting.” Before he kissed your cheek and left you. You were left standing there. It was clear his high was going to prompt a high sex drive. Wonderfull. As if you didn’t have enough with the younger brother.

A shame you did not see Aegon sneak another two or three as he left the room.

Finishing your last batch you turned to take out your homemade pizza out the oven. Pizza is as old as time. Italy isn’t the only place that's ever made it, but as far as this world is concerned, it’s going to come from you. Pizza is commoner food, easy to make with basic things anyone can get, bread, cheese, tomato, and other toppings if available. Your prediction is that it’s going to be a hit with the commoners. You’d just sell the ingredients or maybe just open the pizzeria. How hard could it be?

First however, you needed to be a charity project. Help out with the starving. Starving, unhygienic people. It made you shiver.

“Dyana!” You called and she came running. “Yes, take this to my ‘place of work,’ and have someone bring me my ‘refrigerator.’ That’s all, thank you.”

A while back you had come with the brilliant idea of how to store goods. Of course there was drying out the food using the sun or covering it in salt, but…a zeer pot works best for you. It's an ancient technique that relies on evaporative cooling to reduce the temperature inside the jar, making it suitable for storing perishables. Very simply actually, it was a wonder how they haven’t done this yet. (Well they still did believe in spontaneous generation) No matter, more money for you once you get this patent idea out.

Cutting your edibles into smaller pieces you plated them ready to take it to the King. It wasn’t long before another servant came with your jars. You smiled and opened your and carefully stored them.

Finally, plate in hand, you made your way to the King’s chambers. With any luck, Alicent wouldn’t be there. Ever since you’d ditched her at the sept... well, things hadn’t exactly been cordial. Otto was even worse. The man seemed determined to make you regret every breath you took. Helping them nearly commit treason probably didn’t win you any favors. Just wonderful.

You reached the grand oak door and knocked firmly. It opened moments later, and you stepped inside.

“Your Grace,” you greeted, offering a stiff curtsy. Even after all this time, the motion felt awkward, like your body resisted the formality. Maybe it was your knees, or your hips, or perhaps even your ribs—all of which never fully recovered from that accident. That car slamming into you had left its mark, both physically and mentally. It was a miracle you hadn’t suffered any internal bleeding or broken bones, though it sure had felt like it at the time.

The King looked up from his chair, his face lighting up at the sight of you. “Ah, there she is,” Viserys said warmly, gesturing for you to come closer. “I was beginning to wonder if you’d forgotten me.”

“Never, Your Grace,” you replied with a small smile, stepping forward to present the plate. “You asked for something to help you relax, and I’ve crafted just the thing. A treat that’s as delightful to the palate as it is to the mind.”

Viserys leaned forward, intrigued by the small, golden-edged squares. “What are these?”

“They’re called... crispy rice delights,” you said, deciding not to overcomplicate the name. “Sweetened with honey and bound together with butter. Light and chewy, and utterly harmless.” Your smile was sweet, almost innocent, though the last part was perhaps a touch generous.

Viserys picked one up, turning it over in his fingers with mild curiosity before taking a cautious bite. A soft crunch filled the room, followed by a quiet hum of approval.

“Remarkable,” he said after a moment, reaching for another piece. “And you’re certain this will help me unwind?”

“It should, Your Grace,” you assured him with an encouraging nod. “The ingredients are simple, but I’ve added a touch of my... expertise to make them particularly effective. A small indulgence to ease the mind.”

Viserys chuckled, his mood visibly lifting. “You always surprise me with your ingenuity. Perhaps I’ll save the rest for later tonight, after council business.”

You nodded, hiding the flicker of unease that stirred within you. “A wise choice, Your Grace. Though I might suggest savoring them slowly. Too much too quickly may result in… an unusually vivid state of relaxation.”

Viserys raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “What do you mean by vivid?”

“Well,” you began, choosing your words carefully, “the body may feel unusually light, as though untethered. Thoughts could take on a dreamlike quality, wandering freely, and the edges of the world may blur in a pleasant haze. It is soothing, but perhaps… a bit distracting if one isn’t expecting it.”

“Ah,” Viserys said, clearly not discouraged. “Then it’s good I’m not on the council floor.” He popped another piece into his mouth.

You curtsied, preparing to take your leave. “If there’s nothing else you require, Your Grace, I’ll leave you to enjoy your evening.”

He waved you off, his attention already fixated on the plate. “Yes, yes, go. You’ve done well as always.”

“Thank you, Your Grace,” you said, retreating with measured steps. Once the door clicked shut behind you, you exhaled quietly, allowing the faint tension in your chest to ease.

If all went as planned, the King would find himself pleasantly unburdened by the time the effects set in. If not… well, the rest of your evening might prove unexpectedly eventful.

Now for the other part of your evening: Aegon.

He’d decided earlier to sneak a bite of one of your experiments, ignoring every warning you gave. And now, if the hurried whispering of the servants was to be believed, the prince was wandering around the library giggling like a fool and marveling at the candles. Typical.

Though he had only taken a bite, there was no way he should be feeling this high this hard. If anything a couple giggles and nothing more.

Making your way through the dimly lit halls, you kept your pace brisk but not rushed. You couldn’t exactly run—not with how stiff your body could get when you overdid it—but the urgency pressed on your shoulders nonetheless. If anyone important caught sight of Aegon in his current state, Otto would no doubt find a way to blame you for corrupting the prince. Again.

By the time you reached the library, it was quiet save for the faint flicker of candlelight and the occasional sound of rustling parchment. You scanned the aisles, listening for any telltale signs of chaos. A soft laugh, almost childlike, drifted from the far corner.

“Aegon,” you called softly, making your way toward the sound. Rounding the last row of shelves, you found him sprawled on the floor, staring up at the vaulted ceiling as though it were the most fascinating thing he’d ever seen.

And oh my goodness, his eyes were pink. With one bite? No, they couldn’t have been that strong. God, how would the King react!? He had eaten one whole. You should’ve told him only one.

You were so dead.

“This place is amazing,” he said dreamily, waving a hand at nothing in particular. “All these books… why are there so many? Who’s read them all? Do you think they’ve read all of them?”

You sighed, pinching the bridge of your nose. “Aegon, what are you doing?”

“I’m thinking,” he said, sitting up slightly. His eyes were wide, pupils blown, and there was a faint flush on his cheeks. “I’ve never thought this much before. Did you know books smell different at night? Like... like they’re dreaming, too.”

You stared at him for a long moment. “Listen to me Aegon, you’re high.”

“Noooo,” he drawled, grinning lazily. “I’m enlightened.”

“Right,” you muttered, crouching down beside him. “Come on, you need to get up before someone sees you like this.”

“But why?” he whined, flopping back against the floor dramatically. “The floor is so cool. And these lights—look at them! They flicker like tiny dragons. Do you think they know they’re dragons?”

You suppressed another sigh, wondering if maybe the library wasn’t the best place. Maybe it wasn’t too late to smuggle him back to his chambers unnoticed. Grabbing his arm, you hauled him up with surprising effort. “You’re lucky Aegon,” you muttered.

“I am lucky,” he said, leaning heavily on you as you guided him toward the exit. “You’re amazing. Like… the best. You’re like a book, but alive. A live book.”

“Just keep walking,” you said, resisting the urge to laugh. The sooner you got him out of here, the better. He kept leaning into you, his body a dead weight against your side as you struggled to keep your balance.

And then you saw it—a flash of movement as his hand reached into his pocket and pulled something out. You froze for half a second, horrified.

“Aegon!” you snapped, glaring at the suspiciously familiar square in his hand. “How many did you eat?”

He blinked at you, as though trying to remember. “Two?” he said after a beat, holding up three fingers.

“Stop! Aegon, no!” You grabbed for the edible, but he stumbled back, clutching it to his chest like it was some sort of sacred treasure.

“They’re mine!” he slurred, grinning mischievously. “You’re not the boss of me.”

“I literally am right now,” you hissed, lunging for him again. He dodged with surprising agility—or maybe it was just your body’s stiffness slowing you down. Either way, he darted behind a shelf, giggling like a madman.

“Aegon, I swear—,” you muttered, chasing after him.

“Calm down,” he said, popping the edible into his mouth with theatrical defiance. “What’s the worst that could happen? I’ll just be… double enlightened!”

“You’re gonna green out Aegon! You’ve never done this before!” you shot back, your frustration mounting. “And then I’ll have to explain to the Queen why her son is drooling on himself in the middle of the library!”

He laughed, a sound that echoed far too loudly in the quiet space. “You worry too much,” he said, swaying as he tried to lean casually against the shelf. It didn’t work; he slid down to the floor in a heap, still grinning.

You crouched in front of him, your hands on your knees as you stared him down. “Alright, listen to me,” you said, your voice low and firm. “You cannot eat any more of these, understand? I don’t care if they taste like heaven itself—you’re done.”

He tilted his head, his eyes glassy but vaguely focused on you. “You’re so serious all the time,” he murmured, poking your arm with a lazy finger. “It’s cute.”

You groaned, standing back up and grabbing his arm. “Come on, Prince Enlightened. Let’s get you to bed before you start philosophizing about candle wax or something equally ridiculous.”

“Candle wax,” he mused as you hauled him to his feet. “Why does it melt? Is it sad? Do you think it misses being a candle when it’s just a puddle?”

You didn’t dignify that with a response.

“Let’s just focus on walking,” you said through gritted teeth, dragging him toward the exit. Aegon stumbled along beside you, still muttering half-formed thoughts about the existential plight of candles.

The library’s dim light and solemn silence made his absurdity even more unbearable as Aegon giggled uncontrollably.

“Quiet,” you hissed, glancing around. “Do you want people to see you like this?”

“See me?” he asked, slurring the words. “I’m a prince. They’re lucky to—hic—breathe the same air as me.”

“God help me,” you muttered under your breath. “Keep it together, Aegon. We’re almost there.”

As you rounded a corner, Aegon suddenly stopped, his arm jerking you to a halt. “Wait!” he said, his tone serious for the first time all evening.

“What now?” you asked, exasperated.

He squinted at a tapestry on the wall, his eyes wide with a kind of wonder you hadn’t expected. “Look at it,” he whispered, pointing dramatically.

You glanced at the tapestry—a perfectly ordinary depiction of dragons and knights. “It’s a tapestry,” you said flatly.

“No, it’s more than that,” he insisted, swaying as he stared at it. “The dragons… they’re like… us.”

You pinched the bridge of your nose. “Aegon, we are not dragons.”

He turned to you, his expression solemn. “Not with that attitude.”

“Alright, that’s it.” You tightened your grip on his arm and started dragging him again. “We’re leaving before you start a lecture series.”

Aegon laughed as you pulled him along, his steps growing heavier with each passing moment. By the time you reached the hallway leading to his chambers, he was leaning on you entirely, his weight making your arms ache.

“Almost there,” you muttered, more to yourself than to him.

Aegon sighed dramatically, his head lolling onto your shoulder. “You’re so nice,” he mumbled. “Why’re you so nice to me? Nobody else is this nice.”

You paused, glancing at him out of the corner of your eye. His face was soft, vulnerable in a way that made your chest tighten.

“I’m not nice,” you said after a moment, your voice quieter. “I just…” I don’t want to be killed. Is what you wanted to say and what was true, but Aegon in this state…well why not humor him. “I don't want you to get hurt.”

He hummed, his eyes fluttering closed. “Still nice,” he murmured, his words slurring together.

You shook your head, hauling him the last few feet to his door. As you shoved open the door, you couldn’t help but think that this was the closest you’d ever seen to Aegon being truly at peace.

And it had only taken two edibles and a philosophical crisis about candle wax.

You pushed the door open with your shoulder, nearly tripping over Aegon as he slumped heavily against you.

“Just sit down,” you muttered, dragging him toward the nearest chaise. He stumbled, flopping onto the cushions with a dramatic sigh, his limbs sprawled in every direction.

“This is great,” he mumbled, running his hands over the fabric. “So soft. Is this new? Feels new.”

“It’s not new, Aegon,” you replied, brushing your hair out of your face as you straightened up. “You’ve been sitting on this chaise for years. Now stay here and don’t—”

He reached into his pocket, pulling out another edible with a sheepish grin.

“Aegon! How many of those do you have?” you snapped, snatching it out of his hand.

“Relax,” he drawled, waving you off. “It’s just one. Or maybe two? Wait… was it three?”

You stared at him, horrified. “Aegon, stop! No more! Do you have any idea what’s in these?”

“Deliciousness,” he replied, leaning back with a lazy grin. “Want one?”

“Yes Aegon, give me all the ones you have.” You watched him pat himself and a pout form on his lips.

“It’s gone.” He mumbled and you sighed. As long as he didn’t have anymore.

“Okay Aegon, go to sleep.”

“No, I’m okay. I’m…” He began giggling. “I swear, I don’t why” Aegon couldn’t finish his sentence as he began to laugh even more. You saw his legs go weak and he was on the floor laughing. You were left standing there in his chambers. “I don't know why I’m laughing. I’m okay!” You watched as Aegon kept trying to stand but he just couldn’t.

Ignoring his antics, you started pacing, glancing toward the door to make sure no one had followed you. “This is a disaster,” you muttered under your breath. “If anyone sees you like this…”

Finally after a while his laughter ceased and he crawled to his bed using it as a pillar to hold on to as he dragged himself up. “See me like what?” Aegon interrupted, throwing his arms wide. “I’m fine. Perfectly fine. The picture of princely grace.”

You turned on your heel, fixing him with a glare. “You’re high as a kite and acting like an overgrown child. That’s not fine.”

He blinked at you, then grinned. “You know, you’re cute when you’re mad. And in any case you came to the library to meet me and now we're in my room.” He began to unbuckle his pants. “My dragon is ready.”

“Aegon no.” You rushed to him holding his hands in place as you tried to keep his pants up. He bucked into your hands and tangled his hands in your hair pulling you closer to him.

“You always smell so good.” Aegon inhaled you as you tried to buckle his hands ignoring the obvious…issue he was having. “So good,” he mumbled into your neck, still smelling you. “I wanted to do this for so long, since the first night we danced. You smelled so good back then too. Sweetest thing I’ve ever smelt. You ruined whores f’me.” His words slurred together.

“Aegon, go to sleep.” You pushed him off of your and he landed on his bed.

“I like where this is going.” He smiled as he went to take off his shirt.

“Stay here.” You pointed at him raising a brow while walking away slowly. You can’t be caught in this man’s room while he’s trying to undress. It would be catastrophic for you.

Aegon propped himself up on his elbows, his half-lidded eyes watching you retreat. “You’ll come back?” he asked, his voice carrying a surprising hint of vulnerability.

“Yes, I will… later,” you assured him, forcing a smile. “Pretend to sleep. Count to two hundred, and then backward. That’s when I’ll come back, okay?”

He blinked at you, his expression unreadable for a moment before he nodded lazily. “Two hundred… backwards. Got it.”

You pressed yourself against the cold stone of the secret door in his chamber, the familiar click sounding as it swung open. You slipped through, casting one last glance over your shoulder to make sure he wasn’t following.

The moment the door closed behind you, you exhaled a shaky breath. The dark corridors of Maegor’s secret passageways enveloped you in their eerie silence. No matter how many times you traversed these halls, they always felt like something out of a spy’s tale—clandestine and slightly dangerous.

Your steps echoed faintly as you navigated the maze-like tunnels. The air was cool, carrying the faint scent of dust and old stone, and your fingers grazed the rough walls to keep your bearings. The darkness didn’t faze you anymore; you’d memorized these paths well enough to find your way without hesitation.

As you walked, your thoughts drifted to Aegon’s words. “You’ll come back?” The way he had said it… it was almost childlike, a far cry from his usual bravado. You shook your head, dismissing the thought. There was no time to dwell on Aegon’s fleeting vulnerability when you had your own problems to worry about.

Finally, you reached the hidden entryway to your own chambers. Pressing your ear against the door to ensure no one was nearby, you slipped through the opening and into the safety of your room. With a sigh of relief, you leaned against the wall, closing your eyes for a moment.

Tomorrow would be another day of maneuvering through the precarious web you’d woven for yourself, but for now, you were content to have avoided yet another disaster.

…

9th day of the 6th moon of 129 AC

Your apology is well received. I must admit my reaction was excessive. I apologize for my outburst. This subject is as if one is probing at an open wound. For most of my life I have dealt with such claims. I thank you for your honest thoughts and like you, I value our friendship very much. You have shown me things that never in my life I would ever see, and for that I am grateful. Our time spent together in the Red Keep was most amusing and if you had been in better condition, I would’ve given you a proper show around Dragonstone. I have been told you prefer it to the Red Keep. There are many secrets within Dragonstone, and Luke told me you found the architecture most appealing. I was not aware you found such interest in architecture. Perhaps one day in the future when you come visit Dragonstone, I can show you more on the basis that you show another movie. I hope to hear from you soon.

(P.S. I do not know what that means.)

—Jacaerys Velaryon

…

“How many children do you reckon are in that orphanage?” you asked, cracking your knuckles as you leaned back in your chair.

“It’s the smallest one, m’lady. About twenty. I counted myself,” came the reply from a boy no older than ten. He stepped closer as you set down your quill.

“Atta boy. I’m glad you’ve taken to numbers so well.” You reached out to ruffle his hair with a smile, earning a shy grin in return.

“Are you almost finished with the story, m’lady?” He tilted his head, glancing at the parchment on your desk.

“Yes, just now,” you replied with a nod. “Has everyone bathed? And did your sister finish counting the coins?” Turning fully to face him, you withdrew your hand and gestured toward the other side of the room.

“I believe so, m’lady. Will you read us the story?” His eyes sparkled with curiosity, darting back to the writing. Recently, they’d all started learning to read, their progress slow but promising. Their handwriting was improving, too—a little shaky, but legible.

“I’ll read it to the orphans while you all distribute the food. You’ll hear it then,” you assured him before standing to let the ink dry. Your gaze shifted to a girl of about fifteen—the eldest of the group.

“How much?” you asked as you approached her.

“209 silver stags, 49 copper stars, and 56 copper pennies,” she replied promptly, holding out the coins in a small pouch.

“Good,” you said, inspecting the contents briefly. “Now, convert it into gold dragons for me.”

“1 gold dragon, 7 silver stags, and 0 copper pennies,” she calculated quickly.

You smiled, reaching into the pouch and pulling out a few coins. “Wonderful. Since you’re the eldest, here’s three silver stags. Use them to buy more sapwood smiles if needed and handle your groceries. Oh, and that old woman I pay rent to—I owe her one silver stag. Make sure she gets it.”

“Yes, m’lady.” She accepted the coins with a small nod.

“Alright then,” you said, turning your attention to the room. “Is everything packed?”

“Yes,” came a quick chorus of voices from the ten or so children bustling about.

“Good. Let’s get moving. One of you will lead the way,” you instructed, glancing at the youngest—a five-year-old clutching a small bundle tightly to his chest. The sight made your chest ache, but you pushed the feeling aside.

There was work to be done.

With everyone ready, you gave the signal, and the children lined up at the door. The eldest girl, clutching her share of coins, stepped forward to lead the group. You hung back for a moment, ensuring nothing had been forgotten. A single misstep—leaving behind even the smallest item—could unravel everything.

“All right, keep close to each other,” you said, your voice firm but gentle. “No wandering off.”

“Yes, m’lady,” they chorused, their voices a mix of excitement and nervousness.

The streets were quieter than usual, though the occasional drunkard or suspicious glance reminded you that it was always best to move quickly. The youngest ones clutched their bundles tightly, their wide eyes taking in the night’s shadows.

“Head down, keep moving,” you instructed softly as you walked behind them, your eyes scanning for any sign of trouble.

The orphanage wasn’t far, but every step felt heavier under the weight of responsibility. The coins jingling softly in the pouch at your side reminded you of the risk you were taking. Feeding and sheltering this many children wasn’t just a kindness—it was a gamble. One wrong move, one sharp-eyed noble or greedy merchant, and you could lose everything.

As the group approached the orphanage, a familiar figure stepped out of the shadows: the matron, a stout woman with a lined face and sharp eyes that softened only for the children.

“You’re late,” she grumbled, though her tone held no real bite.

“I had extra mouths to feed,” you replied, tilting your head toward the children behind you. “Everything’s ready.”

The matron nodded and waved the group inside. “Come on, then. Quickly now.”

You stepped aside, watching as the children filed in, their small forms disappearing into the dimly lit building. The eldest paused at the door, glancing back at you with a questioning look.

“Go on,” you said softly. “I’ll join you soon.”

She hesitated for a moment before nodding and slipping inside.

Once the door closed, you exhaled, allowing yourself a brief moment to relax. This was your second time here in this orphanage. The last time you donated a silver moon, this time you would distribute food. The experiment you had done earlier this week. Pizza. An easy thing to make.

You walked into the large hall watching your own children distribute the pizza. There should be enough for everyone to get, caretakers included. One of your children offered and you shook your head. It was for them.

Finally you took your seat at the head of the hall.

The matron raised an eyebrow as you unrolled the parchment, settling onto the low wooden bench where the children had gathered. “What’s the story this time?”

You smiled faintly, glancing at the eager faces illuminated by the flickering firelight. “A tale of bravery,” you said. “A favorite tale of mine.”

The children murmured excitedly, scooting closer. Even the older ones who often acted aloof leaned in, their curiosity getting the better of them. “In a land far from here. On the greatest the old world had ever seen. On the Great Wall of China…”

…

18th day of the 6th moon of 129 AC

Dear Jacaerys Velaryon,

Thank you for accepting my apology, but I still find myself feeling very guilty, had I known more of your past I would’ve treated you more carefully, however it is still no excuse. In anycase, I am glad you value me as deeply as I value you. Maybe, one day in the future when my standing here in King’s Landing is solidified and I have a chance to simply enjoy life, I can go back to Dragonstone. Though I must say, I will not be going by boat, I get very sick while I’m on the boat. If I may be so bold, I would ask for another ride on Vermax. He was my first dragon riding experience after all. I enjoyed it, as I enjoy many things. My interest in the architecture of Dragonstone is rooted in the similarities that it shares with many old civilizations that I am currently trying to replicate, though no one knows that yet, but you are my friend and I hold no secrets from my friends. As for your request for another movie. I would be most happy to oblige. It has been quite some time since I have been able to just sit down and enjoy a movie like we did. I hope that peaceful times come soon for me. I hope to hear from you as well, I find this very fun. I have never sent any real letters before. I only played it when I was a child and I would ‘send’ them to my parents who lived in that house, so I do not think it really counts. I also like putting it on the bird. Really solidifies the feeling of being ‘old school.’

(P.S. In a letter, "P.S." is an abbreviation for "postscript" or in other words "PS" is used to add a comment, thought, or piece of information after the main message of a letter.)

…

You hummed softly listening to the music in your airpods, which you must say are pleasantly surprised they still work. In any case you had spent a good two hours sitting down revising your proposals, it it was good to stretch your legs. The place was mostly empty, save for the occasional assistant of the Grand Maester shuffling in to retrieve a book. You were tucked away on the second floor, near the window where the light spilled across your desk. It was quiet, and while you appreciated the peace, it left you alone with the nagging frustration simmering in your chest.

Two weeks. That’s all the time you had left before presenting your proposal to the council. It was… fine. Just fine. Average, really, and that wasn’t going to be enough. You had underestimated how much effort this would take—the endless revisions, the careful balancing act. The legal system you needed to make it work didn’t exist, and the proposal couldn’t take shape without it. A maddening little circle you had no way to break.

And then there was the second part of the plan. Bold. Revolutionary. Problematic. The council wouldn’t like it—it was too much, too fast. Change wasn’t something they handled well, not when it challenged their traditions. But you needed this to work. This proposal was your foothold, your insurance for when Rhaenyra took the throne.

Of course, with Rhaenyra came the biggest thorn in your side.

Daemon Targaryen.

The thought of him set your teeth on edge. His smug face, his mocking grin, that damned sword always resting on his side—it was enough to make your blood boil. You stopped pacing, gripping the windowsill as you stared out into the courtyard. Daemon wouldn’t just be an annoyance when Rhaenyra ruled; he’d be a threat. The first thing he’d probably do as King Consort would be to find some creative way to remove you from the picture.

The thought of it made your stomach churn. You could still see him, lounging in court like he had all the time in the world, Dark Sister resting beside him as though it was an extension of his hand. He could take you apart with a look if he wanted to, and he knew it.

“Arrogant bastard,” you muttered under your breath, your grip tightening on the windowsill.

You shook your head, forcing yourself to focus. You couldn’t afford to waste time stewing over Daemon—not when you still hadn’t worked out the finer points of your plan. You pulled your chair closer to the table, shuffling through the stack of parchment filled with half-formed ideas and discarded revisions.

“Two weeks,” you murmured to yourself, like it was some sort of mantra. “Two weeks to figure it out.” You dipped your quill into the inkpot, trying to center your thoughts, but his shadow lingered in the back of your mind. Daemon was a storm waiting to strike, and you’d need more than a clever proposal to keep him at bay.

Your gaze drifted to the side, landing on the smoking pipe resting on the table. Redwood—sturdy and elegant, though a pain to carve. You still remembered the splinters, but it had been worth it. Naturally fire-resistant and perfect for the task. And, as luck would have it, you had some of your stash with you.

To be clear, you hadn’t planned on smoking today. Truly, you hadn’t. But Daemon Targaryen had a way of grating on your nerves like no one else. The man was a living, breathing annoyance, and right now, he was just too much to deal with.

So, like any rational person faced with such frustration, you reached for the pipe.

It had been months since you last indulged, but as the smoke hit the back of your throat, you felt a strange kind of relief. You held it there for a moment before crossing to the window, exhaling slowly into the cool air. The effects wouldn’t take long. They never did—especially not after this much time.

You leaned against the window frame, the redwood pipe resting loosely between your fingers. The breeze from outside carried the remnants of smoke away, dissipating into nothing. It wasn’t long before the familiar warmth began to spread—a slow unraveling of tension, the sharp edges of your irritation softening.

Daemon’s smug face, his insufferable quips, his incessant need to loom over every room he entered—it all seemed… smaller now. Manageable. Almost amusing, if you thought about it the right way. You allowed yourself a small laugh, low and self-deprecating. “Imagine that,” you murmured to no one, “Daemon Targaryen, reduced to a passing annoyance.”

You took another hit as you were inhaling a voice sounded from behind you. “What are you doing?” You began coughing trying to blow away the smoke. It didn’t work. Aegon looked at you with a confused face. Why he was in here, you couldn’t say. Maybe he still had a little thorn on his side when you never returned last week to his chambers. Oh well.

“What was that?” He raised a brow looking at you.

“Nothing.” You shook your head and shrugged playing dumb.

“I saw smoke come from your mouth.”

“No…” You looked around feigning innocence. “No I don’t think so.” You barely had time to compose yourself before Aegon stepped closer to you, his brow furrowed in confusion and mild amusement. His eyes darted between you and the faint wisp of smoke still lingering near the window.

“Definitely saw smoke,” he said, crossing his arms. “Are you… burning something?”

“Of course not,” you replied quickly, waving a hand to dismiss the notion. “Why would I be burning something in a library?”

He squinted, his lips twitching with the beginnings of a smirk. “You’re lying.”

You straightened, feigning indignation. “I am not lying, Aegon.”

“Then what’s in your hand?”

Your fingers instinctively tightened around the pipe, hidden just out of his view. “My hand is empty.”

“It’s definitely not.” He stepped closer, leaning in as if he could physically pry the truth from your demeanor. “And it doesn’t smell like nothing.”

You sighed, realizing you wouldn’t shake him off easily. “Fine. If you must know, I was testing… aromatics. For medicinal purposes.”

“Aromatics?” His grin spread wide now. “You mean you’re…. smoking something.”

“Not smoking,” you corrected with a pointed look. “Testing. Big difference.”

Aegon chuckled, leaning casually against the table as he tilted his head to scrutinize you. “You’ve been holding out on me, haven’t you? What is it? Something strong? Do I get to try? Is it like whatever I ate last week? Also… you never came back.”

“No,” you replied firmly. “Absolutely not. And for the record, I did come back. You just didn’t wake up.” You gave a nonchalant shrug, as if it wasn’t worth elaborating further.

“Well, first off, you tricked me,” he shot back, narrowing his eyes in mock accusation. “And second, why not? Don’t you trust me?”

“Not even a little,” you deadpanned, turning back toward the window, deliberately avoiding his gaze. “And I didn’t trick you. You just fell asleep like a babe.”

“Because you told me to count! Everyone knows counting puts people to sleep,” he argued, pushing off the table and stepping closer. “In any case, you should share with the First Prince. It’s only fair.”

“No. You’ll choke,” you said flatly, already regretting engaging with him.

“Then teach me,” he pressed, his voice edging on a whine as he reached toward your hand.

“You don’t even know what it does.”

“No, but I want to try it,” he said with a mischievous grin.

“Okay… fine.”

His face lit up. “Really?”

“No,” you said, voice dry as the desert.

Aegon blinked, realization dawning as he groaned. “You’re not funny.”

You smirked, glancing over your shoulder at him. “I think I’m hilarious. But seriously, Aegon, this isn’t for you.”

“Why not? I’m practically an expert after last week,” he said, gesturing dramatically. “I survived, didn’t I?”

“Barely,” you muttered under your breath, turning back to the window and taking another drag. The smoke curled lazily in the air as you exhaled, letting the faint buzz settle in. “And you weren’t smoking. You ate an edible. Different effects. Besides, that edible should’ve taken time but you absorbed it like it was nothing and you were trippin’, I don’t think you can handle smoking it.”

Aegon wasn’t giving up. He stepped closer, his voice dripping with curiosity. “What’s it even like? Is it… calming? Does it make your thoughts clearer? Or fuzzier? I want to know. Also what is…tripping?”

You raised an eyebrow, finally turning to face him. “Smoking is faster, depending on the person. It takes the edge off, which, frankly, you don’t need. You’re already as sharp as a butter knife.” You giggled. “Trippin is the feeling you get when you’re high.” Your smile was ear to ear, like the way it always was when you were high.

He gasped in mock offense, clutching his chest as if mortally wounded. “That is cruel, my lady.”

“Is it?” you teased, taking another hit and blowing the smoke lazily in his direction.

Aegon grinned, entirely undeterred. “It is. And who better to share your experiments with than me?”

You rolled your eyes, exhaling slowly. “It’s not an experiment, Aegon. It’s just something I use when things get stressful. You don’t need this. You’ve got wine.”

He clapped his hands together, leaning forward eagerly. “One, please.”

You raised an eyebrow, crossing your arms. “One?”

“One,” he repeated, hands still clasped like a pleading child.

“Just one?”

“Just once,” he said with an exaggerated nod, already reaching for the pipe.

“Okay,” you relented, handing it over with a smirk. He took it, examining it like it was some foreign artifact before glancing back at you.

“What do I do?”

“You don’t know how to smoke?”

“No, we don’t smoke.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

“Then how’d you know what it was called?”

“I saw it smoking, so I asked,” he replied matter-of-factly.

“Oh.”

“So… what do I do?”

“Right. You inhale, hold it for a moment, then exhale. It’s something you’ll get the hang of.”

“Simple enough,” he said, bringing the pipe to his lips. He took a deep inhale, his face immediately turning red as he began to cough violently.

“What the—” he choked out, trying desperately to expel the smoke from his lungs. “Oh, gods—what is this?”

You couldn’t hold it in any longer. Laughter bubbled out of you, loud and uncontrollable as you leaned against a nearby table for support.

Aegon scowled through his coughing fit, shoving the pipe back into your hands. “This is vile,” he croaked, clearing his throat.

Still laughing, you waved him off, struggling to catch your breath. “You… you said you wanted to try it!”

“Not like that!” he snapped, shaking his head but unable to suppress a grin of his own.

You took the pipe back, wiping tears from your eyes. “Stick to wine, Aegon.”

“Don’t worry, I will,” he muttered, his voice still hoarse as he flopped into a nearby chair. “That’s the last time I trust you with anything.”

“Good choice,” you quipped, smirking as you leaned back toward the window, savoring your small victory.

Eventually, you settled into the chair beside him, your eyes drifting to the scattered papers in front of you. Taking another long draw from the pipe, you exhaled a steady plume of smoke, watching it curl toward the ceiling.

“It seriously doesn’t burn for you?” he asked, rubbing at his throat.

“You probably did it wrong,” you said, shrugging. “It shouldn’t burn that bad. I messed it up my first time too. After a while, you either get used to it… or figure out a better way.”

He raised an eyebrow, leaning back and studying you skeptically. “And here I thought you were supposed to be a master of all things questionable.”

“Give it time,” you replied with a grin, tapping ash from the pipe. “You’ll be coughing less if you try again—maybe.”

“I’ll stick to wine,” he shot back, but the faintest trace of curiosity lingered in his voice. You shrugged before a silence overtook you both. You felt the effects coming in, your muscles relaxing and your eyes drooping slightly. The constant feel of gravity over your body. The music through your airpods felt magical. All you needed now was something to eat.

“So what is all this?” He gestured towards the table.

You gave a sigh putting down the pipe. “Just some proposal.” As you spoke, puffs of smoke left you.

“A proposal?” Aegon leaned forward, his curiosity momentarily outweighing his usual apathy. His fingers drummed against the edge of the table as he glanced over the scattered papers. “What kind of proposal needs that much writing?”

You glanced at Aegon out of the corner of your eye and reached up to pause your music. “Every proposal, Aegon,” you muttered, sinking further into your chair. “I don’t even want to do it. It’s too much work. And it’s due in, what, two weeks?” You let out a laugh, sharp and self-mocking. “Yeah, no. It’s not happening.”

With the music paused and anticipating that Aegon wasn’t going to let the conversation die, you pulled out your AirPods case, idly tucking the buds back inside.

“What are those? I saw them in your bag. They go in your ears?” Aegon asked, eyeing the small white case with curiosity.

“Oh, right. You don’t have these here.” You held up the case, turning it in your hands. “They’re called AirPods. Yeah, they go in your ears so you can listen to music.”

“Music?” he echoed, tilting his head. “How does music come out of that?”

“Well, it doesn’t come from these exactly—it comes from this.” You reached into your bag and pulled out your phone, waving it lightly.

“The box! I saw that too, but it looked different—the front wasn’t lighting up like that.” Aegon leaned closer, intrigued.

“It’s called a phone,” you corrected, smirking at his fascination. “Anyway, the music’s stored on here. It connects to the AirPods through Bluetooth, which basically lets devices communicate using short-range radio waves or... something like that.” You waved your hand vaguely, the effort to explain already feeling monumental in your current state. “It works. That’s all I care about.”

Aegon’s brows furrowed, clearly lost. “Right... and you’re not mad I went through your stuff?”

You shook your head, smiling faintly as you cleaned your AirPods case. “Honestly? I don’t feel anything right now.” You chuckled lazily. “But even if I did, I don’t think I’d care. As long as you didn’t break anything, it’s whatever.”

“I think I like you better like this,” Aegon said, grinning. You laughed, handing him the phone.

“What do I do with this... phone?”

“Swipe to the right.”

“Woah, what’s this?” He turned the phone over in his hands, staring at the screen like it might come alive.

“Here, let me see.” Your movements were slow, almost exaggerated as you reached over and took the phone back. “Say ‘cheese.’”

“Cheese?” he echoed, confused, just as you snapped a photo. You turned the phone to show him the image.

“Woah! It’s like a portrait, but... with the eye!”

“Yeah, it’s called a picture,” you explained, amused.

“What else can it do?”

“Well, before I ended up here? A lot of things.” You smiled softly, leaning back in your chair. “You remember that night we danced, and I said I’d show you the music from where I’m from?”

Aegon nodded eagerly. “You did. You said you’d teach me how to dance, too.”

Aegon grinned, settling comfortably into his chair. “Play something, then. Let’s see what your box can do.”

“Bet.” You smirked, scrolling through your library. “There’s a lot more, but this is all I managed to save before I ended up here, so... we’re working with limited options.” You handed him the phone. “Just press anything that looks interesting.”

A few moments later, a beat filled the air: “Siento aquí tu presencia. La noche de anoche. Y nos ponemos a llorar…” The music was loud. “Kendrick?” You laughed. “On your first song? You chose Kendrick?” You smiled standing up tapping his shoulder while ‘wacced out murals’ played. “I always knew you were something special.” You leaned back against the table.

Aegon raised an eyebrow, tilting his head as the music unfolded. “This is music?”

You nodded, leaning back against the table, arms crossed. “This is a different genre. Hip-Hop. Rap, specifically. Kendrick’s a lyricist—his whole deal is using music to tell stories, share experiences, or make a point. It’s not just something you vibe to; you listen to it.” You smiled faintly, letting the song’s rhythm carry the conversation. “He’s got a lot to say, and he’s real good at saying it.”

Aegon studied you, his expression somewhere between amused and intrigued. “And this... this is what you listen to when you’re stressed?”

“Sometimes,” you admitted, taking another draw from your pipe and exhaling slowly. “Depends on the vibe. But Kendrick? He’s a solid choice for any mood. Especially if you’re from California, his music just hits better.”

“California?” Aegon asked, listening to the beat.

You nodded. “He’s from the West Coast. It's the whole thing, East vs West. A whole story.” You took back your phone. “Y’know who else is from the West coast. This’ll give you a better idea of the rivalry.” You scrolled down smiling before pressing on it.

“That's why I fucked yo' bitch, you fat motherfucker. West side, Bad Boy killers.” You pointed at him as you spoke while Aegon’s eyes widened at the vulgar words. You let the song play as you took another hit from your pipe.“First off, fuck your bitch and the clique you claim. Westside when we ride, come equipped with game. You claim to be a player but I fucked your wife” You kept up with the lyrics while smiling watching Aegon’s face. You started laughing letting the song play.

Aegon leaned forward, his brows lifting in shock as the opening lyrics hit him like a slap. “What!?” he exclaimed, his expression teetering between horrified and amused. “They just... say that? Openly?”

You sat on the table moving your head to the beat. “Yup. It’s a diss track. Did numbers in the 90s.” You probably shouldn’t be telling him about all of these things, but at this point, you weren’t really thinking.

“Diss track? 90s?” he echoed, still staring at your phone like it was some kind of enchanted artifact.

“Yeah,” you said, amused by his wide-eyed curiosity. “Think of it like a verbal duel, but with rhythm and a beat. Tupac and Biggie—two legends, two coasts, locked in a rivalry that shook the world of music. This track? ‘Hit ‘Em Up.’ Was the best in my humble opinion.”

“And he fucked his wife?” Aegon smiled listening to the song.

“He fucked his wife.” You confirmed smiling. “Yeah so many things happened and then…well then he was killed.”

“For a song?” Aegon furrowed his brows.

You nodded. “There was more at play but the whole entertainment industry is dark. So many things happen behind the scenes and sometimes people get killed. Also they were involved with gangs and things like that, so…”

“Voilent place.”Aegon said leaning back as the diss track played.

“Real voilent.” You nodded to the beat.

“Fuck you and yo’ motherfucking mama!” Aegon looked over to the phone shaking his head with a disbelieving laugh.

“Fuck Mobb Deep, fuck Biggie. Fuck Bad Boy as a staff, record label and as a motherfuckin' crew. And if you want to be down with Bad Boy, then fuck you too. Chino XL, fuck you too. All you motherfuckers, fuck you too” You laughed as you followed the lyrics while Aegon shook his head as you spoke the lyrics. “My favorite part.”

“How vulgar. If only my mother heard you,” Aegon barked out a laugh, shaking his head.

“God, can you imagine? I’d be dead by tomorrow or something.” You chuckled, taking another hit before pausing, realizing you should probably stop. It’d been a while since your last session, and you didn’t want to risk greening out.

Aegon leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. “You want to hear something real vulgar?” you asked, a mischievous grin tugging at your lips. “That was just talking shit. Female rappers these days? They go crazy. Sexxy Red, Ice Spice, Cardi B, Megan Thee Stallion. Though Nicki Minaj was the original—changed the whole game for female rappers back in the 2010s.”

Aegon squinted, incredulous. “What are these names? Ice Spice? What is that?” His laughter rang out, the disbelief plain on his face. “Sexxy Red? Seriously? Do people actually call themselves that?”

You nodded, grinning at his reaction. “Yup. Those are their stage names. It’s not their real names, obviously, but it’s what everyone knows them by. Think of it like... titles. Like how Aegon the Conqueror wasn’t really called that in day-to-day life—he was Aegon Targaryen. Same idea. It’s about building a persona, making a name that sticks.”

He tilted his head, considering it for a moment, a wry smile on his lips. “So you’re saying Ice Spice is their version of Aegon the Conqueror?”

You smirked. “Basically. You wanna hear one of her songs?”

Aegon glanced around, his eyes scanning the room before walking to the edge of the balcony, checking to make sure the door was closed. When he turned back to you, he gave a quick nod. You smiled, stood up, and made your way over to him. He peered over your shoulder as you scrolled through your phone.

“Hmmm... Deli? Oh! Look.” You tapped the screen, revealing “Gang Baby” by NLE Choppa. “It’s not Ice Spice, but the women aren’t the only ones speaking here. So, NLE or Ice? Which one do you want?”

Aegon raised an eyebrow, eyeing you. “Which one’s better?”

You shrugged. “Both are good, but NLE is a bit more…explicit. Ice has better beats, in my opinion.”

He nodded thoughtfully. “Go with the girl, then.”

You tapped on the song, and the familiar beat started to thump in the background. Aegon furrowed his brows, looking at your phone. “Is that what she looks like?” he asked, eyes glued to the preview of the video that Spotify provided. There she was—Ice Spice, rocking her signature orange wig, booty shorts, and a white tank top.

“Why is her hair like that? And...where are her clothes? She looks good. Nice arse. Bigger than yours.”

You shot him an incredulous look. “The stray!?” you laughed, shaking your head. “Anyways, that's a wig. And that’s what we wear—or what we can wear. Short shorts and wife beaters.”

“Wife beaters!?”

“Yeah. It’s just the name they have. It's because that’s what men wear when they beat their wives,” You purse your lips nodding.

Aegon stared at you, wide-eyed while giving a disbelieving laugh.“Beat their wives!?”

“Well obviously it’s not accepted, but it’s another name those shirts have, because it falls in line with the stereotype, but yeah. It’s not funny but…it’s just a name they have. Tank tops or sometimes just undershirts, but I grew up with people calling them wife beaters.” You explained when the song came to an end. “Gang baby?”

Aegon nodded and you pressed play. “Just listen.” As the lyrics began Aegon looked over with another disbelieving smile on his face.

He turned to you, shaking his head with a crooked grin. “You’re mad for liking this.”

“Mad in a good way, though.”

He didn’t answer, letting the beat take over, though his face said enough: curious, entertained, and undeniably hooked. “She told you she celibate, but she told me I can nail her shit.” You mumbled along with the song.

“You’re celibate?” Aegon asked as he continued to listen. You looked up at him before nodding. “Yeah.” Were you? Not with his brother you weren’t.

…

30th day of the 6th moon of 129 AC

There is no reason to feel your guilt. I assure you, everything has been forgiven. I do find myself wondering about your statement, about your security in King’s Landing. I am aware that Prince Daemon does not hold favorable feelings towards you however to fear that you are not safe within the Red Keep is a different matter entirely. Are you well? I am more than happy to extend an invitation for your stay here in Dragonstone if you feel your life is in peril, regardless of Prince Daemon’s feelings on the matter. I’m sure my Grandsire will not object to me being your personal escort to Dragonstone on Vermax if you dislike traveling by ship. I also enjoyed the joy ride we took on Vermax and I am more than willing to oblige with your request. Your stay here in Dragonstone would allow your studies to progress and my Grandsire I’m sure approves of this as your knowledge has helped him like no other has been able to. Dragonstone’s architecture has much to offer and is only rivaled by the Wall in the North, and Winterfell both designed by the engineering genius Bran the Builder. There is also the Hightower in Old town or Casterly Rock which is a castle built into a cliff side. There are many places but if you have an interest in the old world more reminiscent of Essos and Valyria Strongholds, Dragonstone is best. I am glad you value me as a friend enough to inform me of your endeavors. If you wish to explore civilizations of old then Old Valyria is best. My grandsire has an intense intrigue with our Valyrian roots. As the name suggests it had been here for many millennia and more and at its peak had over a thousand dragons and held most of Essos and ruled as overlords.

I truly do hope to see you once more here in Dragonstone.

(P.S. For your first letters they are well written and I must say that you are the first person I have ever truly sent letters too. I enjoy watching the birds return knowing that I am receiving a letter from you.)

…

If someone were to ask Alicent what she thought of you, Alicent would say that you were a peculiar girl (prone to sin) and had much potential (Not totally doomed to the Seven hells). Queen Alicent Hightower does not know you. Queen Alicent Hightower sees a desperate girl. Queen Alicent Hightower is not completely opposed to helping you.

However, Queen Alicent Hightower loves her children. Despite her failure with Aegon, she prides herself in her daughter, Helaena Targeyen. Her only daughter. (Even if she too is peculiar, but not your peculiar. Helaena can do no wrong and if she does, Helaena is a mother, mothers are prone to do peculiar things for their children.)

So when Helaena came back muttering sayings with wide eyes after your trip, Queen Alicent Hightower saw you to be a bit more peculiar than she originally had thought.

“A savior, saint, prophet, messiah all names will bear no fruition.” Helaena muttered as she stitched. “History is set.” She continued as Alicent bounced Jaehaerys on her knee. Saints, prophets, saviors, and messiahs. Helaena had never spoken of religion before. For a brief moment it excited Alicent. Something to share with her daughter.

Her excitement would bear no fruition.

If someone asked Alicent Hightower what she thought about you, Alicent wouldn’t know what to say. You simply were, nothing really special, but now you feed the commons and frequent orphanages. She had first learned of this two weeks after you had delivered her the disappointing results that Rhaenrya’s plain featured children were indeed legitimate. (Alicent still had her doubts) Alicent does not know what you spend your time doing (Now she knows you spend your time doing charitable acts) In the first two months, there was never a word of what you did. You stay cooped up in your room working on what Alicent had told you to work on (Treason) and nothing else…or at least that's what you led Alicent to believe. You are a minx—that's what Alicent thinks of you. A minx who had corrupted her daughter and her son. (Maybe if you were around Aegon more, she’d be able to blame you for him too) Helaena seeks you out for ‘popped corn’ and ‘potatoes with salt.’ Her poor daughter had become slightly more plump since encountering you.

Her grandchildren (A part of Alicent mourns that she is a grandmother in her thirties) have also grown plumper and refuse to eat certain foods. All thanks to you of course. Your time in the kitchen has grown exponentially. Now her own husband consumes what you cook, with…well only the gods know the answer.

Lord Beesbury has reported that stops in King’s Landing have improved the local economy. You buy from small stores that seemingly arose from nothing and yet now produce a great amount of coin, as for where you got your coin, Alicent cannot say.

Alicent for the life of her, does not know how you do it, but you now stand in the small council. The very council she once controlled alongside her father before you came along. The very council she fought so hard (waited for so long) to be in, and only three months here, you now stand far too close to Alicent’s position. As a pretty mouth whispering in the King’s ear who now seems more receptive to you more than ever.

“First, I would like to thank each and every one of you for your time today and your willingness to listen to my propositions…”

Alicent’s teeth nearly ground together. The sound of your voice grated at her nerves. How sweetly you spoke, how poised you stood, and—most of all—the audacity of wearing that dress. The emerald green silk had once brought Alicent strength when she needed it most, a gift to herself in the early, lonely days of her queenship. She had offered it to you out of courtesy, a gesture of mentorship to a young woman finding her footing. Now, it felt like you had stolen a piece of her, standing there in her council chamber, in her dress, with her King leaning forward to listen to you.

“…These creators often face a grave injustice: their labor and ingenuity are stolen when others imitate their work without permission or recognition.”

Alicent wanted to scoff aloud. How innocent you made yourself appear. But Alicent knew better. The subtle glances exchanged with Aemond, the whispered laughter between you and Helaena—it wasn’t mere goodwill that brought you here. No, you were something sharper. Something more dangerous.

“To address this issue, I humbly propose the establishment of a patent system…”

Viserys leaned forward, his expression alight with curiosity, and Lord Beesbury murmured his agreement. Alicent gripped the armrest of her chair tightly. Of course they’re enraptured. How could they not be?

“My vision for the patents is a simple promise,” you continued, your voice steady, each word measured. “To the inventor, the patents offer protection for a limited time—during which no one may copy, use, or sell their creation without consent. To society, they offer a legacy. After this period, the invention becomes public knowledge, free for everyone to use and improve upon.”

Your gaze swept across the council, meeting the eyes of each member in turn. Lord Beesbury was nodding slowly, the corners of his mouth curling upward. Ser Otto Hightower, however, remained impassive, his calculating eyes fixed on you as if trying to pierce through to your true intentions.

“Thus, a patent ensures that inventors are rewarded for their efforts,” you pressed on, “while ultimately sharing their knowledge to benefit all.”

Grand Maester Orwyle shifted slightly in his seat, his expression neutral but not hostile—a promising sign, given the usual disdain the Citadel held for unconventional ideas. Across the table, Ser Tyland Lannister smirked, his fingers tapping lightly against the polished wood. Whether his amusement stemmed from skepticism or intrigue, you couldn’t yet tell.

And then there was Rhaenyra. The princess leaned back in her chair, a spark of curiosity alight in her violet eyes. You met her gaze briefly, offering a slight, deliberate smile before continuing.

Alicent, however, did not return your glance. Instead, her knuckles whitened against the armrest, her lips pressed into a thin line.

“Imagine, if you will, a blacksmith who crafts an entirely new type of plow,” you continued, allowing a moment for the council to visualize. “This plow turns the earth more efficiently, saving farmers hours of labor. Under the current system, another blacksmith could simply copy the design and sell it as their own, reaping the rewards without any of the effort. Why, then, would the first blacksmith ever bother to innovate again?”

A few council members nodded, most notably Lord Beesbury, who leaned forward eagerly.

“With a patent system, however,” you explained, “the original blacksmith would register their invention. This registration would be overseen by a neutral party, perhaps a specialized office within the Citadel or under the King’s authority. Upon approval, the blacksmith would be granted exclusive rights to manufacture and sell their plow for a specified number of years—ten, perhaps, or twenty.”

Viserys stroked his beard thoughtfully. “And what happens after these years are over?”

“At the end of the patent term,” you said, your voice firm and clear, “the invention becomes public knowledge, available for anyone to replicate and build upon. By then, the original inventor would have had ample opportunity to profit from their creation, and society as a whole would benefit from its widespread use.”

“And the process of registering this…patent?” Ser Otto interjected, his tone carefully neutral but his sharp gaze unrelenting. “Would it not be ripe for corruption? Any system can be exploited.”

“Indeed, my lord,” you acknowledged with a slight nod. “That is why the process must be transparent. Inventors would submit detailed descriptions or schematics of their creations, which would be reviewed by a panel of experts—selected for their impartiality and knowledge. If the invention is deemed truly novel and beneficial, the patent would be granted.”

Ser Tyland Lannister smirked, crossing his arms. “And these experts—would they not demand their share of coin for their favorable decisions? Even the most noble men have a price.”

“A valid concern,” you replied, meeting his gaze steadily. “This is why I propose strict penalties for corruption within the system. Any found guilty of such acts would face severe consequences—stripped of rank, fined heavily, or even imprisoned. Fear of reprisal is a potent deterrent.”

A murmur rippled through the council.

“And what of disputes?” Lord Jasper Wylde asked, his deep voice cutting through the room. “What if two inventors claim to have conceived the same idea?”

“A panel would also serve as arbiters in such cases,” you answered. “Evidence would be presented—designs, prototypes, or witnesses to the invention process—and the panel would rule in favor of the one who can most conclusively prove their claim.”

The King nodded slowly, his expression contemplative. “A structured system, indeed. But this sounds…complicated. Would it not overwhelm our courts and treasury?”

“It would be an investment, Your Grace,” you said earnestly. “The initial costs of establishing the system would be repaid tenfold through the innovations it encourages. Trade would flourish, industries would thrive, and Westeros would become the envy of the world for its ingenuity.”

Rhaenyra’s lips twitched as if suppressing a smile. Whether it was mocking or not, you couldn’t say. “Ambitious,” she said, leaning forward. “You think the people would accept such a change?”

“I do, Princess,” you said confidently. “Because it benefits them directly. Farmers with better tools, seamstresses with finer needles, sailors with more durable ships—all of this would improve lives. Once they see the results, they will embrace the system.”

Viserys leaned back in his chair, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “You think not only of the present but of the future. I find your ideas…intriguing. I would like a detailed proposal drawn up for the council’s further consideration.”

You inclined your head deeply. “It would be my honor, Your Grace.”

Alicent’s nails dug into the armrest, her expression inscrutable. Too close. You are far too close.

“And you have a second proposal, yes?” Viserys offered. You nodded and stood straighter, puffing out your chest ever so slightly. You needed to radiate confidence.

“Yes your grace,” you said with a gracious smile before continuing. “My proposal is cut from the same cloth—one that builds upon the foundation of innovation and rewards hard work but seeks to invigorate our economy more broadly.”

The council members exchanged curious glances.

“In Westeros, we have lands rich with resources, craftsmen skilled in their trades, and people eager for opportunities. Yet much of this potential lies dormant, untapped,” you began. “Imagine a system where individuals, no matter their birth, could invest in ventures—merchants funding ships, farmers pooling resources to build mills, or craftsmen working together to establish workshops. With structured investments and shared profits, we could ignite a flame of enterprise that benefits all.”

Lord Beesbury raised a brow. “Shared profits? Are you suggesting some form of communal ventures?”

“Not precisely,” you clarified. “Rather, I propose we encourage what I would call ‘partnership economies.’ Merchants or lords with coin to spare could invest in promising ventures run by skilled individuals who lack the resources to begin on their own. These investors would receive a portion of the profits, but the ventures themselves would remain under the control of the original creators or craftsmen.”

“And how would this differ from a lord simply collecting his taxes or rents?” Ser Tyland Lannister asked, his voice edged with skepticism.

“It differs, my lord, because it incentivizes collaboration,” you said. “Instead of taking from the people what is already theirs, this system allows lords and merchants to grow wealth alongside those they invest in. A baker with better ovens produces more bread; a blacksmith with finer tools forges better weapons. Everyone benefits—not just the few.”

Viserys nodded, his interest clearly piqued. “You mean to say that wealth could be multiplied, rather than merely redistributed?”

“Precisely, Your Grace,” you affirmed. “This approach would encourage cooperation between the classes, foster innovation, and create a thriving middle class—artisans, merchants, and skilled workers who could contribute even more to the kingdom's prosperity.”

“Would this not disrupt the established order?” Ser Otto interjected, his voice sharp. “If smallfolk begin amassing wealth and influence, what need would they have of their lords? Such a system could lead to rebellion, not progress.”

“I understand your concern, Lord Hand,” you replied evenly. “But this system does not undermine the authority of lords; it enhances it. By investing in their people, lords would see greater returns from their lands and more loyal subjects. A smith who prospers thanks to his lord’s patronage will be far more devoted than one who sees his talents squandered.”

Queen Alicent’s lips pursed, her knuckles whitening against the armrest.

“And what would regulate such investments?” Lord Jasper Wylde asked. “To prevent fraud or disputes?”

“Contracts, my lord,” you said. “Binding agreements overseen by the crown or local magistrates. These contracts would clearly define terms—how much is invested, how profits are shared, and for how long the agreement stands. Any disputes would be resolved through the courts, ensuring fairness and transparency.”

Ser Harrold Westerling, who had remained silent thus far, tilted his head. “And what of those who cannot repay their debts? Would this not lead to a rise in indentures or worse?”

“A valid concern, Ser Harrold,” you acknowledged. “This is why investments must be made with care. Only those ventures deemed viable by an impartial body—perhaps a council of merchants or scholars—would qualify. And as for those who fail, there would be no punitive measures that strip them of their dignity. Instead, they might work to repay their debts over time through service or labor.”

“You prepose slavery?” Otto spoke and your confidence cracked and Alicent was there to see it form. “Slavery is a thing of Essos, The Targaryens left their costumes in Essos, are you attempting to bring back such horrid acts?”

You took a deep breath. “No. Slavery is a thing of the past. A flawed system. It breeds resentment, resentment breeds revolts. I have seen first hand the after effects of slavery. I have lived through the after effects of slavery. It takes decades, a century even yet those who originated from slaves are never seen as truly human…there would obviously be a judicial system specifically allocated to deal with such issues.”

“To create these things, these systems…it would take years, decades even.” You knew Otto held back. To say that the realm will go through a big change soon. The death of the King and a possible war for the throne. But he was right, this would take decades to properly input. There are things one simply cannot account for. A trial and error system.

But Rome was not built in a day.

“Great empires were not built in a day.” You turned your attention to King Viserys. “Old Valyria was not built in a day.”

You scanned the council members, gauging their reactions. The room was not as receptive as it had been moments ago.

Lord Beesbury shifted in his seat, his expression troubled. “This… ‘partnership economy,’ as you call it, sounds dangerously unorthodox. Encouraging smallfolk to amass wealth and enter ventures—would this not blur the lines of station? The order of society has always rested on clear boundaries.”

“Indeed,” Lord Jasper Wylde added, his tone stiff. “Such a proposal risks emboldening the commons, giving them ideas above their station. If a blacksmith or merchant prospers too greatly, what stops them from questioning why they bow to their lords at all?”

Ser Tyland Lannister scoffed lightly, crossing his arms. “It seems to me that such a system would only create chaos. Smallfolk lack the discipline and foresight for enterprise. They would squander their investments or worse—turn to deceit to enrich themselves.”

You held your ground, your voice steady. “My lords, I hear your concerns, but this proposal does not seek to abolish the natural order. On the contrary, it strengthens it. A prosperous people serve their lords better, pay their taxes more readily, and maintain peace in the realm. Would you not prefer subjects who thrive under your guidance rather than languish in resentment?”

Ser Otto Hightower, who had been listening intently, finally spoke, his words cutting and precise. “A fair argument, but you ask us to overturn centuries of tradition, all based on theories from lands far removed from our own. This is Westeros, not Essos, or wherever it is you come from. Such radical ideas could unsettle the foundations of our society. If smallfolk become too powerful, where does it end? Will they sit among us at this table one day, as you do now?”

The jab was not subtle, and the room bristled with tension. Even Viserys, who had shown enthusiasm moments ago, looked uncertain.

You chose your words carefully, keeping your tone respectful yet firm. “I understand the weight of tradition, Lord Hand, but traditions must evolve to ensure the survival of the realm. This proposal does not hand power to the commons—it channels their efforts into something productive, something that benefits us all. Lords would remain the cornerstone of this system, guiding and overseeing its growth.”

Queen Alicent’s lips tightened, but she did not speak. Her silence felt heavier than any words.

Lord Beesbury frowned deeply. “But how do we ensure control? If these partnerships are mismanaged, or if the commons grow restless, it could lead to unrest. You speak of contracts and fairness, but who enforces this? Who ensures that the lords are not taken advantage of?”

“Precisely!” Lord Wylde snapped. “Who is to say these agreements will not be exploited to undermine noble authority? Contracts are words on parchment, easily manipulated by clever tongues.”

Rhaenyra’s voice cut through the murmurs, calm but commanding. “Is that not the purpose of law? To prevent manipulation and ensure fairness? Or are you suggesting that Westeros lacks the capacity for justice?”

The room stilled, and you glanced at her, grateful for the unexpected support.

“The Princess is correct,” you said, seizing the moment. “This system would be governed by the crown, with contracts overseen by magistrates or councils appointed by the King. Any disputes would be resolved under royal authority, ensuring fairness for all parties. This would not weaken noble power; it would enhance it, showing that lord's care for their people’s welfare and prosperity.”

Ser Tyland narrowed his eyes. “And what of women? Would this system encourage them to step beyond their roles as well? If you aim to give them the same opportunities as men, you will only invite more chaos.”

You met his gaze evenly, refusing to waver. “Women have always contributed to the prosperity of their families and lands, my lord, though their efforts are often overlooked. This system would allow their talents to flourish alongside men’s, to the benefit of all. Prosperity knows no gender.”

Alicent’s voice finally broke the silence. “And yet it is a woman who stands before us, proposing a system that upends the very order of Westeros. Forgive me, but I cannot help but wonder if this is truly for the good of the realm, or for your own ambitions.”

Her words stung, but you inclined your head gracefully. “I seek no personal gain, Your Grace. Only the betterment of this realm I now call home.”

Viserys raised a hand, silencing further objections. His voice was measured, though doubt lingered in his tone. “The proposal is bold, perhaps too bold for many to accept, but it is not without merit. I will consider it further, though I urge caution. Change, if it must come, should come slowly.”

You bowed your head. “Thank you, Your Grace. I am grateful for your consideration.”

As you stepped back, the tension in the room was palpable. The lords remained skeptical, their unease plain, but you could see the seeds of curiosity planted in a few of their minds. The road ahead would not be easy, but you had taken the first step. And that, you knew, was how all great changes began.

…

6th day of the 7th moon of 129 AC

Dear Jacaerys Velyarion

I must thank you for your kindness, truly. You need not worry yourself too much, for now at least. I am glad I have the King’s favor or my head would most likely be on spike. You see, other than serving the King, I have no purpose and because I am quite literally ahead of my time, I do not conform with such expectations of women today. Queen Alicent and Lord Otto don’t particularly seem to like that about me, and Prince Daemon doesn’t like me at all, I am unsure where your mother stands on an opinion of me. The only one I have who does favor me is the King and is the sole reason why my head is still atop my shoulders. You must forgive me and I know you are not a personal book of mine to write, but I find it easy to speak to you. It is easy to explain myself to you and my feelings about being here. I am scared. I don’t want to die again. It is a horrible feeling. There's nothing like fighting for something as simple as human breath. I don’t want to know how it feels to have my head cut off or burned alive or something like that.

That was grim. Sorry. In anycase, the King will not live forever and your mother will be Queen. I need to make myself valuable enough for her to decide she does want me around or at the very least not dead. I am very glad for your letters. I have been the library recently searching about the Hightower, Casterly Rock, The Wall, Dragonstone, Old ruins like Summerhall, High Heart (reminds me of Stonehenge), the Isle of Faces (This one is more so because of plain old curiosity and learning about these ‘Old Gods.’) But I think the one that captures my attention the most is Winterfell. Bran the Builder was some Builder. The concept of being built atop a spring is genius. I read that hot water travels through the walls. I want to know how that was done. I want to go to Winterfell. I will go to Winterfell once I get this patent thing off the ground and then I can go ahead with the water system.

(P.S. Thank you so much for the little tip that your Grandsire is obsessed with Old Valyria. Really helped me sell my idea. Also yes, I find it very exciting to wait for your letters. I check consistently, only because no one knows I’m sending letters to you, but if it wasn’t for that, I too would be very excited for your letter—I still am excited for them)

…

“Thank you, Disney,” you muttered, finishing yet another story—this time, Cinderella. It was always a good choice for the orphanages. The kids adored it, and when you ventured out into the city, some people even began to recognize you. Things were going smoothly. Gaining the love of the smallfolk turned out to be surprisingly easy. All it took was treating them like actual people. With your growing reputation, you were starting to build an impressive résumé—one that might even help you gain a foothold in the Faith.

But the Faith alone wasn’t enough. The Citadel had become a necessary stop in your plan. You’d thought it through: there was no way you could overhaul the water system by yourself. You lacked the technical knowledge and the support. You needed scholars—real scholars (hopefully not just philosophers). And you needed them now.

There was no ignoring the challenges ahead. The water system required precise engineering: the slope had to cut through a hill—a massive one. How to achieve a perfect straight line? You had no idea. As for the sewer system? That would practically require dismantling half of King’s Landing. The city’s urban planning—or lack thereof—was abysmal. Chaotic streets, haphazard layouts... Aegon the Conqueror clearly hadn’t been thinking about infrastructure.

You let out a frustrated sigh and leaned back in your chair. “Dyana!” you called, and moments later, she appeared.

“Here,” you handed her your finished story. “Take this to my workplace and have someone bring me fruit or food. I’m starving.”

As Dyana left, you turned back to your desk. The parchment before you read: Patent Act of 129 AC. It wasn’t just a set of rules; it was a strategy. This act would require a new position on the Small Council—a role you hoped to fill with someone you trusted, someone who would favor you. Preferably an older person who might conveniently vacate the seat by the time you were of age and had the accomplishments to take it yourself. Longevity—that was the goal. Not just surviving but truly living. Living a fulfilling life, as you would have in your own world.

The only downside? You had to live in King’s Landing. Hot, humid, sticky King’s Landing. You sighed again. Dry heat would’ve been better, or even better still—the North. Somewhere cool, where the air was crisp, and the summers didn’t feel like an oven.

Before you could indulge in your northern fantasies, a knock sounded at the door. A maid entered, carrying a tray with what looked like a meat pie, wine, and a small bowl of grapes. You offered a polite smile as she approached but quickly stopped her as she moved toward your papers.

“Not on top of the documents,” you said sharply, gesturing to the side. She corrected the course and placed the tray on an empty part of the table.

“That’ll be all. Thank you,” you added curtly.

Once the maid had left, you stared at the meat pie with open disgust. You’d managed to avoid eating meat for the past four months, but it was starting to take a toll. The weight loss was noticeable—too noticeable. Energy levels were plummeting, and without proper nutrition, you knew you’d face bigger problems down the line. If you wanted to strengthen your immune system and maintain your health, you couldn’t rely on simple carbs alone. You’d have to face facts: meat might be a necessary evil in this world, and your survival hinged on staying strong.

Grabbing a fork, you poked at the meat pie. The wafting scent of roasted meat invaded your senses, making your stomach churn. You closed your eyes, exhaled sharply, and dropped the fork with a dramatic sigh. For good measure, you mimed choking yourself. God, why? You weren’t even vegetarian, but the lack of cleanliness in this world was unsettling. The mere thought of consuming it made you reconsider your timeline for selling the idea of refrigeration—a plan you’d initially intended to push after passing the Patent Act for maximum profit.

It sucked, truly. You’d hoped to tie it all together: disproving spontaneous generation, advancing sanitation, and introducing better food storage. But if you wanted to maintain a healthy diet in the meantime, you might have to accelerate your plans.

Flexing your hands in irritation, you reluctantly picked up the fork again and sliced off a small piece. “Okay, okay, okay,” you murmured, trying to psych yourself up. On the bright side, if this went terribly and left you with another crippling migraine, at least you’d have an excuse to retreat to Dragonstone for a while.

Lifting the bite to your mouth, a voice cut through the room, stopping you.

“I would not recommend eating that.”

“Oh, thank god,” you muttered, dropping the fork as your eyes darted to the doorway. There, standing in the shadows, was Aemond. He had apparently figured out how to reach your chambers through Maegor’s secret passageways.

“My grandsire and mother were... displeased with your proposal,” he said, his tone measured, though his eye gleamed with curiosity. “And your growing favor with my father—the King—does not sit well with them. I would refrain from eating anything you did not prepare or see prepared yourself.”

His words hung in the air, cold and heavy.

You sighed, pushing the plate away and opting for the grapes instead. “You can’t do that,” you said, popping one into your mouth.

“Do what?” Aemond asked, settling into a nearby chair with the ease of someone who clearly didn’t care to be chastised.

“Just come in whenever you want. What if I was changing?” you shot back, gesturing vaguely toward yourself.

Aemond raised a brow, his lips curving into a faint smirk.

“Right...” you drawled, rolling your eyes. “And what if I was plotting or something?”

“I have the right to be informed,” he replied evenly, his tone suggesting he genuinely believed this.

You shook your head, leaning back in your chair. “I like my privacy. And my private plans, thank you very much.”

Aemond studied you, his sharp eye taking in every detail of your face and posture, as if trying to decode a cipher. “You’ve been amassing influence,” he said finally. “Among the smallfolk. Writing laws. Offering ideas that challenge long-held beliefs. You’re not as subtle as you think.”

“Subtlety is overrated,” you countered, flicking a grape into the air and catching it in your mouth. “I don’t care if people notice. In fact, I’d prefer it—they should see what I’m trying to do. But that doesn’t mean I want you barging in uninvited like you own the place.”

“First, I do own the place. The Red Keep is my home.” Aemond leaned forward slightly, resting his elbows on his knees. “Secondly, you’re ambitious. Too ambitious for someone with no name and no family ties.”

You tilted your head, meeting his gaze with a challenging look. “What do you suggest I do? Sit here looking pretty until some lord with decent standing finds me attractive enough to overlook my lack of name and origins? Marry him, then wait for years before I can even think about making my moves? Too much time wasted. Unless it’s some Northern lord or someone willing to give me Dragonstone, it’s not happening.”

Aemond’s lips twitched with faint amusement as he leaned back, his sharp gaze never leaving you. “When did you start fantasizing about Northern brutes?”

“First, that’s rude,” you said, narrowing your eyes at him. “Second, I prefer the cold. Ergo, a Northern lord. Though a friend of mine told me there’s more to the North than just freezing winters. Winterfell has caught my attention. I want to go there.”

“For?”

You shrugged, popping another grape into your mouth. “It doesn’t hurt to look at men I might potentially want to marry. As for Winterfell itself… Bran the Builder was an interesting man, intelligent beyond his time. I want to study the blueprints of their stronghold, maybe glean something from their methods. The wall alone is a feat that deserves more attention than it gets.”

Aemond studied you with that familiar intensity, the kind that made you feel like he was peeling back your layers, searching for secrets you hadn’t even admitted to yourself. “You’re bold. But you’d need more than boldness to survive the North. They respect tradition above all else, and you, well…” He let his words trail off, a faint smirk playing at his lips.

“And I?” you prompted, raising an eyebrow.

“You would disrupt their traditions just as easily as you disrupt the quiet here,” he said, gesturing vaguely to the room.

“I don’t see that as a bad thing,” you replied smoothly. “Times change. You can either let go of the past or be dragged. However, me personally…” You smile at him leaning back in your chair tossing him a grape which he caught. “I’d rather be the one steering the change than a passenger caught in the chaos.”

For a moment, Aemond said nothing, popping the grape in his mouth, his gaze piercing and calculating. Then, he gave a slow nod, as though acknowledging some unspoken truth. “You’re a risk-taker. That much is clear. But risks in this world come with consequences—more often fatal than not.”

“And yet,” you said with a faint smile, “here I am, very much alive.”

“For now,” Aemond countered, standing. He adjusted his tunic, his sharp features set in a contemplative expression. “If you do decide to go to Winterfell, let me know. I’d be curious to see how they handle someone like you.”

You smirked. “What, worried they’ll like me more than you?”

Aemond’s eye glittered with something between amusement and warning. “Perhaps. Or perhaps I’m simply curious to see if you’re as unshakable as you pretend to be. The North has a way of testing people, you know.”

“Good,” you replied, leaning back in your chair. “I like a challenge.”

Aemond didn’t respond, but the faint smirk on his lips lingered as he turned and left the room. You watched him go, your mind already spinning with plans and possibilities. If Winterfell truly held the knowledge and opportunities you sought, then perhaps the cold North was exactly where you needed to be.

…

14th day of the 7th moon of 129 AC

I was not aware of the dangers you faced in the Red Keep. Had I known I would’ve stressed to my mother to let me stay in King’s Landing. However, now that I am here, more now than ever I can offer you a place of solitude. Here I can assure you that your head will not be on a spike and you could simply live life as you deserve. We could watch movies or I can show you more of this world, as strange as it is to say. I’m sure my younger brothers would enjoy watching the movies you once showed me if it would please you. I do not mind if you express your thoughts to me, no matter how grim, I would much rather share your burdens than rather have you face them alone. You are in a strange land vastly different from what you are accustomed to, I would not blame you if you had such thoughts and do not oblige by traditions. Even so I do not doubt that my mother will resonate with you should you have the chance to speak to her.

To continue with your interest in the world of old, had I known you would’ve taken interest in Winterfell rather than Dragonstone, I would not have mentioned it. Of course that is only a jest. I am more than willing to help you in anything you should require. I am glad that my Grandsire has taken your side rather than the Queen. If you would not mind, I would much like to know what Stonehenge is. I have never heard of it. As for the Isle of Faces, it is a sacred island in the middle of the lake called the God's Eye, located in the southeastern riverlands. It is one of the few known locations of weirwoods in the south of Westeros, with most others having been cut down and burned. I do not know much of the religion, Prince Daemon favors the gods of Old Valyria and I know more about them than the Seven or the Old Gods. However, in my youth when I lived in the Red Keep there was a Weirwood tree in the Godswood. I remember the leaves being five-pointed and the sap of weirwoods are blood-red, while the smooth bark on their wide trunks and wood are bone white. They say most weirwoods have faces carved into their trunks and that it was done by the children of the forest in ancient days, and is now done by the free folk as well as other descendants of the First Men, such as followers of the old gods in the Seven Kingdoms praying to heart trees in godswoods. The one in the Red Keep has sap that has collected in the crevices of the carved faces, giving the trees red eyes which have been known to drip sap as if the trees were weeping. A weirwood will live forever if undisturbed—or so it is said.

(P.S. Northerns are very set in their ways. If you go, I would like to accompany you. I have never left the South and I long to explore Westeros. If I am to be King, a King must know his people.)

Note: How do we feel? Anyway after for like ever we have our first mention of Winterfell. Speical thanks to my Beta reader ❤️

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papaya-twinks · 2 days ago

Text

masquerade - l.n

Warnings: Swearing

Pairing: Lando Norris x spy!fem!reader

A/N - I watched a spy movie and it inspired me :3 also this is the most basic ahh spy plot ever

Spy AU

only thing he spying on is the pigs in blankets at the party

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

“Look who it is,” a voice came from behind you as you resisted the urge to groan, your hands tightening on your glass of champagne.

“Fancy seeing you here, Norris,” you said, adjusting the floor-length, skin-tight black dress on your body, the cut outs on the side of your stomach giving him a great view.

“Well, I’m on a mission, darling,” he said, pinching your glass from you, downing the golden liquid, his gaze never leaving you.

“Well, do that somewhat away from me!”.

“Can’t help it,” he said, placing the glass on a tray, “it’s like you’re following me, Y/N,”.

“I’m following you?” you scoffed, “get your head our your ass. And what are you here for?”.

“Bold to assume I’d tell you,” he said, running a hand through his curls as he surveyed the scene around him.

It was a party in some lavish manor, the one you’d been sent on by your boss to retrieve a diamond tiara of the sorts. “Well if it’s the office safe, the password’s 248293,” you said, flicking a speck from your nails.

“You just..told me? Like that?” he clicked his fingers as you shrugged.

“Don’t see why we should hide it if we’re in the same bloody mission,” you pointed out.

“For rival agencies,” he said as you scoffed.

“You’re no fun,” you almost pouted, moving round the outside of the room, and towards the hallway.

“Careful sweetheart,” Lando said, pulling a hand over your mouth and your back against his chest to stop you running into security guards.

“Get your paws off of me,” you huffed, wiping your dress where’d be touched you. “Very grateful,” he said sarcastically, ducking out of view from a camera.

“Don’t need to be saved by you,” you said indignantly.

“Out my way,” you said, sliding your bobby pin into the lock of the door. Youd thought it would’ve harder to break in but hey, it meant less work for you.

“What did you say the code was?” he mumbled as he knelt in front of the safe, pulling on some plastic gloves.

“Use your brain. How are you a spy if you can’t even remember a couple numbers?” you said, back to him.

“Oh shut up,” Lando said, wracking his brain, “248293,” he mumbled to himself.

The sound of the dial twisting on the safe was the only sound as Lando finally twisted the last three…Incorrect Code.

“You’re so gullible,” you giggled as he turned around, his eyes landing on the diamond tiara hanging off your index finger. “Oh you little…” he said, but he couldn’t stop the chuckle on his lips.

“Did you really think I’d just tell you the code?”

“Guess I expected too much from you,” Lando snickered, his eyes never leaving the tiara.

“Well, I have places to be,” you said as a rope dropped through the open glass panel in the ceiling, “bye sweetheart,”.

“Oh, and,” you said, taking your heel off as you were pulled through the ceiling, “enjoy,” you said, hitting the alarm with your heel as Lando smiled.

“Til next time, Y/L/N,” he called, gripping the gun in his belt as he watched you. Bitch.

#lando norris #lando norris imagine #lando norris x reader #f1 #lando norris x you #lando x reader #lando norris smut

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moustawott · 19 hours ago

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The movie’s final cut doesn’t necessarily contradict what Orion believes in the animatic imo, though maybe the writers overestimated the audience’s ability to read between the lines and their knowledge of politics and the judiciary system 😅 or maybe it was pacing/time constraints, or maybe it was corporate interference, we’ll never know

My analysis/thoughts under the cut:

Orion says a new society can’t begin with an execution and he’s right in a way: it only leads to fear and instability in the aftermath. + As many have noted, there’s this aspect of a cycle of violence: Sentinel kills the Primes and takes Megatronus’ T-Cog, D-16 does the same. If D had become leader instead of Sentinel, there’s noooooo way it would’ve gone well (and I’m not sure if Megatron would’ve ever been convinced to let anyone except him be the leader of their new society, he becomes a believer in the "might is right" philosophy after all)

Orion was also correct in believing that the peaceful solution should be prioritized: they wouldn’t have had anything to lose trying! And if using the recording didn’t work, then D-16 would’ve been justified

You also can’t have a single person be judge, jury, and executioner — that’s what D was trying to be — cuz that’s just autocracy, and Orion wanted to stop that (on top of trying to stop his best friend from completely losing himself). Sentinel was surrendering! He was all beaten up by D-16! He couldn’t actually harm anyone meaningfully at that point! The great majority of Iacon was against him now, and remember when Sentinel was trying to escape D-16? He was crawling away, he couldn’t fly or use any of his weapons!

I think there were a few writing decisions that went into cutting Orion’s lines:

Tighter pacing: the fact Orion and D don’t really have a quiet moment to unpack everything justifies D-16’s fall better. If D was given a chance to calm down, he couldn’t have been angry enough to drop Orion

Story intent: in the end, this isn’t political drama, it’s interpersonal drama. The politics of TFOne had to be put aside to focus on the drama between characters and their imperfections. I’m just glad TFOne gave us something that actually makes sense within TF lore as a whole! D-16 is sympathetic, but he’s also very wrong! He acts like a fascist; he takes advantage of societal injustice and people’s anger and directs this anger towards selfish goals! That’s how fascism rise every time! Orion Pax is naive, but he is right! He just needs to be better at choosing the right words and inspiring people! (My biggest pet peeve in the IDW continuity is Megatron having based politics, but ending up being a megalomaniac genocider. Hate that trope of justified "villains" and "good guys" maintaining the unjust system, TFOne makes it actually work by giving D-16 understandable reasons, but hella cringe politics lol)

Orion’s flaws: Orion still has room to grow. He couldn’t find the perfect words to explain everything to D-16, nor to calm him down, and that’s a mistake he’ll try to never repeat again. The cut lines are what Optimus would say, not Orion, not yet (I will still lament the loss of the most explicitly based Orion/Optimus we ever had, jakdlkajaj, gimme an MLK/Nelson Mandela-like Optimus that isn’t whitewashed to hell)

Again, we as an audience have hindsight and know the tragedy that’s coming, the characters can’t. Orion never could’ve expected D-16 becoming Megatron, how could he?? That’s his rules-following, hardworking best friend! And Orion wasn’t necessarily wrong to worry about exposing Sentinel first, they were being chased by the drones! And D-16 is a mature responsible bot, no? Orion can trust him to take care of himself

So we end up with this ambiguity in the final scene, and I’m not sure if I can call it good or bad, but it does make for some good conversation opener, especially about American attitudes towards vengeance + punishment = good justice system (cuz like, really, does the death sentence really have more benefits than restorative justice? Is the death sentence actually about long-term, concrete, societal good or actually about satisfying our personal resentment?)

I am so fucking VINDICATED

(From the movie’s draft script, link to the full animatic at the end of the post)

I’m so upset this movie couldn’t have been just a little more obvious about Orion’s beliefs, cuz the final version does look (at first glance) like Orion is playing out the trope “nooo, we can’t kill the fascist bad guy bc killing bad”

The only reason why I picked up on the writer’s og intentions was thanks to the way D-16 was built up: it’s very, very clear that he wants to kill Sentinel only for self-satisfaction and not true justice

I think the reasons so many have misunderstood that scene were:

A. The writer not being obvious enough with Orion who’s fine with Sentinel dying, he just doesn’t want D-16 to commit murder for self-satisfaction (the movie novelization and this animatic don’t have the same problem)

B. Americans love punishment in their justice system (and online “progressive” fandoms too, I can talk about this for hours lol). A major reason why death penalty still exists in the US is because of this kind of attitude where people will seek self-satisfaction and virtue signalling above true, restorative justice. This is why people support D-16’s way of thinking so much. But Orion is right: a functional—ideal—society can’t be executing people, everyone must have a chance for redemption, because if we draw a line between those who deserve and those who don’t, the line will always move in a way to fuck over some random unlucky people eventually

C. People are projecting too much IDW Megatron unto TFOne Megatron. Like, sure, IDW Megatron is based and Coptimus is cursed, but this ain’t the case in TFOne 😭 like at all 😭 D-16 is obviously meant to reflect right-wing thinking (he joins the High “might is right” Guard for fucks sake)

Blah blah something something poor literacy and people lacking the ability to infer/interpret stuff and needing everything spelled out, especially with movies where there’s not just textual info but also visual storytelling + pre-existing tropes that taint our perception of this story

#hooweeeee #that was a hella long rant lmao #transformers #tf one #orion pax #optimus prime #megatron #d 16 #politics #tfone meta #tfone analysis

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hello-its-em · 3 months ago

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SPOILERS‼️‼️

WHAT THE FUCK

#WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK #HUH #I THOUGHT THIS GAME WAS RATED 12+#HOLY SHIT #that escalated quickly #I don’t think I ever would’ve expected that #BUT HONESTLY??#this update ate #it ate and left no crumbs #cookie run kingdom #beast yeast #crk #cookie run #crk update #burning spice cookie #golden cheese cookie

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chawliekin · 8 months ago

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and if I said that dennis’ insistence on being the breadwinner/provider despite literally being a pampered princess who dgaf about traditional roles of masculinity in every other regard (aside from ego) is because his mom only stayed with/chose frank for his wealth and dennis is highly aware that he’s difficult to love and unable to show his emotions openly so he has to be contributing something to the relationship materially in order to feel like he’s worth staying for… and mac grew up with parents who were extremely ambivalent to him and eachother so he has to overcompensate by proving his worth at every given moment and seeking praise/validation from people (and religious icons) who will never demonstrate the same amount of dedication to him but he has no idea how else to desperately keep himself close to those he loves other than by eroding himself into something they’ll approve of… dear god they’re both exactly what the other needs — someone who can’t and won’t leave them even if they try — and they don’t even see it…

#dennis thinks he’s losing his edge and mac thinks he’s perfect anyway #mac feels like no one in his life has ever needed him enough to stay but dennis can’t stay away #IM ILLLLLL about these men from the world’s stupidest sitcom #sorry if this got a little freudian I don’t LITERALLY mean it in the sense that mac/dennis are seeking something that reminds them of their #parents (gross) (although pretty character accurate to the SINNED system)#but rather that our childhoods teach us what we should expect and look out for in life #and it never really leaves us #this all stemmed from me contemplating MADMTTS and how it would’ve made way more sense for mac (high energy adhd) to be out in the world #and dennis (bpd anger issues) to be indoors free from the triggers of the world #but they INSISTED on mac being housewife dennis being breadwinner #same as their little battle over supposed roles/dynamics as hugh honey/vic vinegar/brian lefevre etc #you are two queer men why on earth do you care about sticking to heterosexual gender roles #but it was never about the gender roles it was about what they self-assign their value to…#mac and dennis #mac mcdonald #dennis reynolds #iasip #it’s always sunny in philadelphia #its always sunny #macdennis #macden

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sunmisbf · 1 month ago

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i smiled adding these to my playlist btw

#high five can kill itself #i’m actually offended they thought to make it a pre release w its own music video when filthy rich was right there #but maybe it’s for the best i think i would’ve blacked out seeing hendery during that one part 😭#also frequency is like. how do i say this. i think on my youth was the last wayv title track that we r ever going to get #go higher was actually so fucking bad it lowered my expectations a lot so anything is better than that #frequency is like a nct. song that was molded for wayv i don’t know how else to say it #go higher wasn’t molded it was straight up like a dream song or 127 i don’t know which #it just feels like a what the hell. sure situation sldksksk #.txt

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wildevenusian · 3 months ago

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i just don’t understand. why say ur ready to talk if you aren’t?

can u believe this post is what got me to reach tag limit

#vaugepostimg on main about an irl don’t mind me #i just. am feeling sad bcus i have been trying to keep my distance and respect the space they said they needed. and then they reached out to #me for their book club and said we should chat and i got excited! i miss my friend of course i got excited #still let them take the lead. i want them to be comfortable. they said they’d lmk what day they were free #and then proceeded to ghost me for like. almost two weeks??#(it was 10 days but !!! still!!! almost 2 weeks from them suggesting i come to book club which would’ve inherently necessitated an irl talk #and then after all that yesterday said they actually weren’t ready which. hurted #tbf i knew something was up after like 2 days of them not replying so it’s not like i was fully caught off guard it just really hurt #and like i feel weird bcus our social circles are really overlapped and i spent a lot of time with them last winter and i had thought #that would happen again this winter. we would swim together a lot and i consistently went to their house dinners #bcus if i care about you i show up! and i’m understanding ! bcus i am patient and kind person and as a triple taurus i’m not tryna rush ever #especially when it comes to people’s emotions ??? especially if someone has told me i hurt them???? like ik im an autistic lesbian but #despite popular conceptions on that particular identity. im not fucking evil ????? if you ask for space i will give you space !!!!!#and like when it comes to emotions and conflict i’m blunt but i’m caring and it takes a lot for me to be disinfranchised by people #or relationships. so i’m not saying i don’t want to still be her friend #i’m just. noticing behaviors #they did tell me that they were very avoidant in conflict and i told them i’m very much not and like. now that i’m on the receiving end of i #idk what to do!! i’m not gonna chase her down like they’re grown!! and again!!! if you ask for space i’m going to respect that!!!#and like honestly. i’m happy she at least gave me the curtesy of saying they weren’t ready to talk even if it took her mad long to do it #so like. who tf knows when we’ll talk. if ever. probably when she wants the validation of our friendship if it even happens at all #bcus again. she reached out not to reconnect and clear the air but to check if i still wanted to come to her club she was starting #ik in earlier conversations she was worried no one would come but ig she found people. which like good for her tbh but to be honest i feel #discarded?? i’m feeling like i’m failing to not project too much so i gotta stop but idk man i’m just feeling weird about it all #and then i had the thought today of like. is this what i want in a friendship? someone who goes back and forth abt whether or not i’m worth #which again. kinda wasn’t expecting that bcus we spent so much time together last autumn/winter/spring like. many times per week!!!#so the idea of not being her friend all of a sudden?? feels fucjing weird to think about #but like? i don’t want to feel this way this is what i hate about west coast/white people conflict resolution!! there fucking isn’t any!!!#and i can’t deal with that! i can’t spend my life with people who aren’t going to engage with me as a person who cares about them #humans are fallible creatures and were only here on earth for so long so why are we wasting time here? what is the point of all this ???????#but then the guilt and shame say i deserve it all and at that point i just need to stop so. i’m gonna stop now lol

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theriverdalereviewer · 2 years ago

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to the anon who suggested I watch yellowjackets WELL GUESS WHAT?

#im watching and im enjoying it #I close my eyes through basically any scene involve gore and blood and guts cause when I tell you it makes me fucking gag #idk when these canabalism scenes are happening but I will NOT be watching #anyways I like Jackie! I too would be a girl who cannot adapt to life in the wild #I like the way they’ve written her character where shes a good captain on the soccer field but not a leader for the wilderness #I would’ve expected her leadership qualities would translate well but its more nuanced this way #I also think that if misty wasn’t played by two great actresses I would hate the character #like they make her so unlikable despite the fact that shes creepy and annoying and supremely fucked them over #are they ever gonna find out that misty destroyed the distress signal cause #I do find the scenes in the wilderness more interesting than the present day scenes sorry #oh also I know that jackie dies which sucks but I don’t really care about spoilers when it comes to this show #thats all for now!#sorry I mean likable

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killa-trav · 2 years ago

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We are just never going to get rid of him are we? We are stuck with this man forever.. Like please just go some where else I can’t take it anymore…

nah we aren’t n the thing is yeh, he’s not that good, he’s never been amazingly good either. he was a proper glazer buy especially w that price tag and bc he’s so out of form, we will not be getting any where near the £80 mill we paid for him. he will be sold at most i reckon for around £20 million. if we don’t get rid of him he’s literally going to be another phil jones bc varane n martinez is the perfect partnership and luke shaw has been doing absolute bits as a cb too

also, if ten hag truly wanted maguire to be part of his plan for united, he wouldn’t have made him a sub straight away. he would be starting every single game more or less n frankly it’s embarrassing for maguire that two new signings in rapha and licha are 10x better than him n they both haven’t been playing english football all their life unlike maguire

n ik rapha is a world class cb but still like ur club captain, u see two new signings in ur position, it should motivate u to prove to the new manager that u should be picked bc ur putting the hard work in, just like wan bissaka has been doing since the transfer rumours and just like shaw did when we signed malacia (and still is doing tbf)

#honestly it’s the best for his career to move on #bc it clearly hasn’t worked out n he needs to realise this #just bc he’s club captain don’t mean he needs to stay #i mean he should never have been made captain n i truly think had he not #been made captain he would’ve gone by now #literally give me any other cb other than him pls #things i didn’t expect to be doing: writing a mini essay on maguire #he infuriates me so much n a lot of it is down to him n his attitude #ffs ur captain of one of the greatest clubs ever w so much history #n yet ur behaving the way u are?

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tonycries · 10 months ago

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Government Hooker - T.F.

Synopsis. With the fame and glory of being an international popstar comes the inevitable threat of an overzealous stalker. You just didn’t think that it would also come with a very sexy, buff bodyguard behind your every move.

Pairing. Toji Fushiguro x Reader

Content. MDNI, fem! reader, popstar! reader, bodyguard! Toji, unprotected, brat-taming, spanking, choking, rough oral (male + female receiving), slight enemies-to-lovers, jealousy (Toji’s side), daddy kink, semi-public sex, manager! Nanami, creampie, power dynamics, dirty talk, stalking threats, TW. knife (brief), swearing.

Word count. 10.8k

A/N. WHEWWWWWWWWW need some buff bodyguard Toji in my life. Slightly inspired by The Bodyguard. Set in the Brooklyn Babyverse.

It’s in New York that you meet Toji Fushiguro.

Pop Princess’ World Tour in Jeopardy After Stalking Threats

Dark Times for Pop Royalty: Will She Return for This Year’s Grammy Performance?

Is It Over For The International Sensation?

“Nanami, for the millionth time, do I look like I need a babysitter?” you squint at the headlines flashing across your phone screen, resisting the urge to fling it at the nearest wall.

Sitting right in the middle of your whirlwind dressing room, you breathe in the heady air, thick with hairspray and anticipation for the upcoming shoot. Normally, you’d preen at the stylists swarming around you - but right now, their fussing only makes it all the more difficult to drive your manager dangerously close to an aneurysm.

As expected, Nanami drones out the same rehearsed response you’ve memorized word-for-word at this point. “My apologies, but with the severity of these threats, we can’t-”

“Afford to take any chances, I know I know.” Still, heart sinking, you scoff, “I understand, but 24/7 surveillance is insane. Can’t I have any-”

Bang!

To your chagrin - and perhaps Nanami’s mercy - the door flies open with a force that rattles its hinges.

As the bustling activity in the dressing room freezes, your eyes immediately snap to the hulking figure at the door. Expression steely and vigilant, he strides in with a presence that demands attention. You can’t help but raise a brow at his audacity - and the unreal rippling of his muscles beneath that skin-tight t-shirt.

“Sorry to interrupt, but that blue-haired freak Mojito at the front desk told me to come here.” a low rumble sweeps the room.

Ah, this must be the one. Gesturing your stylists away, you square your shoulders - ready for a fight. “And who might you be”

“Name’s Fushiguro Toji, your new ‘babysitter’, princess.” he declares, voice gruff and unwavering over Nanami’s tired hum of “Bodyguard, he means bodyguard”.

You narrow your eyes, studying the pure disinterest on his face. Great, just what you needed - you didn’t claw your way to the top to be scared and controlled by some loser stalker. Tilting your head defiantly, “Hmm, you don’t look like much of a bodyguard.”

Toji’s lips twitch into a sardonic smirk, gaze meeting yours with a hint of challenge, “Mhm, and you don’t act like much of a princess.”

You could almost hear the record screech to a halt. Everyone holding their breath, eyes locked on you as an agonizing beat of silence passes, half the room on the verge of fainting.

One. Two.

A startled laugh bursts from your lips. Shattering the tension in that dressing room as swiftly as the mirror in your stylist’s hand would’ve had you remained quiet a second longer.

The audacity of this man. No one’s ever spoken to you like that before.

Toji’s grin widens at your unexpected reaction, that sinful little scar on his lips stretching in amusement. Some small, strange part of him satisfied at passing your invisible test.

“Well, look at that, didn’t expect ya to have a sense of humor.” he comments, tone positively dripping with sarcasm, as if toying with you.

Plastering on that painfully saccharine sweet smile usually saved for nosy interviewers, you mockingly bat your lashes. “And I didn’t expect to have a babysitter breathing down my neck.”

“Oh don’t expect me to babysit, princess. I don’t get paid nearly enough for that. According to that hardass manager of yours, my job is to keep you safe. Whether you like it or not.”

With a dismissive wave of your hand, you turn back to your make-up artist, clearly done with this tedious conversation. “We’ll see how long that lasts. I have a knack for losing unwanted company.”

And if there’s one thing you’ve come to learn with Toji Fushiguro, it’s that you do not have a knack for losing unwanted company. Especially not him.

Wherever you went, Toji was there first - it didn’t matter how fast you escaped, or how many hats and masks you put on. He was everywhere.

He was there when you slipped away to swap sunglasses with a passing stranger, convinced you’d outsmarted your looming bodyguard. But your triumphant laugh caught in your throat as you heard that familiar chuckle behind you - whirling around to find him sporting your ill-fitting shades with an amused glint in his eyes.

He was there during a chaotic fashion show, where you blended seamlessly amongst the flurry backstage, hoping to escape Toji’s watchful gaze. Heart pounding, making it all the way to the elevator. You’d barely let out a breath of relief before large hands intercept the closing doors. Towering figure stepping inside with a knowing grin, “Going somewhere, princess?”

Hell, he was even there when you hatched a plan to ditch him on the tarmac of the bustling airport. Making a dash for your private plane, and settling into your plush seat with smug satisfaction. Ah, at least you’ll have a few hours of peace until Tokyo without-

“Damn, first class is nice. Must be nice to be pretty and rich.” a low whistle causes you to groan inwardly (and outwardly).

“You’ve got to be kidding me.” you mutter under your breath, at the man seated right beside you. At this point, you half expected him to be keeping guard outside as you shower.

Toji was always there. Steadfast as ever, firm chest always blocking whatever escape plan you’ve concocted. In all your years in the spotlight, you’ve never felt so frustrated. The dawning realization that there was no escape matching your slowly slipping sanity as you kick off the first stop of your world tour - Tokyo.

It’s in New York that you meet Toji Fushiguro.

It’s in Tokyo that everything changes.

Electricity crackling in the air, deafening roars of your name in your ears - you stand center stage. This was where you belonged - where you felt alive.

Pouring your soul into your words, stage lights dance across your skin, as frantic as the adrenaline in your veins. The crowd before you was a living, breathing entity, swept away with energy and excitement.

The music swells to a crescendo as your voice carries across the arena, limelight following you spellbound.

In the intoxicating performance, you don’t notice a pair of widened green eyes doing the same, goosebumps rising along his skin. Gaze fixed on you with an intensity that rivaled the spotlight itself. A silent reverie.

As the final notes of your song echoed through the arena you felt a rush of euphoria wash over you. Lights dimming, you draw a long breath, savoring the crackling energy onstage. A high that left you craving for more.

With a grateful smile, you bow deeply, screams and applause reverberating in your ears like thunder.

The cheers continue to ring in your ears as you’re whisked away, backstage buzzing with excitement and anticipation over the special guests for the VIP event. Enveloped by your team, you navigate through the labyrinthine corridors of the arena.

You catch Toji’s eye from where he flanked your right, your brow raising ever-so-slightly as if silently asking, “C’mon, didn’t I kill it out there?”

But before you can decipher the fleeting expression on his face, the moment is shattered by a sudden commotion up front.

“Hey, over here! Is it true there's a stalker after you? Is it to boost album sales?”

“Can you confirm the rumors that you're cozying up with Satoru from Tokyo Special Grades? The fans want answers!”

“Hey! How do you respond to critics who call you a has-been? Come on, speak up!”

You’re barely given a second to breathe before the paparazzi descend upon you like vultures. Bodies jostling urgently as rapidfire questions and incessant flashes make you see stars behind your eyes.

Trying to block out the swarm of questions, you close your eyes amidst the dizzying chaos, trying to find some semblance of stability.

And stability finds its way in the strong arm that wraps protectively around you, pressing you close against a sculpted chest.

Toji.

“Don’ worry, princess, I’ll get you outta here.” hot breath brushing against your ear, sending shivers creeping down your spine.

Pulled impossible close to his muscled frame, his steady heartbeat grounds you - while yours stutters as Toji’s voice cuts through the clamor like a knife. “Back off, vultures. Show some respect or I’ll make sure ya regret it.”

Steely gaze almost provoking - as if anyone would dare challenge the imposing, almost frightening presence in the middle of the room. The paparazzi, momentarily stunned, falter in their pursuit, allowing Toji to carve a path through the chaos.

Hands still tight around you, as you’re hastily escorted away from the chaos, you steal a glance at Toji’s profile, illuminated by the harsh flashes of the cameras. Finding some intrusive little part of you that thrills at the raw intensity, cheeks flaring in response.

He’s so warm.

You could almost cry as those gaudy VIP doors swing open, swiftly ushering you to safety. They slam shut, sealing off the cacophony outside. In the soft lounge music wafting through the air, you’re left with the nagging awareness of Toji’s body heated against yours.

Embarrassment floods through you like a tidal wave as you register the way you’re still clinging on to him. Abruptly pushing away, you take a larger step back than was probably appropriate.

In the dimly lit room, you couldn’t make out exactly what was twinkling in Toji’s eyes as they flicker to you. But what you could see was that amused grin curling his lips as you uncharacteristically stumble over your words, “Thank you- Uh, for the way I-”

“Princess~!” Words choke in your throat as a flash of white and blue barrels into you, sending you reeling backward. Playful laughter ringing through the air.

“S-Satoru?” you stammer, caught off guard. Before you’ve fully recovered, he’s pulling you into a bruising hug, nearly knocking you off your feet.

“Hey there, gorgeous,” Satoru purrs, voice velvety as he leans in. “You absolutely killed it out there tonight.”

“Oh my gosh, Satoru! I haven’t seen you in forever.” A laugh escapes your lips, though the lingering warmth from Toji’s proximity still prickles at the edges of your consciousness. “What are you even doing here?”

Satoru chuckles, gaze lingering on you, “Couldn’t miss the biggest concert in Tokyo since ours, duh.” His energy was infectious, and you find yourself smiling along. “Thank you Satoru.”

As Satoru continues to chatter animatedly about the concert, you distinctly realize that Toji has slipped into the background. Where was he? You find your eyes darting around the room in search of his familiar presence, slowly noticing the lack of Satoru’s bandmates in the process.

Your curiosity piqued, you couldn’t resist teasing him. “So, where are the rest of Tokyo Special Grades? I thought you guys were inseparable”

He shrugs it off casually, leaning down to whisper conspiratorially “Rehearsal. Don’t let ‘em know I’m here.”

As you titter at his antics, he gives you a playful nudge, eyes twinkling with mischief. “So…since the band’s away, how about you and me grab a drink together?.”

Something heavy pools in your stomach as those familiar words ring in your ears, hanging in the air - you knew all too well what he meant.

Skin still tingling with the lingering heat of Toji’s touch, your eyes sweep the room for him one last time. Some strange part of your heart pangs when you find that those piercing green eyes, always studying you so intently, are nowhere to be found.

“Lead the way, Satoru.”

---

The world was rocking, as were Satoru’s fingers on you. Softly tracing along your collarbone, touch searing as he pushes you against the wall of your hotel room.

Shivers run down your spine, all the way to your heated core. Breaths mingling, a desperate hunger ignites in the air as your fingers just barely graze against the buttons of his overpriced button-up.

Tension reaching its peak, fingers hazily fumbling with those tedious buttons-

Bang!

You both startle as the door swings open, breaking the heady atmosphere inside. Dazed, you whirl your head towards the intruder standing at the door - Toji. Seems he had a penchant for dramatic entrances.

Toji stands in the doorway, his gaze dark and unreadable. Without a word, he strides into the room, narrowed eyes flickering between you and Satoru.

“What the hell is going on here?” Toji’s voice is low and dangerous, cutting through the tense silence hanging in the air.

Satoru tries to play it cool, though you catch his easy smirk faltering slightly, “Oh? The bodyguard, right? What brings you here, my man?”

Ignoring the question - and Satoru altogether - Toji turns to you, eyes never leaving yours. “24/7 means 24/7. As your bodyguard, I can’t permit some stranger to get too close.” he asserts.

Mind still burning with lust, you feel red-hot irritation simmering beneath your skin. Fists clenching at the tone that leaves no room for argument.

“I don’t recall signing up for a warden.” you snap, sharp and defiant.

Toji’s expression remains impassive, but there’s a glint of determination in his eyes. “I’m not here to argue, princess. My job here is just to keep you safe, princess.”

You scoff, shaking your head in disbelief - this was ridiculous. “Uh, newsflash, Toji. I can take care of myself just fine.”

“You little brat-”

Before the argument can escalate further, Satoru cuts in, his voice uncharacteristically calm and conciliatory. “Hey, it's okay, man. I’ll just leave,” he says, stepping away from you and raising his hands in surrender.

You shoot Satoru a look of frustration, torn between the desire for independence and for someone to fucking make you cum, and the unsettling feeling of vulnerability that Toji’s presence somehow seems to evoke. As the door slams shut - not before a playful hum of “Call me, princess~!” - a deafening silence envelopes the room.

The room that now feels too small. Too hot. Thighs still quivering in anticipation.

Shit.

Mind racing, you don’t catch the way Toji’s gaze softens slightly, a hint of regret flickering in his eyes. “I’m sorry, princess. But I can’t take any chances, I’m here to protect you.”

“Enough with this ‘princess’ crap.” Running a hand through your hair, you let out an exasperated sigh, trying desperately to quell the storm of emotions swirling uncomfortably inside you. “And protect me from what? A harmless hookup?”

“From whoever is sending those threats,” Toji growls. “Until we catch them, you’re not allowed to be alone with anyone.”

Frustration reaching a boiling point, you storm up to him. “Fine, then you can stay here and watch me 25/8 for all I care. But, what are you going to do about that?” each word punctuated by a hard poke to his sculpted chest, laced with defiance - but also something raw and primal.

Green eyes darkening with intensity, you watch his jaw clench in restraint. He takes a step impossibly close, the air crackling with something you couldn’t name.

“You don’t get to play games with me, princess,” he warns, his voice low and husky, sending a shiver down your spine.

But - as always - you refuse to back down. Heart racing, mind hazy, you stand close enough that you’re toe to toe with him. A hand reaching out to grasp his large ones, manicured nails digging into the heated skin. In one, fluid motion, you place his hand in between your skirt, heated core soaking through your thin panties.

“I’m not playing games, Toji.”

Before you can react, your back hits the wall. Surface cool on your heated skin. A brick-hard body is against yours, you could almost sink into him at how close he was pressed.

Heat rushing to your cheeks, slick gushing to your cunt, your eyes lock with Toji’s darkened ones. He murmurs, words low and making your pussy jump in anticipation, “Didn’t expect you to be so filthy, princess.”

You lean in, lips mere inches away from his, whispering seductively. “Oh you have no idea.”

You didn’t expect those to be the words that make him snap - then again, you didn’t expect him to snap so easily either.

Toji’s eyes widen slightly, his jaw dropping open as he processes your words. He stares at you darkly for a moment, gaze traveling over your flushed cheeks, your devilish grin, and finally settling on your heaving chest.

Toji pins your wrists above your head with one hand, the other roughly tearing your skirt off your waist. Flimsy cloth hitting the carpeted floor.

“Hey! Those are Dolce and-”

You don’t get to finish your sentence before his lips capture yours. Words catching in your throat as his tongue plunges unforgivingly into your mouth.

Hands groping and teasing every inch of skin they could find. Kneading your breasts through your shirt, biting down hard on your bottom lip.

A desperate whine that you definitely would’ve been embarrassed about had you been in the right state of mind leaves your lips as something achingly hard grazes your core. Shit, you had an inkling but he was going to split you apart. Mindlessly wondering whether you’ll have to cancel the photoshoot tomorrow. Hips bucking for more more more-

“Patience, princess.” he murmurs, hotly against your lips. Thick fingers slipping beneath your panties - ripping them off. You gasp as the cold air hits your cunt, thighs quivering at the neat fingernail grazing your swollen folds. “You need to be taught a lesson first.”

You’re not in the mood for patience. But whatever retort gets stuck on the tip of your tongue as a long finger circles your throbbing clit. Tight, urgent little circles that inch you closer and closer to insanity. “F-faster-”

“You’ll take what I give, my lil’ slut.”

“I don’t have to listen to you.”

Ah, but alas - thank god for Toji Fushiguro being a merciful man. At least for the moment.

Pressing a trail of hot, open-mouthed kisses down your body, dropping to his knees with urgency of a madman. Gaze fiery fiery with an intensity that sent shivers down your spine - you were in for it.

Licking his lips, tongue catching on that small scar by the corner, he dives nose-deep into your needy pussy. Bed mere meters away, Toji takes you right against the wall.

His hungry gaze devours you just as greedily as the mouth on your cunt. “Ah! Hah- Oh, Toji!” you gasp, arching into his hurried yet expert tongue. Harsh, purposeful movements that send electric shocks straight to your core.

“Not Toji, princess.” he murmurs, lips hot against your own. Urgently lapping at your juices, as if a man dying of thirst.

Something hot and sticky coils at your stomach - maybe at the way his tongue was crooking just right to tease your dripping entrance, bullying its way past your swollen folds. Or maybe at the way the realization has your slick beading out of your pulsing pussy.

“D-daddy?” you whimper, almost-experimentally.

And apparently it was the right answer, as Toji lets out a guttural groan into your snug cunt. Nose catching against your abused clit, rubbing hurried little circles. Tongue stretching out your snug walls, pooling your juices, unforgivingly dipping in and out in and out in and-

Speeding up now, his tongue has you losing your mind in ways you didn’t even know were possible. “Hngh- faster. Fuck me like you want it, daddy.” you whine, hips grinding further into his mouth..

And he lets you. In your lust-addled mind you barely have time to think about this strange act of mercy - only thinking of how close you were. So close. So fucking close. Mere moments away from shattering completely. Mind filled with only Toji and his tongue and Toji-

“Didn’t think I’d be so nice to ya, did you, princess?”

Orgasm slipping through your fingers, your crash from euphoria matches that of your heart.

Ah, Toji could cream his pants at the way your face fell so adorably as he pulled away. Delicate strings of spit and slick still connecting him to your slutty pussy.

“Toji?” you mewl, bruised lips falling into a pretty pout that made him want to throw caution to the find and stuff you full of his cock right now. But no, he had to teach his lil’ princess a thing or two about not getting everything she wants.

“Patience, princess.” With a grin, Toji warns, voice husky and sending shivers down your spine and making you grind your hips against his lips. Before you can whine in disappointment, a sharp smack! cuts through the heady air. The sound hits you before the realization that Toji hit you.

A sharp slap against your ass, the impact shocking you briefly before arousal takes over. You yelp at the sting, eyes widening in surprise.

“Wha-”

“Count to ten, then I’ll let you cum. You need to learn a thing or two about listening, brat.”

You stare at him defiantly, your heart pounding in your chest. A silent staredown that only makes heat pool more and more desperately at your core. Deafening need, slick dripping down your legs pathetically.

“O-one.” you whisper, voice strained with frustration and barely audible.

He watches you like a predator stalking his prey, eyes never leaving your face. Smack!

His hand connects with your ass again, a low hum of appreciation at the mewl leaving your kiss-bitten lips at the pain and filthy pleasure. Your ass stinging as much as your dripping cunt.

“...two.”

Apparently approving of your obedience, he dives back in with a low growl. Burning his face between your thighs, because fuck oxygen - breathing couldn’t compare to how sweet you were on his tongue.

Lapping up your sensitive folds, scar rough against them, teasing. Edging your climax and your sanity like the merciless bastard he was. Smack!

“Hah- ah! Two- Oh, jus’ like that-” Broken, raw moans escape your lips as he continues his torture. Ah, he loved this view. The people’s princess, so teary and falling apart because of him.

In the obscenity of it all, thick fingers stuff themselves in your cunt. The lack of preparation makes you squeeze around Toji’s tongue as they pump into your sloppy hole relentlessly. In and out in and out-

Smack!

“Th-three- hngh-”

Purposefully missing that one spot Toji knew would have you seeing stars. You haven’t earned that yet.

Blood rushes straight to his cock as you throw your head back, letting out a strangled sob. “Daddy, let me cum. Wanna cum on your tongue. Ah-” Oh, you clever minx, knew exactly what made his leaking cock throb with need. For that you get two sharp smacks on each cheek.

“F-four. Five.” you’re in tears at this point. Delicate little streaks down your cheeks to where Toji had his face buried in your cunt.

“Tha’s right, princess.” Toji praises, voice thick with desire and sending vibrations that make your walls clench. “Tell me how badly you need it.”

Body convulsing uncontrollably around his hot tongue, pushing you closer and closer to the edge - only to reel you back again. Denying you. Chipping away at your sanity bit by bit. A hand reaches to grab a fistful of his silky black locks, tugging needily - and you get punished accordingly.

Smack! Smack! Smack!

“E-eight! Hngh- please.”

“Please!” you moan, voice raw with need and desperation. Finally breaking for him - being pushed this far with anyone before. “Please, let me cum. Please please wanna cum-.” Close. You were so close that it hurt.

Ever the merciful man, he forgives this little transgression. Only continuing to cup your sore cheeks possessively, hands mapping the expanse of your heated skin.

“Please, Daddy.” you choke, a broken whisper. Now exhausted, knees weakening, it’s all you can do to not collapse on the floor, Toji’s strong hold on your hip to control you being the only thing holding you up.

Several things happen at once. You barely even feel the final two, sharp slaps - too far gone to register anything other than the rough thumb pressing on your sensitive clit. Hard.

And then you’re cumming.

Body convulsing and bowing into him, crying out raw moans of Toji’s name as you cream around his tongue. Your vision blurs at the edges, grip searing on Toji’s hair, tangling in the soft strands and pulling him impossibly closer to ride out your high on his pretty face.

White-hot pleasure courses through your entire body, thighs quivering delicately around his face as you chase peak after peak.

As the stars behind your eyes disappear into nothingness, you’re left limp and boneless, held up against the wall with a single, muscled hand.

Toji - ever the gentleman, supports you with a steady arm before you slip down the wall, valiant knees finally giving out.

Blinking your vision back, you catch a glimpse of his achingly hard erection. Straining painfully against his trousers, a dark patch right where his thick head was. And despite your severely fucked out state, your mouth still waters.

Obviously catching your line of sight, he adjusts his uncomfortably tight pants. Steering your still-lustfully delirious self to the bed. “You were such a good girl f’me, princess. Let’s stay that way, hm?”

You blink up at him, confusion clouding your mind. Did he just compliment you? You must be mistaken.

But as you look into his eyes, you see a genuine twinkle of fondness mixed in with the desire that makes your skin burn. A heady combination. One that makes your mind spin, even as you’re carefully placed on the soft bed. Even as he swiftly closes the door with a low whisper of “Rest now, you’ve got a busy day tomorrow.” leaving no room for argument.

Sinking into the soft mattress, a strange surge of euphoria rushes through you as you realize two things:

Nothing would ever be the same.

It was going to be your personal challenge to make Toji Fushiguro crack.

Heart racing, feet thumping tersely against the plush carpet, for perhaps the first time in years, Fushiguro Toji is taken aback. The heavenly sight of you falling apart underneath him searing into his brain. Something coiling uncomfortably in his stomach, rushing all the way to his throbbing dick. But, right now, the only thing he’s thinking of being to fucking find somewhere to fuck his fist to the memory.

---

Your third night in Tokyo was a whirlwind of lights and camera flashes. And yet, in the midst of it all you still escaped - this time with Toji - claiming “security talks”. Pulling him into an abandoned green room, your glossy lips capture his with searing passion. Pulling away teasingly, breathless, only once you were sure you’d kissed him silly and achingly hard. And promptly skipping away to bother your make-up artist.

Ah, yet the stubborn bastard still didn’t crack.

It’s in Melbourne where you learned that Toji was much more than just a bodyguard. Finally bothering him enough to join you out rather than shadow you for the first time. Dragging him to a tiny karaoke booth tucked away in a dimly lit corner of town, belting out your favorite tunes to him while he leaned against the wall with his arms crossed. And if you caught a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips, well, neither of you said anything.

Your glittering heels were placed teasingly in his lap, chattering away as he drove you two back, your favorite pastime as of late. A silent dare, almost goading. His steely gaze trained on the bustling road and that one annoying blue car trying to swerve him.

“So, Toji, in your military stint ever tried to sneak away incognito but wear a disguise so bad you end up on the front page?”

He chuckles, eyes flickering down at your feet resting comfortably on him. “Can’t say I have, but I once mistook a high-ranking officer for a recruit. Had him doing push-ups before I realized my mistake.”

You burst into laughter, sound echoing in the car. Feet brushing against him right there - just a little accident, right?

But it takes until Paris for you two to break.

In the chic confines of your favorite studio in Nanterre, the scent of freshly brewed coffee heavy in the air, you find yourself chattering away on call with Gojo Satoru. His voice crackling through the speaker amidst the glow of studio lights.

“That beat you sent is pure magic, Satoru. It’s perfect!” you hum, excitement bubbling in your voice as you bob your head to the soft music playing in the background.

Satoru’s response is immediate, enthusiasm matching yours, “See, what did I tell ya. Can’t wait to see what you’ll come up with. You sure I get no sneak peaks for this secret lil’ project of yours?”

“Absolutely not.”

“Thought so, but anyway, how’s the City of Love been treating you, darling?” he teases.

You laugh, rolling your eyes playfully, “Please, Satoru. You know I’m too busy dodging Toji for any of that.”

Satoru chuckles knowingly on the other end of the line, “Ah yes. From what happened last time, I imagine he’s been a welcome distraction, huh? Hey, is his dick really as big as his BDE is?”

“Oh fuck off.” you scoff, heat rising to your cheeks. “And for that, I’m leaving.”

Swiftly ending the call, you cut off Satoru’s protests. Slight embarrassment coursing through your veins at how apparently obvious you two had been. A strange pang of longing flickers in your chest as you realize you haven’t seen Toji all day - Nanami mentioned something about a security briefing for your closely upcoming Grammy performance.

You sigh at the irony of the situation - just when you thought you got that freedom you’d been yearning for so long, you find yourself wanting for that musclehead presence even more.

Shaking your head, you turn back to your mixing console, ready to throw yourself into the music once more. Yet before you could, your phone buzzes with a new notification. A quick glance reveals that familiar contact name and a series of messages that have your cheeks flaring once more.

Blind rat #4 🧿🧿:

You better not block me for this but is this secret project for that bodyguard? You whipped WHORE~~

LMAO JKJK IK you don’t write songs about other people.

Unless…

As that block button was tapped, it’s said that Satoru’s piercing shriek echoed across in all 23 wards of Tokyo - making the people fear an oncoming Godzilla attack.

“Damn Satoru.” you grumble, tossing your phone onto the leather sofa in the corner. “Always saying stupid thi-”

But as you turn around, your breath catches in your throat. There, standing in the doorway, is Toji. His presence filling the space, commanding attention with an intensity that sends a shiver down your spine.

“Toji?” you breathe, surprise mingling with a rush of conflicting emotions. “I didn’t expect the briefing to end so soon-”

“What’s this about that brat Satoru, princess?” he murmurs, voice low and gravelly.

He raises his head to meet your gaze, and a jolt of electricity runs through your body. Oh, those eyes. Your skin feels heated in the crackling air. “Nothing.” you reply - almost suspiciously quickly - the words tumbling out in a rush, “Just Satoru being...well, Satoru.”

Toji’s lips twitch in a semblance of a smile, a hint of amusement glinting in his eyes among that carnal look. “I see,” he murmurs, taking a step closer to you. You have half the mind to step back - but why would you ever.

“Y’know, I didn’t think you still talk with that white-haired clown.” his minty breath fans your face, darkened eyes searching yours. And you can see the question forming in them before he even asks. “You still plan on fuckin’ him when you go back to Tokyo?”

And usually you’d bristle. Usually, that hardened part of you that never takes shit would rear her head and give Toji an earful. Usually. But right now, a dangerous idea was taking root in your head.

Heat rushing to your core at the look in his eyes that said he wanted to devour you alive, you simply tilt your head coyly.

“So what?” A smirk playing on your lips, “Gonna do something about it, daddy? Or are you just gonna leave me all hot and bothered like you have-”

Your back hits the leather sofa before you even realize what is happening.

Bouncing at the sheer force of his throw, you let out a yelp of surprise. Skirt riding up, legs splaying out so sinfully for him.

The cushion dips as he looms closer, approaching you unhurriedly like a predatory closing in on its prey. A dangerous little smirk playing on your lips, you spread your legs wider, inviting him in. A carnal part of you relishing in the way his eyes can’t seem to decide between your soaked panties and the way you bite your lips so coyly.

“If you’re that desperate, then you’re gonna get it, my lil’ slut”

He’s on top of you now, tongue hot against your neck, leaving heated, open-mouthed kisses down to your collarbone. You yelp as sharp teeth dig into the soft skin. Hands exploring every inch of you, desperate for more - and you’re no better.

Sharp nails digging into that sinfully tight t-shirt, all but tearing it to shreds. Your mouth waters as it hits the floor, Toji’s chiseled body on full display. Your eyes greedily take in every curve and dip, hands reaching out to grope the toned skin. Pulling. Teasing. Not enough time in the world to savor the Adonis that was Toji Fushiguro.

His hands were pulling up your shirt haphazardly. Bunching your panties with two fingers, pulling down down down till your cunt was bare and spread open so shamefully for him. “Shit, so wet n’ ready. This for me or that brat, huh?” he grunts cruelly, lowering himself beside you to murmur in your ear.

“Now, on your knees, princess. Be a good lil’ slut for me and don’t make me wait.” breath hot against your ears, making you shudder so sinfully. It made him want to eat you alive.

You consider disobeying him, just to face his delicious punishment. But that predatory look in his eyes has you immediately dropping to the ground in front of him.

Your hungry gaze takes in the heavenly sight before you. Legs spread, eyes half-lidded, pants pulled down just enough so that his heavy, leaking cock bobbing enticingly in the air.

Eyes widening, your cunt clenches in both fear and anticipation. Shit, maybe this was why he was holding back.

He was big. Ridiculously big, and rock-hard. Furiously red with thick veins running down the side, glistening with precum.

“C’mon now, if you’re gonna act like such a slut then learn to take it like one, princess.” Saliva pools on your tongue, warm as it hits Toji’s thick tip, achingly hard. A carnal part of you relishes in the low hiss that leaves him.

Your tongue snakes out, unable to hold yourself back any longer. Swiping at the droplets of precum pooling on his tip. The sinfully salty taste explodes on your tongue, sending shocks of pleasure right to your cunt.

You feel his intense gaze on you as your mouth wraps around his thick head, inching down slowly. Stretching your lips obscenely, filling you up in ways you never thought were possible.

Your breath gets caught in your throat as he pulses in your throat. It was overwhelming and everything you wanted to be doing right now.

Ah, but you should’ve known by now. Should’ve realized as your teary eyes look up to meet the dangerous glint in his.

With a feral groan, his hips thrust forward. You were too slow.

Hardening impossibly at the way you choke and gag around him, tears springing to your eyes. Using you in a way that was so debauched. “Hah- Fuck. love it when you sing, princess, but you look better choking on my cock.”

Your nose was buried in his pubic hair now, wet with saliva and precum. His heady, masculine scent filling your senses. Toji’s thrusts were jerky, desperate.

Grip searing on your scalp, Toji uses it as leverage as he fucks your face till his tip hits your poor, abused throat. Moving you up and down on his cock with mindless need, hips rutting with reckless abandon.

Yet, you wanted more. Needed more. More more more. You wanted to feel him deep inside you, splitting you open, making you come harder than you ever thought possible.

And you’re guessing it showed on your dazed eyes. Because a broken, dangerous laugh leaves him. His grip on your hair intensifies, pulling your head back roughly until your eyes water. “More? You want fucking more? Then prove it.”

Toji’s thrusts increase in speed, his raspy grunts becoming louder and louder as he rams his cock deeper into your mouth, your pussy throbbing in response.

You moan around his erection, unable to form coherent sentences due to his length stretching your throat.

Without hesitation, you reach up and grab his balls, massaging them firmly as you suck him deeper. Pressing right in between that one spot you knew would make him see stars. Pressing tight little circles. Over and over-

An appreciative groan leaving him, Toji’s thrusts become erratic. Movements growing frantic. “Fuck, Fuck, princess, you're going to be the death of me,” he curses, his voice strained.

You rub your thighs together desperately, relaxing your throat more, refusing to let go. Desperate to taste him, to experience the blissful agony of his seed painting your mouth. But when has Toji ever let you have your way? Never, that’s when.

Instead, he yanks your head back, pulling you off his cock with a rough, almost cruel motion. Your lips pop free, leaving his sensitive head exposed to the cool air. Gasping for breath, your chest heaves as you try to regain your composure.

Before you can even register what's happening, Toji pulls you into him, forcing you on your hands and knees. Large hands grasp your waist, holding you firmly in place. “Face down, ass up. You’re going to take it like a good little slut.”

Delicious goosebumps erupt down your spine. Licking a long, languid stripe down your back along them as you position yourself before him, Toji couldn’t help but huff out a dangerous laugh at your sinful gasp.

Mouth watering at your glistening cunt, clenching so pathetically around nothing, Toji pools your juices on two of his fingers. Promptly pushing them into his mouth with a lewd pop! groaning at his favorite taste. “Next time, I’m gonna eat out your pretty lil’ cunt while you suck on my cock, princess.”

“Please, daddy. Anything.”

Fingers circling your wet entrance, your words were music to Toji’s ears. Music that mingles with your needy, disappointed whine as he abruptly pulls away. But that doesn’t last too long - with low hiss, he buries his throbbing cock into your dripping cunt with almost no preparation.

You keen at the stretch as he presses in - deliciously painful, boderling insane, and exactly what you wanted right now. Splitting you apart on his throbbing cock.

Toji was hot and throbbing agonizingly inside you, each little bump bump bump sending white-hot pleasure down your spine.

“Ah- are- are you all the way in, daddy?” he hears you whimper, voice tinged with helpless desperation. Huffing out a laugh, Toji’s greedy gaze catches on the obscene sight of you sucking him up so sinfully below. “Not even close, princess.”

Pushing in shallow, determined little thrusts that have your hot cunt enveloping him deeper and deeper. Cock hardening impossibly at the soft ah! ah! ah! leaving your mouth each time he rams into you. If you wanted it so bad, you were going to get all of it. A hoarse groan leaves him as his heavy balls meet your twitching folds, fat tip kissing your cervix - finally bottoming out.

Now, Toji knows he’s big - takes pride in it, in fact. But he’s never been more proud of the fact than right now, hungry gaze taking up the way your eyes widen in shock, snug walls clenching down with the struggle to accommodate him.

“You alright, princess?” he taunts, voice thick with satisfaction as he watches your face twist with a mix of pleasure and pain. “Can’t your slutty lil’ pussy handle my cock?” Tell me, he as big as me?

And, of course, you snap back - because you’re mouthy even when you’re whining around his thick cock. Ah, next time he’s gotta make you choke on it for longer.

“Fuck you, daddy.” your response is a feral growl, hips desperately trying to fuck back into his. “If you’re not all talk then fuck me like you want to already.”

Smack!

A sharp slap stinging your cheek, you groan in response as absolutely raw, carnal fucking need courses through Toji’s veins. Intoxicating him. Oh, he was going to ruin you. Grinning cruelly, he utters “Then take it. And don’t fucking complain.”

With that, he begins to move. Not easing in, ramming into you with animalistic efficiency. Your ass stinging as each thrust has his hips meeting yours brutally. Toji’s pretty sure his hips were out of control at this point, high off your teary cries of pain and pleasure. That cluttered studio heady with sex and pure, animalistic desperation.”S’good- ah! S’too much-”

Smack!

There’s no going back now. Toji fucks you in a way that makes you feel so deliciously filthy. Plunging into your heated cunt with no restraint. Thrusts positively savage. Every inch of him fills you, stretching you beyond your limits, and you love every painful second of it.

Vision blurring at the edges, you reach out a hand to grab the armrest for stability. Body jerking with each movement, his bruising grip on your hips the only thing keeping you from being fucked off the sofa.

“Who’s fucking ruining you like this?”

“You! Jus’ like that. Fucking ruin me, daddy.” Legs shaking uncontrollably, arching impossibly deeper onto his throbbing cock, you whine each time his length slides in and out of your swollen folds. “Harder…please, harder.” you plead, fucked out.

For perhaps the first time, he obliges, increasing his speed mindlessly. God, you were sure both of you were about to explode any second now.

Fucked out of your mind, you barely register the muscled front pressing into you, abs rippling against your back. Large hands snake from your hips, leaving deep, purple marks for you to remember him by.

Smack!

Another handprint on your ass, as you frantically move your hips to meet Toji’s unforgiving cadence. Sensing your urgency, one of his hands finds itself on your throbbing clit, drawing methodical, harsh circles on it. Pressing just enough to have you seeing stars being your eyes. And the other - digging into your neck.

Your frantic moans choke in your throat, feeling fucking delirious off both the change in angle and the hand around your throat. Eyes flashing at the lack of air and the blood roaring in your ears - and Toji.

“Open your mouth, princess.” he grows, voice dangerously close to your ears, cock still driving into yours with brutal precision. The intensity of the moment - electric.

Mindlessly, you comply, tongue lolling out so lewdly. That’s when he does it - without warning, he spits into your open mouth. Once. Twice. Three times.

Steady stream of saliva slightly missing your face - on purpose, you absentmindedly realize - as it dribbles over your kiss-bitten lips and down the side of your face. A marking.

“No one else gets to fuck you like this, princess.”

Hot on your tongue, sliding down to your throat. He tasted of such sin, it made your cunt clamp down hard.

“Now, what do good girls say?” he grits out, through clenched teeth. The absolute insanity in his voice matching the frenzy coiling inside of you.

“Thank you, daddy.”

You reach around to capture his lips with yours, nails digging into his neck hard enough to draw blood - a marking of your own. White-hot ropes of pleasure making you gasp into his lips - tender where his cock was unforgiving.

In the lewd haze of the moment you’re dimly aware of Toji’s body shuddering above you, throbbing cock twitching deeply in your pussy.

“Oh, fuck! M-hah- M’cumming, better take every drop like my good lil’ slut. Fuck.”

You flinch as he groans ragged profanities into your mouth. Tight balls squeezing painfully as he cums with a loud groan of your name. Thick, hot ropes that paint your walls white. Two large arms wrap bruisingly tight around your waist, veins popping out as he crushes you impossibly close to him. Toji’s hips not giving up their torture on your abused, awaiting cunt, pumping his seed deeper and deeper.

Full. You feel so full. And so, so complete.

You can feel such an obscene mix of your slick and his cum mapping down your legs every time his hips slam into yours. Dripping onto the cushion, pooling at the sofa in a way so sloppy, you knew you’d have to scour online later for a replacement.

Stomach now feeling uncomfortably inflated and hot, vision blurry, you collapse onto the cushion. The last of your strength leaving you with the orgasm that you’re sure fried your brain. You mewl at both the sensitivity and the sudden emptiness as Toji pulls out with a wet pop!

A rush of cum gushes out of you, drenching both you and the cushion below. Limp and boneless beneath him, you let out a sigh at the heat of his release seeping into your skin.

A soft silence fills the room like a lullaby. Everything feels so heavy. So dizzying and so warm. You barely register the strong hands lifting you gently towards the direction of the bathroom. The only thing on your mind being Toji and what a privilege it was to fall asleep in someone’s arms. You wouldn’t really mind this every night…

And in the dim lighting of that heady studio, fucked to sleep and covered in sweat and his cum, Toji thinks you’ve never looked so beautiful.

His heart lurches as he realizes - in all of Paris, the one sight he wants to look at is you. His pretty popstar.

---

“For the last time. I don’t do celebrities, especially not spoiled pretty popstars.”

Undeterred, the blond man leans forward in his chair, his expression indiscernible behind those glasses. “We’re told you’re the best of the best, even from ex-military. And if money’s the issue then I’ll double- no, triple whatever you’re making right now.”

Jaw tightening, skepticism dripped from his words. “All this for some celebrity drama?”

“Fushiguro, we’re talking big people, and even bigger money. And a girl’s life in genuine danger on top of it all,” a hint of desperation creeping into words that cut through the tense air.

“Genuine danger, huh?”

Toji runs a hand through his hair, questioning what the fuck he got himself into by opening the door for this human definition of a stick up one’s ass. Mind racing, eyes darting around the room, they catch yours - twinkling on the glossy cover of some magazine thrown haphazardly on the table.

Traitorously, something prickly and uncomfortable settles in his stomach as the words ring in his ears.

Genuine danger.

Heaving out a sigh, he narrows his eyes at the man currently studying his reaction.

“A year. That’s it. No more, no less. I don’t care if that prima donna princess of yours begs on her knees otherwise.”

But right now, your twinkling gaze set on him, lips curved into a blinding smile as you waltz through Los Angeles International Airport - as much as you could with your entourage - some small, raw part of him thinks he wouldn’t mind staying like this for a long, long time.

LAX was probably one of your favorite airports. Not because of its size or architecture, but because of the thrumming energy of the opportunity to come. Namely, your Grammy performance.

Eyes slightly heavy, yeah, you were cutting it close - to Nanami’s ever-graying hair at the stress. But hey - at least no paparazzi tipped off for your unexpected arrival.

You just couldn’t resist the temptation to push your departure off for a day. Taking the extra time to wander along the Seine with Toji, talking about everything from your new dance number for next month’s Madrid show to why Nanami was a masochist for staying in this industry, all the way to Toji’s military stories that even Hollywood couldn’t dream up.

The setting sun casting a soft glow on both of your uncanny disguises - your choice of course. A newfound understanding crackling between you two.

And right now, his presence steadfast behind yours as you weave through the bustling terminal, you feel a rush of excitement at finally performing that little project you’d been working on.

More specifically what Toji’s reaction to it would be. Would he love it? Would he hate it? Would he realize just what that inconspicuous voice memo you bothered him into was actually for?

But then came the real test: would he realize just who it was for?

The thought made you smirk inwardly. Imagine Toji’s face when he puts two and two together.

Turning around, you catch Toji’s eye, a mirthful glint dancing in yours. “So, Toji, ready to witness greatness at the Grammys?” you quip, tone playful as you bump shoulders with him. Of course, the man barely budges.

He raises an eyebrow, smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “As long as I don't have to wear a tuxedo, princess.”

“Aww, and here I was thinking we could match.” you whine. Though a chuckle leaves your lips, “And that reminds me…” you trail off as your voice drops to a conspicuous whisper.

Delighting at the playful sigh that leaves his lips as Toji leans down, allowing you to whisper words meant for only him. “You better reward me after my performance, y’know. I remember someone saying something about ‘eating me out till I cry’”

“You won’t be getting any reward if you continue acting like such a slut, princess.” warm breath tickling your ear as he murmurs.

“If the shoe fits.” you bat your lashes, mockingly innocent.

“If the shoe fits then please get into the car. The driver’s here and the team are on their way.” Nanami’s no-nonsense voice rings out. Already sounding dangerously close to an impending stroke.

“Yes, mother.” you quip, stifling your laughter as you step outside. It’s a short walk to your destination, the cool morning breeze greeting you as you head for your waiting car, just stuck behind some slightly-oddly parked blue car.

Ah, that’s LA for you, you chuckle inwardly, walking towards it - that strangely familiar blue car. The one you’ve seen a few too many times these past few weeks in the corner of your vision.

Strange.

Steps slightly speeding up, a cold sweat trickles down your spine. Unease prickling at the back of your mind, something tells you you’re being watched. And not in the way of paparazzi snapping a stray picture.

Subconsciously, you take a half-glance inside the car - time freezes. Heart immediately lurching into your throat at the sight.

There.

The door swings open.

A flash of blue hair, one foot out of that dreaded blue car - is him. You don’t know how you knew it was him. You don’t know how you knew he was there. The only thing being your eyes locked on that glinting knife in his hand. Winking mockingly at you in the morning sun.

Gray eyes locked on yours, whirling with chilling maniacal intensity. The cool morning breeze feels icy against your skin as a primal fear claws at your insides once you realize the imminent danger.

Toji’s trained instincts kick into high gear, eyes locked with his. Positioning himself between you and the assailant, his hand reaches for the weapon concealed beneath his suit jacket. Only for them to stutter in midair as he realizes they’re still safely stored in his checked luggage. Unreachable.

Shit. Clever bastard.

Nanami moves with a swift grace, eyes scanning the surroundings for any nearby law enforcement.

Mahito’s lips curl into a malevolent smirk as he realizes the vulnerability, grip tightening on his knife as he takes a menacing step forward. The air so tense you found it hard to breathe.

“You.” the words ring venomously, panic surging within you. “You think you’re so high and mighty, huh?”

“Step back before you do something you regret, you freak.” Toji’s voice is steady, body poised for action. Eyes locked on every minute tremor of the knife in his hands.

His eyes wide and bloodshot, staring right into Toji - almost as if trying to look at you through him. “Little princess~” he taunts in an eerie sing-song voice. “Why did you leave me here all alone, I was lonely, y’know~ And this gorilla never left you alone, ah what a pain to follow you around. But I did it- of course, I did it for my princess.”

Another step forward.

No one engaged with Mahito’s delirious rambles. Nanami’s hand was firm on your shoulder, whispering in your ear to get away. Now.

But your mind was stuck on the words that cut through you like a knife - the knife that he was now slicing through the air in jagged, deranged motions. “She can’t leave. She belongs here with me.”

Before anyone can react, Mahito throws himself forward with startling speed. Glinting blade deadly through the air. You stagger backward, the world spinning in a dizzying blur of fear and desperation.

Toji springs into action with lightning speed, body lunging expertly. Hands deflecting the blade with a swift motion. Knife flashing mere millimeters away from his skin.

Yet Mahito continues struggling relentlessly. Each movement calculated and cold. Hand slashing at Toji as he ducks and weaves away, attempting to divert the attack away from you.

The grip on your shoulder tightens, “Let’s get away now. While he’s distracted.”

You’re being pulled away before you know it.

Movements sluggish in the air thick with tension and fear. Your body is frozen, ice running through your veins. Nanami’s urgent hold on your shoulder moving you away.

But your eyes remain locked on Toji.

On the way he swiftly tries to find an opening amidst the blur of movement, knife slashing away as if it were a game. You were fighting to look back now, body twisting against the one moving you away. Struggling to follow Toji’s powerful kick to Mahito’s midsection. The impact knocking the wind out of him, knife faltering. Yet rage still surging.

Hand coming down down down. Merciless metal meeting skin. Red-hot crimson flashing behind your eyes and staining the ground below Toji as he’s slashed viciously.

It’s in New York that you meet Toji Fushiguro.

It’s in Los Angeles that you think you might lose him.

The sickening sound of metal against flesh echoing amidst the blood-curdling scream you don’t realize you let out.

The sound making Mahito falter for the briefest millisecond, a flicker of hesitation flitting across his twisted features.

And it’s all the opening Toji needs.

Launching himself at the man, colliding with a bone-jarring impact that has both bodies crashing to the ground.

A deadly struggle, and despite Mahito’s fierce grappling - fueled by pure madness - he’s no match for Toji’s punishing blows. Every strike clear and calculated, pinning his flailing hands to the ground.

The screech of metal against gravel and distant footsteps ring in your ears, as Toji wrestles the knife from his hands. Glinting metal skidding away.

For a fleeting moment, the world seems to hold its breath.

“You’re supposed to be with me.” Mahito's voice pierces through the din, voice hoarse and desperate. “I’m the one who’s been there for you ever since you stepped foot in that godforsaken agency. Me. It’s me.” he snarls. Eyes cutting into yours.

Takedown tightening, Toji pins his body tighter against the ground. “You don’t have the right to talk to her, you blue-haired freak. Be grateful we’re in broad daylight and I can’t rip you limb from limb for her.”

You release a breath you didn’t know you were holding as Toji’s strained yet still steady voice rings in your ears - in tune with the voices you’re now realizing were surrounding you. As uniform-clad figures rush into your circle of vision, you distinctly realize with a jolt that it’s over.

Knees weakening in relief, you feel them hit the gravel. It’s all over. You feel light-headed - absolutely delirious. Vision blurring with tears and all you can see is red red red.

Blood roaring in your ears, you miss Mahito’s shrieks as he’s restrained and escorted away. The only thing registering in your mind being the warm hand under your arm, pulling you up gently as if you were something so utterly precious.

Toji.

“Are you okay, princess? Need me to loosen another one of that bastard’s teeth?” he rumbles slowly, slightly breathless. As you cling onto the words like a lifeline, a fresh wave of tears prick your eyes at his uncharacteristically careful tone.

“Are you okay?” you repeat, words heavy with remorse as you blink at the sight of that stark red against his t-shirt. A deep gash running along his side that left Toji vulnerable in ways you knew he would never openly admit.

Seeing your shaken state, he lets out a sigh. Pulling you flush against his chest, careful to avoid his injury. “I’ll be fine princess.” he murmurs, quiet words strained and meant for only you, amidst the chaos in the background. You lean into his touch, reveling in the feeling of him being solid and whole and here. With you.

You think you could stay like that forever.

Ah, but one can’t get everything they want.

Nanami’s voice cuts through the fragile peace with his usual calm authority, “I've spoken with the authorities,” you whirl around to meet his exhausted gaze. “They’ve assured me that Mahito will be taken into custody, and measures are being put in place to prevent any future incidents.”

Eyes flitting between you and Toji, he continues, voice taking on a much softer tone. “There’s no need for you to attend the Grammys after all that happened, I understand and will contact them if you wish to stay here.” And with that, Nanami walks away to a nearby police officer, presumably to give a statement - but you knew better, grateful for the moment of privacy he’d given you two.

Right. The Grammys.

Part of you is relieved at the prospect of not having to pretend that everything is fine in front of the flashing cameras and millions of scrutinizing eyes. And the other part, well, you glance up at Toji.

Wide eyes meeting those green ones. Unspoken questions swirling between you two like a whirlwind. Is it really over? What does that mean for us? Will you stay?

Please stay.

“I don’t want to go,” you confess quietly, voice barely above a whisper. “I want to stay here with you, make sure you’re okay.”

Toji’s gaze softens, a hint of warmth flickering in his usually steely eyes as he brushes a stray lock of hair from your face. “My princess worries about me, hm? I’ll be fine.” he reassures, yet words weak from the pain. “Go out there and kill it.”

And in the delicate tension of it all you find it in yourself to arch your eyebrow skeptically, “Fine? You’re bleeding out, Toji. That doesn’t exactly scream ‘fine’ to me.”

“I’ve had worse, I promise. Worst case scenario I track that freak down and break his arm.”

You let out a watery laugh as Toji leans down, hot breath fanning your face. His lips brush against yours in a tender kiss. A silent reassurance. But just as quickly as it began, he pulls back with a playful bite to your lower lip.

“Now go. Blow the overpriced silk pants off of all those overrated snobs. Trust me.”

You almost bristle at his words, but that twinkle of fondness in his eyes made all your inhibitions melt away - involuntarily, of course. Throat tight, you give an affirmative nod.

Now, Toji always did delight in catching you off guard. But right now, ignoring the fussing EMTs, watching you be hastily ushered away by your team - the words tumble out before he can stop them.

“Oi, princess.” he calls out, voice carrying over the chaos. “I love ya.”

And as he watched you trip over nothing but thin air, a lightheaded chuckle leaves him - maybe it was the bloodloss, probably it was that adorable look on your face. “Smooth, princess.” he laughs.

As you regain your composure and flip him off, promptly being whisked away by Nanami - who looks two steps into his grave already - Toji can’t help but feel a sense of pride swell within him. “Tha’s my girl,” he mutters to himself, a rare gentle smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

---

“Ladies and gentlemen, music aficionados around the world. It is my pleasure to announce our next performance, a star who needs no introduction. Get ready to witness the talent, the charisma, and the sheer audacity of the one, the only-.”

Cameras flashing. Cheers roaring, The anticipation electric as your name echoes through the auditorium, the audience’s excitement reaching a fever pitch as you take to the stage.

“Buckle up, darlings, because this is ‘Government Hooker’!”

---

“They don’t call you pop royalty for nothing, huh? You're going to take over the charts with that one!”

“Girl, who was that sexyass voice in that song? Drop me his number if you aren’t already with him.”

“Stunning as usual, huh?”

The whirlwind of congratulations and praise envelop you back at the Grammys afterparty. Your hand throbs from being clutched so tightly, and you can’t help but smile at the adrenaline and euphoria thrumming through your veins, washing away most of what happened earlier today. Yeah, you killed it.

But as you navigate through the crowd, exchanging pleasantries and posing for photos, a nagging part of your mind keeps returning to Toji. Red, red to match your gown. He should’ve been here with you tonight.

Nodding and smiling along at the compliments, you find yourself drifting away from the bustling center of the party. Constantly checking your phone for any updates other than Nanami’s “He’s alive.” text from a few hours ago.

Ah, there it is.

Finally reaching the exit, goosebumps erupt along your skin as you step out into the chilly night air. You’re momentarily blinded by the barrage of camera flashes from the waiting paparazzi outside. Their shouts merging into an indistinguishable cacophony.

Yet, you push forward, determined to reach your awaiting car.

Just as you approach the curb, a sleek black Rolls-Royce pulls up beside you, tinted windows shielding the figure inside. God, you gotta remember to give Nanami a raise.

Swiftly sliding in, “Nanami you wouldn’t believe-”

“I’d hope I don’t look anything like that walking resignation letter.”

Your eyes widen in disbelief as you turn towards the figure seated beside you, and there he is. Toji.

All signature smirk and twinkling eyes despite the bandages wrapped tightly around his torso.

A gasp leaves as your eyes catch on them, a million thoughts running through your head at once. “Wait, what are you even doing here- You’re hurt, are you even okay- Should we call the ambulance? Those look like-”

“Woah woah, slow down princess. I’m clearly alive, hm? Why, shouldn’t your muse be there to personally pick you up?” he chuckles. “Besides, you killed it out there. That shit was playing was all that every radio was playing for the last hour.”

You can’t help but laugh at his teasing tone, relief flooding through you at the sound of his voice. “Well, you are the exception.” Reaching over and gently cupping his cheek, that small scar was rough against your thumb.

Leaning in, bathed in the soft glow of the city lights, you take in the way his eyes crinkle at the corners when he smiles, the way his hand rests protectively on your thigh.

“Thank you.” you whisper, breath hot against his lips. And though you don’t specify for what - both of you know. Both of you understand. Your lips meet his in a lingering kiss, he tastes of mint and the anticipation of something new and freeing.

Pulling away slightly, his gaze meets yours with a rare little vulnerability. “Always, princess.” A raw second of silence.

One. Two. Before a smug smirk curls his lips, hand squeezing your thigh. “Now, I remember someone wanting to be eaten out till she cried as a reward?”

You can’t help but roll your eyes, “Oh yeah? Right here, right now?”

“Think we’ll make the front page, princess?”

“I know so.”

It’s in New York that you meet Toji Fushiguro.

It’s right now, giggling amidst the chaos of flashing cameras and forgotten afterparties, that you think you just might love him.

A/N. Actually frothing at the mouth I want him so bad y’all. Also, reader isn’t Lady Gaga, I just think the song fit.

Reblogs so, so appreciated.

Plagiarism not authorized.

9K notes · View notes

luveline · 11 months ago

Text

𝐝𝐨𝐧’𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐤 𝐈 𝐝𝐨𝐧’𝐭 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 | 𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐫 𝐫𝐞𝐢𝐝

Spencer calls you drunk and in need of rescue. You confess a few secrets to him while he won’t remember them (or so you think). 3k, fem

cw drunk!spencer, mentioned past drug use, confident/bombshell!reader, flirting, spencer getting some well deserved comfort, a handful of his drunken compliments, insecurity, intense mutual pining

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

You’re blissfully sleeping in the arms of a REM cycle when your phone rings. It pulls you by the chest, a punch of shock and expectancy at once. It’ll be someone calling you into work, Hotch himself if you’re lucky.

You search blindly for your phone. If you’re even luckier, it’ll be a wrong number. Your fingers curl around the little body of your phone and you bring it to your ear without checking the number, frazzled. “Hello?” you ask hoarsely.

Total quiet.

“Hello?” You pull the screen away. The caller reads: SPENCER. You pull it back rather than hang up. “Hey, Spencer. Are you there?”

“Hello.” He laughs. “Hello, are you there?”

“I’m here, Spencer, where are you?”

“That’s an interesting question, actually, and I’m sure there’s a great answer, but…”

“But what?” You sit up quickly, your throat aching with sleep. Your room is black as coal pitch. “Spencer, what time is it, my love?”

“You shouldn’t call me stuff like that.”

“Stop being weird and tell me where you are.”

He laughs like a hyena. You can see it in your mind, his smile and all his pearly perfect teeth. You love it when he smiles like that and he rarely ever does. “I’m somewhere and I need your help getting home!” he says with another funny laugh.

“Are you alright? You sound…” He sounds inebriated.

Spencer struggled with his drug problem for so long before you found out. You just hadn’t been around enough, and when you were he’d gotten good at hiding it. You can still remember how furious you’d been with everyone, including him, because you could’ve helped, would’ve done anything to support him through it. If he’s hurting now and hasn’t told you, you love him, but you’ll be insanely angry.

“Spencer?” you ask quietly.

“I went for drinks with a girl but she didn’t like me and I may have drowned my sorrows too much,” he admits. “Um. Did you know gin is very strong?”

“Aw, baby. You’re cheating on me?”

“I’m afraid so,” he says, and hiccups.

“Where are you?”

After some hassle wherein you persuade Spencer to give the phone to someone else in the bar for a slightly less drunk interrogation, you dress and gather your bearings for the drive. You zip a hoodie up over your pyjamas, stuff your feet into some old converse, and set out into the dark to find him.

He calls you again as you’re parking. “Hello,” he says as soon as you answered. “I need you to come and get me.”

Spencer called you twice to save him. Even if he doesn’t remember, he’s called you to come and get him when he knows he needs help, and that realisation is hard to ignore. “Spencer, I’m two minutes away, I’m parking. You’re still where you were?”

“Where was I?”

“At the bar, sweetheart. Are you still there?” It’s scarily dark out and you didn’t grab any sort of defensive measure before you came, which you regret now, climbing out of your car to walk the dimly lit road. The bar glows like a beacon to be followed.

“Still where?”

“Did you hit your head?”

“Not to my knowledge. Though I’m not sure I have much right now. I feel like I’m forgetting everything I’ve ever read, and I’ve read a lot. You know I can read about eighty average length novels in one hour on an e-reader? The buttons make it faster.”

“You haven’t told me that before.” You shiver against the nighttime winds, footsteps heavy on the grey sidewalk.

“I’m trying to be more conversational. Emily says it’s not working.”

“You’re conversational. Isn’t the only condition of being conversational to prompt a conversation? We’re always talking.”

“…What?”

You laugh like crazy. “Spencer, you don’t need to change the way you talk.”

“I annoy people.”

“You don’t annoy me.”

You approach the door of the bar, a ramshackle sheet of plywood over what looks to be a glass door. The bar building seems in similar dessaray, with modern features wrecked by scratches and smashed panes. It’s a real dive. Spencer couldn’t have meant to come here.

You war with both hands to open the door and find yourself faced with a long and empty corridor leading to another door. Worried you’re going to get kidnapped, you bring the phone back to your ear, Spencer’s chatting an immediate greeting. “…telling me I’m doing something wrong without telling me what it is, it’s impossible.”

“I’m sorry, sweetheart, can you come to the door?”

“I don’t think I have control of my legs,” he says without inflection.

“It’s definitely the building with the smashed door?”

“Yesssss. Are you here?” he asks excitedly.

“I better not get murdered, Spencer Reid.”

“Am I in trouble?”

“How are you even keeping the phone to your ear right now?”

“I’m on speaker phone. Milly showed me how to do it. Say hi, Milly.”

“Hi Milly,” a new voice says.

You rub your eyes with one hand and square your shoulders, prepared to defend yourself if the creepy door leads to a creepier room.

Spencer is immediately visible from the get go. You open the door on to a rather cosy looking bar, which you’re thinking might be the whole point; wretched exterior, secret attraction. Warm orange light ebbs into the space from sconces and a faux fireplace, while a wrestling match playing from the small TV behind the bar casts brighter light down onto Spencer’s shoulders. He looks out of place, dressed in a white oxford shirt and a suit jacket, his tie loosened and hanging from either side of his neck, compared to the lingering patrons who sit dotted around the room in booths and on barstools. One such patron sits in a plaid shirt and a trucker hat, her hair to her back, thick and dark.

You hang up the call and put your phone in your pocket. Spencer gasps like he’s been smacked and picks his own phone up from the bar, clicking at buttons with clumsy fingers. “No,” he hums sadly.

“Spencer,” you say, not wanting to disturb the people spending their sorry-looking night here. “Spencer. Hey, Spence!”

His phone tips between his fingers. The woman you assume to be Milly catches it and offers it back without looking too far from her beer.

“Hey,” you say gently, crossing a wide empty space to meet him. The room itself is shaped like a horseshoe, the bar taking up a surprising amount in the centre, and booths and tables placed around it. Spencer’s off of his barstool as you approach, eyes like puppy dog’s, arms extended. “You okay?” you ask.

You can feel eyes on you both from every angle, but it doesn’t matter, not when Spencer’s falling into your arms (or on to them —he’s surprisingly tall when you aren’t wearing heels). “You alright?” you ask again.

“You don’t have to be worried, I’m fine.”

He’s less coordinated in real life than he’d sounded over the phone, his slurring unmissable, his hands like jumping fish as he tries to hug you. It’s weird and straining to take his weight but you do it without complaint. He smells the same, at least, only his cedary cologne is sharpened by the tang of gin on his breath.

“Thank god you’re here,” he whispers.

“Why?” you ask, pulling away to check for danger.

“I missed you.”

“I missed you too, handsome,” you say, genuine but laying it on thick simultaneously as you ease his head back to cup his cheek. You can’t help yourself. He’s the prettiest man you’ve ever met, and it gets worse every year.

He frowns at you deeply. “I don’t like first dates.”

“Then don’t go on them,” you suggest, “you don’t need to until you’re ready.”

“I’m ready for love,” he says. You pull your lips into a flattened line, unsure of what to say, how to explain that it’s waiting for him, but his chin dips towards his neck and his eyes lock onto your face. “You’re not wearing makeup. God, you’re so pretty.”

You flinch away from him. “Fuck, Spencer.”

“I’m sorry! It’s not that you don’t look pretty with makeup, but I never see you without it!”

You’d forgotten you weren’t wearing any. Makeup isn’t a shield, exactly, but you like putting your best foot forward, so to speak. You’ve no clue what you look like tonight, hadn’t managed to look in the mirror, you’d been focused on getting to Spencer before he got lost. You can imagine the puffiness.

Spencer touches your cheek. You let him turn you mostly because he’s surprised you, his eyes roving up and down your face with a fawning curiosity.

“You’re beautiful. You know that already, but people don’t tell you enough,” he says, his hand falling from your cheek.

“Spencer,” you say softly, “let’s get you home.”

You thank Milly for her help and grab Spencer’s bag from the floor to hang on your shoulder. You’d make a joke about how heavy it was if you didn’t think he’d take it from you, and, considering how drunk he is, topple over from the imbalance it provides. His shirt is clammy where you push your hand through his arm to link them, his footsteps wobbly.

“I didn’t want to go on a date,” he says.

“Then why did you go?” you ask, helping him over the door jam into the long hallway.

“I don’t want to be alone forever.”

“Spencer, you won’t be.” It doesn’t feel like the best time to bring up how much you like him. You’re sure he thinks you’re kidding, doesn’t everybody? Don’t torture him, they say. Don’t toy with him. Every time you flirt with him the team acts like you can’t mean it, and for a while it worked for you; you weren’t in love with Spencer. You weren’t playing with his feelings, but you didn’t love him, and then you joined the team and got to know him, watched him fluster at every comment you made or under any soft looking and realised you could love him. It was easy to fall for him. You liked doing it. But now he’s determined to write your affection off as a joke and going on dates?

In the morning, when he’s sober, you’ll have to tell him how you feel. Or you could let him find someone more like him… ugh. It’s such a mess.

You grapple with the size of your feelings for him as he hums and laughs his way down the hall to the glass door. On the street, he squints and straightens his back, fighting to regain his arm from your hold to cover your shoulder instead. “It’s cold,” he says in surprise. “You okay?”

“I’m fine, I got my jacket. It’s a short walk, come on.”

His arm stops acting as protection and starts to use you for support. “I didn’t mean to drink so much.”

“Drowning your sorrows is always a terrible idea because it tends to work,” you lament, less scared of the dark with him at your hip, though what protection he might offer is negated by the alcohol.

“She kind of looked like you.”

You squeeze your eyes together quickly. “Oh.”

“I didn’t know she was going to. But she didn’t– she didn’t– it’s hard to talk. She didn’t listen like you do,” he says, lightly slurring, “she just stared at me like everyone used to in high school. Like she could tell there’s something wrong with me.”

“Spencer, there’s nothing wrong with you.”

“I know,” he says.

“Do you?”

“Yes.” He frowns. “No, I don’t know. I don’t feel like there’s something wrong with me,” —his voice turns to a nearly indistinguishable mumble— “but everyone else always does.”

“I don’t think there’s anything wrong with you.”

“Is that why you make all your jokes?”

“What jokes, babe?”

“Like that! Like babe. It’s funny ‘cos you’d never date me.”

You’d slow if he weren’t already walking at a snail's pace. “That’s not true. Let’s talk about it in the morning, okay?”

“I won’t remember to ask you in the morning.”

“Spencer, you remember everything.”

He drags his feet. “I wish I wasn’t so weird,” he whines. It’s playful at the forefront but desperate otherwise, and it gives you pause. “I wish I was normal, and you could like me normal.”

You look down at your hands, panicking, a flash of Is this a good idea? like an alarm in your head as you turn on the sidewalk to face him. He’s looking at you like he’s begging you to disagree with him.

You’re happy to.

“Spencer, I like you like this,” you insist loudly. His eyes and all his sweet lashes track the movement of your hand as you touch your chest, and your neck. “You’re not normal, I’m not normal. Do you know how many times I’ve been rejected? Just for being me? I’m too bossy, too outspoken, too– too high maintenance. I've had friends with good intentions tell me I need to lower my standards, need to relax, because otherwise I’m going to end up alone for the rest of my life. I feel alone all the time.”

“But you’re perfect,” he says, puzzled.

“To you. And you’re perfect to me.” Your hand crawls to the base of your throat. “So don’t say you’re weird like it’s ugly, honey. And don’t think I don’t like you, ‘cos I do. You think I’d come and get anybody else in the middle of the night dressed like this?” you ask him, gesturing to your ratty pyjamas and your dingy converse.

“You look so cute,” he says mournfully.

You roll your eyes. He’s too wasted for this conversation. “Come on, sweetheart. You can think about this too much in the morning. Let’s just get home in one piece.” Physically and emotionally.

“Can I come home with you?” he asks.

That had always been the plan. “Ask me nicely and I’ll consider it on the way.”

— —

Spencer shuts his eyes, hands itching to clap over his ears as you scratch the head of a spatula across your frying pan. “Is three eggs too many? People usually have two but that’s never enough for me.”

“I think…” Oh my god the metal screeching is so loud. “You should have as many as you want. You know your body. There’s this study on intuitive eating…” I'm too hungover for this. “Three eggs is better than two.”

“So you want three?”

He cannot eat right now. “Yes. Please.”

Spencer’s half sick with dehydration and half grief. He stayed at your house last night and he was too drunk to be nosy. He slept in your bed. He slept in your bed. He woke up to you at your vanity doing your hair, the nutty smell of hair oil mixed with the heat of the hair tool on high and realised with a start that he’d missed something he thought about all the time.

You’d tipped your head back to smile at him. “There’s my boy. Sweet dreams?”

He didn’t dream, but if he had, it would’ve been another agonising wish where you were his girlfriend, or his wife, or just there looking at him with love. He wakes up feeling sick because it isn’t true. And now you’re making him breakfast, humming a tune under your breath, sourdough sizzling under the grill and a shoddily blended avocado sitting in the bowl in front of him.

You asked him for one thing. He picks up the fork and starts to mash the avocado again. He can’t fight the foreignness of sitting in your kitchen, a gap in his memory.

He knows he told you about his date, how she looked like you, how she didn’t seem to like him much, but he’s struggling to collect the finer details. Why had you picked him up? He must’ve called you, but you could’ve said no. He remembers thinking you looked beautiful, but he always thinks that.

The avocado is making him feel sick.

“Here,” you say, sliding a plate of toast in front of him. “Do you want butter?”

“I think I'm gonna throw up.”

“You’re okay.”

“I can’t believe how I acted,” he says, pressing his palms to the hollows of his eyes.

You turn off the hob. Fat bubbles and pops until it’s cooled. The clock on the wall by the refrigerator ticks incessantly. His slept-in shirt feels too tight despite the undone button.

“Hey…” You round the island but don’t touch him, your voice gentle. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”

He drags his hands down his face. “I can barely remember what I said.”

“You were really nice to me… told me I looked pretty without my makeup, n’ that I was perfect. You were really nice.”

Your tone is off. No flirtatiousness, no endless confidence, you sound wistful, like you’re glad he said it. You take the bowl of avocado he’s made a mess with and put it aside with the toast, resting your arm on the counter, and leaning into his space. “Spencer, last night? You didn’t do anything to be embarrassed of. You were nice, and kind. You tried to open the car door for me and you almost lost your eye, but you were fine. You don’t have anything to be worried about, really.”

“But it’s you.”

“Gonna touch your hair,” you say, giving him enough time to move away as you reach out and rake back his fringe. His heart leaps into his mouth. “You said something last night like that, you know? Do you remember that? You said if you were normal.” You grace the skin beside his eye with the tip of your thumb, your perfume floating his way as you move. “And I said–”

“I’m not normal,” he says, remembering now.

You’re not normal, I’m not normal, you’d said.

But you’re perfect, he’d said.

To you. And you’re perfect to me.

“Right. We’re not normal, Spencer Reid, so forget that girl. She didn’t deserve you anyways,” you say.

You draw a short, silken line down his cheek with the side of your pinky. To be touched so lightly has his stomach in knots —he’s not shocked by the swiftness with which your affection can make a bad situation good again.

You turn away. “Now we should eat before everything goes cold.”

He watches your shoulders move, and he remembers one last detail. So don’t say you’re weird like it’s ugly, honey. And don’t think I don’t like you, ‘cos I do.

The way you’d said it… you couldn’t really mean…

“How’s your appetite? Still feeling sick?” you ask.

Spencer smiles to himself, the ghost of your touch glowing warm on his cheek. “I’m feeling a lot better, actually.”

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

thank you for reading!!! please like/reblog or comment if you enjoyed, i appreciate anything and it always inspires me to write more<3!! my requests are pretty much always open for bombshell!reader (even though this one strays a bit from their usual story haha) so if you wanna see more let me know❤️

#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid oneshot #spencer reid scenario #spencer reid drabble #spencer reid fic #spencer reid fanfiction

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kamitv · 5 months ago

Text

▷ First Time?

Synopsis . When you get paired with the campus asshole, Sukuna, for a project, the last thing you expect to learn about him is that he’s a damn virgin. Nor did you expect to be the one to change that. / Pairing . virgin!Sukuna x fem!reader / Content . afab!reader, oral sex (m!receiving), premature ejac, non-curse college au, dirty talk, pet names, degrading, porn w plot, teasing, taunting, filth, etc. / wc . 6k

A/N: ty to the nonnie on my main who asked if I’d ever write virgin!jjk men :3 [MDNI]

Who would’ve thought?

Of all people, Sukuna, a virgin? It just didn’t make sense.

He was this stand-offish asshole who most people respected out of pure fear. He didn’t exactly do parties and yet you could always find him at one. He’d always have some chick on his arm or even in his lap so, in what world would anyone with a brain assume he’s actually never been inside a woman before?

And to make his lack of game all the more unbelievable, he’s even rumored to have a big dick— it’s like some overly well-known campus fact about the guy.

So, again, what reason would anyone have to think the guy was a virgin?

Certainly not you, of course. And you don’t expect to be the only person to find out such information either.

The way you find out is probably even more bizarre than the fact itself. You and him had little to no reason to ever interact with each other. You weren’t some shy nerd who holed herself up in her room all day or anything but you weren’t much of the party type other.

You were stuck somewhere in the middle of all that, vicariously living through some of your friends who had better things going for them.

As such, there was no real reason for you and Sukuna to cross paths. He never even had a reason to acknowledge your existence until the two of you are paired up together for a project in the one class you happen to take together.

——

The background noise is the chatter of your fellow classmates and their own project partners, you find your partner grumbling out a low, “What?” In response to your last statement, having hardly heard a thing you said.

“I said,” You huff, sitting beside the man in question as today marks week two of you being paired up with him for this semester’s project, “We should be meeting up outside of class too. We could get his knocked out in like a day if you just-“

“Oh that,” Sukuna cuts off casually. Seated all slouched back in his seat, his legs sprawled out in that signature manspread of his— he rolls his eyes at your little reminder, “You said somethin’ about that last week.”

You speak through slightly gritted teeth, fighting the headache he’s about to give you from this conversation alone, “All the more reason for you to take it into consideration. The faster we get this done, the less we have to deal with each other.”

As you say that, you glance at him only to find his eyes directly on yours already. He’s got such lazy posture, his head tilted slightly whilst he gazes at you so intently, and his big muscular arms folded across his chest. Even wearing a black hoodie and gray sweats, he still looks as attractive as ever— mean low-lidded crimson eyes locked on yours, tattooed face so beautifully defined, and rosy lips pulled into such an uninterested little frown.

Up until your words hit his ears properly, “The less we have to deal with each other, huh?” Sukuna repeats, narrowing his eyes even further at you, “You barely even know me ‘nd yet you want nothing to do with me already.”

“I know enough about you, Sukuna,” You say with a sigh, “And you hardly contribute to this project as is. Which only proves that everything they say about you is probably true.”

He arches a brow, his interest piquing, “And what exactly do people say about me?”

You let off a light scoff, “Don’t act like you don’t know.”

“But I don’t know,” Sukuna tells you honestly, maroon eyes boring into yours.

You stare for a moment as you try to decipher whether or not he’s being honest right now. How does he not know what people say about him? Everyone talks about his brooding personality very openly.

“They say you’re an ass,” You eventually say to the man.

To which his lips twitch into a slight smirk, “And you believe that?”

“Seeing as I’ve asked you to, at the very least, type your name on this document and you haven’t even done that yet,” You scoff, “Yes.”

The two of you mildly glare at one another for a moment before Sukuna leans up in his seat. Breaking eye contact for just a moment to look at his laptop, he swiftly moves to open up that shared document of yours and types his name out with a heavy sigh.

After which, he’s slouching back again and looking at you, “Don’t believe everything people tell you, woman.”

You roll your eyes at him, “What? Are you not fond of rumors? That still doesn’t negate the fact that you’re an assho-“

“When do you want to meet up?” Sukuna grumbles out almost reluctantly, watching the way you pause and swallow thickly as he catches you off-guard.

He’s almost even intrigued by how quickly you bounce back, despite being caught by surprise, “Friday. Are you free?”

“Unfortunately,” He grumps.

You give him a little shrug, “Good. I’ll see you then.”

And that was it. That was how each and every interaction with you and Sukuna went. Bickering back and forth about him not doing shit to help you with something that’ll affect your grade majorly, criticizing you about being too focused and needing to relax every now and then, and even calling you a stuck-up little brat one time— it was safe to say, you and Sukuna didn’t get along too well.

Not that you minded anyway. He wasn’t your first partner to care little about their grade so, you knew how to deal with these kinds of people by now. Typically, you indulge yourself in their craving to ‘relax’ just once and then they promise to start helping. You’ve gone down that path before and it’s worked for you then so you assume things will go the same way with Sukuna.

Plus, you guess you can give him a slight pass for his asshole attitude, at least he has a pretty face to look at. Dark ink always decorating his awfully smooth skin, deep dark yet beautiful ruby-shaded eyes boring into whatever it is his focus on, and broad shoulders looming over your smaller figure every time he stands in front of you— you can't help but feel both attracted and intimidated by the man.

——

Which is exactly why when you open your apartment door for the scheduled meetup that Friday to crane your head up at him, you’re swallowing thickly to settle your nerves. You’ve never been alone with the man so of course you’re a bit nervous.

Especially with the way he gazes down at you like that’s exactly where you belong: beneath him. His eyes are filled to the brim with intensity and yet he’s only just set them on you. Wearing a noticeable black compression shirt and those signature gray sweets of his, he almost appears as though he’d just come from the gym.

And just as you take in his appearance, he very openly takes in yours— his eyes raking over your body and taking in every single inch of you. After all, just as it was your first time alone with him, it was his first time seeing you dress so comfortably. He doesn’t even try to hide the way he stares at your tits peeking out from the rather thin spaghetti-strap top you were wearing, his eyes soon trailing down slowly to those tauntingly short shorts you had on.

“So,” Sukuna swipes his tongue over his lips and cocks his head to the side, hands stuffed in his pockets and eyes yet to lift from your legs, “Are you gonna stare at me all day or are you gonna let me in?”

You blink out of whatever little daze you were in, having found yourself gazing at his chest far longer than you meant to. It was right in front of your face after all, how could you look anywhere else? And his shirt was so damn tight, the fabric hugging his well-toned body perfectly, so much so that you swore you could make out piercings on his-

Sukuna leans forward suddenly, his face nearing yours to gain your full attention, “If you keep staring at me like that, I’m gonna assume you invited me over for something else-“

“Sorry,” You chirp out as you clear your throat and awkwardly step back a bit to let him in, “You can come in.”

Nodding, Sukuna slips by you and you shut your apartment door behind him. Then, you’re quick to lead him over to your living room where you’d previously been working on your project.

The two of you are hasty to take a seat on your couch, both of you only a few inches apart from one another whilst you lean toward your coffee table and log into your already open laptop. Sukuna’s eyes are all over you as always, studying your side profile, your intent focus on the screen in front of you, and even the way you-

“Did you even bring anything?” You suddenly ask before you glance at the man.

Sukuna quickly meets your gaze, ripping his eyes off of wherever they’d been previously, “Was I supposed to?”

“Sukuna,” You sigh out, “Please tell me you’re joking right now.”

He swallows at the mere sound of his name rolling off your tongue in that scolding tone of yours— he’s heard such a tone from you time and time again and yet, for whatever reason, it never seems to annoy him.

“I’m not.” He says plainly.

“How are we supposed to work on this if you-,” You cut yourself off and decide not to even attempt arguing with him. Arguing won’t change the fact that he showed up with nothing. “Just uhm,” You glance elsewhere for a second before an idea comes to mind and you place your laptop down and stand up, “Stay here.”

Sukuna doesn’t say anything. He merely watches as you huff and walk off, swiftly exiting the living room and disappearing down a nearby hall. He swears he finds himself looking at you a bit more than intended. Especially as you walked off, his eyes dropping to your ass and those damn shorts of yours.

Even when you’re out of his sight, he still finds himself staring in the direction of which you went, almost unable to look away for whatever strange reason.

That lasts for a few minutes until he snaps out of it and leans back against the couch, tossing his head back and letting out a long sigh. You soon return to find him with an arm stretched along the back of the couch, his legs spread as usual, and his eyes up on the ceiling.

He doesn’t even notice you’ve returned until he feels something placed in his lap. Looking down, Sukuna finds your laptop kindly set on top of him. To which his brows furrowed in confusion and he looked at you to see you sitting on the floor in between the couch and the coffee table with a paper and pencil in front of you.

“What’s this?” Sukuna scoffs.

You don’t even spare him a glance as you begin writing something down, “How we’ll get things done.” He opens his mouth to say something but then you’re looking back at him with a glare, “I already organized the parts of this project that you have to do so, since it’s on my computer, you can work on that and I’ll work with what I remember.”

You wholeheartedly expected him to find something about this to disagree with you on but, to your surprise, he simply nods and redirects his focus to your laptop immediately.

And then, the two of you work exactly like that for the remainder of that little study session.

——

Sukuna’s not terrible to work with when it’s just you and him. If anything, he’s rather cooperative and a lot smarter than he leads on.

Which is why a solid two hours of productivity flies by surprisingly smoothly with him. If you asked him a question, he answered. Told him to do something, he’d say something snarky, and then do whatever it is you’ve instructed anyway.

It all went so perfectly up until he let out a really heavy sigh, “Alright, I’ve had enough for this.” Sukuna says casually.

He’s been repeating a similar phrase every thirty minutes or so but he usually gets right back to work after getting ignored by you. This time though, you get the feeling he’s serious when he pushes your laptop off of his lap and places it forward on the coffee table.

It’s then that you frown, “Oh c’mon, we were getting so much done,” You comment as you glance back to him.

He shrugs, “I can’t keep looking at that damn screen, it’s giving me a headache.”

“Of course it is,” You utter sarcastically, rolling your eyes whilst you place your pencil down and throw your arms up to stretch, “Fine then, we can take a break.”

Sukuna’s brows lift in surprise. He didn’t expect you to listen to him, “Good.” He hums, “I was getting bored as well.”

You scoff, “Were you?”

“Yeah, can we do something else?” He asks.

Turning around, you rotate the way you’re sitting so that you’re facing him and your back is resting against your coffee table. “Like what?” You muse, meeting his low-lidded gaze.

“Talk,” Sukuna says.

That’s it? He wanted a break to talk to you? Your eyes are narrowing at him before you even realize, “Talk?” You repeat with a scoff, “Seriously?”

He nods, “Mhm.”

“What do you wanna talk about, Sukuna?” As you ask him that, you watch the way his eyes casually slide down to your lips.

Does he mean to be this indiscreet with his looks? Or is he eyeing you down like that on purpose?

The man shrugs, “Anything outside of fuckin’ school.”

You laugh at that, “Okay, I can work with that.”

He tilts his head at you and licks his lips, “Yeah?” Something about your little laugh threw him off.

“Mhm,” You hum as you look down at your hand, fiddling with your nails a bit, “The rumors… are they true?”

Thrown off yet again, Sukuna’s brows pinch together. “Rumors?” He echoes in a genuinely confused tone, “What rumors, woman?”

The sound of your scoff makes him stiffen in his seat. Almost in an instant, the atmosphere had changed suddenly. “C’mon, don’t play dumb,” You tease, lifting your gaze to him again, “The rumors about you.”

He gives you a perplexed look and it’s almost as though you could see the gears in his head turning. “If you know something, say it.” He demands.

You sigh, “Sukuna, do you seriously hear nothing people say about you?”

Sukuna shrugs, “I don’t care enough to remember. So what is it? What rumor?”

You’re just curious. You swear that’s all it was. And, naturally, since he seemed to have warmed up to you— of course you wanted to know if that rumor about his dick was true. You’re both adults and it’s just a silly question. Plus, with the way he’s been looking at you all afternoon, you’re sure he won’t mind answering you with a simple yes or no.

Glancing to the side, your shoulders lift a bit, “It’s uh, rather intimate.” You hush out.

Sukuna narrows his eyes at you, “Intimate?? An intimate rumor about me?”

His emphasis on himself makes your eyes flick back over to him. “Yeah, are you sure you don’t know what they say about you??” You ask again.

“Positive. Now speak, what is it they say?” Sukuna huffs impatiently, even more curious about this little rumor after the mention of it being intimate. After all, he’s never-

“People say you have a big dick,” You utter way too casually.

So nonchalantly that it makes him choke, a choke you don’t mess with the way he clears his throat and sits up a little. “What?” He rasps out.

You bat those stupidly false innocent eyes at him, “I didn’t stutter,” Your tone dips into something different and he catches every bit of it, “People say you have a big dick, is it true?”

Sukuna clears his throat and for the first time, he glances away from you. Then, he opens and closes his mouth, contemplating his next words carefully before they soon fall from his lips, “You wanna find out?”

His offer spurs a shift in your seat from you as you scoot closer to him ever so slightly, “You wanna show me?” You ask boldly, your tone direct, and not even a flicker of hesitation present.

“Do I want to-,” Sukuna pauses, his eyes scanning the entirety of your seated frame as you inch closer to him, “What?” He huffs, swallowing thickly.

You move to stand on your knees and lean forward to the couch, soon propping your chin up on your palm as you look at him, “Show me,” You chuckle, “I asked if you wanted to show me, Sukuna.”

He blinks, “Show you my cock?”

You shrug, “Yeah.”

The air is so thick right now, Sukuna’s not sure how exactly he can play this off without making a fool of himself. He gulps yet again, only to watch as your eyes start to drop down along his body.

“Stop,” He rushes out, “Keep your eyes up here. On mine,” He commands in a low tone, earning your gaze once more.

And then it’s quiet for a moment. He’s staring at you and you’re obediently keeping your eyes up on his. Sukuna hates it but he doesn’t know what to say or do from here. The last thing he wanted was for you to find out his little secret.

It’s like he was waiting for a fucking pin to drop, something to break the silence. Yet, his mind was going blank and words were failing him at the moment. He’s flirted with women before, plenty of times actually, effortlessly even— but for whatever reason, as you sit there with those stupidly pretty eyes staring at him, his mind simply flakes on him.

He’s like that for a minute longer until you move. So subtly too, sliding a hand to his thigh, leaning forward slightly, batting your lashes at him, “Sukuna?” You whisper.

His hips are rolling upward slightly at the sound of his name alone. “W-What?” He stammers, mentally cursing himself a thousand times over.

“If you don’t wanna show me you can jus’ say no,” You hum, smiling a bit, “Y’know that, right?”

He scoffs, “Of course I know that, woman.”

“If you know that then…” Your fingers lightly squeeze his thigh and you tilt your head, “Are you gonna tell me or show me whether or not those rumors are true?”

Something simply clicks inside Sukuna’s head. Rose-tinted lips cracking into a smirk, the man spreads his legs further and slouches back into the couch, “Find out for yourself since you’re so curious.”

Your eyes go wide, “What?”

Sukuna scoffs lightly, moving one of his arms from the back of the couch and placing his hand over his crotch. Of course, your gaze sinks down to his veiny hand, watching as he palms a stupidly large bulge in his sweats.

Your breath hitches a bit, “I-I-“

You don’t even get the chance to get it out before he’s cutting you off, “C’mere,” Sukuna hums in that low voice of his.

“What?” You whisper.

You and him make eye contact again and he nods his chin toward the space in between his legs. Nothing can really explain why you follow his gesture and quickly find yourself sitting in between his legs, taking a deep breath as you settle your hands on his thighs.

Sliding your touch up and up and up until your fingers graze his hand. The same hand that was resting on top of that aching bulge of his.

Sukuna slowly lifts his hand up and away, relaxing his arm on the back of the couch again as he stares down at you. Cocking his head to the side, “Well? Feel it.” He huffs.

You don’t even hesitate. Trailing your fingers upward carefully until you feel the outline of his cock beneath your fingertips, gulping as you drag your hand up to cup his length in your hand firmly, and smirking at the way his cock twitches furiously beneath your small touch.

Sukuna’s mouth falls open for a second but you’re too engrossed in feeling him to notice. He lets out a shuddered breath as he watches the way you grope his steadily growing erection. His head even tosses back and his fingers dig into the couch for a moment.

“It is big,” You whisper to yourself, your words only making him twitch more within your hand.

“Fuck,” Sukuna grits out lowly, hips unconsciously lifting to press himself further against you.

His curse earns your attention. You quickly glance up to him and see the way he’s got his head tossed back, Adam's apple bobbing with every heavy gulp he takes, and his chest rising and falling rather quickly.

You lift your hand carefully and decide to test something out. Slowly, you lean forward and just barely press your lips against his clothed cock.

Sukuna’s whole body reacts. He gasps louder than he means to and he’s weaving his fingers through your hair faster than he realizes, palming your scalp as he quickly looks down at you. “T-The fuck are you doing? Huh?” He huffs while gripping onto your hair.

You lift your head a bit but he keeps you in place, despite his question to you. “I just…” You’re not exactly sure you can explain yourself.

And by this point, Sukuna doesn’t think he cares enough to hear an excuse from you, “…You what? You wanna see it?”

All you can do is give him a little nod before he moves his free hand to the drawstring of his sweatpants. Then you're quick to help him tug them down until his boxers are revealed to you— a noticeable dampness in the fabric right where his leaking tip is. Was that because of you?

Before you can dawn on your own questions, Sukuna’s moving to tug his cock out. And fuck is he even bigger revealed before your eyes. With an upward curve, such an angry flushed tip, precum dripping from the slit of his fat cockhead, veins decorating his shaft and-

Shit, you were drooling. How’d you get like this again?? Ah, who cares?

“Sukuna,” You breathe out, ripping your eyes away from his cock just to look up at him.

He was almost panting, dark maroon eyes pouring down into yours, face flushed with different shades of red and pink, his lips parted softly— hell, he looked like he was in heat or something.

Gulping before he answers you, Sukuna clears his throat and his voice is already husky, “What?”

You shift against the floor, your hands relaxing against his large thighs, “Can I-“

“Yeah,” He cuts off. Lord knows if you got that question out he was going to lose his damn mind.

You raise a brow and lean forward, keeping your eyes on his while your lips near his tip, “Yeah?”

The last thing you get from him is a nod before you’re parting your lips. And from that moment forward, it all goes downhill. Everything from the way you’re sitting in between his legs to that initial connection of your plush lips against his drooling cock had Sukuna’s mind spinning.

He’s never been sucked off before. Hell, the farthest he’s gone as far as sexual activities are concerned is a little bit of dry humping. But this? Oh hell, this was his first time and he had zero idea how he was going to keep that information away from you.

Especially when he feels your tongue slip from between your lips and swirl around the head of his cock, kittenly lapping up that slim layer of precum sitting so prettily on his tip.

“Oh f-fuuck,” Sukuna groans huskily, the hand on your head gripping tighter.

You pull away from him slightly just to take in his expression and the way he tosses his head back. It was almost cute to you. The last thing you expected was for him to be so damn sensitive, you hardly did anything.

His sensitivity only worsens as you finally start wrapping your lips around his cock, feeling him throb when you sink your mouth down on him. Sukuna’s jaw goes slack and his brows twist up. He tries his best to hold it in but he can’t help but moan at the way you leisurely suck on half of his lengthy cock.

Your saliva wets up the rest of his shaft and you make up for what your mouth hasn’t reached yet with your hand, stroking him lightly whilst you take the rest of his girth in and out of your mouth. Rolling your tongue around him, pulling off just to messily spit and kiss on his blushing tip, and slobbering all over him— Sukuna almost fucking kicked something with how good your mouth felt around him.

He’s used his hand and other shit before but holy fuck, nothing, and he means nothing compares to that damn mouth of yours. The way you look with his cock stuffed right in between those lips he’s been staring at for God knows how long— your lips all slick with spit, eyes rolling back the deeper you take him, and tongue sticking out every time you pull your mouth off of him.

You soon slip your mouth off of him and start jerking him off, focusing your tongue on his tip and slithering the wet muscle in between the slit of his cock, lathering your tongue up with his glistening precum.

The sound of Sukuna groaning makes you look up at him, finding his eyes on yours again. He’s panting, trying his best to look like this wasn’t phasing him but failing in every way with how flushed his face was.

Your tongue sticks out and your hand continues to slide up and down his cock as you tap his tip on your tongue, making his brows twist up.

He bites back a throaty sound, “Hah… damn brat,” Sukuna huffs out as if to… degrade you?

You almost find it cute how clearly inexperienced he is, spitting a fat wad of spit onto his pretty wet tip and then smiling at him, “Sukuna,” You coo, your hand gripping his shaft tighter, “Is this your first time?”

He instantly looks off to the side, the veins in his neck and along his jawline tensing as he grits his teeth. Since he decides to ignore your little question, you take it a step further and slide your hand down his cock, gripping his thick base firmly before taking him into your heavenly warm mouth again.

His expression breaks completely, “Oh shit,” Sukuna moans, his hips bucking up into your mouth as you slide him deeper into your mouth than you did before.

Then his hand is pushing your head down further on instinct and he’s subtly rutting his hips up. You lift your head up despite his constant pushing, soon causing your head to bob up and down whilst you suck him off skillfully.

“Jus’ like that,” Sukuna suddenly groans and you moan around his cock in reaction. To which he keeps giving your mouth mindless little thrusts, “Don’t s-, agh, stop.”

Sucking him deeper and deeper before you move your hand completely, you suck in a deep breath of air through your nose, open up the very back of your throat, and sink all the way down, your lips meeting his pelvis as your eyes roll to the back of your head.

Sukuna kicks something. Probably your coffee table with the way one of his legs extends out so suddenly, a choked-out groan ripped from his throat as your little move was all it took for him to cum. And it’s so much too, hot thick ropes of cum spurting down your throat, his hand holding onto your head for dear life whilst a moan of your name rolls off his tongue.

You’re still sucking too, pulling up only to swallow what he’s gifted you and then stick your tongue out. Laying it flat against his tip, you leisurely lick at him as if to beg for more and now the man’s pushing your head away for the first time.

When you lift your eyes up to him again, you notice he’s got his tattooed arm over his mouth and his lashes are batting softly at you. For such a big man, he was so ridiculously cute right now. Panting, sweating, cursing under his breath as if you couldn’t hear him.

“Yeah,” Sukuna utters suddenly, clearing his throat, “That was… my first… time. I uh-“

“Do you want more?” Is the last thing you asked him before you were sitting back on your heels and he was stumbling to his feet.

You had to guide him through it of course but, Sukuna doesn’t hesitate to stuff your face full of his cock again. You take him so kindly too, obediently sitting there with your hands gripping his thighs for support with every careful thrust of his hips.

He was trying to be gentle with you at first. Partially because he didn’t know what the hell he was doing, and also because he just loved the initial entry into your mouth. Over and over, Sukuna slid his dick in and out of your mouth like he was possessed, addicted to the feeling of you greedily sucking on him.

He was still sensitive from his first orgasm but his cock had yet to go down— twitching inside that sloppy mouth of yours, aching against your tongue, and dripping into the depths of your throat. Sukuna wasn’t much of a talker but he damn sure let out a plethora of grunts and groans.

They were so husk too, coming from deep within his chest, some getting caught in his throat when he felt your tongue flick against a specific vein on the underside of his cock. His fat tip knocked into the back of your throat with a single heavy thrust before his hands were latching onto the sides of your head.

Again, he’s not much of a talker but, something seems to come over him all at once because soon he’s got his gaze locked down on the messy sight of you and he’s huffing out words before he realizes. “Eyes up here, c’mon, hah… look at me,” Sukuna grunts.

Your eyes are completely glossed over as they flutter up to him. A moan vibrates against his skin as you make such intimate eye contact with the man, feeling his hips pick up.

Sukuna nods, “Good girl,” He praises in a low purr, and fuck does that do wonders for you because your legs are squeezing together more than they were before and you’re whining against him. “Fuck, y’like that?” He huffs, earning a sloppy lil’ nod from you.

He then feels you hum, “M-Mhm.” And he’s got chills slipping up his spine in pleasure.

Cracking a lazy, lopsided, and almost fucked-out little smirk, Sukuna scoffs, “Yeah? Fuck, behind all those g-glares ‘nd-, agh, scolding me… this is all you wanted, hm? A throat full of cock?”

His words had you whining again, fluttering your lashes at him as your fingertips dug into his thighs a little. Sukuna eases his hips back slowly, tipping his head to the side as he gently caresses the side of your face with his thumb.

“Messy girl,” He hums deeply, biting his lower lip at the way you’re just drooling for more and more as he pulls himself out of your mouth completely. “Jus’ look at this face,” Sukuna chuckles, “Y’look like a slut cryin’ like that— it’s cute.”

Blinking, you hadn’t even realized you had a tear or two sliding down your face. Your mouth remains open for a second before he moves to rub his tip against your plump lips, smearing your spit and his cum all over the damn place with a little grin on his face.

“‘Kuna…” You whisper, earning a quirk of his brow, “I can’t believe you’re a virg-“

“Don’t finish that sentence,” He grunts, moving a thumb to your chin to widen how open your mouth is for him, “Jus’… keep sittin’ there lookin’ pretty f’me,” Sukuna says.

You roll your eyes at him and all he can do is smile, pushing his hips forward again and easing his cock in between your lips. He slides in slowly until you can feel him pressing right against the back of your throat. To which he keeps himself there for a second, testing that gag reflex of yours and watching your eyes water.

Moving his hand back to the top of your head, he buries his fingers in your hair, “So fuckin’ sexy like this,” Sukuna compliments, feeling you moan in response, “M’gonna cum again, stay j-just like that,” He breathes out heavily, his eyes rolling to the back of his skull before he’s throwing his head back.

And as if to coax his orgasm out, you carefully move a hand to cup his balls, sucking on his cock as best as you can and earning an accidental sound from his throat. The second your palm is felt against him, the moment he feels your tongue slicking against him, Sukuna whines.

Then his thighs are tensing and he’s groaning loudly as if to cover up the sound that just left his lips, filling your throat with his seed and then tugging your mouth off of him with a quick pull of your head. You’re quick to swallow for yet a second time, letting out a needed cough after the fact while he stumbles back just a bit, his calves hitting the couch.

“Vixen,” Sukuna growls.

You clear your throat and send a smile his way, “Not my fault you cum easy.”

Sukuna’s slow to sit back down on the couch to catch his breath, “Tell anyone about this ‘nd I’ll-“

“Oh,” You suddenly purr, cutting him off as you lift yourself up from the ground. He watches with slightly widened eyes as you move to straddle him, “Don’t tell me you thought we were done?”

He’s at a loss for words all over again, his confidence suddenly getting caught in his throat and flying out the window. Your hands slip to his broad shoulders and you lean forward a little.

Sukuna’s hands shakily find their way to your waist as he stares up at you, “You want more?”

You smirk, tilting your head at the dumbfounded male, “Don’t you?” You ask in a sultry little whisper, making his sensitive cock twitch once more. “At the very least…” Your lips slowly near his and he’s losing his breath, “Taste yourself, Sukuna.”

And then your lips are on his and he’s taking your tongue into his mouth. His grip on your waist tightens before he pulls you flush against him, feeling your crotch press right against his cock that’s steadily twitching back to life.

The two of you share a heated and messy kiss, your hips carefully swaying against him to encourage his returning arousal. You can’t really use curiosity as an excuse anymore, can you?

Well, you can. And you do with the way your hands slide down to his chest, your fingers slipping over his nipples to find exactly what you’d been curious about. You flick your fingers over his piercing there and Sukuna lets out a low hiss, prying his lips from yours and sending you a glare.

Not only did that little move of yours make his cock spring up completely but, you also notice the frown on his face.

Smiling at him, “Sukuna…”

“Don’t.” He huffs.

“You have nipple piercings?” You end up asking anyway in a happy little tone.

He grits his teeth slightly, “…Obviously.”

Chuckling, you press a soft peck against his lips and whisper, “Can I see them?”

“No.” He replies.

Part two.

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readwritealldayallnight · 3 months ago

Text

Love is a Verb

Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley x Reader

wc: 3k words

warnings/tags: fluff, allusions to smut, Simon gets in his feelings™️

It was the first time that you dropped a plate stacked high with heart-shaped pancakes in front of him, that you realized just how much Simon had been starved for love in his life.

“What’s this?” He asks, eyebrows scrunching in confusion, staring down at his plate as though it were a bomb in need of defusing.

“Breakfast? You’d mentioned pancakes the other day and I’ve been craving ‘em since.” You shrug, walking back towards the stovetop where the next batch are waiting to be flipped over.

“They’re- you’ve never-” You glance back over your shoulder at him, watching as he appears to struggle to find the words for what he means to say. He looks almost out of place, his large, hulking frame sitting at a breakfast table with flowers adorning it (he’s the one that brought you that bouquet, of course), his bed head on full display. “You’ve never made ‘em like this before.”

“What, like hearts?” You giggle, scooping up the last of the breakfast onto a plate, making your way back to the table, seeing Simon give you a nod in confirmation. “I just wanted spread some love to my love. Is that alright?”

Setting your plate down next to his, you go to take a seat before you feel two muscular arms wrapping around your middle, pulling you backwards and seating you onto his strong lap.

“‘Course s’alright.” He mumbles into your hair, pressing a kiss wherever his lips may land on you. From those two words alone, you can tell his throat is getting scratchy, and you almost think you hear the slightest sniffle coming from him. You can’t help the surprised blush that creeps through you. You weren’t expecting him to react this way. You’re willing to bet he also wasn’t expecting to react this way.

Knowing that communicating, as well as understanding, his feelings isn’t something that always comes with ease for Simon, you decide to give him a moment, not wanting to put him on the spot. You spread some maple syrup across your stack, tilting it in the direction of his plate and receiving a grunt of confirmation before you drizzle some onto his as well. Taking your cutlery in hand, enjoy your breakfast in quiet bliss, taking turns feeding bites to yourself and your shadow behind you, always receiving a loving squeeze to your thigh after each piece you slip between his lips.

“Mum never made anythin’ like this.” His revelation arrives just as your chewing on your last bite, stomachs content, hearts even more full. You can count on one hand the amount of times Simon has brought up his family to you. You’re aware of the circumstances, and while you don’t know every detail (nor do you need to), he has over time opened up to you about what happened. “Not ‘cause she didn’t love us. I think she would’ve if she-” he clears his throat, and you readjust yourself in his lap so that you can wrap your arms around his neck, leaning your head against his shoulders, rubbing reassuring circles into the muscles your hands come across.

You don’t want to overwhelm him by looking at him as he opens himself up to you, but you want to reassure him that you’re listening, you’re here with him. He can tell you as much or as little as he wants to, and you’ll listen.

“Beth did though. Once or twice.” He adds, resting his chin atop your head, running a hand through your hair. “I mean, I’m sure she did it more than that but, I saw her do it, once or twice. For Joseph.” Your grip around him tightens ever so gently at the mention of his late sister-in-law and nephew. You’ve never seen a picture of the boy, but you can just picture him, a small little blond head of hair, maybe with eyes like his, running around, keeping his young parents busy. Knowing the fate his family endured, a shiver runs through you, but you don’t let it overcloud the moment that Simon is sharing with you. Certainly not when it appears he’s thinking of them fondly right now, reflecting on his past with a happy lens.

“I’m sure he must’ve loved it.” You whisper into the skin of his neck, sending goose bumps sprawling across the flesh.

“He did. Tommy too.” At that he gives a slight chuckle, shaking the two of you. “Even when we were younger, he could always eat us out of house and home. Was like you couldn’t get anything to stick to his bones, either, that kid. More than half the time I wound up shop liftin’ it was to feed his skinny arse.” You sit there together for a moment, holding one another, basking in the newest glimpse of his past that Simon has just offered you.

“They would’ve loved you.” He mumbles into your hair, emotion evident in his voice, his grip on you tightening desperately, as though you two might slip through his fingers if he doesn’t hold you close enough. “Think you would’a liked em as well.” At that you pull away from his shoulder, slipping your hands to cradle each side of his face, bringing his forehead to meet yours.

“They loved you, Si. Of course I would love them too.” You whisper against his lips, pressing a soft, chaste kiss to each corner of his mouth, the top of his nose, each closed eyelid, before returning to his mouth.

It’s the next week when you decide to finally tackle the last of the moving boxes. You and Simon finally moved in together a few months ago now, and Simon seems to have placed more priority on ‘christening every room’ (also known as fucking you senseless over each and every available surface in the place) over unpacking.

The handful of boxes that are left are more of the miscellaneous, don’t really have anywhere to put them, sort of items that you can’t exactly part with but don’t have any real use for. Most of it being your stuff. His time in the military has left him without a need for many material items, and so you’re surprised to find a smaller box shoved to the back of the pile labeled as ‘Simon’.

Upon opening it, you find it contains a variety of what appears to be memorabilia he’s collected throughout his time in the military, small souvenirs from his travels, old folded up uniforms, and what not. But slipped between two folded shirts, you can feel something more sturdy. Carefully slipping it out of the box, you discover a frame containing a multitude of medals.

In spite of being in love with a Lieutenant, your knowledge of the military is still slim. You don’t recognize any of the medals shining up at you, but they are numerous, and you can tell they must be incredibly important, something he’s worked so hard to earn. Why is he keeping this tucked away?

“Hey Si!” You shout in hopes that he’s near enough to hear you.

“What are you up to now, mischief?” He asks, his tone playful as you hear his footsteps approaching. “Christ, we’ve still boxes left?”

“Acting as if you don’t purposefully walk around them every day.” You tease back, rolling your eyes at him. You stand up, turning to face him with the frame clutched to your chest. He takes you in and raises a brow in question as to your discovery. “What are these?”

He steps closer to glance at what you’re holding, shoulders tensing for a moment before releasing, letting out a deep sigh.

“Ah. S’nothin’.” He tries to reach to take it out of your grip, but you swing your arms behind your back, hiding it from his grasp.

“What do you mean nothing? Doesn’t look like nothing to me, mister award winner.”

“They’re not- I don’t-” he seems to struggle with his words, and it’s only then that you realize perhaps he doesn’t view these medals in the same way you do.

“Do you not like ‘em?” You ask, bringing the frame back around to your front, glancing down at them with a more quizzical eye this time.

“I just- I’m not always proud of how I earned em, love.” He attempts to explain, reaching a hand up to scratch the back of his neck. “Some I reckon’ I don’t mind but- all just seems unnecessary to me. I did my job, all there is to it.”

“Are these like, the kind they have big ceremonies for and then someone pins them on you in front of everyone?”

“Somethin’ like that.” he grumbles, crossing his arms over his large chest.

“And let me guess, you never attended any of them?”

“Don’t need all the fanfare, lovie.” He says, stepping forward and slowly slipping the frame from your grasp, tossing it back into the box you’d found it in. “All I need’s right here.”

“I just wish you’d let yourself be celebrated sometimes too, Si…”

“Well if it’s celebratin’ my birdie is wantin’, how’s bout we go celebrate with you on top of the washing machine eh? Don’t think I’ve made you cum up there yet.” You roll your eyes at his changing of the subjects, but can’t contain the giggle that erupts out of you when he swings you over his shoulder, apparently having decided the laundry room is exactly where you two are going now. “Just put a load in the machine, only right I put a load in here too.” He adds with a smack to your ass.

You’re worried you’re about to make an absolute fool out of yourself. No, you’re sure you’re about to look like an idiot. You know how much that man loves you, but even this might be exaggerating. Glancing at the clock above the stove however, you know it’s now or never. The candles around the room have been lit, the lights are dimmed, his favourite meal is cooking in the oven, soft music is playing from the record player, you’re wearing Simon’s favourite dress on you, and you even went as far as to spruce up your hair and makeup for this. In theory, everything is perfectly set up and in its place.

So why then, do you feel so mortified as you hear the sound of keys jingling the lock at the front door? Oh right, because it’s him you’ve set this all up for.

“Hi sweetheart,” he shouts to you as he walks in, too preoccupied with removing his boots and gear to look up yet. “Smells really good, what’s-” He cuts himself off upon walking into the kitchen, eyes landing on the unusual scene before him. You watch as his irises glance around the room, taking it all in, before landing on you. He’s still stood a few feet away from you, but you swear you can see his pupils dilate as his eyes roam up and down your figure.

“Hi.” You whisper meekly to him, wringing your hands nervously behind your back.

“Hi.” He answers back, taking an apprehensive step towards you. “What’s all this then?”

“First you have to go get dressed.” You inform him, jutting your chin in the direction of your shared bedroom. The small smile working its way onto his face helps boost your confidence, nerves slowly dissipating.

“Is that so?”

“Mhmm. Even laid out your clothes for you, so you don’t have to think about it.”

“We goin’ somewhere?” He asks, beginning to undo his belt already. The movement catches your attention, likely his intention, and his smirk widens upon seeing you blush.

“Nope. We’re just celebrating at home.”

At this, he freezes his movements, belt halfway slipped out of his belt loops. His gaze scans your face, looking for anything he might have missed.

“Shit. Did I- did I forget something, baby? I did-”

“No, no no no!” You cut him off with a slight giggle, coming up to him now to lay your palms across his chest. “No, you’re okay Si. You didn’t forget anything, I’m just surprising you.” You reassure him, knowing that he only calls you baby when he’s worried he’s in trouble (or when he’s already in trouble, crouched between your thighs attempting to earn his way out of the dog house).

“You didn’t have to do any of this love.” He says, hands pulling the rest of his belt out, before he loops it around you, using it to pull you even closer to him.

“You don’t even know what I’ve done yet, mister. We’ll see if you still like me in a bit.” You stand up on your tippy toes, planting a kiss to his Adam’s apple, fingers reaching up to slowly lift the skull printed balaclava off his face. Your lips follow each inch of skin revealed as you finally slip the fabric off his visage, exposing the face of the man you love. “Now go get dressed before I change my mind.”

With a kiss to the forehead and a squeeze to the bum, your man releases you from his grasp to obediently follow your command, making his way towards the bedroom. Steeling yourself with a deep breath, you turn towards the cabinets, pulling out the secret you’d been hiding, the reason you’re doing any of this.

Minutes later, Simon is walking back into the room, dressed in form fitting black dress pants, and his large hands are finishing up the last few buttons of his white button-up shirt, the buttons appearing minuscule in his grasp. Your eyes land on his figure, and suddenly the smell of the food in the oven isn’t why your mouth is salivating so much. He glances up at you, eyes meeting and each of you fights off a small blush and a shy smile, as though you’re seeing your dates for the prom for the first time.

“You’re so handsome, Si.” You tell him, stepping closer to him.

“Think you’re just desensitized to me at this point, love.” He attempts to deflect, but you see the blush deepening across his pale cheeks. “Besides, I oughta be kissing the ground you walk on birdie, just look at ya…” He reaches a hand out towards yours, spinning you around gracefully, taking the time to admire you entirely.

The look in his eyes is glazing over, as he licks his lips, eyes unable to tear away from each inch of skin you have exposed. You’re equally become as hot and bothered, but you’ve got a goal tonight, and you want to see it through, for his sake.

“Before dinner, I uh- I wanted to do something for you.” You say, stepping back enough that your backside meets the edge of the counter top. Your hands feel behind you for what you’re looking for, hoping he can’t see what you’re attempting to conceal for just a little longer. “I don’t need to explain to you how hard you work, everywhere you go, you’re always taking care of others, Si. And you don’t get even nearly as much thanks as you should, and-”

“Love,” he tries to cut you off, stepping closer to you, eyebrows furrowing in confusion.

“Hold on, I really want to say this. To do this.” He nods at your interjection, accepting to hear you through. “Ever since I met you, you’ve changed my life Simon Riley, and I know I’m not the only person in the world who can say that. You are a good man, a hero to many, a leader to others. You’re just- you are good, Si. I promise you are.”

You can’t help the emotion beginning to seep into your voice now, but it’s important to you that he hears every word you have to tell him, and that he knows you mean them.

“I don’t know everything you’ve done, and I don’t want to. Your job terrifies me, and every time you walk out the door I’m scared you’re going to get hurt but- you’re so good at what you do, Simon. They couldn’t do it without you. You’re important, you’re needed.” At this, you slip the frame of medals out from behind your back, bringing them in front of you for Simon to see. “That’s what these are, at least in my eyes. They’re reminders that you’re meant to be doing what you’re doing, but most importantly, they also mean you made it back. You made it back to me.”

His warm hand reaches out to brush away a stray tear that’s spilled over your lashes, his palm staying to cup your cheek affectionately.

“You’re right, we don’t need all the fanfare, all we need is right here. But some occasions call for a celebration. That’s why I’m hoping you’ll let me put these on you? Just once, just this one time, I just- I need you to know how important you and your accomplishments are to me.”

Wordlessly, he nods to you, his own eyes appearing to be brimming with emotion. Sniffling, you turn the frame over, opening up the back before carefully slipping it off. Your fingers gingerly pick up the first medal they find, bringing it up to his firm chest. You look into his eyes once more, ensuring that this is okay with him. All you see in his gaze is pure, undeniable love. One hand reaches between the fabric of his shirt and the warm, scarred skin across his pec, as the other brings the medal to the front of the button-up. With all the devotion and tenderness in the world, you secure the medal to his front, slowly slinking your hands away to see if it’ll stay in its place.

When the medal does not budge, you repeat the process over with the remaining medals, until one side of his shirt is significantly weighed down compared to the other side, and both your hearts are bursting with affection for the human being stood before you. Sliding your now empty hands up his shoulders, his calloused palms resting on either side of your waist, his eyes communicate to you everything that his lips will never need to tell you. You know him. And you know what you mean to him. That’s why as he shuts his eyes and presses a kiss to your forehead, you find yourself whispering the sentence you hope to tell him every day of your life:

“I love you too.”

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navybrat817 · 8 months ago

Text

Jawbreaker

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female Reader Summary: Bucky put a mouthy rookie in his place. Word Count: Over 800 Warnings: Established relationship, mention of injury, misogyny, punching, slight feels (it's me), Bucky Barnes defending you (he's a warning, okay?). A/N: I'm dedicating this to @whisperlullaby , who got to read this in advance, because she deserves this man (along with the rest of you). ❤️Written on my phone, so any and all mistakes are my own. Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog for new fics and notifications. Comments, reblogs, feedback are loved and appreciated!

A small part of Bucky felt bad as he idly wiped his hand with a towel. A very small part.

He didn’t want people to fear him because of his past and he refused to let it define him. That meant that he tried his best to avoid violent tactics unless absolutely necessary.

But today, well, fuck that. The fucker had it coming.

Steve stood in front of him, his blue eyes narrowed as he waited for his best friend to acknowledge him.

Oh, Bucky expected some sort of reprimand, but he was sure Steve would change his tune in a minute or so.

“You gonna ask me what happened, punk, or glare at me until I talk?” He asked, tossing the towel away.

The blonde huffed out a laugh, but he didn’t look amused. “Why did you break that rookie’s jaw?”

Bucky tilted his head. “What’s the phrase? He fucked around and found out.”

You would’ve been proud of him for that reference.

Steve shook his head when Sam burst out laughing a few feet away. “Sam, please,” he begged, though his mouth twitched like he was trying not to smile. “What did the guy do?”

A bitter taste flooded Bucky’s mouth as anger coursed through his veins again. He inhaled as he thought of your sweet smile and soft touch before he exhaled, the storm inside of him calming.

“Buck, you gotta tell us something,” Steve urged, needing some sort of information to try and do some damage control.

The brunette straightened up to look his friend in the eyes, wanting him to see the fury beneath the cold mask. “He told my girl to throw an apron on and get back in the kitchen when she went to spar.”

You, one of the most capable agents Bucky had ever known.

You, who had shown nothing but kindness to everyone, even when they didn’t deserve it.

The person Bucky was lucky enough to call his other half. His better half.

And some asshole rookie had the gall to treat you as if you didn’t belong there with the rest of them.

Sam was no longer laughing. Steve’s jaw clenched in understanding.

Bucky swallowed, that fury threatening to surface again as he remembered the hurt that filled your eyes at the comment. “You know I’d support anything she wants to do, whether that’s working or staying at home. It doesn’t give some prick the right to make her feel bad for her decision.”

“You know I don’t like bullies, but breaking his jaw?” Steve questioned. The guy deserved it, but did the punishment actually fit the crime?

“When she walked away, he said to come back when she was ready to see what a real man could do for her,” he said, the words coming out like a snarl.

The way you tensed up, fear and disgust flickering on your face, he didn’t think. A switch inside of him went off and he swung.

The fucker was lucky that all he got was a broken jaw. He could’ve done so much worse.

And it wasn’t that you couldn’t defend yourself because you could, but you shouldn’t have to put up with garbage like that.

A cracking sound echoed in the room before he realized he crushed the armrest of his seat. “Fuck. I’ll pay for that,” he mumbled, kicking a bit of the broken piece with his boot. “Can you just tell me how much trouble I’m in so I can get back to my girl?”

He didn’t care if he they suspended or even fired him as long as he got back to you.

The room stayed silent before Sam mused, “Technically, what the rookie did counts as harassment.”

Steve nodded. “And I’m sure Nat can persuade him not to sue for the injury he received,” he added, pinching the bridge of his nose. “We’ll take care of it, Buck. Just. No more breaking jaws, okay?”

“When it comes to my girl, I make no promises,” Bucky smiled, his heart racing at the thought of you. “And maybe he’ll think twice before he opens his mouth again.”

“The damage you did, I don’t think he can open his mouth at all,” Sam mumbled.

Bucky’s phone went off before he could comment, his heart swelling as he read your text. He had to bite back a groan, too.

“Thank you again, Jawbreaker. I love you and I’ll be on my knees waiting for you.”

You wanted to thank him not just with words, but with your body and heart. It all belonged to him, like he belonged to you.

And he didn’t need to tell Steve and Sam what the message said since it was just for the two of you. “Love you, too, baby. Nothing to thank me for, but I’m on my way. Be ready.”

“Yes, Sir.”

Maybe we'll see how you "thank" Bucky down the road. Love and thanks for reading! ❤️

Masterlist ⚓ Bucky Barnes Masterlist ⚓ Ko-Fi

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plutotheplum · 5 months ago

Text

Felt Good About You

akaashi keiji x fem!reader

summary: delivering a revised manuscript to your editor turns into something more.

cw: nsfw (18+) - mdni!!, smut, fluff, post-time skip, oral sex, vaginal fingering, praise kink, handjob, p in v

wc: 4.8k

a/n: i'm afraid i have the fattest crush on akaashi

also on ao3!

“The romance isn’t working.”

You groan when your editor pushes your manuscript for this week’s chapter towards you. You didn’t need any more bumps in the road, not when you were already running behind on deadlines, with the publishing company breathing down your neck to get the next volume out.

“The romance is fine, Akaashi” you mumble, flicking through the pages of the manuscript to skim through his notes.

“If it was fine, I wouldn’t be here,” he replies dryly.

Akaashi was as blunt as ever. Most of the time you appreciated his honesty, he was the reason for such success with your manga after all, but sometimes he managed to get on your nerves.

“It’s an unnecessary subplot,” he continues, flipping through a couple of pages to show you a few of the panels you had drawn, “there’s just no plausible progression between the two, no chemistry.”

You glare at him. He was really starting to get on your nerves. Akaashi rolls his eyes when he sees your glare, reaching out to flick your forehead.

“You’re already behind on the scheduled publishing date,” he reminds you, crossing his arms over his chest, “and I get the short end of the stick because I’m your editor.”

“The higher-ups love you,” you retort.

You stare pointedly at the small stash of awards that were tucked onto a shelf in his office, the small trophies and plaques a clear display of the company’s commendation for his work.

“Not enough to let me work in the literature department,” he mutters bitterly.

“I’m right here!” you protest, an exasperated expression spreading across your face.

“Yeah, yeah,” Akaashi murmurs.

He taps your manuscript a few more times before giving you a stern look.

“Get me the revised version by tonight, otherwise you’ll miss out on this week’s issue.”

You curse him under your breath, giving him one final glare as you gather the pages of your manuscript into your hands. You had come into his office thinking he’d been fine with the story, but now you had somehow ended up with more work than before, and an even tighter deadline.

A few hours later, you end up finding yourself outside Akaashi’s apartment. Guilt had won out in the end, and you figured that it wasn’t fair to let him take the blame for your tardiness. Revised manuscript clutched against your chest, you ring his doorbell.

You can feel your throat dry when he opens up the door. His hair is damp, towel slung around the back of his neck. He’s wearing an old volleyball shirt with sweatpants, and you don’t think you’ll ever get used to him looking so domestic.

Akaashi stares at you blankly, clearly not expecting you. Usually you would’ve just emailed the revised manuscript over to him, not show up outside his door.

“I felt guilty,” you blurt out, cheeks flushing at the awkwardness in the air, “and- and I ordered gyoza so it should be here in a few minutes.”

“Right,” he says after a moment, “you didn’t have to.”

You stare at each other for a moment longer until he sighs, opening the door wider to let you in.

“You’re just as bad as Bokuto,” he informs you.

The mention of the pro-volleyball player makes a smile spread across your face. You had met Akaashi’s volleyball friends a few times when they had enlisted your help in throwing Akaashi a surprise birthday party - which had maybe ended up in a disaster - as well as when you had wound up to a few of their games.

“He’s a sweet guy,” you reply, handing him your manuscript.

Akaashi only hums in response, walking over to his desk. He hangs his towel on the back of his chair before sitting down. You watch as he slips his glasses on, examining the pages of your now edited work.

“I thought you’d try and fight me about the romance,” he murmurs, his pen making a few adjustments here and there.

“Figured it wasn’t worth it,” you sigh, slumping on the couch in his living room, “you were right, as always.”

He peers over at you, his eyes narrowing as he watches the sulky look on your face. Despite your random bouts of laziness, even Akaashi had to agree that you were a good mangaka whose popularity had built up a loyal reader base.

“Look,” Akaashi says, setting his pen down, “if you’re that hung up about cutting those scenes, start drafting it now.”

Your gaze shoots up to meet his eyes.

“Seriously?” you ask, eyeing him suspiciously.

Akaashi was dedicated, sure, but he wasn’t exactly one to take on extra work. Sometimes you felt as though he would’ve been right at home in the literature department, editing novels instead of volumes of manga. It was like he worked with you out of obligation, not enjoyment, despite the friendship you had built up over the years.

“Yeah,” he says, pushing his glasses up a bit further to sit better on the slope of his nose, “I’m serious.”

You don’t get to dwell any longer on your editor’s change in mind, the sound of the doorbell piercing through your conversation. Akaashi waves you away when you move towards the door, grabbing the delivered containers of gyoza himself.

He sits down beside you on the couch, handing you one container whilst he takes the other. For some reason, you’re feeling more on edge than usual. The brush of his arm against yours has heat rising to your cheeks, body growing taut with the way your stomach is swirling with nervousness.

It was no secret that Akaashi was one of the most handsome men in the office, and you had maybe developed a tiny crush on the man, which was now inflating into something that was not so tiny, and much, much harder to control the more time you spent with him.

“You okay?” Akaashi asks, peering over you.

You don’t trust yourself enough to reply which is why you stuff a gyoza into your mouth and nod rapidly.

Silence lapses over you both as you eat, but you can feel his eyes boring into the side of your head. You pretend not to notice, trying to engross yourself in the taste of the gyoza and the tang of soy sauce.

Akaashi slouches slightly, his body relaxing as time passes. You can see it in the way his shoulders drop, his thighs spreading as he gets more comfortable.

“Instead of adding romance as a subplot, why don’t you make it into another story altogether?”

You blink over at him, surprised.

“I don’t have time to write another manga,” you say, shaking your head, “I’d have to find another publisher if I wanted to write something that was purely romance.”

“Shonen manga in the romance genre exist,” he replies, running his hand through his hair, “or you could just self-publish.”

You’d been hoping to avoid the topic of self-publishing. Sure, you knew of it, participated in it even. It’d been used as a creative outlet, to get out some ideas that you couldn’t work on when your success as a mangaka had grown. Besides, it wasn’t like you could tell Akaashi that you had drawn up stories that were, well, inappropriate.

“But that would be too much work,” you sigh, trying to stop his train of thought.

Akaashi stares at you thoughtfully. The more you spend time with him, the more you begin to regret your choice to come here. Emailing the manuscript to him would’ve been the smarter choice, but you just had to feel sorry for the guy.

“I did read one the other day that had a similar art style to yours.”

Fuck, fuck, fuck. You can feel your composure slipping. There was no way he could know that you self-published stories that were practically panel after panel of porn. Maybe he enjoyed it? One thought leads to another and you find yourself imagining Akaashi with his hand wrapped around his cock, his head tipped back as he strokes himself.

“What was it about?” you manage to grit out, trying to see through the haze of your indecent thoughts.

“About a couple,” he says simply, “they ended up fucking.”

You can feel the hope swirling in your mind fade. Akaashi definitely knew.

“Didn’t know you read that sort of thing.”

“I’m a man, aren’t I? Sometimes porn just doesn’t cut it. The story was pretty great too.”

He thought the story was great? You can’t help yourself from perking up, the compliment making you feel warm.

“I just find it so strange,” he murmurs, leaning closer to you.

You swallow harshly, mustering up a smile with your trembling lips, “why’s that?”

“The author’s note,” Akaashi says, “the little bunny avatar was the same as yours.”

So, you had messed up. You spy the front door from the corner of your eyes. If you walked, you’d get there in about ten steps, but if you ran, you’d get there in about three - maybe two - strides. Sure, you wouldn’t ever be able to face Akaashi again, but you think you’d be fine with it. Report filed to the higher ups stating creative differences and you’d be able to find a new editor, no problem.

“It’s all probably just a coincidence,” you say nonchalantly, “plenty of people like bunnies.”

“Some of the dialogue was similar to yours, distinct writing and all that.”

You grit your teeth. The man didn’t know when to let go.

“Like I said, coincidence.”

“Right,” he says, nodding along, “a coincidence. Was it also a coincidence that the couple that had sex was a mangaka and her editor?”

You scramble to your feet when he says that. Letting out an awkward laugh, your cheeks heated with embarrassment, you decide that this is the best time to take your leave.

“Have- have a good night!” you say, voice pitching.

Determination has Akaashi’s eyes gleaming and now you’re bolting, feet nearly tripping over each other as you dart towards his apartment door. It seems as though fate isn’t in your favor tonight, Akaashi’s hand curling around your wrist as he catches onto you before you can open the door. You squeak when he slams his hand against the wall, right next to your head as he pushes you up against the door.

“Classic scene,” he murmurs, his eyes narrowing as he takes in your meek expression, “you always use it.”

“Fuck off, Akaashi!” you snap, pushing at his chest.

It’s a struggle, but you reach back behind you, hand grabbing blindly for the door handle. He doesn’t let you reach it, catching your wrist and pinning it against the door.

“You sure?” Akaashi asks, his eyes darkened, “or maybe you want me to fuck you.”

Your breath catches in your throat, mouth opening before closing again. There’s nothing left in you, no retorts, no words to get yourself out of this situation. He lets out a sigh when he feels your body relax, his hand on your wrist loosening as he lets go. You stare up at him, biting your lip nervously.

“You should’ve said something,” he says quietly, adjusting his glasses.

“And embarrass myself?” you mutter, picking at the wool of your sweater.

Akaashi doesn’t say anything, his hand smoothing up your hip and settling on your waist. Your eyes widen, arousal shooting through your body as he presses himself closer, his other hand finding your waist. Akaashi squeezes gently and you bite back a whine, eyes drooping slightly as he just squeezes and pets at your sides.

“It was good,” he says hoarsely, “the story, the details, the sex… came to it a couple of times.”

“You- you liked it?” you whisper, voice airy.

“Yeah,” he whispers back, his eyes meeting yours, “liked it… like you.”

Your eyes flutter shut when he kisses your cheek, your heart thudding in your chest. You never dreamt it’d come down to this, but you find yourself grateful for Akaashi’s observational nature.

He takes his glasses off, placing them into his pocket. Akaashi’s lips drag across your cheek, pressing soft kisses against your skin. He kisses the corner of your mouth, lips brushing against yours gently.

“Kiss me, Akaashi” you whisper, arms wrapping around his neck.

“Yeah,” Akaashi says softly, “yeah, I’ll kiss you, baby.”

A contented sigh escapes you as he slots his lips over yours, kissing you gently. The heat between you begins to grow, his hands slipping under your sweater to feel your bare skin. You gasp into his mouth, his hands surprisingly warm.

Akaashi smiles against your lips, his hand running up your back as his kisses turn hungrier, his tongue tracing the seam of your lips. You let him lick into your mouth, tugging at his hair desperately. Rocking up onto the tips of your toes, you deepen the kiss, pulling him impossibly closer.

He wraps his arms around your waist, groaning when your nails scratch his scalp fleetingly. You bite your kiss-swollen lip as he drags his lips down your neck, landing heated kisses to your skin.

Akaashi kisses the pulse of your throat, his lips finding their way back to yours. Soft pants fill the air, his smile hazy as he peers down at you. You smile back, head tilting to the side to let him kiss your cheek again.

“You’re such a dork,” he whispers, his eyes twinkling.

“Shut up,” you whine, pushing at his chest.

He grins, his hands grasping yours. Akaashi pulls you away from the door, his arms wrapping around the backs of your thighs as he picks you up. You laugh, legs wrapping around his waist, lips pressing against his as he carries you to his bed.

Akaashi lays you down on his bed and you watch with half-lidded eyes as he pulls his shirt off. He might not have played as competitively like he did in highschool, but you had been there when he had played with his friends. It’d been entrancing to watch the way he had set the ball for his friends, the ball curving through the air cleanly for the spiker to hit.

“‘s not fair how good you look,” you grumble, pouting.

He rolls his eyes, crawling onto the bed, his body hovering over yours.

“You look pretty good yourself,” Akaashi says, his fingers playing with the hem of your sweater.

You lift your arms for him, letting him pull it off of you. His gaze fixes on the swell of your breasts and you flush, looking away.

“You’re shy now?” He murmurs, a soft laugh escaping him as he kisses your jaw.

“You’re such a jerk,” you huff out.

Akaashi smiles and you don’t think you’ll ever be able to be truly angry with him. He’s patient more than anything, caring and always honest. You’ve never met a man like him, never met someone who could quell your worries the way he could. It makes you want to never let go.

His body settles between your thighs, his nimble fingers pulling your bra free. Your nipples pebble in the cold air and Akaashi leans forward, his hot, wet mouth enveloping a hard bud into his mouth.

You whine brokenly, back arching slightly as he sucks your nipple, tongue swirling around the bud. He groans as you run your fingers through his hair, his mouth suctioning around your breast for a few moments before he pulls off with a pop.

His mouth finds your other breast, kissing the side of it, mouthing at your skin. You can feel his tongue caress the underside of it, laving across your breast before he bites gently at your flesh, his half-lidded eyes meeting yours.

“You’re a fuckin’ tease,” he whispers against your breast.

You shake your head, mewling when his hand slides up, his fingers pitching at your spit-coated nipples. He rests his head between your breasts, watching you contentedly as you writhe under the onslaught of his touches.

“A- Akaashi,” you whimper, hips bucking, “want- want more, please.”

“So polite, baby” he coos, his hands groping at your breasts.

He pulls away from you and you whine, lifting your hips for him when he peels your pants off. There’s a moment of silence and you’re anticipating the feel of his mouth on your body, only for him to let out a low laugh.

“Bunnies til the end, huh?” Akaashi asks, his fingers playing with the waistband of your panties.

Your brows furrow, not quite sure what he’s talking about until you prop yourself on your elbows and see that you’re wearing a pair of bunny-patterned panties.

“Oh, fuck off,” you groan, slumping back down onto the bed and slinging your arm over your eyes.

“They’re cute,” he smiles, prying your arm away from your face, “just like you, baby.”

Akaashi grasps one of your legs, bringing it to his mouth as he runs his hand along the length of it, kissing the sole of your foot and then your ankle. A soft hum leaves you, watching as he kisses up your leg, his kisses feather-light.

You run your fingers through his hair as he kisses the little bow on your panties, his nose pressing between your clothed folds to breathe you in.

“Pussy’s soaked through,” Akaashi murmurs, pulling back to look at your dampened panties.

“‘s your fault,” you slur, trying to push his face back to where you want it.

“All my fault,” he agrees, his tongue licking up over your panties, “guess I’ll have to take care of you then.”

You nod, trying to stop the little twitches that shoot through your body. Akaashi lets his mouth latch onto you, trying to suck the slick that’s soaked through the fabric of your panties.

“A- ah!” you pant, fingers fisting his hair as he squeezes your hips, his face nuzzling deeper between your thighs.

Akaashi’s lithe fingers pull at your panties, dragging them down your thighs. You don’t miss the way he tucks them into his pocket.

“Always so pretty, baby” he whispers, his thumbs pulling apart your folds to expose your pussy.

He moans when he sees the translucent strings of arousal that cling to your folds, his tongue darting out to lick up the little strings. You whimper when he kisses your clit gently, watching as he rubs the pad of his thumb against your swollen clit. Thighs twitching, you shift, trying to tilt your hips a little higher so you can feel his mouth on you.

“Ask for it,” Akaashi says, his cheek pressing against your thigh as he stares up at you.

“‘m not- ‘m not asking for it,” you retort, glaring at him.

“Bet it’d feel good,” he whispers, his tongue lolling out of his mouth.

You whine when he just keeps his tongue there, saliva dripping from the tip of it and onto your pussy. He makes an obscene noise, gathering some more saliva, spitting on your cunt.

“All you gotta do is ask,” he coaxes, his arms wrapping around your thighs, “clit looks so achy… makes me wanna kiss it better.”

“P- please,” you whisper, your voice barely audible.

“Didn’t quite catch that,” Akaashi smiles up at you, his eyes twinkling.

You’ll have to get him back for his teasing later, but right now you can’t wait.

“Please lick my pussy!”

You squeal when he latches his mouth onto you again, his tongue lapping over your wet pussy. He groans and you tug at his hair, thighs squeezing around his head as he laves his tongue over you greedily, letting his tongue dip into your hole before he sucks your clit into his mouth.

Legs kicking out, you let out a strangled noise as he flicks his tongue over your clit. Akaashi lands the filthiest kisses to your clit, alternating between sucking and little pecks, while he’s sunk two fingers inside of you. They curl up inside of you, grazing your sensitive spot perfectly. He fucks his fingers in and out of you, your wanton noises filling his bedroom.

Akaashi presses his face deeper, his fingers crooking. The feeling of his mouth in tandem with his fingers has you whimpering and whining, airy noises spilling from your lips at his ministrations. You might not ever be able to go without him ever again.

He holds you in place as you thrash, the overwhelming feeling inside of you building and building. Akaashi slips his fingers out of you in favor of devouring your cunt again, licking through your velvety folds, his tongue swirling before he presses it inside of you.

“Taste so fuckin’ good,” he growls.

You blink down at him dazedly. There’s a light flush covering his cheeks, his mouth glistening with your wetness. He opens his mouth to say something else but you ignore him, pushing his head so that his lips are flush against your cunt. Akaashi lets out a muffled laugh against your pussy, his tongue licking over you again.

Hand squeezing at your breast, you bite your lip, losing yourself in the caress of his tongue. He laps over you, again and again, pressing sloppy kisses to your clit.

“Gonna come,” you whisper, feeling the softness of his hair under your palm, “gonna come, ‘kaashi.”

He tilts your hips a little more, rising up onto his knees with your legs slung over his shoulders. You squeal again when he shakes his head, tongue dragging from side to side before he plunges it inside of you, his thumb pressing against your clit at the same time.

Your thighs squeeze tightly around his head as you come, loosening after a while when twitches rack through your body. Akaashi squeezes your thighs, lets your legs slip from his shoulders as he kisses your trembling thighs.

“Good girl,” he whispers.

Akaashi kisses your cheek and wipes the stray curls of your hair away from your face. A soft sheen of sweat covers your body and he hums, smoothing his thumbs over the underside of your breasts.

He lays down beside you and you curl up beside him, eyes catching on the bulge in his sweatpants.

“Need some help?” you murmur, fingers dragging down his chest.

“If you don’t mind,” he sighs, his arm wrapping around your waist to hold you close to him.

You smile, kissing his jaw gently as your hand slides past his navel, disappearing into his sweatpants. The weight of his cock is heavy and hot and Akaashi moans softly when your hand curls around his length.

“Ask for it, ‘kaashi,” you whisper, voice lilting.

“You’re such a brat,” he mutters.

“Use your manners, Keiji.”

His eyes widen when you use his name and you grin, landing a soft kiss to his cheek as your breasts squish up against his bicep. You squeeze around his cock and he lets out a soft whine, his hips bucking.

“Fuck- fuck hah-,” Akaashi grits out, “stroke my cock, baby, hm? Please?”

You hum softly, beginning to move your hand. His thick cock twitches as you stroke him, your wrist rotating.

He pants softly, his head turning to meet yours. You smile, running your fingers through his hair, brushing the soft strands out of his eyes. Affection bursts inside of you, heart fluttering as the flush on his cheeks deepens.

His brows have drawn together and you smooth your thumb over them, peppering soft kisses over his face, leg slinging over his as you pull down his sweatpants to free his cock completely. Akaashi’s cock has filled out, pre-cum smearing across his abdomen. You caress the head of it, giggling when he lets out a broken moan as you rub your thumb against the tip.

“You look so handsome,” you say, stroking his cock a little faster.

Akaashi smiles and you dip your head, kissing him. He groans, his hips chasing after the feeling of your hand around him as you kiss. Your hand tightens a little, squeezing at the tip of his cock. Pre-cum wets your hand, soft gasps escaping Akaashi as you let your tongue slip into his mouth.

“Keiji,” you whisper, lips brushing over his, “Keiji, will you fuck me?”

You squeak in surprise when he manages to grab onto your waist, lifting you up and placing you on his lap. His cock is snug between your folds and you whine, dragging your hips along the length of it, biting your lip as more pre-cum leaks from him.

“Sit on my cock, baby” he whispers, smoothing his hands up your thighs.

You nod, shifting a little so that you’re up on your knees. Akaashi watches as you grip the base of his cock, moaning when you rub his cock against your pussy, letting it catch on your clit. Akaashi’s head tips back as you sink down, whimpery, little noises leaving you as your pussy swallows up his cock.

It’s so thick inside of you, fitting so snugly that you clench around him. Akaashi wraps an arm around your waist, bringing your front flush against him. He lets you tuck your face into the crook of his neck, his arms tightening around your waist. You can feel him move, his feet flat against the bed as he bends his knees.

“K- Keiji!” you wail when he begins to fuck up into you.

Akaashi grunts, holding you against him as he moves his hips, rutting up into you. His hands grope at your ass, gripping your ass tightly as he moves a little more forcefully. You bury your face deeper into the crook of his neck, pressing sloppy kisses against his skin as you smooth your hand over his hair.

“Is this- fuck,” Akaashi grits out, “is this what you imagined when you drew up those panels?”

You nod, too far gone to cling onto the remnants of your stubbornness.

“Yeah?” he whispers, “imagined me fucking up into you, huh?”

“Y- yes!” you cry out, body squirming when he lands a heavy spank to your ass.

“Good fuckin’ girl,” he growls.

A soft mewl leaves you at the praise, your hips swaying back lazily to meet his thrusts. The sound of his hips slapping into your ass echoes through his room, your wetness leaking around his cock and coating his balls.

Your body rocks against his, your hand gripping at the sheets beside his head when he adjusts his grip on you, planting his feet a bit firmer against his mattress to thrust into you harder. You gasp at the sensation, sinking your teeth into his shoulder when his cock hits deep inside of you.

Akaashi hisses at the feeling of your teeth, spanking your ass again before you clench around him with a scream, body shuddering on top of his as you come.

“Baby, baby, you gotta let go,” he rasps.

You shake your head stubbornly, pushing your hips down so that it swallows his cock all the way to the base.

“Inside, Keiji.”

He groans, his hands kneading at your hips roughly. You can feel the twitch of his cock, a satisfied coo leaving your lips when he comes, spurts of his hot cum filling you up. Akaashi’s hips stutter, thrusting into you unevenly as his cock jerks, more cum flooding your pussy.

You both pant, chests heaving. Akaashi rubs his hand along your back and you emerge from the crook of his neck, a drunken smile on your face.

He laughs hoarsely at your expression, cupping your cheek to guide you into another kiss while his cock softens inside of you. It’s a little uncomfortable, but you don’t mind, losing yourself in the heat of his body as cum leaks from your pussy.

“How long have you known?” you ask, tracing the slope of his nose.

“About a month,” he murmurs.

“A month?” you scoff, hitting his chest, “and you didn’t say anything?”

Akaashi grins, grabbing your hand and bringing it up to his lips to kiss across your knuckles.

“That would ruin the fun.”

You roll your eyes, prodding your fingers into his chest, “it was hardly fun, Keiji.”

“But you got what you wanted, didn’t you?” he whispers.

You laugh when he flips you onto your back, moaning softly when you feel his cock beginning to harden again inside of you.

“Put- put your glasses on,” you whisper, head tipping back as he rolls his hips into you.

Akaashi reaches over to dig his glasses out from the pocket of his discarded sweatpants, pushing them up to sit comfortably on his nose.

You clench around him at the sight, biting your lip as you give him a pleased smile.

“Knew you had a thing for ‘em.”

He grabs at your legs, moving them so that they’re pressed against his chest, your ankles resting on his shoulders.

“Use this as inspiration, baby,” Akaashi smirks, “I’ll even edit it for you.”

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