#If the Wind Frightens You | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

swordgrace · 1 month ago

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❝ 𝐬𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐥𝐞 𝐬𝐨𝐟𝐭 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐚𝐬 𝐩𝐮𝐫𝐞 𝐚𝐬 𝐬𝐧𝐨𝐰. ❞

┊ 𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬: wedded to cregan stark, a man you’ve never met , in an arrangement of convenience, you come to learn that even a wolf’s stoicism is rather deceiving.

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: cregan stark x fem!reader.

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 10.1K.

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: smut (mdni), arranged marriage, reader & cregan are strangers, virgin!cregan and virgin!reader, cregan is really sweet in this, mutual loss of virginity, talk of insecurities relating to appearance, heavy kissing, size kink / size difference, brief handjob & fingering (fem!rec), groping, unprotected p in v sex, descriptions of cum, creampie, obligatory stark breeding kink, missionary position, soft ending + aftercare.

𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫’𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞: this was so so so fun to write, it’s a different take on cregan from how I usually write him as experienced, and lowkey loved this! I really hope that you all love this as much as I loved writing it! thank you for any support, much love! 🫶

DUTY — THE BANE OF LOVE, THE FOUNDATION OF ALL HONORABLE MEN, THE SPINE OF THE REALM; A SACRIFICE. A NECESSARY SACRIFICE, THE PLEDGE OF A MAN GROWN, OF A FLEDGLING LORD NOW COMING INTO HIS OWN POWER AND CERTAINTY.

Cregan Stark, the Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North, was to be wed beneath the Weirwood Tree, boughs of an ancient crimson serving as the canopy to his newly-forged union with you.

A man of nine-and-ten, it was expected of him — unions with advantageous houses, married to a woman in exchange for something he did not have. It was not in his nature to be fraught with nerves in the face of uncertainty; as he grew into his role as Lord, so too did his confidence grow.

Not only was the growing wolf deemed a strong man, he was adept with a longsword and a proficient fighter. Cregan had excelled at his duties as Lord of Winterfell — however, marriage is where he assumed he’d falter.

Inevitably, he knew that he would find himself in this predicament, sworn to marry a suitable prospect from a noble house. His advisors had arranged a rather promising match to a maiden of House Connington, an exceedingly wealthy name, well-known in the Stormlands.

Northern alliances were already strong, built upon blood, steel, and an unyielding winter — it would be useful to have an ally further South.

He did not know what you looked like; your temperament, moral character, or if you would even find him favorable. It was not often that Cregan allowed himself to be plagued by lingering insecurities, but they seemed to weigh heavy within his mind.

Fortunately, such sentiments were shared by you, unbeknownst to him.

Griffin’s Roost was all you’d known, a lifetime spent in the Stormlands until you had reached maturity, now pledged to the Warden of the North. It pained you to leave what life you knew before, surrounded by family and the comforts of home.

The North was often regarded as a harsh and unyielding environment, with bitter, stinging winds and snowfalls that could bury men alive beneath their might. Ice-laden gales sang from beyond the Wall, bringing with it their callousness, whispers from savage lands.

Accustomed to the temperate forests and raging deluges of the Stormlands, the North’s biting chill would take plenty of adaptation on your end. The host of House Connington had arrived in all of their glory and bravado, bearing the twin griffin sigil, white upon crimson, crimson upon white.

From what little you gleaned of Cregan Stark, he was already a talented fighter, as thick as the trunk of an elder pine, and somewhat rugged around the edges. Roughness did not trouble you as it had other women — perhaps, it would give him character.

Part of you counted yourself fortunate to marry someone close to you in age, only one nameday your senior — plenty of women did not have such luck. Even then, you were frightened and nervous, hoping to make a lasting impression upon your new husband.

Much to your dismay, everyone seemed so eager to marry you off — to seal whatever pact had been struck, for you to begin your new life here, in the North. You hoped that you would find new companionship and comfort in your new home, but you neglected to get your hopes up.

The Old Gods were prevalent in Northern culture — the Faith of the Seven was nearly nonexistent here, a practice that your family had staunchly followed since your infancy. There were plenty of adjustments you would need to make in order to assimilate.

Sequestered within the guest chambers of your Northern host, handmaidens whose faces were unfamiliar to you helped dress you in your wedding gowns. It was a sentimental piece, handcrafted by your Mother before you departed from the Roost, a gown of crimson and silver.

Northern ceremonies were said to be much shorter, a tryst of few words outside of sacred vows. Your cloak hung heavy upon your shoulders, velvet encased by a line of fur, bearing the sigil of your House.

A lengthy, tarnished mirror sat before you, crystalline enough for you to admire your appearance, tresses pinned in intricate braids, visage dabbled with little cosmetics. You were to be given away by your uncle, journeying in the stead of your ailing father, Gods bless him.

With no facet of your appearance misplaced, you were prepared to make the journey to the Godswood, with your uncle upon your arm. As you stepped through ancient stone and over frozen ground, your heart hammered beneath your breast, like the beating of a bird's wings.

Anxiousness gnawed away at your fragile bones throughout your trek, mind continuing to race with a great many thoughts. What if he thought you ugly, or boorish? What if he was unkind or uncouth? What if the consummation was not satisfactory enough?

These were all feckless inquiries, born of your own insecurities and desire to make your new husband happy, make the most of your new life. Despite the biting chill that clung to your visage, perspiration slicked your palms, teeth absentmindedly gnashing against the inside of your cheek.

The dusky skies were blanketed by a penumbra of endless stars, as if the celestials themselves had gathered to witness your sacred union. Wisps of gray clouds scattered overhead, but soon dissipated in the wake of the moon’s glow.

Silvery rays touched a light snowfall, now muddled with hints of broken earth. There was no deluge to cast doubt upon your wedding — it was all endlessly clear, and the ice ceaselessly continued to stab at your exposed flesh.

The Godswood lay silent, surrounded by only a handful of Lord Stark’s closest advisors and kin, braziers lighting the way forward. Your grip upon your uncle’s arm became ironclad, as if you were attempting to hold on with every shred of strength in your bones.

Beneath vermillion leaves and pale bark, stood Lord Cregan Stark, with eyes as gray as winter’s shadow, chestnut tresses halfway pulled into a bun, the rest slicked with oils. He was nearly twice your size, frame clad in the taupe pelt of a wolf, countenance indiscernible from afar.

He was handsome, thank the Seven; and the closer you stepped, the more you realized that he possessed the same nervousness as you. One wouldn’t expect a man of his caliber to show it, but he did, the sentiment reaching his gaze.

As you reached the end, given to Cregan by your uncle, your stomach tumbled with butterflies, blood singed with anxiety. Cregan’s nervousness was far more subdued, though it lingered even still, especially as his large hand closed around yours.

Much to your surprise, the embrace of your Lord-husband was disarmingly gentle, coarse leather folding over your delicate palm. Storm-laden hues briefly fluttered toward you, as if searching for any scrap of discomfort caused by his own hand.

Vows were exchanged between strangers — and soon, in hours, you would not be so strange anymore.

“Will you take this man?”

It was your uncle’s voice, as spoken in Northern customs to give you away. He seemed uncertain as his inquiry filled the space around you, and yet you answered with a startling clarity.

“I take this man.”

In this close proximity, it allowed Cregan ample time to absorb you; a comely, beautiful stranger, soon to be the new Lady of Winterfell. It was your very presence that intimidated even the likes of him, enchanted by your delicate voice and beguiling appearance, features akin to the very image of perfection.

Admittedly, you stole every wisp of air from his burning lungs, something that he would not dare confess to — not here, at least. Fortunately, you did not seem terrified; nervous, perhaps, but that was to be expected.

Kneeling before the shadow of the Weirwood, Cregan uttered a brief prayer — he did not expect you to do the same. These traditions were likely a stark contrast to your own, something that perplexed him to no end.

In the recesses of your mind, you wondered what his heart was like — his interests, passions, the essence of his character. He seemed stalwart and rugged, as you’d been told, but he did not seem cruel nor callous, much to your relief.

He stood, unclasping your maiden’s cloak from your shoulders, presenting you with one crafted of elk’s hide and the tawny, dappled coat of a doe. It bore the sigil of House Stark, a direwolf embroidered onto thicker material, now swaddling your form in all of its warmth.

With your former House now by the wayside, the wedding feast was set to begin.

“My Lady,” As his husky, Northern timbre spilled forth from his mouth, hand outstretched, you took it, allowing him to guide you to your feet. Those onlookers who surrounded you in the Godswood looked on with subtle admiration for their young Lord. “It is tradition that I carry you to the feast.”

Cregan would not dare abandon the formalities of his countrymen, knowing full well that many eyes were upon him to uphold tradition. He sensed your twinge of hesitation, followed by a wave of embarrassment, however, you did not recoil from his gallant advances.

Knowing that he had an appearance to maintain, you nodded, both smitten and shy as thick, leather-clad arms hooked beneath your legs and back. It was effortless, the way he had hoisted you into his grasp, carrying you close to his chest as he began to make his way from the Godswood.

“I apologize if this is not comfortable, my Lady,” Even he found some wry amusement in this, all in a valiant attempt to ease the tension between you. “Once we arrive in the Great Hall, I shall put you down.” He assured, though your expression said otherwise.

“I insist upon you carrying me throughout the evening,” A playful lilt clung to your tone, and it seemed to ease Cregan’s nerves — at least you had a sense of humor about you. “I jest, my Lord. I must admit that I am a stranger to journeying through snow and ice.”

A brief huff escaped him, and the idle conversation slowly dissolved the foreign barrier between the both of you. Truthfully, he did not want his marriage to you to be distant, or icy. Northern superstitions dictated that snow during a wedding meant a cold union — fortunately, the skies were clear.

“You will grow accustomed to it soon enough.” Solemn, the young Lord ascended stone steps, making his way into the courtyard. The Great Hall would be full of people, most of them his own kin and denizens, as well as your host from the Stormlands.

A bout of silence occupied the space between you, your form lodged firmly against his chest, laden with muscle beneath his leather garb. Admittedly, you found a sliver of comfort within his hold, one that screamed with protection and a sense of security. It made you feel less unnerved.

In such close proximity, Cregan caught a gust of your scent; saccharine, bringing with it the warmth of the South, a touch of rainfall from the Stormlands. You did not seem perturbed by him carrying you — you fit within the crook of his arms rather perfectly.

Snow crunched beneath his boots, stricken with an ethereal glow from the face of the moon, glistening down to light your path. Smitten, your gaze briefly darted to admire his countenance — youthful yet worn, the bridge of his nose slightly crooked, a faint scar upon his chin.

Wisps of warmth emerged from between your lips, acclimating to the chill as best as you could. As you neared Winterfell’s Great Hall, rancor and excitement spilled from inside, orange light pooling from beneath the doors.

Cregan ascended another flight of stone steps, seemingly unbothered by cradling you, and once you reached the end, he gently deposited you onto solid ground. “Here we are.” Offering you his arm, you took it, led into the warmth of the castle’s archaic interior.

Met with the gleeful cheers of those in attendance, your host and his own, you narrowly avoided being pelted with flying deluges of ale. It was a merry hall, filled with immeasurable joyousness and laughter, which eased your anxiousness quite a bit.

Sentiments might shift once many of them sobered up, you imagined, but for now, you were delighted to enjoy your wedding feast. Your staunch husband led you through the commotion and gathering crowds with ease until you reached your table.

Situated at the helm of the hall, he politely moved your chair for you, allowing you to be seated before himself as he took his place by your side. A scarlet flush clung to his features, wisps of chestnut strands framing his strong visage.

The feast held in honor of your blossoming union was one of merriment, the mood lighthearted and blissful. You sat beside your husband, stomach pulled taut, a coil of nerves. Everyone seemed foreign to you, unfamiliar faces with their northern attitudes and thinly-veiled curiosity.

Following the exchange of toasts and presentation of foodstuffs, you became lost within contemplation, dreading the bedding ceremony that was sure to follow. You hoped that, if you closed your eyes, it would simply pass you by.

Cregan’s gaze remained transfixed upon you whenever you weren’t looking, blissfully oblivious to your husband’s ogling. He found you to be perfectly beautiful in all senses of the word — vexing, truly. Even he was not immune to the heated, carnal thoughts drifting within his mind.

Though, he was a touch nervous — unexpectedly so.

Carnal escapades were often packed into the richly-woven tales of his fellow advisors and compatriots, and it all seemed self-centered when they spoke of consummation. Cregan worried that he would fumble over himself, not know where to put his hands, let alone touch you.

As you prodded your fork into the seared haunch of meat, you happened to steal a glance at Cregan, and to your surprise, he’d already been staring at you. Warmth permeated your features, lashes fluttering as you cleared your throat.

Caught, he decided to be forthcoming in the matter. “Forgive me for staring, my Lady — you are rather beautiful,” He spoke plainly, blunt as he ensured you let his words sink in. Flattered, your lips quirked into a jubilant smile. “Is it all to your liking?”

A buzz of exhilaration bubbled within your belly, prompting you to sit a little straighter. “You flatter me, my Lord,” As you began to chew, a myriad of spices and flavors invaded your maw, sitting heavy upon your tongue. “It is — I must thank you for your hospitality.”

“This is your home now, as it is mine. You are deserving of such cordiality,” Cregan’s timbre had dissolved into a pleasant rumble, the cadence of it scratching at the back of your mind. You quite enjoyed his gruff nature, more than most. “I wish for you to be happy.”

The softness of his words made your stomach lurch with butterflies, lips parting in mild surprise. Admittedly, you had grown accustomed to the husbands commonplace within your life — they rarely took interest in their wives, especially with regard to their happiness.

“I … You have my gratitude, my Lord. I wish for you to be happy, in-turn,” Swallowing the growing lump within your throat, you continued. “I know that we are somewhat foreign to one another, but I do not prefer it to stay that way.” You confessed.

Perplexed, Cregan’s brow furrowed momentarily, a ghost of a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. Even for his youth, he was a stoic man — he had endured plenty, hardening him to the outside world. However, he found it within himself to treat you gently, perhaps surrender a sliver of gentleness to you.

“I would not prefer it, either,” Cregan replied, an amiable shimmer dancing within his wintry-gray hues. Delighted, you reached for his hand, much larger than your own, his skin calloused. He allowed you to hold it, reveling in your velveteen flesh. “Perhaps, we can tour the Wolfswood on the morrow — how are your riding skills?”

Perhaps it was the twinge of wine invading your bloodstream, but your thoughts had strayed on the side of perversion. A brief hitch formed within your throat before you hummed. “They are better than some,” You mused. “I’ve a great passion for horses, and for the outdoors.”

Making note of your interests, he knew precisely what to give you, a forlorn warmth stirring within his chest. Whatever impact you had on him, it was beginning to take some effect, reducing him to naught but boyish nerves.

Admittedly, Cregan hadn’t expected you to be this lively and jubilant — he expected terror and indifference, but this was a welcome change. It dissolved some of his initial reservations, but it was still too early to make any hasty judgments.

It had melted the ice somewhat, conversing about menial topics, allowing himself to grow accustomed to your presence. It would take plenty of work — fortitude, determination, kindness. Cregan did not want to sow any discord in your budding union.

“Tell me of Griffin’s Roost,” Cregan murmured, intrigued by your place of birth. The castle itself was said to be humble yet resolute, using the surrounding countryside to its advantage. “I’ve heard it sits upon some crag.”

A comely smile fluttered across your features, grasp beginning to loosen upon his hand. Returning to your hearty meal, you chewed, throat bubbling with a gentle hum. “It overlooks Cape Wrath, surrounded by red stone cliffsides — the view from the East Tower is wonderful.”

With a low grunt, your Lord-husband proved most attentive, posture beginning to slump into some relaxation within his seat. “Should my duties not become insurmountable, perhaps we could visit in a few moons time.”

Despite his desire to heed to the North, to remain planted, safeguard his lands, Cregan understood the importance of home. He did not want you to completely abandon your roots in exchange for Northern traditions.

Touched by such a proposition, you nodded in agreement, thankful that he’d suggested it. It meant more to you than he might’ve realized. “I would deeply appreciate such a journey, my Lord. I am certainly looking forward to learning of your home and its people.”

Loyalty seemed a core value amongst Northerners, their bond ironclad, a pact of ice. Such devotion amongst kin was comforting to witness, a web that you desired to be part of, with time. Duties of a lady were not lost upon you, but anxiousness stirred whenever you contemplated the future.

The Lady of Winterfell — the title itself was daunting, something you never imagined for yourself, foreign upon your tongue. The weight of it was a crushing one, but you hoped to soar beneath the pressure, impress both the people and your Lord-husband.

The sincerity of your answer had certainly beguiled Cregan, whose hardened visage seemed to soften. Admiration glittered within glacial hues as he attempted to clean his plate.

Before he could properly pose another inquiry into your morality and history, he noticed the flock of men and women beginning to swarm the terrace’s base. The bedding ceremony — he’d nearly forgotten about it, lost within the pleasantries he exchanged with you.

The thought of some drunken bannerman laying his hands upon you seemed to incite a flicker of fury within his chest; he feared breaking a nose at his own wedding. Even through the growing commotion, Cregan had made a rather hasty and disrespectful move.

“Come.” Low and brazen, his large hand gingerly closed around your elbow. To your startlement, your gaze flickered in the direction of the merry masses, continuing to clash their steins together, the rancor merely increasing.

Perplexed, you slyly crept from your chair, following Cregan into a rather slim corridor that stretched behind your seat. A glacial chill permeated ancient stone, and your brow remained furrowed with confusion.

“Won’t this upset your subjects?” Despite the innocuous nature of your inquiry, you were eternally grateful to avoid a bedding ceremony altogether. It felt wicked and crass, too irreverent as a precursor to consummation.

“Perhaps, but I wish to spare you such humiliation,” He sighed, guiding you onward until the two of you stood within an empty stairwell, torchlight encapsulating the walls. “That is worth their momentary disappointment.”

This was one tradition that he could live without, much to the chagrin of his advisors and the numerous wedding patrons. Admittedly, it was the thought of putting up some performance whilst strangers gathered outside of his door, all to see if he’d put a babe in you.

The more he thought of consummation, the more wracked with nerves he became, a festering anxiety gnawing away at his hardened bones. His chest heaved with a heavier exhale — at least this way, he would be afforded some privacy, away from any potential embarrassment.

Here, sequestered within the hush of the corridor, Cregan fully admired you, bathed in the glow of flickering firelight, wedding dress spiraling against the ground. Even still, you held his arm, delicate fingers folded atop his leather vambrace, absorbing his heat in the face of winter’s breath.

“I do not wish to make a foul impression upon your people with this,” Concerned that it would tarnish your image, Cregan dismissed your worries with a mere grunt. “Even if I truly do appreciate your kindness and understanding in the matter.”

“If this tarnishes your reputation, I will deal with it myself,” Stoic assurances were uttered from his lips, Northern timbre deliciously husky, like the tremble of thunder. “Come, before we are apprehended.” A twinge of humor sank into his stalwart tone.

Ascending spiraling steps that led to his lordly chambers, some nervousness had been alleviated by his grand gesture. Having beared witness to your own kin’s bedding ceremony, you did not wish such shame and discomfort upon anyone else.

Silence had blanketed the both of you, two anxious youth, navigating your newfound marriage. Butterflies danced within the pit of your stomach, as if reminding you of what was to come. Fortunately, it wouldn’t be in the company of others — only his, and that was intimidating enough.

As you approached a wide, mahogany door, wrought with careworn iron, Cregan gave it a brusque shove, the hinges groaning in protest. A wave of warmth greeted you, hearth simmering with a cluster of waning embers, nearly reduced to mere wisps of smoke.

His chambers were rather sizeable, a footlocker at the foot of his bed, draped in the impressive hide of a bear. Pelts adorned the feathered mattress in patchwork patterns of taupe, fawn-brown, and black. Before the hearth, a direwolf hide served as a rug above the cold stone.

Its appeal was rustic, rugged — it certainly followed the Northern motif. Even then, you found it pleasing and cozy, warm enough to shield you from the bitter brunt of a glacial tempest. Stepping inside, he closed the door behind you both, moving to rekindle the flames.

Stirring the dried twigs atop hunks of log, your Lord-husband quietly resigned himself to his menial task, brows furrowing together in concentration. It gave you a moment to steel yourself, awkwardly shifting to admire the humble fixtures of his bedchambers.

Part of you pondered what your own quarters might look like — lined in furs, bearing no trace of your own home. It was commonplace for noble marriages to remain in separate chambers, even if the thought happened to irk you.

As the hearth began to roar to life once more, bringing with it a wave of warmth, you shivered even still, likely out of anxiousness. Nerves seemed to bundle within your belly, a tight coil that had been pulled as tight as a bowstring, threatening to snap at any moment.

Admittedly, Cregan had needed a distraction — the reality of what was to come had dawned on him, and he feared making a fool of himself. Standing upright once more, he happened to catch a glimpse of your doe-eyed countenance, just as disquieted; outwardly so.

“Should — Shall I remove this?”

In accompaniment to your sudden inquiry, your digits had clumsily found the clasps of your bridegroom’s cloak, along the collar of your wedding gown. Numerous tales of consummation often held a similar pattern — remove your clothing, let him climb atop you, and put a babe in you.

Cregan’s jaw tightened, storm-laden hues swirling with a palpable trepidation. For a man so stalwart and intimidating, his own vulnerability was laid bare for you to witness, gaze averting your own as he collected his thoughts.

It had become painfully obvious that neither of you were well-equipped to deal with the pang of awkwardness that had settled in. His hand clenched into a fist, attempting to relieve a sliver of bodily tension as he cleared his throat.

His stoic silence had only furthered your unease, as if you’d behaved in a manner most untoward. A lump formed within your throat, with Cregan seemingly gathering his composure as he stepped closer, gait measured and purposeful.

Sword-hewn palms gently grasped your upper arms, brushing over the delicate silks of your gown. A brief shudder passed through you, heat warming your features as his proximity from you had all but dissipated. His stature had become glaringly apparent, looming well above you.

Thumbs gently traced circles into your clothed flesh, the gesture disarmingly tender as he cleared his throat with a low hum. “I do not wish for any of this to be uncomfortable, and yet,” Cregan hesitated, a flicker of worry passing through him. “This is all unfamiliar.” He confessed.

Sharing in his sentiments, you began to relax beneath his comforting embrace, hands twisting themselves together. “I … It is just as unfamiliar for me as it is for you. I do not know where to begin.” You murmured, chewing at the inside of your cheek.

The first song of fervor sang within his blood, running hot with a spark of carnality. Despite his lack of knowing, it was instinct that drove him now as he attempted to discern where to begin with you. Gray hues fluttered toward your lips, visage warming with a flush of scarlet.

“I suppose the only way forward is to learn together.” Cregan proposed, his brows knitting together as he allowed himself to absorb your appearance. A slight lump began to coagulate within his throat, prompting him to hastily swallow it down for the sake of his nerves.

With a brief nod, you let yourself abandon this fear that had gripped you so tightly, knowing that he was a stranger to the act, just as you were. A tenuous silence filled in the crevices, invading the slight space between you both.

This was your duty — it was best to honor it.

Strong, calloused hands sluggishly slid down the length of your arms until he found your hands, delicate and velvety within his hold. His thumb traced over your knuckles, reveling in the sensation of your flesh against his, as downy as feathers, as soft as a wolf’s pelt.

Bending to reach you, Cregan stooped, looming closer, mead-tinged breath fanning across your visage. The rough pillars of his lips hovered above yours, gaze one of admiration as he allowed himself to absorb your beauty, akin to a kiss of summertime.

Wisps of chestnut framed his hardened countenance, which seemed to soften in your presence, losing its stony exterior. A brief hitch formed within your throat, accompanied by a slight noise of exhilaration as his mouth ghosted over yours in a fleeting kiss.

It was agonizingly slow, intended to be exploratory, test the waters. He did not think it as strange as he thought it’d be, the action initially stiff and rigid, attempting to grow accustomed to you.

A volatile churning of heat swirled within your belly, nerves set ablaze by mere friction of mouths. It was exhilarating yet frightening, knowing that this was merely the beginning of it all. Nevertheless, you let yourself relax as much as you could, a sharp inhale puncturing your lungs as he let the kiss linger.

Withdrawing after a few moments, you stared at Cregan, counting yourself deeply fortunate that he wasn’t uncouth nor cruel. He did not seem after his own self-gratification, hands untangling themselves from yours as he cleared his throat.

“Not so terrifying.” Nothing more than a mere lull, your voice was saccharine, endlessly tender as you spoke with a touch of assurance. The stiffness between you both seemed to gradually melt away, and you hoped it would diminish entirely.

A threadbare smile crossed Cregan’s countenance, a fleeting gesture that made your bones sing. One palm moved to cup your cheek, his stare incendiary as he studied you, committing every detail to memory. You were nothing short of mesmerizing, a beauty only sung about in ancient hymns.

“May I?” He gestured to your cloak, the swaddling fabric proving more of a hindrance. As you nodded, the young Lord calmly stepped around you, coming to stand behind you, now eclipsed within the might of his silhouette. Rough digits found their way to the clasps, unfastening the garment altogether.

Cregan draped your cloak over the foot of the bed, gaze exposed to a rather intricate line of ties that held your wedding gown together. He dared not touch them yet, chest nearly brushing against your spine as he bent to press a kiss against your shoulder.

It was so simple, so innocuous — and yet the gesture made you ache with desire’s heavy sting, unfurling within your heart. A soft gasp tore past your parted lips, craving his embrace as you would a gust of crisp air or the glittering rays of a warm sunshine.

The hollow between your throat and shoulder had tempted him, bare flesh ripe for the grace of his mouth. Wordlessly, he continued upon his own whims, planting a string of reverent kisses there, prickling when he heard the sweetness of your moan.

The noise did not seem anguished, and instead, one someone would make when satisfied. “You are beautiful.” Cregan’s Northern baritone had rattled your bones, set you aflame, all of you — the tension had climbed to a searing broil. Absentmindedly, you began to lean backwards into his embrace.

Desire seemed so foreign to you, a concept that transcended comprehension. Yet, as your new Lord-husband began to dote upon you, you felt it twist within your heart, unfurling from within.

He did not know where to put his hands, what to do with them — instead, they remained firmly by his sides, stationary until he asked for your consent. With a final kiss, he lifted his head, chest blossoming with tendrils of warmth as he looked to the laces of your gown.

Gooseflesh raked over your spine, prickling with a sharp jab of exhilaration as it warmed your insides. Similar to Cregan, your hands remained twisted together, anxiously plucking at the front of your wedding gown, nails picking at a swath of velvet.

“Does my Lady give me permission to remove her gown?”

Cregan swallowed his nerves, attempting to suppress any unease, letting it simmer down within his stomach. He had not seen a woman bare before — he’d imagined it on occasion, through heated dreams of a spirited youth, but you were flesh and blood made reality.

A twinge of hesitation clung to his Northern timbre, hands momentarily clenching together as he patiently awaited your consent. The silence lasted longer than he expected, and he wondered if he had brought about some discomfort.

Truthfully, it was your insecurities that began to fester like some creeping plague, a clutch of poison ivy coming to cling to your heart. “What if you do not find me favorable?” As your inquiry floated into the open air, you knew you had made a grave error in vocalizing it.

Through furrowed brows, Cregan’s nervousness had melded into bewilderment, and he seemed to freeze behind you. “Why would you think that?” His question, though sharp, lacked any lilt of malice or callousness. Instead, he was perplexed why he would find you anything other than beautiful.

“I … I do not know,” Twisting your fingers together, your confession seemed to weigh upon your shoulders, more than you revealed. “I often worried that my appearance might become a detriment, or worse, something boorish.”

Cregan’s chest stirred with a low rumble, contemplative of your words. He thought little of his own physicality, a youthful man built of stony muscle and fortitude, a hardened warrior. However, he imagined how it might be different for you.

He would be the envy of all men with you by his side; men that he hoped to ward away from you. Im truth, if it weren’t for his desire to seem stoic in the face of disquiet, he would’ve fallen to his knees at the sight of you beneath the Weirwood Tree.

“Boorish,” Cregan repeated, voice a sonorous hum as he stepped around you, facing you once more. His hands found yours, satin flesh and delicate, your grasp oozing with tenderness. “When I saw you beneath the Weirwood, my heart fell still for the very first time.” He murmured.

A hitch formed within your throat, coupled with a startled gasp of surprise, his words moving you in a way you didn’t think possible. “My Lord …” As your heart began to gallop like hoofbeats beneath your breast, he stepped closer, chest brushing against yours.

“Cregan,” His gentle correction had warmed your features, voice scratching the deeper parts of your very being. One hand relocated, roughened palm shifting to gingerly cup your jaw, thumb stroking over the silky skin there. “You are beautiful — you needn’t worry.” He reassured you.

Mesmerized by him, you rocked up upon your toes, mouth seeking his own as your lips collided in a seamless fervor. The kiss was far more passionate than the first, though still echoed with inexperience, ministrations somewhat erratic.

Flustered and charmed, your hands decided to abandon their position, finding the wide expanse of his leather-clad chest. Beneath your palms, it was all staunch muscle, hardened like that of indomitable stone, shielded by the rough veil of his tunic and cloak.

Returning your kiss, Cregan exhaled, the noise steady and resolute, hand shifting to perch atop the small of your back. Silken laces teasingly danced over his fingertips, as if attempting to rouse him to action — still, he did not bend to baser instincts.

Failing to part, the kiss continued, mouths beginning to find something of a rhythm, however unsteady it might’ve been. A surge of heat washed over you, the first wave of desire — at least, that’s what you assumed it was.

Cregan held you close, cradling you to his chest, grasp inherently protective and laced with gentleness. It was only when you drew away that he allowed it to slack, his features blanketed with a faint flush of scarlet, wintry-gray hues fluttering over your countenance.

“You may remove it.” The softness of your murmur was unmistakable, a sweet lull that had sunk its talons into the far recesses of his mind. Slowly, you turned, allowing him unobstructed access to the plane of tethered silk that clung to you.

With a brief exhale, Cregan steeled himself, ogling the back of your head — your tresses were braided and styled so intricately, the scent of a regal perfume wafting from you. Calloused digits found the column of laces along your spine, giving the very first a tug, making his way upwards.

The moment itself stewed with a searing tension, his body nearly snug against yours, the fabric beginning to loosen upon your body. Crimson and silvery silks gave way to the simple shift beneath, as pure as a newborn snowfall, its material tantalizingly sheer.

A stirring formed within his chest, exposed to your near-naked frame as you calmly stepped from your wedding gown. With respect to your garment, Cregan gathered it within his arms, placing it aside atop the footlocker.

As you turned to face him once more, instilled with a flicker of newfound confidence, you swore you heard his breath become heavy. The pliant peaks of your breasts prodded beneath the fabric, tresses spilling across your collarbone.

Nearly translucent, your shift left little to the imagination, material clinging to your form, as if tempting Cregan with what lay beneath. In a wordless rapture, he admired you — your beauty, the sparkling gleam within your eyes.

It was then that your attention had shifted to evening the score, gaze flickering toward the mantle of furs that still sat upon his shoulders, the studded leather jerkin. “I wish to see you, too.” Your confession was devastatingly tender, enough to make Cregan become a touch smitten.

“As you wish.” Cregan rumbled, lacking any qualms in regards to his own physicality. He was impressive for a man his age — nine-and-ten, and bigger than most. He watched as you quietly reached for the clasps of his cloak, easing it from him to join your wedding gown.

The assistance you provided in removing his own garb had made his heart fester with want, the proximity between bodies now incredibly thin. As your slender fingers went about unfastening the buckles of his vambraces, he gazed at you, as if you were the sun itself.

There was nothing boorish about you — the very air you exhaled was tinged with sweetness, air that he coveted. If Cregan did not know any better, he would believe you to be the goddess of beauty, made flesh incarnate before his very eyes. You drew him in so completely, making him burn.

As his vambraces joined the growing heap of clothing, both your attention and his had turned to his tabard and coarse tunic beneath. Leather slipped into your palms and his, fiddling with straps and buckles as he maneuvered it over his head.

His musculature was rather impressive, almost intimidating — Cregan took great care of himself, training daily and without rest. The dark, slate-hues tunic that clung to him came off next, as he pulled it over his chestnut mane until it fluttered atop the pile of garments.

Molten heat swirled within your belly as you marveled at the sight of him, statuesque and handsome, built to withstand even the hardiest of winters. You were nervous to touch him, just as he was with you — the hesitation was palpable, lingering between bodies.

The both of you stood with trembling hands and tremulous eyes, mere wisps apart, attempting to navigate through the first inklings of desire. To his surprise, it was you who had made the first move, hand slowly crossing the distance until it fell atop his chest.

A shudder gripped him, slithering along his spine, your embrace so very warm, a lick of fire piercing through his glacial gale of ice. “Is this alright?” You inquired, noting his nod of approval as he openly invited you to continue, pressing closer.

“May I?” Cregan returned the favor as his palms snaked toward the swell of your hips, and once you vocalized your consent, he let them sink into your pliant flesh. Despite the obstruction of fabric, he kneaded you even still, hands smoothing over your sides.

With a dip of his head, his lips danced over yours, a ghost of hot breath fanning over your features. He quietly awaited your consent, allowing you to bridge the gap, lips molding themselves to one another. The kiss made him dizzy, feeling your hands glide to perch atop his collarbone.

The hot, youthful surge of carnality came crashing down upon him like that of a tidal wave shattering upon the rocks. Cregan fought against his own instincts, what he’d been told to do, maintaining all sense of gallantry for your comfort.

This softness that he shared with you — it felt special, sacred; it was something that he envisioned himself growing accustomed to, with time. He felt you shiver within his grasp as his palm gently caressed along your spine, feeling your curves through your thin shift.

Each kiss seemed to sink into a gradual sense of comfort, shedding the initial awkwardness that had lingered at the start. Gods, you enjoyed his mouth quite a bit — more than what was deemed appropriate.

“You are wonderfully handsome,” As you murmured your praises against his lips, Cregan let the warmth of your words wrap around him. He became entangled in you, his mouth suddenly veering off-course, pressing a kiss to your neck. “Oh.”

A bewildered gasp tore past your mouth as he began to litter your throat in kisses, grunting when he felt your hand reach for the nape of his neck. This newfound sensation, however foreign, felt incredible to you — you wanted more.

Caging you in against his musculature, you felt the heat that wafted from him, as hot-blooded as the roar of the hearth. Arousal began to coalesce between your thighs, a pooling nectar that made you shift together.

His name emerged as a wanton whine from beneath your breath, enough to send a surge of desire throughout his bones, as sharp as a blade’s edge. Cregan’s jaw tensed, feeling his cock begin to twitch within his leather trousers.

Steady hands worshiped your body with reverent touches, fisting at the fabric that clung to you with a twinge of desperation. The young wolf continued to kiss his way across your neck until he found your collar, visage pressed into the soft canvas of your flesh.

“C—Cregan,” An unchaste moan floated from betwixt your lips, a song of mounting pleasure as he showered your skin in kisses. Gripping the chestnut tresses at his nape, your other palm slid around his torso, splayed atop his spine. “By the Seven.” You exhaled desire; exhilarated.

Biting back a threadbare smirk, his ministrations were ceaseless, wanting you to know just how flawless he found you, how beguiling. Muscles flexed around you, as if shielding you from the rest of the world, keeping you close to him.

Whatever chill had gripped his heart had all been melted away — fear of duty, fear of marriage, fear of sacrifice; it had all dissipated in your wake, leaving naught but ash.

Perhaps it was simply too early to feel such things, the imperviousness of youth, but for now, he cared very little for it. If Cregan was certain of one thing, it was that he wanted you, wanted your heart, to be your shield, a steady hand.

As he pressed a lingering kiss just above your sternum, a shiver passed through you, the shuffling of fabric becoming audible. He hadn’t fully realized that your hands had recoiled, now gathering against your ruffled shift. A flicker of surprise settled into his features, intermingled with a peculiar thrill.

Silence settled between, taut with want, the budding ecstasy of a new and promiscuous experience. Swallowing the slight lump that had coagulated within his throat, Cregan observed in hushed gaiety as you shakily fumbled to remove your shift.

Translucent material soared effortlessly over your flesh, pooling in a silvery heap at your feet. Tendrils of heat licked over your flesh, emanating from the hearth as your body revealed itself to your Lord-husband.

He seemed more a doe now than a wolf, visibly mesmerized by the sight of you, painfully beautiful, and he felt rather unworthy of it all. His heart galloped beneath his chest, storm-laden hues ogling every inch of you.

Standing rigidly still, more akin to a statue, you felt your words turn to ash upon your tongue, melting beneath Cregan’s incendiary stare. It was easy to discern the vermillion flush that had gripped his features, which happened to make you so very warm, hands awkwardly dangling at your sides.

“It feels untoward to touch you like this,” Cregan confessed, hardened countenance beginning to soften. “As if I might tarnish your perfection.”

The fondness laced throughout his cadence only stoked the volatile flame within your belly, thighs absentmindedly shifting together. A smitten smile permeated your features, eyelashes fluttering in rapid succession as you shyly reached for his hand.

“There is nothing to tarnish,” Gently, you set his large hand atop your hip, able to hear the sharp inhale of glee from the young wolf. “I — I want you, Cregan. I want you to touch me.” Tapering off into a hoarse utterance, you looked to him with pleading eyes; it was so easy for him to submit.

Steeling himself, Cregan allowed his confidence to flourish, then and there. You wanted him, craved his embrace — there was nothing to fear, no reason to believe that he’d disappoint you. Bending to kiss you, he let his digits flex over your flesh, as downy as a bed of feathers.

No satin or silk compared to that of you, perfection incarnate, living and breathing within his grasp. Permitting the kiss to linger, deepen, he only withdrew to ask a very important question. “Where, wife?” Such an innocent word threaded with a blistering desire — your knees shook.

A hitch formed within your throat, and Cregan was desperate to please you, even if it did not outwardly display itself. Excitable, you reached for his other hand, fingers barely able to encircle his wrist, guiding it towards the oozing heat between your legs.

Through furrowed brows and bated breath, he exhaled when his calloused digits met the damp heat of your nethers, jaw beginning to pull taut. The sensation was a foreign one, and he coaxed you closer, muscled arm keeping you aloft as his thigh gently pushed your legs apart.

He watched you closely, to see what you enjoyed and what you disliked, digits beginning to push past your petals. Met with the rushing warmth of your arousal, Cregan touched you with exploratory caresses, fingers gently gliding over your cunt.

Eliciting a moan from your mouth, he let his lips dip to your throat once more, sluggishly allowing his digits to slide along your slit. You gripped his biceps, anchoring yourself there as he warmed you in ways you didn’t think possible, head clouded by the haze of desire.

His lips returned to the bend of your shoulder, the velvety hollow between that and your throat. A string of kisses manifested there, digits continuing to caress over your slit. This rhythm was agonizing, your body screaming with ecstasy.

As his digits brushed over the pearl of your cunt, you immediately tensed, gripping him like a vice as you released a shaky sigh. “There.” You encouraged, feeling his mouth begin to still, focused upon his new charge.

Quietly, Cregan looked to you, hues a glacial storm, glittering with affection as he circled back to your clit, fingers brushing over the bundle of nerves once more. The way your hips had jolted forward, nails digging crescents into his biceps — he reveled in your reaction.

Acting upon instinct, your hand had dropped, traveling to the laces of his trousers, earning you an exhilarated look. He did not protest in the slightest, hand stilling enough as you began to sheepishly tug at the leather ties, a shiver icing your spine.

“To bed.” He uttered, preferring if you were comfortable and situated for all of this, and you nodded in agreement. Even as you shyly crept toward his bed, you didn’t want to stop your previous ministrations.

Slipping onto the impressive expanse of furs, you sank into pelts of bears and wolves alike, gaze expectantly finding his own as he paused, finishing with his breeches. Sluggishly, he stepped from his clothing, which had all felt rather cumbersome, restrictive.

The sudden flurry of nervousness flooded your countenance when you saw all of him; butterflies erupted within your belly, gooseflesh crawling over your frame. There was nothing small about him, from his indomitable stature and bulk of muscle to his cock, now fully erect.

Choking at the sight, you began to wonder how it would all fit, how it worked — though, you trusted in him, trusted that he would be gentle. It was to be expected — a man of his impenetrable stature likely had the assets to accompany it.

As Cregan joined you, the frame of the bed rustling in protest to the newfound weight, you swallowed the growing lump within your throat. His bulky physique had swallowed you whole as he moved to lay over you, blanketing you in his warmth.

It was his turn to become shy, chewing at the inside of his cheek as he deliberated on what to do next, palms firmly planting themselves on either side of your head. His cock twitched at the sight of you, beautiful beyond compare, resting beneath him with a sense of uncertainty.

Able to hold himself aloft well enough with one forearm, the other returned to previous ministrations, fingers finding the warm slick between your legs. He inhaled at the sensation, brows creased in concentration.

As your visage blossomed with an obvious delight, you wanted to even the score, reaching for his cock as it prodded against your belly. He grit his teeth together when you first touched him, initially shy as could be, nearly hiding behind your lashes.

The softness of your delicate digits wrapping around the girth of his cock made him swear beneath his breath, forehead resting against yours. In a pleasurable tandem, you exchanged caresses, his fingers languidly circling around your clit, burly physique spreading your legs apart.

Gazes met, a fire ignited — he was quiet, but the rapture within his eyes was unmistakable. Lips clamored for one another, a hushed moan floating from your mouth, hand continuing to stroke in rhythmic motions along his length.

The weight of disappointing you had withered away entirely, leaving only a sense of newfound devotion, desiring to please you in the way that you deserved. Cregan’s chest reverberated with a low grunt as the pad of your thumb circled over the swollen head of his cock, eliciting a sonorous groan from him.

He feared that if he carried on, he might not have been able to hold himself together. As his mouth claimed yours once more, the kiss disarmingly tender, infused with passion, he felt your body arch into the friction of his hand.

Waning embers pooled over your flesh, turning it to some incandescent shade, captivating him completely. The heat from the hearth mattered little to you, replaced by the comforting warmth of your new husband, whose body bent to you just as yours did him.

“I will be gentle, I swear this to you.” Cregan swore, tone resolute and laced with want, baritone rattling your insides with a flush of bliss. His cock pulsed within your palm, and he nearly bit at your lip, resisting the wolfish urge to do so.

Between sweeter kisses, he let his fingers toy with the pearl of your cunt a moment longer, wanting to bring you such bliss before the act itself. Nervousness continued to swirl within him, a fear of hurting you still lingering as he planted a kiss to your brow.

“I need you,” You hadn’t expected the words to float so effortlessly from your lips, and yet, it felt right to say it. Cregan’s countenance bristled with yearning, carnal fantasies taking root as he imagined filling you with a babe. “Cregan, please.”

Smitten and endlessly flustered, you nearly shrank beneath the intensity of his gray-hued stare, throat bobbing as he swallowed. His roughened palm stroked along your thigh, and he knew where to insert himself, but what came after?

It was easy to envision you swollen with his child, his new Lady of Winterfell, carrying his heirs, a maiden worthy of his worship. Cregan settled between your legs, adjusting his position, the head of his cock brushing against your slick petals.

A sharp gasp punctured your lungs, hands holding onto his biceps. Both his virtue and yours dangled by a mere thread, tantalizing as he angled himself to the best of his ability, reeling at the sensation of your legs squeezing at his hips.

“Are you certain?” Despite the breathy cadence of his inquiry, he wanted you to be well-prepared before he continued. Fingers twisted into the thick furs beside your head, forehead ghosting above yours, wisps of chestnut framing his countenance.

With a nod, you prepared yourself for what would likely be discomfort, hopeful that it would devolve into bliss after some time. “Yes.” You sighed, gaze innocuous, completely and utterly charmed by his gallantry as he eased his hips forward.

Cregan carefully watched your face, searching for signs of discomfort as his cock began to push into your tight cunt, which clenched around him already. A low cry of pain tore past your lips, attempting to suppress it for his sake — he was so very well-endowed.

“We do not have to continue.” His response was instantaneous and apologetic, brows furrowed together as his hips stilled, and you shook your head. Cregan deliberated, wrestling with himself as you encouraged him through wanton moans, knees squeezing at his waist.

“N—No,” Whilst your protest seemed weak, you meant it entirely. The stretch was certainly discomforting, but it wasn’t agonizing — you hoped to grow accustomed to it. “I wish to continue — please, Cregan.” Your pleas to keep going were reluctantly answered.

Admittedly, he felt overwhelmed by you — the tightness, the sensation of your cunt around his cock, the feeling of your body nestled against his own. He exhaled, hot breath fanning over your countenance, his expression just as doelike as your own.

Your neediness made his blood run hot, and he nodded, sluggishly resuming his pace. He continued to tilt his hips forward, cock feeding into you, inch by inch. Cregan felt the desperate bite of your nails clutching into muscle, leaving behind angry crescents.

A trembling breath escaped him, muscles flexing around you, caging you in against him. His stalwart nature had crumbled completely, lips gently pressing against your jaw in an attempt to soothe you, hips slotting forward until he had sheathed himself within you.

He did not move, allowing you time to adjust, content to lay there and pepper your flesh in plentiful kisses. One hand clamored to the nape of his neck, fisting at his chestnut tresses as you eased out a shaky exhale.

“Are you alright, wife?” Gods, the title — it made your belly churn with liquid heat, coalescing as arousal, heavy between your thighs. If it weren’t for Cregan’s reassurance and caution, this might’ve been rather distasteful.

Fortunately, he was perfect in all ways imaginable, crooked bridge of his nose inhaling a gust of your saccharine scent. You made sure to nod, his stillness becoming more of a hindrance than assistance. “Mm,” You moaned. “I am.”

The more time he gave you to grow accustomed to his girth, the more relaxed you became, no longer coiled like some furled lioness. As you let yourself become light, floating, the sensation gradually became pleasurable for you.

Cregan’s lips twitched into a threadbare smile; you took him so well, enough that it made his heart swell with ardor. Coaxing him in for a kiss, your lips met with a startling fervor, and he began to move, hips sluggishly rolling forward, ensuring that he was exceedingly gentle.

His cock filled you completely, a stretch that would take you more than just one night to adjust to. Your maidenhead was gone, your cunt tight around his length, pulling him in again and again. He took care of you, soothingly caressing your thigh as he held it within one palm.

Gods help him — he began to understand why so many men had talked of this carnal bliss, and it only made him ache for you all the more. Sharp grunts accentuated each of his thrusts, ensuring that his pace was careful, letting the pleasure build.

Cregan’s breathing became heavier, somewhat labored as he consummated your union. Each roll of his hips held meaning, beyond the creation of an heir. It was tenuous with newfound feelings, a burning sentiment he felt for you, ardor that had grown into a fire.

It was you that had reached for his hand, fingers interlocking above your head, pressed into the downy pillows there. It filled you with molten heat, slick cunt aiding in his ministrations, hips urging into yours with a simmering friction.

His name fell from your lips like some sacred prayer, whispered into the heat between bodies, distance nonexistent. The pliant peaks of your breasts had brushed against his muscled chest, your other hand gripping his bicep like a vice.

It was driving him mad, the way your cunt constricted around his cock, the way in which your back arched from the furs, chest brushing against his. Cregan grunted, jaw set and brows furrowed in concentration as he kneaded into your thigh, something to alleviate his tension.

He was so burly, a thick wall of impenetrable muscle that seemed to envelop you entirely, shield you from everything else, from all harm. It made you feel protected, comfortable — as if you had nothing to fear.

Strands of chestnut stuck to his temples, flesh glittering with perspiration from the exertion of lovemaking, coupled with the heat of your chambers. Clinging to him like a drowning woman, you savored the slow, sharp snaps of his hips, urging into you.

Cregan’s cock throbbed within you as he sought to spill his seed, face against yours, lips occasionally connecting in a series of passionate kisses. Everything felt incredible, in ways that you couldn’t comprehend — it was ecstasy, it was pure bliss.

The pinnacle of your pleasure was dancing upon the precipice, feeling his thrusts become a touch invigorated. Even still, he never once devolved to roughness, never strayed from his sluggish pace, made to feel all of you.

Wanton moans and low, thunderous groans echoed between you, inhabiting the warmth that crackled there, foreheads nestled together. Perspiration licked across your frame, permeating against your spine as your legs squeezed him like a vice.

As you called his name, Cregan grunted, the sound sudden and intense, attempting to restrain himself for just a moment long — and he was exceedingly unlucky. His hips urged forward once more, cock pulsing with an incessant ache as he spilled himself inside of you.

There was certainly intent behind it, filling your womb with his seed, desiring to see you round, lovely and full. Even if it did not take, he suspected that the opportunities would present themselves in the future. A shudder passed through his spine, feeling your cunt clench around him.

It was your release that followed suit, a white-hot tidal wave of ecstasy that made you see stars, moaning against his mouth as he cradled you close. Your interlocked fingers had tightened, bodies still craving one another, insurmountable heat making you delirious.

Seed oozed from your cunt, a sticky smattering that painted both your womb and inner thighs, your own nectar intermingled. Cregan heaved an exhale, letting his brow press snug to yours, mouth connecting in a tender kiss.

As his gaze found yours, you felt your features simmer with warmth, breath beginning to still as you regained your composure. The moment had stretched for an eternity, content to bask within his presence, lips curling into a demure smile.

The young wolf was wholly enamored, furrowed brows beginning to slack as he turned, bringing you with him. As he laid down, he let you rest atop him, bodies molding together as if they were two puzzle pieces, intended to fit.

Cregan himself seemed caught in the afterglow, dazzled by you, by all of this — unexpectedly so. A thick, muscled arm wrapped around you, palm splayed across the small of your back as he felt you shift, head nestled atop his chest.

“I didn’t hurt you, did I?” He uttered, his worry thinly-veiled as he cradled you close, concerned that he’d caused you harm. “I apologize if I did — I did not realize …” Cregan trailed off, features painted with a scarlet pallor.

Admittedly, you would be sore — with your maidenhead surrendered, the ache between your legs was both pleasant and painful. “You did not,” You assured, letting out an awkward clearing of your throat. “Do you wish for me to go to my own chambers, now?”

Bewildered, Cregan’s head perked up just enough, head canting to one side. “Why would I have you leave?” He questioned, noticing the way you became embarrassed, as if you had said something completely foul.

“My own mother never shared chambers with my father,” You prompted, flustered as Cregan shook his head, bringing you closer, as if that were even a possibility. Already flush together, flesh to flesh, heart to heart, there was not a sliver of space to be found. “I only thought …”

“I understand,” His Northern timbre was soothing, reassuring as he caressed along your spine, pressing a chaste kiss to your crown. “I would prefer it if you stayed here — though, should you tire of me, I will accommodate you.” Cregan rumbled, nearly smirking at your fit of giggles.

“I do not think I will tire of you — not anytime soon, as it stands.” You mused, and that seemed to amuse your Lord-husband, who let out a brief huff as he soon swaddled you both within the furs.

No longer did you fear the Northern chill.

#house of the dragon #cregan stark x reader #cregan stark x you #cregan stark x y/n #hotd x reader #hotd #hotd smut #hotd fanfiction #cregan stark #cregan x reader #house of the dragon fanfiction #hotd fanfic #asoiaf fanfic #cregan stark smut

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flowersforjude · 4 months ago

Text

𝐓𝐨 𝐊𝐞𝐞𝐩 𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐅𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐁𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠

𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 | Azriel x Fem Archeron!Reader

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 | In your struggle to adapt to your new existence, the Night Court's shadowsinger takes it upon himself to offer his quiet comfort.

𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐂𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 | 2,537

𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 | Mentions of reader in the Cauldron, Anxiety, Depersonalization, Sweet Az, Fluff, Emotional hurt/comfort, Hints at reader and Az being mates.

𝐀𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐍𝐨𝐭𝐞 | I’m only half way through the 2nd book so I apologize for any mistakes or inaccuracies. I have a pretty good idea of what happens in the rest of the series, I just haven’t read it yet. Azriel is quickly becoming a favorite, though, so I just had to write something for him. He might be a bit ooc.

masterlist | part two

It was the twilight hour at the House of Wind. The atmosphere was dense and strangling, a tension sitting in the air so turbulent one wrong breath could shatter the carefully constructed peace. Azriel and Cassian certainly had their hands full. Neither of the males able to dispel the strain. Rhysand was sequestered away you knew not where, leaving his brothers with the responsibility of navigating the fractured states of you and your sisters.

You sat near the window of your room, your hands curled tightly in your lap, trying to ignore the suffocating weight of everything you couldn’t fix. Couldn’t feel. Couldn’t understand.

Nesta’s sharp voice echoed faintly down the corridor, cutting through the heavy silence that pressed on your ears. Elain’s quiet sorrow was just as palpable, an ache that you didn’t have the strength to soothe, even if you wanted to.

And you? You were drowning. Over and over again, feeling your humanity being ripped from you. Clawed away and shredded into the withering pain that tore across your skin. Never able to take in an easy breath because each intake of air felt like the Cauldron’s scorching water was invading your lungs. It turned to lead inside you, dragging you down down down into the blackened depths.

You had come out transformed into someone, something, you didn’t recognize. You were fragmented, frayed, and whatever pieces were left of you no longer seemed to fit.

The knock at your door startled you, a soft sound, almost hesitant, like whoever stood on the other side wasn’t sure they were welcome. You didn’t respond aloud—what would you say?—but something about the silence must have been answer enough because the door creaked open.

It was Azriel.

Of course, it was him. He always seemed to know when to appear, not with the smooth certainty of someone who could fix everything, but with the quiet persistence of someone who couldn’t walk away. His presence made your chest tighten in a way you didn’t understand, a weight and a warmth all at once.

He carried a tray of food, though his hands, so steady normally, looked almost awkward now. His shadows trailed at his feet, curling along the floor like restless whispers, and for a moment, you wondered if they’d been listening to you earlier. To the broken sounds you hadn’t meant for anyone to hear. Was that why he was here now?

“How are you feeling?” He asked, his voice low, rough, like the question cost him something to ask.

You blinked at him, unsure how to respond. How were you feeling? Empty? Heavy? Nothing and everything all at once? You wanted to laugh at the absurdity of such a simple question when the answer was anything but. Instead, you shrugged, the motion barely more than a flicker of movement.

Azriel shifted, the tray now resting on the table beside you. He flexed his hands at his sides as if he didn't know what to do with them now. His large wings were folded low at his back like he was attempting to make them less noticeable.

Is he doing that for me? To not…frighten me, perhaps?

He didn’t sit, didn’t move closer, but his presence filled the room, steady and quiet and infuriatingly unshakable. His gaze lingered on you for just a moment too long before he looked away, his jaw tightening.

You shifted in place on the window seat, folding your hands in your lap to keep from picking at the skin around your nails. It was a nervous habit you'd had all your human life, and it seemed to have followed you into your new fae existence. To be frank, the habit had gotten worse since your ordeal in the Cauldron. You were antsy, jumpy, and nervous all the time now.

"I'm fine." You finally said in a small whisper. You felt the embarrassment creep in as you spoke. It was only two words, but it felt like it was more than you'd spoken at all since you were shoved into that dreadful, life-altering vessel. Your voice wasn't as strong as it used to be; you weren’t as strong as you used to be. Not even with your newfound abilities. Sure, you were more graceful than before, your now pointed ears could hear a bit better than before, and your skin seemed to shine like starlight, but you couldn't shake the feeling that you were a great deal more fragile now.

Especially when Azriel stood before you. The Illyrian male was the very definition of strength. You couldn't fathom why he was here right now, checking on you. But some deep, deep part of you, a part that felt as if it hadn't been there before the Cauldron, was practically beaming at his presence. It warmed inside you and sang into your mind, telling you to reach out for him. That even brushing briefly against his tanned skin would bring you lifetimes of comfort. It was absurd.

You really are losing your mind.

Azriel shifted, the gentle scrape of his boots against the floor pulling you from the spiraling thoughts threatening to consume you. His wings twitched, an almost imperceptible movement, but you caught it. You’d noticed that before, how you were always so aware of his every movement. You caught everything he did, each subtle sound and flicker of motion. It was overwhelming sometimes, this heightened awareness of him. Yet another thing you didn’t understand.

He cleared his throat softly, drawing your gaze back to him. “You don’t have to say you’re fine,” he murmured, his voice a blend of rough honesty and something more delicate, something that felt like understanding. “You don’t have to say anything at all.”

The warmth in your chest flared again, unbidden and unrelenting. You swallowed against it, against the strange pull that seemed to tether you to him, as if some invisible thread had bound itself around your heart and was now tugging mercilessly. It was maddening. You didn’t want to feel this way—this need, this want for something you couldn’t even name.

Azriel’s words settled in the room like a fragile thread, the kind that could snap with just the breath of the wrong response. He didn’t move, didn’t look at you fully, but you felt his focus anyway, sharp and unwavering. His presence was a steady hum in the background of your awareness, grounding and yet deeply unsettling at the same time.

“I…” you started, the sound so faint it barely carried between you. Your throat felt tight as if you were drowning all over again, your words caught somewhere between your chest and lips. You wanted to speak, to tell him something, anything, to fill the suffocating silence. But you didn’t know what to say. The pieces of yourself that once knew how to converse, how to be normal, felt like they had dissolved into the Cauldron’s depths, leaving you raw and exposed.

He didn’t push. He simply waited, patient as ever, his shadows coiling and shifting in the corners of the room like uneasy sentinels. They didn’t feel intrusive, strangely enough. If anything, they were like him—watchful, protective, and respectful of boundaries you couldn’t yet define.

Finally, you managed to meet his gaze, though it felt like an act of courage to do so. “I don’t know how to feel…or how to be anymore,” you admitted, the words tumbling out in a quiet, cracked rush. You hadn’t meant to say it, hadn’t planned on baring even this sliver of yourself to him, but it was the truth. And something about him, about the calm compassion in his eyes, made it impossible not to say.

His expression didn’t change, not noticeably, but something about the set of his shoulders eased. “You’re hurting,” he said gently, as if he’d been expecting your answer all along. “And that is alright.”

The simplicity of his statement made your chest ache, an ache that felt strangely like relief. You turned your gaze back to your lap, your fingers twitching against one another as you fought the urge to fidget further. “It’s just…everything feels wrong,” you confessed. “Like I’m still in there, like I’m still falling, and I’ll never hit the ground.”

You felt him stiffen at your disparaging words. Saw his shadows twist the least bit closer to you, as if even they wanted to offer you some sort of solace. His voice came soft and steady, like the first breeze after a storm. “I’ve felt that way before,” he admitted, the vulnerability in his tone striking like a sudden chord in the quiet. “Like I’d been untethered, and there was no ground left to find.”

His raw honesty caught you off guard, forcing you to search for his gaze again. Nothing could have prepared you for the earnestness you not only saw in his eyes, but it also dripped from him like water. You couldn’t picture Azriel being anything but sure and unyielding. But in the same moment, you felt beholden to him for sharing such a piece of himself just to comfort you.

The continuous tightness in your lungs lessened just a fraction, enough to allow you to take your first easy breath in weeks. “Does it ever go away?”

“Not entirely,” he said almost regretfully. Your heart sank a bit, but before you could fall completely into despair, he added, “But it does get easier.

Your words left you once more, your mind reeling with the idea of fighting this for the rest of your life. A life that would now be centuries long.

It was no surprise that he caught the shudder of dejection that crossed your face. His shadows curled closer to you like a soothing veil of darkness. Their movement was almost hypnotic, easing in the strange way you’d begun to associate with them. Azriel’s expression was unreadable, but his eyes lingered on you in a watchful manner. He glanced at the open cushion beside you. “May I?” he asked softly, his voice low and warm, though it carried an edge of uncertainty like he wasn’t sure if he was overstepping some invisible line.

You didn’t even have to think about it before you were nodding. “Of course,” you murmured, trying not to sound too eager.

Azriel moved carefully, lowering himself onto the seat next to you. The space was narrow, and you became acutely aware of how close he was—his knee brushing lightly against yours, the faint scent of cedar and night air surrounding him. You tried to focus on your hands folded tightly in your lap, but the warmth radiating from him was impossible to ignore.

“It won’t always feel like this,” he said gently, his voice hushed and certain. “The weight you’re carrying—it changes. It becomes something you can hold, something you can live with. You’ll find your footing again.”

The conviction in his words floated to you like a lifeline. The way he looked at you, soothing and steadfast, made you feel like you had no choice but to believe him. You nodded more to yourself than to him. Silence settled in the room again, but with him beside you, it felt easier to endure than before. For the first time you didn’t feel the need to fill the quiet with something. It was simply enough to sit there with him and let his company anchor you.

The wisp of something against your arm pulled your attention. The faint brush on your arm was barely noticeable at first, like the lightest touch of silk on your skin. When you glance down, one of Azriel’s shadows glides towards you, curious and tentative. It swirls near your wrist, its edges soft and flickering like the flame of a candle, before retreating as if it was testing the waters.

You laughed slightly. “Do they always do that?” You asked softly, unable to keep the awe from your voice. The shadow seemed almost alive, sentient in a way that both mesmerized and unsettled you.

Azriel followed your gaze to the shadow, his expression lightened in a way you hadn’t expected. “Not always.” He divulged, his tone carrying something akin to fondness. “They’re curious about you.”

You tilted your head at him, your brows furrowing. “Me?”

“They’re drawn to certain people,” he explained, his voice low and even, as though sharing a closely guarded secret. “They can sense things others can’t.”

The shadow flickered closer again, this time brushing along your hand in a more eager manner. You couldn’t help but smile faintly, the sensation strangely soothing. “They’re not what I expected,” you said, your voice still so as to not scare the shadow.

Azriel tilted his head slightly, his eyes seeming to search you for something. “What did you expect?”

“I’m not sure.” You confessed, glancing at him. “Something harsher maybe.”

“They can be,” he said, his tone calm but firm. “When they need to be.”

You looked at him fully then, the true meaning behind his words sparking comprehension in your mind. There was a deeper depth to his shadows, a duality that mirrored their master. You wondered if he’d been born with them. If he had grown with them. Or if they had been birthed from pain, from the darkness he carried with him that hadn’t always been there. “They feel safe.” The words slipped out before you could think them through.

Azriel’s eyes glimmered with something you couldn’t quite name, some sort of longing. “They’re meant to be,” he said simply, as though it were the most natural thing in the world. You could hear the unspoken words he didn’t say, though. He was holding something back.

The space between you seemed to get smaller and smaller, his warmth wrapping around you like a second skin. You became dangerously aware of how close you were—of the brush of his knee against yours, the way his wings shifted slightly behind him, almost grazing your shoulder. Your cheeks flushed, and you looked down, suddenly self-conscious.

Azriel took note; of course he did. His eyes lingered on you, his expression bordering on hunger. But it was gone and replaced by neutrality as soon as it came. Though, you could still feel the weight of his attention. His shadows danced along your wrist again, and you wondered if they could sense the fluttering beat of your pulse.

“I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable,” he said, his voice rougher now, tinged with something that almost sounded like desperation.

“You didn’t,” you replied quickly, your voice shaky but earnest.

The moment lingered between you, fragile yet thrumming with something so strong. The potency of it forces you to grapple with everything you felt for him. His shadows swirled around you softly, their movements calmer now, almost languid. You thought he might say something, that the weight in his expression would finally take shape in words, but he didn’t. Instead, he shifted ever so slightly, his arm brushing yours. You leaned into him and felt that warmth in your chest thrill at the closeness.

Something unknown, something that could wait to be explored, hummed between you. And you didn’t realize it right away, but the Cauldron’s waters felt farther away than they had in weeks.

Kind of playing with an idea for a part two with some moments leading up to them finding out they're mates.

2K notes · View notes

saintobio · 1 year ago

Text

blank canvas. (2)

after offering a painful ultimatum to finally be enough for him, things ultimately get worse as he decides between keeping you or losing you as the only resolution.

pairings. ryōmen sukuna, fem!reader

genre. florist x tattoo artist au, mild angst, opposites attract

tags/warnings. strong language, defloration (kinda), explicit smut, undertones of manipulation and gaslighting, toxic relationship, undertones of cheating

notes. 11.2k wc! thanks for the love on bc1, i didn't expect it to gain traction at all but tyty. last part will come soon, but that will be the final chapter to this mini-series.

part 1 | part 3

The ride back home was uncomfortable.

It wasn’t because you had promised to give yourself to him that night, but rather because his uncharacteristic silence was not what you had expected after delivering your ultimatum. You already proposed a wonderful solution to his needs, so why was he acting like you were the one being ridiculous? This was why you hated it whenever Sukuna chose silence over open communication, as it left you a hard time guessing about what was running through his mind. His expression didn’t offer any clues either, because he did pretty well at concealing his emotions behind a facade of indifference.

When you said you would do it with him, you meant it. But what did he think of it?

The sharp wind cut through your skin, the roar of his motorbike deafening your ears as your boyfriend accelerated his vehicle upon entering the tunnel. The vibrant yellow lights offered a cinematic view, tempting you to imagine yourself embracing the wind with open arms, though you knew better than to do so. Instead, you held onto him tightly, wrapping your arms around his waist and leaning forward as he sped through the empty lane.

It was nearing midnight, and the sparse traffic allowed Sukuna to indulge in one of his habits: riding his bike in the late hours of the night through this particular tunnel and onto the highway. You knew this ritual helped him clear his mind since it offered a rush of danger that sharpened his focus on the road. His choice to take this route tonight also only confirmed to you that he was grappling with internal thoughts. The last time he rode this fast was when your parents made you choose between them and him, slapping it in his face that he was and would never be welcomed in your family.

To be honest, it frightened you. The speed at which he was riding was dangerous for both of you. Moreover, his bike was a YZF-R1, although street-legal, it was still a high-performance sport bike more suited for the track. It required agile and precise handling with its 1000cc engine. Yet, no other vehicle seemed more fitting for Sukuna than this.

Whatever was on his mind, he didn’t care to let you know. You two didn’t really speak throughout the ride while you clung to him like a backpack, praying in your head that you two wouldn’t get into an accident. Thankfully enough, he did safely take you home as you arrived at your shared apartment at exactly midnight.

“Please don’t ride like that again,” you muttered as he helped you out of his motorbike. “You could’ve gotten us killed.”

His fingers then reached to unclasp your helmet, pulling it up to reveal your face. “Well, we’re still alive.”

You looked at his face despite his best effort to avoid yours, standing centimeters apart while he switched off the engine. He didn’t return your gaze as though he was drowned by guilt. Should you speak at this? Or should you let him do it first?

“Baby.” After a minute or so, it was your boyfriend who sighed and finally gave in, pulling you close and resting his forehead against yours. He kept his eyes closed even when he was cupping your cheeks. “You don’t have to do this.”

Yes, you certainly shouldn’t. You didn’t have to do things unwillingly, but that wouldn’t change the fact that this on-going issue was putting a strain on your relationship and this would be your last shot at trying to salvage it. And you couldn’t have him looking for sensual gratification from anyone else other than you, so what other option did you have, really?

“I want to do it.”

“Not if you’re forcing yourself like this.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Who said I’m forcing myself?”

“Your face tells me you are,” replied he, staring at your face in defeat. “So, let’s not—”

“What, and let this issue haunt us over and over?” You smiled bitterly, shaking your head adamantly. “This has to be done. I need to experience it so I’ll finally understand.”

Understand what? His face almost spelled out those words, but he chose not to say anything of the sort and instead leaned in to kiss your forehead. “Alright. I’ll make it memorable.”

— —

Easier said than done, of course. You kept overthinking about whether your performance would be satisfactory to him given that you didn’t have enough experience to learn anything at all, aside from the make out sessions that you did once in a blue moon. Around thirty minutes of your time was spent hyperanalyzing your situation in the shower, while the other half of it was spent doing a little more than your nightly routines. Since Sukuna liked powdery scents, you placed a good effort in applying lavender-scented oil and perfume on every inch of your body. You also shaved any unwanted hair, especially on all the intimate places you knew he would be seeing. And by the time you were done, you stepped out of the bathroom blooming like a fresh flower, wrapped in nothing but a thin towel that hugged your womanly figure.

It didn’t feel right at all. It didn’t feel good knowing that you were preparing yourself like that, when these things should only happen on the first night after your wedding. It didn’t feel great that you were going to lose your virginity to a man who had not even proposed to you. This wasn’t even your honeymoon, but you had to pretend like it was.

Did Sukuna feel the same?

He wasn’t lying in bed when you walked out of the bathroom. Instead, he had just returned from outside—shirtless, wearing his favorite gray sweatpants, and holding a box of condoms and a tube of lube in his hand. It was clear he had made a quick visit to the convenience store nearby and got the essentials for your first night.

Immediately, he eyed your towel-wrapped body with restrained lust, clearing his throat as he walked towards the nightstand. “You look nice.”

Really? Did he really have to make this more awkward than it already was?

“Thank you,” was all you could softly reply. It was funny how he pretended to be busy placing the box and tube above the bedside table instead of lunging at you like a desperate man. But because you wanted to get this over with, you were the one who approached him from behind, wrapping your arms around his waist, and touching the firmness of his abs. For someone who had zero experience, you were definitely trying hard enough and that should please him. “You have to help me out here, my love. Guide me.”

When Sukuna turned around, your heart started racing. Of excitement? Maybe. Of anxiety? Perhaps. He made it better though when he finally caved in and looked straight into your eyes, tucking a few strands of hair behind your ear before lifting your chin with his hand. “You smell extra nice, too,” he added, leaning close enough that you could feel his warm breath fanning your face.

You were feeling it now. The equal lust. The carnal desire. The feeling of his sweet kisses, which he made true as soon as he crashed his lips onto yours. His kisses usually ranged from tender to rough, but this time, it was an altogether different type of kiss. It was passionate and demonstrative, as if showing you exactly what he had been wanting to do to you the first time you got together. This must be the result of being celibate in over a year. He was clearly a man deprived of sexual pleasure, and you were responsible for it. You actually turned him into a monk.

Now, he wasn’t holding anything back anymore. With his hand on your nape, he deepened the kiss to the point where you could feel his tongue exploring your mouth. You followed whatever he was doing like a good girl, like a very good girl, as he completely devoured your mouth with his. It didn’t take long for him to advance his kisses in other places too, being your jawline his next target, and then your neck as he feathered kisses around the soft flesh, leaving marks that would need a few days to be concealed.

Because his arms were tight around your waist, yours were locked around his neck. Where else should you be putting them? What does the girl usually do in this situation? You tried not to think much of it and listened to your own body while your boyfriend was sucking the skin around your collarbone. At first, your hand traced his toned chest, then it moved southwards to feel his abs, and further down to his…

“Y-You’re hard.” Your eyes widened as you felt his growing erection behind the fabric of his sweatpants. It wasn’t your first time seeing his boner, but it was the first time you touched it with your own hand. It was the first time you had your palm stroking his length, swallowing hard as you realized just how hard and thick he was.

“It wants to be inside you,” he whispered through your mouth, kissing you back again, “so bad, baby.”

Gosh. Your knees felt weak and you two hadn’t even really started yet. How much more when he starts putting that thing of his inside you? You were breathing hard, trying to catch air as your boyfriend continued to lap his tongue with yours, guiding your hand to continue fondling his wood while it grew bigger the more stimulated it got. By letting you touch his hardened crotch together with his own, you realized that you had just unlocked a newfound fetish of yours. “D-Do you… do you think about doing it with me often?”

He bit your lower lip before pulling away, animalistic eyes sending you into an orbit of pleasure. “Do you mean if I touch myself to the thought of you a lot?” he teased, chuckling darkly at the obvious heat on your cheeks. You couldn’t help but feel excited at how vulgar he could be with his words. “I do jack off a lot, angel. And it’s always you in my mind.”

You didn’t even have the time to melt from his words, because before you knew it, he was already peeling the towel off your body to reveal your completely naked figure. Obviously, your first reaction was to get shy—with your heated cheeks, your inability to look him in the eyes, your little efforts in covering your breasts and crotch, but he made sure to pull your hands away while keeping his eyes on you. “…Don’t stare.”

Sukuna, however, didn’t listen. His dark eyes scanned every curve of your body, particularly around your chest area before he sighed and threw his head back. “Fuck,” he cussed under his breath. “You’re so fucking sexy. I can’t believe no other punk has seen you like this.”

Your confidence grew little by little because of his praises. “But isn’t that a good thing?”

“For sure.” He almost laughed at his own words, more so in disbelief, before he reached out to touch your bosom. “No one can touch you like this, either, baby.”

“That’s—”

“Hmm?” Your boyfriend smirked at your reaction. While his other hand went to squeeze your breast, the other traveled to your bum, squeezing the cheek with equal fervor. “Can I have a taste of you, baby?”

He fondled your breasts with both hands now, massaging the rounded mass like they were his property. You had to admit to yourself that the feeling of being touched actually transcended your expectations. Or maybe it was only because of how erotic it was, but you couldn’t deny how turned on you were as his veiny, manly hands cupped your bosom.

And as soon as you nodded and permitted him to ‘taste’ you, he took no time in gently pushing you down the mattress, allowing you to lay at a comfortable position under him and his wanton stare. Taste you? He was more like eating you, when he pinned you against the mattress and sucked the skin on your chest. At first, his tongue rolled along your cleavage, inching closer and closer to your right breast while he had his hand squeezing the left. Your body naturally gravitated towards him as you arched your back so he could have better access to your chest. Not only your chest, but also your crotch as he started grinding his clothed manhood in between your folds.

“Mm…”

Sukuna’s mouth was on your breast now, suckling on your flesh and playing his tongue around your nipple. You couldn’t tell if it was pleasurable or painful because his tongue felt ticklish on your skin, but the suction definitely was an entirely different feeling. Both weren’t bad, anyway. They were just new to you. But even if they were foreign, you were curious and all the more interested, studying every little thing he was doing with your body and trying to make mental notes out of it.

Maybe you should have watched porn. That way, you could have been more aware of the step-by-step process of having sex. Who knew there were steps to follow at all? You didn’t think that foreplay could draw this much delay in your session because all you thought was that he was going to insert his cock straight inside you as soon as he saw you naked.

With all the touching, fondling, and kissing… what were you supposed to do? He was doing all the work here.

“Baby,” you spoke softly, staring at the ceiling, “C-Can I… touch you?”

Instead of pulling away, his mouth latched onto your left boob, giving it the same attention before moving south. “Not yet.”

When he said that, you didn’t expect his hand to land on your crotch. Your heart was thumping at an irregular rhythm as you felt his fingers moving in circles around your bud, playing with your clit before spreading your folds apart. “Nghh—!” you let out an embarrassingly loud moan, eyes widening at the sound of your voice, but your boyfriend shushed you by placing a peck on your lips before spreading your legs into a V.

“You’re so wet,” he said, pointing out the obvious as he positioned himself in between your legs, spreading your labia to reveal your entrance. Something about the situation made you increasingly self-conscious, but his undeniably hungry gaze kept you from covering your most sensitive area. It seemed like he was enjoying the sight of your pussy, especially with how wet and ‘untouched’ it was. “Your pussy’s so pretty, baby,” he mumbled, lowering his face closer to the area, “Can’t wait to put my dick inside it.”

You whimpered at the feeling of his tongue in between your folds. No, you couldn’t even think straight after he started teasing your vagina, alternating between flicking his tongue around your bud to french kissing your entrance. His tongue was so deep in your cavern that you were raising your hips involuntarily, going insane from the pleasure it sent your body. Your hands even gripped the sheets and your back arched into a C as you held back from moaning like a wild animal. At some point, the slurping sounds and the feeling of his mouth kissing your vagina had your legs shaking.

Though, you could ask yourself: what turned you on the most? Was it him actually eating your pussy or just the idea of him doing it?

And just when you thought he was done, he replaced his mouth by inserting a finger inside your cunt, garnering a much louder whimper out of you. “B-Baby!”

“Does it hurt?” he asked, eyes locked with yours as he slowly moved his middle finger in and out. “It’s so tight.”

“It hurts…” You nodded, feeling his finger moving in circles inside your cunt as though he was trying to get a feel of your walls, measuring the tightness and such.

He kissed you for a good minute. “Relax, angel. Don’t clench too much.”

Clench? You didn’t even know you were doing such a thing. “How to…?”

“Just relax.” Sukuna placed a hand on your abdomen, pressing it down while he was inserting yet another finger inside of you. “This’ll help you prepare so it won’t hurt as much later.”

Now, you were goddamn nervous. What did he mean it wouldn’t hurt as much? Because you were overthinking the pain of having him his actual cock inside of you. If you couldn’t even bear having his two fingers inside you, how much more with his clearly thick shaft? It was ridiculous to feel both anxious and yet aroused at the same time. Anxious, because you knew he could rip you open. Aroused, because his fingers were currently doing a great job at hitting your most sensitive spot. Whatever it was that he was reaching, it was certainly sending waves of ecstasy throughout your body.

His fingers continued to move. In. Out. In. Out. In. Out. Around. When he pulled his digits out, he sucked the juices on them, tasting every drip of your essence from his fingers. “Sweet.”

Were you? You started to get curious at how he tasted, too. Sweet? Salty? Bitter? You seemed to be moving on autopilot when you pulled yourself up and sat in bed on your knees. “Your turn?”

You asked the question as if you knew what you were doing, which was why Sukuna found it adorable and humorous at the same time. He did help you pull down the sweatpants that had been covering his erection for what felt like eternity, only to reveal a monstrous size that sprung out of the garment.

Holy fuck was all you could say.

He stood at the edge of the bed, a devilish smirk displayed on his saintly face as he saw the length of his cock compared to your face. You obviously hadn’t seen many cocks in your lifetime to be able to compare his size, but in your eyes, he was definitely big. He was girthy. He was lengthy. He was veiny. Meaty.

“Wanna suck it for me, baby?” he encouraged, pumping his shaft while looking at you. Fuck. “Open your mouth.”

You did as told, wrapping a hand at the base of his length while placing his tip on your mouth. You pressed your tongue flat on the surface of his tip, rolling your tongue around the head as if it were a lollipop. Was that what you were supposed to do?

“Eyes on me.” His voice deepened an octave. And it was also raspier.

Why did he want you to look up at him? It was already embarrassing.

“I said, eyes on me, angel.” He grabbed your chin and forced you to lock eyes with his darkened ones. Damn. No wonder girls were desperate to see him in his shop every single day. This was probably what they had been daydreaming about. “Suck my cock.”

In your head, you became a slut. In reality, you were still a shy, inexperienced virgin who didn’t know what to do. You relied on his instructions and looked at his expressions to know if you were doing a good job and to see what he liked and didn’t like. He definitely liked it when you sucked the head, liked it even more when you started to let him go deeper in your mouth, and surely liked it a hell lot better when you gagged after his cock hit the back of your throat. But in spite of the string of saliva that left your mouth after gagging from his cock, his arousal only grew harder, this time holding your hair in his fist as he began thrusting his hip forward. You were bobbing your head at a rhythm that satisfied him, feeling the stretch on your scalp as he tightened his grip on your hair.

“Tighten your mouth around it,” he instructed, fucking your mouth senselessly like hitting your throat was driving him nuts. Your eyes were already filling up with tears because of your urge to gag again, but you didn’t think it would be a good idea to stop now while he was just starting to pleasure himself.

This was the first time in your life to give someone a blowjob, and you weren’t sure what to make of that experience. It personally didn’t give you pleasure, but you liked hearing his desperate moans. You liked hearing him curse and get vulgar with his words. You liked seeing him get rough. His taste, on the other hand, was somewhat a different experience. Since you were only sucking his flesh, it was a tad bit salty at first contact but didn’t taste anything much after tongue got used to the skin around his shaft. Perhaps his cum would have a stronger flavor, though it looked like he had no plans in releasing his load into your mouth as he pulled his member out.

“Fuck it,” he grunted, gently pushing you back and spreading your legs wide open again, “I wanna feel your pussy so bad. Can I fuck you raw, babe?”

All those condoms, and he wanted to have you raw?

“But… I don’t wanna get pregnant.”

His face was full of assurance, shaking his head and denying any chance of knocking you up. “You won’t be. I’ll pull out, I just… I have to feel you raw the first time. I have to.”

“Okay…”

You were nervous as hell. You had butterflies in your stomach, your heart pounding in your chest like a drumbeat you couldn’t silence. You had imagined this moment countless times, but now that it was here, the reality of it was too overwhelming. Your mind yet again raced with a whirlwind of doubts and insecurities, and every nerve on your body seemed to be on high alert while you watched him getting occupied with rubbing his entire length with lube, ensuring a smooth entrance inside you.

He was nervous too, right? You couldn’t be the only one. You couldn’t be.

You just wanted everything to be perfect. To show him how much you cared. To feel that you were enough. But the thought was paralyzing. Tonight was more than just physical intimacy; it was a step forward in your relationship, a moment of connection you wanted so badly to cherish. This first intimate encounter should be filled with love, respect, and mutual understanding.

But what if after this, he’d come to realize that you weren’t the one? What if he’d get disappointed and tell you that you weren’t worth it? What if he’d leave you for someone else who could pleasure him better? What if, after you had given yourself to him, no one else would ever appreciate you anymore?

You wanted this, didn’t you? You wanted to feel the heat of his touch, the intensity of his gaze, the intimacy of your connection. You wanted to explore this uncharted territory with him, to dive headfirst into the unknown and discover what lay on the other side. But were you really ready for this? Did you truly want this? Would it be everything you had imagined, or would you regret losing your virginity to him?

The fear of inadequacy gnawed at your confidence as Sukuna positioned himself back in between you, his tip rubbing at your slit a couple times before he finally sunk it into your entrance.

“Haaa—!”

“Shh. It’s okay, it’s gonna be okay.”

“N-No, I—!”

It felt like your walls were being stretched so painfully, like your flesh was being torn open in the most agonizing way. This was not the kind of pain you pictured out when he put his member inside. Sukuna even tried to grab hold of your hips to keep you steady, but you were withdrawing your hips back, wanting nothing but for him to remove his cock.

“It hurts… It hurts… please, stop. Please!”

“Baby, I’m trying to be gentle—”

“I SAID STOP!”

Both of your eyes widened at the same time, and that was the only time you two were ever in sync. He was clearly shocked by your outburst, while you yourself were surprised at how you raised your voice at him. Neither of you expected that situation. As a result, he did pull away and completely withdrew himself from you.

Frustration was evident on his visage and he couldn’t even hide it anymore. “Fuck this,” he spat in exasperation, taking a deep breath as he reached to slip his sweatpants back on. “I knew it.”

“No, I…” You swallowed. “It just… You kinda forced it, I wasn’t ready.”

“I forced it, really? I forced you?” His laugh was out of complete disbelief. “I never forced you into anything, angel. I’ve asked you since the beginning if this is really what you want.” He took a pause, a very uncomfortable one, before he went on murmuring, “It was just my tip and you’re overreacting like this. I’m not even halfway in.”

His agitation had finally awakened you to your senses, realizing that you did end up doing what you were scared of doing. You ruined the moment. You were so caught up in your bubble of negative thoughts that you had once again failed to fulfill what you were supposed to do. No wonder he was aggravated, now sitting away from you and wearing his clothes as if telling you that he was done. Done being blue balled by his own girlfriend. Done expecting something he was never really bound to have.

You reached out to touch his arm. “Baby, I’m sorry… I just got scared, but we can still—”

“Still do it?” he continued your sentence by ironically cutting you off, “No, the fuck, I won’t. I’m not in the mood anymore.”

His reaction brought tears to your eyes, because the way he was acting stung your fragile heart. You didn’t mean to ruin anything. More importantly, you didn’t wish for everything to just turn out like this. “I-I’m sorry. Let me try again, please.”

The weakness of your voice seemed to have softened him, becoming calmer and more composed after a few minutes of contemplation, but he still held his ground when he massaged his temple and sighed. “Let’s just not push it, Y/N.” He looked at your eyes, with hurt and rejection reflecting on them. “Even if you say you wanna do it, you think I can’t see it in your face that you’re not really into it? You’re never ready for me and maybe it’s my fault, maybe there’s something about me that you’re so scared of. Maybe it’s because you don’t feel secure with me, maybe you wanna save yourself for someone better, someone who can give you a brighter future—”

“That’s not true!” You shook your head desperately, your eyes blurring from the pool of tears while you clung to his arm. Where was all this coming from? It sounded like he had been harboring those feelings for so long. “That’s not true. What are you even saying?”

“I don’t even know what I’m saying. I’m just…” Trying to give a reason why you won’t give it to me. That must be what he had wanted to say. “Look, I don’t wanna pressure you into this bullshit anymore. I don’t wanna make it look like I’m begging for your affection like this. Intimacy should happen normally for couples, and if we can’t have that, then we can’t. That’s it.”

Why did he sound like he was giving up?

You tried to keep your emotions at bay while listening to him battling with his internal thoughts. “I understand I disappointed you tonight, but…”

He was adamant at shaking his head, distancing himself from you by getting up from the bed. “No, you got nothin’ to apologize for. It’s your body and your choice. I’d never force you into anything.”

Then… then…

“I just think it’s not the perfect time,” he continued, shooting you a glance before looking away. Each step he took added another crack on your fragile heart. “From now on, I’m never gonna initiate anything intimate nor will I expect anything from you, aight? I’m over it.”

Alone in your vulnerability, you could feel the cold air hugging your naked body as you watched him walk towards the door, leaving you in the dark both literally and figuratively. “Where a-are you going? Come on… Please.”

He no longer cared to turn around. He no longer bothered to comfort you as he walked away, muttering, “Just gonna go for a ride. Don’t wait on me.”

— —

Nearly three weeks had passed since that night and you would be lying if you said everything was okay.

No, everything was not okay. You could feel the distance growing each day even when you two still did everything together. Your normal routines didn’t feel normal anymore because he was acting too detached ever since he told you that he wouldn’t initiate anything intimate ever again. And to be honest? It hurt. A whole fucking lot. Hearing your partner say that they would never wish to do anything intimate with you was probably the worst way to experience heartbreak. Because he was truthful with it, and he showed it very openly.

Now, he’d lock the door whenever he would take showers. He’d spent most of his time outside riding his bike until midnight. He stopped texting you sweet messages while on tattoo shop duty. He seldomly joined you to eat breakfast and dinner together. His back would face you whenever you two slept in bed. His eyes avoided you even when you walked around in underwear. His hand wouldn’t touch you even when you were centimeters close to him. There were no kisses exchanged either, unless obliged to do so when leaving the house. No hugs. No hair-stroking, hand-holding sweetness ever shared. You were simply cohabiting in your shared apartment like strangers who had barely even said I love you’s.

“Man, that’s rough,” remarked Suguru Getou, your cousin and the barista, as he tidied up the counter behind the elevated bar. Having just served his friend an Americano, he listened intently as you vented about your situation with Sukuna. “I’ll be honest with you, Y/N. It’s not looking good for you.”

You knew that. You just refused to acknowledge it. “I mean, all couples fight.”

Suguru shook his head, however. “You two aren’t even fighting. Dude just gave up and started detaching himself from you. If that’s not a sign already, then I don’t know what is.”

“What sign?” you asked, hiding the obvious worry in your voice. You need not be dense about his words, but you wanted to have some kind of hope to grasp on.

“Sign that he’s falling out of love?” he continued.

And somehow, his white-haired friend thought it would be okay to chime in. “More like a sign that the tool's not interested anymore and is about to dump her.”

Your face felt hot and in the most terrible way. “Sorry, what was your name again?” you asked, your tone dripping with sarcasm. You hadn’t expected the guy to suddenly chime in, considering he had been quietly typing on his laptop just moments before. “I don’t remember asking for your opinion, so don’t go listening to somebody else’s business when you’re not part of the conversation.”

“Jeez,” said the albino guy, grinning at your cousin as if amused by your barrage of a response. “She’s a yapper, too. I thought she was supposed to be this sweet and innocent type, Suguru?”

“Not always.” Suguru chuckled at his friend before turning to you, apologetic eyes now attempting to soothe your nerves. “Sorry ‘bout that, Y/N. Satoru just likes to tease people. Don’t mind him.”

You kept a straight face. “Well, then maybe tell your friend to keep his nose out of conversations he’s not invited to.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Satoru gave you a playful salute before extending his hand towards you. “Look, I didn’t mean to overhear, but I actually sympathize with you. If it were me, I’d never do that to you, baby.”

Oh, God. You were so bad at this. Was he flirting with you or was he simply playful like this?

Nevertheless, you rolled your eyes and ignored the hand he offered, essentially brushing off his advances. “I don’t need sympathy. All I’m here for is to talk to my cousin to try and have his advice on the matter,” you emphasized pointedly, making it clear to Satoru that he was the last person you wanted advice from. “I don’t need a stranger listening to my personal life.”

“Doesn’t hurt to receive advice from another guy,” countered Satoru, shrugging. “Right, Suguru? I mean, we’re both guys. We can give you some insight into how men think.”

You felt the urge to bury your face in your hands. It was clearly a mistake going there and putting yourself in that situation, and now having two guys aware of your sex life with your boyfriend. That alone was so wrong on many levels. But could it be helped? Suguru was your closest cousin, the only one who didn’t turn his back on you after you left your parents’ home. He was working at a cafe three blocks away from your flower shop and you happened to be delivering a batch of fresh floral decorations for their cafe. You obviously found it a good opportunity to open up to him about your struggling relationship and hoped he could offer some male perspective on Sukuna’s behavior. You just hadn’t anticipated his friend eavesdropping on the conversation the entire time.

Well, that should have been expected anyway, since only the three of you were in that cafe on a lazy Wednesday afternoon.

“I don’t kiss and tell, by the way.” Satoru was beaming as he gave you that assurance and you couldn’t help but admit that the man had some charm in him. He was attractive, no doubt about it. He was also tall, toned, and seemingly well off based on the way he dressed. He had a casual yet preppy style, something you would normally see from guys who went to private school.

“Do you work?” you asked out of sheer curiosity. “You don’t seem like the type.”

“Oh, now she’s interested.” Satoru seemed to have found your sudden interest in him humorous. “I’m finishing my MBA, miss. Thank you for asking.”

“He’s a privileged rich kid with generational wealth and a family business,” Suguru remarked, playfully gesturing a cutting motion across his neck. “Definitely not your type, huh, Y/N?”

“Why, what’s her type?” The white-haired man looked intrigued, pulling his stool closer. He had that stupid grin on his face as though the topic just sparked his curiosity. “What’s her boyfriend like?”

Suguru, who wanted to play along, jokingly hummed in deep thought. “He’s got tattoos, likes to tattoo other people, is a college dropout, rides a big bike, smokes and drinks, listens to heavy metal, was probably a delinquent and a juvie alumni—”

“Excuse you, he’s never been in a juvenile detention center,” you defended your man, feeling like your cousin’s categorization of Sukuna was becoming a little too derogatory and you had to correct him for that, “and he’s a good man. He’s sweet and caring, he’s passionate, and he loves me sincerely.”

“Sincerely, not?” Satoru quipped, earning your glare in return. He immediately raised his hands in surrender. “I'm just joking. If you believe he’s all that, that’s your choice. I don’t judge booktok girls who romanticize typical bad boys.”

You rolled your eyes at his audacity. Each word that left his mouth seemed to stoke the flames of your irritation. “You’re so offensive, I’ll have you know that.”

The white-haired guy smugly took a sip from his coffee. “At least I don’t make girls feel guilty for not having sex with me.”

“Oooh.” Suguru was clearly enjoying the show, unaware that you were one step closer from smacking his friend across the face. “Touché. He kinda has a point, Y/N.”

“Be serious,” you warned.

To which he agreed to. “Okay, I am being serious now,” he said, abandoning his playful stance to lean in on a more solemn posture against the counter, “If you think Sukuna makes you feel guilty for not doing it with him, then shouldn’t that speak for the kind of relationship you two have? He wants something you can’t give. His reaction tells you everything you need to know about him.”

You tried to absorb his words with a better understanding and without any bias. “Isn’t his reaction normal? He’s a man, too. I understand his needs and I made him feel somewhat rejected.”

“It’s all about respect, Y/N,” answered Suguru, “If he’s a decent man, he wouldn’t make you feel that way. No mixed signals, no guilt tripping, no nothing. If you can’t do it, then don’t.”

“So, you’re saying you wouldn’t feel the same if your girlfriend keeps rejecting sex with you?”

Suguru smirked. “I never said I’m a decent man, either. All I’m saying is if what you want isn’t exactly aligned to what he wants, then maybe it’s best you break it off with him because this shit won’t get you anywhere, Y/N. Trust me. He’s gonna dump you before you know it. I mean, it’s one thing to pretend he’s all fine with it, and it’s another to distance himself from you like he’s silently protesting.”

“Yeah, that’s true,” Satoru joined in once again. “It’s impossible for a guy like that to be in a relationship for so long and not have any pussy. We think of sex 24/7, some of us are just better at restraining ourselves than others. He’s putting up with it now, but it’s only a matter of time he gets sick and tired of waiting. You do realize he can get any girl he wants, anytime he wants, right?”

Although you were still uncomfortable at Satoru casually chiming in on the conversation, it was true when they said they could give you the exact male perspective you needed to hear. This allowed you to go deeper into Sukuna’s psyche and understand why he was acting that way. You just didn’t know how to save the connection you have with your boyfriend when both your cousin and his friend were describing all the red flags on Sukuna’s behavior.

“I don’t know,” you spoke in a tone of defeat. “I kinda understand where he’s coming from, so I can’t just leave him for it. I love him.”

Satoru looked at your cousin like you couldn’t be saved. “She’s in too deep.”

“Yeah, gaslighted as fuck.” Suguru was shaking his head in disappointment.

The taller man chuckled and brought up a ridiculous offer to lighten the situation up. “Honestly, Y/N. I know we just met and all, but if you ever need someone to teach you how to do good in bed, just hit me up. He’ll never know.”

“Shut up,” you shot back at Satoru, eyes rolling at his remark.

“You’re out here feeling bad for that guy when he could be fucking his clients at the tattoo shop.”

You argued. “No, he’s not—”

“Are you sure he isn’t?”

It wasn’t Suguru nor Satoru who posed that question; it was Yuki Tsukumo, the café’s manager and Suguru's respected senior. She was in a relationship with one of your boyfriend’s stepbrothers, Choso, and was also a fellow biker, which allowed her to cross paths with Sukuna in their community. Despite this connection, she was never particularly close to him. In fact, Yuki didn’t personally get along with Sukuna and she was very vocal about it. She was, however, a regular client of yours and ordered floral arrangements from your shop on a weekly basis.

It had been awhile since you last saw her, and didn’t expect that the first greeting you would give her was a question. “Yuki, what do you mean?”

Great. Now, three people know about your relationship quagmires.

She was placing her helmet at the counter and sitting on a stool before answering you, “I really think you should talk to him about it, Y/N.”

No, no. Why did you suddenly feel a pang of anxiety out of nowhere? Something about the sympathy in Yuki’s eyes felt unsettling, and it sent a wave of fear through you. She definitely knew something. What was Sukuna doing behind your back?

“Can you please just tell me?”

Her gaze studied your face intently, as if deliberating on the right thing to do. “Well... I spotted him riding with a girl the other night. Initially, I thought it might be you, but last night, I saw them together again. I recognized her... because it was his ex. I think he’s been giving her rides home lately.”

Amidst the quiet of the room, your heart felt like it was breaking in two. The sudden revelation sent you into an abyss of pain.

“You might wanna visit his tattoo shop later.” Yuki encouraged me with a comforting smile. “It may be best to confront him about it.”

— —

Sukuna wasn’t sure how to act around you anymore. It wasn’t like he was purposely avoiding you, but he just didn’t feel comfortable acting like everything was fine and dandy. Because if he was damn honest, the sexual frustration was fucking with his head. So much so to the point where he started questioning himself if he should still put up with a relationship like this.

First of all, there were pros and cons involved. He had to consider that it was a special connection filled with special memories, too.

If he was talking about the pros, he knew he would have a loving lifetime partner with you. You were beautiful, kind, and pure. You inspired him and motivated him to be better. You were unmaterialistic and happy with the littlest things. You gave his dominant side the urge to be a better man, like he was made to protect and provide for you. You became his muse; a blank canvas that was all for him to paint on. A canvas that no one had ever touched. Or, in your world, a white lily that was associated with chastity and virtue.

But then, there were also cons, and the foremost of it being you were too conservative for your own good. You grew up in a strict environment with uptight parents who wanted to control your life. He could never voice it out, but he really hated that you were square like your parents sometimes. You were too traditional and afraid to explore new experiences, oftentimes policing him for living his life as free as he wanted it to be. The ‘opposites attract’ thing did seem to work in your relationship at first, with your differences being exciting for each other, but as time went by, it became clearer to him that you two were too different to actually be in sync together.

Hence why your relationship became rigid and suffocating, forcing him to take a breather by distancing himself from you for some time. He did this for your benefit, because he had to clear his head before risking losing you for good. He didn’t want to jeopardize a relationship that he knew meant the world to him. Perhaps this was just a phase, a challenging period following the honeymoon phase, where all your differences seemed to become more pronounced.

But to repeatedly make him look forward to sharing intimacy with you, only for you to back out at the very last minute? Man, was that so frustrating.

It didn’t help that it was destiny itself that seemed to be stirring the pot. Because while you two were going through a rough time in your relationship, the irony presented itself outside of Sukuna’s tattoo shop late at night just as he was about to close.

“Ryo?” A tall woman with athletic build, long dark hair, and beautiful doe eyes came into view with a wide smile on her face.

His ex-girlfriend of three years.

Sukuna held the door for her albeit the confusion in his eyes. “Yorozu?”

The only difference he noticed was that she had become a lot sexier, with the curves on her body more womanly than ever. It was obvious that she was active in the gym to achieve such a fit physique. But other than that, her facial features were the same. Her heart eyes still shone bright at the mere sight of him, as if they carried stars and galaxies.

“I think I came too late,” said Yorozu, smiling in disappointment, “I should probably just return tomorrow.”

“No, you’re good.” Sukuna insisted on letting her enter his shop, closing the door as soon as she was inside. “What brought you here?”

She stood confidently in front him, wearing nothing but a blank tank top and some loose white pants. “Funny story ‘cause I actually just moved to this city recently and I just found out you had a shop in this area.”

Oh? That was interesting, indeed. Sukuna wondered how she even found his shop in that case, while he was leading her to the tattoo chair. “Are you here to get a tattoo or?”

“Yeah, yeah I am.” She was sprinkling some charm in her grin. He knew her too well. “I think it’s amazing that I’m gonna get it from you again.”

While Yorozu was talking to him, he couldn’t help but ask: was it wrong for him to be in the same vicinity as his ex? Considering how jealous you could get, this was definitely wrong in your eyes. But as he wasn’t doing anything sketchy, he figured there was nothing wrong about what he was doing. Yorozu was technically a client and he couldn’t deny her his services since she was basically a friend of his, too. So, was he breaking any code here?

“Well, only if you have time now, of course,” she added out of consideration, “It’s kinda late so I can always come back.”

Sukuna shook his head and headed to get his book of tattoo art samples. “It’s fine. I got clients lined up all day tomorrow, so,” he said, placing the book on her lap, “You wanna check that or do you have a design in mind already?”

Yorozu’s eyes fell on the tattoos marking Sukuna’s body, her gaze landing on every familiar inch as though she had seen them all the time before. It was true. She had seen more of him, actually. She had done more with his body, too. “I kinda wanna get a sleeve, but I want you to choose the design for me.”

A tattoo sleeve? Damn. It was something he would never in a million years see from you, but for Yorozu, it was totally normal. She was as obsessed with ink as he was. And although she’s had a couple of tattoos in her body already, which were done by him, it would be her first time to get a full sleeve.

“I get to choose, really?” Sukuna chuckled lightly. If he were to think of Yorozu’s traits, she was definitely a classic red rose. A seductress, alluring woman was how he saw her and the said flower would be a true-to-life representation of her personality. She was passionate when it came to loving someone, and was completely devoted to him back when they were together. The only reason they broke up was because they were too similar, as if she was his counterpart, and he saw fit to leave a relationship where they both constantly battled for dominance. Yorozu could get too aggressive on loving someone and he didn’t particularly like that. He made her understand why they weren’t working as a couple, and it took her some time, but she eventually accepted his decision. Now, you could say, they were somehow on good terms. “Alright, I’ll do your sleeve, but I’ll keep the design as a surprise.”

Her eyes sparkled in excitement at the thought. “I’d love that!”

“Since you want a sleeve, we’re gonna do some stencil application today.” Sukuna didn’t waste any more time in getting ready with his equipment, biting on the glove while wearing the other on his hand. “It’ll take fifteen to twenty hours to complete a sleeve, and each session could last two to six hours depending on your pain tolerance. My schedule’s actually full all day until next week, but you can come around the same time every night so I can finish yours.”

“Yeah, I’m absolutely fine with that,” she enthused. For some reason, Yorozu was happy with the idea. The idea of coming to visit Sukuna every night in his shop. The idea that they get to be alone. The idea that they would be able to reconnect just like old times. Those were the things that Sukuna assumed was going through her head.

And as he did start with his ‘client’, it was probably best to admit that the sexual tension was high. The room felt stuffy as the both of them remained there until midnight, with her sitting on the tattoo chair, and him doing her tattoo to her left. His eyes were intently focused on the intricate patterns he was doing on her arm, but also couldn’t avoid seeing the contours of her breasts since she was wearing such a thin tank top. It wasn’t like he hadn’t seen them before. He’d seen every part of her body from her neck down to her toes. He’d put her in every position from missionary to doggy. Goddamn, he could even remember how warm she felt around his cock. Didn’t she like it when he came inside her? Or when he made her swallow every drop of his seed?

Sukuna cleared his throat, shaking his vulgar thoughts away as he continued with Yorozu’s arm. He may not be cheating, but thinking back on those intimate experiences with someone else other than his girlfriend was definitely not morally right either. But what sexual experience could he reminisce about with you? That ridiculously embarrassing night you two had shouldn’t even be counted since he was trying so hard to forget about it.

He cleared his throat. Again. For the third time. “What, uh, what’ve you been up to?”

Yorozu, who had no clue about his thoughts, turned her face to look at him happily. “Not much, actually. The bar I worked at closed down, but I got myself a new job in this club as a full time hostess and part-time promoter. You should come by. Drinks on me.”

By not exactly accepting or refusing, Sukuna decided to just smile it off. “That’s why you moved to this city?”

“Yeah, I mean… obviously, the rent here is higher, but it’s closer to my job. I get paid decently, too.”

“That’s nice.” He was just trying to make small talk at this point. “Do you know your way ‘round here? How are you gonna get home?”

She considered her options. “Probably a bus or something?”

Sukuna paused, contemplating the situation. “There's no bus here at midnight,” he remarked, concerned for the girl who would have to navigate her way home alone at such a late hour. She was new to the area and clearly still adjusting to the commuter lifestyle. Unlike her, he had a vehicle that could safely transport her home. There would be no harm in offering, right? “Look, I have a bike and I usually take midnight rides, anyway. I can drop you off on my way home.”

“Really?” Her voice echoed excitement in them. “I’d appreciate it, Ryo. Thanks so much.”

Life was ironic, truly. He didn’t see this situation coming because he never expected that he would even come across Yorozu ever again. They didn’t have any contact prior, but he still saw her on social media whenever he (on very rare occasions) decided to check his accounts. He never had her blocked, either, which was why you knew about Yorozu after snooping through his phone and reading through some of his old messages with her. Sukuna used to tell you not to worry about her, and that she was just his ex, and that she had nothing on you—which were all true, of course, but it was funny to him now that the woman his girlfriend was most threatened by was back in his life.

And she was riding at the backseat of his motorbike, her arms latching at nothing else but around his torso. She was seated at the seat reserved for you, wearing the helmet that was bought for you, and holding onto a man that was rightfully yours. It all didn’t feel right.

But because Yorozu delighted in his habit of speeding on the highway, he had somehow forgotten about the guilt that was forming in his heart.

“You still have your ex’s Instagram?” Your questioning eyes met his defensive ones as he joined you in the living room, finding his space on the couch next to you. “I read your dms. Why haven’t you blocked her?”

Sukuna’s breath remained steady. “Only toxic people do that shit.”

“But I’m not comfortable with it!” you nagged, letting him snatch his phone from your grasp.

“Do you see me talking to her still?” he asked, trying to be as patient as he could be, “Baby, I don’t even talk to her. I don’t think she’s active there, either.”

You crossed your arms. “Then, block her?”

“You’re being ridiculous.”

“I’m being fair. You shouldn’t be keeping tabs with an ex.”

“What are you—” Sukuna decided to cut his own sentence after realizing that the argument was plain stupid. “You know what, I’ll just delete my insta.”

“How many times do you two do it?” you asked out of nowhere, sitting at the waiting area while he was closing his shop. “Your ex. How often do you have sex with her?”

What kind of trap were you setting now? If he told you an honest answer, you would get mad. If he lied or even sugar coated it, you would also get mad.

“Does it matter? Why do you keep asking questions about her and then get upset with me?” Sukuna’s frustration resonated in his sigh as he tidied the space where he tattooed his client a few minutes ago. “She’s an ex for a reason, so get over it.”

He was starting to get annoyed by your never-ending questions about his past experiences, but he knew you were simply coming from a place of no experience. You probably wanted to know what he liked in bed, what pleased him the most, what kept him from wanting more. Was that too much? No. Were you overdoing this entire thing? A little bit.

“Why are you defensive?” you asked softly, still sitting on the couch as you watched him avoid your eyes. “You make me feel so insecure every time.”

He scoffed, shaking his head as he turned around. “I don’t know, baby. If you’re feeling insecure, then do something about it.”

“Thanks so much for the ride, Ryo.”

Yorozu stood by her door, returning the helmet back to him while she kept her eyes locked on his. Her gaze was inviting, tempting him to give in and submit to his carnal desires. Any man would read her intentions the same way; Yorozu stared at him like that because she wanted to invite him to her place. She wanted him to spend the night and do unforgivable things. To remember the passionate exchange they once shared.

But Sukuna wasn’t like that. No, he wasn’t a cheater. “I, uh, gotta get going.”

“Oh…” Disappointment clouded Yorozu’s face. “Okay, then.”

“See you tomorrow?”

“...Alright.”

“Okay.”

“Wait!” Yorozu pulled his arm just as he was heading back to his motorbike. The sudden closeness in their proximity made his heart race fast. He knew what was coming. “I missed you, Ryo.”

He knew what she was about to do next.

And holy fuck did he guess right, as he was taken aback when Yorozu suddenly leaned in to press her lips onto his. Her soft, cherry lips moved desperately to taste his sweet kisses.

But he didn’t return it. Instead, he immediately pushed her away. “Yorozu,” he spoke softly, “I have a girlfriend.”

“You do?” She didn’t need to hide it. He could see the heartbreak on her face.

“Yeah,” Sukuna confirmed, maintaining a more appropriate distance now. “We’ve been together for some time, and I live with her.”

Yorozu tried to maintain her facade of indifference, making it appear as though she was unfazed by his revelation. “That’s... That’s cool,” she said, “I’m sorry for, uh, the kiss.”

Sukuna nodded, “It’s fine. I should’ve told you sooner.”

“You’re alright,” she reassured him, “It's totally my fault. I hope she won’t be upset with you or something.”

Sukuna had no plans to tell you, knowing well the additional turmoil it would bring to your already strained relationship. However, he realized the importance of clarity in his intentions and the need to set boundaries. “We’re just friends. We’ll keep things civil. I’ll finish your tattoo in a couple more sessions, and then we’re done. Sounds fair?”

Yorozu nodded her head with a reluctant smile. “Fair enough.”

— —

5 more days. Her sleeve required five more sessions, and days went by too fast for him to count. He had busied himself with his clients, while you had busied yourself with yours. He couldn’t even spend time with you because his shop took a chunk of his time from him, and even at home, things had become too awkward ever since your unspoken night.

So, in some ways, Yorozu became his routine. She visited his shop for the past four nights and he had taken her home afterwards. She was in absolute love with her rose sleeve and they weren’t even complete yet. He still owed her one last session and told himself that it should also be the last time she should be around him. It wasn’t right and he didn’t want to create another source of argument with you.

And in truth, he certainly felt a little guilty for spending more time with his ex than his own girlfriend. But did he purposely do it? No, it was fate that brought her to his door about a week ago.

In spite of his stubbornness to admit his wrongdoing, he still ended up stopping by the flower market to get you a nice bouquet of white lilies. He knew you could make a prettier bouquet than that, but he thought it would be a perfect opportunity to surprise you with flowers that didn’t exactly come from you. Besides, he had some making up to do.

Later that night, when he returned to your shared home, he found you sitting at the couch seemingly waiting for him to come home. The lights were dimmed and the television was turned off. For some reason, you were wearing outside clothes and had a somber expression on your face, too. That alone caused the loud thumping of his heart.

“Hey,” he greeted, nonetheless, sitting next to you on the couch and kissing your cheek. “Everything okay, baby?”

Your eyes carried sadness in them as you looked at him and searched for answers you couldn’t find. “Where were you?”

Sukuna handed the bouquet over. “Got you flowers.”

You didn’t accept them. Instead, every second seemed to torture you. “Where were you before that?”

“In the shop…?” He didn’t know where to start, but he was definitely scared. “Why? Sorry I’ve been busy lately. I’ll make it up to you, angel.”

“You close your shop at nine,” you pointed out, voice breaking in the middle of your sentence. “Why do you always come home at two in the morning?”

Fuck. Fuck! What should he say? Should he make an excuse for it? Should he say he’d been checking on Yuuji after his shifts? Should he say he’d been riding to other cities to clear his mind? He didn’t fucking know what to say, especially not when you were clearly on the verge of bursting out.

“Answer me!” you cried, finally releasing the bottle out in the open. The tears that welled in your eyes now streamed ceaselessly down your face. “You’re an asshole. I-I hate you! I fucking… you think I don’t know? You think I’m too stupid to know?!”

Sukuna calmly received the fists you had swung on his chest as he tried to grab ahold of your arms. “Baby, I’ll explain everything.”

“No, damn y-you!” The tremor in your voice squeezed his heart in the most painful way because he hated seeing you breaking down in front of him and over him. This wasn’t the first time he had made you cry, but this was the first time he had seen you actually sob like this. “I-I gave myself to you! I left my p-parents for you! And this is what you do to me? You’re cheating on me with your ex?!”

He was desperate to hold you, hug you, cage you in his arms. He wanted to take your pain away. Wipe your tears away. However, you didn’t allow him to touch even a strand on your hair as you kept on pushing him off. Sukuna felt like he was going to lose his mind. “Baby, listen to me please. It’s really not what you think—”

“I don’t care!” you spat, moving away to wipe the tears off your face. “I don’t fucking care! You sleeping with her or not doesn’t change a thing. Don’t you get it? I’ll never be enough for you!” Despite your loud voice, the cracks in her facade only revealed your longing for validation and acceptance, etching into every tear-stained moment you two had shared over the course of your relationship. He watched you, paralyzed by the sight of you breaking down, as you grabbed a luggage you had been hiding behind the couch as if you were ready to leave. “I’ll never be the person you want me to be and staying with you will always remind me of it!”

“No, no, no… Let’s talk.” Sukuna had to suppress his own tears while he tried to reach out for you. “Baby, please. I don’t feel anything for her, or anyone. It’s just you. You are enough for me, baby. I’m sorry, please.”

You, on the other hand, were adamant at your decision. “I can’t stand what you’re doing to me anymore. I don’t like how you make me feel about myself. I hate how you make me question my own choices!” Tears continued to flow, and your voice wavered, transitioning from anger to a more subdued, pained tone. “I hate… I hate that I love you so much, that I lost all my backbone just to make you happy.”

“You don’t need to.” He was feeling more and more miserable now, his heart sore from all the emotions he had seen from you. “Y/N, you don’t need to. I’m sorry, I love you. I love you so fucking much.”

…

“It’s over, Sukuna,” were the last words he could recall hearing before passing out drunk in his bed that afternoon. “We’re done.”

— —

It was your first heartbreak. Your first actual relationship. Your first everything. Surely, people shouldn’t expect you to move on easily, especially not when the subject of your heartache worked across the street from you.

You were a mess. You had cried enough tears after you moved out of his apartment that night, screamed your heart out as you suffered from the pain of loneliness once more. You couldn’t even bear the thought of returning to your parents and hearing them say they told you so, because loving Sukuna was a choice you thought was good for you.

In the end, he was just a poison without any antidote. A toxin without remedy. The most effective solution was to sever all ties to prevent further contamination.

But strangely enough, you hadn’t seen him in his shop ever since that night, either. The tattoo parlor remained closed for more than two weeks without any notice. While a small part of you worried for him, a bigger part of you cared for yourself. He no longer held any importance to your life, and you should let it remain that way.

What you should focus on, instead, was living your life without any trace of him. A life of independence, away from the toxicity of a manipulative man who constantly made you doubt yourself and what you offered. As they say, you have to learn to love yourself first before you can fully learn to love others.

And in your journey of knowing the truth of that saying, a certain white-haired man entered your floral shop on a somber Friday afternoon just as you were arranging preordered bouquets for multiple customers to pick up.

“Hey,” you greeted the man, surprised at his sudden appearance at your shop.

Satoru grinned as he approached you closer. “I’m here to pick up two bouquets.”

“Oh, it was your order?” Your eyes widened. Silly you. Of course, Suguru would order on his friend’s behalf. He wouldn’t even get his girlfriend some flowers, let alone his mother. So this being Satoru’s order made much more sense. “Okay, you got a bouquet of blush peonies and another bouquet of pink tulips, am I correct?”

He smiled handsomely, displaying his set of perfect white teeth while listening to you talk. “Correct.”

“For your mom?” you asked before you made your way to pick up the bouquets, handing them to him carefully.

His response came with a soft, affirmative hum. “Mhm. One for her,” he said, taking only the bouquet of tulips, “The other is for you.”

Oh, no, no, definitely no. You had seen this before and it didn’t go well.

“That’s lovely, but…” You offered a smile. “I’m not taking those peonies.”

Satoru acted innocent, his vibrant blue eyes coruscating under the ambient lights. “But it’s mother’s day.”

You playfully shook your head. “I’m not even a mother.”

“Yes, you are,” he went on teasing, “the mother of my future kids. I like to think in advance, you know.”

Honestly? This man started off with a bad impression on you, but he wasn’t actually so bad. He was an easygoing, happy-go-lucky person who carried positive energy around him. That, and he was decent, too. He was the type of guy your parents would have surely approved of. He was a degree holder like you, even pursuing graduate studies to run a business that was already generating an income that you could only imagine of getting. He was set for life with no uncertainty with what he wanted for his future.

“Satoru?”

He met your gaze. “Yeah?”

“About your offer last time,” you recalled, recalling his earlier jest about teaching you some things in bed, “I think I'd like to take you up on that.”

#sukuna x reader #sukuna x you #sukuna angst #ryomen sukuna x you #ryomen sukuna x reader #sukuna x y/n #jjk x reader #tattoo artist sukuna #biker sukuna #tattoo artist x florist au

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reilemon · 6 months ago

Text

🌊Beneath the Abyss🌊

♡︎ synopsis: Lured by a haunting melody, you find yourself pulled into the depths of the sea, only to be saved by Rafayel, a mysterious merman.

♡︎ pairing: merman!Rafayel x fem!reader

♡︎ part 2 ♡︎

⭒˗ˏˋ𓆩 ⚠ 𓆪ˎˊ˗⭒MINORS DNI (18+ ONLY)⭒˗ˏˋ𓆩 ⚠ 𓆪ˎˊ˗⭒

♡︎ cw: depictions of (almost) drowning, mermaid au , semi-public seggs, oral (f!receiving)

♡︎ word count: 6.2k

♡︎ a/n: the second story for kinktober 2024. the beginning was very fun to write for someone with thalassophobia 🙂

♡︎ Thank you to my dearest friend and my beta reader ♡︎@its-de♡︎ for helping.

divider by @cafekitsune

Tonight is like any other night - where you sit on a wooden bench by the cliffside and read an old book. The sky is dark as ink, the stars distant and blinking slowly. The moon hangs low and casts a silvery light, illuminating the worn pages of your book. The sea is far below, its waves like whispers, soothing your thoughts as you read. Each wave crashes against the cliff’s base in a rhythmic hum. This place seems cold and unwelcome, but it’s yours. You’ve always come here, seeking solitude that only the night can offer. The dark doesn’t frighten you—it embraces you like an old friend. You feel safe here.

But then, it happens.

A sound, soft at first, like a breath carried on the wind, slips through the night. As it drifts closer, it wraps itself around your mind, around your soul. It’s a melody unlike anything you’ve ever heard—haunting, hypnotic, and achingly beautiful. It calls to something deep inside of you, and before you even realize what you’re doing, you’re standing, the book forgotten, your feet moving on their own.

The song grows stronger, tugging at you, pulling you toward the cliff's edge. You don’t resist. You can’t. The sea below crashing, dark and deep, but it no longer feels distant or dangerous. It feels inviting. The melody grows stronger, filling the air with its melancholic beauty. It’s not the sweetness of the song that unnerves you, but the way it seeps into your bones, like the sea pulling at the shore. You take another step, the rocks beneath your feet slick and uneven, but none of it matters now. Only the song matters.

And then—you fall.

The world tilts, and the sky spins above you as you plummet toward the water. Panic grips your chest, your heart racing as you crash into the icy depths. The cold is shocking, like needles through your lungs, and the once inviting sea now feels like it has you in its grasp, pulling you under. You thrash, desperate, your limbs sluggish as the water envelops your whole being. You open your mouth to scream, but no sound escapes—only bubbles rising to the surface.

You can’t believe this is happening. You’re going to drown.

Terror floods your veins as you sink deeper, your lungs burning, the black water pressing in from all sides. The song, the beautiful, irresistible song, has led you to this cold, watery grave.

You’re sinking into the deep. How could you let this happen to you?

But then, through the suffocating darkness, you see him.

A figure, a shadow, moving swiftly through the water. His form isn’t human, but sleek and graceful. His movements are too fluid, too fast. You blink, your vision fading as the last of your air escapes in a stream of bubbles.

For a brief moment, you think he’ll leave you to this terrible fate. But then, his hands, cool and firm, wrap around your waist, pulling you upward with a strength that feels effortless. His touch is strangely gentle as he propels you toward the surface, through the crushing weight of the sea.

You break through the surface with a gasp, sucking in air as your body shakes, your limbs still heavy and numb from the cold. His grip remains on you, guiding you through the water as he swims toward the shore. He brings you to a sheltered cove hidden from the world. Here, the water is calm, the sea’s roar softened to a murmur. He releases you gently onto the shore, your body trembling, your mind reeling from what just happened.

You lie there for a moment, catching your breath, your heart pounding in your chest. When you finally lift your head, you see him.

You can’t believe it. You sit in the sand, your breath ragged, lungs burning from the saltwater you swallowed, but your eyes—your eyes are locked on him. A figure not human, not entirely, but something out of stories you were told as a child. Stories you never believed. Myths, you always thought.

A merman.

The word seems impossible, heavy and foreign in your mind, yet he is there before you, dripping with seawater, his form half in the waves, half on the shore. His dusky purple hair clings to his forehead, eyes the color of shifting sunsets—blue fading into pink, hypnotic and unreal. His pale blue tail glistens under the moonlight, every shimmering scale catching the silver glow, moving with a grace that seems almost too smooth.

Are you hallucinating? You struggle to grasp at the fact what you're seeing is true. Mermaids were the stuff of stories, tales sailors told after too much drink, legends spun to explain away the strange sea. But now, here he is. A merman. He saved you.

You feel the weight of that thought settle in your chest—he saved you. Pulled you from the dark, icy depths. His hands had been firm around your waist, his strength undeniable as he swam you to safety, your body limp and helpless in his grip. The memory of it sends a shiver through you, a mixture of fear and awe. And now he is watching you with those strange, unreadable eyes. Your heart beats faster, not out of fear but something deeper—curiosity, wonder, gratitude. You don’t know how to feel.

“Thank you,” you manage to say, your voice hoarse and trembling.

He doesn’t respond, his gaze flickering as if trying to understand your words. He’s silent, but there’s something in his eyes—something that isn’t cold, something that isn’t indifferent. He’s saved you, and yet, you can see the hesitation and caution. His lips part, as if he wants to say something, but no words come. He seems frustrated, as though language is a barrier neither of you can cross.

Still, there’s a connection between you—fragile but real. You stand up and take a small step toward him, your eyes meeting his. He stares at you, taking in your wet form, the way your clothes cling to your body. There’s a flicker of something in his expression—something that looks almost like curiosity. But then, as quickly as it appeared, it’s gone.

As he slips back into the water, his eyes linger on you one last time, and without a word, he disappears beneath the surface. You realize then, with a strange certainty, that you’ll see him again. He may not have meant for you to be drawn into his world, but now, neither of you can escape it. You’ve crossed a threshold, and there’s no going back.

Tomorrow, you’ll return. You both will.

𓈒ㅤׂㅤ𓇼 ࣪ 𓈒ㅤׂㅤ⋆｡𖦹 °. 𓇼

You arrive at the cove just as the sun begins to set, the sky turning into shades of amber and rose. What happened last night feels surreal. But the ache in your muscles tells you it was very much real. In your hand, you clutch a small gold bracelet. It’s a token, a simple gesture, but it feels like the least you can offer him for saving your life. You hope he’ll accept it.

You sit by the shore, the same place where he left you, eyes scanning the horizon. You don’t know how long you’ll wait, but something tells you he’ll come. And you don’t wait long.

The water stirs, a ripple moving across the surface. Your breath catches in your throat as you see him. He emerges from the depths with that same graceful ease, his scales glistening in the fading sunset. His eyes find yours, and for a moment, neither of you speak. You simply stare, caught in the same strange tension from the night before. He stays just out of reach, half-submerged in the shallow waters of the cove, watching you.

You shift towards him slowly, trying not to startle him this time. You hold up the bracelet. “For you.” your voice hesitant. You know he doesn’t understand the words, but maybe he’ll understand the gesture.

His gaze flickers to the bracelet, and slowly, cautiously, he moves closer. He raises one hand from the sea, fingers delicate, reaching toward the gift. His gaze never leaves yours as his fingers brush against the gold. You clasp it around his wrist gently, and a breath you’ve been holding leaves your lips. He stares at it for a moment, watching the way it catches the light. Then, he looks at you, his expression unreadable, but his guard... lowered. He doesn’t speak, but there’s a softness in his gaze now.

You smile, gesturing to yourself. “I’m...” You say your name slow and clear, hoping he’ll understand. You point again, repeating, “My name is...”

He watches you, brow furrowing in concentration. He lifts a hand, mimicking your gesture, pointing to himself. “Rafayel,” he says, and your heart skips a beat at the sound of his silky voice.

A smile tugs at your lips. You repeat his name, savoring the sound of it. It’s a small step, but it feels like a bridge between your worlds.

For the next few minutes, you try to teach him more. Simple words. “Water.” You gesture to the sea. “Sky.” You point to the sky. Each time, he watches you closely, though his lips struggle to form the words. He repeats after you, hesitant at first, but with growing confidence. It’s slow, but it’s something. You laugh softly when he stumbles over a word, and his lips twitch, just the slightest hint of amusement in return.

The moon starts to rise. You sit by the shore while Rafayel rests in the shallow water, his body half-submerged. The quiet between you feels comfortable now, no longer heavy with uncertainty. He watches you with a mix of curiosity and caution, his guard still there, but not as rigid.

𓈒ㅤׂㅤ𓇼 ࣪ 𓈒ㅤׂㅤ⋆｡𖦹 °. 𓇼

You bring a book the next night, an old fairytale, the kind with simple words and enchanting stories. He’s there again and you sit together by the water, turning the pages. You point at the pictures, saying the words slowly, and he listens, repeating the ones he can manage. Each night, you bring another, reading to him in the soft glow of the moon. His words are broken, but he tries. He watches your lips when you speak, mimicking the movements, and each night, you get a little closer to understanding each other.

And as the days pass, something else shifts between you. His wariness fades, replaced by a playful curiosity. He teases you with small splashes of water, grinning at your surprised reactions. His hands linger when he helps you stand up, his touch growing bolder, more confident. You catch him staring sometimes, his eyes roaming your face, your body, with an intensity that sends warmth rushing through you.

You talk more now, not just with words but with gestures, shared looks, and smiles. He asks questions, his voice thick with the unfamiliar human language, but eager to learn. You tell him about your world, your life, and he listens, even if he doesn’t understand it all. And when he speaks of his world, you try to piece together the meaning from the few words he knows, from the way his hands move as if painting a picture.

And each night, as you leave the cove, there’s a part of you that doesn’t want to go. There’s a part of him, too, that lingers in the water, watching you with a look that makes you think he feels the same.

The gold bracelet still gleams on his wrist, a reminder of the night he saved your life.

𓈒ㅤׂㅤ𓇼 ࣪ 𓈒ㅤׂㅤ⋆｡𖦹 °. 𓇼

Rafayel has always been wary of humans, but with you, he finds himself wanting to know more. There’s a softness in your eyes that eases him, a vulnerability that makes him open up, bit by bit. Each time you smile at him, something stirs in his chest, he can’t quite explain it. It’s different from anything he’s ever known. You’re not like the humans he’s been taught to avoid; there’s no malice, no threat in your presence.

Your beauty, though undeniable, isn’t what captivates him the most. It’s the way you see him. He is not a creature from the deep, something to be feared, but something - someone you want to know. And it confuses him—this growing need to be closer to you, to understand you, to touch you. He’s never felt this way before, and it scares him. But he can’t stay away. The more time he spends with you, the more he begins to desire your presence, the way you make him feel more alive.

The comfort of the cove has become a sanctuary for Rafayel and you. But tonight, something lingers in the air. You’ve been thinking about that first night—about the song that led you to the edge of the cliff. You turn to him, your voice soft but curious “That night, the song... were you the one singing it?”

Rafayel’s gaze hardens at the question, his eyes showing a mix of emotions. He doesn’t answer right away, and for a moment, you worry that you’ve overstepped. But then, his head dips, as if looking for the right words. He takes a breath, his voice low. “Song... not for you.” His eyes meet yours, and there’s something darker there now, something painful. “For sailors, bad men. Hurt... my kind.”

You feel the weight of his words. You’ve heard stories of sailors plundering the depths, but seeing the pain in Rafayel’s eyes—it feels real now. His hand reaches for yours. He explains, his voice thick with emotions he struggles to contain. “Revenge, for my kind. They come, take… kill. They don’t care. ”His fingers tighten slightly around yours, as if bracing himself for what he’s about to say next. “I... stop them. I sing, they follow.”

You realize then what his song was meant to do. It was a lure for the sailors, to drag them beneath the waves. The weight of that presses down on you, and yet, there’s no fear. Only sadness for the pain he’s carried. You swallow, trying to find the right words. “But... I wasn’t meant to hear it.”

He shakes his head, his grip on your hand softening, his voice quieter now. “No. You... not like them. You hear, but...” His brow furrows. “I... not want to hurt you.” The vulnerability in his voice catches you off guard. This creature, so powerful and full of vengeance, pulled you from the depths when he could have just let you drown.

You look at him. “I’m sorry.” you say softly, though you know it’s not enough. “I’m sorry for what they did to you. I didn’t know.”

His eyes soften, the darkness in them fading as he looks at you. “You... don’t need to know,” he murmurs. “You are... different.”

You squeeze his hand gently, offering what comfort you can. “I’m glad you didn’t let me drown.” you say, a soft smile tugging at the corners of your lips.

Rafayel smiles back and you see a glimmer of warmth in his eyes. “Me too.” he says quietly, his thumb brushing against the back of your hand.

𓈒ㅤׂㅤ𓇼 ࣪ 𓈒ㅤׂㅤ⋆｡𖦹 °. 𓇼

The nights spent by the cove have become a routine. You sit with a fairytale book in your lap, your fingers tracing over the worn pages as you read aloud. Rafayel lies on his stomach, his body still, but his gaze is not. He watches you, ombre eyes tracing every movement of your lips, every flutter of lashes as you speak. You glance up from the book, catching the intensity of his stare. A playful smile tugs at your lips, and you pause mid-sentence. "What are you looking at?" you tease.

Rafayel’s brows furrow in concentration. He still struggles to find the words, but he gestures to his own face, then to yours. "You... beautiful."

The words catch you off guard, a blush peppering your cheeks. You are taken aback by his honesty. He says it so simply, as if it’s the most natural thing in the world. Your heart skips a beat, but you brush it off with a soft laugh. “Thank you.”

He tilts his head with confusion in his eyes, as though he doesn’t understand why you would laugh. You shake your head, reaching out to rest your hand on his arm, feeling his cool skin. His body reacts instantly to your touch, a shiver running through him, but he doesn’t pull away. Instead, his hand comes to rest over yours.

Each evening, the distance between slowly fades. Touches become more frequent, more intentional. A hand resting on his arm, fingers tracing his jaw, the way his tail brushes lightly against your leg as he moves closer.

One night, Rafayel’s curiosity takes a new turn. You’re sitting on the sand, the fabric of your flowy dress bunched up around your legs. His gaze lingers on the material that shifts with the breeze. He tilts his head, lips in a small pout. Then he reaches out, pointing at your legs, gesturing to the flowing fabric. “Why... clothes?” he asks.

You laugh softly. “Humans wear different clothing depending on the weather, or their style. And we wear shoes to protect our feet.”

At the mention of shoes, his eyes drop to your bare feet. He looks back at you, his lips parting as if to ask something, but hesitates.

"Do you want to touch them?" you ask.

His face lights up with a mix of curiosity and caution. He nods. You stretch your leg out toward him, offering your foot, and he reaches for it, his fingers brushing lightly over the arch. You smile, watching his face as he studies your foot with such focus that makes you chuckle. But then, his fingers accidentally graze a ticklish spot making you pull away from his grasp and laugh as a reflex.

He jerks his hand back, eyes wide with concern, but you shake your head quickly, still laughing. “It’s okay! You just tickled me.”

His expression softens into a playful one, and he does it again, deliberately this time. He watches as your body reacts, your foot flinching away from his mischievous hands, your laughter bubbling up again. You can see the spark in his eyes, the way his lips curl into that rare smile you’re starting to see more often.

Now your eyes trace pale blue tail that glimmers in the water. You can’t stop yourself from staring. You’ve wanted to touch it from the very first moment you saw him.

You take a deep breath. “Can I... touch your tail? It’s okay if you don’t wa - .”

He chuckles at your stammering and nods, easing your anxiety. He takes your hand in his, and lowers it onto his tail, around where knees would be. Your lips part in awe, feeling the cool, sleek texture of his scales beneath your fingertips. It’s smooth, almost silky.

You look up at him. “Your tail... it’s incredible.”

Rafayel’s lips twitch into a small smile, pleased by your fascination. He shifts his body, fully focusing on your legs again. His eyes travel up, towards the space between your thighs. He glances at your face, then back, as though trying to make sense of something. Slowly, he leans in, his head tilting as he peers under the hem of your dress, his curiosity as innocent as it is bold.

A flush of heat rises to your cheeks, scooting back and pressing your thighs together. "Uh, Rafayel..." you murmur, your voice catching.

He looks up at you, confused. You can tell he doesn’t fully understand what he’s done to make you flustered, but he’s aware of the shift in your energy. “What... there?” he asks, his voice uncertain, his hand motioning toward your dress.

You bite your lip, the blush deepening. There’s no hidden intent in his question—just pure curiosity, the same way he’d ask about the books or the language you’re teaching him. You take a shaky breath. “It’s... private,” you say, choosing your words carefully. “Humans have parts that are personal, and we usually keep them covered, especially around others.”

He nods slowly. His eyes go to your dress for just a moment before they return to yours. “Private,” he repeats, the word unfamiliar on his tongue, but he seems to grasp the meaning of it. You can see the restraint in him now, the way he pulls back slightly, giving you space.

In the quiet that follows, you smile at him, reaching out to touch his face lightly, your fingers brushing over his soft skin. “You’re learning quickly,” you say softly, and he leans into your touch, his eyes closing for just a moment. But now you have a question. Your heart races as you summon the courage to speak. "Rafayel..." you begin, your voice barely above a whisper. You swallow hard, feeling the heat rise to your cheeks. "Where... where are your private parts?"

The words hang awkwardly between you, and you immediately regret it. Your body tenses as you brace for his reaction. Instead of laughing or brushing off the question, Rafayel’s expression softens with understanding. He lies on his back, glancing down at his sleek, muscled form. There’s a pause as he considers how to respond, his lips curving in a soft smile.

"They're hidden," he says quietly, pointing to the area right below his pelvis. "Beneath, for… when we need them."

You find yourself staring at the spot where he’s pointing. You bite your lip, glancing at him out of the corner of your eye. His gaze is already on you, soft and unassuming, as if waiting for you to speak.

"So… how does it work?" you ask hesitantly.

Rafayel tilts his head, his brow furrowing slightly as he processes your words. "Work?" he repeats. He looks down at his tail, then back up at you. "You… want to know?"

The heat rises to your cheeks, and you glance away, your fingers fidgeting with the hem of your dress. "I—I guess, yeah," you stammer. "I mean, you asked me, and I…" You trail off, embarrassed.

Rafayel’s lips quirk into a small, knowing smile, and his eyes soften at the sight of your flushed cheeks. Slowly, he speaks again. "I can… show?"

Your breath catches in your throat. The idea of him revealing that intimate part of himself makes your heart race. But before you can respond, Rafayel adds "If… I see yours too?"

Your hands tighten on the fabric of your dress, your mind racing. There's an openness in the way he asks, a genuine desire to understand you better. "You want to see mine?" you ask, your voice trembling just a little. Rafayel nods, his eyes flicking downward for just a second before meeting yours again. “Yes. You… show me. I… show you."

The tension hangs heavy between you, and for a moment, you both just sit there. You consider his words and finally, you nod. "Okay."

Rafayel hesitates for a moment, his eyes searching yours for permission one more time. With a slow nod from you, he shifts, moving just enough to give you a better view. The area he pointed at begins to part slightly, the scales pulling aside to show what is hidden. Your eyes widen as you catch the first glimpse of what lies underneath. The sight is mesmerizing, a beautiful hybrid of human and something entirely otherworldly. His member, long and thick, tapers slightly toward the tip. The texture is smooth with faint ridges along its surface. Your breath hitches as you notice how his arousal throbs gently, merging seamlessly with his aquatic form.

Rafayel watches you, how fascinated you are by this part of him. His lips quirk into a teasing smile, but a faint blush colors his cheeks. He’s aware of the tension of this moment, but there’s a playful, mischievous glint in his eyes as he tilts his head.

"You… stare long time," he teases, "You… like?"

Your breath catches as you meet Rafayel’s gaze, embarrassed for staring for so long. "Maybe," you admit with a shy smile.

Rafayel’s smile widens, his blush deepening. He glances down at himself, starting to feel bashful under your gaze, before his eyes return to yours. He shifts slightly, his hand moving to caress your cheek. His eyes move downward, toward the thin piece of clothing, then back to your face. You know it’s your turn.

The realization makes your palms clammy. Rafayel’s gaze never leaves yours, patient but full of expectation. And you want to match his vulnerability, to let him see you in the same way you’ve seen him. With a trembling hand, you reach under your dress, tugging down the bottom part of your swimsuit, his eyes following your every movement. Discarding the piece of clothing to the side, you lean back on your hands, spreading your legs.

Rafayel’s eyes widen as he stares at your exposed form, lingering on the soft skin between your thighs, on the slickness already gathering there. He looks mesmerized, his gaze flicking between your face and your body, as if he can’t decide where to focus.

"Can… I touch?" he asks, his fingers twitching with anticipation.

You nod, your heart racing. Slowly, his fingers brush against your inner thigh, cool and soft at first. His fingertips graze your entrance, and you let out a small gasp as a jolt of pleasure courses through you.

He pauses, glancing up at you with concern. “Hurt?”

You shake your head quickly, breathless. "No, no… that feels good," you assure him, your voice a little shaky. "But… if you keep touching me like that, I’ll get more… aroused." The honest answer makes your face flush even more.

Rafayel seems both intrigued and flustered by your response. Rafayel watches you closely, his fingers still resting gently against your slick entrance. He looks down, his breath catching as he feels the wetness coating his fingers. You can see his chest rising and falling as if he's trying to keep control of himself.

He glances back up at you. "Can I… touch more?"

The question takes you by surprise. This isn’t just curiosity or playful exploration anymore—this is crossing into something more intimate. You look at him, your breath catching in your throat. There’s a need that’s been growing inside him for so long—one he’s kept carefully in check, unsure if he could ask, unsure if this moment would ever come.

You feel a rush of warmth flood through you at the realization, and with a soft, shaky breath, you nod, guiding his hand a little higher. "Touch me… here," you whisper, your voice barely audible as you place his fingers on the sensitive nub just above your entrance. "This is… very sensitive. If you touch it the right way, it’ll feel incredible."

Rafayel’s breath hitches as his fingers move under your guidance. His touch is light at first, but as he watches your reaction—how your body tenses with pleasure—he grows bolder, circling the sensitive spot with slow, deliberate movements.

The sensations are overwhelming, sending waves of pleasure crashing through you with every stroke of his fingers. Your hips instinctively move, seeking more of his touch, and you can’t help the soft moans that escape your lips. Rafayel’s eyes are locked on you now, his breath coming faster, his arousal clear in the way his body tenses.

"Yes," you gasp, your hands gripping the fabric of your dress as you struggle to hold back the rising tide of pleasure. "Just like that…"

Your body is trembling now, shaky gasps leaving your lips, each stroke pulling you closer to the edge. He watches you intently, eyes wide with fascination. He’s studying every reaction, every sound you make. Your fingers dig into the sand, gripping tightly as the pressure builds inside you, a tight coil ready to snap. His touch is gentle but insistent, the perfect rhythm against your most sensitive spot, and it doesn’t take long before you feel that wave approaching. Your hips buck against his hand, and the pleasure becomes too much, too overwhelming to resist.

“Rafayel -” you moan, your voice shaky. Everything seems to blur as the intense pleasure crashes over you in waves, your thighs trembling, your back arching helplessly as you come. Rafayel watches in awe, mesmerized by the way your body reacts to his touch, his hand still gently moving over your clit, prolonging your release as you ride out every last wave of pleasure. Your chest heaves, breathless, the sensation so intense you can barely focus, your body still twitching from the aftershocks. But as the pleasure subsides, his curiosity hasn’t. His fingers, still slick from your release, hover near your entrance, and he glances up at you. His fingers brush against your wetness, lingering just on the edge.

“What… if I…” he trails off.

You’re still catching your breath, your body sensitive, but you manage a nod, giving him permission. He moves slowly, his fingers slipping inside you, cautiously exploring. His finger slides into you easily, your entrance wet from your orgasm, and you let out a soft gasp as he pushes deeper. When he adds a second finger, stretching you just a little more, a shiver runs down your spine, the fullness making you moan softly. His eyes flick up to yours again, watching your face for any sign of discomfort, but all he finds is more of that same pleasure, your hips gently rocking against his hand, guiding him.

And then, as he curls his fingers inside you, searching, he finds it—the spongy spot deep within that makes your body jolt with pleasure. You react immediately, a gasp escaping your lips as he presses against it.

“There,” you gasp, your voice breathless and needy. “Right there…”

Rafayel’s eyes light up, his fingers moving with more confidence now, curling and stroking that sensitive spot inside you. The pleasure is overwhelming, a different kind of ecstasy that makes you arch into his touch, your walls tightening around his fingers. Each movement makes your moans grow louder, more desperate.

Without warning, he leans down, his mouth hovering just above your clit. Then he presses his lips to the sensitive nub. The shock of his warm mouth against you makes you cry out, your hips jerking against him as the pleasure intensifies tenfold. His tongue flicks out, tasting you, and when he hears your moan, he repeats the motion. Your hands instinctively tangle in his hair, guiding him as his tongue moves over your clit, licking and sucking in perfect rhythm with the motion of his fingers inside you. The combination is almost too much, the sensations making you dizzy, your body on the verge of losing control.

Rafayel seems affected by your reactions, his own breathing heavy now, his face flushed. He’s learning fast, his fingers curling just right inside you, hitting that sensitive spot over and over, while his mouth works your clit with growing skill. Your hips move desperately against him, seeking more of the pleasure he’s giving you, unable to stop yourself.

And then, you feel it—the tight coil inside you, about to snap again, but this time it’s different. The pleasure so intense it’s almost unbearable. You can feel your muscles clenching around his fingers, wet sounds filling the air as your body responds to him.

“I can’t… I’m going to…” you gasp, but before you can finish, your orgasm crashes over you, more powerful than anything you’ve ever felt before, your body convulsing, your hips bucking wildly against his hand and mouth. A sudden gush of wetness escapes you, your release splashing against his fingers, your muscles spasm with the force of it.

Rafayel freezes for a moment, startled by the intensity of your release, but he doesn’t pull away. His fingers stay inside you, his mouth still working your clit as you ride out the most intense orgasm of your life.

As your release finally subsides, you collapse back against the sand, panting and spent, your body still tingling. Rafayel pulls back, his fingers slipping from your entrance, wet with your release. He looks up at you, awe and a hint of pride in his eyes, as if he can hardly believe what he’s just made you feel.

When you catch the sight of Rafayel’s face, glistening with the remnants of your release, a shy smile tugs at your lips. You reach out, brushing your thumb gently across his cheek, wiping away the wetness. Both of you share a soft, breathy chuckle. Rafayel, his gaze lingering on your lips, leans down slowly. His breath fans across your skin, and then, with a soft press, his lips meet yours. It’s gentle at first, but the moment your lips connect, something shifts. The kiss deepens, grows more urgent, as though all the pent-up desire comes to the surface.

Your hands tangle in his hair, pulling him closer, needing more of him. His lips move against yours, his tongue teasing yours, and you feel the weight of his body pressing against you. His tail shifts in the sand, positioning himself between your legs, his hardened member brushing against your thigh. The contact makes you moan into the kiss, and you both know where this is headed. It feels natural, like this is where you were always meant to end up, like the bond between you has been building toward this moment. Rafayel’s gaze locks onto yours, checking for any sign of hesitation. But all you offer him is a small nod, your body aching to feel him inside you.

He begins to push forward, slow and careful, the head of his throbbing member pressing against your wetness. You can feel the stretch as he starts to ease into you, your body accommodating his size. The sensation is intense, your walls fluttering around him as he gradually sinks deeper. His eyes never leave yours, his brow furrowed in concentration, his mouth slightly parted.

“You… okay?” he asks softly, his voice strained with the effort of holding back.

“Yes,” you gasp, your body trembling. “Don’t stop.”

Encouraged, Rafayel moves deeper. Rolling his hips, each thrust pushes him further, until he’s fully within you, his body pressed flush against yours. He stills for a moment, savoring the warmth of your body wrapped around him. His hand moves down to where your bodies are joined, his thumb finding your clit, pressing against it in slow circles. You moan, your hips instinctively bucking against his, the stimulation pushing you closer and closer to the edge again.

Every thrust brings him deeper, hitting that sweet spot inside you, and you can’t hold back any longer. Your orgasm crashes over you, more powerful than the last. Your walls clench tightly around him, drawing him deeper, and you cry out his name. Your entire body shudders with the force of your release. The feeling of you pulsing around him pushes Rafayel over the edge. His thrusts become erratic, his breath ragged. With a deep groan, he buries himself inside you, his body shaking as his own orgasm overtakes him.

As the last hints of pleasure fade from your bodies, the night air settles around you, cool and soothing against your flushed skin. Rafayel’s body remains pressed against yours, his chest rising and falling in rhythm with your own as he holds you close. Your legs are still tangled with his tail, the beautiful texture of his scales brushing against your thighs, grounding you in this moment.

Rafayel presses a tender kiss to your temple. His lips trail down to your cheek, then to the corner of your mouth, and you turn your head, meeting him in a soft, languid kiss. Neither of you speaks for a long moment, simply resting in the aftermath. Rafayel shifts slightly, easing out of you carefully, and you can’t help but shiver at the loss of connection. He watches your face for any sign of discomfort, but all you offer him is a lazy smile.

A faint blush lingers on his cheeks, and his lips curve into a small, sheepish smile. "You not hurt?"

You laugh softly, shaking your head. "No," you reply, your voice gentle. "Not at all. That was… wonderful."

He exhales in relief and chuckles softly. "Good."

You move to rest your head against his chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. He wraps an arm around you, pulling you closer, as if he can’t bear to let go just yet.

Then, after a few moments, you both start to chuckle, the sound light and easy. "I… didn’t think this would happen," you admit with a smile. "Not like this. Not tonight."

Rafayel hums in agreement. "You… so different. So... human," he adds with a playful smirk, but his tone softens. "And yet…"

You smile, lifting your head slightly to meet his gaze, finishing for him. "And yet, it feels right." Rafayel’s lips curve into a slow, gentle smile, and he leans down, his breath warm against your skin as he presses a soft kiss to your forehead. "Yes," he whispers. "It… feels right."

For a long time, you simply lie there together, wrapped in each other’s arms, your bodies warm and comfortable against the cool night air. Rafayel’s fingers continue to caress your skin, his touch tender and slow.

"Stay close," he whispers after a while, his voice barely audible, as if he’s speaking to himself, as if the thought of distance—any distance—is unbearable. His arms tighten around you, his embrace full of warmth and need.

You smile against his chest, nuzzling closer. "I’m not going anywhere," you murmur back. And you mean it. Whatever comes next, you’ll face it together.

#love and deepspace #rafayel love and deepspace #love and deepspace smut #love and deepspace rafayel #rafayel smut #lads smut #lads x reader #lads rafayel #rafayel x reader #rafayel x you #kinktober 2024 #kinktober

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cumironi · 4 months ago

Text

PLAY HOUSE? DON’T BE JOKING : TOJI FUSHIGURO

he wasn’t going to calm down, his world fell apart in his own hands, and yet. . . he can’t do anything. he doesn’t know how to stay tender with so much blood in his hands.

warning. angst no comfort, fem! reader, breaking up, little megs, infertile reader.

the warmth of his tiny body pressed against yours was both comforting and heartbreaking. megumi clung to you, his small frame curled into your chest as if you were the only anchor keeping him safe. even in his half-asleep state, he refused to let go, his fragile grip on your shirt tightening now and then, as though the thought of losing you haunted his dreams. you held him close, your arms wrapped protectively around him, but the ache in your heart was undeniable.

you lay on his small bed, the mattress far too short for your grown frame, your legs awkwardly bent to fit. his blanket, soft but barely large enough, draped over the two of you. it was a poor attempt to shield you both from the chill in the room, but you didn’t care about your own discomfort. your focus was entirely on him—megumi fushiguro, a child who bore no resemblance to you yet had somehow burrowed his way into your heart. his fever-flushed cheeks glowed faintly in the dim light, his long, dark lashes brushing against the delicate skin as his eyes fluttered between wakefulness and sleep.

he looked so much like his father, toji—his sharp features softened only by the hints of his mother. his mother, you reminded yourself bitterly. not you. you had no claim to him, no blood tie that made him yours, yet here you were, cradling him as if he were your own. the thought tore at you, a sharp pang of longing and sadness intertwining with the love you felt for him.

a faint whimper escaped him as he shifted closer, seeking comfort in your warmth. his little hand clutched at your shirt, desperate and fragile, and your breath hitched. you wanted to be everything for him—his shelter, his solace—but no matter how much you loved him, you weren’t his mother. that truth weighed on you like a stone, each beat of your heart a cruel reminder of the line you couldn’t cross.

you brushed a hand gently through his dark, messy hair, soothing him even as your chest ached. he didn’t understand why he felt the way he did, why he clung to you with such desperation. but you understood. you were a stand-in for someone who wasn’t here, someone who should’ve been here. and as much as you cherished being his safe place, it hurt to know you’d never truly be enough.

megumi’s breathing slowed, his tiny body relaxing slightly as sleep began to claim him. yet, even in slumber, his grip on you remained firm. you closed your eyes, willing yourself not to cry, not to let your sadness seep into this tender moment. it wasn’t his fault. none of it was. he was just a child—one who needed love, stability, and someone to hold onto when the world felt too big and frightening.

you pressed a soft kiss to his feverish forehead, whispering words he wouldn’t hear. “i’m here, baby. i won’t leave you.” and though the promise felt hollow, you meant it with every fiber of your being. even if he wasn’t yours, you’d stay as long as he needed you.

the night stretched on, inching closer to exhaustion, yet sleep refused to claim you. the hours seemed to drag, each one heavier than the last, and the weight of your heart grew unbearable. you sat in the dimly lit room, every creak of the house and every rustle of the wind outside pulling your attention, hoping—praying—that the next sound would be him.

toji had been gone for days now, and the silence of his absence gnawed at you. you didn’t know where he was or what he was doing. was he safe? was he hurt? the questions circled endlessly in your mind, each one darker than the last, until they became an oppressive cloud you couldn’t escape. your imagination ran wild, conjuring scenarios of danger, of injuries he wouldn’t admit to, of him lying somewhere, unable to return to you, or maybe he wouldn’t, just yet..

you tried to tell yourself this was normal. toji was a man who came and went as he pleased, his life one of constant unpredictability. he rarely shared the details of where he was going or what his plans entailed. yet, no matter how often this happened, the uncertainty never got easier to bear. each absence left you restless, each unanswered question a weight that settled deep in your chest.

the clock ticked steadily in the background, its monotonous rhythm a cruel reminder of how slowly time was passing. you wrapped your arms around yourself, seeking comfort in the empty room, but it was a poor substitute for his presence. the house felt too quiet, too still, without him there to fill the void.

you glanced at the door for what felt like the hundredth time, half expecting it to swing open and reveal his familiar figure, but it remained closed. the anticipation was unbearable, every second a tug-of-war between hope and dread. you wanted to be angry, to scold him for leaving without telling you anything. yet, beneath that frustration was an ache you couldn’t ignore—a longing for him to walk through that door, safe and whole, so you could finally breathe again.

with a sigh, you leaned back, your eyes drifting to the ceiling as your thoughts spiraled further. “where are you, toji?” you whispered into the emptiness. the question lingered in the air, unanswered, as the night wore on.

he was an assassin— a fact that was never unfamiliar to you, even from the beginning. his work, his lifestyle, the danger that followed him like a shadow, none of it was a secret. but familiarity didn’t make it any easier to accept, and it certainly didn’t stop it from being the source of so many arguments between you.

you often pleaded with him to find a real job, something stable, something safe. you wanted him to have work that didn’t demand he risk his life, something that wouldn’t force him to disappear for days at a time, leaving you and megumi behind with no word, no reassurance, nothing but the empty ache of waiting. “find something better,” you’d tell him, desperation slipping into your voice. “something that doesn’t put you in danger, toji. something that doesn’t leave us alone like this.”

but those conversations always spiraled into fights. they never ended well, always exploding into shouting matches filled with anger and frustration on both sides. toji would accuse you of not understanding, and you would accuse him of not caring enough about what his absences did to you or to megumi. and then he would leave—storming out the door without another word, disappearing for days, sometimes even weeks. when he eventually returned, it was always the same. no apologies, no explanations. he would act like nothing had happened, like the wounds from the argument weren’t still raw, as if you were supposed to just move on without question. maybe you isn’t enough for him to stay’ sometimes, you think.

it was exhausting. the cycle of fights, his departures, the waiting, and the uncertainty—it all wore you down more than you ever let him see. but what hurt the most wasn’t your own pain; it was the quiet toll it took on megumi. he was so little, too young to say anything, too young to ask for what he needed. but you could see it in the way his eyes lingered on the door when toji was gone. he never asked about his father, never said anything out loud, but you knew he missed him, and wondering.

he missed him in the way he clung to you at night, seeking comfort in your embrace because his father wasn’t there to give it. he missed him in the silence, in the unspoken ache that filled the room when the two of you sat together. and it broke your heart because no matter how much love you gave him, no matter how hard you tried to make up for toji’s absence, you couldn’t fill that void. he needed his father, even if he didn’t know how to say it.

and yet, toji’s job always came first. it always pulled him away, always left you wondering if this time would be the last time he walked out the door. you hated the job, hated the danger, hated the man you saw in him when he chose it over his family. but more than anything, you hated how much you still loved him despite it all. you hated how much it hurt to see megumi wait for someone who might never truly be there for him. and still, you stayed, clinging to the hope that one day, something might change.

it’s two in the morning, and you’ve just managed to put megumi to sleep. finally, his tiny body is at rest, though his fever is still alarmingly high. you stayed by his side for hours, wiping his sweat-soaked forehead, whispering soft reassurances, and hoping that somehow, your presence alone could ease his discomfort. but through it all, he never cried, never fussed, not even a whimper.

it made your chest ache in ways you couldn’t describe. he was only two years old—too young to understand the burden of resilience, yet somehow, he carried it like someone far older. he should’ve been crying, clinging to you, seeking comfort in the way most children would. but megumi wasn’t like most children. his quiet maturity only deepened your guilt, a sharp reminder of the life he was born into—a life he didn’t deserve.

now, you sit at the small dining table under the dim, flickering light of the kitchen. a half-empty bottle of cheap alcohol rests in your hand, the bitter taste lingering on your tongue as you let your thoughts spiral. the silence in the apartment is suffocating, broken only by the soft hum of the fridge and the occasional creak of the floorboards. you feel the weight of exhaustion pulling at you, but sleep is the last thing on your mind.

the faint click of the door jolts you from your thoughts. you sit up slightly, straining to listen as heavy, familiar footsteps make their way through the apartment. your heart tightens, and you know exactly who it is before he even steps into the kitchen.

toji.

he pauses in the doorway, his broad figure cast in shadows from the dim light. his sharp eyes sweep over you, taking in the sight of you sitting alone with a drink in your hand, your shoulders slumped with exhaustion. for a moment, neither of you speaks. the air feels heavy, the unspoken tension between you hanging thick.

his deep voice breaks the silence, low and rumbling as he asks, “why aren’t you asleep?” the question is straightforward, but there’s a softness to his tone, an edge of concern that he rarely lets show.

before you can answer, he crosses the room, his footsteps slow but deliberate. he leans down, pressing a kiss to your forehead—a gesture so brief yet so tender it takes you by surprise. your eyes flutter shut for a moment, a quiet sigh escaping your lips as his warmth lingers against your skin. then, just as quickly, he pulls away, making his way to the fridge to grab a bottle of water.

you watch him in silence before he disappears behind you, chest tight with a mix of emotions you can’t quite untangle. there’s relief in seeing him safe, frustration at his absence, and a lingering sadness you don’t have the strength to confront. he doesn’t say anything else, and neither do you. instead, you sit there, staring at the cheap bottle in your hand, wishing the gap between you wasn’t so wide. wishing you didn’t feel so alone, even with him standing just a few feet away.

toji leaned against the counter, the cold granite biting into his skin, a sharp reminder of the divide that stretched between you. the glass of water in his hand felt heavier than it should, yet he took a slow sip, his eyes fixed on you. you sat hunched in the corner, half-shrouded in shadows, your silhouette a fragile, aching thing. even in the dim light, he could see the exhaustion etched into your every movement—the slump of your shoulders, the quiet defeat in the curve of your spine. it wasn’t just weariness; it was something deeper, something that made his chest tighten and his throat dry.

his gaze dropped briefly to the half-empty bottle in your hand, the liquid inside catching the faint light. it wasn’t the first one tonight—he could tell—and the sight of it twisted his gut with worry and something heavier, something he couldn’t name. he took another sip of his water, but it didn’t help. nothing did. the silence between you pressed in like a weight, thick and suffocating, filled with all the things neither of you could bring yourselves to say.

the soft clink of his bottle meeting the counter broke the stillness as he set it down, his movements slow, deliberate. he pushed away from the counter, his steps hesitant as he approached you, each one feeling like a gamble. you looked so small, so distant, even though you were right there. he studied your face, searching for something—anger, resentment, anything—but all he found was exhaustion. it was a quiet kind of pain, one that sat in your eyes and clung to your posture, and it left him feeling utterly helpless.

he pulled out the chair beside you, the scrape of wood against the floor loud and jarring in the stillness. he lowered himself into it, his broad frame suddenly feeling out of place, too big, too heavy in the fragile space between you. for a long moment, he simply sat there, his eyes tracing the shadows under your eyes, the tension in your jaw, the hollow sadness that seemed to hang around you like a cloud. you looked like you were carrying the weight of the world, and he hated himself for being part of what had put it there.

he wanted to reach out. god, he wanted to reach out. to close the distance, to take your hands in his and pull you into him, to hold you against his chest and remind you that you weren’t alone, that he was still here. he wanted to feel your heartbeat against his, to reassure himself that you hadn’t slipped away entirely, even if it felt like you had.

but he didn’t. he couldn’t.

he sat frozen, his fists clenched tightly in his lap, the frustration and self-loathing building inside him. he knew the cracks in your relationship were his doing—his silences, his failures, the way he never seemed to say or do the right thing. every unspoken word, every withheld apology, weighed on him like chains, and now, sitting here beside you, they felt insurmountable.

he could feel the distance between you like a chasm, vast and unbridgeable, even though you were close enough for him to hear your soft, uneven breaths. he clenched his jaw, the words he wanted to say choking him, stuck somewhere between his heart and his throat. apologies felt useless, explanations even more so. how could they compare to the pain in your eyes, the quiet devastation that he knew he’d put there?

so, he stayed silent, his presence heavy and uncertain, his gaze locked on you like a man staring at something slipping through his fingers. the ache in his chest deepened as the moments stretched on, and all he could do was sit there, knowing that even his closeness wasn’t enough to bridge the distance that had grown between you.

your reaction was hesitant, almost fragile, like a thread stretched too thin. for a long moment, you stayed still, staring down at the bottle in your hand as if it held the answers to questions you were too tired to ask. the room felt suffocating, the silence pressing in on your chest, making it harder to breathe. you didn’t want to look at him, didn’t want to see the worry in his eyes or the guilt etched into his features. it would only remind you of how far apart you’d drifted, how the gap between you felt insurmountable, even now.

but something in the way he sat there—so close yet so tentative—drew your gaze to his. your eyes met his green irises, and for the first time in what felt like forever, you allowed yourself to really see him. the sharpness that once defined him was gone, replaced by a dullness that mirrored your own. he looked tired, almost as tired as you felt, and the sight made your chest ache in a way that had nothing to do with anger. it was sadness, heavy and unrelenting, wrapping around you like a shroud.

his hand reached out slowly, gently, as if he were afraid you might pull away. he took the bottle from your grasp, his fingers brushing yours for the briefest moment. the touch was warm, grounding, and you felt the tiniest flicker of something you thought you’d lost—a fragile, fleeting hope. he set the bottle on the table with care, the soft clink of glass breaking the oppressive quiet.

your body moved before your mind caught up, driven by an instinct you couldn’t suppress. your arms found their way around his neck, and you buried yourself in him, seeking solace in the steady, unyielding strength of his presence. your body folded into his lap, trembling as you clung to him like he was the only solid thing in a world that felt like it was crumbling beneath you.

you didn’t cry. the tears that should have come remained locked inside, caught somewhere deep in the hollow ache that had taken root in your chest. instead, you held him tighter, your fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt, desperate for the warmth he offered. your head rested against his shoulder, and you closed your eyes, letting yourself feel the steady rise and fall of his breathing, the strong, warm arms that wrapped around you in return.

the moment you moved into his lap, his arms went around you on instinct, pulling you tighter against him— it was as though the weight you carried began to crack and crumble, piece by piece. . the familiar feel of your body in his arms, the scent of you, somehow still so sweet and faintly floral despite the weariness that stained your skin—it hit him like a punch to the stomach. the realization of how desperately he’d missed this, how deeply he’d longed for this closeness but had done nothing to repair what had been broken, hit him like a freight train.

he held you there, one hand running slowly up and down your spine in a soothing rhythm, the other buried in your hair as he buried his face into the crook of your neck, his breath hot against your skin. he steady, grounding pressure of his palm gliding along your spine, the way his fingers tangled in your hair like he was anchoring himself to you—it was almost too much. his breath, warm and uneven against your neck, sent a shiver through you, and you closed your eyes, trying to steady the storm that swirled inside you.

there were words he wanted to say, words that clawed at the back of his throat— “i’m sorry,” “i missed you,” “don’t leave” —but they all felt wrong, too small and insufficient. he pressed his lips to the pulse point on your neck, feeling the rapid thrum of your heart against his mouth.

you feel it— no, you missed it— the gently kiss against the hollow of your neck, soft and tentative, like he was afraid you might vanish if he held on too tight. that simple touch, so full of longing, sent a ripple through your chest, a sigh slipping from your lips before you could stop it. it wasn’t relief, not fully, but it was something close—like a door opening just wide enough to let the smallest ray of light in. your hand moved without thought, trailing down to his chest, where you could feel the strength of him beneath your palm—the steady, unyielding beat of his heart. but even now, even with all that strength, he felt fragile. weak. like a man caught in the wreckage of something he couldn’t fix.

you pulled back slowly, reluctant but needing to see him, to look into the green eyes that had once felt like home. your forehead rested against his, your breaths mingling in the small space between you. the faint stubble on his cheek prickled beneath your fingertips as you cupped his face, your thumb moving in slow, deliberate strokes over his skin. it felt rough, unkempt, like the rest of him—a man unraveling, his edges frayed and worn.

you studied him in the dim light, your gaze tracing the lines of exhaustion etched into his face, the heaviness that clung to him like a shadow. this close, you could see it all—the regrets he carried, the guilt that weighed him down, the cracks in the armor he tried so hard to wear. and you hated how much it mirrored your own reflection, how you could feel the pull of him drawing you in even as the words in your chest begged to push him away.

your voice came softly, trembling but resolute, breaking the silence that had stretched too far for too long. “i will leave.”

the words hung between you, sharp and heavy, slicing through the air with a finality you didn’t know you were capable of. his breath hitched against yours, his hands tightening on your waist as though he could hold you in place, as though sheer willpower could keep you tethered to him. but you didn’t say anything more, didn’t elaborate or soften the blow. instead, you let the weight of those words settle over both of you, the truth undeniable.

your mind spun with the possibilities, the what-ifs and could-bes that clawed at the edges of your resolve. what would it look like, a life without him? would you be freer, lighter, or would the absence of him feel like a gaping wound that would never fully heal? and what about megumi? the boy who had grown to look at you like a constant, like something steady and safe in a world that had taken so much from him already? how would he understand the choice you were on the brink of making?

your chest tightened with the weight of it all, the enormity of what leaving meant. but the thought of staying, of continuing this cycle of hurt and silence, felt just as unbearable. so you stayed like that, forehead pressed to his, your fingers trembling as they traced the curve of his jaw, memorizing every detail of him as if this moment might be your last.

“you’re a mess,” you whispered finally, your voice breaking on the words. there was no malice in them, only a deep, aching sadness. “we both are.”

he didn’t respond, couldn’t seem to find the words, but his eyes—those tired, dulled green eyes—bore into yours with a desperation that threatened to undo you entirely. you could feel his heart racing beneath your palm, a frantic rhythm that echoed the chaos in your own chest. it was as if he was trying to say everything he couldn’t put into words, begging you to stay, to give him one more chance, even as he seemed to know that the cracks between you might already be too wide to bridge.

for a moment, you considered it—letting yourself fall into him, letting his arms hold you together even as you both came undone. but the pain of the past lingered too close, a reminder of all the times you’d tried and failed, of the nights spent wondering if love was supposed to hurt this much.

so instead, you stayed silent, too, letting the closeness of him fill the void between you for just a little while longer, knowing it might be the last time.

toji’s body was tensed beneath you, his chest rising and falling with each unsteady breath he took. he didn’t say a word, didn’t move, but he was a coiled wire, taut and ready to snap at any moment. the air between you felt charged, thick with the weight of words unspoken, of questions asked yet left unanswered, of apologies and pleas that remained stuck in both of your throats.

the silence felt suffocating, a crushing weight that pressed in on your lungs, making it harder to breathe, harder to think. but still, neither of you spoke. his silence felt deafening, a stark contrast to the maelstrom of his thoughts. he wanted to reach out, to pull you to him, to fix whatever was broken between you. but he was frozen.

he couldn’t tell you what stopped him, the memories of past arguments, the fear of causing more hurt, the knowledge that words alone couldn’t stitch together the torn edges of what was left of your relationship. the only thing he could do was sit there, his body taut against you, his heart hammering in his chest.

his eyes were fixed on your face, studying every feature, as if he was trying to memorize them. he could see the way your brow was furrowed, the way your lips were pressed together, the way your fingers continued to trace over his skin. and he wondered if you could feel the way his pulse was racing, the way his heart was lurching in his chest.

“please,” he finally managed, his voice raspy and unsteady, almost like a man drowning. the words hung in the air, pleading yet resigned, a last-ditch effort to keep you from slipping though his fingers.

he reached up, his fingers trailing along your collarbone, the touch so light it was almost reverent. his eyes flickered over your face, tracing the lines he’d come to know so well, the curves and planes of you as familiar as his own reflection. “don’t leave. not yet.”

not yet.

your breath hitched at his words, the rawness in his voice cutting through the walls you’d built around yourself. please. it was a small word, but the weight of it was staggering, heavy with a kind of desperation that made your chest ache. his fingers brushed against your collarbone, featherlight, almost trembling, as though he was afraid that even the slightest pressure might shatter what was left between you. his gaze burned into yours, searching, pleading, memorizing every inch of you as if he was afraid you’d vanish before his eyes, just like his late wife.

your lips curved into a smile, soft and bittersweet, a fragile thing that seemed to carry the weight of your exhaustion. it wasn’t happiness—not even close. it was the kind of smile you wore when you knew something was over, when the pain was too deep to cry anymore. your hands lifted to cup his face, your thumbs brushing over the roughness of his stubble, the sharp angles of his jaw. his skin felt warm beneath your touch, grounding, and for a fleeting moment, you let yourself forget the inevitability of it all.

“yeah,” you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper. “i will.” the words felt like a betrayal even as they left your lips. you saw the way they landed, how they rippled through him like a physical blow, and you hated yourself for it. but this was the truth, the only truth you could offer, and you hoped that somehow, deep down, he understood.

you leaned in slowly, your movements deliberate, as if you were giving him time to pull away—but he didn’t. he stayed rooted in place, his breath shallow and uneven as you closed the distance between you. your lips brushed against the scar on his mouth, a touch so soft it felt like it might break you both. you lingered there, your breath mingling with his, the intimacy of it so fragile, so fleeting.

when you finally pulled back, your eyes fluttered open to meet his, and you saw the pain there, raw and unguarded. it mirrored your own.

he didn’t pull away. instead, his hands moved to your waist, gripping you with a desperation that made it hard to breathe, like he was trying to etch the feel of you into his memory. his grip on you tightened, desperate, trembling with the need to hold on, to keep you there just a moment longer. his fingers dug into the fabric of your clothes, clutching at you as if you were the only thing anchoring him to the earth.

then, without giving yourself time to second-guess, you kissed him fully. your lips pressed to his in a way that was soft but resolute, like a thread unraveling one final time. it wasn’t passionate or hurried; it wasn’t a plea to stay or to change. it was gentle, quiet, and achingly painful—a goodbye masquerading as a kiss.

his breath came in shallow, broken gasps, his chest heaving as he fought to find words. but they eluded him, caught in the raw agony swelling in his throat. every thought, every feeling, twisted into a silent scream he couldn’t release. his lips found yours— kissing you back. and he kissed you with everything he had left—despair, love, a futile plea that tasted of salt and sorrow. it was a kiss laced with the echoes of goodbye, with all the things he couldn’t bring himself to say. but there was a hesitance to it, a kind of fear that came from knowing this wasn’t the beginning of something—it was the end.

when you pulled back, your forehead rested against his, your breaths mingling in the stillness of the room. your hands slid from his face to his shoulders, your fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt as though you were trying to hold onto him for just a moment longer. but even as you stayed close, you could feel the distance growing, the inevitability of your choice settling in like a storm on the horizon.

your voice broke as you whispered, “i’ll always love you, toji.”

for a moment, the world seemed to hold its breath. your words, soft yet heavy with finality, lingered in the air like the toll of a mournful bell, resonating deep within him. your hands clung to his shirt, your foreheads pressed together still, as if you could will time to stop, as if your closeness could delay the inevitable.

the ache in your voice cut deep, sharper than the words themselves. it was the resignation, the quiet certainty that this was the end—the end he had always feared but never prepared for—that shattered him. it was not just the loss but the cruel, unyielding finality of it that left him hollow.

“please,” he whispered, his voice breaking, barely more than a breath. a single word, fragile and aching, hung in the space between you, a final plea to stop the inevitable. but even as it passed his lips, he knew it was hopeless. your decision had been made, and your resolve, as much as it pained you, would not falter.

he opened his eyes, searching yours with a desperation that burned. and there you were, looking back at him with a strength that seemed unbearable, a strength that masked your own heartache. he saw the exhaustion in your features, the brittleness in your stance, like glass held together by sheer will. yet your gaze was unwavering, unyielding. you were a mountain, immovable in your choice, and he was the storm, battering against you in futility.

his chest tightened as a wave of helplessness surged over him, dragging him under. he wanted to scream at the injustice of it all, to rage against the cruel twist of fate that had brought him here, to demand that you stay. but the fight within him ebbed, replaced by a hollow acceptance that settled like ash in his soul. anger would change nothing; it could not rewrite the truth.

he took a trembling breath, his heart a cacophony of pain, and looked at you like a drowning man gazes at the surface—longing, desperate, and full of grief. the threads that had bound you together unraveled with every second, slipping from his grasp like water, no matter how tightly he tried to hold on. and in that moment, he understood that love was not always enough to keep someone by your side. sometimes, love meant letting go, even when it broke you beyond repair.

your forehead rested against the side of his head, your hand cradling the back of his neck with a tenderness that felt cruel in its finality. his hair, dark and slightly unruly, brushed against your fingertips, and for a moment, you let yourself stay there, suspended in a fleeting fragment of closeness. your breath hitched, your lips slightly parted, and the tremble in your chest betrayed the storm inside you.

your voice, when it came, was barely above a whisper. fragile. raw. “you know i can’t stay. it’s unfair to me.”

the words quivered in the air between you, heavy and sharp like broken glass, and you felt him tense beneath your touch. his breathing faltered, the steady rhythm you once found solace in now uneven, jagged. your eyes burned with unshed tears, but you refused to let them fall, even as your chest heaved with the weight of it all. you’ve cried enough, you told yourself, but your body betrayed you, trembling as you inhaled a shuddering breath.

“toji, baby,” you murmured, his name breaking on your lips like a prayer turned curse. “i can’t do this anymore. i can’t keep waiting… hoping… starving for something you never give. god, i was starving,” your voice cracked, the pain pouring out despite your efforts to keep it contained. “you come and go like the tide, leaving me behind to wither while you do whatever you want. you disappear for days, weeks… and i sit here, waiting, aching, drowning in this emptiness you leave behind. it’s killing me.”

the confession spilled from you, unfiltered and raw, as if the dam you’d so carefully built had finally shattered. the words tumbled out, each one slicing through the air, heavy with the pain you’d carried in silence for far too long.

you closed your eyes, pressing your forehead more firmly against his temple, as though the proximity could ease the ache. it couldn’t. nothing could. your hand tightened against the back of his neck, your fingers digging into his skin, desperate to hold onto something tangible even as everything else unraveled.

“i love you,” you admitted, your voice barely audible now, a quiet confession meant only for the space between you. “i love you so much it hurts. but i can’t keep sacrificing pieces of myself for a love that leaves me empty. i deserve more than this, toji. more than the crumbs you give me when you decide to come back.”

your tears, unbidden and unwanted, finally escaped, trailing hot and fast down your cheeks. you tilted your head, pulling back just enough to look at him, your gaze meeting his. the pain in his eyes mirrored your own, but you couldn’t let it sway you. you couldn’t let his sorrow chain you to a love that had become your prison.

“i can’t keep breaking myself apart to keep us whole,” you whispered, your voice trembling as the finality of your words settled over both of you. “i need to let go… before there’s nothing left of me.” your words were a dagger, each one finding its mark with painful precision. the air felt thick, heavy with the weight of all that was left unsaid, all that he knew you had been holding inside all this time.

he didn’t say anything at first, his mind reeling, trying to process the torrent of everything. his eyes never left yours, taking in every flicker of emotion that played across your face. the tears, the pain, the acceptance, all of it hit him like a gut punch. he reached up, his hand closing over yours on the back of his neck. his grip was firm, holding your wrist with a quiet strength, preventing you from pulling away just yet. he needed to look at you, to hold onto this moment, even as it burned through his heart.

“i…” he began, but the words got stuck in his throat, lodged there like a lump he couldn’t swallow around. he tried again, his voice hoarse and shaky.

“i’m sorry,” he finally managed, his eyes not leaving yours. and he meant it. he was sorry, sorry for everything. sorry for the pain he’d caused you, sorry that he was too broken to be who you needed he closed his eyes, his fingers tightening around your wrist, feeling the rapid pulse beneath your skin. each beat felt like a countdown, a reminder that you were leaving, that this was the end.

your gaze softened, though the ache in your chest only deepened as you watched the cracks in him grow wider, his remorse spilling out like water from a shattered vessel. his fingers, firm yet trembling around your wrist, felt heavier than they should, like they were tethering you to a moment you could no longer stay in.

“i’m sorry i couldn’t give you what you need,” he continued, opening his eyes to look at you again. “i’m sorry i’m such a colossal screw-up.” each word felt like a confession, an admittance of failing you, of failing both of you. it was a hard truth, one he’d avoided for too long. a soft hum escaped you, unsteady and fragile, like the faintest echo of comfort in the middle of a storm. it was a sound that carried all the weight of your sorrow, an acknowledgment of his pain even as your own threatened to drown you.

“it’s okay,” you whispered, though your voice was brittle and uneven, the words trembling as they fell from your lips. but they weren’t okay, not really—not for either of you. and yet, you said them anyway, because what else was there to say?

“it’s not okay,” he shot back, the words a harsh whisper. his eyes searched yours, desperate for some flicker of understanding, some hint that you weren’t just going through the motions of saying goodbye.

“it’s not okay ‘cause you’re leaving,” he added, his voice cracking. “i… i don’t want you to leave.” his grip on your wrist tightened, the tremors running through his muscles mirroring the tremors in his voice. he swallowed, his throat feeling too tight for words, but he pushed through, needing to get it all out while he still could.

“i know i’m a mess, okay?” he rasped out, his eyes fixed on yours. “i know i’m not husband or boyfriend of the year material. i know i’m not the kinda guy you take home to meet your parents or anything. i know all of that.” he paused, his breath coming in unsteady gasps, like he was fighting for control, for one last moment of vulnerability before the walls slammed back up again.

“but i love you,” he said, the words so quiet they almost got lost in the air between you. “i love you so goddamn much. that’s gotta count for something, right?”

you shifted slightly in his lap, creating just enough space to tilt your head back and meet his gaze. his words hung between you like fragile glass, their weight pressing down on your chest, threatening to shatter the last remnants of resolve you clung to. your hands found their way to his cheeks once more, the warmth of his skin grounding you in a moment that felt far too fleeting.

your hum was soft, barely audible, a sound that trembled with hesitation and sorrow. “maybe,” you whispered, your voice as delicate as a thread unraveling in the quiet air. the word carried the faintest flicker of possibility, though even you knew it wasn’t real. it was a fleeting comfort, an acknowledgment of his love that couldn’t undo the damage done.

your thumb traced the sharp angles of his face, the faint stubble that tickled your fingertips, as though memorizing the contours of him for the last time. “but,” you added, your voice breaking slightly, “the count wasn’t enough.”

his hands, suddenly desperate, shot up to cover yours, trapping them against his cheeks as if he could keep you there indefinitely if he just held on tight enough. “not enough,” he echoed, his voice a strangled whisper. “it’s not enough…”

his eyes searched yours, searching for something, anything. a hint that he could change your mind, a promise that this wasn’t really it. his fingers curled around yours, pressing your palms against his skin like he was trying to tattoo the feel of your touch into his flesh. “then what is enough?” he asked, the words a broken plea. “what do you need from me?”

he leaned forward, his forehead coming to rest against yours for once more, the proximity forcing your breaths to mingle. his body trembled, the tremors running through him like an earthquake. “i’ll give it to you,” he promised. “whatever it is. just tell me what you need.”

your fingers slipped into the strands of his hair at the nape of his neck, idly curling and uncurling them as if the motion could steady the tremor in your chest. his desperation weighed on you, heavier than his arms around your waist or the intensity of his gaze, pinning you in place. you looked at him for a moment, long and silent, as though memorizing every detail—the lines etched by pain and time, the shadows in his eyes that never seemed to leave, the scar that tugged at his lip even as it trembled.

you didn’t speak right away, the quiet stretching between you like a string pulled taut, ready to snap. your hand drifted upward, brushing the edge of his jaw, then falling away again as though even that small contact might tether you too tightly to him. when you finally whispered, it was soft and breathless, like the words hurt to say, but you needed to let them out before they suffocated you.

“marry me.”

the air seemed to leave the room, sucked into a silence that felt deafening. his eyes widened, and for a moment, his breath hitched. you felt the tremor in his body still as though the words had struck him frozen, their weight sinking in too deep to ignore.

you didn’t elaborate. you didn’t plead or justify or explain. because you knew.

you knew what you were asking wasn’t fair, that it was a wound you shouldn’t press on, a ghost you shouldn’t summon. you knew the memories of his wife still haunted the spaces between you, that her absence shaped him more than her presence ever had. and you knew, deep down, that no matter how much he loved you, he didn’t have the courage to give you what you needed.

but still, you had to ask. because if this was the end, you needed to hear the answer you already knew, needed him to face the truth neither of you had been brave enough to say out loud.

his mouth opened as if to speak, but no sound came out. his grip on your hands faltered, loosening just enough for you to pull away, though you didn’t. his forehead pressed against yours again, his eyes shutting tight as though he could will the moment away, as though he could keep your words from echoing in his head.

you waited, your heart pounding in your chest, even though you already knew the answer. his silence was louder than anything he could have said, a confirmation of the doubts you’d been holding all this time. he was silent, his mind reeling. he’d been ready to promise anything, to say he’d change, to do better, to be better, but this... this he wasn’t prepared for.

he’d buried the possibility of a future together under the wreckage of his past, and here you were, exhuming it, offering it to him like a fragile thing. he swallowed, his throat bobbing with the effort, but words still didn’t come. he was lost in the storm of his thoughts, his heart and mind at war.

marriage, with all its complexities and risks, was a chasm he’d avoided for years. it was an admission of permanence, the final nail in the coffin of his lost love. and yet, hearing the word from your lips, the weight of it hung in the air, undeniable. he loved you, god, he did. but the thought of being married again, standing at the altar and promising forever, felt like staring down the barrel of a gun.

“i...” he started, his voice catching in his throat. “i can’t....” he couldn’t finish, the words refusing to form. he could see the hurt flicker across your face, the disappointment in your eyes. he hated it, hated disappointing you, but he couldn’t give you what you wanted. he could give you anything else, everything else, but that one thing, that one thing he couldn’t stomach.

he drew in a shuddering breath, his hands grasping yours more tightly, as though begging you to understand. “please,” he whispered, the word a ragged plea. “please, don’t ask me for that.” your smile was small, fragile, like glass held together by trembling hands, threatening to shatter at any moment. the corners of your lips wavered as you let out a shaky hum, the sound catching in your throat. you nodded, slowly, over and over, as though convincing yourself more than him.

“it’s okay,” you whispered, your voice cracking under the weight of the lie. “it’s okay.”

the words came again, softer, more broken, tumbling out like a mantra you needed to believe. “it’s okay, it’s okay…”

but it wasn’t okay. not really.

your hands slipped out of his grasp, his warmth lingering on your skin even as you pulled away. you felt the tears brimming, threatening to spill, but you held them back with sheer willpower, your chest heaving with the effort. you couldn’t cry—not now, not in front of him.

you glanced at him, your gaze meeting his for a fleeting second, and the look in his eyes nearly undid you. he was desperate, broken, his pain as raw as your own. you knew he wasn’t choosing this to hurt you. he just… couldn’t.

he watched as you pulled away, the loss of your touch feeling like a wound in his chest. he wanted to reach out, to pull you back, to hold you tight against him and never let go. but he couldn’t. it felt like there was an invisible wall between them, one he didn’t know how to scale. the silence that settled felt heavy, filled with all the things they weren’t saying.

he watched as you kept nodding, your words a soft, hollow reassurance. he hated it, hated the resignation in your voice, the acceptance that he couldn’t seem to offer. his eyes never left yours, drinking in every flutter of your lashes, every tremble of your lips. he saw the struggle, the fight within you, and it tore at his heart. his fingers flexed at his side, as if they ached to reach out for you.

he wanted to be what you needed. he tried hard, he did. but he’d built his life around what he couldn’t do, not what he could. marriage, that sacred promise of forever, was not something he was capable of giving. it had been stolen along with his wife.

your movements were slow, deliberate, as though the weight of your decision had settled into your very bones. you pushed yourself off his lap, your hands lingering for a second longer than they should have, your touch burning into his skin as you stood before him. “i’m going to pack my things,” you said quietly, the words steady but hollow, as though you had rehearsed them in your mind countless times. your eyes stayed fixed on the floor, unable to meet his. if you looked at him now—at the way his hands were clenching into fists, the way his lips were pressed into a thin, trembling line—you knew you wouldn’t be able to follow through.

the bedroom was cloaked in a suffocating silence, broken only by the faint rustle of fabric and the occasional, uneven breath that escaped from your lips. the air was heavy, dense with the weight of unspoken words and lingering regrets.

toji sat on the edge of the bed, his broad shoulders hunched forward, his elbows resting on his knees. his hands dangled uselessly between his legs, fingers twitching every so often like they wanted to reach for something—for you—but didn’t know how. his gaze was fixed on the floor, on a stray thread of the rug, as if it could provide him the answers he didn’t have.

you sat on the floor in front of the wardrobe, knees bent and body folded in on itself, your fingers trembling as they carefully, methodically folded your clothes. each piece felt like a small goodbye, a memory slipping through your hands as you placed it into the open suitcase. the suitcase itself looked like a wound, wide open and gaping, the contents spilling out like the remnants of a life shared and now divided.

the tears had long since dried on your cheeks, leaving behind a raw, burning ache. your eyes stung from crying, your head throbbed from the hours of grief. but nothing compared to the hollow ache in your chest, the way your heart seemed to squeeze with every breath you took. you moved slowly, painfully, each motion deliberate as though the act of packing was draining the last bits of strength you had. a sweater slipped from your grasp and landed limply on the floor. you stared at it for a moment, your fingers frozen mid-air, before picking it up again and folding it with trembling hands.

toji’s head tilted slightly, his dark eyes flickering to you, but he said nothing. he didn’t know what to say. the sight of you on the floor, hunched and fragile, sent a sharp pain through his chest. he wanted to call out to you, to tell you to stop, to tell you to stay. but his throat felt tight, his voice trapped beneath the weight of his guilt.

the night stretched on, cold and endless. the walls seemed to close in, the room once filled with warmth now unbearably hollow. the moonlight filtered through the thin curtains, casting pale shadows across the floor. the glow touched your hair, your face, and he thought you looked like something fleeting, like something he’d already lost.

“you don’t have to do this,” he finally muttered, his voice barely above a whisper, the words rough and uneven, as if dragged from the depths of his chest. your hands stilled, gripping a shirt tightly, but you didn’t turn to face him. instead, you closed your eyes, took a shaky breath, and let the silence answer for you.

he ran a hand through his hair, tugging at the strands in frustration, his jaw clenching so hard it ached. “please,” he tried again, his voice cracking, “just… just stay. we can figure this out.” his words hung in the air, fragile and desperate, but you didn’t move. instead, you placed the shirt in the suitcase, smoothing it down as though you hadn’t heard him.

toji felt the weight of his failures pressing down on him, suffocating him. his hands clenched into fists as he looked at you, his chest burning with the helplessness of it all. he wanted to get on his knees, to beg you not to go. but he knew—he’d always known—that this moment was inevitable.

“i’m sorry,” he whispered, the words so soft they almost didn’t reach you. but they did, and you paused again, your hands trembling as you gripped the edge of the suitcase. you didn’t turn, didn’t look at him, but your voice, quiet and tired, finally broke the silence. “sorry doesn’t change anything, baby.”

his chest tightened with every word you spoke, each one cutting through him like a blade. they mirrored the ache already festering in his soul, a deep, unrelenting hurt he could no longer ignore. he knew you were right—sorry was just a word, a feeble attempt to patch the gaping wound he had inflicted.

he wanted to fight it, to protest, to swear on everything he had that he’d do better, that he’d fix what was broken. but the promises felt hollow, brittle things that couldn’t bear the weight of the pain between you. his guilt loomed over him like a thundercloud, heavy and oppressive, choking the words in his throat before they could form.

he swallowed hard, the lump in his throat almost unbearable. the silence that followed your words was suffocating, pressing in on him from all sides, stealing the air from his lungs. it was the kind of silence that left no room for hope—just a void where something beautiful used to be.

“where will you go?” he rasped at last, his voice barely above a whisper, rough and frayed from holding back the storm inside him. the question lingered in the air, fragile and trembling, like a ghost of all the things he wished he could say. he knew you had thought this through, planned every step with a careful precision that broke his heart all over again. but he wasn’t ready to hear it, to have the finality of it spoken aloud.

his gaze never left you, drinking in every detail like it was the last time he’d see you. the way your shoulders sagged under the weight of it all, the faint tremor in your hands as you folded your clothes with a quiet, mechanical detachment—it was unbearable. each movement of yours felt like another step away, another piece of you slipping from his grasp.

he ached to reach for you, to close the distance and feel your warmth beneath his fingertips, to remind himself that you were still here. but he couldn’t. the chasm between you was too wide, carved out by every mistake he’d made, every unspoken word, every moment of silence when you needed him most.

he sat there, paralyzed, watching as you drifted further away, knowing that no matter how much he wanted to, he couldn’t stop you from leaving. he couldn’t undo what had been done, couldn’t bridge the unrelenting void between your hearts. and it shattered him.

the weight of his question hung in the air, suffocating and unanswered. you didn’t look at him, couldn’t. your hands moved on autopilot, folding clothes and tucking them away into the suitcase, but your mind was far from the task. his voice had cracked when he asked, and the sound of it had carved another wound into your chest.

you didn’t respond. not because you hadn’t thought about where you’d go—god knows you had. you’d spent nights lying awake, staring at the ceiling, thinking of everything and nothing all at once. but now, with his question hanging in the stillness, the answer felt like a tether, something that might pull him toward you when you couldn’t afford to let him get close.

maybe it was because you didn’t trust yourself. if he showed up, if he found you, you weren’t sure you’d have the strength to stay away. you didn’t think you could withstand the gravity of him, the pull of his broken promises and desperate pleas. you weren’t sure you could stop yourself from falling into his arms all over again.

so instead, you said softly, your voice barely above a whisper, “one day... one day, i’ll take megumi with me.” the words felt like a fragile thread, unraveling between the two of you. they weren’t meant to hurt him, but you knew they would. and they did.

toji flinched like you’d struck him, his hands clenching into fists against his thighs. his head snapped up, his dark eyes locking onto yours, wide with something between shock and desperation. “you’d take him?” he asked, his voice barely audible, trembling with a mixture of fear and anger.

you hummed softly, the sound so quiet it was almost swallowed by the heavy silence in the room. it wasn’t meant to be cruel, but the truth of it hung in the air, sharp and unforgiving. your hands stilled for a moment, clutching a folded shirt before you placed it carefully into the suitcase, as if the act could ground you.

“megumi deserves a better life,” you murmured, your voice steady but hollow, like the words were coming from somewhere deep, unreachable. you kept your gaze on the suitcase, unwilling to meet his eyes and see the anguish you knew would be there. “better everything… better than this.”

the last word caught in your throat, but you pushed forward, the weight of what you had to say pressing down on you. “better dad.”

the words left your lips like a whisper, soft and deliberate, but they landed with the force of a sledgehammer. you didn’t mean it to be an attack, but you couldn’t hold back the truth any longer. it wasn’t just about you—it was about megumi, about the kind of man and father he needed.

his heart fractured under the weight of your words, splintering into countless shards that cut him from the inside out. his lips parted as if to speak, but no sound came, only the quiet gasp of a man brought to his knees by the truth. his eyes stayed fixed on yours, pain swirling in their depths like a storm he couldn’t escape.

your words stung, sharp and unyielding, wounding his pride and stripping bare the fragile veneer of his ego. but beneath the sting, he couldn’t deny the truth they carried. he had failed—not just as a father, but as someone you could rely on. he had failed both of you.

his jaw tightened, muscles clenching until his teeth ached, his hands curling into fists at his sides. “how dare you,” he muttered, his voice rough, scraping against the silence. anger ignited in his chest, quick and consuming, burning like dry kindling caught in a blaze. It was easier to give in to that anger, to use it as a shield, than to confront the overwhelming weight of his guilt. He wanted to refute you, to insist he was trying, that he cared more than you could understand. But the words tangled in his throat, heavy and useless, strangled by his own inadequacy.

with a sharp motion, he stood, the scrape of the chair loud against the floor. his movements were stiff, his body rigid as though holding himself together by sheer will alone. he stepped closer to you, his presence a forceful weight, his dark eyes clouded with emotions too raw to name—hurt, regret, defiance.

“you don’t get to decide what’s best for him,” he growled, his voice low and unsteady, the edges frayed by a desperation he couldn’t hide. the words came out rough, jagged, as if they were torn from him against his will, the only defense he could muster against the truth you’d laid bare. and yet, even as he spoke, the hollowness in his chest deepened, a chasm opening wide as he realized how little power he had left to keep either of you close.

you paused, your hands stilling over the suitcase as his words cut through the air, sharp and heated. slowly, you turned to face him, your gaze calm but piercing, steady even as the storm of his anger loomed over you.

toji stood before you, his tall, imposing frame trembling with tension, fists clenched at his sides. his eyes, dark and wild, bore into yours, but you didn’t flinch. instead, you tilted your head slightly, studying him like he was a puzzle you’d long since solved.

“do you even know,” you began, your voice quiet, controlled, “that megumi is sick right now?”

the question hit him like a punch to the gut. his brows furrowed, and for a moment, he looked genuinely lost. “what are you talking about?” he demanded, his voice still rough, but the fire in it flickered, uncertainty creeping in. you let out a soft, humorless laugh, the sound filled with exhaustion rather than mirth. “exactly,” you whispered, the weight of your words pressing down like a heavy stone.

you pushed yourself up from the floor, standing to meet him eye to eye, though his towering figure still loomed over you. “he’s had a fever for two days,” you continued, your voice steady but edged with pain. “he’s been coughing, barely eating, and clinging to me because he doesn’t know where his father is.”

his anger deflated in an instant, replaced by a cold realization that hit him like a freight train. the color drained from his face, eyes widening in a mix of shock and disbelief.

he’d been so wrapped up in his own guilt, his own shortcomings, that he hadn’t even noticed his own son was sick. the reality of it felt like a dagger to the heart. he took a step back, away from you, as if to distance himself from the truth. “i... i didn’t know,” he whispered, his voice cracking under the weight of the confession.

you let out a bitter laugh, sharp and cutting, the sound bouncing off the walls like a cruel echo. it wasn’t loud, but it sliced through the air with more force than any shout could. shaking your head, you turned back to the suitcase, resuming your task with trembling hands. “you never know, toji,” you said, your voice low but trembling with restrained anger. “never there.”

for what felt like the hundredth time that night, his heart sank, heavy and aching, beneath the weight of your words. they struck with a bluntness that left no room for denial, carving through him with their unrelenting truth. the sting of them burned, sharp and unforgiving, and he felt the urge to fight back, to argue, to plead his case. he wanted to shout that he was trying, that he cared, that he’d been there in the ways he could. but the excuses lodged in his throat, crumbling to ash before they could take shape.

his eyes flickered to your hands, trembling as they folded the fabric in front of you with methodical precision. every movement betrayed the pain you held back, the frustration, the hurt that lingered unspoken. your voice, though steady, carried the weight of all the words you hadn’t said, words that would have gutted him even more.

he stepped back, the distance between you widening with every moment, and raked a hand through his hair, his frustration spilling over in jagged waves. “i’m... i’m trying, goddamnit,” he choked out, his voice raw and unsteady, like a desperate man grasping at straws. but even as the words left his lips, they felt hollow, a frail echo of the truth he wished he could give you.

you didn’t look up, didn’t pause, didn’t waver. your hands moved steadily, folding each piece of clothing with a care that belied the storm brewing in your chest. his words—i’m trying—hung in the air, but they felt hollow, an echo of promises that had long since lost their meaning. “let’s not lie to ourselves, toji,” you said quietly, your voice devoid of the anger it held moments before. now it was just tired, resigned, as if you’d given up on expecting more from him. “we both know it’s not true.”

the weight of your words settled in the room like a thick fog, heavy and suffocating. you didn’t bother to glance at him, your focus entirely on the task at hand. the suitcase was nearly full now, the sight of it both a relief and a heartache.

“i hope,” you began, your voice soft but firm, “you can keep megumi safe. just for a year or two. take care of him while i’m gone.” you paused, fingers smoothing out a small wrinkle in one of megumi’s shirts. “then i’ll come back for him.” the words cut deeper than anything else you’d said. they weren’t laced with anger or bitterness. they were just the truth, laid bare, unflinching and cold.

toji felt like the air had been knocked out of him. his fists clenched at his sides, his nails digging into his palms as he watched you. gone. you were going to leave, to walk away from him, from this. the thought of it was unbearable, but the way you spoke of megumi—calm, certain, like you’d already planned your exit—shattered something inside him, and it anger him.

in your heart, you knew how furious toji was, even if he didn’t show it the way he usually did—with raised voices or slammed doors. this was a quiet, simmering anger, the kind that vibrated in the air between you, heavy and tense. and you understood why. you knew it wasn’t just your words that had stung—it was the truth behind them. megumi was his son, his flesh and blood, his responsibility. not yours. he had every right to be angry, to feel the weight of your accusation. but that didn’t make it any less true.

toji was mad, indeed. you could feel it in the way he stood rigidly by the bed, his broad frame tense, his fists clenched as if trying to physically hold himself together. but you also knew he wasn’t just mad at you.

he was mad at himself.

he was mad because deep down, he knew you were right. he was a deadbeat dad, and it wasn’t something he could argue against, no matter how much he wanted to. the reality of it stung worse than anything you could have said. but maybe that wasn’t the only reason for his anger. maybe it was because megumi was the last thing he had left of her—his late wife, the woman he’d loved so fiercely and lost so tragically. every time he looked at his son, he saw her in the curve of his smile, in the brightness of his eyes.

or maybe it wasn’t even that. maybe it was because, somewhere along the way, he’d started to see megumi in the moments you shared with him—the way you hugged him, laughed with him, cared for him in a way that toji couldn’t.

megumi was a reminder. a painful one. of everything toji had lost, everything he could never get back, and everything he didn’t deserve. and now, here you were, talking about taking him away.

it was too much.

toji’s jaw tightened, his chest rising and falling with the effort to keep himself from exploding. he turned his face away from you, his dark eyes shadowed with an emotion you couldn’t quite place.

his voice broke through the heavy silence, sharp and trembling with anger, his words cutting through the tension like a blade. “how dare you,” he growled, his tone low and dangerous, yet tinged with something deeper—pain, fear, desperation. “how dare you say something like that. take my kid? my kid that isn’t even yours?”

you stopped folding mid-motion, your hands frozen over the fabric as his words hung in the air. they hit you like a slap, stinging and raw, but you didn’t let it show. you stayed still for a moment, your shoulders stiff, before slowly placing the shirt into the suitcase.

your chest burned, your throat tight as you swallowed the lump threatening to rise. you didn’t look at him as you spoke, your voice eerily calm, soft but firm, the way you might talk to someone teetering on the edge of reason.

“yes, he’s your kid,” you said, still focused on the task at hand. “but tell me, toji, where were you when he needed his father? when he was sick and crying for someone to hold him, where were you?”

you finally looked up at him then, your eyes meeting his with a steady, unwavering gaze. the words that followed weren’t meant to be cruel, but they came out with an edge nonetheless. “being a father isn’t just about blood. it’s about showing up. and you? you haven’t been there.”

toji’s anger flickered in his eyes, a sharp contrast to your steady calm. your words hit a nerve he didn’t know he had, but you pushed on, your voice cool and measured, even as your heart ached at the truth behind it. “yeah, i wasn’t there,” he snarled, his voice hoarse with anger and something that almost felt like shame. “i wasn’t there. so what? that doesn’t give you the right to just take him away. you think you can just come in and take him from me?” he finally spat, his voice louder now, rising with the heat of his emotions. “what gives you the right?”

your lips pressed into a thin line, the fire in his voice igniting something deep inside you. you stood, the weight of his accusations forcing you to meet him on equal ground. “i don’t want to take him from you,” you said, your voice rising now, matching his intensity. “but someone has to make sure he’s okay! someone has to love him, to care for him, to actually be there for him. if you can’t do that, then yes, toji, i’ll take him. because he deserves better than this!”

the room seemed to vibrate with the force of your words, the air between you crackling with tension. toji’s chest rose and fell as he stared at you, his dark eyes flickering with a mix of anger, guilt, and something softer—something vulnerable that he tried desperately to hide. toji’s fists clenched at his sides, his knuckles almost white. your words hit him like a punch, but they also struck a chord deep within him, one he wasn’t willing to admit.

“you think i don’t know that?” he growled, his voice hoarse, a slight waver in it betraying the anger that rolled off him like a wave. “you think i don’t know he deserves better? i’m his father.” he took a step forward, closing the gap between you. he loomed over you, trying to use his size to intimidate you, but you stood your ground, refusing to be cowed. you lifted your chin, your eyes meeting his straight on, refusing to back down.

“then act like it,” you snapped, your voice still steady despite the turmoil in your chest. “don’t just stand there making excuses. do something, toji. be a father.” there was a pause, a moment of silence between you. toji’s jaw clenching, his eyes glittering with a mixture of anger and something else you couldn’t quite place.

when he spoke again, his voice had softened, his words tinged with a hint of defeat. “it’s not that simple.”

you held his gaze, studying him, trying to see past the defensiveness to the heart of him. “then make it simple,” you said, your tone firm yet gentle. “find a way.” toji visibly hesitated, the fight slowly seeping out of him. he looked away, his shoulders slumping as he ran a hand through his hair. the silence stretched between you, filled with the weight of his uncertainty.

toji’s jaw clenched as he stared at you, his chest heaving with the effort of keeping his anger in check. the way you said it, like it was so simple—as if he could just wave a hand and fix everything—it grated against every raw nerve he had left. he scoffed, a bitter sound that held no humor, his dark eyes narrowing on you. “you don’t know what the hell you’re talking about,” he spat, his voice low and sharp, dripping with frustration.

“you don’t know anything about being a parent,” he spat, his eyes dark and accusing. “you can’t even have a child.” the moment the words left his mouth, the air in the room changed. it was as if time itself froze, the weight of his statement hanging heavy in the silence. his voice had been sharp, cutting, but it wasn’t just anger that colored his tone—it was desperation, shame, and the bitter need to lash out, to deflect his own failings onto you.

you stared at him, your hands falling still, the fabric slipping through your fingers as if the weight of his words had drained all strength from you. your breath hitched, your chest tightening painfully as his accusation sunk in. he regretted them. but it was too late. they hung in the air between you like a knife, sharp and unforgiving, and toji could see the way they sliced through you. the way your hands stilled, the way your breath caught, your lips parting in a silent gasp.

he hated himself in that moment. hated the way he’d let his anger and pride control him, the way he’d reached for the lowest blow just to protect himself from the shame, the guilt of knowing you were right.

but he couldn’t take it back. and maybe, deep down, some part of him didn’t want to. some bitter, broken part of him had wanted to lash out, to make you feel even a fraction of the pain he carried every day. and now he watched as his words hit you, as they crushed you, and it felt like he’d just taken a knife to his own chest. your face didn’t crumble, didn’t break like he thought it would. no, you just stared at him, your eyes wide and glassy, like you were holding back the tidal wave of emotions threatening to drown you.

toji couldn’t move. couldn’t speak. his fists clenched at his sides, his nails digging into his palms as if the pain might wake him up from this nightmare he’d created. he wanted to take it back, to say anything else, to tell you he didn’t mean it.

you couldn’t believe it, couldn’t wrap your mind around the cruelty of his words as they echoed in the silence between you. your hands froze mid-motion, the fabric slipping from your grasp like it had lost all meaning. it felt like the air had been sucked from the room, leaving you gasping, suffocating on the weight of his accusation.

you looked at him, disbelief painted across your face, tears gathering at the corners of your eyes, blurring your vision. he knew. he knew. your legs felt weak as you slowly pushed yourself to your feet, every motion deliberate, like moving through water. your hand trembled as it found his cheek—not in anger, not in violence, but in an aching, desperate need to ground yourself in the reality of what he had just said.

“how dare you,” you whispered, your voice breaking under the strain of holding yourself together. your chest heaved as you struggled to breathe, as though the pain of his words had physically struck you.

your fist found his shoulder—not with force, but with the raw weight of your anguish, the emotion pouring out of you in waves. tears spilled freely down your cheeks now, hot and relentless, carving paths down your skin like they were trying to etch the pain into your very being.

“how dare you,” you repeated, your voice cracking, the words barely above a whisper but heavy, so heavy. the phrase tumbled from your lips over and over again, each time weaker, more broken, as though the weight of it was too much for you to carry.

you gasped, your breath hitching as your body trembled under the strain of your emotions. you hit him again, and again, tears spilling down your cheeks as you repeated the words like a broken mantra. “how dare you,” you choked, the phrase splintering in your throat as your fist faltered, falling uselessly against him. “how dare you...”

he was there. he knew. he’d been there the day your world collapsed, the day the doctor delivered the words that turned your dreams to ash. he was the one who held you as you screamed into his chest, the one who stroked your hair when you cried yourself to sleep night after night. to hear him—to hear the man who had once wiped your tears, who had once told you it didn’t matter, that you were enough—use it against you... it felt like a blade, twisting slowly, cruelly.

toji stayed still as you hit him, his body taut as a bowstring, the blow of your accusation and your raw, desperate words striking deeper than any blow you could have given him physically. his eyes, dark and hard, watched you, a maelstrom of emotions raging in their depths. he let you hit him, his face stoic, his body unmoving. he wanted to reach out, to pull you into his arms and hold you tight. but the words he had spoken hung in the air between you like a barrier he couldn't breach.

but as you repeated the words like a litany of pain, something in toji broke— each one spilling from your lips like a prayer for mercy, toji’s insides twisted painfully. it was like you had taken the sharpest blade and twisted it into his chest, the weight of your anguish crushing every ounce of him. he had been the cause of it all, the one who had driven you to this raw, desperate place, and in that realization, something inside him fractured. he couldn’t bear to see you like this, to hear the anguish in your voice, and know that he was the cause. with a sharp intake of breath, he reached for you, his hands closing around your wrists, stopping you from continuing your onslaught.

he couldn’t look at you any longer. he couldn’t stand the hurt in your eyes, the way you were so vulnerable, so broken before him. it wasn’t just the sting of your words that cut deep, it was the way you had so carefully peeled back his walls, exposing everything he had buried. the thought of losing his son, of you taking megumi away, it was like a sickening twist in his gut. and the thought of you leaving him—abandoning him—wrecked something far more delicate inside him. megumi, his reminder of everything that could be lost, hung heavily in his chest, a cruel echo that threatened to drown him.

and yet, even though the pain inside him was unbearable, there was something else—a defense mechanism. a cold, jagged shield that he pulled over himself as he stared at you, his green irises darkening to almost black. the words formed in his throat like acid, burning and bitter, but they didn’t stop. he couldn’t stop them. he clenched his teeth to stave off the flood of guilt threatening to rise within him.

you stood before him, a shattered shell of the person he once knew, and still, all he could think of was the hurt, the betrayal that was eating him alive. so, he said it. his grip tightened on your wrists, his fingers digging into your skin as though that could somehow stop the torrent of pain he was drowning in.

“marry you?” he spat, his voice rough with venom, with the desperation to push you away. “play house and family with you? you’re not even good enough to be a wife. what? a mother? don’t be joking.”

there was no other way to hurt you more. he knew it, and he said it anyway, as though those words could silence the storm raging inside him. they were meant to cut, to break you as much as you had broken him. he saw the way your face fell, the tremble in your hands, the way your breath caught painfully in your throat, and a twisted satisfaction curled in his chest. it was poison—poison that tasted worse with every passing second, but he didn’t stop. he couldn’t stop.

he released your wrists abruptly, as though you had burned him. the sound of his breath came harsh and shallow, his heart pounding like a drumbeat in his ears. without looking back, he turned and stormed out of the bedroom, the door slamming behind him with a force that shook the house to its foundation. the noise echoed down the empty hallways like a warning bell, and toji couldn’t help but feel the weight of it, the finality in the sound.

he didn’t dare turn around. not now. not after what he had said. the shame was too thick, the guilt too suffocating. toji fushiguro had been a coward. he had said the most terrible things to you, knowing how they would land, knowing how they would shatter you. but in the moment, his pride, his fear, his own suffocating pain had all been louder than the love he had for you. and he couldn’t take it back. no, he wouldn’t.

he walked down the hallway, each step heavier than the last, until he reached megumi’s room. the door was slightly ajar, and for a fleeting moment, toji paused, his heart lurching at the thought of his son—his son, who still believed in him, who still loved him despite everything. he could almost feel the weight of the boy’s presence, the innocence of his sleep, and it brought a rush of guilt over him.

he pushed the door open slowly, silently, and found megumi sleeping soundly in his bed, the peaceful rise and fall of his chest a stark contrast to the chaos that churned in toji’s soul. the boy’s small, serene face was untouched by the darkness that had plagued his father for so long. and for a moment, just a fleeting moment, toji thought of how easy it could be to be like him—untouched, unburdened, innocent.

but that thought was gone almost as soon as it had appeared. he was a failure—a coward—a man too broken to protect the things he loved.

without a sound, he sat down on the edge of the bed, watching his son sleep. the room was quiet, but the silence between him and everything that was wrong with his life felt suffocating. toji ran a hand through his hair, rubbing his temples as though trying to erase the weight of the words he had spoken, trying to push them out of his mind. but it was no use. they would stay with him, hanging in the air like smoke, suffocating him from the inside out.

he thought of you. he thought of how he had hurt you, how he had used your deepest wound against you, and how he couldn’t take it back. and he hated himself for it. he hated himself more than he had ever hated anyone or anything before. but that self-loathing was buried beneath a thick layer of pride, of fear, of pain. and so, he sat there, next to his son, hoping for something—anything—that would make it all right again. but there was nothing. there was only silence.

and as the hours passed, toji found that the longer he sat there, the more the guilt became unbearable. but he couldn’t move. he couldn’t leave. he was stuck in the very prison he had built for himself, trapped by his own weakness, and no matter how hard he tried to escape, he could not.

it was winter, and the snow fell gently, dusting the world outside with its soft, white touch. the coldness pressed against the window of the car, the small flakes drifting down like feathers in the quiet of the evening. inside, however, there was warmth—warmth that had little to do with the heater and everything to do with the presence beside you. your eyes wandered out the window, catching the view of an alley you knew too well, a path you had walked through countless times in your life. the alley, though ordinary to most, was a place of memories for you. its cracked pavement, the dim light from the streetlamps that had once seemed so far away—it had seen the darkest parts of your life and now, somehow, it felt different. it was like the alley had softened, just like you had.

despite the cold of the world outside, you felt a strange warmth curling within you, wrapping you in comfort. there was a fullness to your heart now, an unspoken happiness that you had longed for. hunger, both physical and emotional, had faded into something distant, as if the universe itself had conspired to fill the spaces you once thought empty. and as you sat there, in the car, with the soft snowfall outside and the quiet hum of the engine, you realized that you were no longer alone. not in the way you once were. there was someone beside you now, someone whose presence filled every corner of your soul.

a hand, strong yet gentle, brushed against yours, the touch warm against the cold air. the sensation made your chest tighten, but in the best way, like the world had finally decided to be kind to you. his thumb rubbed softly against your skin, an action so tender it almost made you forget to breathe. you flickered your eyes, caught in the unexpected warmth, and then turned to your left. your heart skipped a beat when your gaze met his. there, right beside you, were eyes the color of the sky on the brightest of days, a blue so deep it felt like you were gazing into the soul of the world itself.

his hair, almost as white as the snow outside, framed his face like an ethereal halo. the sight of him made everything around you seem to fade away—time, space, even the cold. his smile, warm and effortless, was a mix of boyish charm and cheeky confidence, like he had always known how to make you smile without even trying. it was a smile that spoke of history, of shared moments, of promises kept and futures built. it was the smile that had saved you countless times, the one that always made you feel like no matter what happened, everything would be alright.

he leaned closer, and the familiar warmth of his presence surrounded you. his hand, large and strong, slid to your hair, brushing it away from your face, tucking it behind your ear with a softness that belied his usual confidence. his touch was gentle, deliberate, as though he was savoring the moment just as much as you were. his eyes never left yours, the sincerity in his gaze a quiet promise, an unspoken truth.

“are you ready?” his voice was soft, but there was something in it, something deeper, like he was asking more than just whether you were ready to step out of the car.

you hum softly, a smile tugging at your lips as you meet his gaze. there’s something in the way he looks at you, something that makes the whole world seem right. you nod, the smile growing a little wider, more genuine. “yeah,” you whisper, almost to yourself. “i’m ready.”

with a slight shift, you feel the warmth of his hand on your waist, pulling you closer, grounding you in his presence. his touch is familiar, comforting, like a steady anchor in a world that once felt so uncertain. and as his fingers press gently against your side, you know that this is where you’re meant to be. not just here, but with him—his warmth, his strength, his confidence. it’s all-consuming, filling the emptiness that once clung to your heart. with gojo satoru, you feel full. loved. whole. in a way that toji never could offer you, no matter how many times you tried.

you step out of the car, your shoes crunching softly against the snow as you move beside him. every step feels like a promise, and the weight of it doesn’t scare you—not when he’s right there, guiding you forward, keeping you steady. you don't have to look back. you don’t have to think about toji or the past. because with gojo, there’s only the present. there’s only now, and in that moment, now feels perfect.

when you finally stop in front of the house, the sight of it hits you like a punch to the gut. it’s just as it was before, dull, gray, like a shadow of the life you once had here. the memories, so vivid, crash into you—laughs shared, tears spilled, promises made, and then broken. your hands tighten into fists at your sides, and for a moment, you’re unsure if it’s the cold or something else that makes your chest tighten. you wonder if this place still holds the ghosts of your past, the ones that haunt every corner, every crack in the walls.

you glance up at the house, trying to picture it differently. trying to picture it as the home it was meant to be. but instead, your mind wanders to megumi. how tall is he now? you wonder. has he changed? the little things that once made him him—have they stayed the same? and then, your thoughts shift, dark and unspoken. you wonder if toji has been kind to him. you wonder if he’s been taking good care of his son.

the doubts swirl in your mind, almost suffocating, and for a second, you feel the weight of everything—past mistakes, lost time, the fear of what might have been. but then gojo’s presence pulls you back, steadying you. his hand still rests on your waist, a silent reminder that, no matter what happens, you’re not alone.

with a deep breath, you push the thoughts aside, focusing on the present, on the here and now. it’s time to pick up megumi.

beneath the ancient tree, buried in the soft silence of snow, he watches you. unseen, as he has been for years, he stands in the shadows, a ghost of what he once was, bound by the chains of his own mistakes.

you are radiant, bathed in winter’s light, your laughter spilling into the air like a song he can no longer hear. you’re playing family, your hands cradling a boy he knows is his but feels like yours. your son, your life. the man beside you, your husband, is everything he was too broken to be. he knows this, and still, it cuts deeper than the cold that seeps into his skin.

the snow around you glitters with a brightness that feels cruel. he almost imagines the soft hum of Christmas carols spilling from your home, the jingle of bells echoing faintly in his mind. he can see megumi, eyes wide with wonder, rushing toward the tree, his tiny hands tearing into brightly wrapped presents. toji knows he hasn’t given him even one in years.

and then, for the first time, he notices something unfamiliar, something almost foreign—those faint, delicate wrinkles around megumi’s eyes when he smiles, a smile so pure, so whole, it steals the breath from his chest. he watches as his son gazes up at you, small fingers wrapped tightly around yours, his little eyes filled with love so boundless it feels like a knife twisting in his gut.

he almost doesn’t recognize that smile, and it hits him like a tidal wave—he’s forgotten what it looks like. after you left, there was no more laughter, no light. his home became a hollow shell, filled with nothing but heavy silences and echoes of what could have been. none of the smiles reached their eyes—megumi’s or his.

he swallows hard, but the lump in his throat only grows heavier, bitter like the regret he’s carried for years. the weight of it presses down on him now, unbearable, inescapable. it’s not your fault, nor your husband’s, not even megumi’s. the blame lies squarely with him—his reckless hands, his selfish choices. he ruined it all, crushed his life beneath his own fists like a man desperate to destroy what he didn’t believe he deserved.

and as he stands there, watching you, his son, your family—his family—he feels the ache of it all, sharp and unrelenting. the life he lost unfolds before him like a distant dream, close enough to see but too far to touch. the snow falls heavier now, wrapping the world in white, but no amount of winter’s beauty can hide the hollowness in his chest.

he watches, and he wonders, if somewhere deep in his son’s smile, there is a piece of him left—or if it’s all gone, just like you. and if there is none, he understands.

he sold megumi, after all.

#toji x reader #toji x you #toji x y/n #toji angst #toji fushigro x reader #toji fushiguro #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen imagine #jujutsu kaisen angst #anime angst #jjk angst #angst #jjk fanfiction #jjk fics

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jinwoosungs · 5 months ago

Text

11/29/24; 03:03pm

dragon!sylus x fem.reader

notes: for all the sylus girlies out there, this is going to be my thirstiest and most self-indulgent dragon!sylus fic (⺣◡⺣)♡ again, this is all just my interpretation and it may not even be close to canon!

warnings: monster f-cking oh my god i can't believe i'm going to do this since i've never written this type of spicy story before 😭😭😭😭😭 i'm sorry if this ends up sucking so bad !! i just want to type out my spicy thoughts hhhhhh

[ minors don’t interact; by choosing to interact with this content, you have consented to viewing something n-fw despite the warnings. ]

night had fallen across your small village, painting the once lively desert in somber hues of blue. with the moonlight as your guide, you drape your shawl even closer to your body to help with warding off the cold air.

as you made your way to the oasis, your mind was filled with anxious thoughts pertaining to your mother. she had once again fallen ill, her frail body being taken over by a fever as she struggled to even breathe while she lay motionless in bed. your heart was filled with love for your mother as you spent the night wiping the sweat from her brow with a damp cloth, not wishing to leave her side.

feeling your presence next to her, her eyes blearily meet with your gaze as a tiny smile paints her expression. "you should...rest..." even with her reassuring words, you refused to leave her side.

yet when your bucket of water runs dry, you knew you had to leave your mother to get more water. you needed to help her with breaking her fever, and in order to do that, you had to get more water from the oasis. leaving the damp cloth across her brow, you told her that you would return soon before setting off towards the crystalline pool of water. each step that you take brings an image of your sickly mother and the thought of how much weaker she had become-

with a click of your tongue, you banish such intrusive beliefs, refusing to even entertain the thought that you would ever lose her. fighting back against the cold, you push forward as you made your trek across the sands, noticing the palm trees and the sight of those ruby red flowers in the distance as they swayed in the wind. anticipation was felt coursing through your veins, your legs now breaking out into a run until you were just a mere few feet away from the crystalline waters of the pond-

but as fate would have it, you were not alone.

settled in the midst of the pond was what appeared to be a winged demon, his wings remaining spread as you felt pinpricks of fear clenching around your heart. your breathing was uneven and heavy as you slowly backed away from him, only to see the demon lift his head, his silvery hair seeming to glow beneath the moonlight.

"your heavy breathing is a dead giveaway." you gasp, feeling your heart jump within the confines of your throat the moment he suddenly appears before you. rufescent eyes gaze down at you in amusement as full lips remain tilted up in a smirk. your eyes trail toward his silver locks of hair and finally noticed the two horns settled atop his head (the image reminding you of a dark and regal crown). from his broad chest to the alluring crimson gemstone settled in the middle of his pale skin-

the demon was equal parts devastatingly beautiful and terrifying to you.

his wings end up engulfing you, trapping your body against his as he takes in a deep whiff of your hair before trailing the tip of his nose against your skin. as he takes in your scent, you were certain that he could hear the way your heart seemed to pound from out of your ribcage.

"yet perhaps what's more distracting than your breathing is the lingering scent of death you have..."

his words succeed in making your heart cease its beat, your fear now replaced with anxiety as you narrowed your gaze at him. "w-what do you mean?"

a look of intrigue was seen settled within his crimson gaze. "there's no need to be so frightened, treasure. you look to be as healthy as a mare... yet someone close to you-"

mother...!

you gripped at the demon's shoulder, allowing your nails to dig into them while your gaze became wild, "my mother... you're referring to my mother. please, can you save her?!"

he doesn't answer your panicked words, but at this point, you were willing to do anything to save the only family you had left-

even if it meant forging a deal with the devil.

"please, i'll do anything for her! if you have the means to save her-"

the demon lets out a deep chuckle, the sound being enough to send almost pleasant vibrations down your spine. using his free hand, he wraps it around your waist, bringing you closer to his naked chest while at nearly eye level with the ruby settled on it. "relax, treasure... if you're willing to do anything, then i suppose i can give you this."

as if it were made by magic itself, he gently pulls something out of your hair, extracting a vial that held a deep red liquid. "give this to your mother, and it shall heal any ailment that she has."

hope erupts within your chest, yet before you could utter another word, the devil whispers into your ear, "remember your promise to me, treasure."

and with those final words, he disappears away from you, leaving you alone with an empty bucket and a mysterious vial. not wishing to wait another second, you rush back to your mother, nearly pushing your body to its limits.

your lungs were burning now when you finally reached home, a quaint little hut settled near the edge of your village. you enter and immediately go to your mother, holding her frail frame closer to your chest as you uncapped the vial and open your mother's mouth, pouring the crimson liquid inside.

she coughs a bit, but manages to swallow the entire contents of the vial. once you were certain the vial was emptied, you toss it to the side, watching your mother with baited breath.

despite your anxiety, you felt your hope continue to grow when there were noticeable changes seen within your mother. the color slowly came back to her skin, her lips no longer appearing ashen and dry. along with those changes, you noticed how her hair slowly became glossier, and as she opened her eyes, it was clear that they were livelier than ever.

"mother...!" letting out chocked sobs, you cling to your mother, basking in her soft coos of your name as she places a gentle kiss against the top of your hair.

and as you sought the comfort of your mother's arms, you remained blissfully unaware of glowing ruby eyes watching your every move.

{ ... }

your life had gotten brighter with your mother by your side, healthy and glowing with vitality. now that you had her back, the memory of the devil and your promise to him became a distant memory-

however, it would quickly become apparent that not even demons would go back on their words.

one late evening, as you were in the midst of making supper with your mother, the sounds of a stampede approaching fills your heart with dread. the commotion doesn't go unnoticed by your mother as her eyebrows remain furrowed in response.

"what is going on?"

you put a finger over your lips, blowing out all of the lit candles as you listened intently to the conversation from outside of your home.

"our king has requested that we find her and bring her to him."

"but of course, as if i would be foolish enough to go against the drake borne from shadows."

upon hearing such a strange title, your mouth goes dry as your mind goes back to that fateful night-

the night the demon had helped with saving your mother from appearing at death's door-

he had remembered after all.

the sounds of footsteps grow louder and heavier, giving you little time to react when the flimsy door of your home was kicked down. dozens of men dressed in suits of armor began crowd around you, and your mother's panicked cries made your head spin.

"it's her, his bride...!"

"get your hands off of my daughter!" your mother's shrill cries echo within your ear as she tried to claw at the men who had captured you.

"get this wench away from us!" the broad man holds you close to his armored chest while tossing your mother a large pouch filled with gold. "take this as a gift from our king... consider it a dowry of sorts."

"you bastard, give my daughter back to me! SHE'S WORTH MORE THAN JUST A MERE FEW PIECES OF GOLD!" your mother cries out to them, about to reach out to you once more when you stopped her.

"no, it's okay... i'll be okay..." you swallow back your tears and meet her gaze, "i-i was the one who made a deal with the devil. h-he saved your life... and i promised to repay him."

a pained expression crosses your mother's features, "w-what do you mean...?"

the knights remain silent, yet still kept you in a tight grip to prevent you from running away, "that night when you suffered from a fever... you were close to dying... and he had sensed that. i didn't wish to lose you, so he gave me this vial filled with a deep crimson liquid-"

"you have been blessed by the shadow dragon's blood, do not let my king's sacrifice go to waste."

you felt your heart break the moment your mother's face crumpled a bit when she realizes the truth, with her hands immediately covering her lips as she watches you being taken away from her.

as they began to carry you out of your hut, you didn't wish to worry her as you cried out, "i'll be back soon... just please... do not worry about me! i'll come home soon..."

the last sight you had of your mother was of her falling to her knees with tears streaming down her face.

{ ... }

tarus city was what they called this place-

and you felt as though you were living in a dream, surrounded by glittering gemstones and polished gold. your eyes seemed to water with each new sight that came to you.

even with all of this beauty, you felt a little numb and homesick-

but a promise was a promise.

your devil held up his end of the deal by saving your mother-

and it was your turn to repay him.

you were broken out of your thoughts and given little time to take in the new sights as you were lead even deeper into the city. while the knights dropped you off in a golden palace, you were surrounded by women who helped with preparing you for their king. your body was stripped of your tattered clothing before being dunked into a luxurious tub filled with water warmed by what appeared to be heated stones. the sweet scent of rose petals fills your senses, putting you in a daze as the other maids worked on washing your hair.

once your body was cleaned, the women placed a thin sheen of rose oil against your skin, making sure that you were glistening before wrapping a sensual dress made entirely of silk around you. the finishing touches were added when they painted your lips in a light pink hue before taking you out of the palace.

and you were given little choice but to follow.

settled in a line, you follow the maidens as they walked across tarus city, keeping their heads down with every intention of bringing you to their king. your eyes take in the townspeople and felt a sense of discomfort fill you at how they were looking at you-

like you were someone that was meant to be worshipped.

your reveries were cut short when the women stopped walking, not daring to enter the gaping cave as they parted, settling your form dead in center as they made a path for you. with your heart racing with fear and anticipation, you step forward into the cave with your head held high.

the deeper you walked into the cave, the more you realized that the man wasn't a demon at all, but a dragon after all. when you were younger, your mother would read fairytales to you pertaining to dragons and how they liked to hoard and collect treasure.

and surrounding you was just that- an infinite amount of treasure.

you had never seen such riches before in your life. from rainbow gemstones and rare diamonds of every size to varying gold coins, it was no wonder that your mother had received such a high 'dowry.'

your eyes continue to scan all across the cave only to stop when you saw a familiar sight settled before you.

the devil's drake's back was facing you, and you watch as his serpent-like tail sways back and forth almost lazily. he lay on what appeared to be a smooth marble tablet, his wings nowhere in sight as he was dressed in his dark armor (was it even armor after all? or were they just a part of his body?)

"your footsteps are noisy, and you breathe heavily." the drake manages to reach out to your trembling form with his tail, wrapping the armored appendage around you as he brings your form down against the marble tablet. you land on your back with a gasp, heart beating wildly out of your chest when the devastating man smirks down at you. you were left gazing up at him through your lashes, watching as he closes his eyes before breathing in your scent, "ah, but it seems as though the lingering scent of death no longer haunts you."

he brings up a heavily armored and clawed hand up to your face, gently caressing at your skin with the back of it. even as your heart began to race within the confines of your chest-

you felt no fear-

only a sense of duty for fulfilling your promise to him all while ignoring the strange ache and tingling sensation felt between your legs.

"there's no need to be frightened, treasure." he leans closer to you, placing his lips against your temple. "sylus... you may call me sylus, for only you can call me by my name."

you shiver in response to his voice, feeling it reverberate throughout your body as sylus keeps his head hidden within the curve of your neck. "mmm, they did a good job, making you appear so utterly delectable for me..."

you gasp when you felt the tip of his tail travel between your legs, with sylus purposely sliding the underside of his scorpion-like tail against your slick folds. the odd sensation makes you writhe beneath him against the marble slab, your gasps echoing throughout the cave as you felt a strange pressure build up from within your abdomen.

"hah...ah... this feels... weird b-but so good." your mind was going drunk and hazy from the pleasure as you looked down to see his tail lazily going up and down your pussy lips, collecting your honeyed arousal. sylus lets out a soft groan before removing his tail.

"you smell so fucking sweet..." you tremble when sylus meets your gaze momentarily before descending upon your form. the tip of his horns gently gracing at the silk fabric of your dress, making paper thin tears in them as it slowly fell away from your form. with you remaining utterly bare for the powerful drake, you tremble as he lets out a guttural groan of your name, settling himself between your legs while breathing in your pure feminine scent.

with your slick entrance so close to his lips, sylus wastes no time diving into you, pressing his lips against your entrance as the sheer amount of pleasure he gifts you reaches almost dizzying heights. your hands grasp at his soft strands of hair, yet when he introduces a finger inside of your heat, you opted to cling to his horns for support.

sylus knew of how soft and pliant your body was compared to him, and he was able to maintain a certain amount of gentleness when he allows his hands to trace at your pussy lips. your sweet taste was all that filled him, and when he gently pinches at your hardened, bundle of nerves, he knew he was on the right track when it came to making you fall apart for him.

your back arches against the marble slab, hands gripping at his horns when you called out his name before allowing the tightness felt in your abdomen begin to snap. something warm and hot rushes out of you, earning yet another guttural sound from sylus as his tongue laps up everything you had to offer.

in the midst of your pleasured haze, you watch as sylus stands back to his full height, his hand gripping at the leather the covers his lower body before ripping them away from him. while watching him, you felt your eyes go wide upon seeing such a magnificently terrifying sight.

you had never once been subjected to witnessing a man's arousal before, watching as his cock goes hard while ready to be mated-

let alone two hard cocks that appeared pulsating with an angry shade of red. clear fluids were seen escaping from the tip, but perhaps what was more interesting were the ridges seen decorating the underside of his cock. sylus catches your wide (and admittedly, scared) eyes and smiles down at you. gently framing at your face with his free hand, he uses his other hand to help with further stroking his two cocks. "erase such expressions of fear treasure, for these exist for the sole purpose of pleasuring you."

sylus purposely leans over your, stroking his cocks against your slick folds. with a shaky sigh of his name, you wrap your arms around his broad back, feeling the strange ache become even more intense the moment sylus continued to rub himself against you. "my bride... my precious bride... i'm going to mark you as mine for all of eternity."

with those final words (sounding very much like an oath), sylus thrusts both of his cocks into your slick heat, making you cry out to him as your body struggled to take him all in. not wishing to overwhelm you with the flurry of new sensations, he keeps only half of his cocks within you, sliding them in a rhythmic, back and forth motion inside of you, making you feel not just every inch of him-

but each individual ridge as well.

the pain of having your purity taken was there, but more so than that was the intense pleasure you felt upon feeling his cock taking over the entirety of your slick walls. with his eyebrows furrowed in intense concentration, sylus works on pumping his cocks in and out of your aching cunt, basking in the squelching sounds that seemed to echo across the cave each time he rammed his hips back into yours.

"ngh, s-sylus!" being a now former virgin, you had never experienced such intense pleasure before, with your release rushing out of you in what seemed like an intense wave. the red hot sensation courses through your veins as you spilled your love juices down each of sylus's shafts, earning a broken groan from him.

"f-fuck, i can't last even a second inside of you!" stilling his hips, your moans quickly morphed into broken sobs when he pumps your womb full of his thick cum, with your aching entrance unable to hold it in as his seed spills out of your core in soft spurts.

sylus ends up landing on top of you, his chest pressed achingly close to your breasts as his cocks continued to pump you full of his seed. the intensity of his own release makes him let out a string of curses as he kept his hands in a fisted position next to your head.

when the twitching finally stopped, you were able to catch your breath, feeling the droplets of sweat running down your brow. it takes a couple of minutes for the post, lovemaking clarity to kick in, with sylus letting out a dreamy sigh of your name. he was ready to pull out of you, yet you had stopped him with your legs now wrapped tightly around his waist.

"wait, don't leave me..." you admit to him with heat felt against your cheeks. sylus meets your gaze while giving you a cocky expression, "oh? is my treasure getting greedy now?"

sylus lets out a rich chuckle before tossing both of your legs over his broad shoulder, making you moan when you felt both of his cocks harden while remaining buried deep inside of you. he begins yet another rapid pace while telling you, "hah, fuck, i wanted to go slow and be romantic with you... i had thoughts of spoiling you as my mate by promising to protect you and your mother... but that'll have to wait. right now... i wish to witness your further descent into impurity as i make you dumb and needy on my cocks..."

needless to say, your now husband and mate had successfully accomplished such hedonistic goals.

end notes: man sylus being canonically a dragon makes me so h-rny for him,,,, i need him so bad someone send h e l p. this is unedited, but my goal is to make all you sylus girles just as needy as i am with this post 🫠🫠🫠🫠🫠🫠

all stories are written by rei; please do not repost, plagiarize, or translate my works!!

#sylus smut #sylus x reader #sylus x you #sylus x y/n #lads x reader #lads smut #lnds x reader #l&ds smut #lnds smut #l&ds x reader #love and deepspace sylus #lads sylus #writings 📖

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konigsblog · 4 months ago

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Konig and reader in cabin snowed in :3

TW: NON-CON THEMES. MDNI 18+

You should've known better than to take a shortcut home, should've thought about it more thoroughly. You should've been more prepared for the weather to worsen like this. You knew it was risky to take a shortcut home through the tall and looming trees of an unfamiliar forest you'd never ventured into before, but as the rain and wind began to rapidly pick up the pace and strength, all you wanted was to be safe in the warm confines on your apartment.

Now, here you were, shamefully knocking on a cabin door, shuddering through the icy and harsh winds, the sensation of the freezing, strong hail against your tights, how your cheeks and ears felt as if they were about to fall off if you were to stay out here for any longer. This was the last thing you wanted to do, but as the rain hardened, you'd have to make do with your fateful circumstances.

König wasn't the kindest man, infamous for his aggression through the village. He was unusually and eerily silent, not the most generous, full of rage and malice most would describe him as. An ex-soldier with no output for his anger. But, the loner wouldn't turn down an opportunity at a woman staying the night. His exhausted, sunken eyes met yours, and with a hoarse groan, he offered you the night.

His gaze didn't leave you once, creepily and cautiously watching you, waiting for you to slip up, looking for any excuse for his pent up fury. As you ate your food, he sat back on the wooden chair, creaking with his bodyweight. You didn't think twice about accepting the delicious, calorific food he offered you, a foolish mistake you'd learn to regret as soon enough, your drowsiness would prevent you from moving, from defending yourself against him. Your vision became blurry, foggy, and hazy while your hands shook uncontrollably. Your eyes widened as your heart rate increased, König's large hands cradling your form while you babbled incoherently.

Struggling through a pounding and raging headache, you were able to make out your new surroundings. Unfamiliar, hauntingly terrifying. Dirt and dust littered the concrete floor, with straps tightened around your wrists and ankles and your bare skin exposed to the icy, bitter cold air. You whimpered as a rough and calloused hand wandered your bare and supple thigh, your instinct being to clench them together through embarrassment to his sensual touch. His deep breathing against your ear gave you a frightening feeling of dread and disgust, as the sound of his leather belt unfastening filled the silence between your soft cries and his heavy heaving.

You wouldn't be able to leave the next morning, anyway. With the cabin snowed in due to the harsh December weather, and the ache between your legs bounding you to him.

He could get used to this.

#orla speaks #cod x reader #könig call of duty #konig x reader #könig #könig x reader #könig cod #cod mw2 #konig call of duty

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3amfanfiction · 9 months ago

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You and Simon are walking home when something frightening happens. One thing about being in a relationship with him, you just KNOW he would be hauling you around like a sack of flour if something dangerous happened.

Cw: ptsd

It’s been a good day. Simon is home from deployment, the sun has just set and the weather is clear.

You’ve been out running errands with him for most of the day. Your partner’s been home for a week and this is the first time either of you have left the house. You miss him badly when he’s away but you’d give anything for days like today.

You’re walking down the sidewalk, hands tangled together as Simon carries the shoulder bag of groceries on his other side. The quiet evening is peaceful, storefront lights beginning to click on as the day winds down.

You’re not sure exactly what happened. One moment you’re chattering at Simon, telling him about the new recipe you were going to try out tonight and the next you’re being forced against the building, Simon’s hand pressing your head towards your chest while he slams his body into yours, covering as much of you with himself as possible.

You gasp in a stunned breath once your lungs stop seizing before your ears recognize the reverberating boom in the air. You watch with wide eyes as the bag Simon had just been holding spills groceries onto the sidewalk, cans and jars rolling away from the spilled bag.

You yelp as he pulls you away from the wall and half picks you up while keeping you tucked into his chest. He moves quickly into the alleyway you had just passed, keeping himself between you and the street. You shuffle your feet trying to keep up as he bodily drags you.

Si-Simon you gasp breathlessly in shock. What are you doing? But there’s no response. You look up into his face only for your heart to stutter in your chest. You’ve never seen that look on his face before. Two more booms shake the air before there is a faint crackle.

His eyes are steely above his mask. He doesn’t wear his balaclava when he’s home, but dons a blank, black face mask when you need to leave the house. You never thought you’d be scared of him but if he looked at you with that face you would freeze up in a heartbeat.

You realize what’s going on as a red glow lights up the alleyway before fading back into darkness.

Simon, it’s okay. We’re okay. It was a firework, baby. We’re safe. You’re home with me. Nothing. His gaze is jumping to every shadow, still sheltering you between his body and the wall.

You raise your arm to try and cup his cheek, attempting to bring him back to you but he rips his face away with a snarled stay down before shuffling you further into the alleyway.

His grip on you is tight as he shoves you into a deep doorway, wedging himself in after. You can feel his heart pounding from where your face is pressed against his chest, his other hand still holding the back of your head, pressing you against him.

You try again. Simon. Simon you’re home. You’re here with me and it was a firework. Some idiot has gone and started setting them off. There’s probably going to be another boom here in a minute and then you’ll be able to see it in the sky.

Like the universe is listening, there is another explosion right then with a trailing shower of lights afterwards. It casts enough of a glow for you to see his eyes again. They’re panicked and darting every which way trying to see where the danger is coming from.

You decide to wrap your arms around his waist and squeeze as hard as you can, hoping the pressure would help bring him back. You start talking, not giving a chance for silence to fill the space.

We were walking home from the grocery store. We were going to make that new pasta dish I was telling you about for dinner. I had just asked you about stopping in at that new tea shop on our way. You know the one, on the corner of 4th? They have a jasmine tea I’m really interested in trying. And I saw on their website they have a chocolate croissant too. I know how much you love them.

On and on and on. Narrating what you’d done that day, what you were going to do when you got home. The newest show you and him were watching together, how you had trimmed his hair for him yesterday, anything you could think of.

Finally, after what felt like years, his hold on you begins to loosen and his body begins to shake slightly with the adrenaline crash. The periodic booms making him clench back up each time.

After every explosion you made sure to reiterate, that was a blue firework. It looked almost like a weeping willow tree. You know the one . . . trying to bring him into the present and keep him there.

Eventually he stands up straight and you’re able to look him in the eye. He seems almost ashamed of what just happened. It’s okay baby. Let’s go get our bag of food and then we’ll go home. I’m thinking we order takeout and then cuddle for the rest of the night, how does that sound?

He nods his head before pressing a hard kiss to your forehead through his mask, apology or thanks you’re not sure. You make your way out to the street together, Simon insisting on staying bodily between you and the street still, head on a swivel with every movement that catches his eye.

By the time you get home he’s well and truly crashing. Slight shaking accompanying his movements, eyes beginning to go unfocused. The rest of the evening ensuring some part of you was touching him at every moment.

Next Story || Story Repository

#military’s leftovers anyone?#this poor bb #fanfic #cod #blurb #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #ghost x reader #fanfiction #simon ghost riley

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phantomladyoverparis · 9 months ago

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Si le vent te fait peur (1960), dir. Emile Degelin

#Si le vent te fait peur #If the Wind Frightens You #Emile Degelin #60s #belgian cinema

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soulprompts · 10 months ago

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SITTING IN SOMEONE'S LAP PROMPTS.

listen. i want to tell ye that i have infinite reasons for making this. that i've been designing this for weeks, months even. but i can't. this happened because i saw one (1) meme and aligned that with two (2) cups of coffee. either way besties, you're all getting a strangely detailed list of reasons to drop your muse into another muse's lap. you wanna switch the roles? add a [ REVERSE ] if you want your muse to be the lap that's being sat in! don't add to this list, don't claim it as your own, i'll curse all your potatoes to be soapy and sad to consume.

[ SHAVE ]: sender sits in the receiver's lap so they can carefully shave the last of the receiver's stubble from their face.

[ MAKE-UP ]: sender sits in the receiver's lap in order to get a better vantage point to apply makeup to their face.

[ SNIP-SNIP ]: sender sits in the receiver's lap whilst giving them a haircut.

[ HAIR ]: sender sits in the receiver's lap so that the receiver can style or just play with their hair in peace.

[ CAR ]: sender ends up sitting in the receiver's lap whilst in a very crowded car together.

[ STUMBLE ]: sender loses their balance and trips backwards, falling into the receiver's lap in the process.

[ INTIMIDATION ]: sender, in an effort to frighten the receiver by invading their personal space, sits in their lap to try and inspire discomfort or fear in them.

[ LOOK ]: sender, wanting to see something that can only really be seen from where the receiver is sitting, sits in their lap in order to see it as well.

[ HEAL ]: sender ends up in the receiver's lap trying to tend to their wounds to the best of their abilities.

[ FEAR ]: a frightened sender sits in the receiver's lap in an effort to feel some measure of safety and protection.

[ COMFORT ]: sender, after a challenging and emotionally draining experience, settles into the receiver's lap in search of a feeling of comfort.

[ ADJUST ]: sender sits in the receiver's lap in order to fix their collar or tie or other item of clothing.

[ STRADDLE ]: sender sits in the receiver's lap with one leg on either side of their legs, straddling them effectively.

[ EMBRACE ]: sender settles in the receiver's lap to give them a long, well-deserved hug in comfort.

[ CARRY ]: sender, having been carried by the receiver for other reasons, winds up sitting in their lap once they sit down.

[ THROW ]: sender flings themselves at the receiver, so eager for a hug that they end up in their lap.

[ DROP ]: exasperated (or maybe just exhausted) the sender drops down into the receiver's lap to rest.

[ CUDDLE ]: eager for some well-earned cuddling, the sender finds it much easier for everyone involved to sit in the receiver's lap during the cuddle session.

[ MOVIE ]: while watching a movie together (and possibly being so distracted by the film that they don't realize what they're doing) the sender settles back into the receiver's lap.

[ CHAIR ]: the distinct lack of available chairs in a room results in the sender having no choice but to sit in the receiver's lap.

[ CLOSENESS ]: after having been apart for a considerable length of time, the sender sits into the receiver's lap just to be close to them.

[ PRETEND ]: in a bid to persuade others that they're in a relationship (even though they're probably not) the sender climbs into the receiver's lap to convince the on-lookers of their legitimacy.

[ LEARN ]: sender sits in the receiver's lap so they can teach them a particular practical skill (e.g. pottery, knot-tying etc.)

[ ACCIDENT ]: the sender, unaware that the seat they're trying to claim is occupied, drops into the receiver's lap without realizing it.

[ EXHAUSTION ]: the sender, surrounded by nothing but uncomfortable places to rest in, finds a solution by sitting in the receiver's lap in order to rest and possibly sleep.

[ CHILLED ]: the sender and receiver find themselves in a particularly cold room, leading the sender to sit in the receiver's lap in order to share body heat.

[ KISS ]: the sender lowers themselves into the receiver's lap in order to kiss them properly.

[ FLIRT ]: the sender, only just beginning to explore the romantic side of a relationship with the receiver, sits in their lap in order to express their feelings clearly.

[ ROMANCE ]: the sender, in a well-established romantic relationship with the receiver, sits in their lap just because they can.

[ THRONE ]: having found the receiver sitting in their throne, the sender sits in their lap in order to symbolically and physically share the seat.

#roleplay meme #rp meme #sentence starters #ask meme #writing prompts #roleplay prompts #rp prompt

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swordgrace · 9 months ago

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𝐖𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐇𝐎𝐍𝐎𝐑 𝐃𝐄𝐌𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐒.

༆ jacaerys velaryon x fem!reader.

SYNOPSIS: as lady-in-waiting to rhaenyra targaryen, you find that her eldest son, jacaerys, is the only true friend and comfort you have amidst a brewing war that threatens to tear the realm apart.

note: jacaerys is nineteen, reader is eighteen.

༆ 𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃 𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐓 𝐓𝐖𝐎 𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐄.

༆ 𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃 𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐓 𝐓𝐇𝐑𝐄𝐄 𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐄.

{ FORMAT: one shot — requested.

{ WORD COUNT: 11.5K (this is a long one, not sorry!)

{ WARNINGS: SMUT (mdni), friends to lovers, inexperience from both reader & jace, loss of virginity (mutual), first time sexual experiences, sexual tension, p in v sex (unprotected), missionary position, lots of kissing and sweeter antics, slight risk of getting caught, oral sex (fem!receiving), handjob, fingering, hair pulling kink, brief overstimulation, tiddy sucking, this whole thing is soft & sweet smut, nothing disgusting here, jacaerys is the epitome of a perfect lover :))

{ AUTHOR’S NOTE: I am lowkey transitioning into becoming a Jace girl, I absolutely love him and I’m really enjoying where his character is going! This was a request from an anon user who wanted something freeform! I hope you all enjoy it, thanks so much for all of the recent love & support for my work! It makes me so happy! ❤️

𝐒𝐀𝐋𝐓𝐘 𝐊𝐈𝐒𝐒𝐄𝐒 𝐏𝐄𝐏𝐏𝐄𝐑𝐄𝐃 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐂𝐇𝐄𝐄𝐊𝐒, harkened in from the gentle roll of the tides. Saltwater and dampened rock filled your nostrils, aided by the fluttering breeze as it danced across the obsidian cliffs of Dragonstone.

The castle stood the testament of time, a monolith to the rule of the Targaryens. It loomed overhead, less frightening in the lighter hours, blanketed by glittering rays of sunlight. A cloudless day — good for sailing, you thought, as vessels ushered in goods to the shoddy harbor below.

Beneath the vibrancy of a cloudless sky, you could see the shadow of a dragon soaring overhead — the Princess Rhaenys, from the horned shape above. You cupped your hand around your eyes, squinting to see, constantly mesmerized by such creatures.

In your fantastical dreams, you flew upon the back of a dragon, letting the wind scrape across your visage, feeling the weight of something so powerful beneath you. Of course, you were neither Targaryen nor Velaryon — possessing a dragon wouldn’t be in the cards for you, and perhaps that was a good thing.

As much as you enjoyed the beauty of Dragonstone, you much preferred the outdoors. The weather was splendid, and you took small victories wherever possible. With war on the horizon between your Queen Rhaenyra and her usurper brother, any chance at happiness was worth chasing after and holding onto, while you could.

House Celtigar had bent the knee to Rhaenyra, and your father sat at her council. You were made to be a lady-in-waiting, much your initial disdain. The station you held would’ve been considered a great honor to most young women, but you were inclined to be out in the ocean or on the back of a horse.

Now, you found enjoyment in it, wherever you could.

Oceanic air filled your lungs in a singular inhale, tinged with a saltwater sting. You stood near one of the many stone terraces lining the lengthy walkway to the castle’s entrance, accompanied by Joffrey. The boy had become your greatest joy amidst the brewing chaos, and you were rather grateful for it.

“Would you like to see the ocean, little Prince?” You held the boy’s hand, stooping down to wrap your arms beneath him, standing him up along the cobbled bannister. Joffrey’s laughter could brighten a whole room, and it did — it certainly lifted your spirits.

“When will I be able to ride a dragon?” He questioned, pointing towards the shape of Meleys in the sky. Joffrey was rather inquisitive — a sharp mind, one that would become a great leader someday.

You were unsure of how to answer such a question. Tyraxes was young and still small, just like Joffrey. “Whenever you grow up,” You hummed, a smile playing at either corner of your mouth. “You must be as tall as your brother, first.”

Joffrey toyed with the wooden dragon clutched between his hands, gaze falling toward the ground. “Luke wasn’t much taller.” He mumbled, and it nearly crushed your heart completely to hear the confusion and despair in a child’s voice.

Youth knew more than most, and in the mind of a child, something heinous could appear innocent, or something tragic was beyond their comprehension. Joffrey knew that Luke was gone — he wasn’t coming back. Silence drifted between the both of you, and you found it difficult to change the subject from Lucerys to something lighthearted.

“I miss him.” Joffrey’s sweet voice rang out like the pealing of bells, crystal-clear and downtrodden. You turned him around within your grasp, keeping your hands slotted underneath his arms to ground him. His eyes swam with unshed tears, prompting you to bring him into your embrace.

“It’s alright, my Prince. He’s still here,” You whispered, hugging the boy as tightly as you could. It was enough to rip at your heartstrings, tear you asunder as melancholy began to eat you alive. The fate of Lucerys was a tragic one — unfair and unwarranted, and now, a catalyst for destruction between kin. “We will remember him.”

From afar, Jacaerys observed you and his brother, standing along the ramparts with a palm atop the pommel of his shortsword. The emotional turmoil he continued to feel in regards to Lucerys happened to swell the moment he saw Joffrey clinging onto you — and he knew.

Wisps of a tempered breeze stirred his curled tresses, drifting across his regalia as it caught against his cloak. After the death of his brother, he had come out to the ramparts nearly every night, to sob and to curse the world, to pray to any God that would listen — return Lucerys, bring him home. He had lost count, and in turn, lost a bit of faith.

Remaining optimistic in the face of unavoidable danger was a difficult thing — fear had gripped him once, but no longer. He knew that the only time a man could be brave was in situations like these, where terror stared him in the face and dared him to submit.

Many still referred to him as a mere boy, with little experience and no real understanding of the world and its cruelty. Jacaerys had shed the raiment of boyhood the night he flew blindly into the darkness in the name of Queen Rhaenyra Targaryen.

With the man born, he knew that whatever would come next, he was prepared to face such challenges head-on. Brazenness was not in his nature, but he had learned to adopt stoicism when it mattered most. It was easy to shed the facade around his family, and around you.

His friendship with you was a calm within the storm, a lull in the tempestuous hurricane you were all trapped within. You now had as much stake in this game as he did — your father served on Rhaenyra’s council with Celtigar bannerman pledging to fight in the war to come, and you served as his mother’s lady-in-waiting.

Your blossoming bond was a great comfort, and the tender way in which you cared for Joffrey was a wonderful thing. You had a soft heart — a good heart, and that was something rare to come by. The two of you were both of a similar feather, and the admiration he held for you only seemed to grow stronger each day.

The word friendship often tormented him, on days where you wore beautiful gowns and stood beside his mother, or whenever you smiled. It tormented him when you held Joffrey within your arms and protected him just as fiercely as Rhaenyra would.

Honor demanded that he simply remain just that — a friend, but Jacaerys found himself smitten with you in a way that transcended propriety. To cross that line, especially with you, invited the disdain of his mother and the ire of your father, amongst other things.

Betrothal would be upon him soon enough, likely with a young maiden from the Vale or the Reach to secure an alliance, but it left a sour taste within his mouth. He had little desire to be with anyone else when you were right there.

Jacaerys steeled himself, abandoning his whimsical line of thinking in regards to you. It was a fool’s errand, and he couldn’t afford to be a fool. He stepped closer, the crunch of stone resonating underneath his boots as he approached you and Joffrey.

“My Lady,” Jacaerys’s tone was amiable, like the comforting lick of a warm hearth. His gaze flickered toward Joffrey, bemused with his brother’s antics as you balanced him along the bannister. “What are you doing up there?” He asked, playful in the presence of his little brother.

“Flying,” Joffrey’s head lifted from your shoulder, eyes sparkling with mischief. You happened to carry him in such a way that he called it flying — and he was asking you to do it again. “Flying!”

With a giggle, you picked the boy up, swinging him up enough to let him get some air. His melancholy turned to jovial laughter as you soared him over to Jacaerys, who was more than happy to pick him up. Joffrey clung to Jace, hugging his brother with all of his strength.

“You are getting too big to fly,” Jace mused, holding Joffrey in one arm as he motioned for you to accompany him. His tousled curls and amicable smile sent your heart fluttering as it had many times before. It wasn’t subtle, your liking of Jacaerys, but you understood the nature of your affections. “Big enough for Tyraxes, soon.”

Jacaerys was perfect, with all of the hallmarks of what a true King should be. He was gentle and eloquent, honed with a blade, learned — and above all, he was kind. The rage that plagued him now was justified, and it pained you to see him become coiled with anger, but you understood why.

As Joffrey regaled the two of you with tales of childlike wonder, soaring his toy dragon around Jace’s head, Jacaerys seemed inclined to converse with you regardless. “I always know where to look, whenever I need to see you.” He mused, walking alongside you as you made your way up the ramparts.

“Is that so?” You chuckled, head canting to one side. “What did you need to see me for, your Grace?” It was a force of habit — he was the heir to the Iron Throne, after all. Jacaerys regarded you with a brief laugh, knowing that formalities were often abandoned whenever the two of you were together.

“Do I need a reason?” Jacaerys mused, voice light and inviting. The crash of the tide upon the beach provided a rather serene ambience, accompanied by the calling of gulls as they circled the bay.

You shook your head, skirts gathered in one hand as you narrowly avoided an upturned plate of stone. “Of course not,” You hesitated, gaze sparkling as your nose wrinkled in mild amusement. “Jacaerys.” You ensured to exaggerate his name, allowing for your conversation to become personal.

At the end of the ramparts, a flock of crimson-clad handmaidens awaited your return. It was likely that they were waiting for you to hand Joffrey over, much to your dismay. The black-headed boy looked to you as you neared the end of your walk.

“I don’t want to go,” He protested, reaching for you as you stepped forward, taking a hold of his hand. “When can we fly again?” Joffrey asked, lower lip jutting out in a rather innocuous pout. He leaned forward, partially out of Jace’s grasp to give you a hug.

“Tomorrow, my Prince. I will let you fly as much as you’d like.” You assured him, reciprocating his hug with one of your own, with all of the warmth one could muster. It was motherly in-nature, and you watched as Jacaerys planted him onto solid ground.

Joffrey took the outstretched hand of a handmaiden, glancing back at you and Jacaerys before they disappeared behind the castle’s massive gates. It always hurt you to leave him, but you knew that tomorrow would come swiftly. A begrudging sigh escaped you before you looked at Jacaerys, countenance somber.

Jace knew what you were about to say — something about Lucerys. The gaping wound left within his heart was barely healed, still oozing with pain, but he was making every effort to mend it. You helped — your resolute reassurance and shoulder to lean on, but sometimes, it wasn’t enough.

Instead, you reached for Jace’s forearm, giving it a brief squeeze of comfort. Whatever sentiments he held, you seemed to echo it, leaving it all unspoken. You and Jacaerys had already spoken about it all at-length — sometimes, he had little desire to tear himself open again.

His head hung low, heap of dark curls billowing in the wind. Jacaerys’s jaw tightened for a brief moment, and he imagined plunging his sword into Aemond Targaryen’s other eye — and then it passed, just as quickly as it had appeared.

A forlorn silence settled between the both of you, one that was born out of mutual understanding and empathy. Jace went quiet often, and you were content to sit in it for as long as he pleased. Instead, you stepped toward the bannister, palms planting themselves atop the stone as you gazed out toward the land surrounding Dragonstone.

“You are good with him,” Jacaerys broke the silence, deliberately stepping towards you as he stood by your side. Joffrey and his half-brothers, Aegon and Viserys, were all he had left. He would die for them if he had to. “He talks about you often.”

An exuberant smile crept onto your features, one of a sweet fondness in regards to Joffrey. “He is a sweet boy — very sharp-witted, though. I would imagine he will grow to be very wise.” You replied, idly tracing your fingers around some of the rocks socketed into the bannister.

“I remember the day he was born,” Jacaerys recalled, remembering the day that his mother, pale skin glistening with sweat, had wobbled into the drawing room, a newborn Joffrey in her arms. “It was a beautiful day, and Ser Harwin was there, and Ser Laenor …” He trailed off, recalling the way that Lucerys had begged to hold his younger brother.

The topic of both Laenor and Harwin were bitter ones — both men playing the role of father. Jacaerys loved them both, as any son would. Another gust of saltwater mist brushed along the ramparts, dusting your cheeks with wisps of moist air.

Wordlessly, you reached for Jace’s arm, looping yours around him as you let him lean against you for support. As much as Jacaerys insisted that he would recover and move on, you ensured him that grieving took time — it came in many shapes and forms.

Jace’s smile was wistful and threadbare, made sorrowful by memories of Lucerys. He didn’t want to sully the moment with his melancholy, holding his head high as he glanced toward you. You were not looking, but it allowed him a moment of appreciation and admiration.

Your beauty was unparalleled, your features delicate and smile like the warmth of a summer sunshine. The way in which you carried yourself was of a kindly disposition, made to be nurturing and helpful instead of imposing. Admittedly, you took his breath away — the feeling was a constant one.

Sunlight sparkled across your countenance, gaze soothing and full of empathy. The way in which you grasped his arm, kept yourself tucked away within his side, it invoked feelings of protectiveness — and newfound affection.

A dragon’s shrill cry reverberated throughout the skies, prompting Jacaerys to immediately look ahead. It was the familiar shriek of Vermax, his bonded dragon, who had grown exponentially. He was larger than Moondancer, with olive-colored scales and orange fins, eyes the color of a burnished gold.

“Māzigon, Vermax!” Jacaerys called, gaining the attention of his dragon as it began to approach, causing your heart to gallop within your chest. He looked at you with a hint of amusement, head canting to one side. “Would you like to see him?” Jace inquired, moving along the wall.

As majestic as dragons were, the wonder within your eyes had quickly shifted to wariness as it landed along the ramparts, rocks scraping underneath its talons. Vermax was much larger when in close proximity than he was flying overhead. “He is wonderful, Jace. Though, it is best if I keep my distance. He might not like me.”

Jacaerys laughed, amber-brown eyes sparkling with mirth. “Might not like you?” He mused, knowing that such a thought was outlandish. If he liked you, then Vermax most certainly would. A dragon could always pick apart friend from foe, and you were as far from an enemy as one could be.

“Yes, what — Jacaerys, that is a perfectly reasonable thing to say,” You countered, flustered by Jace’s reaction to your skepticism. His smile was cheery and heartfelt as he stared at you, and then offered his hand. “I do not think that this is a good idea.” A soft utterance emerged from under your breath.

“Trust me.” His tone softened exponentially, shifting from playful to gentle, reassuring. You hesitated before taking a hold of his hand, and Jacaerys nearly brushed his thumb across your knuckles out of sheer instinct. Whatever thoughts he had, he pushed them to the far recesses of his mind.

You trusted Jacaerys more than most, prompting you to nod as he ushered you closer to Vermax. His grasp was tender, as to not frighten you, which only made your heart flutter with affection. The dragon bristled and made a series of noises, some more serpentine than others.

Vermax lowered his head, pushing closer towards his rider as the dragon bowed to Jacaerys. You were close enough to feel the waves of heat wafting from his breath, close enough to outstretch your arm and feel his scales beneath your palm.

The scent of brimstone and dragonscale lingered upon Vermax, like a crackling fire and smoke. You watched with bated breath as Jace’s palm moved to Vermax’s snout, digits tracing along the olive-hued scales, and down toward his jaw. “Sagon iēdrosa,” Jace murmured, stepping closer to his dragon. “Sȳz.”

High Valyrian was an exquisite language, a beautiful symphony from an ancient era. Jacaerys had become proficient in such a tongue, and the way he spoke it had you mesmerized. With a gentle smile, he still held your hand, gesturing toward Vermax.

“What are you saying to him?” You inquired, losing some of your fear. It gradually waned the closer Jacaerys had inched you toward the dragon, who showed no ill will towards you at all. Instead, Vermax’s burnished hues glimmered with intrigue — you were a familiar scent, emblazoned upon Jace, but not a familiar face.

“I told him to be still for you,” Jacaerys replied, fingers flexing around your own as he carefully guided you toward Vermax’s neck, where the scales began to flare and thicken. Olive turned to emerald in some places, verdant shades clashing together. “Place your hand here.”

Your breath hitched within your throat as Jace became in close proximity to you, closer than he’d been before. His grasp was a tender one, placing your palm atop the dragon’s throat. Warmth crept along the length of your spine, filling your belly with an eruption of butterflies.

You made the mistake of glancing at Jacaerys for the briefest moment, able to spot the rosy flush of color within his visage and the gleam within his stare. As soon as you’d made contact, he happened to glance away, making a soft noise as it stirred within his throat.

Vermax chortled, the dragon’s attention fixated upon you as you brushed your fingers across his scales. Jace had dropped your hand, realizing the sliver of space between you both as he stepped aside, content to observe you with his dragon.

It was your enchanting laughter that lifted his spirits, the gentle way in which you stroked across Vermax’s neck and shoulder. “He is beautiful,” You hummed, countenance bright with a joyous radiance as you looked at Jacaerys once more. The gap between you had grown, much to your dismay. “How do you say that in High Valyrian?”

Jace hesitated, lips parting just slightly. His heart nearly skipped a beat when you smiled at him, expectant and awaiting his answer. He became so easily distracted in your presence, and it was somewhat vexing to behold. “Gevie,” He replied, briefly clearing his throat. “Gevie means beautiful, in High Valyrian.”

With a soft hum, you looked to Vermax, your grin toothy and amused. “Gevie, Vermax.” You spoke clearly, but the dragon did not seem to understand what you said — it wasn’t a command. Instead, he let out a series of reptilian noises, nostrils flaring with snort, almost like that of a horse.

Vermax’s lack of reaction made you frown, but Jacaerys appeared amused by it, at least. “Gevie isn’t a command,” He mused, head canting to one side. “Your High Valyrian needs improvement.” His tone was jocular, teasing — it made your heart stir within your chest.

“Fortunately, I have the perfect teacher standing before me.” You countered with a giggle, noticing the way in which a shade of pink settled into his features. Jacaerys was beautiful and handsome, but his flustered behavior only made him more perfect to you.

The dragon shook its head, seeking the embrace of his rider before he began to take flight. A massive gust of wind from the flap of his wings nearly knocked you down, causing you to crouch and grip the stone of the ramparts.

Jacaerys smiled, watching as Vermax ascended, taking to the skies above Dragonstone once more. You watched with a semblance of awe, slowly rising to your feet as the dragon became a mere specter amidst the cloudless sky. He did not stray too far, circling around with the likes of Moondancer and Syrax.

“Someday, I will take you flying with me,” Jace suggested, nose wrinkling slightly at your bewildered expression. “I would keep you safe.” He reassured you before words could emerge from your mouth, his chuckle amicable as he led you back toward the gates of Dragonstone.

“I trust you, but flying?” To see the world from such great heights sounded wonderful, but you feared the fall — and you feared the unknown of it all even more. “That might take more convincing than this did.” You mused, walking alongside him as the gates became closer.

A huff escaped him, hand dropping from the pommel of his shortsword to his side, a symbol of letting his guard down. A comfortable silence settled between the both of you, occasionally accompanied by a brief bout of laughter or tender smiles.

As the gates loomed over the both of you, Jacaerys hesitated, deliberating on what to say next. There were so many things he wanted to say to you — where did he begin? The nerves of first affection grabbed hold of him, but he remained resistant, wanting nothing more than to tell you how much you meant to him.

“Perhaps an exchange is in-order,” Jacaerys began, shifting his weight from one foot to the next. “You come flying with me, and I will teach you High Valyrian.” He mused, smothering his grin at your expression. You were clearly wary and unimpressed.

“Danger for something that I could learn in the comfort of a book? I think not, your Grace.” With a grin of your own, Jace happened to snicker, his visage invoking an unspoken challenge, albeit playful. “If I am ever feeling bold and spontaneous, I will inform you as soon as possible.”

Jacaerys hummed, head ducking for just a moment before he met your gaze again, doting and overflowing with a subtle warmth. “Thank you for this,” He began, tone heartfelt and genuine. “I would not know what to do if it weren’t for your company and comfort. I’ve found it difficult to remain jovial as of late, but it’s rather effortless in your presence.”

His genial compliments made your stomach turn with excitement, and you could soar away. Jacaerys would be an excellent ruler, should he take the Iron Throne — such grace, compassion, and gallantry were true hallmarks of what would make a good King. You felt the familiar, smitten flush dance along your skin.

“Of course, Jace — you never have to ask for it,” Your fingers twisted into the silk of your gown, an outlet for your growing nerves. “You’ve no idea how much your company means to me. We will get through this together, that much I know.” With a brief nod, you felt his stare grow in intensity.

Before he could bear his heart to you on a whim, the gates opened, revealing several Targaryen bannermen and Kingsguard. It was sudden and somewhat jarring, placing the two of you back within reality — in a realm on the brink of war.

“I should return to your mother, I fear I’ve neglected my duties enough today,” You murmured, offering Jace a kindly smile before dropping to curtsy. He seemed starstruck, as if caught within the depths of his own thoughts. “Good afternoon, your Grace.”

Formalities reappeared again, much to his disdain. He loved it when you called him Jace or Jacaerys, or your Grace whenever you teased him. To hear it used in the context of nobility made him feel distant, but he understood. You possessed a strong sense of propriety.

“My Lady.” Jace replied, watching as you took your leave to rejoin the other handmaidens and guardsmen. Jacaerys cursed himself for not making the most of the moment, but he knew that he could make his own opportunity, forge it if it never came about.

He intended to do just that.

𝐃𝐑𝐀𝐆𝐎𝐍𝐒𝐓𝐎𝐍𝐄 𝐀𝐓 𝐃𝐔𝐒𝐊 𝐖𝐀𝐒 𝐄𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐋, with braziers dancing across the obsidian interior. Stars sparkled above a clear night sky, dragons dancing above. It was almost like something from a fairytale or a painting, mesmerizing to behold as you gazed up at the scaling ceiling of your bedchambers.

Your quarters were small and homely, befitting of your status as lady-in-waiting. Rhaenyra had ensured that your lodgings and that of your father were enough — more than suitable, really. The feathered mattress you slept upon was made for royalty, you thought.

The constant flicker of candlelight provided a source of warmth as you rolled over within your bed, blankets hauled up beneath your chin. It was too early to fall asleep, too late to do anything of substance.

A knock at your door gave you pause, brows furrowing together as you retrieved your robe, lacing it around the sheer gossamer of your nightgown. Bare feet traveled across the cold stone, until you reached the metal hoop slotted atop mahogany.

With a pull, you opened the door, surprised to find Jacaerys, who had abandoned his traditional Targaryen regalia, hands occupied with a stack of various tomes and scrolls. His mop of dark curls framed his face, and even he seemed just as bewildered as you were.

“Jacaerys,” His nightly visits were rather uncommon — in fact, this was only the second time he’d come, the first following Lucerys’s passing. You swallowed the growing lump within your throat, stepping aside to allow him inside of your chambers. “Is everything alright?”

Jace placed the stack of books atop the table that sat amongst small lounge chairs, ensuring to clear his throat before he spoke. “Of course,” He replied, gesturing toward your newfound reading material. “I’ve brought you scripts to learn High Valyrian.”

You blinked, touched by such a thoughtful gesture. You smoothed your palms across your robe, stepping forward to inspect the books, many of which appeared ancient and weathered. “You didn’t have to,” You replied, head canting to one side. “Many of these seem important. Are you sure that no one will miss these?”

A brief chuckle escaped him before he shook his head. “The Maesters might, but they’ve read them a hundred times over, I’m certain of it. You will find more use.” He replied, retreating toward the threshold of your chambers. Jacaerys wanted to keep his visit brief — visiting a young woman’s quarters in the dead of night was not exactly an intelligent move.

“You’re leaving so soon?” Your inquiry held a twinge of disappointment, hoping that he would stay and converse with you, at the very least. “Jacaerys, I assure you that no one will admonish you if you stay for a few minutes longer.” The softness of your voice enticed him, and he very nearly confessed then and there.

The weight of growing sentiments felt as if they would swallow him whole if he did not speak them into fruition. With the threat of a looming war and the potential for oblivion, Jacaerys was unsure of what gave him pause. The fear of rejection, perhaps? That wasn’t it.

It took a moment for you to adjust, and when you did, you noted his own attire — a billowy tunic and dark trousers that happened to make him appear softer in the candlelight. The sharp black and crimson of his house’s colors made him intimidating and poised, but no longer.

You saw Jacaerys himself, doe-eyed and magnificent.

“I fear what will happen if I stay,” Jacaerys confessed, squaring himself with the door. If he continued to linger in your chambers without restraint or without additional eyes, he knew what would happen — he did not want to sully your honor. “I won’t.”

“Jacaerys,” You whispered, brows furrowing together to form a look of confusion and startlement. Out of concern, you stepped closer, abandoning the scripts of High Valyrian now scattered across your table. “What’s wrong? I don’t understand.”

The inner war he waged within seemed to reflect upon his countenance, as Jacaerys exhaled — it was laced with stress, a heaviness that you struggled to understand. He seemed flustered, not wanting to meet your amiable gaze. “It is best if I leave it alone.” He replied, taking a hold of your hands. “I would not tarnish your honor.”

That is what he meant.

Something boiled over inside of you, the butterflies and blossoming affection turning into a tidal wave that threatened to swallow you whole. As Jace held your hands, he seemed desperate to convey such a message — whatever he wanted, he could not have.

A brief exhale escaped you before you steeled yourself, thumbs brushing across his knuckles, over the veins of his hands. “You wouldn’t tarnish it,” You whispered, stomach churning with molten heat. “I know that you wouldn’t, Jace. I trust you the most.”

Jacaerys felt the stirring within his chest, the first inkling of arousal settling into his very bones. It was somewhat foreign — a new feeling, but exciting and exhilarating. “I would never hurt you,” He insisted, and you believed him wholeheartedly. “What I feel for you, I do not wish to feel this way with anyone else.”

If you could’ve collapsed then and there, you would’ve — you thought it would happen, with the way your knees rattled together beneath your nightgown. The beating of your heart accelerated into a violent crescendo, and then you felt the rush — the love you had for him, desire, admiration, neediness.

A tenuous silence drifted between you both, the tension thick enough to be sliced with a blade. Jacaerys had inched closer without thinking, able to peer down into your eyes, swirling with affection and bewilderment. “If I told you I felt the same?” Your voice barely rose above a whisper.

Deliberately, Jacaerys released one of your hands, allowing his palm to fully envelop your face, the pad of his thumb caressing your cheekbone. “I would never difile your virtue, or take it for granted. You must tell me if this is something you want.” He insisted, jaw tightening as he anxiously awaited your answer.

You knew that he wouldn’t — Jacaerys Velaryon was the most honorable man you knew, one that would never lay a finger upon you unless you consented. You couldn’t imagine a return to friendship if you happened to reject him — you didn’t want to reject him, either.

“I do,” A shudder ran down your spine, bringing a wave of thrill and anticipation with it. “I want this — and I want you, Jacaerys, if you’ll have me.” Part of you became nervous, knowing that you had never bedded a man before, but you pushed the thought aside.

“A hundred times over.” Jace uttered, dipping down to press his lips against yours. The kiss was incredibly sweet and delicate, something brief to test the waters as the two of you began to explore uncharted territory. Your hands reached for his chest, flat atop his sternum.

Allowing the kiss to linger, you tilted your head just slightly, enough to permit a sensual progression. He kissed you so sweetly, treated you as if you were precious, something to be worshiped. When he inevitably pulled away, you felt a twinge of nervousness.

“I’ve never done anything like this before,” Your confession was a strenuous one, and you hoped that he wouldn’t be disappointed by your lack of experience. Most men already had a plethora by the time betrothals and first love emerged. “Is that alright?”

“Of course,” Jacaerys reassured you with a gentle squeeze, brows furrowing together with insistence. He hesitated, somewhat sheepish to admit the very same, but he knew you wouldn’t admonish him for it. “I haven’t either, if that’s alright.” He mused, the corner of his mouth twitching into a smile.

A sweet bout of laughter escaped you before you nodded several times over, unable to keep from withholding your happiness. “I suppose that this will be quite the learning experience.” You felt his thumb stroke along your jaw, his lips molding themselves to yours in another kiss.

Passion and tension began to mount, a continuous climb of affection, prepared to turn into something fiery. Jacaerys worried that he would disappoint you, or perhaps feel clumsy and awkward, but those were mere insecurities — he knew that you wouldn’t hold it against him.

One of his hands dropped, finding the pliant curve of your hip as he sank his digits into you, able to haul you closer, until there was no space left between the two of you. Kissing felt effortless with Jace, despite your inexperience — he was gentle and deliberate, ensuring that he took his time with you above all else.

Your fingers wandered from his chest to his broad shoulders, finding the curls of hair at the nape of his neck. Jacaerys exhaled, a shiver rolling down his spine as you began to gently tug at his tresses. He canted his head slightly, enough to deepen the kiss and hold you close.

It was Jace who slowly broke the kiss, but just enough to speak, warm breath fanning across your face. “May I take you to bed?” He murmured, tracing across the silky plane of your jaw. His excitement began to grow, heart hammering within his chest.

In such close quarters to one another, you noticed the faint dusting of freckles along the bridge of his nose, spreading just underneath his eyes. You pressed a kiss against the corner of his mouth. “You may.” Eagerness replaced any nervousness you were experiencing, then and there.

Jacaerys found your hand, twining his digits with your own as the two of you inched toward your bed. It was plush, lined with furs and enough blankets to warm the Seven Kingdoms. He stood at the precipice of a cliff, preparing to dive headfirst — and it felt incredible.

He watched with bated breath, rapturous and enamored as your digits settled along the many ties of your outer robes. You began the sluggish process of untethering each one until the garment loosened, enough for you to shrug it aside and drape it over the chest at the foot of your bed.

Even with the veil of sheer, silky fabric, Jacaerys quietly admired your physique, shapely and beautiful in every way imaginable. “You are perfect,” Jace uttered, hands coming to settle around your hips, searching for any sign of hesitation on your end. “Beautiful.” He exhaled, feeling you coax him in for another kiss.

Through the slip of silk and gossamer, Jacaerys deftly felt his way along your body, taking his time savoring you. Every curve and dip, every little detail he committed to memory, lost within a sea of you. Your kiss became passionate, and he was more than happy to reciprocate, the intensity burning between you both.

Jace felt your fingers tease the hem of his tunic, enough to elicit a subtle gasp from him. The sensation of your flesh against his caused goosebumps to spread from where your digits brushed against his waist. He released you for a moment, long enough for him to assist you in removing his nightshirt.

A pang of admiration struck at your stomach, breath hitching within your throat. He was pretty — well-muscled for a young man, with sunkissed skin, smatterings of freckles along his shoulders. Jacaerys felt your lips press against the hollow of his throat, warmth fanning out from the simple contact.

“I want to take care of you, if you’ll let me.” Jace murmured, insistent on pleasuring you above all else. He knew very little of what ensued between a woman and a man within the confines of their bedchambers outside of the simple act itself, but it was easy to imagine.

Your lips parted, heat sinking into your bones as you reached for his curled tresses, digits slipping through his soft, dark locks. “Yes”, Your voice was barely above a whisper as you coaxed him in for another kiss, one charged with arousal and desire. “I want you, Jace.”

The heady, wanton way in which you spoke his name caused him to shiver, bare chest pressed snugly against your own. Even the veil of silken fabric could not hide your supple frame from him, the peaks of your breasts soft and pliant.

His kiss was so gentle — it was charged with lust despite its tame nature, not that you minded. You felt his hands fall to your hips, melding into your curves before he began to gather the fabric within his hands. Jacaerys looked to you before continuing, and you gave him a nod to signal your approval.

Silky gossamer slowly crawled up the length of your legs as Jace gathered your gown, sliding it upward. You couldn’t fight against the onslaught of molten heat that churned violently within your stomach, shamelessly pooling between your legs.

Jacaerys hesitated, likely thinking of what to do next. He had been educated on what consummation was, the act of making an heir — but there was more to it, more of you to explore. Curiosity consumed him as he placed his palm atop the bare skin of your thigh, using the other to ease you down onto your bed.

He sat beside you, leg to leg as he continued to push your nightgown up toward your hips, skirts gathering around the middle of your thighs. “May I?” Jace’s voice seemed to grow husky with arousal, desire burning its way through his veins.

Instead, you gingerly took a hold of his hand, guiding it underneath your gown as you parted your legs enough to allow him unhindered access. He caressed you wherever he could, shuddering when you held the trail of your nightgown in one hand to push it up around your hips.

You nearly squeaked when his palm brushed along your inner thigh, lips parting with a sharp exhale. Jace moved closer, as close as he could as his mouth graced your neck, digits inching toward the slick heat between your legs. When he found it, you let out a simpering whine, reaching for his forearm.

A hushed moan escaped you as two digits trailed across your cunt, exploratory and feather-light. Your hips canted forward into the sensation, desiring more — and Jace obliged, pushing both fingers inward until they slipped past your folds.

“Jace,” You whispered, eyes fluttering shut as he continued to pepper strings of sweet kisses along your neck, gown sagging enough to let him kiss your shoulder. “Do not stop, please.” That breathy plea exuded some power over him, and he was enthralled, prepared to do whatever you asked of him.

“Is that alright?” Jacaerys asked, digits becoming a touch more vigorous as he stroked at your slit, surprised at how wet you were. If it were a common thing, he would know what to expect in the future. His thumb grazed your clit, and you gasped.

With a soft hum of approval, you nodded, shifting your legs apart just a little more. “Y—Yes,” Absentmindedly, your fingers slipped from the taut muscle of his forearm to his hand, the one wedged underneath your gown. “I — Like this.” You instructed him to touch you how you had touched yourself.

Jacaerys watched through a half-lidded stare, beyond entranced with you. You were beautiful — so painfully ethereal that it made him want to kneel before you, a goddess made to be worshiped. You adjusted his fingers, ensuring that his thumb pressed against your clit with continuous pressure.

Despite his nonexistent experience, he was doing wonders for you — he was attentive and willing to learn your body as you saw fit. He was so handsome, lips curling into an affectionate smile before he kissed your jaw, digits continuing from where they’d left off.

Your palm fell across his thigh, nails beginning to dig themselves into the muscle there as he touched your clit, digits tracing around the rest of your cunt. The candlelight highlighted his features in such perfect detail, the illumination slight.

Reverence seeped into each action, every stroke of his fingers evoking a string of whimpers from you. He was passionate and careful, willing to learn your body better than you. He continued to caress your clit, the sensation sending jolts of electricity throughout your body.

His name became your prayer, devolving into desperate moans and whispered pleas as you rocked your hips into the sensation of his hand. “Jacaerys,” You sighed with passion, feeling the stirring within your stomach. Arousal consumed every part of you, just as it did him. “Jace.”

The dark-haired Prince let out a soft groan into the hollow of your throat, wanting you more than anything, and the hand you had perched atop his thigh did little to ease the fever. He kissed your neck again, scarlet-faced and beyond eager, whispering sweet nothings in High Valyrian against your skin.

Excitement and the heat of the moment seemed to get to you, as you used one hand to sloppily unlace the leather ties of his trousers. You wanted to touch him too, let him feel exactly how you felt — how he made you feel.

Jace shivered, not objecting, but he wanted to focus on you above all else. “What about you?” He asked, feeling his cock twitch with want. The ache he had for you was almost painful, threatening to tear him apart if he couldn’t find relief.

“Together,” You suggested, turning enough to crawl into his lap, much to his delight. Jacaerys held you steady, lips clamoring together in a messy flurry of tongue and adoration. It was the anticipation of youth — the desire and sentiments overrode everything else, made duty disappear. “You are perfect.”

His brief smile made all of your worry dissipate, fading into mere background noise. Your hands returned to the leather ties of his breeches once more, sluggishly loosening them. Jace steeled himself, a fire burning within his belly as you reached down.

A low, satisfied groan tore past his lips when your hand gently wrapped around his cock, searching his visage for any sign of discomfort. There was none — only desire, lust festering within his gaze. He resumed touching you, digits circling your clit once more.

Within your delicate grasp, his length hardened, your palm finding a careful rhythm. Your hips twitched, rolling into the sensation of his hand. It was heavenly — the way in which he handled you was gallant and gentle. Arousal continued to gather between your thighs, a new and sticky feeling.

Intermingled gasps and groans filled the air, the both of you clinging to one another. Jacaerys leaned forward, mouth seeking yours, the kiss hot and gentle. Between your careful, uncertain strokes along his length and his digits teasing your cunt, the both of you were lost within the throes of passion.

He slipped his other hand underneath your nightgown, with enough leverage to remove it, if he so desired. Jacaerys broke the kiss long enough to ask, chest heaving with heavier breaths. “May I?” He whispered, voice husky and hoarse with lust.

You nodded, maneuvering your arms over your head as your nightgown slipped to the floor, leaving you bare before Jacaerys. The saltwater breeze which fluttered through your quarters left you shivering, both from the brief chill and anticipation.

The awestruck way in which he stared at you left you hot, body feverish beneath his tempered gaze. He kissed your collarbone, eyes warm and affectionate. “You are the most beautiful woman I have ever seen.” He stated, nearly breathless. His heart was yours — every fiber of his being devoted itself to you.

Smitten beneath his sweetly-spoken compliments, you trailed your fingers throughout his soft curls. The other slyly descended to reach for his cock again, but Jacaerys seemed to place your hand aside. You seemed confused, head canting to one side. “Do you not like it?”

His bemused chuckle filled your chambers, amiable and as warm as a cozy hearth. “Of course I like it,” Jacaerys murmured, kissing along your jaw and neck, holding you as close as he could. “I’d like to focus on you. There’s something that I wanted to try, if you’ll allow it.”

Surprised, you seemed open to whatever he wanted to try. “Anything you want, you will have. It’s yours.” You expected him to put you on your knees or turn you on your stomach. Instead, he coaxed you down onto your back, getting you to lay down as he crawled between your parted legs.

His mouth pressed a string of affectionate kisses along your shoulder and collarbone, beginning to dip lower toward the perky swell of your breasts. You squirmed slightly, uncertain of where this would lead to. You trusted Jace to follow his own instinct.

Your back arched when his mouth graced your breast, pressing kisses all around the pliant flesh. A moan escaped you, signaling your pleasure as he wrapped his lips around one of your nipples, gingerly suckling on the pebbled bud.

“Jace,” You squeaked, one hand flying to his mountain of dark curls, pushing your fingers through. He touched you in a way that evoked a sense of yearning, as if you were the only woman in the realm. His hand kneaded into your chest, a shiver coursing through him whenever you moaned his name. “Please.”

Heat simmered through him, a wave of desire that only seemed to grow in intensity, demanding to be extinguished. Your flesh tasted saccharine upon his tongue, but there was something else he wanted to taste. As he kissed your chest, he released his lips from your breast, continuing his descent.

He kissed you everywhere, reverence seeping into each brush of his mouth as he traversed your body. Jacaerys pressed his lips against your stomach, and then to your hips, palms sliding against your thighs.

A sharp exhale escaped you as he peppered a string of kisses along the inside of your thigh, showering you in little pecks of affection before he flattened himself entirely. You swallowed the lump within your throat; the sight of Jace’s face wedged in between your legs made you shiver, arousal following suit.

Everything was gentle, even the way in which his veined hands gripped the pliant flesh of your thighs to let them rest against his shoulders. He hesitated, allowing you a moment to adjust and steel yourself before he dipped forward, tongue raking hot embers across your cunt.

The singular, experimental stroke of his tongue caused you to shiver, hands curling into fists. If you could melt away into your furs, you would’ve, feeling his mouth press kisses against your core. “Jace,” You whined, attempting to hold still and cease your squirming. “Don’t stop.”

It was all the encouragement he truly needed, digits soothingly caressing along your thighs as he began to lap at your cunt, adopting a pace that was a little less sluggish. He nearly groaned when he felt your hand grasp at his curled tresses, sinking in toward the base of his skull.

In the nighttime gloom of Dragonstone, you found warmth and comfort in one another — affections intensified, and whatever bond you had before was now redefined entirely. Jacaerys loved you, he had never been more sure of himself until now, dutifully bringing about your pleasure.

A myriad of soft whimpers and whines escaped you, hand gingerly tugging on Jace’s hair as he buried his mouth in the apex of your thighs. His tongue vigorously lapped and traced over your core, savoring your taste, committing it to memory. Bathed in moonlight, Jace appeared more ethereal than ever, the muscles flexing within his back.

With slow, eager laps of his tongue, Jacaerys made sure to savor you, letting it flick across your clit. The short, dizzying gasp that tore past your mouth spurred him on, as he pressed another string of kisses against your slit. The continued sensation of your digits carding through his curls made him sigh with elation.

He brought you closer, heart leaping into his throat when you began to writhe beneath him, hips tilting forward into each stroke of his mouth. “You’re perfect,” Jacaerys whispered, ensuring that you could hear it. Soft utterances of High Valyrian were etched into the flesh of your thigh. “Perfect.”

Blossoming beneath his sweet compliments, your fingers curled against his scalp, unable to lay still as Jace resumed his previous ministrations. The warmth of his tongue left you with a blistering want, stomach churning with a wave of arousal.

As he lapped at your clit again, you whimpered, moaning his name as if to keep his attention there. Jacaerys’s tender expression also bore a great deal of concentration, dark eyes flickering toward you. “There?” He uttered, hoping that you would guide him to where he needed to be.

Your head bobbed up and down against the furs, flesh beginning to glisten with the first inklings of perspiration. Everything felt feverishly hot, as if you would be turned to ash where you sat. Jacaerys was attentive and loving, following your breathy plea as he pursed his lips around the pearl of your cunt.

Jace shivered at the sounds you made, enticed by each whimper and moan, every twitch of your body. He suckled on the sensitive bundle of nerves, alternating between that and greedy, vigorous laps of his tongue. He let himself be lost within bliss, arousal mounting from pleasuring you.

You reached for his hand, fingers interlocking atop the swell of your hip as he continued to lap at your aching core. He squeezed your hand as a sign of reassurance, buried deep within your sweet cunt, something that he wanted to have again and again.

He was at your mercy, the heir to the Iron Throne, the Prince of Dragonstone — and you hadn’t the slightest clue. Jace’s brow creased in concentration as he focused on what spots made you squirm the most, continuing to dutifully lap at your clit until your knees trembled.

“Jace,” A needy moan left you, reverberating within the obsidian confines of your chambers. Arousal rushed through you, molten heat oozing from between your thighs, a nectar as sweet as honey. “I—I think I’m close.” You groaned, unsure if it was just the throes of ecstasy or reality.

Nevertheless, you were on the verge of reaching your peak, and you didn’t want him to stop. Instead, you urged his head forward, fingers laced within his dark curls, right at the nape of his neck. Jacaerys groaned in delight, thoroughly enjoying the way you continued to coax him inward — he happily devoured every drop.

With another barrage of his tongue assaulting your cunt, you whimpered, turning malleable within Jace’s hands. He knew that you were on the verge, and so he pursed his lips around your clit once more, and that was more than enough.

His name emerged from your lips like a reverent prayer, the only name that you knew in that moment. Your release was hot, like a rush of fire that didn’t simmer immediately. The residual sensation lingered, and Jace helped you through it.

Your thighs twitched, absentmindedly attempting to clench together, but Jace held you apart, soothing you with kisses along your thighs. The blissful, contented expression that soon followed was a beautiful one — Jace was shocked to know that he could do that to you, bring you to ruin.

His gallant smile gave you pause as you studied the rosy flush within his features, the glistening sheen of your arousal upon his lips. Jacaerys seemed entirely unphased, basking in your aftermath all the same, his curls tousled and disheveled.

“I didn’t hurt you, did I?” Your tone was sheepish, realizing how much you’d tugged at his hair. If it were you, a tender-headed maiden, you would’ve been batting his hand away. Jace’s bemused chuckle caused you to duck your head.

Jace disarmed you with a charming, doting smile and a simple look of those earthen-brown eyes of his, and shook his head. “You could never hurt me,” He replied, his attempt at gentle flirtation. “I worry more for you.” His confession was soft-spoken.

The act of consummation was not intended to be a comfortable one — for a woman, at least. Jacaerys knew to broach this with care, to make sure that you were well enough before all else. He inched forward from between your thighs, resting his head atop your stomach.

He allowed you a moment of composure, feeling your digits trace the lines of his countenance, stroke at his tresses. Jace pressed a string of kisses all around your body, wherever his lips could reach. The moment was incredibly tender, lingering with the tension of a blossoming ardor.

Through the comfortable haze of silence, you cleared your throat, staring down at Jacaerys with what only could be described at a look of complete and utter adoration. He was so kind, so noble and gentle, yet with the fervor of the dragon’s blood, a desire to do good. You felt so fortunate, even moreso when he smiled at you, pressing a kiss to your hip.

“I want you, Jacaerys,” You whispered, watching as Jace began to sit up, letting your legs trap him on either side. “More than I’ve ever wanted anyone else.” It was the hitch within his throat that made you shiver, heart hammering beneath your breast as you began to confess your feelings — it was inevitable.

Jace reveled at the sight of you, naked and glimmering within the moonlit dusk, candlelight bathing your physique in shades of flickering orange. His descent was slow as he covered you with his body, lips parting to allow a shaky exhale before he kissed your brow. “You have my heart,” He uttered, forehead resting against yours. “Everything I am, is yours.”

Your palms moved to cup either side of his face, thumbs caressing along his cheekbones before you smiled, kissing the corner of his mouth. “I am yours.” You assured, your commitment resolute before the Gods — before Jacaerys Velaryon.

It was a poignant moment, one that seemed intermingled with the seriousness of your words, yet still tinged with the youthful excitement of a first love. He kissed you, slow and amorous, full of an unrestrained affection that no longer seemed weighed-down by unspoken sentiments.

“Are you certain that this is what you want?” Jace asked, his voice a soft caress through your haze of kisses. He would not fault you if you wanted to stop now — and he would if you wished it of him. As much as he desired you, he valued your virtue above his own.

“Yes,” You replied, your palms gliding from his soft visage to the taut muscle of his shoulders, lacing your fingers around the back of his neck. “Are you certain, too? I worry that you might regret lying with me.”

Jacaerys shook his head, brows furrowing together to reflect a semblance of disbelief. He reached down to caress your cheek, making sure that you understood every word. “Nothing in the world would ever make me regret this,” He murmured. “I’ve never been more certain about anything before.”

A brief stirring of adoration fluttered within your chest, and you knew that you wanted no one else ever again. You pulled yourself off of the mattress enough to kiss him, sinking into the sweet bliss of the moment as he reciprocated. His mouth moved in-tandem with yours, eyes beginning to flutter shut.

His hands planted themselves into the feathered pillow on either side of your head, but it didn’t last long. Jacaerys leaned back, maneuvering out of the leather of his trousers, flush against you once they were removed. You were so soft, like an ocean of silk beneath him.

He felt one of your legs hitch around his hips, bodies together beneath the furs. The chill of your chambers dissipated, replaced by the warmth of your skin. You kept your hands poised against his shoulders, dancing across the smattering of freckles there as you continued to kiss him, as if each one would be your last.

The hardened swell of his cock pressed against your lower stomach, and you could feel his breath grow heavier between kisses. He was perfect — flawless, so handsome that it made you ache with want.

Jace kissed you again and again, feeling the soft peaks of your breasts brush against his chest. He adjusted his weight, shifted his hips as he pressed the head of his length against your slick cunt. He was somewhat nervous — perhaps not as much as you, but anxious enough. He made sure to be careful, feeling your legs nudge themselves apart.

A look of mutual preparedness passed between you both, between your doe-eyed gaze of anticipation and Jace’s mounting look of want, there was little room left for uncertainty. He sat up enough to position himself against your aching core, his cock splitting past your folds before it prodded at your entrance.

You steeled yourself, and Jace made sure to be slow, afraid of hurting you enough to cause true discomfort. As he tilted forward, his length filled you, sheathing himself inside of you, inch by inch. Admittedly, it wasn’t a good feeling — not initially, anyway.

A sharp exhale escaped you as he bottomed out, staying still atop you as he allowed you time to grow accustomed to him. Waves of complete and utter bliss rolled through him, his own pleasure nearly overwhelming. You were tight, maidenhead intact for the next few moments until he began to move.

“Are you alright?” Jace whispered around the shell of your ear, pressing against you once more as he reassuringly kissed along the side of your face. He felt despicable for causing you any amount of pain, but you seemed to dismiss his concern.

“I am,” You placated him with a smile, coaxing him in for a kiss. It was best if you didn’t think about it — and with time, it would feel better. Everything was awkward and clumsy, the follies of youth, but as Jace began to move, a fire began to burn within your belly. “Jace.” You sighed, keeping your leg around his hips.

A soft groan resonated beside your ear as Jace adopted a sluggish rhythm, not wanting to intensify things so quickly. Your eyes fluttered shut, body content to bend to his thrusts, grow accustomed to the act itself. He reciprocated your kiss, black curls falling in front of his temples.

Bliss soon replaced discomfort, the more you allowed yourself to adjust. You shifted your legs further apart, one hand falling toward his bicep, the other remaining tangled at the nape of his neck. The sounds of your lovemaking soon filled your chambers, with your foreheads pressed together.

Your name fell from his tongue in a needy groan, and it made you shiver, body reacting with a barrage of gooseflesh along your spine. Perspiration grew upon his brow as he maintained his pace, digits curling into the furs on either side of you.

The sound of your pleasured moans made him feel better, a sign that you were no longer riddled with soreness and irritation. Jace pressed a trail of hot, messy kisses along your face, reaching to the sweet spot beneath your jaw. He kept himself anchored there, feeling your hand squeeze at his bicep.

“Jace!” You squeaked, flushed at the growing lewdness of the noises — the squelching, the passionate groans and heavy breathing. He was perfect, cock filling you in a way that left you completely satisfied. Jace felt your hand fall away from his bicep, reaching for his own, interlocked hands falling back against the cushions.

He shuddered, reveling in the way your cunt tightened around him, the sensation of your hand within his hair, hands joined at your side. Jace’s pace began to quicken, but only somewhat, enough to really feel the myriad of pleasure take hold.

You yearned for him in every way imaginable; your body ached with each movement, every thrust as he leisurely moved in and out of you. His cock pulsated with a dull throbbing, enough to fill his belly with a raging fire. He kissed you again, lips traversing wherever they saw fit, peppering every inch of your sweet skin.

Time seemed to move agonizingly slow in your presence — Jacaerys wouldn’t want it any other way. If he could capture this moment, he would’ve. Every moment was graced by a warm intimacy that sank into his very bones, his adoration for you furthered with each roll of his hips, sheathing himself inside of you.

His soft lips graced your collarbone, continuing to make love to you in the only way he knew how. It was passionate and gentle, in a way reserved for the deepest of lovers. Jace grunted when your hips involuntarily rolled upward to grind against him, lips parting as he squeezed your hand.

At last, he lifted his head, your eyes locking together. Your countenance was exceptionally beautiful, especially when painted with the shade of desire, and it had him aching with want. His jaw tensed when you brushed dark curls away from his eyes, palm lingering long enough to pull him down for a kiss.

His cock continued to hit your cunt with a tame fervor, filling you completely, testing your limits as he neared his peak. Jacaerys knew that there would be more moments like these in the future — his energy was waning, and perhaps, the unfamiliarity of it all contributed to this.

Your name spilled from his tongue, throat echoing with a soft groan as his pace became slightly erratic. It was difficult to control himself amidst chasing after his release, but he maintained what little composure he had, gritting his teeth together as he thrust into you again.

Pleasure contorted into ecstasy, becoming an unstoppable wave that was quick to take hold of him. Concentration intermingled with bliss were etched into his features, face pressing against yours, nearly breathless as you kissed him again.

With a groan, Jacaerys rocked forward again, spilling himself inside of you. In hindsight, it was both brazen and feckless, done in the heat of the moment, but he cared little of it for the time being. His cock throbbed, thrusting into you again a time or two before he stilled completely.

Heavy pants resonated between you both as you caught your breath, flush against one another in the aftermath. You pressed a kiss against Jace’s cheek, trailing your fingers throughout his hair. He was quick to kiss you, gathering his composure before he pulled himself out of you.

A rush of sticky warmth slathered the inside of your thighs, leaving behind a feeling of slight discomfort. Jace gathered a cloth for you to clean yourself with, returning to lay beside you as he rucked the furs up around your bodies. The air was colder at nightfall, injected with a saltwater mist.

“I apologize if I hurt you,” Jacaerys uttered, dark brows furrowing together as you wriggled closer, resting your head atop his bare chest. Your arm draped over him, allowing yourself to be close, a feeling that he wanted more than anything else. “It was not my intention.” He kissed the top of your head.

“You didn’t,” You replied, tracing soft patterns against his skin, angling your head up enough to kiss him. Jace cupped your jaw, leaning in to deepen the tender entanglement, lost within the bliss of your lips. “You would never hurt me.”

Jacaerys was fiercely protective over you, that much was true — even from himself. He kept an arm wrapped around you, cradling you at his side as he gazed into your eyes. He could see you, then — his beloved wife, the future Queen of the Seven Kingdoms. Perhaps it was too early to tell, but he knew.

As the both of you settled in together, your maidenhead now lost, you couldn’t help but smile. Jacaerys had made your first experience more than anyone ever could — you hoped that it would stay that way forever. “Does your offer of teaching High Valyrian still stand?” You mused.

A huff of amusement left Jacaerys as he turned his head enough to look at you, a smile playing at either corner of his mouth. “I thought you wanted those dusty old books.” Admittedly, his offering of those damned texts is what started this in the first place — he had to be grateful.

“I knew that you would be kind enough to bring them to me,” You confessed, nose wrinkling in amusement. “An excuse to see you.” The look on Jace’s face was one of theatrical shock, and you erupted into a fit of laughter when he squeezed your hip.

“You might grow tired of me, if I am to teach you High Valyrian.” Jacaerys mused, his smile one of complete and utter warmth. Anyone would know that his love for you was obvious — there wasn’t any subtlety about it.

You shook your head, comfortably sinking against him, your upper body lounging atop him. “I could never grow tired of you, Jacaerys Velaryon.” You exhaled, exhaustion beginning to grip you. It was bound to happen eventually, given the abnormally late hour.

Jace was thankful that you weren’t looking — his face was dusted with a rather obvious layer of pink, and yet, the feeling was beyond satisfying. The two of you allowed the silence to sink through, accompanied by the sound of the encroaching tide as it broke upon the jagged rock and cliff sides surrounding Dragonstone.

“Will you stay?” You asked, hoping that he would be agreeable to it. It was a risky proposition, but Jace knew that he couldn’t leave you after this — he didn’t want to, either. No one would come clamoring about within his chambers at first light.

“Of course,” He murmured, lips twitching into a sweet smile. “Though, I should go at the first light of dawn.” Jace’s tone was one of clear disappointment, but it was best to keep suspicions low. You knew that he had duties that transcended you — he was the Prince of Dragonstone, the heir — and you were not betrothed.

A sense of understanding settled onto your features, but you still wanted him by your side — you wished that you could wake up next to him. “I hope that dawn never comes, then.” You whispered, taking his hand within yours as you pressed a kiss against his palm, knowing that there would be many more dawns to come with him at your side.

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