#I tried to make his hair black but ended up with a dark brown and orange highlights with a black tint | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

thecoochiefairy · 5 months ago

Text

bloodhound. toji.

𑄽𑄺 warnings 𑄽𑄺 15.9K word count. blackfem!reader, toji fushiguro, mafiagangmember!toji , violence, dominant!toji, sweet!toji, aggressive!toji, sensual sex, black woman, vaginal penetration, rough sex, lil bit of sweet talkin’, creaming, oral [f], choking, praising, LOTS of dirty talk, condom-less sex, kissing, spanking, minors aren’t welcome!

━━ 𝒄𝙤𝒐𝙘𝒉𝙞𝒆𝙛𝒂𝙞𝒓𝙮 𝙩𝒉𝙤𝒖𝙜𝒉𝙩𝒔 .ᐟ this idea came at a random, kinda just for fun. loved it at first, started hating it as i wrote it? was committed to finish. idk. ugh. however, it was inspired by ‘the yakuza wife’ anime. anyways, a lot happened in the real world, sorry y’all. i love you. just enjoy. visuals.

EYES. THEY WERE ALWAYS RECEIVED TO HER BY THE STARE OF OTHER PEOPLE. It was common at this point, so much that it didn’t even offend her—But it should’ve.

Instead, she brought her focus upon the dimly lit lanterns that lead to the end of the market, needing to make it back to Tokyo before dark. Chocolate brown panels above to protect the stores from rain, cherry blossoms sprouting along the poles as she passed by, watching as the bars and restaurants began to pack like sardines within a can.

Back to the staring, she counted about three people today. It wasn’t the worst thing in the world. It just didn’t make sense to her—she’d been in Japan all her life, and she still felt like an outsider. She didn’t have fair skin, silky hair, or a petite frame. She was different, but he always reminded her there was beauty in being like no other.

She’d make sure to grab a small carton of rouge strawberries, her favorite fruit at any time of day. Number four, the man at the counter gives her a strange look as she walks around the store, before suppressing his peculiar stare, replacing it with a respectful smile as she hands him 10,000 yen.

It was a silent two hour ride back home—she knew she was going to get chastised, especially being without protection. The familiar walkway of succulents swayed with the wind as she followed a pathway, now standing in front of the barrier that separated her from the machiya—or house— as he’d taught her to say. She glances up at the camera that tries to hide at the top of the gate, also looking down through the bars as she can see one of the guards pointing a gun directly at her. The groceries become heavier.

She sighs, “Are you gonna let me in, or shoot me?”

When the guard recognizes the familiar voice, he lowers his gun at the same time he bows, constantly repeating, “Sumimasen,” as the top of the gate unlocks.

She gives a polite wave to the older women dressed in their housekeeping attire. She hears one of them call to help her with the groceries, to which she always waved off. Making her way inside, she quickly dropped the groceries in the kitchen, beginning to pull the items out of the bag as she could instantly feel someone behind her. She doesn’t have to look back, knowing it’s the man that’s assigned to follow her everywhere she goes.

She exhales, “You don’t have to hide in the corner, Kenji. Is my grandfather awake?”

Kenji, a tall and muscular man, emerges from the shadows and makes his way into the kitchen. He stands by the fridge, hands behind his back.

"No ma’am, he is still asleep," Kenji replies, his voice low and authoritative. He watches as she unpacks the groceries, his gaze unwavering.

"You didn’t tell anyone you were leaving.”

“Would you have taken me down to Kyoto if I asked?” She raises an eyebrow, knowing the answer to that, “I needed fresh fruit. You would’ve gone out and got it yourself.”

Kenji was an older, extremely serious man. Barely could get a laugh, smile, even the twitch of his pale face. He’d been the guardian of their family for years, but even he had his stresses when it came to her.

“That doesn’t mean you should leave the estate without me,” he replies stiffly, “You could’ve woken me up and I would’ve taken you.”

“I made it back safely,” she counters, “No one recognized me, so it’s fine. You want a strawberry?” She takes one from the plastic, reaching it out to him.

Kenji eyes the strawberry for a moment, before reluctantly taking it.

"It’s not about making it back safely," he replies, a hint of irritation in his tone, "It’s about the fact that you left without telling anyone. Anything could’ve happened to you."

“Ahh, you took it from me! You’re not that mad, Mamoru,” she calls him the traditional term, “You can save all that intimidation shit for Jiji, not me.”

"Don’t call me that," he mutters, crossing his arms. "And don’t call your grandfather Jiji. Have some respect."

“What? Is Ojiichan better for you?” She questions as she reaches her hand out, “Here. Have another strawberry. You’re mean today.”

Kenji grumbles, but accepts another strawberry anyway.

"Don’t try and butter me up," he mutters, taking a bite, "I’m not mean. I’m just doing my job."

He leans against the counter, looking at her with a mix of annoyance and concern. He taps the piece within his ear, his eyes coming up as he says, “Your grandfathers awake.”

“I’m going,” she’s already beginning to make her way upstairs, “Don’t touch the groceries! I can put them up myself.”

She comes down the hallway, sliding the wooden frame of the door, pressing her hand against the translucent paper as her eyes follow to the sight of her grandfather. Smile lines creased his olive face, even when he wasn’t happy.

She watched the housekeeper dab a cold towel against his face, walking forward as she tells her, “I’m here, you can go take a break,” she gives a light smile, offering to take the towel from her.

The housekeeper nods appreciatively and leaves the room, closing the door behind her. The only sound left is the soft breathing of her grandfather.

He turns his head towards her, his eyes slowly opening. “You’re back,” he rasps, his voice weak.

She sits along the floor beside his bed as she softly replies, “I’m surprised you’re not raising your blood pressure to yell at me.”

Her grandfather manages a weak smile, wincing slightly as he shifts in the bed.

"I'll save my anger for later," he mutters, his voice gruff. "What were you thinking, leaving without telling anyone?"

“I wasn’t gone that long,” she tells him, to which he says, “Bogo de hanashite kudasai.”

She replies, “You’re getting better at your English—can you not be difficult right now?”

"You still haven't explained why you went to the market by yourself."

“I went to your favorite market in Kyoto to find those dumplings you like, I wanted to make ramen,” she says, reaching out as she lightly dabs the towel against his face, “You’ still wanna yell now?”

Her grandfather's gruff exterior softens, and he looks at her with a hint of surprise. He can never stay mad at her.

"No," he mutters, closing his eyes as he lets out a long sigh. "I suppose you did bring me my favorite dumplings."

“How are you feeling?”

Her grandfather grunts, waving off the question. "I'm fine," he says dismissively, "You don't need to worry about me."

He notices the look on her face, and sighs. "I'm tired," he admits, wincing slightly as he tries to sit up more in the bed.

“You’ll feel better once I cook,” she mentions, “Do you want to try to take an actual shower today?”

“I’m too weak to stand,” he mutters, a hint of stubbornness in his voice, “But I’m still capable of taking care of myself.”

“Yet you can’t stand?” She raises an eyebrow.

She watches him lean back into the pillow, breathing as if he’d just done a marathon. The ball in her throat begins to form, and she hates that. She then says, “The man that would kill to protect his family, is now letting cancer take him in the dead of the night. You say I’m stubborn, and you wonder where that comes from?”

He grunts, turning away from her gaze. “Don’t start,” he mutters, his voice hoarse. “I’m an old man. I’ve already lived my life. I don’t need your pity.”

“And I’m not giving it to you,” she swiftly replies, “We could’ve found the best treatment in Japan. And yet here you are, wanting your final months to be in the walls of this home. The leader of the Yakuza—who’s gonna scare the city when you’re gone?”

Her grandfather glares at her, his eyes narrow and sharp. "I've made my decision," he snaps, "This is where I want to be. I'm not some coward who's afraid to face death. And don't talk to me about the Yakuza. I've done everything I needed to do for them."

He lets out a deep sigh, his shoulders sagging as he leans back against the pillows, "I don't need you to remind me that I'm dying."

She brings her head down, staring along the towel she holds. She says softly, “Gomen’nasai,” her throat becoming tight again as she continues, “I just wish you weren’t trying to run away from me.”

"I'm not running away from you," he says, his tone gruff but gentle, "I'm just tired. I've spent my whole life fighting and I just want to rest now."

She knows that. It’s just hard to hear. The man that raised her, taught her everything she needed to know, maybe even more.

She hesitates, “Nani ka kiite mo īdesu ka?”

He nods, intertwining his fingers back together, laying himself properly back along the pillows beneath his body.

“Do you regret the life you lived?”

The question is general, although she wants to be specific. She slowly continues, “I know you for who you are, but others don’t. They feared you, feared the people you brought in. You—hurt people, did…illegal things. Would you have changed that?”

Her grandfather lets out a long sigh, thinking about her question. He is silent for a moment, contemplating his life spent.

"Yes," he finally says, his voice rough. "There are many things I regret about the life I lived. Things I did that I wish I could undo. But I did what I thought was necessary for our family—But I never regret meeting your grandmother, and I never regret having your father. Meaning— I never regret bringing you into this world."

She suppresses her smile as she says, “You’re getting soft on me, Jiji.”

"I'm not getting soft," he mutters, rolling his eyes, “I'm just being honest. However, I have one dying wish.”

She nods her head, waiting for him to continue. He then says, “You will be twenty-six soon, and all I ask is that you’re married before I die.”

She frowns, “That’s not long, Jiji, what am I supposed to do? Go out and pick a husband off of the street?”

Her grandfather smiles at her reaction, amused by her stubbornness. "No, obviously not," he chuckles, coughing a little at the end. "I don’t expect you to pick the first man you see. But you need to start thinking about it. You need to find a good man, someone who will take care of you after I’m gone."

“I can take care of myself,” she always told him, “I’ll be the first in your generation to be lonely with cats.”

Her grandfather grunts, looking at her with a mixture of amusement and annoyance, “Don’t be ridiculous. You’re not going to live alone with cats."

“I suspect you have a line up of men to offer to me?” She raises an eyebrow, “I don’t think I’m fond of being with those Yakuza crazies you keep under your wing.”

He studies her again, his eyes narrowed, "They’re respectable men. You're not a little girl anymore. It's time to start thinking about your future."

“I do think about my future. I’m trying to finish school to become a registered nurse, but you seem to tune out as soon as I tell you that,” she reminded him. Her grandfather was unfortunately an extremely traditional man, only seeing women to be taken care of by men.

"You're wasting your time with that," he grumbles, his eyes flickering back to hers, “You don't need to work. You have enough money to live comfortably for the rest of your life. And you certainly don't need to be a nurse. You're a woman, not a doctor."

“So what are you saying?”

“I’m saying that I’ve found someone for you.”

Her frown deepens. She says, “Ojiichan, I hope you aren’t insinuating an arranged marriage.”

“An arranged marriage is not something you should reject right away," he says, "I know the perfect man for you. He's respectful, wealthy, and he comes from a good family in the Yakuza.”

“What happened to not wanting me married off to a man like you or my father? That’s what you want for me?” She sharply replies.

"Don’t you talk to me like that," he snaps, "I worked hard for this family. So did my son. I made sure we had power and a life most people dreamed of. This is a good man—strong, traditional. You will meet him tomorrow.”

Her eyes widen slightly, “What? ‘The hell do you mean tomorrow?”

Her grandfather looks at her sternly, his eyes piercing into hers, “You will meet him tomorrow. I'm not asking you, I’m telling you. You will get dressed and you will sit with him for tea."

He raises a hand when she starts to speak, silencing her, “This is not a discussion. You will meet him, and you will be polite. Understood?"

When she goes to argue again, his hand raises further, her eyes catching the trail of ink littered along the back of his arm, knowing it followed all the way up his back, down his spine. It was a reminder of who he once was, and the authority in his tone also did that.

He finalizes, “This is my dying wish, Sayuki. You will do this.”

The call of her full name means it’s no room for argument. She wasn’t ready to meet anyone, let alone be married. But this was all he asked of her, and she wanted to respect his wishes in death.

She nods her head, “Okay.”

Her grandfather’s expression softens slightly as he sees her nod. He lowers his hand, gesturing to the door, “Good. Now go make my gyoza, a dying man needs to eat.”

At this moment, she thought about poisoning his food. But she gave him something easier. A fake smile, a bow, and exiting the room.

𝓐ᥫ᭡

CHAMOMILE TEA. That’s what she remembered from this interaction. When the next day came, it flew by just to spite her. It was now closer to the evening, the lanterns of the night beginning to light as she stood within the mirror of her bedroom. She turned her body as she looked at herself, the backless pale yellow dress flowing down to her thin golden heels, straps wrapped around the tattoos along her feet. The top of her dress tied into a bow around her neck, dark hair up within a matching claw clip.

If there was a luxury her grandfather had given her, it was to dress however she chose. He’d shoot on sight for anyone that had an opinion on it. Tendrils flew around the caramel complexion of her face, honey brown freckles showing through her makeup despite her foundation, fox eyes slender beneath her lash extensions, pointing upwards along her face.

She pressed the brown outline of her cupid's bow lips to mix with the mauve closest to her mouth, spraying herself of a sensuous vanilla and jasmine scent before she made her way out of the door, Kenji immediately following behind.

She asked him softly, “Do I look okay?” Knowing the older man didn’t have much opinion, but she needed some type of reaction from someone.

Kenji looked at her, his expression stoic as usual, his eyes roaming over her figure, "You look beautiful," he said, his voice dry as usual.

He paused for a moment, his eyes lingering on her face, "But you’re nervous," he added, “You’re squeezing your hands together."

“I know,” she sighs, “What if this is the husband of my dreams, Kenji? Like those dramatic movies I used to watch as a kid?”

He patted her shoulder reassuringly, "Just...try to act normal. And don’t punch him, at least not right away."

She huffs out a breath, “Thanks.”

She then slides the opening door to her grandfather's room, seeing as a housekeeper sat beside him, pressing a spoon to his mouth as she fed him soup.

Sayuki greeted, “I hear a lot of noise from downstairs, Jiji, are your children already running amuck?”

“Don’t joke like that,” he said, his tone gruff, “But yes, half of the clan’s already gathering. They’ll be at a meeting while you’re on your date.”

“Did you have to do that the same day? I’d rather avoid the embarrassment,” she replies, “…You didn’t tell me my dress was pretty.”

“You look like a delicate flower, my child.”

That makes her feel at ease. She then says, “Don’t let those idiots rummage the fridge, please? Those groceries are for you. I’ll be in the garden if you need me, okay?”

Her grandfather grunts, waving her off with a hand, "Don't show that attitude when you meet him. Don't be sharp-tongued or sarcastic. Act like a proper lady."

She keeps from rolling her eyes. Leaning down closer to the bed, she gives him a kiss on the cheek, before sliding the door closed and making her way downstairs. The men of the Yakuza filled the entire living room and kitchen, rowdy, loud, cigarette smoking, talking shit. Matching black suits, dark hair—an intimidation brought all along Tokyo. It was as if she hadn’t passed by, throaty laughs filling the house as they continued to play cards, arguing with one another.

She was back to following the path of plants, leading up to the gazebo that was surrounded by clear water, koi fish and flowers she’d planted herself, or even helped the housekeeper plant. Her eyes fell over the figure sitting on the inside of it, a table now in the middle of the seating area, small bowls, cups and mugs placed atop. She glanced back at Kenji who now stood by the door that led back into the house, far away enough from the garden, but close enough if anything happened. Her eyes gazed over the smoke that released from the cigarette in between his scarred lip, his frame unfamiliar to her eyes.

Her eyes slowly dragged over the man seated in her gazebo, taking him all in. His broad, muscular shoulders. His sharp jawline. His tall figure even when seated, long legs traveling for miles. Onyx hair and eyebrows furrowed, the dark suit he wore hugged against his large frame that could’ve exploded the seams of material.

She couldn't help but find him attractive already—and maybe a little intimidating. She took a deep breath, gathering the last bit of her courage, and walked through the garden towards him.

She lifted her leg onto the step, taking him in even closer. When his eyes finally met hers, her heart thumped, as his face wasn’t the best at expressing his emotions. Her hands clasped together in front of her, and she gave him a respectful bow—although she didn’t want to—making her way to the opposite side of the table as she sat herself down. His hand was huge, two fingers molding around his cigarette, plump lips taking another inhale as he scanned her. A couple minutes of silence go past, before his deep, attractive voice is the first to speak.

“Nihongo o hanasemasu ka?”

She blinks, trying to hide the scrunch in her nose as she replies, “I prefer to use English. Why wouldn’t I speak Japanese?”

He doesn’t give an answer, only using his eyes to frown at her. She does roll her eyes this time, briefly explaining, “My mother is black. I’m fluent in both English and Japanese, if that’s what you’re trying to confirm.”

He seemed completely uninterested, his expression still blank. He took another drag of his cigarette, blowing the smoke out, his eyes never leaving her. After a moment, he spoke in English.

“You’re not what I was expecting.”

“Am I supposed to apologize for that?” She raises an eyebrow.

He narrowed his eyes at her, his expression cold, but amused, “Nah. An apology is unnecessary.”

His eyes flicker over her figure again, the corner of his lip twitching slightly, “But an introduction wouldn’t hurt, yeah?”

She crossed her right leg over her left, clearing her throat in a way to retract her question as she replies, “Sayuki. And you?”

“Toji Fushiguro.”

His eyes traveled down to her legs as she shifted them, watching her move.

“It’s a pretty name,” he says suddenly, taking another drag, “Sayuki. ‘Longevity, long-lived’.”

“You knew that off the top of your head?” She questions, “I don’t know what your name means.”

He chuckled slightly, a rare sound, his deep voice making her heart thump again before he responded.

“Lucky,” he says, blowing another stream of smoke out, “My name means ‘lucky’.”

“Are you lucky?” She tilts her head, “I would say the habit of smoking is relatively unlucky.”

“Are you worried about my health after ten minutes of knowing each other?”

The question throws her off a bit. She wasn’t trying to have the upper hand in this conversation, but she surely didn’t want to seem nervous. She felt her face go warm as she counters, “Smoking is a bad habit for anyone. My grandfather did it a lot, one of the reasons he’s on his deathbed sooner than I’d like him to be.”

He looked at her steadily, the light smoke from his cigarette curling into the air as he watched her through the haze.

“I’m not worried about shit like life expectancy,” he says simply, “My job comes first. If smoking helps me get through stress, then fuck it.”

“You Yakuza men seem to never care about something as important as your health, or your life,” she points out, “You think if you got married your wife wouldn’t be worried about that?”

Toji chuckled again—a dry sound—but an amused one. “Who says I’m looking to get married?”

“Then why are we talking then?” She questions, “Isn’t that what we’re here for?”

Toji’s expression darkened slightly, his eyes flickering with a flash of annoyance. But then he chuckled again, a mocking, arrogant sound.

“My old man’s making me talk to you,” he admits, taking another drag of his cigarette, “He’s your Ojiichan’s right hand. Wants me to start a family, continue the bloodline and all that bullshit. So here I am.”

Yup, there it was. Her patience was thinning.

She then asks, “And you don’t want that?”

“Nah,” he said simply, “Not at all.”

He then smirked again, his dark gaze piercing her’s, “Why? Do you want to start a family, Sayuki?”

The way he said her name, emphasizing the pronunciation in their native tongue made her shift a bit. It was annoying. She answers honestly despite his tone, “I’m about to be twenty six, so a family would be nice. But I want my degree first, I’m studying to be a registered nurse. I wanna help people in ways my grandfather wouldn’t allow me to help him.”

"A career nurse," he repeats, “How noble and selfless of you."

She raises her posture up a bit, “What is that supposed to mean?”

His dark eyes dragged over her figure again, “You’re pretty as fuck—enough to marry an old millionaire, who’d pamper you ‘till the day you die.”

She now becomes visibly irritated, “I’m not tryna’ be a housewife and pop out a bunch of kids if that’s what you think by looking at me.”

“And why not? That’s what you were designed to do. A body like that and such a pretty ass face. You’d be worth the fuck.”

Yeah, that was it.

She takes the steaming tea in front of her, chucking it directly in his face, letting the actual cup follow after. She stands as she spits, “A disrespectful ass mouth like that, I can see why you’d still be wife searching at your grown age. Go fuck yourself.”

She’s already stomping away, fire in her eyes as she mutters, “Fuckin’ stupid ass nigga—Kenji! Let’s go!”

Toji’s eyes widen for a moment as the steaming tea is splashed into his face, his skin searing against the liquid as it hits him, cup following after. He looked to see the large bodyguard standing by the porch, and even he was shocked. All he could do as he watched her fly past him was give Toji a helpless stare before muttering, “Yes ma’am.”

In the past years of her grandfather being sick, the next five days was the first time she’d heard him curse in the longest. His anger trickled over to guards, staff within the house, even his men who worked for him. He was pissed after hearing what his granddaughter had done. She stayed in the room if she wasn’t checking on him, and the moment she saw him ready to go off, she would grow wings and fly. He’d be fine eventually.

She was now within the living room, palms and feet pressed along a mat as she did her morning stretches, talking on the phone with her mom to tell her of the situation.

“Chile, I don’t know why you’re calling me. Kenji already told me what happened—had your grandfather called, the man would’ve written his own eulogy. Doctor said his pressure is at an all time high,” her mom said, chuckling into the phone.

Sayuki sighs, “I wasn’t trying to give the man a heart attack.“

“I’m sure you didn’t, honey. But you know that first impressions matter.”

She brings herself to her knees, halting her stretching as she deadpans, “Momma. I understand the cultures around here, okay? Respect is big and all that shit. Jiji taught me that. Ole’ boy was the disrespectful one. I just gave him a taste of his own medicine. Or tea, to be specific.”

“I know he was being rude, but you know how important this is for your grandfather.”

There’s a pause between them, before her mother’s voice comes through the line again, a bit softer this time, “It won’t hurt to try and get along with him. At least for your Jiji’s sake, yeah?”

“That’s if I ever see the bastard again. You know Grandpa said? That he made some valid points in our conversation—he thinks all I’m supposed to make of myself is the perfect wife,” she shakes her head, raising her leg out to stretch the muscles behind.

Her mother is silent for a few long moments, before sighing again, “You know your grandfather is stuck in his traditional ways. You can’t expect for him to just change this late in life. Your father was the same way—just wanted me to pop out babies.”

She knew her mom wouldn’t have much commentary on this, considering she’d lived as a housewife for years before her husband's passing. She couldn’t handle the life Sayuki’s father lived, being within the Japanese Mafia—but her father in law refused to be without his granddaughter. So she let her stay in Tokyo, and went to the states to set out her own dreams.

Sayuki sighs, “How’s the army treating you, Sergeant? Where do they have you based right now?”

Her Mom chuckles slightly into the phone, an amused sort of sound, “I swear they have me stationed in the middle of bumfuck nowhere. Texas, in the middle of this town called Waco. The people here are good ‘ol bible-thumping country folk. I’m terrified.”

Sayuki laughs, “You’ wanted to be head honcho so bad, now they’ got you in places you’ve never been before.”

Her mother is quiet for a moment, still chuckling, before she speaks again, “The job’s more stressful than I imagined,” she says, “But I’m getting the hang of it. I’m stationed at the base now, working with the new guys and whatnot,” She paused for another moment, before she sighs and continued, “I really need to get stationed back in Tokyo, though. I miss you and your Jiji a lot, you know.”

Sayuki hates that feeling of tightness in her throat. She told her mom to live out her dreams with her being an adult, and that she would be fine under the protection of her grandfather. But she also needed the only parent she had left.

“I miss you too, momma.”

She then hears the sliding door open to the hallway, Kenji appearing with a bow as he greets, “Ohayou gozaimasu. Your grandfather would like to speak to you.”

Sayuki sits on the floor fully as she raises an eyebrow, “He’s awake already?”

Her mom’s still on the phone, a soft hum coming from the line before she questions, “He’s not a morning person. You’ really gave him a heart attack, huh?”

Kenji replies, “He seems to be fine. He’s awake and very much alive,” He glances at Sayuki and bows again, before saying, “His orders were to bring you to his room.”

“Alright momma, I’ll try to call you before you turn in your phone again. I love you, always,” she doesn’t want to hang up, but her grandfather could be an impatient man, especially if he was upset.

Her mother’s voice filters through the line again, a familiar, comforting sound, “I love you, too, Sayuki-baby. Stay safe, okay?”

Then, she’s gone, and Kenji turns his attention back to her. The big man just silently starts walking, obviously expecting her to follow.

Sayuki follows him down the hallway, making their way to her grandfather's bedroom. She sends off Kenji as she slowly opens the door, to be greeted by a housekeeper who’s nervously patting his face with a cold sponge.

She tells her, “You can go. Thank you.”

The housekeeper immediately scurries off, taking the towel and bucket with her. Sayuki’s left alone with her grandfather now, who’s sitting up in bed, a newspaper on his lap. His eyes flicker up to her for a few moments, still sharp as ever.

“Do you come in peace?” She questions, sitting herself beside the bed, “I see you have the newspaper. You must be in a good mood.”

“The doctor said my pressures have risen,” he starts, his voice still surprisingly even, “But I am still breathing. If you hadn’t annoyed me so greatly, I would probably have another decade in my life.”

“Oh? So it’s my fault now? How about you’ put your lil’ gang members in check?” She crossed her arms.

Her grandfather’s eyes widened slightly at her blunt words, obviously surprised. He looks at her for a few long moments. Then, he shakes his head, “I taught you to respect men. Why can’t you be a little more…well… gentle? Polite?”

“I was soft and feminine like you want me to be. He’s the one that said he didn’t want to be married, and that I wasn’t even his type. He doesn’t even like black women,” she rambles.

As she sees her grandfather’s face, she rolls her eyes as she corrects herself, “Okay—he ain’t say all that. But he did say he was only there for his father’s sake.”

“It doesn’t matter what he said. I know that boy’s a bit arrogant. A little rude too. But family is important. He’s my right hand’s son.”

His eyes narrow slightly as he looks at her, saying, “And you have no choice in whether you marry him. You’re getting older, Sayuki. Twenty-six is not young anymore. I’m not letting you leave this house unless you’re a wife.”

“Is this my death sentence? What did I do to deserve this treatment?” She flops herself on the end of the bed, “Have you’ no heart?”

Her grandfather simply rolls his eyes, his expression unchanging, “Don’t be so dramatic, Sayuki. You know how marriage works in this family. I had an arranged marriage, and so did your father. The men pick their wives.”

He paused before leaning forward a bit in the bed, asking, “...Why are women so damn stubborn these days?”

“Cause this isn’t the fifties, that’s why!” She exclaims.

He takes a deep breath as he mutters, “Now if I become as dramatic as you and die right here on the spot, you’ll be very upset with me.”

He lets a few minutes of silence pass before he mutters, “…With your father not here, I won’t have anyone to protect you when I’m gone, Sayuki.”.

She sits up a bit, hearing as he becomes serious. She comes closer to him on the bed as she lays her head on his shoulder, “I can take care of myself, Grandpa.”

Her grandfather takes her small hand into his large, calloused one, his fingers gently intertwining with hers. He sighs, “You may be a strong young woman, but you’re too reckless. It’s not safe in this world. No matter how prepared you are to defend yourself.”

He squeezes her hand slightly, “When you asked me the regrets I have—it made me think, with the kind of family I have, who’s going to protect my Mago when I’m gone? The people that hate me, the people that won’t be able to hurt me because I’m gone, so they hurt you?”

Arranged marriage sounded silly to her, but with the family she had, she understood where her grandfather was coming from. He wasn’t doing this to force anything on her. He just wanted to make sure she was safe—even without him.

She squeezes his hand, giving him a kiss on the cheek as she suggests, “Maybe I can talk to him. But he needs to apologize. If he doesn’t, I’m not agreeing to this, is that fair?”

Her grandfather grunts again, his expression unchanging as a soft sigh escapes him, “He’s not a man to grovel. And you’ve already left a bad first impression. He won’t apologize for anything. That’s how we raised them.”

He pauses for a few moments before giving her hand a tight squeeze again, “....But I will speak to him,” He finalizes, his voice low.

“See! Don’t you feel better when you talk things out instead of being violent? A lot of your issues would’ve been solved better that way,” she gives him a smile.

Her grandfather grunts once more, his gaze fixed on the window away from her, “Violence is good when there’s nothing else to talk about. But I’m glad you feel better—because you’ll be going with him to fetch some groceries to cook dinner tonight.”

She immediately pulls her hand back, stepping off the bed as she says, “Huh? A meal? Who he’ think he is—Buddha?”

“Sayuki,” He warns.

He takes a deep breath, before continuing to speak, “You’re going to go to the store. Then you’ll come back here and cook for him. And maybe by then, you’ll have managed to impress him with your lovely personality.”

“Why can’t Kenji just go with me? You want me and Toji to go, alone, as if I don’t want to put a fork up his ass? You said you don’t want me traveling to Kyoto without him anyways,” she crosses her arms.

“Gengo,” her grandfather snaps, “Just because I’m old doesn’t mean I won’t break your ass in two. Toji will go with you. I’m tired of arguing with you. I want to take a nap.”

“Well go take your old man ass nap, then!” She exclaims, “And now you’re not getting any of your favorite fruits!”

She opens the slide door, shrieking as a tall frame stands on the side of the wall, instantly recognizing the cigarette that hangs between the dark pink lips she’d seen days before.

She exasperates, “Great—this was a set up! I don’t like anybody in this house.”

Her grandfather chuckles gruffly, a low, amused sound, just as Toji takes a long drag of his cigarette. He glances her way, still leaning against the wall as he speaks, “Good to see you too. I can feel the love.”

“Shouldn’t you be somewhere recovering from third degree burns?” She continues walking, making her way back towards the living room, purposely walking fast in hopes that she’d lose him.

Toji pushes off the wall, easily catching up behind her as he questions, “Why are you so hellbent on avoiding me?”

“Hm, I don’t know—maybe cause you told me all I would be is a good fuck? You remember that?” She pushes the door open to the living room, stepping back onto her yoga mat.

“Yeah, I remember clearly.”

He glances over her, adding, “Although, you’re a lot more interesting than I thought you’d be when this all started.”

She sighs, “If you’re doing this for some brownie points from my grandfather, we can wrap this up quick as fuck, Fushiguro. I’m not sensitive, okay? But what you said hurt my feelings. I was being nice to you, even if I wasn’t keen on this arranged marriage thing in the first place. I need to finish stretching, so are we done?”

At her words, Toji takes a puff from his cigarette, before taking it out of his mouth and crushing it out.

“I’m here to apologize.”

She crosses her arms over each other, raising an eyebrow at that, “Are you saying that because someone asked you to?”

“Why were you so pissed about some words that came out of my mouth?” He questions, “You could’ve easily ignored them.“

“You don’t even know me. You assumed that I’m some airhead ass bitch that’s looking to be sold to the highest bidder. Well I’m not. I have my own dreams and ambitions, none of them involving a man—unless I decide that for myself.”

Toji looks at her for a few moments in silence. He runs a hand through his dark hair, before speaking once more.

“So I hurt your feelings.” he mutters. “And you’re not some airhead. Anything else I should know?”

His stare was intense at times, and it made her feel naked under the SKIMS army green romper she wears, headband and glasses pulling her hair out of her face. Facing him, she reaches down to grab for her ankles, stretching her legs out as she huffs, “That’s your form of an apology?”

He does take the time to watch her stretch, but doesn’t comment on it, just saying, “Goddamn, girl. I’m trying. I’ve never apologized to someone without a gun to my head.”

He takes a step forward, his head lowered as he stares down, now practically upside down with her.

“I have a habit of saying shit I don’t mean. So I’m sorry. You can throw some more scorching ass tea on me again if you want.”

She pulls her hair out of her face as she stands up, looking around the expression on his face. It’s the same—eyebrows low, waiting for a response. But it doesn’t lack sincerity.

She sighs, leaning down as she begins rolling up her yoga mat, “I’m not gonna do that. My grandpa will throw me into a pit of fire if he hears I assaulted you again.”

He watches her roll up the yoga mat, “You’ still mad at me?”

She looks up at him, tilting her head as she questions, “Do you want me to be?“

“I don’t know.”

He glances down at her, eyes lingering for a moment on her exposed skin, before he returns his gaze to her face, “If you’re not mad, what are you?”

“Ready to take this long ass train ride to Kyoto,” she finalizes, making her way around him, “I need to go shower.”

“What, no invite?”

“And somehow you’ve managed to lose points again,” she dismisses, slamming the door shut to her bedroom.

When comes out of her bedroom an hour later, she steps into the hallway to glance along the full body mirror—as she usually did. She pulls her dark hair behind her ear as it was straightened, her usual makeup along her face that consisted of cat eyed extensions, her lip combo of brown and mauve, lower eyelid filled with the matching dark brown of her lips. Her leather jacket clung to her frame, showing off a bit of her midriff as her pants were a matching leather material, hips desperately wanting to bust out of the tight seams.

She notices Toji along the wall, “…I don’t know what shoes to wear.”

Toji’s eyes flicker her way, a brief, almost unnoticeable glance at her frame, then back to her face, then back to her frame. He’ll shamelessly admit that his jaw tightened, and maybe he felt his dick jump.

“You’ asking for my opinion?”

“Jiji is the worst dressed man on the planet, and Kenji is in hiding so—yes.”

She eyes him in the mirror as he walks behind her, turning her head as she notices the look he gives her. She raises an eyebrow, “What?”

“You look good as fuck, you know that?”

“You’re not telling me what shoes I need to wear,” she almost pouts, “I wanna go before it hits noon!”

Toji doesn’t respond right away, just looking her up and down again, his gaze lingering for a few seconds on her hips, before he mutters, “You’re hard headed as hell. I said you looked good. I didn’t say what shoes you should wear. If it’s gonna make you hurry up, you should wear heels.”

“‘Kay’,” she turns around, making her way back into the room with a twist to her hips. She finds a pair of Dior black pumps, knowing she’d be fine in those for most of the day as they were comfortable. She sprays herself of her vanilla scent, shaking her head from side to side, throwing her head back to fix her hair.

“You don’t have to watch me, you know.”

He pushes off the wall again with his foot, moving toward her now. He’s a very imposing man, his form broad and tall. He’s at least a full foot and a half taller than her.

“My fault. I have a hard time looking away. You’ ready?”

She grabs her purse as she nods, “Mhm,” giving him a quick head to toe. He’s more simple in his clothes, a long black sleeve that hugs his muscular frame, belt, jeans and hefty boots along his feet, hair tossed around the sculpted sharpness of his face. Her eyes flick down to his wrist as she sees the ink hiding beneath the material, coming forward as she pulls it farther up to fully cover it, “The point of your Irezumi is that it’s supposed to be hidden.”

His wrist feels like hot iron under her fingertips. He can’t help but look down as she touches his wrist, her head slightly tipped to look up at him. Fuck, she’s gorgeous from this angle.

He raises an eyebrow as he grunts, “I know that,” allowing her to fix his clothing.

“I can see it on the back of your neck too,” she points out, reaching up, wrapping her fingers lightly in between his neck and back, “You should put a jacket on.”

The tightness on his jaw returns, his gaze fixed on her as his voice drops to a low murmur, “Are you gonna let go any time soon?”

She hesitates, her fingers still sitting on his upper back as she questions, “Am I making you uncomfortable?” She then fully pulls herself back, “I’m sorry.”

“Did I say that?”

“No.”

“Then why are you apologizing?”

Before she can reply, he’s already going around her, heading down the hallway to pull the Harley Davidson leather jacket over his body, her eyes also taking notice of the M9 gun he places in the back of his pants. He nods his head in the direction of the door, and she follows after, not before quickly diving into the master bedroom to give her grandfather a kiss goodbye.

The train ride had been…interesting for her to say the least. With it being the weekend, it was one of its busier days, the train compact with people to a point where they had to stand. Sayuki leaned her back against the window of the train as Toji hovered over her, hand gripping the bar up top. When the train came to a stop, everyone began slanting forward, trying to catch their weight on themselves. Toji’s body connected to hers, pressing his chest lightly against her nose to keep her from moving.

She inhaled quietly, the scent of his cologne trapping her nostrils, his jaw touching the top of her head made her heart speed up a bit.

He tried not to be too obvious as he watched her from this view—but damn, she was pretty like this too. Under him like this. It felt like she belonged there.

It didn’t become any better the moment they arrived in the bustling streets of Kyoto. The cherry blossoms hung along the top of the buildings, brightly lit colored signs coaxing in their next customer. There was a feeling coming to him he’d never experienced before, watching as she politely spoke to people who passed her, talked up the people who worked within the stores, complimented each woman's outfit she saw. Hell, she’d even crouched down, sneaking sample food to a homeless cat mewling close by an alleyway.

Toji was starting to realize just how opposite their personalities were, but God, she had a certain…charm to her. He’d been silent, watching her with a blank expression as she interacted with everyone they passed, never breaking that smile. Toji was gruff, blunt, intimidating—didn’t bother to look at anyone twice. Yet she was the opposite in every way.

How could they ever be compatible?

She makes her way into a smaller market, empty as she knew it was more expensive than the ones on the outside. But this was usually where she bought all of her fresh produce. She glances to the man at the counter, seeing as he flicks his eyes up to her, sitting himself up more straight—as if he had to keep his attention on her.

She looks around, “Is there anything in particular you like to eat?” She questions, turning herself towards Toji who stays close to the front door, lighting a cigarette between his lips.

Toji takes a long puff from the cigarette resting between his lips, his dark eyes following her through the small shop.

He takes a moment before replying, “I like fish.”

His eyes glance over her form, her ass practically calling to him in those pants. She was sexy without even trying.

“How about Sashimi? Are you okay with yellowtail?”

She’s so concerned with his taste buds, Toji only seems to notice the grimace the man at the counter continues giving her.

He looks back at her, all while his eyes are still focused, his tone is a bit more softened as he replies, “Yeah, that’s fine,” taking another long breath from the cigarette between his lips.

“Okay,” she says softly, talking more to herself as she decides how she wants to cook the fish. When she has all of her ingredients, she comes up to the register as she sees the fruits are behind the counter.

She greets, “Ohayo gozaimasu, do you have fresh strawberries by chance?”

“No strawberries today,” he doesn’t return her greeting, cutting straight to her question as it’s nowhere near friendly.

She frowns a bit, “Are you sure? I come here for them often— the lady that works usually gives me a good amount.”

“I said we don’t have any,” he replies again, his eyes lingering over her, “Are you done shopping?”

He’s clearly not looking at her in a very favorable way, a look of irritation and disdain written on his face.

From Toji’s stance, he can see behind the counter, looking directly at a box of what looks to hold strawberries. And as he notices the man now glaring at him, he raises an eyebrow, pulling the cigarette down from his lips, blowing out a puff.

When Sayuki notices this as well, she turns back to Toji, putting together that he may have known Toji from being a part of the Yakuza. The owners of this store had to be from a clan that wasn’t too fond of them.

She then says, “We’re not coming here to cause any trouble—I just wanted my strawberries. I can buy a bundle of them?” She offers, beginning to rummage her purse for the money.

“We don’t serve the likes of you people,” the cashier spits.

And from the way he looks at her in disgust, it feels personal. Her eyebrows lower against her face, hating the way that once again—her feelings are hurt.

She sighs, “It’s fine. Let’s just go.”

Toji’s jaw clenches, his entire body stiffening. Something about the way her expression broke had his blood boiling.

“Go? Yeah, nah. I’m good on’ that.”

When he pushes himself off the wall, he’s already standing in front of the counter. In one swift motion, the shriek from this man fills the entire store as Toji has him by his shirt, tugging him halfway over the counter. He fights against the one hand holding him in a effortless yet painful grip, shouting as Toji casually sighs, “Shut up,” raising his cigarette, ashing the man on his forehead. He then takes it back to his lips as he talks, “Now see, we didn’t even have to do all this,” removing the gun from the back of his pants, tapping it against the side of the man’s cheek.

Sayuki steps back, eyes wide as she panics, “Toji! It’s fine!”

It’s like he doesn’t even hear her, his eyes fixated on the trembling man in his hands.

“Strawberries, right?”

When the man replies with a stutter, “Y-Yes, sir,” Toji’s expression doesn’t soften, “You got ‘em in back?”

He nods his head quickly, whimpering again, “Y-yes, sir.”

The sight of that man that just had so much mouth for Sayuki, now stuttering and terrified in Toji’s hold, Sayuki can’t help the slightly scared giggle that stumbles from her lips, shocked at what she’s witnessing.

That single sound of laughter reaches his ears, catching his attention as he slightly turns to glance her way, “Oh you like that shit, huh?”

When he looks back at the cashier, his voice drops even deeper, “Apologize to the pretty lady.”

The man replies instantly, “Yes, yes! I’m so sorry!”

Sayuki is still giggling, watching as Toji shoves the man back so hard that he knocks into the wall of objects behind him, nearly falling onto the floor. He presses his gun back into his pants, adjusting his jacket as he mutters, “‘Made me get all out of character,” before he commands, “Go get the strawberries before I actually get mad.”

The man scrambles on shaky legs, pulling out the box of fruit behind him as he says, “T—Take them! Take everything you need!”

Sayuki politely takes two cartons as she gives him a smile, “Thank you,” as Toji tugs the register closer to him, knocking his fist down to it, watching as it opens, pulling cash out of the object.

She shakes her head, “Now you’re doing too much.”

“They don’t call me a criminal for nothin’, baby,” he puffs out some smoke, “You’ hungry?”

She sighs, keeping her complaints to herself as she puts all her groceries within her tote bag, “Starving, actually.”

“Good.”

He takes one last drag from the cigarette, before flicking it to the floor, watching as the man flinches, thinking he was gonna toss it towards him.

“C’mon,” he gruffs, “It’s on me. Or him, in this case.”

They make it to a restaurant a couple of blocks down, Sayuki placing the strap of her tote against the chair behind her, giving a polite smile as the waiter places the food down against the table. She glances up at Toji, taking the mini slice of pizza as she questions, “Are you gonna smoke in every building we go to?”

“You gonna bother me every time I do?” he shoots back.

She scrunches her nose, “You’re supposed to be nice to me. Wanna bite of my pizza?” She offers, raising the slice towards him.

He raises a dark eyebrow, a huff of a laugh leaving him as he leans forward, his jaw parting slightly as she brings the pizza to his mouth, biting into it. When she pulls her hand back, he chews silently before replying, “I didn’t shoot that dumbass in the store, and I just took a bite of your food without arguing. I’m Peter Pan at this point.”

The laugh that falls from her mouth is bubbly, wrapping her full lips around her straw. Once again, she’s back to noticing him staring at her, she raises an eyebrow as she questions, “Why are you always just looking?”

“Can’t help it. Got some pretty ass lips.”

“Quit flirting,” she moves her hair behind her shoulder, glancing down at her phone to distract herself from the warmth that comes along her face.

She then hears him remind, “You never told me how school was going.”

She peers her head up, “Why do you care now?”

He doesn’t even look phased by the question, “Can’t I ask? You’d rather I don’t show any interest in you?”

She sighs a bit, “I don’t think you’d know anything about it.”

Toji’s eyebrows raise up at her response, “Why you’ said that shit like I’m uneducated?”

He leans in closer, his knee now touching hers beneath the table, the feeling intimate, “Talk to me.”

She tilts her head, trying to adjust her knee away from his, but it’d be too obvious to completely shift the way she sits. So she leaves it there.

“I’m tryna’ get my Bachelors in Science. Meaning I have to take some stupid ass, hard ass class like Pathophysiology. They teach shit like that in the Mafia handbook since you know everything?”

“You don’t need a degree to know how the human body works, baby,” he replies, “Seen a lot of dead bodies in my time.”

“Gross,” she dismisses, “Hearing that makes it all the more worse. This is harder than college advanced math for me. Maybe I’m just stupid or something,” she presses her lips together, leaning her head in the palm of her hand, placing her elbow against the table. He can see the change in her expression, the way her mood visibly drops.

“Baby,” he sighs, her heart fluttering a bit at the repeated pet name, “You can’t really think I was callin’ you stupid.”

“I know you weren’t. It’s just— I’ve taken this class twice, and I’m someone who believes shit happens for a reason—maybe this isn’t my path, cause I’d be able to pass if it was meant for me, right?” She blinks, her lashes fluttering heavily.

“Or,” he interjects, “Maybe you need to learn how to ask for help instead of just assuming you’re incapable of passin’.”

He can see her brain processing, a slow flicker of shock and confusion in her gaze. When she just stares at him, silent, he confirms, “You don’t gotta deal with all your problems alone.”

“This is where you just say I’m pretty and my brain is big,” she rolls her eyes, picking a pepperoni slice off her pizza, chewing against it to distract herself.

“Baby, I’ll call you pretty whenever you want. But I’d like it even more if you’d admit you’re smart without me havin’ to remind you.”

“My dad was really good at sciences, it must’ve skipped a generation,” she gives a weak smile, a tinge of sadness hidden beneath her expression.

Toji’s jaw clenches at the sight of such a weak smile on her face. Something about how sad she looked bothered him, and maybe he wanted to get back that bubbly expression she’d just had moments ago.

“You’re smart, Sayuki. It never skipped a generation.”

She tilts her head a bit as she replies, “I think you’re just saying that cause you have a lil’ crush on me.”

“Damn, guess I’ve been figured out.”

That actually makes her giggle, and to see that return to her face does make him relax a bit. She then offers, “Want me to feed you again?”

He glances down at the offer, looking back up at her, his head tilting a bit as he grins, “You miss my mouth already? Greedy ass.”

The stark contrast of their first interaction up until now was nothing that Sayuki had ever expected. She wasn’t the one to believe in fairytales, or have these high hopes when it came to the possibility of a relationship. But this was something she hadn’t felt with anyone in a while—romance.

Maybe she was starting to like him— maybe she was love bombing him. She wasn’t entirely sure. She noticed small things, like anytime his stride was longer than hers, he’d slow down to walk more behind her. They were now walking through the quiet night in between two buildings, planning to make their way back to the train.

When she caught onto his purposeful walking tactic, she took hold of his hand, tugging him forward a bit as she became annoyed, “You can walk faster.”

“You keep tuggin’ on my arm like that, I’ll think you’re desperate for me to touch you or somethin’.”

She rolls her eyes, “Don’t be cute. I’m not.”

But as she feels his long strides slow down, she turns behind herself, now feeling as her back is being lightly pressed along the wall. Her head tilted up as his jaw reached her nose, his body having to hover for her comfortability.

He places sturdy hands on either side of the wall, pinning her in place. His eyes hold a dangerous gleam in them, the playful attitude continuing as he looks down to her.

“You’re quiet. Tell me what you’re thinking.”

He leans down, his face a lot closer than before, the distance miniscule.

She takes a deep breath, kneeling her face closer to his, scanning the dark grey of his eyes. She then admits, “I um…I had a nice time with you today.”

“You did, huh?”

She smacks her lips at that, turning her face away. One of his hands leaves the wall, moving to grip her chin between his thumb and pointer finger, tilting her face to look back at him. He hums, “What other shit you wanna admit while you’re at it?”

“That I like you,” she blinks up at him, “And…that I hope you saying you liked me too in the restaurant wasn’t just talk.”

His hand moves up further, his fingers moving along the skin of her cheek slowly, “How about you quit doubtin’ me?”

One thing he’s good at doing is making her easily irritated. Her eyebrows furrow as she looks at him, “Well why can’t you just say it again? You always gotta answer my responses with a question. You can just be so—“

Another thing she couldn’t stand about him—he was smooth. There should’ve been no way that he caught the rest of her words within his mouth, gripping her in a kiss to shut her up. His hand grasps the back of her neck, tugging her hair a bit to keep her head tilted up. A baby gasp pulled from her mouth, tugging at the bottom of his shirt to keep herself steady. His mouth was warm, tongue heavy, her eyes slowly fluttering shut at the taste of him.

And god, that gasp of hers was music to his ears, pushing his tongue further into her mouth in response as the hand once on the wall slid down to grip at her hip, using it to pull her against his body. It wasn’t rushed, instead slow, his tongue twisting slowly around hers, his teeth catching gently against her bottom lip in a way that couldn’t be an accident.

She’s so drowned within him, she has to reach up and clasp her fingers around his jaw, pushing his mouth back as she presses her forehead to his, breathlessly giggling, “We’re gonna miss the train…”

He leans forward again, and for a second, she thinks he’s going to push for another kiss, but his nose brushes against hers instead, his tone lower as he questions, “You’ that eager to go home?”

“I’m just—“

“Yo, Yakuza boy!”

They both halt, Sayuki pulling herself away as she looks to the end of the alleyway, seeing two men beginning to walk towards them. The way they walk towards them—it’s not inviting in the slightest.

“We heard how you robbed the market a couple blocks down, thought we’d come politely ask for that money back.”

She knew Toji wasn’t afraid. But in the sense of her being with him, she could see the way he lifted his head, glaring at the two. He lightly took her body within his arm and pushed her behind himself.

“We can do this shit later. I got a woman with me,” he warns, “Your cashier boy pissed me off, I was teaching him a lesson.”

The two men glance between each other, before going back to Toji, taking another couple of steps forward. One of them grins, his tone mocking as he responds, "And? We didn't ask for the life story."

Sayuki grips her fingers against the jacket he wears, trying to pull him back as she muffles, “Let’s go, Toji. We aren’t in Tokyo—“

“Leaving so soon?”

She turns, seeing another man coming from the opposite end of the alleyway. They were now surrounded, and this one carried a crowbar within his palm.

Toji tenses visibly, his arm tightening around her as he glares at the three men surrounding them, his eyes flickering from each one.

“You’ got a fuckin’ death wish?”

“I think you do,” one of the guys counters, “You know this is our turf. Now shit has to get a little ugly in return. We’ll just strip you down, call it even, cool?”

Sayuki steps from behind him a bit, coming towards the man with the crowbar as she quickly says, “I don’t mind bringing the stuff I took from the market back. It’s no problem—“

But just in that millisecond, it’s as if someone cut the lights off in her brain. She doesn’t register the knuckles that crush against her face until she slams against the ground, her hair falling over her jaw that throbs the minute she feels pain register. She grunts, her ears ringing, palm dragging against the cement to try to bring herself to reality as she can now hear fighting above her.

Everything seems to go silent for Toji when he watches her fall to the ground, a heavy rush of red flooding his vision that he’s never felt before. When he sees her hands desperately gripping the ground beneath her trying to get up, a voice in his brain snaps, and he’s charging at the guy that hit her before any sort of rationality can make an appearance. All three men are surrounding him as he swings, forcing his weight down into every punch he throws.

Within seconds, one of the men is clutching his abdomen, another bent over on the ground, and the third—crowbar in hand—struggling to stay upright as he raises the bloody metal weapon in the air to swing down against Toji’s head.

Her vision is a bit blurry, hand trembling as she reaches for the wall close to her, eyes opening as she begs, “T—Toji…stop…” so quiet that she knew he couldn’t hear it.

She could see as he picked up the man bent on the ground, beginning to plummet his fist into his face. He won’t stop.

She can hear the blood against his knuckles, the crack of bone shifting beneath his punch, the small grunt each time he swings forward. Her body feels cold, a sense of fear exhilarating her skin like no other. Seeing him mercilessly beat this man was a reminder of who he could be—who he was.

“Toji…” she pushes her voice out more, “…Please stop! You’re going to kill him��”

As she pleads, the punches continue. She watches as the man with the crowbar drops the weapon, pulling a pocket knife from his pants, rushing over as he lunges into Toji’s side. That makes Sayuki almost sober up, watching as he drops the man in his hands, hitting the ground with him.

Toji grunts out in pain, his hand moving to grip his side. He can feel the way more blood pours from the wound, soaking the side of his pant leg and jacket.

An anger she hadn’t expected seeps through her entire body. Even with a throbbing jaw, a weary vision, she scurries forward as she grabs the crowbar the man originally held, raising it as she swung harshly at him, watching as he slammed against the wall from impact. She reaches within the back of her jacket as she pulls out an even bigger pocket knife. Waiting no longer, she jabs it within his side, using her strength to hold him against the wall, ignoring the curse he lets out.

She grits her teeth, “Now you’ll both have matching scars,” twisting the knife within his body, ignoring his painful shout.

Toji pushes himself up with a low grunt at the sound of her voice, his hand still covering the spot where he was now pouring blood. He’s pissed at how own vision was becoming blurry—he can’t see. Hearing the shouts of the man, he sees his shadow glide by as he took off out the alleyway, knife still within his side.

Sayuki throws the crowbar within her hand, rushing over to Toji as she drops to her knees in front of him, pressing her hand against his wound as her eyes chaotically scatter over his pained look— “Hey—hey—look at me…” Her own hand becomes painted red, “Shit!”

Toji’s eyes are screwed shut for a couple of seconds as her hand presses against his, body flinching at the pain. But when he registers her voice again, his eyes snap open. The feeling of her hands against his skin is enough to help clear the darkness that was starting to take over his mind. His hand moves from his side to grab hers.

“I’m fine,” he mutters.

“No you’re not,” she croaks, her vision returning to a blur, clearing as warm tears slide down her freckled cheeks, “You’re not. I’m calling for help, okay? P—Please stay awake,” she’s holding his wound, clutching the side of his neck, her heart beating outside of her chest.

Toji’s eyes look at her, seeing the worry across her face. He knew he had to stay awake, not only for her sake, but for his own if he didn’t want to bleed out in some alleyway. Her touch on his neck was making it near impossible for him to keep his head up.

He huffs out a short breath, “Don’t…call anybody.”

“Don’t be fucking stupid right now!” She panics, fingers trembling as blood rushes over the screen of her phone, dialing someone, anyone at the moment. The phone slides farther away from them as she tries to pull him up, desperately taking his jacket off to press it against his stab.

She’s rambling in panic, “I—I’m—I’m so sorry…”

Toji feels his balance stagger a bit as she pulls him up, the action forcing a hiss of pain from his mouth. He leans his weight against the wall, his eyes flickering to the phone on the ground. His jaw clenches, the thought of her feeling like any of this being her fault irritates him, “S—Stop apologizin’…not now…”

“I can’t,” she cried, terrified at the sight of him, her face entirely red, breathing unleveled as her chest heaved.

Toji’s heart twists at the sound of her crying. He wants to reach up to wipe her tears, but the pain in his side stops him.

“Don’t cry…” he practically pleads with her, the thought of her crying any harder making his head spin.

In Toji fashion, he raises his free hand up to reach for her body, pulling her close to him. He wasn’t dramatic, but seeing his vision blur might’ve had him tense, and if he did pass out, he had to make sure she was still there.

He grits out, “You…had a knife on you this whole time?”

She blinks through her tears, sniffling as she registers the question. She nods her head, trying to keep herself calm. Even stabbed, he was able to form some type of amusement, a tired huff of a chuckle blowing against her face as he said, “You really are my fuckin’ wife.”

She can’t help but laugh in return, the weakness of his voice making her cry harder. Toji couldn’t help it, holding her felt good, especially in his current condition. His hand moves to tangle within the ends of her hair, pulling her closer to his chest as he leans his head back.

He couldn’t tell how much time passed as the lights of Kenji’s Cadillac Escalade illuminated the dark alleyway. But it didn’t matter, he’d passed out—Her touch being the last thing he could feel.

𝓐ᥫ᭡

SAYUKI LOOKED WITHIN THE MIRROR, head in her lap as the housekeeper continued to press ice along her bruised jaw, tuning in and out of her grandfather's chastising. Even in sickness, even on his deathbed, the man had a voice on him.

She sighed, “You’re going to run your blood pressure up if you keep yelling like that, Jiji.”

He makes a clicking noise with his tongue, the action clearly disapproving. His eyes glared at the bruise on his granddaughter’s face.

“Of course I’m going to raise my goddamn blood pressure. You were assaulted. I’m going to have those bastards heads sent back to their families!”

“Me and Toji stole from a market in Kyoto,” she reminds, “We didn’t know the store belonged to a different turf.”

“I don’t care where you were—“

He grits the words out between his teeth, his eyes narrowing. Kenji, standing in the doorway, gives the older man a look telling him to relax. He huffs, closing his eyes for a moment.

“How does your face feel?”

“Like I fell off my bike, Ojiichan,” she softly replies, “Is Toji alright?” Her patience is wearing thin, no one telling her any updates of him since they took him down to the basement, calling along their underground doctor.

The older man sighs, “The doctor stitched him up. It appears he didn’t lose that much blood…he was lucky,” he grumbles, his eyes flickering back to her face, “You two should’ve known better. We don’t need another incident like—“

He stops himself, not wanting to bring up the past. He then says, “He’ll be in one of the guest rooms tonight. You should go check on him. I would like to go to sleep.”

She knows he’s upset, but she doesn’t want to make it any worse. So she leans down as she gives him a kiss on the cheek, bowing as she allows the housekeeper to get him ready for bed. Her eyes kept down on the blood running off her fingers as she showered, and the whole incident replayed in her head like clockwork. Again. Again.

Throwing an oversized tee on herself, she slips along her plush slippers as she goes in search of the guest bedroom along the opposite side of the house. It’s dim within the hallway, quiet as she pads her feet against the floor. She doesn’t know why she feels nervous. She stands in front of the sliding door, halting herself there as she takes a quiet breath. She knocks along the wooden part, not wanting to intrude.

Toji is sitting at the edge of the bed, shirtless as he looks over his stitched up wound. He had scars from every fight, any trouble he got himself into, but the newest one was…different.

The doctor was right—One wrong move and he could’ve died. That thought makes his jaw clench.

He huffs out a breath, replying, “Come in.”

She slides the door open, closing it behind herself as she looks over him, now seeing his Irezumi face to face. The colors strike upon his skin, body painted in ink from the top of his back to his tailbone, traveling all across his arms. It’s like he wears another shirt. Even through the ink, she can see the stitches along his side. She comes forward as she kneels herself in front of him, placing a gentle hand close to his injury as she asks, “How does it feel?”

Toji’s eyes watch as she moves. Her face is bare, freckles prominent, dark hair curly and damp, stretching down her back as she’d just gotten out of the shower. He had never seen her look so small—maybe because she rarely looked so vulnerable.

“Hurts like a motherfucker.”

He immediately catches hold of the bruise against her jaw, grunting to her, “Tell me it hurts. Don’t lie to me.”

“It doesn’t,” she promises, “I’m fine.”

Toji makes a disapproving noise in the back of his throat. He brings his other hand to her chin, gently turning it to see her from a different angle in the light.

“I know you’re pissed off, but I’d rather you just say that you’re glad I’m okay,” Sayuki attempts to lightly joke, “My grandpa’s given me enough shit about my injury.”

His head cocks to the side as he gives her a look, “You seem to know me already.”

His grip on her chin is still tight, his thumb softly moving across the skin, “You have no idea how pissed I am that this shit happened….all because of me.”

She exhales, her mind flashing of memories she didn’t want to be reminded of. She rubs her thumb across his arm, flicking her eyes up as she admits, “The moment I saw you on the ground…it just—it made me remember how I felt…seeing my dad like that.”

She hates that she feels her body go cold, finding it so hard to talk about this.

“It happened all the same—walking from the market, being trapped by members from another clan. They stabbed him, killed him—enjoyed how I cried for them to stop.”

She can feel the tears in her eyes. She swipes her fingers under her cheeks, hands trembling as she shudders, “I just…I was so scared,” she tremors, “You can’t do shit like that, Fushiguro…”

She’s hyperventilating at this point, “I c—can’t lose someone else like that…” she brings her hands to her face, sharply inhaling as she full on cries.

Toji feels his chest shift at the sound of her broken voice. Seeing her cry because of him, seeing her so terrified—it does something to him.

He pulls her from her kneeled position to place her in his lap, his arms wrapping around her body to hold her close. He didn’t say a word for a while, letting her cry into his bare chest as his voice lowered, “…I’m sorry.”

She cries into his neck, clutching him tighter, feeling all of her emotions pouring through her body. Her cries are then encapsulated by his mouth as he grunts, “C’mere,” pulling her into a kiss, the mixture of her mouth trembling beneath his making him groan.

It’s messy. Her tears mixed within their kiss. Her body shaking between his, her sobs breaking against his lips as he continues to kiss her. Toji felt a pang in his chest at the action, his arms pulling her body closer to his, fingers tightening around the shirt she wore. His injured body ached, but having her so close to him like this was worth it.

Toji’s hand moves to the side of her face, pulling her in for a deeper kiss, tongue dragging her mouth around with his. She tasted like warmth, a home that he never knew.

His free palm comes under her shirt, gripping the skin of her ass to twist her back onto the bed, body now hovered above hers. She quickly hesitates against his mouth, “Your stitches, Fushiguro…” pressing her hand along his chest, not wanting to hurt him.

“Did I say you hurt me?”

“No—“

“So give me your mouth, I want you bad as fuck right now,” his nose nuzzles against her neck, the ticklish pleasure making her eyes roll back slightly.

She pulls face down to meet him, bringing her lips close to his mouth as she says softly, “Go slow, please…” pressing their noses together, breathing hesitantly against his mouth.

Toji’s face darkens, his eyes looking intensely as his pupils dilate. He wasn’t exactly a gentle man—but he wanted to try for her sake.

He clutches Sayuki by her neck as he pulls their lips back together, the weight of his body overpowering even as he tries to be soft. His hand presses against the bare skin of her hip, dragging his thumb along the goosebumps forming. Sayuki’s vision flicks to the mirror above, engraving the ink along his back in her brain—the colors— she locks her fingers in his hair to have his mouth fall more into hers, dropping her lower lip to release a shaky breath.

Toji’s hair was soft between her fingers while his touch was firm along her hip. His tongue flicks out to catch her mouth just before it leaves his.

She reaches below herself as she arches her back off of the bed, face warm as she pulls the end of her shirt upward, peeling the material from her skin. To see his glare at the sight of her, she pulls his shoulder down to press her chest to his, hating how he stared.

“Don’t do that,” he grunts, raising himself back up, pulling one of her hands above her head as he slips his fingers through, eyes burning at the sight of her bare skin. Her brown nipples, caramel skin, she’s glowing beneath the dim light of the bedroom.

His mouth travels, sucking her nipples in between his full lips, her body arching towards him the more he lowers himself. His arm holding one of her hands keeps her in place, her body wanting to pull away, contrasting as she also wanted to have him closer.

Toji’s tongue is rough and wet, tracing the skin of her neck line and collarbone. He wanted more of her—all of her. Her taste and her body makes his head spin.

“I can’t fuckin’ get enough of you.”

The sound of his voice makes her breathing become heavy, her thighs shuddering as he makes out with the skin of her leg, swirling his tongue up to her ankles, kissing along her feet—he was everywhere. It makes her grip the material of the sheet beneath her, his mouth gliding down to the back of her thigh, making her shakily release, “T—Toji…”

He loves the sound of his name on her lips, almost as much as he loves the taste of her skin. Her body shivers beneath his touch, her toes curling as he leaves a trail of kisses all the way back up her leg.

He growls against her, “Say my name again.”

His large frame is able to keep the intertwine of their palms together as lowers himself down, locking his other palm against the back of her thigh, tugging her lower half even closer. Her heart beating in her ears nearly implodes the moment she feels his mouth drag up the folds of her pussy that keeps her clit hidden, and she full on gasps, the sound shuddering as her head knocks back against the pillow, breathlessly whining a repetition of his name.

“T—Toji!…”

She’s warm and wet—thighs shaking as he holds her by the ankles, locking her knees against the sheets of the bed, tugging her down to meet the lap of his tongue. It’s flat against the nub of her clit that swells at the connection, her arousal collecting against his jaw, Sayuki’s skin trembling involuntarily as he’s already slurping.

She couldn’t remember the last man in between her legs. But Toji knew exactly what he was doing. She wants to snap her legs together, warmth forming along her cheeks as she desperately reaches for his hair, taking the air out of the room with her pouty gasps. His hands grip her ankles tighter, the spread of her legs making his mouth become even deeper. Toji grunts as his nose pressed into her slick folds, tip of his tongue circling the sensitive bud before sucking it gently between his lips, giving opened mouthed kisses.

"’Pussy never tasted like this,” he groans against her heated flesh, his voice low and husky with desire, “I could eat this shit all fuckin night."

He’s back to lapping at her, alternating between long, slow strokes and quick drags, almost lost within her taste.

She shudders, “W—wait— baby—“ the pet name falls from her lips naturally, although she’s shy to release it, another pant coming from her as he raises her legs right in front of her face, closing them in so she isn’t able to see him eating away at her.

She whimpers as her knees press a bit to her chest, dragging her nails against the skin of her thigh, laying her head against the pillow as she forces herself to fully relax. Her eyes flutter shut as she whines again, “Go slow, baby…” she keeps reminding him.

A deep growl vibrates through his throat, “Sensitive as fuck,” the vibrations sending pleasant tingles through her wet heat as he continues his assault. He’s pushing his mouth deeper, swirling his tongue around languidly, slow in his speed, weight in his efforts. He suckles the sensitive nub greedily, his lips sealing around it as he applies just the right amount of pressure.

The way he listens, his mouth runs off against her as he groans, grinding her hips to lead back onto his tongue, “C’mon, c’mon, c’mon, baby—fuck,” sucking her pussy so sensually into his mouth, the sounds it creates—she does the worry of her pleas as her eyes come down, watching as she gushes unexpectedly into his mouth. Her upper body arches up as she trembles, gasping deeply within her throat as she cums.

A moan flies from her lips when she feels him spank her, leaning up to capture the broken sounds she makes, dragging his palms along the back of her knees, already locking her legs over his wide shoulders. Her mind is within a pleasured frenzy, and she has to tug her fingers back into gripping his hair, giving herself a sense of control as she pants again, “S—Slow, baby…please…”

Toji was anything but slow, his mind hazy and cloudy as he felt his body throb with need. She was soft—like everything he could’ve ever needed.

His lips, wet and lush, move against her, a small grunt leaving his mouth, “I hear you,” he mumbles against her skin like a prayer, his hands gripping her waist to pull her further against him. Her eyes knocked down to him removing his pants, hearing the slap of his tip kiss his abdomen briefly—it’s heavy, smacking politely against her clit, but the size made it impolite.

He pulls his mouth back from hers, pressing their foreheads together to listen to her breathing, pleas within the music of her voice. It’s as if time halts itself, Toji taking her free hand and locking it back above her head with his, his other hand wrapping along her ankle, pressing it farther into the bed. His face frowns atop of hers, keeping a focused attention as his tip nudges in between her sensitive folds—Her lower body aches with a rush of pleasure as he sinks himself in, mixed with an erotic pain she hadn’t felt in so long. Her eyes fall shut as her head falls back into the pillow, her body shuddering as she whimpers, twisting his hair within her fingers as she knocks her forehead back to his.

Their lips brush along each other as he rolls his hips forward, spreading her legs wider, it makes her stutter out a whimper again, “Baby—I can’t—Mmmph,” squeezing his palm as he holds her down, feeling as she tries to escape.

“‘Not even in your shit for ‘real, baby,” he grunts against her lips, “Make this dick yours, you got more to take.”

She moans brokenly at his voice, pulling his mouth down towards her throat, “M—move….”

Toji’s head drops into her neck, his teeth dragging against the spot where a violet bruise laid. Her cries were pretty, but her moans were prettier.

He holds her in place as he pulls his head back to glance at her face, her skin flushed with heat.

“It’s mine now, huh?” he asks, his voice low.

Her face is warm, pulling his mouth back to hide her expression within his neck, sucking the skin there as she pitifully gasped in response to him grinding himself forward, feeling an arrogance pooling within his body.

Toji moans, his ego growing even more as he feels her mouth against his neck. She’s marking him just as much as he’s marking her, his head feeling fuzzy for more than one reason. He moves a hand to her jaw, his fingers gently holding her chin between his forefinger and thumb to force her face to his, “Let me see that pretty ass face.”

Her teary eyes blink up at him, bringing her tongue forward as she slides it along his mouth, essentially begging for a kiss.

Her tongue against his makes something in his brain short-circuit, his eyes closing as he opens his mouth and gives in to the plea, chuckling in between, “‘Needy as fuck for my mouth, even now.”

It’s hot, wet and messy, both of them pressing their lips together to taste each other in a way that will never be enough.

She whimpers to him, “Don’t laugh at me…” dragging her nails lightly along his back, trying not to form her mouth into a pout.

Toji’s eyes open in time to see the pout against her lips, he can’t help but release a low chuckle again at the sight of it.

“I’d never,” he grunts, leaning in close enough that their noses brush together, a small grin on his face, “I need you too, baby. Talk to me.”

Her voice is small, her panting heavy within her chest as she keeps her nose brushed against his, admitting to him, “It f—feels good…”

Toji’s cheek presses further into hers, his face becoming stoic again, a sense of hunger returning. He’s gentle with his touch, his mind completely focused as he absorbs himself in her pleasured noises.

“Yeah? Not hurtin’ you?” he asks, his voice gruff in her ear, his teeth nipping at the skin of her earlobe.

She shakes her head, pressing a soft kiss along his lips as she whimpers, “Just squeezing too hard on my wrist, baby…”

His grip instantly loosens from her wrists as her admission. He curses to himself, “Sorry,” he apologizes, rubbing his fingers along the skin to ease the pain from his large hands.

Feeling his attempts to be soft—it made her heart swell. A man that wasn’t emotional, wasn’t soft in the slightest, was trying just for her. It’s like crashing waves of pleasure rush her stomach as he rocks himself forward, making her deeply gasp, “R—right—t—there…”

The sound of the gasp mixed with the pleasure in her voice made Toji groan, his hips jerking against hers. He wanted her to be full of pleasure, wanted every inch of her to feel him—but the patience he had, it was leaving.

She blinked before she knew they were switching positions, trembling as she felt him smack her ass again, grunting to her, “On your stomach.”

This was…different. She’s now against her belly, chest to her back as his body hovered above. He clutches her neck from behind—his mouth is now against her ear, still using his free hand to hold her fingers against the sheets. He sinks his dick in, the heaviness of her ass clapping along his skin— her face contorts, her mouth lightly dropping as his hips become connected with the back of her thighs, tightening his palm against her throat.

His hand is firm against her throat, holding it in an intimate way that controls her. It’s possessive.

His mouth is hot against her ear, his voice a growl against her skin, “‘Just gonna have to take it,” he grunts, voice heavy and full of meaning as his hips drop down against hers, hand holding her in place, “‘Need you to feel me, baby. You feel it?”

She knew he wouldn’t be able to be gentle for long. Here it was, that cocky, dominant side he’d been holding back. The sounds she makes—they’re loud, high-pitched. She’s mewling with each stroke as he swirls his hips down, Sayuki’s eyes rolled back, listening to the sounds their skin creates against the room, arching deeper into the bed as she embarrassingly moans, “Oooh, shit. Baby—I feel you…”

He grunts in response, his teeth biting her ear as she moans. She felt so tight around him. He’s not pulling halfway out like before—he’s now pulling back until his tip is halfway inside, sharply driving back in, watching arousal squelch more and more, filling to the brim to drip against his balls. He presses his body against hers, his chest flush against her back, moving his hand to the side of her face to hold her head in place as he growls in her ear, “‘Makin’ a fuckin’ mess, baby. Can’t even think straight anymore, huh?”

Her head is leaning back against his shoulder, tilting her eyes up to look up within the mirror on the ceiling as he clutches her jaw. She watches the muscles of his back flex, the color of his tattoos all along his skin, she shudders, gasping, “Yeahh, c—can’t think…”

He catches her gaze in the mirror, watching his body, the way his muscles were flexing. She’s staring at him, him—and the action makes his brain feel like it’s overheating.

“You lookin’?” he groans, her voice wrecked as his grip on her jaw tightens.

She’s clawing at the sheets beneath her, inhaling deep, gasping dangerously as she whines, “Y—Yeah….don’t stop. Don’t stop…” she feels tears brimming within her eyes, a pleasure erupting within her body she’d never felt before.

She's sniffling, trembling, a small sob pulling from her lips, reaching behind to clutch for his hair again, pulling his mouth down to her throat. He’s cooing in her ear, “I know, baby.”

She drags her fingers into his scalp as she turns her head, “Kiss me,” she begs, rolling her hips back, “Please…”

Her back is arched against him, her skin flushed and glistening with sweat, watching the way her ass recoils against his skin—It drives him wild.

His nose slides against her face to reach for her mouth, his tongue slipping past her lips, the kiss filthy and raw. He grunts to her, “Gonna fuckin’ marry you, gonna’ kiss you like this at our fuckin’ wedding.”

He chuckles against her shuddering body, watching as she holds onto him for dear life. He won’t stop talking, “You never answered my question. This shit mine, huh?”

She’s full on crying, so wrapped up in the pleasure he gives her— her cheek is along the sheet of the bed, his body following down with hers, pressing his cheek against her jaw, dropping his hips down, earning a squeal in response. She groans, letting the sound drag into a loud moan, clutching her hand over her mouth as she softly cries, “I’m yours, fuck…don’t s—stop…”

His. She's his. The thought is almost his undoing, his heart beating heavily against his chest as he feels her crying, her body clinging to him like she’s lost if he leaves her.

Her voice is broken as he speaks, a whine from the back of her throat as she tightens around him, “You hear me? I’m gonna marry your ass. Never gonna’ fuckin’ leave. Always gonna fuck you like this.”

He watches her tears stream down her face from the mirror above him, a dark desire stirring within him. It’s a gorgeous sight—her completely and utterly ruined from his touch.

He grunts into her ear, “You gonna’ say yes?”

His palm locks around her parted mouth, sliding his fingers on her tongue, using the leverage to yank her back, skin applauding like gunshots within the room. The scent of his body is all around her, she’s moaning, turning her head back to look at him, “Yes ...yes…”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“You mean it?”

She can feel her hips falling into his, body becoming exhausted as she trembles, the scream that attempts to release from her lips inhales into a gasp, pulling her mouth down to muffle her sounds as she softly cries, “Mean it, Toji…”

Her words leave her in a whimper, the sound mixed into a sobbed moan, Toji can’t think—He feels like he’s on fire. The pleasure, emotions that course within their body come together in another kiss, her entire body spasming beneath him as she orgasms. Her sobs, her trembling, he can feel it, smell it, taste it.

He whispers in her ear as he holds her, groaning as he releases with her, his voice completely wrecked, “Fuck—I got you, baby.”

There’s nothing left but their shaking bodies, their tangled limbs wrapped together, panting breaths, and the sound of the two against each other. He can’t get his arms to leave her.

She grazes her nails along his arm, trying to take control of her breath as she whispers, “Gonna’ put me in a headlock if you told me any tighter…”

He loosens his grip, shifting to turn her body to face him without separating. He’s still inside her, and he won’t budge. He wipes his thumb along the tears on her face, “My bad, pretty.”

She frowns, “When’d you get soft on me? Didn’t know I’d have such a sweet bean of a husband,” she giggles, seeing him raise his eyebrow at that.

He hates that something in his heart melts at her words—but just like a man—he has to circle back to another point of her sentence.

“Just when I was gonna’ be nice and ask what size ring you wear,” he smacks his lips, Sayuki gasping as he wraps his fingers along the back of her neck, pressing her face down into the sheets, “Now’ I gotta remind you who I am. Put that ass up, I’m not done with you yet.”

#toji fushiguro x reader #toji smut #jujutsu toji #jjk toji #toji fushiguro jujutsu kaisen #toji fushiguro x black reader #jujutsu kaisen toji #toji fushiguro

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alohajix · 2 months ago

Text

𝐑𝐨𝐨𝐦 1014

Description: freshly single and craving something reckless, Cassie meets a soft-spoken stranger in a hotel lobby. One look turns into one night—filthy words, slow touches, and a room she might never want to leave.

Warnings: explicit sexual content, smut, oral sex (f. receiving), dirty talk, praise kink, light chocking, soft dom harry, alcohol consumption. Readers +18.

Words count: 12K.

*****

The lobby was quiet, humming with the low buzz of a piano track playing somewhere overhead. Glass walls caught the last flickers of city light, and the air was thick with cologne, polished floors, and money. It was the kind of place where everyone either had somewhere to be—or was waiting for something to happen.

I was the latter. Sat on the edge of a velvet armchair in a dress I probably wouldn’t have worn two weeks ago, I sipped what was left of my watered-down drink and crossed my legs tighter. My breakup was still fresh—three years gone in one loud, final fight—but I wasn’t here to sulk. Not really. I’d told myself I just needed to get out, clear my head. Let the city hold me for a while. But deep down, I wanted to forget. Maybe even get a little reckless.

I’d spent the last hour pretending to scroll through my phone, watching couples pass by, laughing, arms linked or fingers brushing. I tried not to let it eat away at me, but it did. That sharp twist of loneliness, edged with something hotter—want. Need. I wanted someone to see me. Crave me. Someone who didn’t know my past or my favorite coffee order or the sound of my laugh at 2 a.m. Someone who wouldn’t ask why I wasn’t home.

I ran a finger along the rim of my glass. I didn’t need a relationship. I didn’t even want a conversation. I just wanted out of my head.

That’s when I noticed him. Tall, broad-shouldered, leaning casually against the bar with a glass in his hand and his head tilted slightly toward me. He didn’t look like everyone else here—too understated. Wavy brown hair that curled at the ends, a plain black tee hugging his chest beneath a dark jacket, rings on his fingers that glinted every time he adjusted his grip on the glass. He had a quiet confidence, like he could ruin you without saying a word.

And then he walked toward me. My heart kicked up the moment our eyes met. His lips curled just slightly, but he didn’t smile.

“Mind if I sit?” he asked, voice low, smooth with that unmistakable British lilt.

I blinked up at him, pretending I wasn’t already a little dizzy. “Be my guest.”

He took the seat beside me—close, but not too close. Enough to feel the heat off his body. Enough to make me ache for more.

“Didn’t look like you were waiting for anyone,” he murmured, eyes still on mine.

“I wasn’t.” I tilted my head. “Are you always this forward?”

He chuckled softly, gaze dropping to my lips. “Only when it works.” God.

The silence that followed wasn’t awkward—it was thick, full of something unspoken, crackling beneath the surface. I shifted in my seat, my dress brushing against his thigh as I did. He didn’t move. His scent—clean skin, faint spice, something woody and warm—settled into my nose like a drug.

“What’s your name?” I asked, voice a little breathier than I meant it to be.

“Harry,” he said, tilting his glass toward me. “You?”

“Cassie.”

“Cassie,” he repeated slowly, like he was tasting it. “Pretty name. You look like you’re not quite sure what you want tonight.”

That made me pause. My lips parted, but I didn’t speak. He leaned in just slightly, voice softer now, aimed only at me. “Or maybe you do. You’re just waiting for someone to ask.”

My thighs clenched instinctively. I could’ve played it coy. Could’ve teased or deflected. But something about the way he looked at me—like he already knew what I was thinking—made the words slip out before I could stop them.

“Do you have a room here?” His eyes darkened instantly.

“I do,” he said, voice gravelly now.

I stood, slowly, letting him look at me. His gaze dragged over every inch, lazy and deliberate.

“Then take me to it.”

————————————————————————————————

It should’ve felt too fast. But it didn’t. I followed him through the sleek glass elevators in silence. There was something magnetic in the stillness, something dangerous in the calm. The doors slid shut behind us, and I suddenly became aware of the way his hand brushed mine as he reached for the button. His knuckles were rough, the backs of his fingers dusted with ink. I wondered what his hands would feel like on my waist. On my thighs. Around my throat.

“Regret it yet?” he asked, barely glancing at me.

“Not even close.”

He nodded once. Didn’t smirk. Didn’t flirt. Just pressed his back to the elevator wall and let the air between us fill with everything we hadn’t said yet. The ride was slow. Too slow. I didn’t lean into him. He didn’t reach for me. But when the elevator dinged, I could still feel the tension in my gut, hot and liquid.

He walked ahead, key card ready, and I took my time watching him—broad shoulders rolling under that black jacket, jeans sitting low on his hips. His walk was confident, grounded. Like he knew exactly what he was doing. Like he wanted to make me wait.

Room 1014.

He slid the card in, the light flashed green, and he opened the door for me.

“After you.”

The room was dark and cool, the soft scent of linen and something musky drifting out from within. I stepped inside, heels clicking quietly against the hardwood. I heard the door click shut behind me. But he didn’t touch me. Not yet.

“You nervous?” he asked after a moment.

I turned toward him slowly, my hand resting on the back of a chair. “Should I be?”

His lips twitched, the ghost of a smile. “Not unless you’re scared of wanting something too much.”

I didn’t respond. I was too focused on the way he shrugged off his jacket and draped it over a chair. His sleeves hugged his arms, tattoos curling over his skin, disappearing into the dark fabric.

“I’m not going to rush you,” he said, stepping closer, voice low and even. “We don’t have to do anything.”

“I didn’t come up here to talk,” I replied quietly.

He raised an eyebrow, pausing a few feet in front of me. “Didn’t think you did. But you look like someone who’s been pushed around before.”

My jaw tensed. His eyes caught it.

“I won’t do that to you,” he said simply. “Even if you want me to.”

I didn’t know what to say to that. Instead, I took a step closer, closing the space between us until we were nearly chest-to-chest. I could see the gold flecks in his green eyes now. I could smell the heat on his skin. He didn’t move. He didn’t reach. He just looked at me like he was waiting.

So I whispered, “What if I want to be touched?”

His voice dropped. “Then tell me where.”

My breath caught somewhere between my chest and throat. I didn’t answer right away. I was too aware of the silence stretching between us, too wrapped in the feeling of his gaze on me. There was no smirk, no playfulness in his face—just heat. Pure and controlled and terrifying in how much it made me want.

I swallowed. “Everywhere.”

He blinked, slowly.

“Cassie,” he said, low and deliberate, like he needed to say my name just to stay grounded. “You sure?”

I nodded, but he didn’t move. He waited. Patient. Unrelenting.

So I said it. “Yes.” That was all he needed.

His hand lifted first, fingertips grazing the side of my jaw so lightly I barely felt it. But I leaned in anyway, craving more. He cupped my cheek, thumb tracing a path just below my eye, and his other hand followed—slow and careful—brushing down the slope of my neck until his palm pressed just above my collarbone.

“You’re warm,” he murmured.

“You’re slow.”

He smiled at that, a tiny curl at the corner of his mouth. “That’s on purpose.”

His hands traveled downward, not groping—just exploring. Over the curve of my shoulder, down the outside of my arms, until his fingers wrapped gently around my wrists. He guided my hands to his chest, placed them there like he wanted me to feel him. And I did. Solid warmth under soft cotton. A steady heartbeat under inked skin.

“You haven’t been touched like this in a while,” he said softly. It wasn’t a question. And I didn’t deny it.

His thumb brushed over the inside of my wrist, eyes holding mine.

“Tell me something,” he whispered.

“Mm?”

“What were you thinking about… when I walked over to you?”

I let out a slow breath. “Whether or not you’d be worth it.”

His grin deepened, and something flickered in his eyes—darker now, mischievous, but still patient. He dipped his head just slightly, his lips brushing the shell of my ear as he asked, “And what do you think now?”

“I think you’re still being too careful.”

His hands slid down to my hips, fingers curling around the fabric of my dress. “You want reckless, don’t you?”

I nodded, barely.

“You want to forget.”

“Yes.”

He stepped forward, pressing his body against mine without warning, and I gasped—his chest firm against mine, his thigh between mine, his hand suddenly tangled in my hair. He didn’t kiss me. He just looked at me, holding me still.

“Say it,” he murmured.

“I want to forget.”

“Forget what?”

“Everything.”

His mouth brushed mine. “I can do that.” And then he kissed me.

God—he kissed me like he meant to erase every other man before him. His lips were soft but sure, coaxing rather than demanding. But when I opened my mouth to him, he groaned low in his throat and pressed me back toward the bed. I went willingly.

He guided me with both hands, like he’d done it a hundred times before, like he knew exactly where my body would go and how it would respond. When the backs of my knees hit the edge of the mattress, he paused. His forehead rested against mine, and his fingers slid down the length of my arms again.

“You nervous?” he asked again, but softer this time.

“No.”

“Good.”

He kissed me again—deeper now, slower, teeth scraping just enough to make my knees buckle. I clutched the front of his shirt, pulling him in closer, and this time he let his hands wander. One dragged up my thigh, pushing the hem of my dress higher. The other trailed over my ribs, just barely grazing the side of my breast.

“You feel good,” he whispered against my lips.

“Then touch me.”

His smile curved against my mouth. “I am.”

“Not enough.”

He laughed once—low and rough—and his mouth moved to my jaw, then my throat. He took his time there, letting his lips brush over my pulse before sucking gently at the skin. I arched into him, desperate for more, but he didn’t rush.

“Cassie,” he said again, dragging my name out like a promise.

“Yes.”

“Tell me what you want.”

“You.”

“You have me.”

I pulled back slightly, looking at him. His eyes were dark, pupils blown, lips kiss-swollen.

“I want your hands on me,” I said quietly.

He didn’t respond. Just leaned in, slowly, and kissed the corner of my mouth before pulling back entirely. For a second, I thought he was stopping. But then he dropped to his knees. My breath caught. He looked up at me from the floor, palms gliding up the backs of my thighs, pushing my dress higher, higher, until I was completely exposed to him. He didn’t touch me—not there. Not yet. He just stared, taking his time.

“You’re trembling,” he said.

“I know.”

He pressed a kiss to the inside of my thigh. “You’re soaked.”

“I know.”

And then—finally—he slid my panties down, inch by inch, until they pooled at my ankles. He helped me step out of them, kept eye contact the entire time, and pocketed them with a smirk.

“Souvenir,” he said, like it was nothing.

“Fuck,” I whispered, breathless.

“I haven’t even started yet.” He said it like a promise. Like a threat. Like he already knew how I’d unravel.

I didn’t move. Couldn’t. Just stood there in front of him—bare from the waist down, dress hiked around my hips, legs slightly parted, breathing shallow. Harry stayed on his knees, still holding eye contact. The sight of him like that—broad shoulders, messy curls, gaze locked on me from beneath long lashes—made something inside me twist.

Then he leaned in. His hands slid slowly up the backs of my thighs again, thumbs brushing over the curve just beneath my ass. He kissed the inside of one thigh, then the other. Feather-light. Like he had all the time in the world.

“Still want this?” he murmured against my skin.

“Yes,” I breathed, my voice thin.

“Good. Wanna taste how fucking sweet you are.”

He hooked one of my legs over his shoulder. The shift forced me to balance with one hand gripping his hair, the other clutching the edge of the dresser behind me. He didn’t tease. Didn’t draw it out. The first stroke of his tongue was slow—so slow—it made me gasp. The second had my hips tilting forward. By the third, he was groaning into me like he needed it just as much as I did.

“Fuck, look at this cunt,” he muttered, voice rough against my skin. “Dripping all over my tongue already.”

He hummed in response, the vibration shooting straight through me. One arm wrapped tighter around my thigh, holding me steady while his mouth worked in slow, deliberate circles. He alternated between soft licks and firm pressure, and when I squirmed, he simply gripped me harder, tongue dragging deeper, wetter, filthier.

“Gonna ruin this pussy,” he said between licks, lips slick and red now. “Gonna fuck you so hard you forget your own name.”

The words made me moan. My head dropped back, my spine arching as pleasure crept higher, faster than I wanted it to.

“Harry—” I choked out.

“Yeah, baby? That close already? Go on. Fucking soak my face.”

“I’m gonna—”

“Cum for me. Wanna feel that pretty pussy fall apart.” That did it.

My orgasm hit with a low, desperate cry, my legs trembling as I came against his mouth. He held me steady, licking me through it, only easing up when I was gasping for air. When he finally pulled back, his mouth was shiny, and his expression was dark, intense, like he wanted more.

“Fuck,” I breathed. “That was…”

He stood up, licking his bottom lip as he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “That was just your warm-up.”

I blinked. “Warm-up?”

“Yeah, love. I’m not even close to done with you.”

He kissed me hard—filthy and deep, tongue sweeping into my mouth like he wanted me to taste myself. I moaned into it, grabbing at the hem of his shirt, pulling until he raised his arms. I tossed it to the floor and finally got a full look at him.

Jesus.

His chest was strong, defined, tattooed with black ink that danced over his collarbones and down his ribs. I ran my hands over it slowly, letting my nails drag. He hissed softly, eyes dropping to my hands.

“You’re fucking unreal,” I whispered.

“Wait ‘til you feel me inside you.”

He turned us toward the bed and lowered me onto it gently. Then he undid his jeans, pushing them down his hips—no boxers underneath. My eyes widened slightly at the sight of him: thick, flushed, already hard. He caught the way I looked at him and raised an eyebrow.

“You gonna be a good girl and take every inch?”

“Every single one.”

He crawled onto the bed and hovered over me, trailing kisses down my throat, between my breasts, over my stomach. Then he paused, hands bunching the hem of my dress again.

“Still want me to fuck the heartbreak out of you?” he asked.

“Yes.”

“Gonna make you cum ‘til you forget who fucked you over.”

He pushed the dress up and over my head, leaving me fully naked beneath him. I felt bare in every way, but I didn’t look away. Not when his hand gripped my jaw. Not when he leaned in and kissed me like he owned me.

“Condom?” he asked against my mouth.

“In my purse.”

He reached for it without rushing, pulling one out and tearing the wrapper with his teeth. My thighs rubbed together while I watched him roll it on—his hands slow, practiced, deliberate. When he looked back at me, I was already panting.

“Spread those legs for me, pretty girl.”

He didn’t make me ask twice. The first push of him inside me stole every thought from my brain. He was thick, stretching me inch by inch, and still slow—always slow.

“Shit—this pussy’s so fucking tight,” he groaned, forehead pressing to mine. “So warm. Fucking made for me.”

I wrapped my legs around his waist, drawing him deeper. “Please fuck me. Don’t make me wait.”

“I’ve got you, sweetheart. Gonna fuck you nice and deep.”

He set a rhythm that made my body burn. Deep, steady thrusts that dragged across every sensitive spot. His hand found my throat—not tight, just enough pressure to make me feel claimed—and his other hand slid under my knee, angling me open even more.

“Look at me,” he said. I did.

“Let me see how pretty you look when you take cock.”

He fucked me with purpose—filthy, perfect purpose. His hips ground against mine with every thrust, pelvis catching my clit just right, making my moans get louder, higher. I clawed at his back. He kissed me through it, groaning when I clenched around him.

“You gonna cum again for me, baby?”

“I’m close,” I gasped.

“Do it. Cum on this cock—make a mess. Want you soaking me.”

I shattered with a cry, body arching beneath him, eyes fluttering shut as my second orgasm tore through me. He didn’t stop—just fucked me through it, still holding eye contact like it was the only thing keeping him grounded. When I came down, he was still moving—slower now, controlled.

“You okay?” he whispered.

I nodded, breathless. “Don’t stop.”

He groaned again, hips stuttering slightly. “Gonna fill you up, even if you can’t keep it in.”

“Do it.”

He kissed me hard one last time, then buried himself to the hilt and came with a low, drawn-out moan, his grip bruising on my waist. I held him through it, shaking slightly, head spinning. Then he collapsed beside me, chest heaving. Silence filled the room. Not awkward. Just… full.

I turned my head toward him. He was already watching me.

“Worth it?” he asked.

I smiled. “You have no idea.”

*****

hope you enjoy this one lovelies! 💕

don’t forget to ask any request you'd want to see next

#harry styles #harry #harry styles fanfic #harry styles one shot #harry styles smut #harry x reader #harry styles writing #harry styles fic #harry styles fanfiction #one shot #masterlist

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donutdrawsthings · 1 year ago

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I haven't seen any MLP Doctor AU designs past Capaldi's era and I really think that's such a shame! So here's my take on the 13th, 14th and 15th Doctor :o]

Once again love to ramble about certain design choices!

Since the 13th Doctor wears ear jewellery depicting a golden and silver hand holding each other, I thought it'd be fun to change that into 2 horseshoes instead! I also gave a heavier focus on the more subtle rainbow on her coat because I feel it'd be more fitting for a MLP AU and something that could make the design a bit more balanced. I'd also tried to make her blue at first, but felt yellow actually felt more like the 13th somehow.

I decided to give 14 his iconic Doctor Whooves design, with the only difference being messier hair and some rough facial hair. I was definitely looking at it more with a nostalgia factor, which ultimately fits perfectly with what the 60th anniversary specials ended up being!

15 was a toughie, I'm not going to lie. A thing about MLP AUs I tend to dislike, is when an artist gives them the same colour as their skin. It tends to look silly with white characters, but I've noticed it's seen (at least USED to be) as less silly when it's with darker skinned characters. So with that in mind I wanted to make 15 the general colour he's themed to have in promotional material (orange and blue) and make it darker! ... but dark orange IS brown. So after some tinkering I decided to base his colour on the more earthy red Ncuti wears in this image.

I also decided to tone his hair blue instead of going with black to really hammer in that orange/blue theme 15 has!

Thank you for reading this far! I'm really passionate about this sorta stuff so it really means a lot :oD

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mywritersmind · 8 months ago

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MESSY - LN4

pt.2

summary : Lando will not quit in attempts to keep seeing y/n piastri. The Azerbaijan Grand Prix ends triumphantly for the piastri family, followed by a flirty dinner, and paper being thrown at her in the early morning.

OG SUMMARY (After a steamy night together, neither Y/n or Lando expected to see eachother soon. Well, when they find eachother in the paddock and come to the realization that Y/n is a Piastri and Lando is Oscar’s teammate… things get interesting.)

listen up : piastri!reader. nothing major!! mentions of sex.

word count : 1453

⋆｡‧˚⋆

I’m fucking extatic.

My mom and I came to Baku on a whim and now I'm hugging my champagne soaked brother after a pole position with my sisters on facetime.

The race was genuinely insane and my mom cried the whole time. Turns out all the F1 I watched at home is a million times better in person.

Especially when this time I can see everybody’s faces.

An hour later I'm waiting for Oscar to change while my mom is on a call. I look up when someone enters the room, he’s dark haired with huge brown eyes. “Oh- Hi.” His accent hits me and I'm star struck at my third favorite driver, Carlos Sainz.

“Hi.” I smile and look back at my phone, sort of freaking out on the inside.

He doesn’t move though, “Uh… I'm looking for Lando, have you seen him?” At the mention of the McLaren driver's name I feel my stomach twist.

“No sorry.” He nods and looks around the orange room.

“You’re not here with him?”

Here with him?

“No… I’m Oscar’s sister, Y/n.” His face makes an ‘o’ expression before shaking off and smiling.

“Shit! Your brother did well today. I’m Carlos.” I laugh a bit and am about to respond before Lando enters the room in black jeans, a mclaren shirt, and socks only. He looks at Carlos and I back and forth before raising a brow. Carlos turns to see him and says something in a hushed tone.

“Right…” Lando glances at me but rips his eyes away quickly.

“I didn’t know Piastri had a sister.” Carlos crosses his arms as I stand.

“Four, actually.” I laugh a bit, “Norris have you seen Oscar? We’ve got reservations.” I want to talk about his race but it feels wrong. P15 to P4 is pretty wild though. And sort of hot.

He basically laughs in my face, “He’s gonna be a while… No chance you’re making those reservations.”

I give him an annoyed look, “Great.”

“Don’t hate the messenger, love.” He doesn’t even flinch, but Carlos does.

He looks at Lando, horrified like he did something scandalous. As if he feels bad, he looks at me, “Look- your family can join us if you want.” Lando is the one to give him a look this time.

“So your guys’ reservations will work, but mine won’t?” I cross my arms at the men.

“You used your own name to make them?” Lando asks, I nod and as he tries to hide his smile he says, “Yeah you can come with us.”

⋆｡‧˚⋆

Oscar is confused at the invite but goes along with it. My mom decides to stay at the hotel for some work calls which makes me more nervous. I’m now alone with my brother, my hookup, Carlos’ clueless ass, Alex Albon, and Max Verstappen.

I almost cry when Alex’s girlfriend joins us. Lily and I follow eachother and have DM’d a few times but meeting in person is like me being saved.

“So, Y/n! Enjoy the race today?” Alex asks me cheerily, pouring more water into his glass with an arm around Lily.

“No race talk!” Lando and Max say in unison. I don’t really know how they do it. They race each other for two hours, are always pissy after, then just switch to being friendly so quick.

I look at Carlos who’s talking merrily with Alex, surprising considering he was a lap away from a podium before his dreams were crushed by a RedBull and a prayer.

The table we’re at is large and oddly enough, round. The restaurant is beautiful and mostly deserted except for our table. I’m next to Lily and Oscar, Lando across from me.

I’m acutely aware that he’s across from me because he hasn’t taken his eyes off me. I watch his hands move his Monza pole ring around his finger. God his hands. His hands that were all over me-

“Y/n, What are you ordering?” Lily asks which shakes me from my imagination.

After ordering we fall into comfortable conversation which eventually ends in me making fun of Oscar with photos from our childhood. “Right then! That’s enough.” Oscar eyes me when my phone swipes to a photo of Osc dressed up as a car.

“We know Oscar’s kink now.” Max jokes and I cringe, “What? They always stem from childhood!”

“So who you calling daddy then, Verstappen?” Lando doesn’t miss a beat, Max side eyes him. “No need to be ashamed, Osc.”

“Not in front of my baby sister, please.” He looks around the group who are all laughing.

“Come on, you're a year older than me!” I sigh, “You don’t know what I get up to.”

He makes a disgusted face.

“Or who.” I add simply, sipping my drink as Lando chokes on his. His face is red after Max slaps him on the back.

Oscar ends up changing the conversation around to old karting days and how I was dragged along. I eventually excuse myself to the bathroom, checking my hair and washing my hands, as I leave I run into Lando.

“Hi pretty.” He smirks as I roll my eyes.

“Would you stop staring at me? Oscar isn’t blind.”

He shrugs, “No.”

“No?”

“No. It’s kinda difficult when you look like that.” I’m going to pretend that didn't do something to me and move on.

“Nice race today. Sort of impressive.” I match his cool demeanor which he loses after my words.

“A compliment?” He grins, god his smile is ridiculous and when it’s directed at me I want to faint, “Thanks love. Wanna celebrate with me later?”

“Careful with the nickname, Norris. I’ll be celebrating with the man who actually won.”

Speaking of, Oscar joins us in the hall, his face dropping when he sees us, “Please tell me you aren’t friends already.” I stand up straighter, “I can’t have you two combine forces against me.”

This makes me laugh, “Don’t worry, Osci.” I squeeze his shoulder before stepping away.

Lando follows, “Yeah I don’t think we’re the friends type.” I eye him behind me, he just winks.

⋆｡‧˚⋆

I’m pretty sure the world is working against me. Or maybe for me?

We’ve got an extra day in Baku to spend with Oscar. I woke up early, getting hot chocolate and settling on my balcony with my book and pajamas.

I’m happy in the early light, breathing in the fresh air when I hear a whistle. My eyes are drawn down to the man running shirtless, shading his eyes from the sun while looking up at me.

“Good morning!” Lando sings, that smile already planted onto his face. He looks way too tan, sweaty, and fit for five in the morning.

“Morning.” I say back.

“Watcha reading?” I raise a brow, confused because no guy ever cares about that.

“Um. Little women.” I close the book and flash him the cover. He nods.

“I have something for you!” He reaches into his pocket and I wouldn’t be surprised if he pulled out a boom box.

He pulls out a crumpled piece of paper, “Are you sending me a nude by hand?”

He laughs out loud, “No! It’s my number!” He throws it up but the wind pushes it right back down, landing at his feet.

He frowns and tries again, “You’re quite bold for a one night stand.” The paper falls again and I try not to laugh. He grabs it, looking up at me once again. I can see the blueness of his eyes even from stories up.

“Who said it was just a one night stand?” He squeezes the paper tighter. When he throws it once more, it finally lands on my balcony but Lando’s eyes jet to the balcony next to mine.

“The hell are you doing?” My brother's voice makes my eyes go wide. I had forgotten he’s right next door.

“Coming to see you, of course!” Lando opens his arms wide.

I can practically hear Oscar shaking his head, “Go away.” Lando nods and starts to jog backwards, his eyes meet mine once last time, making my breath stop short.

He smiles wider, turning around and following his route.

I shake my head, smiling to myself and opening the crinkled ball of paper. It reads his number and a small note.

Give me a chance, Y/n. You won’t regret it.

#fanfic #formula 1 fanfic #lando norris #lando norris fanfic #f1 imagine #lando x reader #f1 fanfic #f1 x reader #lando imagine #f1 fic

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3rachasdomesticbanana · 1 year ago

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Among Strangers | Bang Chan

•Synopsis: A handsome stranger takes it upon himself to take care of you in a crowded subway as you try to evade a man that had been following you after a night of drinking.

•Pairing: au Bang Chan x Female Reader

•Content Includes: smut, stalking, public unprotected sex, creampie, fingering, crowded area, sex with a stranger, biting, possessive chan, brief mentions of bondage and claustrophobia with a surprise ending. (I think that's everything)

an: This was first posted on my Wattpad but it was pretty ass and didn't do well so I fixed it up a little bit (a lot... Like it was so bad lol) and figured maybe it would be better appreciated here.

Part II

Want more smut? Follow the banana 🍌

After a chill hangout at the bar with some friends from work, you all decide to head home. It's been a chill night with not too much drinking. Since you live close by, walking home seems like a good idea for some fresh air. But as you split from the group, you realize you're not alone. You start to get this eerie feeling like you're being followed. Looking over your shoulder you see a hooded figure and the hair on the back of your neck stands straight up. At every turn there he is, shadowing your every move, sending shivers down your spine.

Nervous about the idea of him following you home, you hop onto the subway thinking you could hide among a sea of people. With the size of the crowd there's no way he could find you. You're confident it'll work as you weave your way through the crowd, tripping over your own feet in a rush to lose him. You aim for the door at the end of the car on the other side just to create some distance between you and him. You steal a glance over your shoulder, heart pounding, checking if the man is still behind you. But in a rush, you accidentally step on someone's foot, sending a jolt of embarrassment through you.

“Oh my god!” You exclaim, cheeks reddening. “I'm so sorry.”

When your eyes meet the stranger in front of you, you're met with kind gentle brown eyes belonging to a beautiful man with dimples and perfectly styled hair buzzed slightly on the sides.

“No worries.” He smiles sweetly showing off his perfect dimples while his velvety Australian accent engulfs you and calms down some of the panic in your chest.

Looking over your shoulder again, you catch sight of the man coming into your view. His gaze meets yours, and a smirk plays on his lips before he casually looks away. Panic surges again, your moment of peace gone, sending your heart into overdrive and your eyes to widen in alarm. The handsome stranger in front of you notices your reaction and follows your line of sight to the man in the black hoodie, mirroring your concern.

"Hey, you okay? That guy giving you trouble?" His voice cuts through the chatter of the people around you. His voice, laced with a hint of concern and tinged with something darker, making you snap your attention back to him.

The dim subway lights overhead cast shadows across his young face, highlighting his handsome features more rather than diluting them. You feel a knot tightening in your stomach realizing just how worried for you he is. He glares at the creep and the muscle in his jaw ticks once.

“He’s been following me since I left the bar. I was too afraid to go home so I tried to make a detour to shake him off but he's fucking relentless.” you explain in a quiet hush.

The creep looks over at you again as if to make sure you're still in his eyesight and looks away quickly to not draw attention to his shady acts.

“Maybe he'll back off if he thinks we're together? He looked away pretty quick when he saw me. I'll stay with you for however long you need. Just to be sure that you're safe.” The stranger beside you says sweetly.

You felt fucking lucky to have run into someone willing to help you, to keep you safe. You could've ended up locked in some damp dark basement if not for this man you thought to yourself. You can already feel the mild tipsiness from the alcohol wearing off and you feel more alert and aware of your surroundings.

“Thank you so so much.” You reply and the man holds his hand out for you.

“I'm Chris.” He gives you an award winning smile that lights up his whole face and yours.

You mirror his smile and take his hand. One shake and you gasp at the sudden static shock that you feel spread throughout your whole body rather than just your fingertips. His hand is soft and warm and your body suddenly feels hot all over as if you drank a lot more than you really did.

“Y/N.” You introduce yourself timidly and he gives a small nod of his head.

The train rattles to a stop and opens the doors behind you and Chris, letting on more people eager to get home after work. It becomes increasingly crowded and you're forced even closer to Chris. So much closer that you have to take a couple of steps back in an attempt to have some space, only for your back to hit the glass window of the other doors. Another stop and more people push in, bringing the creep closer to you and forcing Chris's chest to push into yours. He apologizes, placing gentle hands on my arms.

“If you get uncomfortable let me know. I'll try and make space.” He tells you, placing a hand above your head as the train rumbles along.

“Y-yeah okay.” You mutter, feeling the hard muscles underneath the white button up shirt he's wearing.

With the alcohol completely gone from your system now, you realize that the situation you're in is beyond embarrassing. Your breasts are rubbing against his chest with every rock and shake of the train in an almost lewd way. Granted you are thankful that he's keeping you away from being pressed up against some weirdo or worse the guy following you but still, It's awkward. There's no way he can't feel your heart beating so rapidly. The train makes a sudden bump and your bodies are pushed together even more.

“Sorry.” You whisper when your hands instinctively go around his middle. He chuckles and you feel it vibrate through your chest, causing the butterflies in your stomach to flutter awake.

“It's okay y/n. You give great hugs.” He says, the butterflies go mad and your face grows warm.

He's so sweet and so good looking there's no way he was flirting with me just now. No way, he's just a really sweet guy. Yeah… he's just being nice.

As the train continues to go on you feel eyes on you, burning a hole straight into your skull. Looking around Chris's muscular frame you see the creep, staring, lewdly licking his lips and undressing you with his eyes, no doubt. You squirm to try and get out of eye sight but Chris's strong hand holds you still.

“What's wrong?” He whispers. His voice makes you shiver against him and his fingers tighten on your arms briefly.

“That creep is staring at me.” It makes you feel disgusted. Your skin crawls the way his eyes slide over your face.

Chris curses under his breath and pauses. “I'll push up to give you enough space to turn around so he can't see your face. Maybe once these doors open we can quickly get off and lose him then.”

You nod at his idea and he pushes on the door, putting an inch between you two. It's not a lot of space to move but you try your best, turning around facing away from Chris and the creep. Now, at least like this, your breasts aren't crushed into him. Only now, your ass is pressing against his front. From one awkward situation to another…. This is what I get for going out after work on a Wednesday. You think to yourself. I should've gone straight home or at least changed.

The skirt you decided to wear to the office today is now hitched up just barely covering your ass. If you can just keep still maybe he won't notice and the situation doesn't get any more embarrassing than it is.

“So uh what do you do for work y/n?” Chris asks and clears his throat. You can feel every word against your back.

“Uh, I work at CBO. I'm an editor over there.” You feel him nod behind you slowly.

“I heard they're supposed to get a new CEO. Some big shot is what the news is saying.” He responds but you shrug. You haven't heard much about the new CEO except for that he's the son of the previous CEO as well as the new owner now that his father is retiring.

“I'm sure he'll be a great boss. I actually haven't met him yet. I don't even know what he looks like” You utter softly sounding uncertain. Would he be a great boss? Would he take care of you? Who knows he could change everything with just one hand.

══════════════•✦•✦•══════════════

The train enters a tunnel and you watch the lights outside in the darkness flick and zip past in a blur before noticing Chris's reflection. His eyes are on you, studying your face in the glass of the door. Your eyes meet in the all the air gets sucked out of your lungs like a sudden punch to the gut. His gaze is smoldering, far too hot to be on the receiving end of such intensity. No one says a word although his lips slowly form a sexy coquettish smile.

“Do you need me to stay with you when we get off while you call your boyfriend?.” He whispers.

You shake your head no, eyes still on his reflection. “Don't have one of those but I can call a friend to pick me up.”

As you're about to open your mouth again to thank him for the hundredth time, the train comes to a screeching stop and the lights in the car go out. Men and women grumble and some even scream. The force causes Chris to slam into you and your skirt bunches up further about midway up your ass. In a panic you tell him and he curses under his breath.

“I'll try to fix it but I have to touch you, y/n. Is that okay?” Him asking for consent to touch you makes him that much more attractive.

“Yes, please.” You say, just as a voice is heard over the speaker.

“Passengers, please be patient there seems to be some debris on the tracks that is blocking our route. They're already taking care to remove it. We'll be moving on shortly.” The voice is replaced with calming elevator music playing loudly.

That's a smart way to keep everyone calm so that no one panics. Only one panicking right now however is you. The feel of Chris's fingertips against your bare thighs is driving you insane. His touch is hot but you shiver like his fingers are made of ice. Why is it turning me on so much when he's just trying to fix my skirt?. The move is too slow to be legal that's why. His movements feel so sensual.

“Sorry, I'm trying not to draw attention.” He explains as if he can hear your thoughts.

Shit you want to stop him. To say never mind and to leave it as is and pray that the train will be stopping soon to let some people off… but you don't. Instead you hold your breath and squeeze your legs together. Your arousal grows to an unbearable high. It's just a simple touch. Why is it driving you crazy? You aren't inexperienced at your age by any means. You've had lovers before but this man's fingers, they burn wherever he touches.

“The material of your skirt seems to be stuck on my fly.” He says and the urge to crawl into a hole is strong. “I can fix it but I'll have to lower my zipper. Tell me what you're comfortable with y/n.” He whispers leaning closer to your ear.

Loose tendrils of your ponytail flutter around your ear from his breath and you mentally remind yourself to breathe. Would it be selfish to ask him to lower it? What if he's uncomfortable with that? This isn't just about you now.

“I don't want you to feel uncomfortable.”

He places his palm flat against your thigh comfortingly. “Whatever you decide, I won't be uncomfortable. As long as you're comfortable y/n, then so am I.” The conviction in his voice calms you and you give him a curt nod once.

“Lower it please.” You whisper, your voice sounding small with embarrassment.

His hand moves again from your thigh to your ass and you bite your lip hard. His knuckles graze the bareness and you unexpectedly feel him stir from inside his black slacks. Seems like I'm not the only one turned on by the other. Slowly and agonizingly, he lowers his zipper to not be heard over the piano and violin playing through the speakers.

“There. Are you okay?” You don't feel okay. You feel like you’re on the verge of dying from embarrassment and horniness. You can feel the opening of his pants against you and his growing erection pressing into your ass.

“I'm okay.” You lie. “Thank you Chris.”

Out of habit whenever you're riddled with anxiety, you shift your footing which only makes your ass rub against his erection more. “Shit. I'm sorry, I move around when I'm in an embarrassing situation and this takes the cake for me.”

He chuckles softly. “It's okay. I uh, I can't really control it unfortunately. Not when I've got such a beautiful woman like you in my arms. You make it… difficult to say the least.”

You rest your forehead onto the cold glass feeling the blush take over your whole face and he chuckles again.

“If I knew my evening would be like this I wouldn't have gone to happy hour with my co-workers.” Your sad confession fogs up the glass and you close your eyes.

He places a comforting hand on your hip. You're so packed he can't seem to stand the way he was before. His arms are restricted from raising any further than your hips now.

“It's okay y/n it's not all bad. We got to meet after all.” He says, making you smile.

“That's true. I don't know what would've happened if I didn't run into you.” His hands linger and you get so used to the heat that when he finally does move them away you feel cold and shiver under him. He groans softly, sending something like an electric current to the space between your thighs. That sound… you want to hear it more. Biting your lip you shift your weight from one foot to the other.

“Y/n…” Chris quietly says, sounding amused. “What are you doing?”

You shake your head feigning innocence. “My feet. It's these heels, I'm sorry.”

Why did I do that? I've seriously lost my mind but why do I want to do it again? The feel of him hard against your ass must be making you certifiably insane. This isn't right. Your better judgment screams at you. It's just your hormones getting out of hand.

When he places both hands on your hips and leans in, you expect for him to call you out on that blatant lie but instead he whispers, “Do it again.” All while slowly playing with the hem of your skirt.

You stifle a silent gasp, jaw dropping in disbelief, yet you obediently follow his instructions moving your hips just slightly. When you do, his left hand grips onto your hip tight and he sighs. His erection, that's fighting itself to stay inside the confines of his briefs, jerks forward against the fabric. Before you can shift again, his right arm wraps around you and his fingers find the wetness of your panties.

“So I'm not the only one fighting temptation I see.” His warm sweet breath fans across your cheek and your body sags a little in his arms when his fingers begin to dance.

Focusing on your breathing is all you can do so you don't faint from his touch. And trying to stay quiet now becomes a struggle the more his fingers move.

“Is this okay y/n?” You can only nod, too afraid of accidentally moaning and embarrassing yourself anymore today. He just chuckles and stops the torturous tango that his fingers were doing. “Use your words baby girl. Tell me if it's okay or not.” he instructs.

“Yes. It's okay, more please.” You hoarsely whisper, voice thick with lust.

Chris doesn't move, doesn't make a sound for what feels like minutes rather than seconds. Afraid that he might not have heard you, you open your mouth to repeat yourself when his fingers slip under the satin of your thong and into your slick folds.

“Good girl.” He says, his voice dripping with sex.

You lay your head back onto his shoulder as he works you just barely over the edge. Long fingers slipping in and out, massaging your thoroughly drenched cunt with ease. He grinds the heel of his palm against your clit and everything around you begins to blur. Lust, that primal urge, it ignites like a flame inside you, pulsating with an insatiable hunger that courses through every fiber of your being. You're so close to cumming around Chris's fingers, soaking his hand with your desire. You want to tell him just how close you are but if you let up on the hold your teeth have on your bottom lip you won't be able to control the sounds you'll make.

The lights come on just as you're about to come undone and he quickly removes his fingers just as quickly as he inserted them. The train begins to move again and you squint at the sudden light overhead that blinds you, breathing heavily. Before your eyes can adjust to the light and before your core begins to crave Chris's touch, you feel him fumbling behind you freeing his cock and distracting you from the frustration of your denied orgasm.

“Is there anything I should know?” He inquires, sounding like he's in a business meeting.

You don't need to ask what he's referring to. The real question though is do you really want to do this here, with someone you just met? What if you get caught? You both could get arrested. You could get fired. But there's no room in your mind for logic right now with the thrill and your need to cum clouding you. Fuck it.

“No nothing, I'm good. This is what I want.” You see his reflection smile.

“Good. Now, keep your eyes on me y/n.”

You feel the tip of him, covered in precum pressed firmly on your ass and his hands slide under your navy skirt pushing it up further. He hooks his thumb under the string of your thong and pulls it to the side. Your eyes never leave his face.

“No noise.” He warns, situating himself behind you, lining his cock up just right.

His cock feels thick and hot slipping between your thighs. You're so wet that there's little to no resistance as he pushes further and further until he's fully inside you. You let out a shuddering breath and your eyelids flutter close, feeling his warmth.

“No noise, remember? Look at me y/n. I want to see you when you cum on dick.” He tells you quietly, his voice more quiet than a whisper.

Your eyes fly open and stare at his reflection in awe of how gorgeous and composed he looks. He looks calm, like he's doing nothing other than waiting for his stop but his hands tell you otherwise. You feel it in the way he's gripping you to steal himself and to keep from bucking his hips into you at full force like he wants to. Like you want him to.

Instead he has to go at such an aching delicious slow pace so that the people behind him or next to you both aren't aware of what's going on. Your fingers long to hold onto him, to anything really. You're stuck standing still with your palms flat against the glass in front of you. Your breathing begins to fog the glass but you keep your focus on Chris and notice how his eyes go half lidded.

The brown seems to have gotten darker than the warm milk chocolate from earlier. One of his arms snakes around you and he presses his hand flat on your belly giving him more leverage. When he starts to move just a tad faster your heart rate skyrockets. The fear, adrenaline and lust mixing together creates an intoxicating concoction. Every glance, every touch, becomes charged with an energy that enthralls you. Your pulse echoes in your ears, drowning out all rational thought.

Chris's thrusts are covered up by the rocking of the train as it speeds down the rails. Your orgasm isn't far at this rate. Like a slow burn you feel it building up. A simmering that starts deep within your core, radiating up and outward. You're struggling to stay standing, to stay quiet now.

Your breathing comes out in ragged pants and your knees threaten to buckle the closer he brings you to ecstasy. You aren't the only one struggling, Chris's breathing is just as shaky and primal as yours and you hear him whisper something in another language before he murmurs “Fuck.” Into your ear, sending shivers down your spine. When your walls tighten around him he curses again and his gaze looks wild.

“Why do you feel so good around my cock y/n?” He asks but you don't dare respond. He smirks, grinding himself into you. “You take directions s-so well. So… obedient.” He whispers.

You can hear how he's losing his control. His composure has melted away and he no longer looks calm and collected. He looks like a man high on sex and chasing the release that's within reach.

“Y/n… fuck. Tell me, can I cum inside you? Will you let me fill you? Use your words beautiful.” He nips your neck just below your ear and you tremble.

“Yes. You can,” You bite your lip again to hold back what would've been a loud gasp when the train jerks Chris forward causing his cock to slam into your sensitive cunt. “You can cum inside. I'm so close Chris.”

“Then cum baby. Fucking cream on it y/n. Shit, so good.

Hearing him lose himself like that is your undoing and you're falling apart around him. The air becomes heavy with the heady scent of arousal, thick and intoxicating, swirling around you and Chris like a seductive veil. Each breath is laced with the taste of pleasure. Time seems to stand still as you stare at him. Eyes wide as you breathe through your nose squeezing your lips shut tight desperate to make no sound at all. Your cunt convulses around his cock begging to milk it of every drop.

The aftershocks of your orgasm shoot through you as he continues to thrust deeper and deeper. His own orgasm right at the edge. His arm tightens around you, hugging you closer to him. his breath becomes shallow and erratic as he reaches his climax.

“Fuck, fuck.” He whispers and he bites down hard on your neck over your fast pulsating pulse, sucking your flesh to keep himself from telling you how you belong to him now.

He bites you to keep the grunts and praises from tumbling out of his mouth uncontrollably. Because something about you makes him lose control. He doesn't do shit like this. He's careful, always planning and thinking things out. He just doesn't do spontaneity. He didn't plan this, it just happened. You just bulldozed into his life and he can’t get enough. What is it about you that makes him desire this cunt he's currently filling to the brim that he craves to make sore and swollen with his cock until the sun rises? Whatever it is, he's already addicted. He needs you in his own space, tied up nice and pretty like a gift only for him to unwrap. Fuck. He's already thinking of all the positions he'd have you in if you were at his place.

You watch in awe at how intense and irresistible he looks while he spills himself inside of you. His eyes hold so much power over you. You feel the weight of his possessiveness in his unwavering stare and it excites you immensely. You find yourself thinking of asking him to come back to your place where you'd be free to move around, cry his name out without anyone around. You're curious how sex with Chris would be in a more relaxed setting. If this orgasm was intense you can't imagine how it would feel when he isn't holding back.

He slowly pulls out of you, fixing himself as best as he can and then fixes your skirt back in place. He places a sweet kiss to the back of your head, chest still rapidly rising and falling. When you blush he chuckles.

“You're a cutie y/n. After all that, you blush from a kiss. So adorable.” He murmurs and you shift your feet. “If we don't get off soon I'll end up going for another round if you keep that up.”

You giggle and look back at him, “Sorry, I'll behave.” You sweetly say.

“What if I don't want you to?” He says instantly.

You blink at him, your face reflecting shock in the glass, and he chuckles. “To be honest with you y/n, I'd love to see you again if you'd let me.”

“Me? Seriously?” You whisper in disbelief.

“Of course. Preferably somewhere less crowded. I think after today I'll be just a little claustrophobic.”

You laugh and even after what just happened you can't believe how incredible of a guy he is. He wraps his arms around you, hugging you while you laugh.

“Has anyone ever told you that you have a beautiful laugh y/n?” He whispers and you shake your head. “Why does something as simple as hearing you laugh make me so hard? What have you done to me?”

A shiver of pleasure runs through your body and he exhales quietly.

“I'd fuck you again right now if we weren't about to stop.” He tells you followed by the robotic female voice informing everyone to wait until the train comes to a complete stop and the doors open.

As the subway doors slide open, Chris grabs your hand and pulls you through them, dodging the rush of commuters that are eager to go home. With ease he leads you away from the hooded creep that's desperate to find you, vanishing into the shadows behind a massive pillar. You peek out from behind Chris who scans the area cautiously. When the man doesn't see you he hops back on the train, disappointment evident on his face but relief floods over you. Glad that's over.

"Thank you Chris." you say, sending a quick text to your best friend for a ride. “For saving me I mean.”

"It was my pleasure, y/n." he replies smoothly, grinning at you, his gaze lingering on your lips. His thumb brushes your cheek, sending a shiver down your spine. "Anytime you need saving, or anything really just give me a shout, yeah?" He hands you a sleek black business card with fancy gold letters.

Maybe you will call him, because you really can't imagine that you'll get the memory of how he felt inside of you out of your mind. Besides, he made it very clear he wanted to see you again and how could you turn a man like Chris down?

After saying goodbye when your bestie arrives, you watch Chris walk away in the side mirror as the car eases into traffic. Glancing at the card in your hand, you see it reads "Chris Bang, CEO and Co-owner of CBO," and you feel a wave of shock and mortification wash over you.

“Who was that hottie?” Your friend asks bobbing her head along to the radio when she stops at a red light.

“My new boss…” You say, still feeling his warm cum still inside of you.

“Also... what the hell happened to your neck?”

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witchthewriter · 1 year ago

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Poly141! | Mission Pixie Dust

Okay so... I was making up scenarios in my head as I was falling asleep last night and I made myself cry ... so I obviously had to share...

Poly141; the four men are your husbands and all deployed at the same time, leaving you home with your three kids at the beginning of the school holidays.

This turned out longer than I thought it would but I just had to write it out. I love Poly141 AND them being dads :')

Da = Johnny

Papa = John P.

Dad= Simon

Daddy = Kyle

School holidays had just started, and your three pups were buzzing as soon as they came home. Bags were thrown on the floor, school shoes unlaced and scattered around the shoe stand. They knew the rules, but first day of school holidays meant they were allowed to get a little wild.

Your oldest, Paesha, had just turned eight and her father was obvious. Thick curls, dark skin and warm brown eyes made it plain to see. But all your husbands loved her the same. In fact, she had a special bond with her Da (Johnny).

Malachai, your second, could have been any of the three other men's. Light brown hair, fair complection, and utterly/overly protective of his sisters. He had been born a year after Pae.

And your youngest, Felicity (known as Flick), had started her first year in big school. She was known for having exceptional blue eyes.

None of your husbands wanted a DNA test, they thought it useless because everyone treats the children with the same love, compassion and warmth.

Throwing your keys on the counter (Paesha picked them up and placed them on the hook). You rubbed the bridge of your nose and tried to quell the longing in your soul. You didn't know if it was worse when the kids were gone or with you. Being completely alone let the terrible thoughts attack but you didn't want your kids to miss out on having their fathers'.

Calming the oncoming tears, you turned around and asked, "who wants pizza for dinner?"

"YES!" Yelled Mal, a fist punched in the air. Paesha nodded her head enthusiastically while Flick did a little happy dance.

Paesha halted and squinted at you, "Not homemade right?"

After dinner arrived, the four of you sat on the large dark green couch. Your two ex-military dogs, Moth and Teddy, sat on either end of the lounge.

Turning onto the streaming service, you found the exact movie you were looking for. The 2003 version of Peter Pan.

With the lights off (except for the kitchen, the kids were still scared of too much darkness), you watched as one of your cats jumped into Pae's lap. Barnaby started purring instantly. His fluffy white tail settled around his body.

The seven of you settled in. Your four human babies snuggled up to their mama, smiles already on their faces.

When the movie had finished, your kids still wouldn't go to bed.

"Oh wait, I know why it isn't working - we don't have the pixie dust!" Flick pulled on your sleeve with a huge gap-toothed smile.

You had been watching as they jumped around the room. Lights flicked on, bodies flinging from one couch to another.

"I know! But ... we don't have any in the house..." You grumbled.

Paesha was staring dreamily at Peter Pan, a cheek resting against her face. "Where do we get some?" Her head turned slightly to look at you, her eyes nearly heart-shaped.

"Ugh-" god trying to keep childlike wonder alive was bloody difficult. Like a sign from the Universe, your phone started to ring.

All three kids ran over to it, knowing exactly who was calling at this time of night. Swiping the screen, four familiar faces popped up.

"Da! Papa! Dad! Daddy!" Smiling through the screen, the men had been just as eager to see their kids as their kids were to see them.

"Hello little munchkins, ya been good for mum?" Simon greeted first. His mask was off and no black could be found around his eyes. He never showed that side to the children.

"We're going to fly!" Flick chirped, her arms outstretched and running around.

"You're - what?" Price said with a slightly panicked face.

"But we need pixie dust," Malachai explained. Shaking his head like this was obvious information.

"I introduced them to the ... live action Peter Pan," you explained and a smile of regret grew on your tired face.

"Oh honey," Kyle replied, understanding the situation. He was the first of the men to.

"But we don't have any and we have to go buy more!" Pae said while leaning against you.

"Eh, pixie dust ...?" you heard Johnny mumble in the background.

"Oh! I have an idea!" You said with a faked expression, "why don't the Dada's get us the pixie dust!"

The chorus of cheers was heard throughout the house. Alerting the the tired Moth and Teddy.

Kyle shook his head. And Price's nose flared. Mum: 1 - Dads: 0.

"We'll bring back the goddamns finest," Simon said. You couldn't help but let out a small laugh.

"See! You heard Dad! Now get your butts' upstairs and in bed."

"Yes ma'am!" They said in unison (a nickname they'd heard their father's use one too many times.)

Once the kids were upstairs, your face dropped.

"I miss you guys," you whispered into the phone. The tears welling and spilling down your cheeks.

"We miss you too," John said, his words strangled with his feelings.

It was always hard to hang up.

It hurt.

But tonight's farewell felt like the hardest. You could just imagine how the scenario would've played out if their father's were there with them. With you.

'Can't always get what we want,' you thought bitterly.

"Not long now," Kyle said. You stared at his eyes and then his lips. God how much you wanted to kiss him.

"You better make sure you bring back some fucking pixie dust or there'll be a riot."

"Aye, Laswell definitely knows someone-" Johnny replied, giving you a wink. "Miss you gorgeous." He always tried to uplift the mood. And it nearly always worked.

You fought out of your misery, knowing the four soldiers couldn't bear to see you upset. And as they said their goodbyes, you said so in return.

"We love you, our precious wife. We'll all be together soon."

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megalony · 5 months ago

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No One But You

Here is another new Emperor Geta imagine, requested by the lovely @emberdreams I hope you like how it turned out.

Please let me know what you all think and keep the Geta requests coming I am on a roll with writing him at the moment.

Taglist: @justagirlthatlovedtoread @musicistheway @avada-kedavra-bitch-187 @luula @missdreamofendless @bradleybeachbabe @woderfulkawaii @amberpanda99 @daggersquadphantom @marvel-and-chicago-fan @angryknightstatesmantrash @minjix @lyje @kmc1989 @itsmytimetoodream @noonenuts @hiireadstuff @ashie-babie @classyunknownlover @jayyeahthatsme @sp1ritssz @dumb-fawkin-bitch @oliverstarksbae @gimatida @heart-35 @supernaturalstilinski @kyky9103 @gay4hotmilfs @itshamleth @chaoticnosleepinfluencer @gs29 @wh0reforsmutstuff @mel-vaz @natashamea18 @chrisevansdaughter @alexandra848484 @deena-beena-weena @targaryenluvs @kpoplover-19 @marvelmenarebeautiful @gillybear17

@zoeybennett @mrspeacem1nusone @zephyrmonkey @estella-novella @eleventhdoctorsangel @kniselle @senjoritanana @shauna-carsley @dottierose @cfdhouse51 @darkfemme1 @rainechase45 @lolalolsstuff @jupiter1700 @ashdoctor @an-aliens-ghost @lunaroserites @houseoftwistedspirits @callsignwidow @winterreader-nowwriter @reneinii @bellsbomb @western-pyro @itsgigikay @harry-satellite @midsummereve1993 @babyqueen17 @buckyyyismahhlife @sammiejane22 @mrsyixingunicorn10 @op-81-lvr-reblogs @talicat713 @niamhmbt @strawberry-canyon @bieberhoodforever @911fangirlie @hollandxxmix

Main Masterlist

Summary: On the night of their wedding, (Y/n) opens up to Geta about some of her insecurities. He quashes every one and makes sure she knows how glad he is that she's his wife now.

Enjoy.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Apprehension bubbled away inside (Y/n) the further they walked down the corridor. She could feel her palms beginning to sweat while she tried to tangle her fingers together in front of her to rid herself of the energy coursing through her veins.

This is what she had been imagining and dreaming of for the last month.

All the preparations, all the panic and the fuss and the organisation, it had all led up to today, but every daydream and every panicked thought (Y/n) had was about tonight, not earlier today.

Her wedding day.

(Y/n) couldn't believe how lucky she was. Not only had she found herself falling for one of the Emperors when she had visited the palace with her father, who happened to be a Senator. But she now found herself married to said Emperor. The highest authority in Rome. The most desired man in Rome, the man who could end a life with the tilt of his thumb. And now (Y/n) was married to him.

Another shiver tore down (Y/n)'s spine when she felt a warm hand pressing into her lower back. She could feel Geta standing so close to her side that his elbow was brushing her side and his fingers were gliding up and down her lower back between her hips. The smooth action caused his fingers to ruffle a few creases in her pale golden dress.

Cream was always a fashionable colour, but when (Y/n) had been told that she could choose what colour she wanted her wedding dress to be, she knew there was only one colour she could choose.

Golden.

Her new husband's favourite colour. The colour of his luscious hair, the colour he seemed to wear somewhere on his person without fail, every day. The colour that lit up Geta and made everyone think of the sun whenever they saw him. The sun, their source of light and life which related to both Emperors in so many ways.

"Here we are." The low, hushed tone of Geta's voice against the shell of her ear almost made (Y/n) swoon.

She looked up over her shoulder to see a slight smirk dancing across his face, but his expression was genuine, happy even. His make up had been applied heavily for the occasion today and it did not disappoint. His eyes were shrouded in darkness like black coals surrounding two pale brown eyes that looked the colour of mulled wine. And (Y/n) had never seen his lips look so blood red before. He truly was beautiful.

Despite the course of the day, the make up hadn't faded and neither had Geta's mood or energy. If anything, he seemed to have gained more life as the day went on.

Whereas (Y/n) felt like she had become more and more anxious with each passing moment.

She wanted to be a good wife, she didn't want to disappoint her husband.

(Y/n) tried to take note of where they were in the palace but she had long since lost her sense of direction and her bearings. She would need Geta to show her around tomorrow so she could be able to roam the halls without getting herself lost.

After all, this was her new home. Her new room, she had to find her way to and from this corridor.

Her head bowed down and her hands continued to fiddle in front of her while she let Geta step in front of her rather than standing behind her, silently directing her through the halls of the palace.

The festivities had ended, but the distant sound of footsteps and chatter could vaguely be heard. The music had ended, the guests were either retiring to their rooms or making their way back home and the servants were tidying up the banquet hall and clearing the last of the dishes and the drunken fellows from the room.

(Y/n) took the time to look around once Geta opened the chamber door and led her inside. It was both what she had expected and somewhat different to her imaginings.

The adjoining room which she figured served as Geta's private study was spacious. Two desks, a balcony, a purple and red rug lined the floor. Plants in the corners, long white veil drapes hung beside the windows behind a large sofa. The only thing (Y/n) couldn't find were any books anywhere. There were some papers on the desk, but they looked like official state business.

She allowed a smile to flutter across her lips when Geta reached out for her hand and beckoned her to follow him. He led her through into the adjoining room. The bedroom.

(Y/n) curled her free hand around Geta's bare arm and leaned into his side as she looked around the bedroom that was twice the size of her room from when she lived at home. She almost didn't notice the maid stood timidly in the corner until Geta turned towards her.

It was clear she had turned down the bed and set some fresh wine on the table.

"You may go." Geta ticked his wrist to the side to give the maid a signal to leave.

There was a slight look of bewilderment in her eyes but she was quick to nod, curtsey and scurry from the room. It was unusual for the Emperor to be so passive and mellow. All the servants were used to being dismissed by Geta raging at them. Sometimes all that was needed was one angered look from him and the maids went running. Other times he would shout at them to move, to leave him be and get out of the way.

Once, after a very bad argument with his brother when Caracalla had been in one of his moods, Geta had thrown a glass at one of the maids when he shouted at her to leave. He regretted it afterwards, and made sure that maid worked in the kitchens from now on so he didn't have to bump into her again.

Once the maid left and the doors were safely closed, Geta turned his head to look down at (Y/n). There was a hopeful look in his eyes as he stared down at her.

"Do you like it?" He was suddenly very anxious and he wasn't sure how he would respond if she said no. He wanted her to like the room, this was going to be her room, her home, from now on.

"It's lovely." (Y/n) leaned her cheek against Geta's arm while she looked around.

She could quite happily live in this room alone. The bed was bigger than any she had ever seen or slept in before. There was a lounge sofa at the foot of the bed and she knew that once the sun rose in the morning, this room would be flooded with light.

There were even flowers in a vase on the far table along with a pitcher of wine. All that was missing was a few books and maybe an ornament or two so it was truly homely.

(Y/n) was surprised by Geta's sudden affection when he leaned down and kissed her temple with his lips still curved into a bright smile.

She felt him murmur "Good," against her temple before he pulled back and her eyes followed him as he moved to the vanity in the far corner of the room. He began shedding the rings and cuffs from his hands and wrists and the golden leaf crown that was nestled so suitably into his hair.

Her eyes found themselves locked on him, surprised and intrigued as she watched him begin to remove each article of jewellery so slowly and carefully. And she noticed that each one had its own place on the vanity. Maybe that was just how Geta liked things, or perhaps it was a strategy to make sure no one tried to pilfer any of his jewels. (Y/n) would have to find out, she had to learn these things, these quirks and habits of her husband.

She continued to gaze across at him while she slowly stepped into the room and decided to perch down on the end of the bed.

The mattress was soft, it felt like sinking into a cloud and (Y/n) laid her hands down on her lap as she continued to watch Geta with growing anticipation and nerves.

All the wine was going to her head.

That thought made a small smile curve at (Y/n)'s lips as she quietly shook her head to herself. It wasn't as if she had drank enough to sink a ship. She had barely had three glasses of spiced wine all night, but that was enough to mingle in with the adrenaline surging through her system making her feel lightheaded.

She didn't want to be so nervous, she didn't want to feel so childish and silly, but she couldn't help it.

This was it. Tonight was going to change things. They would truly be husband and wife after tonight. Her mother had said this would make her a 'true woman' after sleeping with her husband. This was the start of her new life, and (Y/n) wanted so badly to please Geta. It was pressing on her mind so much that she was starting to panic again.

(Y/n)'s eyes followed Geta's movements as he stripped the red and golden robes from his shoulders and the belt from his waist. She hadn't seemed to notice that he had figured out she was watching him until their eyes met. Something mischevious glinted in those dark eyes and she could see his teeth beginning to nibble down on his lower lip while he watched her.

The way he stalked towards her made (Y/n) wonder if this was how the animals felt when the hunting parties went out. If those animals knew they were ensnared in a trap, about to be caught and claimed.

She moved her hands to grip the edge of the bed, steadying herself while she watched Geta walk slowly towards her. Her head angled back and her eyes followed him as he stood close enough that their knees were now touching and he stooped forward so he was leaning over her. His hand gently brushed beneath her chin and he tilted her head back a little more so their gazes were interlocked.

(Y/n) wasn't sure she could scramble one coherent thought together as she looked up at him. And when his other hand glided along her chin and round to the back of her neck, she didn't know what to do.

A small sound tumbled past her lips when she felt Geta's nimble fingers weaving into her neatly pinned hair.

He easily pulled a pin from the back of her hair and watched with a glowering grin as her hair fell from its previous style. Loose tendrils fluttered towards her shoulders and bounced around her cheeks and near her eyes. Geta had the sudden urge to run his fingers through her hair, to knot his fingers in her tendrils and pull and angle her head in his direction.

"Beautiful." He muttered with a grin to rival all others and when (Y/n) tried to bashfully duck her head, she felt his hand press into her chin to prevent her from looking away from him.

She was sure he murmured "Don't hide from me," but his voice was so tender and quiet that she couldn't be sure whether she heard him or simply imagined it. Either way, Geta's lips were suddenly on hers, overriding every other thought she had and turning her brain to mush.

She felt his hands slither down until he was gripping her waist with his thumbs gliding over her hips. (Y/n) felt like she was turning to jelly the longer he kissed her. She was almost going limp in his arms and it allowed Geta to shuffle her further up the bed until she was sat in the middle and he was knelt over her with his knees pressing down on either side of her thighs.

When his wine-stained lips finally let her come up for air, (Y/n) couldn't help but admire the way he sank back on his heels and stayed kneeling over her lap like this. It was a position she had never been in before, but one she was already in love with.

(Y/n) wasn't quite sure what to do with herself when Geta leaned forward and tucked his face into the crook of her neck. She decided on settling her hands on his broad shoulders while she fought back a shiver when his lips attached to the side of her neck. She couldn't help but scratch her nails against his shoulders when his teeth grazed against her skin but it seemed to encourage him further.

She stayed amicably still while Geta leaned further into her and hovered over her, looking like an angel cast in the gentle candlelight.

Her hands moved from his shoulders to daringly cup either side of his neck and her thumbs grazed along the sharp cut of his jaw when Geta lifted his head to kiss her again. It felt like he was stealing all the air from his lungs and (Y/n) would gladly give it all to him if that's what he desired.

She could feel herself going lightheaded while his tongue parted her lips and had her straining to stay sitting upright when he was leaning enough that she was close to falling on her back.

But her eyes opened with intrigue when she felt Geta's hands move. She watched, wide-eyed but somewhat calm and still while he began his administrations of pulling the short golden straps down her arms. The feeling of his fingertips gliding along her skin was soft and ticklish and she held her breath when Geta hooked his finger in the cleavage of her dress so he could further pull it down.

He liked the way her chest started to heave with faster, shallow breaths the more he continued to tug on her dress until he unhooked it from around her hips and discarded it somewhere on the floor. He liked how nervous she seemed and how she was clearly waiting for him to make each movement like she was too afraid to move on her own and do something first.

Although he was pleasantly surprised when (Y/n) seemed to become unstuck and her hands moved of their own accord. He paused with his hands settled on her bare hips and his lips attached to the edge of her mouth, barely touching and parted enough so that Geta could glance his eyes down and watch her slow movements.

He stayed pliant and curious while (Y/n)'s fingertips tickled his waist and she fished around for the hem of his shirt and pulled it up. Geta obliged, parting from her so she could tug the golden material over his head, following his lead by tossing it somewhere on the floor.

It seemed unfair how he had undressed (Y/n) but had stayed still somewhat clothed before her. She wanted to even the scales.

"Okay?"

Geta's question took her by surprise and (Y/n)'s wide eyes lifted to lock with his as she nodded. Lips slightly parted in that docile look that made her look like a Goddess sat before him.

(Y/n) allowed her eyes to drag along Geta's frame, allowing herself to take in his pale milky skin and search for any marks or scars. Anything on he great canvas that was his skin so she could commit each mark to memory. She wanted to be able to know Geta's body like a map of the world, something she could trace and get to know and navigate even with her eyes closed.

Her observations were cut off when Geta leaned forward and pecked her lips, gently at first. Then again and again until he was slowly nudging her down into the bed, devouring her lips like they were the air he needed to breathe. His tongue swiped over her lower lip and his right hand gave her flesh a tight squeeze as he continued to hover above her.

Her hands moved round to cup his face and her thumbs brushed across his freshly shaven face. He tensed up his chest and pushed down, effortlessly pinning her back against the mattress so she stayed beneath him. Right where he wanted her.

She felt like the bed was made of quick sand that was swallowing her whole. The more Geta leaned down into her, the more (Y/n) felt like she was about to disappear, but in the best possible way.

Geta attached his lips to her jaw while one hand slid down her waist to find purchase on her hip. But after a moment or two, he noticed the faraway look in her eyes like she was wandering some place else in her mind.

His lips peppered across her jaw, up the corner of her mouth and after a few soft pecks to her mouth, he hummed "Okay?" against her lips.

(Y/n) tried to nod, but she could see the look in Geta's eyes told her he didn't quite believe her.

Her hands moved to settle on his shoulders again and she lifted her head, chasing after his lips when he pulled back so he could look down on her properly. (Y/n) didn't want him to worry or think that something was wrong when it wasn't. It was simply (Y/n)'s mind running away without her, she couldn't help all her thoughts that were starting to override everything else.

She knew she needed to calm down and relax, that she needed to let every worry run out of her head so she could be in this moment with Geta. After all, this is what she had been worrying, thinking and dreaming about for weeks now.

She tried again to kiss him but Geta angled his head to one side and arched a brow in that mannerism that told her to tell him the truth. They had been married only hours and already he could tell when she wasn't telling him something.

"I'm just… nervous." (Y/n) did her best to hide the embarrassment from her voice and stop from ducking her head down so she wasn't avoiding his gaze. She guessed if she tried to look away he would simply lift her chin so she was looking at him again.

"Of me?" There was an air of concern in Geta's voice, but it didn't fade the smile on his lips.

A flutter of panic bubbled up in (Y/n)'s chest and ignited in her eyes, especially when Geta moved. She thought for a moment that he was about to climb off her and possibly move away, that she might have offended him without realising. But he was simply switching positions.

Instead of kneeling with each knee pressing into her thighs, Geta shifted until (Y/n) parted her thighs and he could kneel between them instead. His abdomen pressed down against hers and he propped up on his elbows so he didn't let his full weight crush down on her. He began to glide his fingertips along her shoulder and across the bare expanse of her chest which caused (Y/n) to shiver beneath him.

"No, no… I just, I want to be good enough for you. I want to be able to take care of you properly."

That was the best way that (Y/n) could word what was circling through her mind.

She was truly afraid she wouldn't be enough. It was a miracle that Geta had even been interested in her in the first place and that he seemed to truly care about her. All her life, (Y/n) had been brought up to know that any marriage she was presented with by her parents would be about advantages and prosperity, not love or someone she truly wanted to be with.

Falling for Geta had been one thing, but him falling for her too and asking her to marry him felt too good to be true. And (Y/n) wanted to be good enough for him. She wanted to be a good wife, she wanted to be enough for Geta in every sense of the word. It was her duty as a wife to please him, especially when it came to sex and having an heir.

But (Y/n) had never done this before and she couldn't help the gnawing worry in the back of her mind that she might not be good enough for Geta. That he would be bored with her or think she wasn't enticing or satisfying enough for him. After all, it was no secret that both Emperors had their fair share of women. They made that clear when they turned up to events and gatherings with their vast gathering of concubines and whores.

"You're worried you won't be enough?" Genuine confusion entwined in Geta's voice as his smile faded into a frown.

He couldn't gather where (Y/n) would get an idea like that. Had he done something to give her that impression? Did he make a remark that made her worry? Had someone else poisoned her ear against him? Why wouldn't she be good enough for him?

(Y/n) felt like ducking her head down to avoid that intensifying gaze, but she resisted the urge. Instead, she focused her gaze on the dark circles beneath his eyes that hadn't been washed off yet. And she rose her hand to glide her fingertips up the side of his neck, tracing each curve and muscle that pressed out against his skin.

"You've been with other lovers, Geta. I haven't." She couldn't look him in the eyes as she spoke, it made her feel so silly and somehow ashamed.

It wasn't the same for him as it was for her.

It was encouraged for men to be with women before marriage, but if a woman slept with a man before she was married then she was shamed. She was outcast. She was no longer virtuous. And (Y/n) was the daughter of a Senate, her virtue was something she was brought up to hold dear.

Clearly Geta had slept with other women, it was natural and he made no secret of it. But that meant he had more experience with sexual partners whereas (Y/n) didn't. She didn't want to do something wrong or somehow be boring for him and make him prefer the company of his concubines rather than her.

Her eyes widened and finally looked back up to his when Geta reached his hand up from tracing her chest to curl lightly around her wrist that was resting beside his face. He leaned into her touch and turned his head to press a delicate kiss against the inside of her wrist over her throbbing pulse.

"That doesn't mean a thing, dear wife. There might have been others before you, but there won't be anyone else but you now. You're the only one I want; it's you I was determined to marry."

Geta thought his words would have made her smile, but he hated how (Y/n) turned her head to the side so her cheek was pressed into the cushion and she was no longer looking up at him. The action caused a frown to pull deeper at his pale features and he leaned his weight on her a little more so he could reach up and turn her head back in his direction.

He wanted her to believe him because he was telling the truth, he wasn't lying to calm her or give her a false sense of security. She was the girl who caught his eye, she was the one who stole his heart from the very moment he saw her and she was the one who Geta made sure he married.

He spoke to her parents about an engagement as soon as he could, he made sure he didn't have to wait long to marry her because she was the one his heart wanted. He thought she would have figured that out by now.

"You don't believe me?" There was something almost frightful and powerful in his voice which made (Y/n)'s breathing hitch and her chest pushed up against his as she took a deep breath.

She wasn't trying to aggravate him or upset him, she was simply speaking her mind because he had asked.

"My mother prepared me; I know of the concubines and that my place will always be above them-"

(Y/n) had been well prepared.

After the initial shock and her parents brief floundering, her mother had sat her down to talk. She went through everything with (Y/n) from how prestigious this marriage was for their family to what it would mean for (Y/n) to become an Empress.

One of the things that came up was the subject of concubines. (Y/n) knew Geta and Caracalla had a handful of women like that. But she had been told that a wife always came first. A wife was higher than a concubine in the ladder of class and states.

Concubines were mistresses, some of them were treated like wives, they were there for whatever the Emperors wanted whether it was sex, company or someone to talk to. But once (Y/n) married Geta, she would become higher than those women.

Her mother told her that she couldn't expect the Emperor to give up his women. He had a right to have them around the palace if he wished, he would likely get bored and go to them in dark nights when he seeked pleasure. That was something (Y/n) had been told was normal. And when- her mother always said when, not if- (Y/n) became pregnant, there would be a point where Geta would have to abstain from her. It was to make sure the pregnancy wasn't compromised.

During that time, Geta would need someone to go to, someone to be with when he couldn't be with (Y/n).

It hurt, but she had no right to challenge it. She was just hoping that she would be enough for Geta and that he wouldn't go to those women unless (Y/n) was pregnant and couldn't be with him any longer. She didn't want to think of him wandering to those concubines instead of her. Choosing them over her.

"I told you, there is no one but you."

The look of confusion in her eyes seemed to make Geta smile which confused (Y/n) even more.

"I dismissed them after our engagement. The only women of that kind are the ones Caracalla keeps company with. If I must tell you every day that you're the only woman I want, then so be it."

(Y/n) couldn't quite bring herself to comprehend those words. Had he truly dismissed his concubines? Had he done that for her?

He didn't have to, he was the Emperor, he had every right to have those women around him if he so wished. No one could tell him otherwise or question him and none of the men on his council would bat an eyelid about him having those women around or him seeking their company.

After all, Caracalla took a lot of his women everywhere with him and Geta had taken a few to gatherings and parties when he wanted their company. It wasn't something any of them were ashamed of.

She could feel tears welling up in her eyes as his words finally seemed to sink in. Geta wanted her and clearly loved her enough to give himself to her and her alone. He was doing the same as she was. Giving themselves to each other, devoting to only one another. Even during the point in the future where they would have to abstain if (Y/n) got pregnant, Geta was going to devote himself to her and not go with another woman.

Every worry she previously had about tonight and their future had diminished in a matter of minutes.

She took Geta by surprise when she pushed up against his chest and cupped his face in her palms so she could reel him down into a searing kiss. The touch was so surprising that their teeth clashed together and (Y/n) felt Geta groaning against her lips as he slammed his palm down into the mattress before he fell down onto her and crushed her beneath him.

The touch was much appreciated as Geta's other hand squeezed her hip until his fingertips were leaving imprints and bruises in his wake and it felt like they were about to burst through her flesh and press against the bone. But (Y/n) didn't mind. If anything, she welcomed the touch.

She kissed him until the breathlessness made her head spin and she had to drop her head back down onto the pillow, tugging Geta with her until he was practically lying fully on top of her.

The smile that blessed his face was one that made (Y/n)'s stomach flip and she shuddered beneath him, tracing her thumb along the edge of his mouth.

"I'm rather touched you're so concerned with taking care of me, dear wife. That isn't something that happens too often."

There was a whimsical look in Geta's eyes as he spoke and thought about her concern. He was inwardly thrilled that (Y/n) clearly wanted to please him just as much as he wanted to please her and make her happy and take care of her. It wasn't usually like this. It was typically Geta taking care of others; dealing with Rome and her problems and victories. And he was the one who cared for Caracalla.

He watched over his twin, he calmed him when he was enraged and in his awful moods. He soothed him when he was panicked or frightened or when he was drained and didn't feel he could move at all. And when Caracalla was hyper Geta tried to steer him and guide him. He did all he could to protect his brother and it would be the same with (Y/n) too, he would protect and love her with his life.

But it made such a lovely change to have someone else caring for Geta, for a change.

"Now," His words hushed against her lips as a devilish grin spread across his features and he dove down to steal a kiss. "Let me take care of you."

***

The streaks of sunlight that blistered through the drapes cast a hazy orange glow around the room. It seemed to light up every corner and illuminate the room as if (Y/n) had woken up and found herself trapped in a painting with all its brightness and shimmering golden hues.

It took a few moments for her eyes to adjust and for her mind to catch up and work out where she was, for this wasn't her room.

Or rather, it was, but it was new. It was what had now become her room, like something out of a fantasy.

A grin spread across her lips at the mere thought and she tiredly lifted her head from the pillow to look around. She couldn't guess what time it was and she wasn't sure what time Geta usually rose, but she figured it would be early. Not today, though. Not for the next three days, in fact, as Geta had made sure there were no plans or meetings that would tear him away from his wife.

Twisting from her side onto her back, (Y/n) looked across at Geta. He was still sleeping.

He looked peaceful when he slept, like every worry had been washed away and he could finally relax. There were no tense muscles, no tightened jaw or clenched fists or angered shouts when no one listened to him or heeded his words and advice. He looked serene.

(Y/n) couldn't help herself. She had to turn to lay on her front and slowly inch closer to him. She knew he wouldn't mind.

Her chin gingerly settled on his shoulder and she delicately looped her arm over his exposed torso so she was nestled up into his side with her chest pressing on his side.

The room felt oddly warm, considering the windows were partially opened and the sheets were tangled near the bottom of the bed. Only one sheet remained over their entwined bodies and it was wrangled around their legs and draped very low over Geta's abdomen and across (Y/n)'s mid section. She was half covered, but it wasn't as if there was any indecency when no one would be walking in to interrupt them anytime soon.

She began tracing the pad of her finger across his pale skin, noticing the few tiny scars he had near his collar bone and the odd ones that littered his chest. He'd either run in with a few accidents as a child or had been on the wrong end of a sword during training. Perhaps it had been his father; (Y/n) knew his father had been less than kind to the twins when they were growing up. And to shield Caracalla, Geta had taken most of the torment they suffered.

She would make it her mission to note down every mole, every scar and freckle that painted his porcelain skin.

Her fingers continued to dance their path along his skin while she tilted her head down and pressed a few fluttering, soft kisses along his shoulder and up the side of his neck.

She thought he was still asleep until she realised his lips had quirked into a grin, despite his eyes remaining closed and the rest of his body staying frozen to trick her. So he could lay quietly and see what she was up to.

"Morning," (Y/n) murmured softly between hollow kisses along the side of his neck that made Geta visibly shiver and he finally broke out of his frozen state.

He slid his arm beneath her waist, hooked his hand over her hip and reeled her in closer while he flopped his head to the side and peeked his eyes open. His nose scrunched up when he smiled and he tiredly reached his other hand across until his fingers could run through her hair.

He had removed all the pins and flowers from her hair last night and now each strand was knotted and tangled up in a beautiful mess. Geta was sure his own hair didn't look much better, it would likely be stuck up in every direction by now after they had stayed up well into the early morning.

His fingers tangled in her hair and he slowly brushed a few loose tendrils behind her ear whilst gliding his knuckles along her soft cheek. His hand curved around to duck beneath her chin and he angled her head down so he didn't have to move as far to kiss her.

He was sure her kisses amounted to the same intoxication as opium. Too many kisses would make him drunk; and that was exactly the state Geta wanted to feel for the rest of his life.

"What are you thinking?" (Y/n) wasn't sure he heard her with how quiet her voice came out, but the hazy look in his eyes and the smile that pulled on his lips showed that he had.

"That I could get used to a view like this every morning."

His smile could rival even the most beautiful of sunsets and he finally pushed up so he could capture her lips with his for a deeper kiss that allowed him to snatch every ounce of air from her lungs.

This was how Geta wanted to wake up every morning from here on out, and this was exactly the future that was install for them both.

#imagine #emperor geta imagine #emperor geta x reader #geta imagine #geta x reader #gladiator imagine #gladiator 2 #gladiator ii #gladiator movie #emperor caracalla #joseph quinn x reader #joseph quinn imagine #joseph quinn

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yvaineseleneposts · 23 days ago

Text

Eyes on you

A/N: Filth.. that's what this is. It started with a plot but after a while... it became smut

Requested: no

Pairing: Nico Hischier x Reader

Words: 8k

Warning(s): smut

Hockey wasn’t really my thing. I barely knew the rules. But when my two best friends begged me to come to a New Jersey Devils game — "because omg, Jack Hughes is so hot" — I didn’t have much of a choice.

I wore a plain black hoodie and jeans, feeling totally underdressed compared to my friends, who were decked out in jerseys and glittery face paint. They buzzed with excitement, pointing out players during warmups, while I leaned back in my seat, scrolling through my phone.

Until something — someone — caught my eye.

Down on the ice, a player in a red jersey with the number 13 skated lazily by the boards. His helmet was off, revealing messy brown hair and a boyish, insanely handsome face. He was talking to a teammate, laughing — but then he glanced up at the stands. Right at me.

I quickly looked away, heat rushing to my cheeks.

He’s probably just looking around, I told myself. Not at you.

But when I risked another glance, there he was again. Smirking. And then — a wink. Quick and casual, like it was nothing.

"Are you even paying attention?" one of my friends asked, nudging me.

"No," I said honestly, still staring.

Warmups ended, and the game started. I tried to focus on the puck, on the noise, the crowd, the action. But every time number 13 — Nico Hischier, I realized from the jumbotron — skated by our side of the rink, he glanced up at me. More than once. Sometimes he’d send a crooked smile. Other times, a quick wink. I even caught him adjusting his helmet with exaggerated slowness, like he was showing off.

My friends noticed eventually.

"Is Nico Hischier flirting with you?" one of them hissed, wide-eyed.

"I—I don’t know," I stammered, feeling like I was about to spontaneously combust.

The Devils ended up winning, and when the final buzzer sounded, the players flooded the ice to celebrate. Most waved at the crowd, tossing pucks and sticks to the fans. Nico skated right to the boards, directly beneath where I was sitting. He looked up, helmet tucked under his arm, and shot me a grin that could’ve melted ice.

Then, without hesitating, he pointed right at me — you — and tossed a puck up into the stands. It landed perfectly in my lap.

A note was taped to it.

"Meet me by the players' entrance? :) –Nico"

I blinked. My heart nearly jumped out of my chest. My friends were screaming. I could barely breathe.

All I could think was, I don't even know how hockey works... but I think I just scored.

The entire walk to the players' entrance felt unreal. My heart was hammering against my ribs, my palms were sweating, and I couldn’t stop glancing down at the puck in my hands like it might disappear.

"This is insane," one of my friends said for probably the tenth time. "Go!" the other one nudged me forward, practically shoving me toward the small group of people waiting by the ropes.

Security guards stood nearby, only letting a few people through. Some had backstage passes, others looked like family. I hovered awkwardly at the side, unsure if I should even be here.

But then the door opened — and there he was.

Nico. Still in his gear, though his helmet and gloves were gone. His dark hair was damp, curling slightly at the edges, and there was a soft flush on his cheeks from the game. He scanned the small crowd once, and then his eyes landed on me. Instantly, a slow, devastating smile spread across his face.

Before I could even react, he jogged over.

"Hey," he said, his accent making the simple word sound ten times more attractive.

"Hi," I managed, my voice way too small.

He laughed softly, like he could see right through my nerves. "You got my puck?"

I held it up wordlessly, feeling like a complete idiot. He chuckled again, then reached out, his fingers brushing over mine as he took the puck for a second — just to turn it in his hand and show me the note still taped underneath.

"Good," he said, eyes sparkling. "I wasn’t sure you’d come."

"You... were actually looking at me?" I blurted before I could stop myself.

He leaned in a little closer, lowering his voice just for me. "Yeah. I was hoping you’d notice."

Every inch of my skin felt like it was on fire.

For a moment, we just stood there, grinning at each other like idiots. Then he shifted the puck back into my hands, his fingers lingering a little longer this time.

"So..." he said, almost shyly, "Would you wanna maybe grab a coffee? Or... something less sweaty than this?" He gestured at his gear with a sheepish smile.

I laughed — real and breathless. "I'd like that."

His grin widened. "Good. Give me ten minutes? I’ll be right back."

And just like that, he was gone — jogging back inside, throwing a playful wink over his shoulder. I stood there clutching the puck to my chest, completely dazed, as my friends squealed behind me.

I had no idea what I'd just gotten myself into. But for once... I was really excited to find out.

I sat in the corner of a small café a few blocks from the arena, still clutching the puck Nico had given me like it was a good luck charm. My friends had peeled off — after way too much giggling and dramatic winking — leaving me alone to process the insane fact that Nico Hischier, actual NHL captain, had asked me out.

The bell above the door chimed, and my heart immediately kicked into overdrive.

He walked in, freshly showered and changed into a black hoodie and jeans, looking unfairly good. His hair was still damp, curling slightly at the ends, and even without the gear, he had that same confident, effortless energy that had me hooked from the second I saw him on the ice.

He spotted me instantly and grinned, walking over with that easy, athletic stride.

"Hey," he said, sliding into the seat across from me. His knee brushed mine under the table, and I forgot how to breathe for a second.

"Hi," I managed, smiling way too big.

Up close, he was even more ridiculous. His skin still had that post-shower glow, and I couldn't stop thinking about how he looked earlier — messy hair, sweaty, flushed from the game, laughing and winking at me like he knew exactly what he was doing.

I shifted in my seat, feeling my face heat up.

"You warm?" he asked, a teasing glint in his eye.

"Maybe a little," I mumbled, hoping he couldn’t read my mind.

He laughed — low and smooth — and leaned back in his chair, stretching his long legs so they nudged mine again, deliberately this time.

"So," he said, tapping his fingers against the table, "You a big hockey fan, or...?"

"Not really," I admitted, smiling sheepishly. "My friends dragged me. They're obsessed with your teammates."

He smirked. "And you? Did you find someone to obsess over?"

I knew he was flirting. I knew it. And still, my stomach flipped like I was free-falling.

I looked him dead in the eye and said, "Maybe."

That earned me another one of those lazy, devastating smiles. He leaned forward slightly, lowering his voice in that way that made it impossible to focus on anything else.

"Good," he said. "Because I was hoping it would be me."

The tension between us tightened, the air practically buzzing. I couldn't stop thinking about it — the way he looked dripping in sweat, the way he moved on the ice, powerful and controlled, like he could do anything he wanted. Including completely wreck my entire sense of sanity with just a look.

He watched me, his gaze heavy, and I knew he could tell. He knew.

"So," I said, trying to be brave, my voice a little breathier than I meant, "Is this where you tell me you're as good off the ice as you are on it?"

The look he gave me in that moment — slow, heated, dangerous in the best possible way — sent a shiver straight down my spine.

"Why don't you find out?" he said, so casually it made my stomach twist.

I bit my lip, leaning back just enough to make him chase a little.

"Maybe I will," I teased.

He laughed under his breath, eyes glinting. "Careful," he said. "I play to win."

I stirred my coffee just to have something to do with my hands, because if I kept staring at him — at the muscles under that hoodie, at the way he looked like he could ruin me with just one kiss — I was going to do something very, very reckless.

The coffee cups sat forgotten between us, long empty. Neither of us made a move to leave — it was like we were both waiting for the other to say it first.

Finally, Nico leaned in, his voice low and smooth. "Come on. Let me walk you back." Not a question. A promise.

I nodded, heart hammering. Outside, the air was crisp, the night alive with city lights and the fading buzz of the game. He tucked his hands into his hoodie pockets as we walked, close enough that our arms brushed with every step, a casual kind of intimacy that made my skin hum.

We didn’t say much. We didn’t have to. Every glance, every small smile was electric.

My mind kept betraying me — flashing back to the rink, to the way he looked drenched in sweat, messy and flushed and a little cocky. I wondered how he’d look even more wrecked. What his hands would feel like on my hips. What it would feel like to tug that hoodie over his head and—

"You keep looking at me like that," Nico murmured, his voice curling around my nerves, "and I'm gonna do something about it."

I sucked in a breath, the world around us narrowing to just him. His accent, that lazy, confident swagger, the heat in his eyes like he was already imagining it too.

I stopped walking. He did too, turning to face me, barely a foot away. I could feel the warmth radiating off his body, smell the faint trace of soap and something darker, something him underneath it.

"You should," I whispered before I could lose my nerve.

For a second, he just looked at me — like he was memorizing the moment, every inch of it. And then he closed the distance in two slow, deliberate steps.

His hand brushed my jaw, tilting my face up to him, his touch firm but careful, like he was giving me one last chance to pull away.

I didn’t. God, I didn’t even think about it.

Nico kissed me like he played hockey — intense, powerful, absolutely all-consuming. His mouth was hot against mine, demanding in a way that made my knees buckle slightly. I clutched at the front of his hoodie, pulling him closer, and he growled low in his throat, deep and rough and perfect.

His other hand slid to my waist, fingers digging in just enough to make me gasp against his lips. He took advantage immediately, deepening the kiss, slow and dirty and breathtaking.

It was the kind of kiss that didn’t just set your skin on fire — it burned straight through your bones.

When we finally broke apart, he rested his forehead against mine, both of us breathing hard. His thumb traced lazy circles over my hipbone, possessive and tender all at once.

"I’ve wanted to do that since I first saw you," he muttered, voice rough with want.

I laughed, breathless. "You winked at me like five minutes after seeing me."

He grinned — that crooked, devastating smile — and pressed another quick, teasing kiss to the corner of my mouth. "Exactly."

I leaned into him, feeling dizzy, drunk on the way he felt, the way he wanted me so blatantly. I didn't know where this was going — didn't know if this was crazy, reckless, or the start of something real.

He kept his hand at my waist as we walked the last few blocks, his thumb brushing lazy, teasing circles against my side like he couldn’t not touch me. Every few steps, he’d glance down at me with this look — dark, smirking, like he was just barely holding back.

I was not doing much better.

Every time our bodies brushed, every time his hand tightened, every time I remembered the way his mouth felt on mine, a fresh wave of heat rolled through me. I couldn’t stop thinking about how solid he was under that hoodie, how he moved with this quiet, confident strength — and how easy it would be to lean into him again, to let him wreck me in the best way.

We stopped outside my building.

I turned to him, heart hammering so loud it drowned out everything else. The streetlights painted golden highlights over his hair, his skin, and when he looked at me — eyes heavy-lidded, mouth slightly parted like he was thinking about kissing me again — I nearly forgot how to stand.

"I should..." I said, trailing off, but not moving toward the door.

"You should," he agreed, stepping closer.

Neither of us moved.

The space between us crackled, stretched so thin it could snap.

His hand slid from my waist up to the small of my back, pulling me flush against him with one smooth, unhurried motion. My hands landed against his chest instinctively — and holy hell, he felt even better than I imagined. Solid. Warm. His heartbeat thudding under my palms.

"You coming up?" I heard myself ask, voice way too breathy, way too hopeful.

He gave me a look that made my stomach twist — dark, hungry, a silent I was hoping you'd ask.

"Only if you want me to," he said, his mouth ghosting along the shell of my ear.

I shivered.

"I want to," I whispered.

That was all it took.

Nico’s hand slid down to my hip, fingers curling tight, and he kissed me again — harder this time, less careful, like he was done pretending we were just flirting.

I barely remembered fumbling with my keys, dragging him through the door, up the stairs. All I knew was the way his hands roamed like he was already memorizing me — the way he pushed me gently against the wall of the hallway, kissing me slow and deep until I was gasping into his mouth, clinging to the front of his hoodie like it was the only thing keeping me standing.

When we finally stumbled into my apartment, he barely gave me a second to kick the door shut before he was on me again.

His hoodie bunched under my fingers as I pulled him closer, desperate to feel him, to get under his skin the way he was already under mine. He nipped at my bottom lip, soothed the sting with a kiss that left me dizzy, drugged on him.

"God," he muttered against my mouth, "you're gonna drive me crazy."

"You started it," I shot back, dragging my nails lightly along the nape of his neck.

He growled low in his throat — actually growled — and in one swift motion, he lifted me by the hips, setting me down on the kitchen counter like I weighed nothing. I let out a breathless laugh, threading my fingers through his hair as he bracketed my body with his own.

"I’m not planning on stopping," he said, voice rough, dangerous, thrilling. Neither was I.

The second Nico set me down on the counter, he was on me again — kissing me like he couldn't stand the space between us.

It wasn’t neat or careful anymore. It was messy. Hungry. Real.

His hands roamed without hesitation, sliding up under my shirt, calloused fingertips dragging along my bare skin and leaving a trail of fire everywhere he touched. I gasped into his mouth, arching into him instinctively, needing more, more, like breathing wasn’t enough anymore unless it was through him.

"You're dangerous," I whispered against his lips, my fingers curling into the soft fabric of his hoodie.

He grinned — wild and breathless — and tugged the hoodie over his head, tossing it to the floor without breaking the kiss. And god — seeing him like that, in just a fitted black t-shirt stretched across his chest and arms — it knocked the air clean out of my lungs.

I ran my hands over his torso, feeling the solid muscle under my palms. The way his stomach tensed when I touched him made something primal spark deep in my gut.

He dipped his head to my neck, dragging his mouth along my skin — slow, almost lazy — before sucking just under my jaw hard enough to make me whimper. It was possessive, a little rough, and it lit every nerve ending on fire.

"You smell so good," he muttered against my throat, voice dark and low and wrecked.

I tilted my head back, giving him more access without even thinking, threading my fingers into his hair and tugging just enough to make him groan — low and filthy and completely, utterly undone.

His hands slid under my thighs, dragging me closer to the edge of the counter. Our hips collided, and when I felt how hard he was already — when he let out a ragged breath against my skin — my whole body flushed, hot and desperate.

"You have no idea what you do to me," he said roughly, hands tightening on me like he could anchor himself that way.

"Show me," I whispered.

It was all he needed.

He kissed me again, fiercer this time, stealing the air from my lungs. His hands slid up under my shirt again — this time dragging it slowly, deliberately over my head and tossing it aside — leaving me bare to him in nothing but my jeans and bra.

He pulled back just enough to look at me — really look at me — and the way his eyes darkened made my pulse thunder in my ears.

"Beautiful," he said simply, like it wasn’t even a question.

He kissed down my neck, across my collarbone, taking his time, making sure I felt every brush of his mouth, every scrape of his teeth. One hand splayed across my back, holding me steady, while the other skimmed along the waistband of my jeans — teasing, playing — making my breath hitch with every second he dragged it out.

I tugged at the hem of his shirt in retaliation, earning a low chuckle against my skin.

"Impatient?" he teased, voice low and gravelly.

"You're one to talk," I shot back, tugging harder.

He pulled back just enough to strip his shirt off in one smooth motion, revealing a body that looked like it had been carved by the gods — broad shoulders, cut abs, every line of him screaming strength and control and something just a little dangerous. And all of it was mine. Tonight, at least.

Nico leaned in, his forehead resting against mine, his thumb tracing lazy, reverent circles along the exposed skin of my waist.

"We can slow down," he murmured, his voice a little rough, a little strained. "If you want."

I looked at him — really looked at him — and something in my chest twisted painfully sweet. Because underneath all the heat, all the hunger, he was still giving me a way out. Still asking for permission. Still choosing to be soft when he could so easily be reckless.

I wrapped my arms around his neck, pulling him back down to me.

"I don't want slow," I whispered against his mouth. "I want you."

He groaned like I'd broken something inside him — and when he kissed me again, it was with the full weight of that desperation, that hunger he'd been holding back. Neither of us had any intention of stopping.

The second the words left my mouth — "I want you" — something shifted between us.

It was like a dam breaking. All the heat, all the tension that had been simmering exploded into something raw and unstoppable.

Nico kissed me hard, hands roaming everywhere at once, desperate and greedy like he couldn’t get enough. His fingers dug into my thighs, pulling me closer until I could feel every hard line of him pressing against me, making my whole body throb with need.

My hands slid over his bare chest, his muscles flexing under my palms. God, he was solid everywhere, built from years of pushing himself to the limit — and now he was here, unravelling at my touch.

"You're killing me," he muttered against my skin as he kissed his way down my neck, his voice rough and broken.

"Good," I gasped, tugging at the waistband of his jeans.

He growled low in his throat — and fuck, the sound went straight to the pit of my stomach — before grabbing my hand and guiding it lower, letting me feel exactly what I was doing to him.

I bit my lip hard enough to hurt.

Nico pulled back just enough to yank my jeans down my legs, tossing them aside with a dark, determined look that made my heart nearly stop. He was breathing hard, his chest heaving, his hair a mess from my fingers — and he looked at me like he wanted to ruin me.

"Look at you," he rasped, letting his gaze drag over every inch of exposed skin. "So fucking perfect."

I reached for him again, and he caught my wrists, pinning them lightly to the counter behind me. Not rough. Not harsh. Just enough to make me squirm, to make me ache with how badly I needed him.

"You gonna let me take my time?" he murmured, leaning in, his mouth hovering over mine.

I nodded breathlessly — or maybe whimpered — not even sure anymore.

"Good girl," he whispered, and Jesus, the way the words rolled off his tongue made my whole body tense with anticipation.

He trailed kisses down my throat, over the tops of my breasts, leaving a slow, hot path until I was gasping, arching into him. His hands finally released my wrists, sliding down my sides, thumbs tracing maddening circles against my hips.

And when he finally peeled away the last scraps of clothing between us, Nico didn't rush. He took his time, hands and mouth worshipping every inch of me, making sure I felt just how badly he wanted me.

By the time he finally pushed inside me, I was already trembling — mindless with need, clinging to him like he was the only thing keeping me anchored to the world.

He moved slow at first, deep and deliberate, making sure I felt every stretch, every pulse of him against me.

"Fuck, you feel good," he groaned into my neck, his breath hot and ragged.

I could barely breathe, barely think. All I could do was feel — the drag of his hands over my skin, the overwhelming heat of his body against mine, the way he filled me perfectly, like he was made for this, made for me.

Nico kissed me fiercely, like he needed to claim every inch of me, like he needed me to know that tonight, I was his — and he was absolutely mine.

We lost ourselves in each other, the rhythm building higher and higher, rougher, needier, until I was right on the edge, clinging to him helplessly.

"Come for me," he rasped against my lips, voice pure sin. And when I did — when the pleasure crashed over me so hard it made me cry out his name — he followed with a low, broken groan, holding me so tight against him like he never wanted to let me go.

We stayed like that for a long moment, tangled together, hearts pounding out of control. And when he finally pulled back just enough to meet my eyes, he smiled — soft, real, and completely wrecked in the most beautiful way.

"You're trouble," he said, brushing his nose against mine.

I laughed, dizzy and drunk on him. "You started it."

He kissed me again — slow, sweet, addictive — and for the first time all night, I wasn’t thinking about anything else.

After, we just stayed there for a while — tangled up, breathing hard, clinging to each other like the world outside didn’t exist.

Nico shifted first, brushing my hair back from my face with the lightest touch, like he was scared he might break me now. His fingers traced slow, lazy patterns along my skin, calming the frantic beat of my heart.

"You okay?" he murmured, voice rough with exhaustion but still full of that low, tender heat.

I nodded, too blissed out to form actual words. Instead, I leaned up and pressed a soft kiss to his jaw, feeling the stubble scrape against my lips, feeling him hum low in his chest in response.

He scooped me up effortlessly — like it was nothing, like he needed to keep me close — and carried me to the bed without even asking. Dropped me onto the mattress with a little bounce and a grin that made my whole body warm again.

I laughed, pulling him down with me.

He settled over me, heavy and real, his body a comforting weight. He tucked his face into the crook of my neck, breathing me in like he never wanted to forget this.

"Don’t wanna leave," he mumbled against my skin, voice thick and slurred with sleep.

"You don't have to," I whispered, threading my fingers through his messy hair.

He sighed — this deep, content sound — and tightened his arm around my waist, dragging me closer until there wasn’t a single inch of space between us.

For a while, we just laid there in the dark. His heartbeat steady against my side. His hand tracing slow, idle shapes over my hip. His breath fanning warm over my collarbone.

It should've felt overwhelming — all this sudden closeness, all this heat that hadn’t burned out yet — but it didn’t. It felt right.

Nico shifted again, lifting his head just enough to look down at me. His hair was tousled, falling over his forehead, and his eyes were soft, almost sleepy — but still burning with something fierce underneath it all.

"Can I see you again?" he asked, his thumb brushing my cheekbone.

I smiled, feeling my heart flip over in my chest. "You better."

He laughed — this low, rumbling sound that made me want to kiss him all over again — and leaned in, pressing the sweetest kiss to the corner of my mouth.

"You’re dangerous," he whispered against my skin. "More dangerous than you know."

I smiled against his lips. "Good," I murmured. "You deserve a little danger."

He kissed me again — slow and deep, like he was memorizing the way I tasted, the way I breathed, the way I felt against him.

And somewhere in the haze of kisses and soft laughter and whispered promises, we drifted off — tangled up in each other, hearts beating the same rhythm.

The last thing I felt before sleep claimed me was the slow, careful way Nico pulled the blanket up around us — like he could shield me from everything bad in the world — and the warm, lazy press of his mouth against my shoulder as he breathed against my skin:

"I’m not letting you go."

The first thing I felt when I woke up was warmth.

Solid heat pressed against my back, a heavy arm draped over my waist, fingers curled lazily against my stomach like he hadn’t moved all night. I blinked against the soft morning light spilling through the curtains, feeling a smile tug at my lips before I even opened my eyes.

Nico.

Still here. Still tangled up with me like it was the most natural thing in the world.

I shifted slightly, and he stirred — nuzzling his face deeper into the curve of my neck, muttering something low and half-asleep in Swiss German that I didn’t understand but made my chest ache anyway.

God, he was lethal like this. Barely awake, hair a complete mess, voice rough and deep and wrecked.

I turned just enough to see him — sheets kicked low on his hips, bare chest rising and falling with every slow breath — and nearly forgot how to breathe altogether.

Before I could even think about moving, his hand tightened around me.

"Where you goin'?" he rasped, voice thick with sleep, a little accusatory.

"I wasn’t," I said softly, tracing a light line down his arm. "Just... looking."

At him.

At this.

At the stupid, unfair fact that he looked even hotter like this — relaxed and rumpled and somehow even more dangerous than he was on the ice.

He cracked one eye open and gave me a slow, lazy smirk that made my whole body flush all over again.

"You like what you see?" he teased, voice still heavy with sleep.

"Maybe," I said, pretending to shrug. "You’re okay, I guess."

He laughed — that low, rumbling sound that went straight to my thighs — and in one smooth motion, rolled me onto my back, hovering over me.

"You’re a terrible liar," he murmured, leaning down to kiss me — slow and deep — like he was already thinking about round two. And honestly? So was I.

His hand slid up my thigh under the sheets, lazy but deliberate, making my breath catch in my throat.

"Thought we were getting breakfast," I said, though my voice was already shaky.

"We are," he said, dragging his mouth along my jaw, down my neck. "Eventually."

"Nico—"

"You," he said, pressing a kiss just above the swell of my breast, "are my breakfast."

I let out a breathless laugh — and then gasped when he bit down lightly, just enough to make me arch into him.

Any thought of pancakes or coffee or literally anything else disappeared instantly.

He kissed his way lower, slower, taking his time like he had all the hours in the world — and honestly, if he kept touching me like that, I wasn’t about to argue.

I tangled my fingers in his hair, tugging just enough to make him groan against my skin.

"You’re trouble," he muttered, voice dark and full of heat.

"You love it," I whispered, pulling him up to kiss me again.

And he did. I could feel it in the way his hands worshipped my body, in the way he kissed me like he was starving for me, in the way he held me like he never wanted to let me go.

And as the morning sun poured over us, painting everything gold and soft and new — I realized something.

I was absolutely, completely in trouble.

And for once in my life I didn’t mind at all.

It was supposed to be simple. Just dinner — casual, normal, easy.

But nothing about being with Nico was ever easy.

He picked me up looking like he just stepped out of a goddamn magazine. Black jacket, fitted white tee, jeans that clung to him in all the right places — and that smile. That smile that made my knees go a little weak the second he laid eyes on me.

"You’re lucky I showed up," I teased, slipping into the passenger seat.

He reached over immediately, hand landing on my thigh like it belonged there. And when he squeezed — casual but very intentional — I barely swallowed a sound.

"You weren't getting away that easy," he said, voice low.

The drive to the restaurant was a blur — mostly because his hand never left my thigh. Sometimes sliding a little higher, sometimes just resting there, always warm, always possessive. Every casual brush sent a jolt straight through me, until by the time we parked, I was already dangerously close to crawling into his lap.

And he knew it.

He grinned as he killed the engine, leaning in so close I could feel his breath against my ear.

"Patience," he whispered, voice like gravel and honey.

"You're evil," I whispered back, heart hammering in my chest.

"You're the one who wore that dress," he said, eyes flicking down my body like he wanted to eat me alive right there in the damn parking lot.

Dinner was a joke.

Neither of us could concentrate.

Nico sat across from me at the tiny corner table, but he might as well have been on top of me. His foot brushed against mine constantly under the table — not by accident. His knee pressed against mine. His fingers found any excuse to graze my hand, my wrist, my thigh.

Every time I looked up, I caught him watching me — dark-eyed and starving, like he was counting down the minutes until he could get me alone.

"You're not even trying to hide it," I said at one point, laughing into my wine glass.

"Why would I?" he said shamelessly, leaning closer, his voice dropping. "Everyone here should know you're mine."

My face heated instantly, but the way he said it — low and rough and so sure — sent a full-body shiver down my spine.

Somehow, somehow, we made it through dinner.

But the second we were outside, Nico had me pinned against the car, mouth crashing onto mine like he hadn't tasted me in weeks.

The kiss was brutal — hot and claiming and so, so good. His hands slid down to my hips, yanking me closer, grinding his body into mine like he didn’t even care we were in a public parking lot.

"You’re killing me," he muttered against my lips, breathing hard.

"Good," I whispered, smiling against his mouth.

He kissed me again — deeper, slower this time — like he was trying to brand himself into me.

And when he finally pulled back, his forehead resting against mine, his chest heaving, he whispered it so quietly I almost missed it:

"I’m already yours."

The second Nico got the door open, he was on me.

He slammed it shut with one hand, the other already dragging me back against him, his mouth crashing onto mine in a kiss that was all teeth and hunger. No hesitation. No patience. Just raw, messy, desperate need.

I barely had time to gasp before he backed me into the wall, pinning me there with his whole body, grinding into me like he wanted to fuse us together.

"Fucking finally," he growled against my mouth, hands everywhere at once — sliding up my thighs, under my dress, tugging the straps down with reckless urgency.

"You’re so fucking hot," he muttered, kissing down my throat, biting gently at my collarbone. "Been thinking about you all night. All fucking day."

I moaned, head tipping back to give him more access as he yanked the dress down to my waist, baring me to him completely. He groaned when he saw I hadn’t worn a bra — deep, guttural, almost pained — and before I could blink, his mouth was everywhere.

Sucking, licking, biting — like he couldn't decide what he wanted more. His hands squeezed my ass, lifting me easily, and I wrapped my legs around his waist instinctively, gasping when I felt how hard he was through his jeans.

He carried me like that, lips never leaving my skin, all the way to the bedroom — threw me down onto the bed and stood there for a second, just looking at me.

His chest was heaving. His eyes were dark.

"Strip," he said, voice hoarse and rough in a way that made my stomach drop.

I peeled the dress off the rest of the way, baring everything to him, feeling the heat of his gaze like a physical touch.

Nico swore under his breath, yanked his shirt over his head, and stripped out of his jeans so fast it was almost comical — almost — except for the fact that fuck, he was stupidly, unfairly gorgeous.

Toned. Golden. Every muscle tense and ready and so fucking hungry for me.

He knelt on the bed between my legs, running his hands up my thighs so slowly it made me whimper.

"You have no idea what you do to me," he whispered, before dipping his head — and then his mouth was there, hot and devastating and relentless.

I cried out, hands flying to his hair, tugging helplessly as he licked and sucked and drove me absolutely insane. He worked me with maddening precision, not letting up until my legs were trembling and I was gasping his name over and over again like a prayer.

When I finally shattered, Nico didn’t give me a second to recover.

He crawled up my body, mouth crashing onto mine again, and I tasted myself on his lips. It was filthy. It was perfect.

"You’re mine," he said again, rough and breathless, as he lined himself up against me.

And when he finally pushed inside — slow, deliberate, deep — I couldn’t hold back the loud, broken moan that ripped from my throat.

He moved slow at first — hips grinding deep, making sure I felt every inch, every deliberate drag of him stretching me open.

"You feel so good," he growled into my ear. "So fucking tight. So perfect."

I was already spiraling again, clinging to his shoulders, nails digging into his skin, trying to pull him even closer.

"Faster," I gasped. "Nico—please—" That broke him.

He snapped his hips harder, rougher, fucking into me with a brutal rhythm that had the headboard slamming against the wall and filthy, desperate sounds filling the room.

My body was on fire — every nerve ending lit up, overwhelmed by the sheer intensity of him — his hands, his mouth, his filthy praise spilling into my ear like gasoline on the flames.

"Taking me so good," he rasped. "So fucking perfect for me. Mine—mine—"

It wasn’t long before I was falling again, harder than before, my whole body convulsing around him.

Nico groaned deep in his chest — the most broken, beautiful sound — and with a few more desperate thrusts, he followed, spilling into me with a rough, gasping curse.

He collapsed on top of me, chest heaving, forehead pressed into the curve of my neck.

For a long moment, the only sound was our ragged breathing, our racing hearts.

Then, finally, he lifted his head — messy hair, flushed cheeks, swollen lips — and looked down at me like I was something sacred.

"You’re not leaving," he said, voice still wrecked.

It wasn’t a question. It was a promise.

I smiled, threading my fingers into his sweaty hair, tugging him down into a slow, lazy kiss.

"Wasn’t planning on it," I whispered against his mouth.

And from the way he kissed me after that — slow, deep, endless — I knew we were just getting started.

I barely had the strength to move — but apparently, Nico had other plans.

Still breathless, still pressed against me like he couldn’t stand even an inch of space, he kissed a slow, lazy path along my jaw and murmured against my skin:

"Come shower with me."

I hummed, pretending to think about it. "I don't know," I teased, voice wrecked. "I might need a stretcher."

He laughed — low and rough and stupidly hot — and before I could protest, he scooped me up bridal-style like I weighed nothing.

"You can rest after," he said, voice dark with promise. "Not done with you yet."

Oh, fuck.

I clung to him, heart pounding again, feeling the heat in his body like a second skin.

The bathroom filled with steam almost immediately — the water hot, the air thick — but Nico didn't even set me down right away.

He pressed me back against the cold tile, his body a furnace against mine, kissing me slow and filthy like we had all the time in the world.

His hands slid over my slick skin — everywhere — fingers tracing every curve, relearning me like he couldn't believe I was real.

"You’re so fucking pretty," he murmured against my mouth, hands squeezing my ass, grinding his hips into me shamelessly.

"Thought you said you wanted to shower," I teased breathlessly, raking my nails down his back just to hear him growl.

"Changing plans," he muttered, and then he dropped to his knees — in the shower, water pouring over him — and buried his face between my thighs like a man starved.

I cried out, grabbing onto his messy hair, anchoring myself as his tongue worked me over — relentless, filthy, worshipping.

The water ran down my body, mixing with the slick slide of his mouth, his fingers digging into my hips to hold me still.

I was already oversensitive, already wrecked from before, but he didn’t seem to care. He wanted more. He wanted everything.

When I came — hard, shaking, sobbing his name into the echoing steam — he didn’t let up. Not even a little.

He licked me through it, slow and devastating, until I was slumping against the wall, barely able to stand. Finally, he rose to his feet, mouth glistening, eyes dark and blown wide with hunger.

"You’re gonna kill me," I whispered, laughing weakly.

He just grinned, that dangerous, heart-melting smile, and lifted me again — caging me against the wall, his cock sliding against my thigh, hot and so fucking ready.

"Not until I’ve had my fill," he growled, voice rough, wrecked.

And then he was inside me again — fast, deep, brutal — slamming into me with wet, filthy sounds that echoed off the tile walls, his fingers digging bruises into my hips.

The water washed over us, but it didn’t cool the heat even a little. It only made it messier… hotter… more out of control.

He fucked me like he couldn’t get deep enough, couldn’t get close enough, panting my name like a prayer, like a curse.

"Mine," he gritted against my mouth, pounding into me so hard the shelves shook. "You’re fucking mine."

"Yours," I gasped, clinging to him, giving him everything.

And when we came — together, wild and shattering and almost too much — it was everything.

When the world finally stopped spinning, Nico kissed my forehead — soft, reverent — still buried deep inside me. Still holding me like he would never let go. Still whispering my name like it was the only thing he ever wanted to say. And honestly? He didn’t even have to. Because my body already knew, I was his.

Completely. Hopelessly. Forever.

296 notes · View notes

fantasydreamland · 2 months ago

Text

Bound To You

aemond targaryen x fem reader

Summary: You visit King’s Landing with your family and after an unexpected reunion with Aemond everything changes. What happens when your family finally discovers you are bound to their enemy?

Notes: 18+ ONLY!!! Smuttt, LOTS of angst, fluff, enemies to lovers kinda, forbidden love, loss of virginity, p in v, oral (m&f), targcest, violence/abuse, abusive father, pregnancy, pregnant sx, child birth, birth complications, mentions of death, definite show spoilers, some script from the show, the negativity towards team black is purely for the story, happy ending.

Word count: 10.2k (i need therapy)

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You arrive with your family in Kings Landing after your journey from Dragonstone. You could tell your stepmother Rhaenerya was annoyed that the queen herself had not come to welcome you all.

You were the daughter of Daemon and Rhea, his first wife. Your father and mother despised eachother and you knew deep down he was somehow responsible for her death. A skilled rider like her does not just have accidents like that. Your father always felt extremely distant from you, he probably loathed the fact that you were even born from that loveless hateful marriage. On top of that, you felt cursed to have gotten his golden hair and not your mother’s brown hair. It made you look even more like your father and also stand out even more next to your dark haired stepbrothers. You had been forced to move around with your father between his marriages with Laena and now Rhaenyra. Although Rhaenyra has been fairly kind to you, you have always felt like the outsider of the family, an unwanted child, an ever lasting reminder of Daemon’s first wife.

Daemon and Rhaenyra part with you to visit the king in his chambers so you follow your stepbrothers to the training grounds where you find Aemond sparring with Ser Criston Cole. You watch as Jace and Luke exchanged worried glances. You may not have been around for most of it but you remember the rivalry that has always been there between your brothers and Aemond. Luke had been the one to take Aemond’s eye, accident or no, that is not something easily forgiven or forgotten. You would never say it in front of your family but you never thought badly of Aemond for hating your stepbrothers, it felt well deserved.

You watch the way Aemond moves, dancing around Ser Criston as he tries to strike him. Aemond pulls a final perfect move that ends with his sword against Cole’s throat.

“Well done, my prince.” Ser Criston says to Aemond. “You will be winning tourneys in no time.”

“I don’t give a shit about tourneys.” Aemond responds. “Nephews, have you come to train?” His intense stare falls to Jace and Luke before landing on you. Your brothers just roll their eyes at him before leaving the grounds, earning a cocky smirk from Aemond. You follow behind them off the training pitch before parting ways and heading to the balcony overlooking the grounds.

You hang around as Aemond continues training, trying not to seem too obvious as you watch him. His movements were smooth and mesmerizing, he looked like a dancer with his golden hair swaying gracefully with each of his strikes. It was hard to take your eyes off him. Once you notice him putting his weapons away you decide to go and find your chambers.

“(Y/n)!” You hear Aemond call your name from down the hallway you were exiting.

You turn as he catches up to you. Once you’re standing in front of him you realize just how tall he has gotten. He smelled so good, how can he smell so good right after all that training and sweating? His natural scent was intoxicating. He smiles down at you so you smile back up at him. Gods, he has gotten so handsome.

“Yes, my prince?” You ask.

“Did you enjoy watching me train?” He smirks.

“I- I was watching everyone train.” Your cheeks turn red.

“Sure.” His smirk grows, making you blush more.

“You train well.” You say to break the brief silence.

“Thank you, princess. May I just say… you have really grown up.” He looks you up and down, taking in your womanly curves and full breasts.

Your heart suddenly races and you feel an unfamiliar feeling in your stomach, but lower.

“Thank you, my prince. As have you.” You say as you try not to stare at his sharp jawline or strong looking arms. Wondering what those arms would feel like around you.

You felt increasingly shy by the minute talking to Aemond, which was very odd for you because you were much like your mother, who was bold and headstrong. But Aemond made your strong head feel like a million butterflies were fluttering around up there as well as inside your stomach.

“I have to go and rejoin my family but I will see you later?” You say as you begin to turn to leave.

“I look forward to it, princess.” Aemond bows to you with a smile.

Truthfully, you had all the free time in the world at the moment. Your father and stepmother busy visiting the king and the gods only know where Jace and Luke wandered off to. But you needed to leave Aemond’s presence right away because the overwhelming sexual tension between you was becoming very dangerous.

Your head is completely in the clouds thinking of Aemond, causing you to nearly crash right into your stepbrother.

“Jace! Sorry, please forgive me.”

“What was that all about?” He asks.

“What are you talking about?” You raise a brow at him.

“I saw you speaking with Aemond.” He says firmly.

“So?” You scowl.

“So? It looked like a pretty friendly conversation, I have never seen Aemond smile at anyone like that.” He rambles in an angry tone. “And I have never seen you look at anyone like that, sister. So, as I said… what was that all about?”

“We were just talking Jace, calm down. You’re blowing this way out of proportion.” Annoyed, you shrug him off and continue down the hallway.

**********

With your family busy with their own things you become increasingly bored in your room. You decide to find a book from the small bookshelf in your chambers and make your way to the gardens. You curl up to the large tree and become deeply invested in your book, so much so that you don’t notice someone walking towards you until you look up to see Aemond towering over you.

“Aemond!” You startle as you make your way to stand.

“Forgive me for interrupting you, princess.” He gestures his eye to your book.

“Not at all.” You smile. “It was either find something to read or die of boredom before supper.”

He chuckles at your joke and you smile shyly in response.

“What are you reading?” He asks.

“Oh, um, nothing really.” You blush.

You tuck the book behind you and he arches his brow in question.

“Ugh, alright... It’s just a silly romance story.” You sigh as you pull the book out from behind your back.

“A romance, hmm?” He smirks. “So you enjoy that sort of thing?”

“Yes, I suppose… like most woman do.” Your blush deepens.

“And have you…” He hesitates. “…had any of your own romance stories?”

Your loud laugh catches him off guard and you quickly change to a serious expression.

“Forgive me, my prince. Um, no. I have not had anything of the sort.” You admit.

“Why not? It seems like something you clearly want. And I am almost certain there must have been plenty of suitors who have thrown themselves at you…” He says as he looks you up and down seductively.

“Of course it is something I want. And I have had a few interested suitors in the past. I just… have not found a man worthy enough of me.” You shrug.

“I see.” He says, his smirk remaining.

Aemond walks you back to your chambers and the conversation between you was surprisingly comfortable the entire walk. You bond over both being the family outcast or the “black sheep”, you both had much harder childhoods than your siblings. The sparks between you were undeniable. You realized your stepbrother was right, you have never looked at anyone like this, or felt like this towards anyone. But Aemond was off limits, not only was he family but you knew your parents, especially your stepmother, greatly disliked Aemond because of the history with him and her own sons. Even just thinking of him that way feels forbidden.

**********

The entire royal family all join together for supper, the tension in the room high. King Viserys joins the room and gives you all a heartfelt speech about your family rivalries.

“It both gladdens my heart and fills me with sorrow to see these faces around the table. The faces most dear to me in all the world. Yet grown so distant from eachother, in the years past.” Viserys begins.

He removes the gold plated mask on his face that had been covering the horrible effects of his illness.

“My own face is no longer a handsome one, if indeed it ever was… But tonight I wish you to see me as I am. Not just a king, but your father, your brother, your husband, and your grandsire, who may not it seems… walk for much longer among you.

Let us no longer hold ill feelings in our hearts. The crown cannot stand strong if the House of the Dragon remains divided. Set aside your grievances. If not for the sake of the crown, then for the sake of this old man who loves you all, so dearly.” He says passionately, choking back tears.

His speech triggers heart warming and emotional toasts from Rhaenyra to Alicent, and Alicent to Rhaenyra, stating she will make a fine queen. The tension between them begins to fade and the mood of the entire room begins to lift as everyone drinks to the toasts.

Until there is some added tension when Aegon gets up and walks over to pour more wine into his glass, muttering something to Baela, Jace’s newly betrothed. Knowing Aegon you assume it was something vulgar. Especially when your stepbrother Jacaerys slams his fist on the table and stands. He composes himself and suddenly Aemond also stands. The room stills for a long moment as they eye eachother down. Jace proceeds to make a polite yet cocky toast to your uncles, Aegon and Aemond.

“Well done, my boy.” King Viserys says to Jace.

Aemond sighs and sits back down, you could feel the anger radiating from him. Your brothers always seem to enjoy getting him riled up. You had to resist the strong urge to place your hand on his. Instead, you offer him a sweet smile and his lips curl up for only a brief moment before his hard exterior was painted on his face again.

Music plays and you all enjoy the beginning of supper, everyone happy and laughing with eachother. You chatted mostly to Aemond who didn’t speak much but seemed content to listen to you. It did not go unnoticed by your brother Jace but he chose to ignore it. The air in the room feels lighter as all of the tension fades away. After a short time, King Viserys is brought back to bed due to his pain flaring up.

The music continues and more food is brought to the table. You watch as a roast pig is placed directly in front of Aemond, your eyes shoot to your brother Luke who is already smirking and chuckling at Aemond. Before you even have a second to think, Aemond’s fist slams onto the table and startles you.

“Final tribute.” Aemond says as he stands holding up his cup, the music stopping and the tension suddenly filing the air again. “To the health of my nephews… Jace… Luke… and Joffrey.”

He looks to your stepbrothers who are glaring at him in return.

“Each of them handsome, wise…” Aemond pauses.

You try to meet his eye with your desperate pleading ones, knowing exactly what he was about to say.

“…Strong.” Aemond states.

“Aemond-“ Alicent tries.

“Come!” Aemond talks over her. “Let us drain our cups to these three strong boys.”

“I dare you to say that again.” Jacaerys challenges.

“Why? Twas only a compliment.” Aemond walks up to Jace. “Do you not think yourself strong?”

It all happens in a flash, Jacaerys throwing his fist at Aemond, Aemond taking the punch to the face with a smirk before shoving Jace to the floor. Aegon starts his own fight with Luke. Now everyone is standing, including yourself, as the guards pull back your brothers.

“Why would you say such a thing before these people?” Alicent demands to Aemond.

“I was merely expressing how proud of my family mother.” He says, yanking his arm out of her grasp. “Mm, though it seems my nephews aren’t quite as proud of theirs.”

Jacaerys tries to charge at Aemond again before Daemon intervenes and Jace steps back.

“Go to your quarters.” Rhaenyra orders the younger people, including yourself. “All of you go, now.”

You are last to leave as you watch your father and Aemond stare eachother down.

**********

With everything going on no one even notices you leave the group as you rush to Aemond’s chambers. Once you reach his door you knock loudly.

“Leave me be!” You hear Aemond call on the other side of the door.

“Aemond, it’s me. (Y/n).” You call through the door.

You hear nothing but silence for a long moment and get a sinking feeling thinking he is just as mad at you as everyone else. Until the door opens and he slowly peers out from behind it.

“What do you want?” He says dryly, causing a strange ache in your chest.

“I wanted to check you were alright.”

“Why?”

“I- uh, because Aemond… my brothers were horrible and I am so sorry for the way they behave sometimes. They can be so bloody… arrogant.”

You see a faint smile cross his face at that and it brings you a heavy sense of relief.

“Do you want to come in? I don’t think we should discuss such things out here.” He says as he opens the door more for you.

“Sure, yes. You are probably right.” You say nervously as you make your way into his bedroom.

The air feels instantly tense when the door shuts behind you both, suddenly completely alone.

“They have ruined the entire visit.” You vent to Aemond. “I know everyone is looking at you for tonight, because of what you said, but I saw Luke too… They have always loved to antagonize you, and then you get blamed when you react!”

Aemond simply stares at you, feeling truly seen for the first time in his entire life. You were unlike anyone he had ever met, the only person he did not feel as if you saw him as a monster or a burden.

“Yes, well. Your brothers are bastards.” Aemond says with a mix of anger and humour.

“I disagree…” You say with a serious face before smirking. “They are not my brothers.”

Aemond smirks in response when he catches onto what you meant. It was so rare to find someone who agreed with him, who truly understood him. He suddenly realized he did not want to lose you.

“Will you have to return to Dragonstone with them?” Aemond asks.

“I expect I will, yes.” You say sadly.

“Do you want to go?”

“No, certainly not.” Your eyes meet his. “But it never matters what I want.” You advert your gaze to the floor.

“What do you want (y/n)?” He asks as he steps closer to you until he is nearly a breath away.

“It does not matter…” You say in a whisper.

“It matters to me…” He says lowly, glancing to your lips. “What is it that you really want (y/n)?”

“You…” The whisper of the word escapes your lips before you can think, your brain panics for a moment when you realize what you said out loud.

The panic is quickly replaced by surprise when Aemond cups your cheeks and brings your lips to his. You hesitate for a moment, thinking of your family, before your restraint snaps and you throw all caution to the wind and kiss him back passionately. You blindly follow along in the dance your tongues begin to do before you pull away briefly.

“I want you, Aemond.” You breathe. “All of you.”

“You know your family would not like this…” He whispers as his lips move down to your neck.

“I do not care.” You moan.

“This would ruin you for any man to come.” He mumbles as he continues kissing and nipping along your neck, his other hand coming up to grasp your breast. The feeling sending sparks throughout your body.

“Good.” You breathe. “I do not want anyone else, Aemond. Only you.”

“Good.” He says, pulling back to gaze into your eyes. “Because I do not wish to ever share you with anyone else. I do not care of our family rivalry… you are mine now.”

You simply nod eagerly and bring your lips back to his. You both make your way towards Aemond’s bed, lips never parting.

“Are you sure this is what you want, (y/n)?” He asks in a breathy voice as his fingers play with the strings on the back your dress.

“I am certain you are what I want, Aemond.” You say to him with heat in your eyes.

A small smirk forms on his lips as you turn around and he finishes pulling the laces of your gown. After a few moments the dress falls to the floor, leaving you in your thin shift. You turn back to face him and begin removing his shirt, eyes staying intensely connected to his as you do. His shirt falls to the floor and your eyes greedily take in his perfectly toned chest.

He helps as you pull your shift over your head, leaving you completely bare before him. Aemond quietly gulps as he takes in your naked form. He had seen naked women before at the brothel his brother had dragged him to, but you were something else entirely. A heavenly sight that the gods guarded from the world, a sight he had been blessed enough to see.

You reach to pull at the laces of his pants and he helps quickly get them off as they join the pile of discarded clothes. You reach to Aemond’s eye patch, he flinches hesitantly, causing you to abruptly stop. He gently grabs your wrist to lift your hand again, encouraging you. You reach up and slowly pull off his eye patch, revealing a beautiful blue sapphire. You lightly brush your thumb along his scar and he lets out a heavy breath. You both stand there for a moment, drinking in the sight of eachother in all your glory. You look down taking in the sight of his length and worry about how that would possibly fit inside you. Aemond moves towards you slowly, this time bringing your lips to his for a gentle, slow kiss. So many feelings spoken in this short kiss.

“Shall we get into bed then?” You say lowly.

He nods with a smirk as you both crawl into bed, Aemond hovering overtop of you as your lips connect once again, his hardness pressing against your stomach and your breasts pressed tightly against his chest. He takes his time kissing you like this before he kisses along your jaw, down your neck, moving lower until his mouth finds your nipple and sucks hard, causing you to gasp.

Aemond would have loved to continue his journey lower and provide you with even more pleasure, but he knew he was pressed for time because any moment your family could come searching for you to leave, they were likely looking for you right now. Besides, his patience began to run thin when you reach down and wrap your soft fingers around his aching member. The groan that escapes him sends a jolt right to your core.

He lines himself up to your entrance and his eye meets yours for permission. You nod quickly and he pushes into you slowly, both your mouths dropping open and panting at the feeling. Aemond stops when he feels the barrier. You try and control your heavy breathing.

“This is going to hurt for a moment.” He whispers and you nod again.

He pushes through your maidenhead and you cry out in pain, your fingers digging hard into his strong biceps. Aemond stills inside you and kisses you hungrily, the feeling of you squeezing tightly around him made his head completely spin. You whimper into his mouth as he slowly slides out of you before pushing back in. The pain slowly begins to fade as he tries to keep you distracted with his lips.

“More, Aemond… please…” You breathe after a few moments, wrapping your legs around him to pull him closer.

Aemond does not hesitate to quicken his speed, causing you to throw your head back as moans poured from your mouth. Neither of you cared if someone heard even knowing you would be in deep trouble. You almost hoped to be caught so you would have to be bound to each other.

Every sweet sound he dragged from you quickly pushes Aemond closer to the edge. He reaches down to rub on your pleasure point, hoping to push you over the edge before he loses control.

“Oh gods! Aemond!” You cry out as you come undone around him.

Intense shocks of pleasure shoot through your entire body and you see stars. Aemond watches the beautiful sight below him as you ride out your orgasm. He thrusts into you hard as his own peak crashes into him, groaning out in pleasure as he comes deep inside of you.

He remains inside you for a minute as you both pant, trying to catch your breath and your thoughts. He smiles and kisses your cheek before rolling off of you. You cuddle up to him and he hugs you tighter. You let out a content sigh before your smile turns into a frown, reality coming back to you.

“I do not wish to leave… to leave you…” You say quietly.

“I do not wish for you to leave either… so don’t.” Aemond says as you turn your head to meet his gaze.

You sigh and lay your head back on his chest, soaking up every minute you have with him.

**********

“What on earth are you talking about?” Daemon demands.

“I just do not understand why I have to leave too. We have only just arrived. I also was not even remotely involved in the fight at dinner, and Rhaenyra will be returning here anyway.” You try to reason with your father.

“What reason could you possibly have to want to remain here alone?” He asks.

“I- I suppose I do not have one…”

You could not tell your father the true reason you wanted to stay, he surely would drag you away if he knew. No other excuses come to mind.

“Good. You will leave tonight with all of us.” He says firmly.

**********

The ship ride back to Dragonstone was absolutely nauseating. You had never been so sea sick, throwing up every morning. The anxiety of leaving Aemond without being able to say goodbye just made you feel even worse. You had no idea how he was feeling, if he was upset, angry, or hardly cared at all. You prayed that some day you would have a chance to return to King’s Landing, to return to Aemond.

**********

So much had happened since your return to Dragonstone. King Viserys had died the same night of your departure and the throne usurped by Aegon. Your morning sea sickness did not go away and the most random smells would make you sick. Certain foods made you throw up just from the scent, while others smelt like heaven, even some of your favourite flowers had you reeling with nausea. The maester eventually confirmed your greatest fear… you were with child. Thank the gods for the maester’s discretion.

It was utterly impossible to tell your family the news with every horrible thing that was happening. The worst of it all… the death of your stepbrother Luke at the hands of none other than Aemond Targaryen, the father of your child. You knew there had to be more to the story, but your family in Dragonstone obviously found the greens completely unforgivable now. You truly did feel heartbroken for Rhaenyra, it also made you feel more protective of your own child growing inside your belly. But your dream to reunite with Aemond seemed to fade farther and farther out of your reach.

You had your dresses fitted looser as your belly began to swell, blaming it on over eating, which you were doing a lot of anyway as you now dealt with an appetite for two. You were not sure how much longer you could hide this, but each time you attempt to tell your father you cannot get the words out. The more chaos that ensued and the more your father cursed the greens and the harder it became to admit.

**********

Your father and stepmother had called for you and you quickly made your way to them. Your heart was racing and palms sweating as you join them.

“You wished to see me, father?” You say once you enter the room.

“Yes, (y/n). I have great news.” Daemon says. “We have found you a worthy husband.”

“W-what?” Your jaw drops, you were not expecting this at all.

“You are to marry Cregan Stark. The Starks have already pledged their fealty but this is the best way to solidify that relationship.” Your father explains.

“Father… I cannot marry Cregan Stark…” You say.

Daemon scoffs at you.

“You can, and you will. It is not up for discussion.” He says firmly.

“There is something I must tell you both…” You say quietly, worried.

You were officially out of time, you had to tell them and you had to do it now. Daemon and Rhaenyra give you their full attention as you refuse to meet their eyes.

“I am with child.” You state quietly, your fists clenched at your sides in nervousness.

“That’s not possible.” Your father scoffs with a chuckle, as if trying to convince himself.

“The maester has already confirmed it…” You continue to speak quietly. “I am quite far along…”

“Who is the father?” Rhaenyra asks.

You meet her gaze but remain silent.

“Dammit young lady! Who on earth did you sleep with?” Daemon yells at you, making you jump.

He stomps towards you and grabs you by the throat briefly before letting go. Although it was only for a second you stumble backward with your hand on your sore throat as your eyes meet his in fear.

“If you are already this angry… I am far too afraid to tell you who the father is.” You say with a shaky voice, holding back tears.

“We are not going to harm him, child.” Rhaenyra reassures you but your father rolls his eyes as if to disagree.

“That is not my greatest concern… My concern is more to do with who it is...”

“Who in seven hells is it?!” Your father snaps and steps towards you again, you step back as he does until your back hits the wall.

“He…” You try to get the words out, your father stops and they both stare at you impatiently. “The father is… Aemond Targaryen.”

You feel as if you are going to puke or possibly faint as you watch the absolute horror spread across their faces.

“I’m sorry…” Your father chuckles in disbelief. “I must have misheard you. Did you say… Aemond fucking Targaryen?”

You look to your feet and nod.

“You’re fucking with me… Please tell me you are fucking with me.” Daemon says, your silence in response answers his question.

Rhaenyra is still standing there speechless in shock.

“This was before…” You look directly to Rhaenyra. “…everything.” Your eyes shift back to your feet.

“Do you have any idea what you have done?” Daemon says angrily, rubbing his temples in frustration. “What in seven hells are we supposed to do now?!”

“I… I do not know…” You say in nearly a whisper. “I am truly sorry father… it just… happened.”

“Have you even asked the maester if your condition is treatable at this stage?” Daemon asks.

“Treatable? What do you mean?”

“Is there no way they can rid you of that thing?”

“Is that really what you are considering be done, father?” You scoff in offence.

“Dear daughter, I am considering throwing you down a flight of stairs or stabbing you in the stomach to rid you of that thing if necessary.” He snarls.

Even Rhaenyra shoots him daggers at that statement, having recently lost their own babe during childbirth.

“Stop calling it that! It is a child, my child, and I will not let you harm me nor my baby.”

“I refuse to let you birth the spawn of that monster. Go to your chambers while I go speak to the maesters about what can be done.”

“Father-“

“I said get out of my sight!” His voice booms, causing the room to go still.

You stare at him as if you were to say something else but then turn to run out of the room crying. As soon as you reach your chambers you slam the door and lock it. You desperately reach for your chamber pot before vomiting into it. After, you try and steady your heavy panting as you think of what to do.

Your mind races as you stand up and throw a travel bag onto your bed before quickly packing your things, whatever you could fit. The hour was already late, you thought, so there was no need to wait until nightfall to escape. Surely you could sneak off to the stables unnoticed and flee on your horse, find a ship somewhere on Dragonstone before you were caught. You take a deep breath and look around your bedroom, the life you would be leaving behind, the family. But screw them! You have never felt a true part of either of your father’s families. You rubbed your stomach tenderly, thinking about the future of a true family, your family. With that in mind you throw open your bedroom door only to stop suddenly as you see your father standing on the other side. He looks to the bag in your hand.

“Going somewhere, daughter?” He asks slyly.

“I- I cannot stay here…” Your voice trembles.

“I forbid you to leave this castle until we have decided what to do with you.” He says sternly. “You will not leave your room, we will have breakfast brought to you in the morning.”

Before you can argue he slams the door in your face and locks you inside. You shake and pound at the door. Beating your fists on it as hard as you can.

“You cannot do this to me! Please father! Please!” You cry and beg from the other side.

You fall to the ground staring at your trembling red hands, aching from banging on the door. Anger boils within you until you are back on your feet throwing things around the room, the sound of screaming and breaking glass echoing into the hallways. Eventually you tire yourself out and collapse onto your bed, crying yourself to sleep.

**********

The next morning you hear a knock at the door.

“Come!” You call.

One of your chamber maids opens the door with a tray of breakfast food.

“Good morrow, princess.” She says politely, concern crossing her face as she notices the state of the room. “Shall I send in someone to clean?”

You shake your head before peering behind her and seeing no one else around.

“I need something else from you.” You say quietly to her.

“Of course, princess. What can I do for you?” She says.

“I need you to deliver a note to my guardsman. You know the one I speak of, he is the only one I can trust.” You say as you move to grab parchment and ink, throwing them down on the small dining table which your breakfast now sat.

“I- Forgive me, princess. I do not think can… Your father-“ She says timidly.

“Please! Please, I am with child and I do not know what he is going to do to me. He is trying to kill my baby, he may even kill me to do so if he must. Please, I am begging you.” You grab her hands as you plead with tears in your eyes.

She peers behind her shoulder to the hallway before looking back to you and nodding, making you sigh in relief. You had no idea if you could fully trust her, for all you know she will take this note straight to your father, but you had no other option right now.

“But quickly, princess.” She whispers, continuing to peak into the hallway for anyone coming this way.

You quickly scribble a letter to your only fully trusted person in this land. The only guardsman that had followed you from Runestone to each place you moved. He was loyal to your mother and you knew he always had distaste for your father. It was still extremely risky but he was your one chance at getting out of here. You hand her the folded up letter which she tucks into her dress and you whisper endless thank yous.

“Princess.” She says with a curtsy before departing.

All you could do now was wait…

**********

There is another knock at your door not long after the maid leaves. You open it eagerly and are surprised to see your stepbrother Jacaerys standing on the other side.

“What do you want?” You ask.

“I wanted to know if it was true…” He says flatly.

“That depends on what my father has told you… That I am a deceitful traitor? That I am a whore? That I am growing a demon spawn inside me?” Your say as your blood begins to boil.

“He said you were with child. With Aemond’s child.” He says, pure anger in his tone. “So same thing really…” He shrugs.

“Fuck you, Jacaerys.” You snap.

You are nearly as shocked as he is at the bold statement, but you had no care left in the world about how your family thought of you now. They have already decided in their minds to hate you for being with the child of their greatest enemy. Nevermind the fact that the act of it happened before all of that. If things had not turned out in the horribly tragic ways they did, and the whole of the royal family had remained civil with eachother, you knew your family would still have been displeased but they would have ultimately accepted your bond to Aemond.

“Wow, (y/n)… I knew there was something between you two when we visited King’s Landing. But I thought after everything he has done, everything the rest of them have done to our family…” His voice raises. “I have no more words for what you have done…” He says in almost a whisper, shaking his head in disappointment.

“Well, if you have no more words then I bid you a good day, brother.” You say sharply before closing the door in his face.

You feel like you could spit fire with how angry and hurt you were. You wish Jace’s words did not phase you but they pierced into you like daggers.

**********

Your lunch and supper had been brought to your chambers. You could not help but worry when you saw it was a different maid than this morning. You prayed to the gods nothing happened to the other one due to your actions.

It was the hour of the owl when someone knocked at your door again. Despite the late hour you were wide awake, unable to sleep at all. You cautiously open the door and nearly cry of relief when you see your guardsman standing outside the door.

“We must hurry, princess.” He whispers to you. “Pack what belongings you need.”

You throw on your cloak before grabbing the travel bag you previously packed and threw it over your shoulder before giving him a nod. He holds his hand out to you and you grab it as he leads you out of your chambers and through the dark hallways. He was careful to avoid other guards, occasionally ducking you both behind another wall as one passed by. He leads you down another hallway you had never seen, leading you right out of the castle through a hidden door.

“This way princess.” The guard says.

You follow him to the shore where there lies a small boat. You give him a questioning look, there was no way you could make it all the way to Kings Landing in that.

“There is a ship waiting for us princess with a handful of men I trust. It had to remain out of sight.” He explains.

You nod and get into the boat before he paddles away into the darkness. The small light of Dragonstone begins to fade into the distance just before the dim lighting of a small ship comes into view. He assists you up the rope ladder and onto the ship. You could see no more than five other men on the ship along with your guardsman. They quickly begin working the sails and get the ship moving.

“I cannot thank you enough, Ser. You have truly saved our lives.” You say to the guard as you rub your stomach.

“I was sworn to protect you and your mother. I may have failed your mother but I will not fail you, princess.” He says.

You give him a sympathetic smile of gratitude before looking out into the dark waters of the sea. Thinking of all that is yet to come.

**********

A few days later, you watch as King’s Landing comes into view. Your heart begins to race and your stomach twists into knots. You were the daughter of their enemies, you had no idea how they would react to your arrival. If they would even listen to what you have to say.

You arrive to the gates with your guardsman, the rest of the crew having begun to sail the ship back.

“Who goes there?” A kingsguard asks.

“Princess (y/n) Targaryen. We are here as allies and bring important news.” Your guard speaks for you.

The kingsguard is silent for a moment, contemplating. Your heart pounds in your chest with worry they will simply refuse you and you will have nowhere else to go.

“Very well.” They open the gate and lead you in.

“The king is available to see you right now.” The kingsguard says.

“Oh. I was actually hoping to speak with Prince Aemond first.” You say timidly.

“The prince is with the king, you may see them both now.” He explains.

You nod and take a deep shakey breath before slightly lifting your dress to walk up the stairs. You are led into throne room, following behind the kingsguard and your guardsman.

Your eyes find Aemond first, standing diligently next to his mother. His eye meet yours instantly quickly flickering to your large stomach and you see his eye widen as the rest of his face remains expressionless. You take another deep breath as you continue walking, focusing hard on putting one foot in front of the other until you reach where Aegon sat on the iron throne.

“Princess (y/n)! To what do I owe the pleasure of this unexpected visit? Has your traitor family finally decided to bend the knee?” Aegon speaks to you arrogantly.

“No, your grace. I am not here on their behalf, I am here on mine. They had no knowledge of my travels here… I would bend the knee to you now if I were able, my king.” You say, rubbing your stomach. “I am with child…”

Your gaze darts to Aemond for a short second who has not taken his eye off you since you entered the room.

“I can see that.” Aegon chuckles. “I am glad to hear you are pledging your fealty to me, but I do not understand what your being with child has to do with me?”

“It… It does not have to do with you, your grace.”

You look to Aemond again, this time Aegon follows your gaze.

“Well then!” Aegon laughs loudly. “It seems my brother had been very busy during your last visit to King’s Landing.”

Yours and Aemond’s silence was answer and confirmation enough. Alicent stands beside Aemond in a silent shock as she stares at your round stomach.

“You must be exhausted. My guards will escort you to your chambers.” Aegon says. “We shall see you at supper. I believe you two have much to discuss.” He grins, looking to Aemond who glares back at him.

“Thank you, your grace.” You give a small curtsy, unable to bend too low.

You and Aemond watch eachother as you are led out of the room and to your new chambers, your own guardsman following until you are left alone in the room. As soon as the door is shut tears quickly fall from your face, Aemond looked so angry. What if this entire thing was a huge mistake? You had not fully considered Aemond may not even want to have anything to do with you or this child. Who knows what they might do with you now, what if it’s worse than what your father would have done?

You don’t have long to dwell on the thoughts swirling in your mind before there is a firm knock at the door. You quickly wipe your tears from your face.

“Come!” You call.

The door opens and your heart stops when you see Aemond enter, closing the door behind him.

“Aemond!” You say in surprise.

“Is it my child?” He asks forwardly.

“I- yes… I am so sorry…” Your voice breaks as you fight back tears and look to the floor.

“Sorry?” He says softly as he steps closer to you and gently lifts your chin to meet his gaze. “You have no reason to be sorry, (y/n).”

“But I thought…” You start to say.

“If anything, I am sorry this happened without my being there afterward, without being there to protect you.”

“You could not have known…” You say in a whisper.

“Well, I know now.” He says as he takes both of your hands in his. “I will care for you both, you have my word.”

You smile up at him and the tears you held back fall down your face, Aemond takes his thumb and wipes some away.

“I am bound to you, all of me.” He says intensely, as he cups your cheek and stares into your eyes.

“But… are you not only bound to me because I happen to be with child?” You frown.

“I have been bound to you the moment our lips first touched, (y/n).” He gives you the warmest smile you have ever seen on him.

With that said, he touches his lips to yours in a soft tender kiss. The kiss ever so slowly builds and builds until you’re a whimpering mess and chasing eachothers tongues. Aemond pulls away to look at you, pure fire behind his eyes.

“Does being with child stop you from wanting… from being able to…” Aemond couldn’t get the words out but you knew what he was referring to.

“No, no, not at all.” You say with a smile. “Quite the opposite actually…”

Aemond gives you a questioning look.

“If anything, I need you even more now.” You explain before pressing your lips back to his.

He begins pulling the strings of your dress as the kiss continues. You reach your hands in between you and remove his shirt before pulling at the ties of his trousers. Once your dress falls to the ground you feel instantly self conscious, your body having changed a considerable amount since he last saw you. But the way Aemond looks at you was like a wild animal about to pounce on its prey. The sight of your naked body, swollen his child, was the most heavenly sight he could ever see.

You get into bed, kissing in between every movement, like your lips could not stand to be apart for longer than a few seconds. Aemond’s lips soon move to your neck before kissing his way down your chest. His warm mouth wraps around your nipple before sucking hard, causing you to gasp, your nipples being even more sensitive from the pregnancy. He kisses all over your stomach lovingly as one hand rubs across it gently. He looks up and smiles at you as you smile back at him, pure happiness on his face.

“I have been dreaming about this…” He says lowly before licking a strip up your core.

You whimper and squirm as his tongue teases you with gentle licks before he wraps his strong arms around your legs to hold you still as he begins to eat you out ravenously. Your hand shoots to your mouth to cover the loud moans pouring from you as your other hand finds its way down to his head and your fingers bury into his silky white hair. You tug his hair lightly as you’re overcome with pleasure and he groans in response, the feeling of it against your core bringing you closer to the edge.

Your entire body feels like it’s on fire as he works you with his tongue, the intensity only increasing as he slips two of his long slender fingers inside you. It’s not long after that until you come undone, clenching around his fingers and bucking against his face as you cry out. Aemond doesn’t relent until your legs are shaking and you’re pulling away from the overstimulation.

He moves back up the bed, wiping his face, and you pull him into a hungry kiss, tasting yourself on his tongue.

“I need you inside me right now.” You beg, the need for him only increased by your release.

He practically growls at your words as he pulls his loose pants fully off and tosses them to the ground. He wastes no time plunging himself into you, causing you both to moan out in tandem. You bask in the full feeling of him inside you again, you felt so empty without him all these months and now you were finally reconnected.

The angle is awkward due to your protruding belly in between you, your eyes meet as unspoken thoughts pass through you. Without a word you reposition so Aemond is laying on the bed and you’re climbing on top of him. After straddling him you shove him back inside you, watching as his jaw drops open at the feeling. With your limited mobility Aemond still takes the lead and begins pounding into you from below. You cling to his shoulders to keep yourself upright as your tits bounce in his face with each thrust and your moans now fall shamelessly from your mouth. You don’t see him observing every facial expression and sound you make while you ride him. The sight and feel of you had him barreling towards release.

“My love, I-“ Aemond chokes out. “Fuck, (y/n), I’m going to…”

“Me too.” You pant as your second orgasm creeps up on you, the sound of your name on Aemond lips only increasing it.

“Gods!” Aemond groans out as the last of his restraint snaps and he spills into you.

His release brings you to your own, the feeling of him pulsing inside you has you seeing stars as you moan loudly, no longer caring if someone heard you.

You fall onto the bed beside him, both panting heavily. After a minute Aemond turns to his side to look down at you, your eyes meet his and you both smile warmly at eachother, nothing but love passing between you.

“I love you, (y/n).” Aemond says as he brushes your cheek with his thumb.

“I love you, Aemond.” You say back, your hand gently covering his still on your cheek.

He leans down and places a firm kiss to your lips before pulling back to admire you again.

“So what now?” You ask.

“Now?” He raises a brow before smiling again. “Now, we marry. Have our child, and live happily ever after.”

“I like the sound of that.” You smile.

**********

The wedding was very small and private, only the main royal family of King’s Landing in attendance. You would have loved to have a large wedding and a grand feast but with your, condition, it had to remain quiet to the people. You still enjoyed every minute of the day, saying your vows with the love of your life and enjoying a lovely dinner with music.

Every minute spent in your wedding chamber was also well enjoyed. You had obviously already consummated the marriage but you could not keep your hands off eachother. The night was passionate and intense.

“I want to taste you husband…” You say lowly.

“Who am I to deny you, little wife.” He smirks.

‘Little wife’, gods, the need for Aemond quickly pooled between your legs at the sound of that.

He leads you over to sit at the edge of the bed and stands in between your thighs. Seeing the way you stare up at him, your face only inches away from where he needed you most, it made his aching member press harder against his trousers.

“Take it out, little wife.” He says.

That name lit a fire inside you. You pull at the laces of his trousers and Aemond hisses when your soft hand wraps around his hardness to pull it out. Your eyes meet his and he watches you with heavy eyes as you begin slow sensual licks around his tip, he shudders when your tongue brushes over the hole. Just as Aemond is about to beg you for more, you shove him as far as you can into your mouth and he groans loudly. You continue to work him with your hands and mouth, testing and finding out what he likes.

“Fuck, I’m-“ Aemond barely chokes out the words before he’s spilling into your mouth with another loud groan.

After that Aemond took his sweet time with you. Kissing, licking, stroking, and worshipping every single inch of your body. You moaned as your hands buried into his hair, his face between your legs eating you like a man starved. One of his hands reaching up, interlocking with yours as he uses his other hand to slide his slender fingers inside you, bringing you closer and closer to the edge.

“Come for me, little wife.” Those words had you instantly soaking his face and moaning so loud you knew that the guards in the hallway were likely feeling awkward, but you could not care less.

You lost count of the amount of orgasms he coaxed from you that night. If you were not already with child, you definitely would have been after your eventful wedding night. You both felt like you could never get enough of this intimacy, this love.

The months following were extremely stressful, with the inevitable war being planned out, and Aemond being highly involved. He did his best to give you as much of his time as possible. The smile on Aemond’s face when he first felt the baby kick, was the happiest you have ever seen him. He also made sure you were well taken care of by the maids and maesters throughout the entire pregnancy.

**********

Aemond returns to bed well past the hour of the owl after a long dreadful meeting with the small council. To his surprise you were wide awake reading a book in bed with a candle lit beside you. You smile warmly when you notice him.

“What are you doing awake, little wife?”

“Sleep has been difficult lately.” You say as you rub your round belly. “The babe is going to come any day now.”

The tension releases from Aemond, thinking how grateful and lucky he was to have such a beautiful wife and a child on the way.

“What are you doing up so late, husband?” You ask.

Some of the tension returns to him as he sits down on the bed beside you with a heavy sigh.

“The small council meeting dragged on and on… my brother’s ignorance is going to lose us this war.” He sighed in annoyance.

“You should be king.” You say, a hand coming to rest on top of his.

“What?” He agreed with you of course, but it was a bold statement coming from someone else.

“You should be king, my love.” You look deeply into his eye. “Tis you who studies history and philosophy, it is you who trains with the sword, who rides the largest dragon in the world, it is you who should be king.”

His heart raced at your words, his deepest darkest thoughts he would never say aloud you were saying directly to him. He leans in and places a firm kiss to your lips to show his agreement.

“You are so perfect.” He says to you in a whisper, the words making your heart swell.

He kisses you again, this time with more intent, his tongue dancing against yours. His eye meets yours for permission to continue and you nod, biting your lip. He continues kissing you as you pull up the skirts of your night dress and he undoes his trousers and throws them to the floor. He lays behind you, reaching his arm around to lightly rub your stomach as he kisses down your arm. You both sigh in pleasure as he so very slowly enters you. The sex is slow, intentional, gentle, loving. Savouring every little moment and feeling of one another.

“Stop stop, something is wrong.” You suddenly say as a strange feeling passes through your body.

Aemond immediately stops and pulls away from you and you noticed the bed sheets are soaked.

“I think my water just broke…” You look to him.

Your panicked faces quickly turn excited and he quickly throws his pants back on before calling on the maester and servants. The babe was finally coming!

**********

Aemond paced back and forth outside the birthing chamber for hours, freezing in horror every time he heard a painful scream or cry coming from inside. You had been in there for so long, and none of it sounded good. He knew childbirth was hard and there would be a lot of pain, and he did not know how a normal birth is supposed to sound, or how long it’s supposed to take… but when Alicent came to checkup on him he could see the extreme worry on her face when he told her you were still in there and they both heard another scream of pain from the other side of the door.

More time passes, far too much time, before the chamber door finally opens and the maester came outside, shutting the door behind him.

“Well?” Aemond demands.

“My prince… I am afraid the babe refuses to come.” He explains hesitantly. “We are left now with the difficult choice to attempt saving the child… but at the cost of the mother’s life.” He explains.

Aemond freezes, his heart suddenly racing and palms sweating, his worst fear being brought to life right before him.

“Absolutely not.” He says, his voice shakey. “There must be another way.”

“I’m afraid if she cannot birth the babe naturally… there are no other options, my prince. Otherwise we may very well lose them both”

“Let me see her.” Aemond demands.

“Of course, my prince.” The maester timidly agrees and leads Aemond into the room.

Aemond enters the room to see you on the birthing bed which was drenched in blood, your face covered in sweat and exhaustion. He felt a wave of terror wash over his body at the sight. A grateful smile crosses your tired face when you see your husband.

“My love…” You sigh with a soft smile.

“Everyone out.” Aemond demands the room full of midwives and the maester.

“But my prince…” The maester says, hesitant about leaving you at this stage of the birth.

“I need a moment alone with my wife, I will call you all back in a minute. Wait outside. Now.” Aemond demands, leaving no room for argument.

The maester bows his head and everyone scrambles out of the room. The second the door shuts Aemond is on you, grabbing onto your hand as his other brushes the damp hair from your forehead.

“My love…” He looks at you with pure sadness and worry in his eyes.

“What did the maester tell you?” You mumble, barely having the strength to speak.

“They said if the babe will not come they will have to…” He tries to explain, voice trembling.

“Please... Please, do not let them cut me open. I am not ready to die Aemond…” You pant the words in a panic, tears falling down your face.

“No, you will not die my love. You cannot die…” He says, kissing your forehead and hugging you close as he fights off his own tears. “But in order to live, to remain here with me, to remain here with our child…” Aemond takes your face in his hands. “You have to push.”

“I can’t…” You burst into tears. “I have tried Aemond I really am trying. I can’t… I can’t…”

“Yes you can.” He says reassuringly as he still holds your face. “I am here now, I am not going anywhere. You can do this, (y/n). You must…” His voice breaks at the last words and a tear falls down his face.

You sniffle and nod your head in agreement.

“Alright, come!” Aemond calls to the door.

The maester and midwives quickly file back into the room, finding their positions again. The maester looks to Aemond for an answer to his earlier suggestion.

“We are going to try pushing once more.” Aemond states.

The maester looks concerned and hesitant in the idea, but does not try to argue any further with Aemond. With your husband by your side, your hand in his, you attempt on pushing again. You scream in pain as you push and push and push, the babe refusing to move an inch.

“I can’t do it… I can’t do it…” You sob.

“You must…” Aemond whispers the gentle reminder in your ear. “Please…”

You must do it, you must live... Aemond could not even consider what he would do if you did not.

You begin to push again, putting every ounce of strength you have into it, you scream as your body feels like it’s being torn open, squeezing Aemond’s hand so hard you wouldn’t be surprised if you broke the bones. You take one quick breath before continuing to push and push, fighting through the blinding pain. Finally, you feel a huge wave of relief wash over your body and the sound of crying assures you that it’s all over. Your heavy eyes refuse to open and your body begins to feel even weaker.

“What is happening?” You hear Aemond ask in a panic.

“She has lost far too much blood.” The maester responds.

That is the last thing you hear before you completely lose consciousness. You don’t see or hear them basically shoving Aemond out of the room despite his protests, or the tears in his terrified eye as he stares at your limp body laying still in the bed.

**********

When you come to, you are still laying in bed but the sheets are now clean and your night dress had been changed. You see Aemond standing on the other side of the room, facing the window.

“Aemond?” You call out weakly.

His head quickly shoots to your direction before he walks over, holding a bundle in his arms.

“My love, how are you feeling?”

“Fine.” You give a soft weak smile. “Is this our child?”

“Our son.” Aemond smiles widely, a genuine rare purely happy smile.

“Our son…” You repeat lovingly as he places the babe in your arms.

You look at your beautiful baby boy with his silver gold hair and your heart soars, even more so when you glance back to your husband who’s now sitting beside you on the bed. Your heart felt so full in this moment. Everything you had been through to get to this very moment, was all worth it.

**********

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sugurugetoshairbrush · 3 months ago

Text

Peeping on your neighbor DILF!Getou Suguru [prev]

[cw: voyeurism & implied daddy kink(?) idk tbh you decide]

Irises speckled with shimmering sapphires, deep as amethyst, swirling in pools of lilac. A fringe of onyx, long tendrils dipping over a horizon of golden bronze.

“Hey, so I was wondering…”

A taut abdomen rippling with each breath—muscles carved sharp, the dip of his waist a lighter beige contrasted by a dark trail of hair leading down his navel. Broad, firm pecs teasing a softness despite the solid planes beneath.

“When are ya gonna confess to peeping on the guy?”

Deltoids flexing, obliques framing a trim waist. Triceps bulging, a testament to strenuous lifting, cardio, or something far more sinful.

“Gotta drop the bomb at some point, hm?”

Lustrous black hair cascading elegantly along a sculpted back, adorned with a splattering of moles. The glint of black titanium gauges, a thin silver chain, and the gleam of a barbell piercing at his chest catching the dim light.

“Hey, don’t just leave me hanging.”

Sometimes, the precise linework of seaweed-green ink peeks from beneath tight boxer briefs—a twisting dragon wrapping around thick quads. Quads that curve into a plump, cushioned—

“Hey!”

“Huh—what?” You blink, reality snapping back into focus. “Sorry, were you saying something?”

“Yes! Where’d you go just now? Don’t tell me you were daydreaming again.”

“No…”

Yu hums in faux consideration before pressing the back of his hand to your forehead. “I’ve never seen a case this severe before in my entire career. You’re showing all the symptoms of OGD.”

You shoot him a confused look. His expression turns grave, lips pulling tight. “Obsessive Getou Disorder. And I’m afraid… it might be incurable.”

You laugh nervously, already grasping for a distraction. But Yu anticipates your escape route like a seasoned chess player, moving faster than you can react.

He snaps his fingers, three sharp cracks in quick succession. Twisting his wrist, he waves his hands dramatically as if casting a spell. “Compelling you back to reality. Return to our realm.”

Yu’s big brown eyes blink up at you expectantly, ever sparkling with mischief. His brow quirks, and you can’t resist ruffling his crop of messy hair.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m listening.” You pat the cushion beside you, inviting him to sit. Yu, ever the enthusiastic puppy, eagerly flops down.

Every time you finish a shift together, he chases you out of work like an excitable dog, hyping up elaborate plans—outfits, venues, guest lists—only for the night to inevitably end curled up in your apartment, eating pizza, watching movies, and gossiping. Not that you mind. It’s an outlet for your… fixation.

You grab the remote, scrolling aimlessly through endless shows and movies. Beside you, crinkling sounds announce Yu unearthing the snacks from earlier. The sweet scent of cinnamon wafts into the air.

“You up for anything in particular? Feels like we’ve watched pretty much everything at this point.”

“Mmfh, y’know wha’? We’re no’ fish again. Les’ do somethin’ bold.” Yu’s words are nearly swallowed by the honey bun he’s chewing, muffled and garbled between bites.

“Come again? And this time, without the sugar-coated mumbling.”

Yu dramatically swallows, throat protruding as he gulps too fast. Wiping the crumbs from the corners of his mouth, he tries again. “Let’s be bold tonight. Instead of stuffing our faces, we should both text our y’know…” He trails off, making exaggerated kissy noises.

Your stomach flips. “Okay…”

Yu lights up, snatching both your phones from the coffee table. Before he can act, you raise a hand. “Hold up.”

You retrieve two plastic shot glasses, a pitcher of juice, and a bottle of tequila. “Some liquid courage might be helpful, yes?”

Yu pouts but is already pouring generous shots, the tequila teetering at the brim. You know he’s just as nervous as you are.

“Three, two, one—bottoms up!”

Your throat burns, the juice barely easing the sting. Staring blankly at the open text thread with Getou, you hesitate.

“How’s this?” Yu tilts his phone for you to see.

Haibara Yu: Hey, Ken! Hope I’m not bothering you. I remember you were baking bread today, and I’m free—need a hand?

“Perfect. A casual excuse to see him while being forward. Now send.”

Yu wavers, his finger hovering over the button. A split-second of doubt, then—

“Can’t! You do it, quick!” He shoves the phone at you like it’s a ticking time bomb.

Laughing, you press send. Yu gulps down another shot in retaliation.

“What do you have typed out? Don’t make me suffer alone—”

Three loud dings cut him off. Yu’s phone vibrates. You both freeze.

“No way,” Yu whispers.

You flip his phone over and huddle together, shoulder to shoulder, to read the messages:

Nanami Kento: Haha, nice to hear from you, Haibara. Perfect timing—I just started proofing the yeast. I’d love for you to join me, might help this go smoother. Would you like me to send my address?”

Your jaw drops. “Yu. This man is whipped for you. Barely a minute and he’s already inviting you over.”

Yu can’t contain his grin, quickly typing back:

Haibara Yu: I don’t know what proofing yeast means, but I’m sure you’ll teach me!

Yes, send it now—I’ll head over ASAP :))

You groan theatrically. “Great, now you’re abandoning me.”

Yu snatches your phone, eyes scanning your screen. “You haven’t even drafted a text yet?”

“No…”

His fingers fly across his screen, typing something out—until, suddenly, his expression shifts. The look of concentration melts away, replaced by a devilish glint in his eyes.

“Actually, you don’t have to.”

He tilts your phone toward you, revealing the reason for his sudden change in demeanor.

One new message.

Getou Suguru: Hello, neighbor! Just wondering if you’d like to come over and help me cook for the girls since you proved yourself capable in the kitchen (thank you again).

They’ve been asking about you—they’d love to see you.

Your heart nearly leaps out of your chest.

Yu grins wickedly, typing furiously.

You: I’d love to! I can be over in a few.

I’d love to see the girls, although I hope they’re not the only ones excited to see me…

You lunge for your phone, but Yu holds it out of reach, laughing.

“Just give it a second—just watch. One more sec—okay, here!”

Getou Suguru: Sounds good. And of course, I’m excited to see you as well, if not more.

Be sure to text me before you head over.

In a span of minutes, you and Yu go from lazily sprawled on the couch to full-blown panic mode, securing dates with the men you’d been fawning over for what feels like an eternity. The realization sends a surge of adrenaline through you, a buzz that has you both scrambling through the apartment—showering at record speed, yanking outfits from hangers, fixing your hair with practiced precision, and spritzing on just the right amount of fragrance.

The chaos leaves your bedroom and bathroom looking like a war zone. Clothes are tossed haphazardly across the bed and floor, makeup products lie toppled on the vanity, and an army of skincare bottles clutters the bathroom counter. But none of that matters—that’s tomorrow’s problem. Right now, the only thing on your mind is making sure you both look impeccable.

Before heading out, you give each other a final once-over. Yu has swapped his usual casual wear for sleek black straight-leg pants and a fitted white shirt, the fabric hugging his frame just enough to be noticeable. At your insistence, he’s kept it simple, and you know you made the right call. With his messy brown hair adding a carefree touch, the outfit is the perfect blend of boy-next-door charm and just the right edge, thanks to the black leather zip-up jacket left open.

“You’re giving bad-boy-next-door,” you tease, stepping back to admire your handiwork.

Yu, predictably, flushes a deep shade of red. You smirk, knowing full well that Nanami is going to have a field day with that reaction later. Kudos to you.

“We’re in this together,” Yu says, raising a determined thumbs-up.

You chuckle, sending your final message.

You: Heading over!

𓂃۶ৎ

Getou’s apartment door cracks open just as you lift your fist to knock. Your grin falters, lips curving downward in a sudden frown.

“What’s wrong? Something on my shirt? Or are you just disappointed to see me?”

Your heart lurches at the genuine confusion laced in his soft voice. His dark brows knit together, a small pout forming on his lips as he glances down at himself, smoothing out his black turtleneck and shifting his weight in his brown corduroy trousers.

You reach out instinctively, your hand brushing against his forearm, stilling his restless fingers as they pick at his sweater.

“Aw, no, Suguru. You look great,” you reassure him. “I just thought I’d get to see you in that cute frilly apron again.”

His brows shoot up in surprise before his violet eyes glimmer with amusement.

“Ah, so that’s what had you looking so forlorn.” He steps back, gesturing for you to come inside. “How about you say more about how great I look?”

“Don’t get cocky now.” You huff, perching yourself on a stool at the kitchen island.

Getou strolls over, leaning against the counter with his elbows propped up, his face resting in his palms. You glance around, noticing the eerie quiet that has settled over the apartment. It’s spotless—almost suspiciously so. Usually, there’s a telltale trail of toys left behind by his daughters, but today? Not a single one in sight.

“Where are the girls? Are they here?”

“Mhm,” he hums, retrieving a clean glass from the cupboard and filling it with water. He places it in front of you, setting it atop a coaster before wiping down the space in front of you with practiced precision. “Bribed them with new dolls so I could clean.”

You snort. “I don’t know what to call out more—your obsessive cleaning or your blatant bribery of your own children.”

He ducks into a drawer, rummaging for something. “I never claimed to be a good man.”

When he straightens, he turns around slowly, revealing the infamous pink frilly ‘Kiss the Cook’ apron draped around his neck. He blinks down at you, lashes fluttering flirtatiously.

“Tie me up?”

“Come here, dork.”

Getou feigns offense but turns obediently, sweeping his long hair over one shoulder. A few loose strands remain, and you gently trail your fingers along the nape of his neck, smoothing them over. His hair is softer than you expect, and when your fingers brush his skin, he shivers.

Your hands move to his waist, tying the apron strings into a neat bow. You pat his shoulder lightly.

“And don’t undersell yourself,” you murmur. “Somehow finding the time to keep an orderly home and spoiling your daughters? Sounds like a good man to me.”

He turns, his long hair cascading elegantly down one side of his face. He smiles at you, his almond-shaped eyes crinkling shut, and you silently thank the divine forces that allowed you to be so well acquainted with such a beautiful man.

“And now, you’re not only a good man,” you tease, “but the perfect housewife.”

His brow arches. “Oh, really?” A smirk tugs at his lips before he bends down, retrieving another pink frilly apron. He unfolds it, revealing the embroidered words: ‘The Kisser.’

“Oh—I—” You stumble over your words.

“Did I forget to mention? It came in a set.” He steps forward, slipping the apron over your head. “This one’s for you.”

Wordlessly, you turn so he can tie you up. The moment he finishes, he leans in, voice dropping to a hushed murmur.

“Now, one could argue that you are now my perfect housewife.”

“Mhm.” You wag your finger at him, beckoning him closer. “Come here, and I’ll tell you what I think about that.”

He leans in, hovering just above you, his face mere inches away. Up close, you can see the soft crinkles by his eyes, the slow curve of his lips.

“I think I quite like my new role, Suguru,” you whisper. “Let me fulfill my duty.”

Your fingers tangle into his hair, tugging him forward. You press a soft kiss to his lips, allowing him to deepen it. He licks over your bottom lip before biting at it, making you sigh into his mouth. Before you can pull away completely, he captures your hand, pressing a lingering kiss to your palm. The affectionate look in his eyes nearly brings you to your knees.

You clear your throat, trying to rein in the conversation.

“So, what’s on the menu tonight?”

“Chicken alfredo pasta,” he says, straightening your apron. “The girls love it, but I don’t make it often because it’s practically a heart attack on a plate.”

“So, a special night?”

“The special-est.”

You bring a large pot of salted water to a rolling boil as Getou collects the ingredients. He works efficiently, rinsing the chicken cutlets before slicing and seasoning them with practiced ease. You fall into an easy rhythm—while you heat the frying pan, he drizzles olive oil; you melt butter, he finely slices garlic; you pour in cream, he grates parmesan. The pasta cooks as the chicken sizzles, and the sauce thickens to a velvety consistency.

While the meal comes together, you wipe off the chopping board, ready to cut the parsley garnish. But the leafy pieces refuse to separate, sticking stubbornly to your blade. Frustration wells up, and you hunch over, applying more pressure in an attempt to force the pieces apart.

A warm weight presses against your shoulder, accompanied by the scent of coconut. Getou’s arms encircle yours, his rough palms resting over your hands.

“Looks like you need a little guidance,” he murmurs, his breath hot against the shell of your ear.

You scoff, voice dripping with sarcasm. “Oh yes, please, help me. I’m just a helpless damsel in distress.”

He chuckles, guiding your hand over the knife’s handle, steady and deliberate. With his touch, the blade moves effortlessly through the parsley, slicing with precision.

“Just like this,” he instructs, voice low and smooth. “A diagonal angle makes all the difference—now you try.”

You mimic his movements, finding the rhythm, the process suddenly easier. His hum of approval sends a shiver down your spine.

“Good girl,” he praises, his voice a little too indulgent, a little too intimate. “Just like that—keep going.”

Your composure wavers. Something shifts in the air—his proximity, his tone, the subtle dominance in his words. It leaves you feeling cornered, like prey beneath the gaze of an apex predator. His breath warms the side of your neck, his scent lingers sweet and intoxicating. Heat coils in your stomach.

There are… other things you wouldn’t mind him teaching you.

Before your thoughts can spiral further, his voice breaks through the moment.

“Look at that, pasta and chicken are done.”

By the time the girls peek in, drawn by the rich, creamy scent wafting through the apartment, you’ve mixed and plated the alfredo while Getou sets the table—placemats, utensils, drinks, napkins, everything in place.

“YAY, PASTA!”

Mimiko barrels into Getou’s leg, clinging enthusiastically.

“Thank you, thank you, thank you, Daddy!”

Nanako isn’t far behind, latching onto his opposite leg. “Yay! We love you, Daddy!”

He ruffles their hair, cradling their faces with unmistakable affection. “Aw, my beautiful girls. I love you too—but I couldn’t have done this alone.” His gaze flicks to you, warm and teasing. “Go say thank you to my sous chef.”

The twins twist their heads toward you, beaming. Before you can brace yourself, they launch forward, nearly knocking you over.

“Thank you, Suit Check!”

Nanako’s golden ringlets brush your arms as you wrap them in a hug.

Getou clicks his tongue. “No, girls—sous chef,” he corrects, exaggerating the pronunciation. “It means she was my helper in the kitchen, and she was the best helper! The pasta is extra delicious because of her.”

Satisfied with the explanation, he lifts the girls into their seats. With the help of stacked cushions, they’re just high enough to reach their plates. The moment their forks touch the pasta, the room falls silent, save for the sounds of clinking silverware and exaggerated chewing.

Getou chuckles, shaking his head. “It’s good, huh? Seems like a fan favorite.”

“S’good, Daddy—so cheesy!” Nanako exclaims, her cheeks full, her chin streaked with sauce. She wipes her fingers on the table, completely unbothered.

“So messy, honey.” Getou sighs, grabbing a napkin to clean her up despite her weak attempts to squirm away.

You lift your fork, twirling a bite expertly to catch the dangling cheese. “Watch this,” you say, demonstrating. “Wrap the cheese around your fork like this, so you can enjoy every bite without getting scolded by your dad.”

The girls gasp like you’ve unveiled some grand magic trick. They attempt to copy you, their enthusiasm infectious.

Getou takes a sip of his white wine, smirking. “Preventing messes like that isn’t exactly helping you escape the housewife allegations.” His voice dips just enough to keep the words between the two of you.

You giggle, swirling your fork aimlessly around your plate, suddenly feeling like a giggly schoolgirl.

Then, an idea strikes. “Hey, if you need an outlet for those messy tendencies, my job is hosting a family event on Monday. Finger painting—they can go wild. I’m working it, so you should bring the girls. It’ll be fun.”

Getou raises a brow, turning to the twins. “What do you think, girls? Want to go? Do some painting?”

He coughs, muttering under his breath, “That’s not on our walls.”

You swat his arm playfully, but the girls don’t notice. They’re already buzzing with excitement.

“We wanna go!” “Yeah, we love to paint! Daddy never lets us!”

You grin, throwing up two thumbs. “See? I’ll let you paint all you want on Monday. I’ll sign you all up—it’ll be a blast!”

𓂃۶ৎ

You can’t help but wonder if Getou regrets agreeing to come to ‘Family Finger-painting’ as you watch Nanako, ever the ball of energy, streak cobalt blue finger paint across the front of his crisp button-up. The deep navy smudges stand out starkly against the fabric, flecks of red in her dark umber hair only adding to the chaotic artistry. Her small, paint-covered hands leave damning evidence all over his sleeves and the hem of what was, moments ago, a pristine Ralph Lauren Oxford.

You cringe, anticipating a reaction—a sigh, a flash of disappointment. But Getou only leans down, furrowing his brows, his sharp eyes honing in on the tiny perpetrator with exaggerated accusation.

“Nanako…”

His large hands wrap around her waist, and in one swift motion, he hoists her up, lifting her high above his head as if she were soaring like an eagle. “Such a messy one, aren’t you? Look what you did to Daddy! I’ve got you now, Nana.”

Nanako kicks her little feet, writhing in his grasp as peals of laughter burst from her lungs, the sound rich and warm like music.

“D-Daddy, stop! Let me go! Sorry, sorry!”

Finally, he relents, setting her back down with an affectionate pat to her head. His shirt, however, has taken even more damage—blue smears blending with the red, swirling into purple, with specks of pink now dotting his arms and pants like an abstract masterpiece.

“Daddy, me too! Wanna fly!” Mimiko tugs at his pant leg, her small hands leaving more marks in their wake.

Obliging, Getou lifts her with the same ease, holding her up until she nearly brushes the ceiling. You make your way over, watching them with quiet amusement.

“Careful with her head, Suguru.”

Getou lowers Mimiko to rest against his hip, turning to greet you with a smile. “Ah, thank you. I do tend to get carried away.” He gestures toward the three canvases spread across the floor, protected by layers of newspaper—a rare stroke of genius on Yu’s part. “How’s the progress?”

You kneel to inspect their work: a peacock, a flower, and three handprints.

“Let me guess—the peacock is Nanako’s, and the flower is Mimiko’s?”

Nanako beams, nodding vigorously as she tugs at your smock, eager for praise. The bird she painted is surprisingly elegant, its neck curved gracefully, head tucked bashfully. The feathers—done in sweeping strokes of yellow, blue, and green—are intricate for a child her age.

“Nanako, this is beautiful! You did such a great job.”

Her cheeks flush pink, her smile widening with pride. Mimiko, not to be outdone, smushes her face against her father’s side, peeking up at you. “Wuh ‘bout mie?”

You turn to her painting—green stems drawn with a careful forefinger, flowers crafted from colorful thumbprints. It’s simpler than Nanako’s, but no less charming.

“These flowers are so pretty! I love all the colors, Mimiko.”

“Danks.”

Getou chuckles, shooting you a knowing look—one that clearly says, I know you’re just being nice, but I appreciate it.

Then, he dips his fingers into the paint and smears a thick layer of violet onto your open palm.

“Why don’t you be the finishing touch to my piece?”

You glance at his canvas—sky blue with a large purple handprint on one side, two smaller ones beneath it, one lime green, the other bright pink.

He nods toward the empty space. “Go on. Left room for you.”

With a small smile, you press your palm against the canvas, feeling the sticky paint mold to the lines of your skin. A warmth settles in your stomach as the girls erupt into applause.

Getou hums, scratching his chin as he inspects the final product, his voice dipping into a teasing lilt. “Now it’s perfect. My idea to have you complete the piece was a true stroke of genius.”

You groan. “Not a dad joke, Suguru. How stereotypical.”

He pouts, scrunching his nose in exaggerated offense. Beside him, Mimiko mimics the expression perfectly, her chubby cheeks puffed out in what might be the most adorable sight you’ve ever seen.

Before you can comment on it, a frantic voice cuts through the room.

“Just a sec, you drama queens—I’ll be right back.”

You jog toward Yu, weaving between families painting peacefully. When you finally reach him, your stomach drops at the scene in front of you. A toppled canvas lies face-down, irreparably smeared. Paint has dripped from the palette, bleeding past the newspaper barrier onto the floor.

Shit.

A wail erupts, high and heartbroken. Yuji, eyes brimming with tears, sniffles as he clings to Nanami, whose face is twisted in regret.

You scoop Yuji into your arms, rubbing his back as he hiccups between sobs.

“Yu-Yu, honey, it’s okay. We’ll get another canvas. We can make something even cooler.”

His sniffles continue, tiny fists wiping at his tear-streaked face.

“See? Nanami’s not mad at you.” You nudge Nanami’s leg.

Nanami, who’s been furiously cleaning to prevent Yu from getting written up, straightens at once. With practiced ease, he runs a hand through Yuji’s pink curls before cupping his cheek.

“Oh, Yuji, of course I’m not mad. I just had to clean up. We can still paint whatever you want, okay?”

Yuji sniffs, lower lip trembling, but the tears finally slow. You grab a tissue, holding it up to his face.

“Blow.”

He obeys, filling the tissue. You clean him up and pat his head.

Nanami bows slightly. “Thank you.”

You wave him off. “No need for thanks, Yu won’t get in trouble tonight thanks to you.”

Yu joins Nanami, curling around his arm like a content cat, while the two men share a look—soft smiles, red-tipped ears, and a warmth that’s almost too much to witness.

You groan, turning back toward the Getous. As your gaze sweeps the room, Getou towers over the families, effortlessly catching your eye. He raises a bronzed hand, beckoning you back over.

And without hesitation, you go.

𓂃۶ৎ

Turns out, washing dried paint out of hair is harder than you’d expect. Not that it ever seemed easy, but it's a lot like trying to remove gum from thick locks—frustrating and nearly impossible without the right tools.

You hold Mimiko’s head steady over the sink, your fingers working diligently to scrape out stubborn streaks of red paint from her bangs. How she managed to get it there in the first place is beyond you. Speckles of color circle the drain as you slowly restore her hair to its natural brown.

“Suguru, please,” you mouth over to Getou, careful not to let Mimiko catch on to your frustration. He peeks around the side of the tub, where he has Nanako perched on the edge, her head tilted back as he rinses out her own mess. At least he seems to be making progress—her dirty blonde strands darken to caramel under the stream of water.

Your gaze flickers to Getou himself, and concern stirs in your chest. His loose black hair, usually immaculate, is now streaked with vibrant splashes of paint. He notices your stare and offers you a small, tight-lipped smile, but his furrowed brows betray his worry.

Reaching into the cabinet, he pulls out a jar of coconut oil and hands Nanako a wide-toothed comb. “Here, sweetheart, detangle your hair for me so I can help your sister.”

He joins you at the sink, twisting the cap off the oil. “This should help. If it moisturizes the hair, it’ll loosen the paint’s grip.”

You hum in agreement, stepping onto the twins’ footstool so you can hover over Getou’s head. He glances up at you, incredulous. “Pour some for me. Someone has to do yours, too.”

He flicks your forehead in response, a teasing gesture before tipping the bottle generously into your outstretched palm. Warming the oil between your hands, you begin raking your fingers through his dark locks, careful but thorough. The silver strands peppered throughout catch the light, gleaming softly under the bathroom bulb. The oil works wonders, and soon enough, the paint starts to dissolve.

“Mm, careful back there,” he murmurs, voice dipping into something almost indulgent. “Feels nice—I might just drift off.”

Smirking, you wind the ends of his hair around your fingers and give a light tug.

What you don’t expect is the breathy gasp that slips past his lips, followed by a low, gravelly, “Watch it.”

Does he like that? You file the information away for later—time and place, after all.

The faucet shuts off, and Getou lifts Mimiko upright, wrapping a fluffy towel around her shoulders and drying her hair. You do the same for Nanako before helping Getou finish up with them both. The twins announce their plans to change into clean clothes and scamper off, promising to dump their messy outfits straight into the washing machine.

Meanwhile, Getou scrubs his forearms with the remaining coconut oil as you towel off his hair to prevent it from dripping down his back. Out of everyone, he’s easily the most covered in paint—the sink now tinted a muddy brown from the mixture of colors.

“You know, we should get changed too,” he says, wringing out a section of his hair. “You can borrow something of mine if you’re okay with that. No pressure.”

“Honestly, I’d do anything to get out of these sticky clothes,” you sigh. “Something soft sounds like a dream right now.”

He grins, booping your nose. “Your wish is my command.”

A few minutes later, you pull on the clothes he’s left for you on the hamper—a large, oversized olive green graphic tee that’s so faded you can barely make out the text, ‘Girl Dad’ (which is sickeningly adorable), and a pair of simple black sweatpants with a drawstring. The fabric pools around your feet, the sleeves gaping at your elbows, but it’s comfortable. More importantly, it smells like him—rustic sandalwood and sweet coconut.

You step out of the bathroom just as Getou emerges from his bedroom, his gaze sweeping over you unabashedly. He looks thoroughly pleased, his own outfit a mirror of yours, except his shirt is a solid white. His hair is now twisted up and secured with a claw clip.

Without warning, he snakes an arm around your waist, pulling you flush against him as he buries his face in the crook of your neck. His nose is cold as it nudges against your pulse point, pressing a light, lingering kiss there.

“Soft enough?” he murmurs, voice laced with amusement.

You hum in response, though it comes out more like a contented purr. Your arms loop around his waist, fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt. He lingers for a moment before pressing a chaste kiss to your forehead, then pulls back with a sigh.

“C’mon,” he says, lacing his fingers through yours. “The girls are waiting.”

In the living room, the twins are sprawled out on the couch, whispering conspiratorially over a small crate filled with hair accessories. As soon as they spot Getou, they light up.

“Daddy makeover! Daddy makeover!”

A faint flush spreads down Getou’s neck. “No, girls, d—what?”

“We want to do your hair too!”

“Pleeeeaaaseee.”

They bat their lashes, their tiny hands clutching at his shirt, and oh, they’re good. Getou looks at you for backup, but you only grin and join in on the pleading.

“Pleeeeaaaseee.”

He sighs, defeated, and slides onto the floor, his back against the couch. “Fine. But be gentle.”

The twins cheer, shoving the crate toward you so you can join in. Inside, you find butterfly clips, neon barrettes, pink bows, satin scrunchies, and rainbow elastics. The three of you claim your sections of his hair and get to work—messy buns, neat braids, tiny pigtails. By the end, his head looks like a walking arts-and-crafts project.

Getou's phone blares an absurdly loud, obnoxious ringtone, shattering the quiet hum of the evening. He fumbles with it, brow furrowing as he tries to navigate answering—his age is showing. Finally, after an unnecessary struggle, he swipes to accept, and the screen flickers to life.

Gojo’s face appears far too close to the camera, wide blue eyes blinking unnervingly. The glow of the screen illuminates the sharp angles of his cheekbones and the faint shadows beneath his eyes, casting his features in an eerie fog of azure.

“What the fuck am I looking at?”

Getou lets out a loud, pointed cough and lowers the volume, shooting Gojo a disapproving look. With a shift of his wrist, he adjusts the angle so the girls—and inevitably, you—come into frame.

“Hi, Satoru!!”

Gojo winks, flashing a toothy grin. “How’re my favorite goddaughters?”

“Good!!”

“That’s what I like to hear. Your incredibly, generous godfather is calling to persuade your stuffy dad to take you somewhere awesome! Put him back on the phone, okay?”

“Okay!!”

Getou scowls and holds up an obscured middle finger to the camera. Gojo only cackles.

“I see you’re being pampered like the princess that you are by those sweet girls and your… friend.”

“Yes,” Getou replies dryly. “What about it?

Gojo somehow flips himself upside down in the frame, his hand dangling as he snorts.

“Nothing, just making an observation. Anyway, I called to invite you on a trip this weekend. I booked an Airbnb in the city so the kids can see that new superhero movie premiere. The city screenings are being introduced by actual cast members. Megumi and Tsumiki will be inconsolable if their cousins can’t come. So… you in?”

Getou shrugs, arching a well-groomed brow. “How can I refuse? The only one who spoils their kids more than you is me.”

“I dunno, the jury’s still out on that. Why don’t we ask your friend this weekend? If she comes, she’ll be the perfect tiebreaker.”

Oh, he’s slick. You suppress a smile but lean forward over Getou’s shoulder, tapping his cheek.

“Suguru’s friend likes that idea very much. I’m in—and I’ll be sure to make an unbiased decision.”

Getou turns to you, his expression shifting, concern softening the sharp elegance of his features. There’s a slight crease between his brows, and for a brief moment, you want to smooth it away, to press a kiss over the corners of his lips that have dipped into a hesitant frown.

“Are you sure?” he asks, voice lower now, meant just for you. “Don’t feel pressured by this idiot.”

“Of course I’m sure. I wouldn’t have agreed if I wasn’t. I have no qualms about rejecting cocky men.”

Gojo snaps his fingers, amused. “Testy. I like it. Give me your number, and I’ll send you the details. I need to record everyone staying in the house for the homeowner.”

You recite it, then settle back into your spot. Your fingers thread through Getou’s dark hair absentmindedly, mirroring the girls’ movements as they weave an impressively tight Dutch braid along the side of his head.

Getou and Gojo continue chatting, their voices fading into the background as your phone lights up on the arm of the couch. You stretch forward to grab it, expecting a message from Yu with an update—he had also gone home with his beau.

But when you unlock the screen, an unfamiliar number stares back at you.

717-904-3856: Hey! It’s Gojo Satoru AKA your wingman, and I won’t rest until I successfully hook you up with my best friend.

God knows he needs it.

𓂃۶ৎ

“This Airbnb is fu—uh, I mean, freaking huge. How’d Gojo afford this?!”

Getou chuckles under his breath as he steers the wheel, glancing in the rearview mirror before backing into the long driveway. The house looms in front of you—massive, especially for something in the heart of the city. Beige bricks stack into sleek, modern walls, and the tall, black roof contrasts against the setting sun. Floor-to-ceiling windows reveal a lofty foyer inside, warm light spilling onto the neatly trimmed bushes lining the entryway. The double doors arch into a perfect half-circle, framed by lush greenery rooted in pristine, manicured grass.

He shifts the car into park, turning off the engine with an effortless press of his fingers. “Ah, did I forget to mention? Gojo’s family owns an upscale hotel franchise. You might’ve heard of it—Living Limitless?”

Your jaw nearly hits the floor. “No way. Of course, I’ve heard of them. They were in the news last year after acquiring that media conglomerate for a ridiculous amount of money. They’re loaded!”

Getou hums in response, slipping off his seatbelt. The silver frames of his glasses catch the light as he glances at you, the soft twill of his black short-sleeve set draping over his frame. His hair is neatly tied into a bun, the stray strands framing his face in a way that makes him look devastatingly good. The delicate glint of his rings and bracelets only adds to the effect.

“Mm. Money doesn’t buy manners, though. His family isn’t exactly warm and welcoming, so he doesn’t see them often. But he still has access to his shares, which is why he can afford to act like a snob.”

You chuckle, pushing open the passenger door before reaching into the backseat to unbuckle Nanako from her booster seat. “I mean, he can’t be that bad. He does a lot for the girls, doesn’t he?”

“Welcome to my humble abode!”

Your head snaps up just in time to see Gojo—not walking—but rolling toward you down the cobblestone driveway on a hoverboard, tilted forward like he’s the main act in some grand performance.

You inhale sharply. “Spoke too soon.”

Getou sighs, dragging a hand down his face before taking both girls by the hands, guiding them toward Gojo. Unlike you, the twins are completely mesmerized by his dramatic entrance. You, however, can’t help but see a man in his thirties, draped in designer from head to toe—Gucci sunglasses, Gucci joggers, Gucci slides—riding a Segway like a rich kid who never outgrew his phase.

To his credit, Gojo is absurdly friendly. He sweeps all of you into a round of enthusiastic hugs, exchanging pleasantries before immediately launching into an animated info-dump about the upcoming movie. His voice brims with excitement—maybe even more so than the kids’.

“—and the actor that plays Cursebreaker? Absolute machine. Does all his own stunts. Megumi could tell you more, he follows him on TikTok. He and his sister have been asking about you two all day.”

Right on cue, a small head peeks out from the front door. Tsumiki beams brightly. “Hi Nana! Hi Mimi!”

From behind her, little Megumi appears—his tousled black hair falling over his forehead, his lips drawn into a scowl.

The interior of the house is even more elegant than the exterior—sleek and modern, a symphony of whites, grays, and blacks. The minimalist design is softened by the presence of large, leafy plants, and a high-end television camouflages as an expensive painting on the wall.

As soon as you step inside, the girls scatter, immediately engrossed in an impromptu game of tag, their laughter echoing through the open space. Getou settles himself into the plush white couch, casually grabbing a controller as Megumi boots up his Switch beside him. That leaves you with Gojo, who is carefully slipping into his Cursebreaker cosplay for later that evening.

“Zip this up for me?” he asks, turning his back to you.

The suit is absurdly tight, a second skin molded to every inch of his form. You struggle with the zipper, nearly yanking Gojo backward in the process. The sleek, black material stretches over his body, covering him from head to toe—built-in shoes and all. The design spirals with glowing icy blue accents that converge at his sternum, forming a swirling curse energy emblem.

Gojo’s usual vibrant eyes are further exaggerated by unnervingly bright blue contacts, the pupils swallowed entirely, leaving only a ghostly glow.

As you help spike his already gravity-defying hair, you can’t help but ask, “Where the hell did you even get this costume?”

Gojo smirks, fluffing a single strand just right. “Oh, you know… I just reached out to the actual designer from the movie, commissioned an exact replica. Had to expedite it, though.”

You stare at him, deadpan. “Oh. So you’re rich-rich.”

Gojo actually has the nerve to look a little bashful, kicking at the floor like a kid caught sneaking an extra dessert. “It’s not like that! I don’t splurge on just anything. I’ve been obsessed with this franchise since I was a kid.”

From the couch, Getou’s smooth voice interjects lazily, “Born to be a nerd, forced to be an heir. Tragic.”

Megumi, ever eager to roast Gojo, jumps in with a smirk. “NERD.”

What follows is a predictable bout of bickering, it lasts until Gojo’s phone vibrates, signaling that their Uber will be arriving in an hour. He claps his hands together and directs the kids to get into their costumes.

Then he turns to you and Getou with an expression that makes you wary. “So,” he drawls, rubbing his hands together like a cartoon villain, “fun fact—there are only five cinema tickets. Totally sold out. Couldn’t get extras.”

Getou frowns, about to protest, but Gojo cuts him off with a raised finger. “Ah, ah, ah. This actually works out perfectly, because let’s be honest—I’m the only one who actually cares about seeing this movie. So, instead of sitting through something you don’t care about, you two should have a night out. I even have recommendations.”

You glance at Getou with amusement. “So, Suguru, when’s the last time you went out socially?”

Silence. Getou’s lips press into a thin line.

Gojo beams in triumph. “Yay! You’ll do it! Get back out there, Grandma!” He whips out his phone and texts you both the name of a bar. It looks lively—plenty of drinks, an arcade, even a dance floor.

“Oh, and FYI,” he adds, “I already called an Uber for you. So, chop chop, go get ready.”

The sudden realization that you’re about to go on what is essentially a date with Getou sends you scrambling for an outfit. After giving your goodbyes to the twins, who latch onto you for hugs, you rush off to get ready.

A steaming shower melts away any tension as you exfoliate, shave, and lather yourself in fragrant lotion and body oil. When you step out, your reflection grins back at you, brimming with anticipation.

You settle on an all-black ensemble: knee-high boots, a mini skirt, and a textured, long-sleeved button-up, strategically fastened at your midriff to reveal just the right amount of skin. A small black bag completes the look. You’re banking on Getou wearing black—his wardrobe rarely deviates from it.

Descending the stairs, your hunch proves correct. Getou stands by the mirror near the front door, adjusting his watch and straightening his jewelry. He’s still in his earlier outfit but has thrown on a wool-lined button-up denim jacket and swapped his shoes for chunky-sole ankle boots. His glasses remain, framing his face as a few strands of hair escape his bun.

You creep up behind him, aligning yourself in the reflection. “Hey.”

His gaze lifts to meet yours in the mirror, and a faint flush rises to his cheeks. “Hey.”

You let out a low whistle. “Damn, you clean up well.”

He turns, draping an arm over your shoulders, pulling you in. Your palm finds his chest, and in the mirror’s reflection, you can’t deny—you two look good together.

“You make me look even better,” he murmurs, his arm snaking around your waist. “You look beautiful.”

A car horn honks outside, breaking the moment. Getou steps back, extending a hand, and you take it. He even opens the door for you, effortlessly slipping into the role of a gentleman.

During the ride, he chats idly, reminiscing about growing up on the outskirts of the city. He tells you about the sprawling fields that once existed before modernization, where he and the local kids played streetball. You tease him for having firsthand historical knowledge of the ‘90s, earning an eye roll in return.

At the bar, the crowd is thick, the air electric. Getou’s firm hand guides you through, settling at the small of your back. At the bar, he orders your drinks.

“So handsome…,” you say, swirling your glass before taking a sip, “what brings you out tonight?”

Getou smirks, playing along. “Finally got a night away from the kids. I’m a father, by the way.”

“Oh?” You eye him appreciatively, slow and deliberate. “You ever heard of the term DILF before?”

He chuckles, amusement glinting in his eyes as he downs half his drink. “Oh, how forward of you. Would you personally apply that term to me, or…?”

You grin, raising your glass. “Let’s save the pillow talk for later. Tell me more about yourself—steady job, good income, solid principles, family values?”

Getou swirls his drink lazily before topping it off with a fresh pour. The gleam of his silver watch catches the light. “I sit on the board of a local non-profit, invest in my 401K, indulge in questionable activities in moderation, and put family above all else.”

Your eyebrows lift, surprised by the thorough answer. He clinks his glass against yours, eyes flickering with curiosity. “And you?”

You down the rest of your drink, holding his gaze. Then, licking your lips, you lean in slightly.

“Oh, me?” You twirl a strand of hair around your finger. “I’m a daycare teacher and tutor, planning to start grad school after I get my promotion. I splurge irresponsibly with my best friend on weekends, but I’m generally kind-hearted. I want a family of my own someday.”

Getou hums appreciatively. “Sounds like you’re exactly what I’m looking for in a partner—smart, nurturing, ambitious, outgoing, and devoted.” He flags down the bartender, already ordering another round before turning back to you with a smirk. “I imagine we’ll get along well.”

Two drinks deep, and you’re debating your go-to orders—his, a neat Scotch, yours, a lemon drop martini.

Three drinks in, and you’re bickering about how absolutely repulsive the other’s choice is.

Four drinks in, and the embarrassing stories spill out like the liquor in your glasses. He’s telling you about the time he pranked Gojo so convincingly at a KFC that it led to an all-out meltdown, ultimately getting them banned from every location nationwide. You counter with a tale of your early days at work, when a particularly unruly kid kicked you in the crotch and bolted, leaving you to chase him around the parking lot in a frenzy.

Five drinks in, and you’re both breathless with laughter, wheezing about how absurd Gojo looked in that ridiculous costume—how he is probably chafing from its unnatural tightness.

Six drinks in, and you’re tugging Getou onto the dance floor, the bass rattling through the floorboards as you pull him close, fingers trailing down his torso before turning to grind back against him. His hands find your hips, strong and steady, guiding you in rhythm, his hot breath fanning across your ear.

Six drinks and two shots of D’Usse in, and you’re clawing at his jacket, trying to shrug it off his shoulders while he palms your ass through your skirt, drawing the ire of surrounding patrons.

“Say, we get outta here,” he murmurs, voice husky.

“Mmm, yeah, but where?”

He pulls back just enough to glance around, trying to shake the intoxicating pull of your scent. Then, his gaze lands on the neon sign above the exit.

“Oh, shit.” He chuckles, already tugging you toward the door. “This bar’s connected to a hotel… Limitless Hotel.”

The realization dawns sluggishly, but in sync. “Gojo.”

You both scoff, but Getou doesn’t dwell. He’s already handing his black card to the receptionist, sliding across a generous tip before guiding you to the elevator. The doors shut, and just as you sneak a hand beneath the hem of his shirt, fingertips grazing warm skin, he stills, regaining his composure. Instead of pulling you closer, he just looks down, offering you that saccharine smile—sweet, soft, disarming.

The most contact he allows is the gentle squeeze of your hand as he leads you down the hallway. The key card beeps, the door unlocks, and the moment you step inside, Getou turns to you, effortlessly lifting you by your thighs. You instinctively wrap your legs around his waist as he walks backward into the room, lips finding the damp skin of your neck. He licks, sucks, nips his way down to your collarbone, groaning like he’s savoring something divine.

He stumbles near the closet, and you tumble onto the mattress with a breathless yelp, your hair catching uncomfortably beneath you. You cling to his neck, trying to ease the tension, and he gazes down at you, his violet eyes suddenly sharp despite the haze of alcohol.

“You okay, baby?”

“Mhm.” You cradle his face, his cheeks flushed, lips tinged red, pupils blown wide. You sigh, brushing your thumb across his cheekbone. “S’pretty Sugu… kiss?”

Getou gets the message, dipping down to capture your lips in a slow, consuming kiss. His strong arms cage you in as his tongue teases yours, urging your mouth open further. You moan into it, gripping his shoulders as he presses closer, the heat between you mounting with every stolen breath.

Your shirt is barely clinging to your frame, skirt bunched high around your hips, and Getou takes full advantage, trailing kisses down your chest, tugging your bra aside to flick his tongue over a peaked nipple. The sensation sends sparks through your body, and he groans, biting gently as his eyes flick up to gauge your reaction.

You arch beneath him, desperate for more, hands fisting in his hair. The loose bun unravels, his dark strands cascading around you like a curtain, his scent enveloping you completely.

You whimper, shifting beneath him, seeking friction. “Su-gu-ru…”

He bites at your earlobe, his voice a breathy whisper, “Tell me what you need, baby. Talk to me.”

“Need you,” you gasp, hips canting up in frustration. “More—please.”

His weight presses against you, his clothed length dragging over your damp panties, and you keen at the friction.

“Like this?” he teases, grinding slow, deliberate.

You moan, rolling your hips to meet his. “Yes—yes, Sugu. Feels so good.”

The taste of alcohol lingers on your tongue, but it’s overshadowed by Getou, his kisses devouring, claiming. Your fingers tangle in his hair, tugging, and he groans, shuddering against you.

His hands roam, tracing down your torso, teasing over your navel. Your fingers wander in turn, slipping beneath his shirt, nails dragging over the taut muscles of his back, feeling them ripple as he moves.

Your hands drift lower, mapping the firm planes of his chest until your fingers catch on the cold metal of his barbell piercings. You flick them, drawing a sharp inhale from him. And then you see it—the tattoo you’ve admired from afar, the coiled tail of a dragon peeking from the jut of his hip.

He chuckles, low and rough, nuzzling into your neck. “What do you want, baby? Tell me.”

You swallow hard, heart hammering. “Need you—now.”

His smirk is sinful. “Yeah? Here, you’ve been so good for me.”

He shoves his pants lower, and you shiver as his hands skim your thighs, pushing your skirt down and off entirely.

“Be a good girl,” he murmurs, kissing you slow, teasing. “Take me out of my boxers.”

Getou straightens up, towering over you like a Greek god—sculpted physique gleaming under the dim light, skin slick with perspiration and arousal. Your breath hitches as you curl your fingertips around the waistband of his black boxers, carefully pulling them down, revealing the end of his happy trail and the thick, pulsing length of his cock straining beneath the fabric.

You free him from the confines, wrapping your fingers around his girth. He twitches in your grasp, a sharp inhale hissing through his teeth.

“Just like that, baby,” Getou murmurs, leaning over to flick his tongue over a sensitive nipple. Your mewl is music to his ears.

He lets you stroke him a few times, a bead of precum glistening at his tip as you lick your lips. But before you can indulge further, he captures your wrist, his other hand slipping beneath the damp fabric of your panties, pressing a teasing stroke over your clit.

A violent jolt racks your body. Your hips twitch, desperate for more, but all you can manage is an incoherent plea, breathy and urgent.

Getou chuckles, the sound dark, almost cruel. “Shh, shh. I got you. Daddy’s got you.”

He slips a finger inside you, and the moan you release is downright filthy. The slick glide allows him to press a second digit in beside the first with ease, stretching you open with deliberate, lazy pumps. His knuckles brush against you, curling upward with intent, watching your every reaction.

Your eyes flutter back, mouth parted, and you think you might be drooling. Getou licks at your chin, smirking. “Hey. Eyes up here.”

You barely manage to meet his gaze, his irises eclipsed by lust-darkened pupils. He leans in, your panting breaths mingling, and you press your lips to his, tasting him, losing yourself in the heat of his mouth.

“Fuck, baby,” he growls, his voice like gravel and honey. “You just tightened up—mmh, you like it when I look at you?”

“Yes, Sugu,” you gasp, teetering on the edge of madness. “Please, I’m gonna die if you don’t fuck me soon.”

The words are only half-teasing; the ache inside you is unbearable, the need to be filled leaving your eyes pricking with unshed tears. Getou’s expression softens for only a moment before he kisses the corner of your eyes, his thumbs swiping tenderly over your cheekbones.

Then, without warning, he hikes your legs over his shoulders, dragging your panties aside. The swollen head of his cock nudges against your slick clit, the slight friction sending a white-hot surge through your nerves. He watches the way you shudder beneath him, reveling in your sensitivity.

“You want it?” he asks, lining himself up, teasing your entrance.

You whimper, wiggling your hips, desperate to catch him inside. The wetness pooling between your thighs makes it effortless, yet he stills his movements, smirking down at you.

“Go ahead, baby,” he urges, voice thick. “Fuck yourself on my cock.”

He pushes in just enough for his tip to breach your entrance, the stretch immediate, electric. You sink down onto him, trying to take more, but it’s too much—too thick, not deep enough. Your walls clench greedily, but you can’t fit him in entirely on your own.

You look up at Getou, his lip caught between his teeth, veins prominent along his throat and forearms. A single tear escapes the corner of your eye, sliding down your cheek as you whisper, broken and pleading:

“Fuck me.”

Getou exhales sharply, dragging your panties off, your slick stretching between the fabric and your core. He balls them up, stuffing them into his pocket. You open your mouth to question it, but before you can, he grabs your ankles, pulling you to the edge of the bed.

With one deliberate thrust, he buries himself to the hilt.

A choked cry escapes your lips, his name mangled on your tongue. He sets a ruthless pace, each stroke angled perfectly to find the spot inside you that has you keening.

Your head falls back, eyes glassy, body trembling as pleasure builds in your core. Getou watches you come undone beneath him, kissing and biting at your thighs as he keeps driving into you.

“Gripping me so tight, baby,” he groans, voice raw with need. “So fucking wet—do you want to cum for me?”

You nod frantically, words failing you.

Getou chuckles darkly. “Can’t understand you, sweetheart. Try again.”

You suck in a shaky breath, but he thrusts particularly deep, stealing it away before you can respond. Your body quivers violently, pleasure teetering on the edge of oblivion.

“Yes, Sugu—yes! Please, I need—”

“Better,” he huffs. He withdraws, just long enough to shift his position, slotting himself between your legs, guiding your hands behind his neck. You instinctively wrap yourself around him, pulling him deeper as he fills you completely.

The pressure is dizzying. His hand presses against your lower stomach, and you keen, feeling him so impossibly deep inside you.

“S-so big—fuck—so deep, Sugu, s’good.”

He kisses your cheek, resuming his brutal pace, the wet sounds of your coupling only adding to the sinful bliss. He reaches between you, circling your clit with practiced precision, pushing you closer and closer to the edge.

You choke on a sob, pleasure consuming you. “Sugu—c-coming—”

His nose brushes against yours, his lips hovering just over your own as he coaxes you further. He licks along your cupid’s bow, voice a whispered command:

“Come for me.”

The dam bursts.

A violent wave of ecstasy crashes over you, leaving you gasping, body convulsing around him. Your walls flutter and squeeze, a gush of arousal soaking his cock, dripping down to his balls.

“Fuck, baby,” he grits out, fucking you through the aftershocks. “Just like that.”

He doesn’t stop, dragging out your pleasure until it’s unbearable. Another orgasm crashes over you before you even have time to recover, leaving you sobbing his name.

Getou groans, his body tensing. “Fuck—‘m close—”

You know what will push him over the edge.

“Come inside me,” you beg, voice wrecked. “Fill me up—Su-gu-ru.”

A broken moan falls from your lips as Getou thrusts deep, his release spilling into you, hot and thick. His pace stutters, but he doesn’t stop, fucking his cum into you, his hips rolling lazily as your walls pulse. The slick, creamy mess coats his base, dripping from your swollen cunt.

You tug him closer, pulling him into a messy, breathless kiss—your tongues sliding together, lips slotting against each other with desperate need. It’s intoxicating, dizzying, and you only pull away when the edges of your vision blur, the threat of passing out looming.

You blink up at him, mind hazy, body wrecked and thrumming with the aftershocks of your orgasm. Your voice comes out shaky, barely more than a whisper.

“Fuck.”

Getou chuckles, the sound low and breathless, his chest rising and falling against yours. A bead of sweat rolls down his neck, disappearing into the dip of his collarbone.

“Fuck is right,” he murmurs, voice tinged with amusement.

His gaze softens when you nuzzle against him, your cheek pressing against his damp skin. The fatigue creeps in—drunken, drowsy, and thoroughly ruined, your limbs feel too heavy to move.

His lips brush your temple. “You okay, baby? Didn’t hurt you, did I?”

You shake your head against him, a lazy smile tugging at your lips. “Nah, you’re perfect.”

He hums, fingers tracing absentminded circles against your back. Then, he shifts, trying to sit up—but the moment he moves, you tighten your arms around his neck, pulling him back down with a stubborn whine.

“Need to clean us up,” he says, voice gentle. “Won’t take long.”

You pout, clinging to him like a lifeline, your fingers wringing around his nape, refusing to let go.

He exhales, surrendering. “Alright, alright. Later?”

Your smile presses into the crook of his neck, the warmth of his touch soothing as his hand glides along your spine, up to scratch at your scalp in slow, languid motions.

“Later.”

𓂃۶ৎ

One thing you hate about your job is how it conditions your body to wake up at ungodly hours. In theory, it’s practical—what responsible adult wouldn’t want an early start to their day? But when you’re still reeling from a brutal hangover, desperately craving more sleep, and your body betrays you by jolting awake at the crack of dawn, it feels like pure, unadulterated torture.

You groan, rolling over in an attempt to force yourself back under, but sleep refuses to claim you again. After tossing and turning until frustration wins out, you surrender and drag yourself toward the kitchen, deciding a glass of water might help reset your system.

Hydration is key, after all, and judging by the desert-dry state of your throat, it’s safe to say you neglected it for the last forty-eight hours. Understandable, given how you’d spent the night before last.

The memory hits you out of nowhere—Getou Suguru, your devastatingly attractive neighbor, buried deep inside you, his face tight with concentration, his lips parted, breathless, still so effortlessly beautiful.

Your thighs squeeze together instinctively. It’s been happening often, these flashes of him in the most compromising positions. You just hope it isn’t obvious.

The cool air from the fridge is a relief against your overheated skin. For a fleeting moment, you consider drinking straight from the jug but decide to cling to the last shred of your dignity and pour it into a glass instead. Still groggy, you make your way to the couch, your sleep shorts riding up with every sluggish step, the strap of your bralette twisted uncomfortably.

Then—movement.

From the corner of your eye, just outside your window, something shifts. Old habits die hard, and before you can think better of it, you tiptoe closer, peeking through the curtain just enough to get a view. You expect to see the usual—Getou up early, like always. You recently learned that he wakes at the crack of dawn to make breakfast for the girls every day—a habit formed from years of going without, back when his family couldn’t afford the luxury of a morning meal.

You do see Getou.

He’s on his bed, legs stretched out, and he’s touching himself.

Your breath stutters in your throat.

His cock is flushed and straining in his hand, thick fingers wrapped around the length as he pumps himself at a lazy pace. You can almost hear the sounds he’s making—the quiet, low groans that would rumble deep in his chest, the sharp inhales as he works himself over. His lips move, forming words you can’t quite make out, but what catches your attention most is the fabric curled around his shaft, moving in time with every stroke.

You squint, trying to get a better look. Then your stomach drops.

Your panties.

Your used panties from the other night. The ones you’d worn throughout the evening, growing wetter and needier with every stolen glance at him, every lingering touch. The lacy pair with the pale pink bow at the center.

Now, they’re tangled along his cock, the waistband stretching with every movement, sticky with precum as he grinds himself against the delicate fabric.

You’re mesmerized. Completely, utterly entranced. You don’t even realize you’ve moved the curtain further, no longer just peeking but openly watching. And then—it happens.

Getou’s dark eyes lock onto yours.

Your stomach flips, but he doesn’t stop. If anything, he slows down, dragging it out, making a show of it. His hips thrust up to meet his tight grip, his jaw tightening as he bites back another moan. He doesn’t waver, doesn’t look away. He just keeps watching you watch him.

Then, still stroking himself, he picks up his phone, tapping the screen a few times before bringing it to his ear.

Your phone vibrates from where you left it on the couch.

A heavy silence stretches between you as you hesitate. Then, slowly, almost mechanically, you reach for it, pressing it to your ear.

The first thing you hear is his moan—gravelly, drawn out, punctuated by a sharp breath.

Across the way, Getou smirks. He stands, his cock bobbing against his stomach, your panties still tangled around the tip. He lifts a single finger, curling it in a slow beckon.

You swallow hard, pulse hammering in your ears.

And then, his voice, deep and smooth, curling around the words like a promise.

“Come over, pretty girl.”

[My beloved taglist: @mentallyillcore @ourfinalisation @nanasukii28 @tokyolittledelulu @reveursetcrieurs @c0ckdrunkk @inthedarkshadows000 @exelyox @inoluvrr]

+ A/N: Experimenting with my writing style ! Ngl I had to pause multiple times while writing this because DILFtou is just too damn fine !! Also, realized I have daddy issues while writing this smh

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