#but even two years is stretching it ngl | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

enhaflixer · 19 days ago

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hogwarts time travel au! traveling to the future and waking up MARRIED PART 1

slytherin!riki x gryffindor!reader PART 2 HERE

warnings: time travel, sex, kissing, lots of kissing, kinda angsty, they have two kids, there are pranks and rivalry and its just real cute im ngl

The library had been blissfully quiet for exactly forty-three minutes. You'd counted. Forty-three minutes of peaceful study, undisturbed concentration, and actual progress on your Transfiguration essay. Which meant you were overdue for—

A paper crane swooped down from nowhere, circling your head three times before unfolding itself atop your carefully organized notes. The parchment fluttered open to reveal a doodle of what appeared to be you with steam coming out of your ears and your hair standing on end. Beneath it, elegant script that you unfortunately recognized immediately:

Looking a bit tense today, Gryffindork. Did someone hide your color-coded study schedule again?

You closed your eyes and counted to ten, but only made it to four before the sound of poorly suppressed laughter broke your concentration. Across the library, lounging in a chair as though he owned the place, sat Nishimura Riki. The bane of your existence for seven consecutive years.

"Real mature," you muttered, crumpling the parchment and tossing it over your shoulder.

The paper froze mid-air, reversed direction, and neatly unfolded itself before landing back on your textbook.

"That's littering, you know," Riki called, just loud enough to make Madam Pince shoot you both a warning glare. "Not very environmentally conscious of you."

You stabbed your quill into your inkpot with unnecessary force. "Some of us are trying to study for our N.E.W.T.s like responsible seventh-years."

Riki stretched, his Slytherin tie deliberately loosened, black hair artfully tousled in that way that made half the school swoon and made you want to hex him bald. "Ah yes, another thrilling evening of revising information you memorized three months ago. Living the dream."

"Not everyone coasts by on natural talent and family connections," you shot back.

Something flashed in his dark eyes – irritation, perhaps – but his smirk never faltered. "Is that what you think? That I don't work for my grades?"

"I think," you said, gathering your belongings with precise movements, "that you spend more time planning elaborate pranks than studying, yet somehow maintain your position as second in our class."

"Second only to you," he said with an exaggerated bow. "Though not for lack of trying."

Your academic rivalry was legendary – seven years of trading the top spot back and forth, never more than a few points separating you. It would have been admirable if he wasn't so insufferable about it.

"Well, some of us can't afford to waste time," you said, shoving your books into your bag.

Riki pushed off his chair and sauntered over, dropping into the seat across from you without invitation. "You know what your problem is?"

"Currently? You're sitting at my table."

He leaned forward, undeterred. "You've forgotten how to have fun. When was the last time you did something just because it made you laugh?"

"I laugh plenty," you insisted, though the defensive tone in your voice betrayed you.

"At jokes in textbooks, maybe." He twirled his wand between his fingers – a nervous habit he'd had since first year. "You're seventeen going on seventy."

"And you're seventeen going on seven," you countered. "Wasn't it your enchanted water balloons that flooded the third floor yesterday?"

His grin widened. "Can't prove it was me."

"Professor Flitwick literally said, 'Impressive charm work, Mr. Nishimura, but please reserve it for your classwork.'"

"He appreciates creativity," Riki shrugged, then lowered his voice conspiratorially. "But that was nothing. Tomorrow's prank will be legendary."

Despite yourself, curiosity piqued. "What are you planning now?"

"Concerned for my academic future?" he teased. "Worried I might finally surpass you if I get expelled?"

"Worried about innocent bystanders," you corrected. "Your last 'legendary' prank turned the entire Ravenclaw Quidditch team purple for a week."

"That was an accident," he protested, though his smile suggested otherwise. "The color was supposed to fade after twenty-four hours."

You rolled your eyes and stood up. "Well, whatever you're planning, leave me out of it. Some of us have actual goals beyond being remembered as Hogwarts' most annoying student."

His laugh followed you as you headed for the exit. "Come on! You know you'd be much happier if you loosened up a little!"

You resolutely ignored him, which was your standard approach to Nishimura Riki. Seven years of practice had proven it was the only way to maintain your sanity.

You should have known ignoring him wouldn't work. It never did.

The next morning, you woke to find every single one of your quills had been enchanted to write nothing but love poems. About him.

Eyes dark as midnight, smile sharp as wit, Nishimura Riki, quite the perfect fit...

"That's IT!" You stormed into the Great Hall, marching directly to the Slytherin table where Riki sat surrounded by his usual admirers. You slammed the offending quill down in front of him.

He looked up with infuriating innocence. "Problem?"

"Fix. My. Quills." Each word came through gritted teeth.

He inspected the quill with exaggerated care. "I'm flattered, truly, but I don't think I inspired this passionate declaration. Perhaps you've been harboring secret feelings?"

Several of his friends snickered. Your cheeks burned, but whether from anger or embarrassment, you refused to analyze.

"This isn't funny," you hissed. "I have a Charms practical in twenty minutes."

"Hmm." He tapped his chin thoughtfully. "That is a problem."

"A problem you created!"

"I suppose I could fix it..." he mused, "for a price."

You crossed your arms. "What price?"

His smile turned mischievous. "Admit that I'm the better duelist."

This was an ongoing point of contention. You'd been evenly matched in Defense Against the Dark Arts since third year, much to both your frustrations.

"Never," you declared. "I beat you fair and square last week."

"You caught me off-guard with that modified Impediment Jinx."

"Which is called strategy," you countered. "Something you might understand if you spent more time studying and less time being an insufferable prat."

He clutched his heart dramatically. "You wound me. And here I thought we were friends."

"We are not friends," you said firmly. "We have never been friends."

Something shifted in his expression – so briefly you might have imagined it – before his usual smirk returned. "Fine. I'll fix your quills because I'm magnanimous and mature."

You snorted.

He flicked his wand, muttering an incantation under his breath. "There. Crisis averted. Though I was looking forward to Professor Flitwick reading poetry about my 'raven locks' and 'quicksilver reflexes.'"

"You're impossible," you said, snatching back your quill.

He winked. "Yet somehow you put up with me."

"Not by choice," you grumbled, turning to leave.

"Oh, by the way," he called after you, "pink is definitely your color!"

You frowned, then caught your reflection in a silver platter. Your hair had turned bright, bubblegum pink.

"NISHIMURA!"

It took three counter-charms to fix your hair, making you late for Charms and costing Gryffindor five points. Which was exactly what Riki had intended, no doubt. Your houses were neck-and-neck for the cup, and every point mattered in these final weeks.

Retaliation was necessary. And for once, you decided to beat him at his own game.

It took careful planning, timed precisely to the Slytherin Quidditch practice. A specialized color-changing potion in his shampoo (courtesy of a reluctant Slughorn, who thought you were doing "extra credit research"). By dinner, every Slytherin at the table was staring at Riki's violently pink hair and robes.

The best part? The potion was keyed to only activate for clothing in Slytherin colors and hair of his exact shade. No innocent bystanders.

His expression when he realized what had happened was worth the three nights of sleep you'd sacrificed to perfect the potion.

"Well played," he conceded when he cornered you after dinner, his robes still resolutely pink despite numerous attempts to change them back.

You allowed yourself a satisfied smile. "I have no idea what you're talking about."

"This means war, you know." But he didn't sound angry – if anything, he seemed impressed.

"We've been at war since you turned my cauldron into a toad in first year," you reminded him.

"Good times," he sighed nostalgically. "Though I think you're forgetting that I never leave a prank unanswered."

You shrugged. "Do your worst, Nishimura. I'll be ready."

You were not, in fact, ready.

Three days later, whispers followed you through the corridors. Students giggled behind their hands as you passed. Even the professors were giving you strange looks.

It wasn't until Luna Lovegood approached you at lunch with her dreamy expression that you discovered why.

"I think it's very brave of you to be so public with your feelings," she said, patting your hand. "Though the singing Valentine might have been a bit much."

"What singing Valentine?" you asked, a sense of dread building.

She blinked owlishly. "The one you sent to Riki Nishimura this morning. With the cherubs and rose petals? It performed in the middle of the entrance hall."

Your blood ran cold. "I didn't send—"

But Luna had already drifted away, leaving you to face the horrified realization that Riki had successfully framed you for sending him the most over-the-top, public declaration of love in Hogwarts history.

The smug look on his face when you found him confirmed everything.

"That was LOW," you growled, jabbing a finger into his chest. "Even for you."

He captured your finger, gently pushing it away. "Just giving the people what they want. Half the school already thinks we're secretly in love, given how obsessed we are with each other."

"We are NOT—" you spluttered, then lowered your voice when you realized people were watching. "We are not obsessed with each other."

"Seven years of elaborate pranks suggests otherwise," he pointed out.

"Seven years of you being an absolute menace," you corrected.

He leaned against the wall, studying you with unexpected seriousness. "You know, anyone else would have reported me to McGonagall years ago. Yet you always retaliate instead. Why is that?"

The question caught you off guard. Why hadn't you ever reported him? It would have been the sensible thing to do.

"Because," you said finally, "that would be admitting you've won."

His slow smile was different from his usual smirk – smaller, more genuine. "And we can't have that, can we?"

"Never," you agreed, finding yourself smiling back despite everything.

The moment stretched, something unspoken passing between you before you broke the spell. "This isn't over, Nishimura. I'm going to make you regret that Valentine stunt."

"Looking forward to it," he called as you walked away.

Your opportunity came sooner than expected. You discovered quite by accident that Riki had been working on a modified time-distortion spell – not an actual Time-Turner, but a charm that created the illusion of time passing. His plan, according to the notes you'd "borrowed" from his bag during Potions, was to make you think you'd slept through your Arithmancy N.E.W.T.

Clever, but not clever enough.

You spent a week developing a counter-charm, designed to reflect the spell back on its caster. It was advanced magic, beyond N.E.W.T. level really, but the thought of beating Riki at his own game was too tempting to resist.

The night before the Arithmancy exam, you stayed up late in the library, knowing he'd make his move when you were exhausted and vulnerable. Sure enough, just after midnight, you detected the subtle shimmer of disillusionment as he crept toward your table.

You pretended to be dozing on your textbook, wand concealed but ready beneath the pages.

You felt rather than saw the moment he cast the spell – a strange ripple in the air, the whispered Latin incantation. In one fluid motion, you raised your wand and cast your counter-charm.

"Tempus Reflectum!"

Your spells collided in midair with a sound like shattering glass. Golden light erupted between you, blinding in its intensity. You felt a strange pulling sensation behind your navel, similar to a Portkey but stronger, as if something was yanking you through dimensions rather than mere space.

The last thing you saw was Riki's shocked face, his hand reaching toward you as the magic engulfed you both.

Then darkness.

You woke to sunlight on your face and the unfamiliar sensation of high-thread-count sheets against your skin. Your head pounded viciously, like the aftermath of a poorly brewed Wit-Sharpening Potion. Groggily, you rolled over, burying your face in a pillow that smelled of lavender and something else – a woody, spicy scent that was strangely familiar.

"Five more minutes," you mumbled, pulling blankets over your head.

Wait. These weren't your Gryffindor dormitory blankets.

Your eyes snapped open, heart racing. This wasn't your bed in Gryffindor Tower. The room was unfamiliar - spacious with burgundy accents and photographs you didn't recognize.

Worse, you weren't alone.

A warm weight pressed against your side. You turned your head slowly and froze. Nishimura Riki - your sworn enemy - was asleep next to you, his dark hair tousled, face relaxed in sleep, looking several years older than he should.

"What the—" you started, voice dying as your brain struggled to process the impossible sight before you. This wasn't right. This couldn't be happening.

Riki stirred beside you, mumbling something incoherent. His eyes fluttered open, unfocused at first. Then he blinked rapidly, confusion washing over his features as he registered the unfamiliar surroundings. When his gaze finally landed on you, he froze.

"Wait..." he said groggily, rubbing his eyes like he might be dreaming. "What's going on?"

You scrambled backward, nearly falling off the bed in your haste. "Why are you— Where are we—" The questions tumbled over each other, none completing themselves.

Riki seemed equally disoriented, looking down at his own body, touching his face. "I feel... different. Older?" His voice was deeper, his shoulders broader. This wasn't the lanky seventeen-year-old who'd been tormenting you yesterday.

"This isn't Hogwarts," you whispered, taking in the room. "This isn't my dormitory. Why are we in a bed? Together?" Your voice rose with each question.

Realization dawned on his face, horror quickly replacing confusion. "No. No way. Tell me this isn't..."

The fog of sleep dissipated completely, replaced by rising panic. "You!" he finally accused, pointing a shaking finger. "What did you do? Where did you bring us?"

"ME?" Indignation cut through your shock. "You think I did this?" You grabbed a pillow and threw it at his head with all your strength. "This is clearly one of your stupid pranks gone wrong!"

"My pranks are never stupid," he shot back automatically, then looked wildly around the room at the photographs, at the clothing visible in the open wardrobe, at the obvious signs of a shared life. "And I definitely wouldn't prank myself into... whatever this nightmare is."

You noticed a wand on the nightstand - your wand, but somehow more worn - and lunged for it. As you did, something gold caught the light. A wedding ring on your finger.

"No," you whispered, staring at your hand. "No, no, no."

Riki noticed his own matching band and went pale. "This isn't possible."

You rushed to the mirror and gasped. Your reflection was you, but older - mid-twenties at least, with different hair and a confidence in your eyes your seventeen-year-old self had never possessed.

"If this is your idea of funny, Nishimura—" you began, whirling back toward him.

"For the last time, this isn't me!" he snapped, running a hand through his hair. "I was trying to prank you with a time-distortion spell, not..." he gestured between you wildly, "whatever nightmare this is!"

"Time-distortion?" Your eyes narrowed. "That spell you were working on in the library! The one I countered with—"

"You countered it?" Riki jumped to his feet. "What did you use? What exactly did you cast?"

"A reflection charm. It was supposed to bounce your stupid prank back at you!"

"You interfered with experimental magic?" He looked genuinely appalled. "Do you have any idea how dangerous that is?"

"Oh, that's rich coming from you! The walking disaster who once turned the entire Great Hall ceiling into a swamp!"

"That was brilliant spellwork and you know it!"

Your shouting match escalated until you barely noticed the small figure appearing in the doorway. It wasn't until you heard a heartbroken sob that you both fell silent and turned.

A little girl stood there, maybe three years old, with tears streaming down her chubby cheeks. She had Riki's deep, dark eyes—so dark they were almost black—but your nose and mouth. Her black hair fell in messy waves to her shoulders, with a stubborn cowlick at the crown that somehow looked familiar. She wore mismatched pajamas—a Holyhead Harpies top and bottoms covered in tiny golden snitches. She was clutching a well-loved stuffed dragon, its once-vibrant green scales faded from countless hugs.

"Mama, Dada, no fight," she hiccupped, her lower lip trembling so dramatically that your heart clenched in response. "No fight, please."

The raw distress in her voice hit you like a physical blow. This child—your child, somehow—was devastated by your argument. And though your rational mind insisted she was a stranger, something deeper, more instinctive, recognized her as yours.

You caught Riki's expression changing from confusion to concern, his usual smirk melting away completely. His entire body language transformed in an instant—shoulders relaxing, voice softening to a tone you'd never heard him use before.

"Hey, it's okay," he said gently, approaching her with cautious steps and kneeling down to her level. "We're not fighting. We're just... talking loud."

His hand reached out to smooth her hair in a gesture that seemed so natural it startled you. The tenderness in his touch was nothing like the Riki you knew—the prankster, the rival, the perpetual thorn in your side.

"Loud scary," she whimpered, clutching her dragon tighter. Its head was tucked under her chin in a practiced motion of self-comfort. "Suki no like." Her voice broke on the last word, fresh tears spilling down her already damp cheeks.

Something powerful and overwhelming surged through you—a fierce, protective instinct you'd never felt before. Without thinking, you moved toward her, your body acting before your mind could catch up. It felt like gravity—like you physically couldn't stay across the room while she was crying.

You knelt beside Riki, your shoulders almost touching as you both hunched down to her height. "We're sorry we scared you, Suki," you said, your voice coming out gentle and soothing, as if you'd comforted this child a thousand times before.

She looked up at you with those big, tear-filled eyes—Riki's eyes, unmistakably—and something twisted in your chest. Recognition flashed between you, soul-deep, impossible to explain. You'd never met this child before today, but your heart knew her.

Your hand reached out of its own volition to wipe a tear from her soft cheek. The moment your skin touched hers, a rush of emotion flooded through you—love, protectiveness, and a bone-deep certainty that whatever else was happening, this connection was real.

"Dragon scared too," she said solemnly, holding up the stuffed toy. Now that you looked more closely, you noticed the dragon had a tiny Gryffindor scarf around its neck, clearly handknitted. "Puff needs hugs when scared."

"Puff?" you asked softly.

"Short for Puffskein," Riki explained automatically, then looked surprised at his own knowledge. "I think... I gave it to her on her second birthday."

Suki nodded vigorously. "Daddy said... said Puff keeps bad dreams away."

Your eyes met Riki's over her head, a moment of mutual bewilderment passing between you. How could he know that? How could either of you feel such instant recognition of a child you'd just met?

"Well," you said, finding your voice again. "Puff is right. Hugs do help when you're scared."

Suki looked at you hopefully, arms lifting in an unmistakable request. The gesture was so innocent, so trusting, that you couldn't refuse. You gathered her small body against yours, surprised by how naturally she fit in your arms, how right her weight felt. She smelled of baby shampoo and that indefinable sweet scent that seemed to belong only to children.

When she reached one arm out to include Riki in the hug, you watched his face cycle through confusion, hesitation, and then surrender. He moved closer, completing the circle, his arm brushing yours as he embraced both you and Suki.

For one strange, suspended moment, the three of you stayed like that—a tableau of family comfort that felt both foreign and achingly familiar. You caught Riki's eyes over Suki's head, and the confusion in them mirrored your own, but there was something else there too—a vulnerability you'd never seen before.

Suki's small hand patted your cheek. "Better now?" she asked, her tears already drying as children's often do, her resilience astonishing. She looked between you with such hope, such complete faith that her parents could fix anything, that you felt a lump form in your throat.

"Yes," you managed, though nothing was better, nothing made sense. "Much better."

Riki nodded, his voice slightly hoarse when he added, "All better, Suki."

She beamed then, her whole face lighting up with such joy that it physically hurt to look at. Her smile—your smile, undeniably—transformed her tear-stained face. "Suki fixed it," she declared proudly, patting her own chest. "Suki good helper."

"The best helper," Riki agreed, with a sincerity that sounded strange coming from him.

She wiggled out of the embrace, suddenly energized now that the crisis had passed. "Hungry now," she announced, as if the emotional storm had never happened. "Pancakes? With chocolate?"

"And berries," you found yourself adding, the words coming from nowhere. "You need something healthy with all that chocolate."

"Always saying that," Suki said with a dramatic sigh that was so reminiscent of Riki's that you almost laughed despite everything. "Boring."

Riki smothered what might have been a chuckle. "Some things never change," he murmured, so quietly only you could hear.

Suki grabbed both your hands in her small ones, tugging with surprising strength. "Come on! Sara waiting!"

As she mentioned the other child, another voice called out from somewhere down the hall—a younger, less articulate voice that nevertheless commanded attention.

"MAMA! DADA! UP!"

Riki's eyes met yours again, a silent question passing between you. Neither of you had to say it aloud: how could something feel so wrong and so right at the same time? How could these children be strangers and yet feel like they were pieces of your own heart?

Suki tugged more insistently. "Sara awake. She hungry too."

You allowed yourself to be pulled to your feet, noticing as you rose that Riki's hand lingered near your elbow, steadying you as if it were the most natural thing in the world. He snatched it back when he realized what he was doing, but not before you felt the warmth of his touch—so different from the antagonistic shoves and playful jabs you were used to exchanging.

"We should..." he began awkwardly.

"Yeah," you agreed, equally uncomfortable. "The other one—Sara—she sounds..."

"Impatient," Riki finished, a hint of his usual wry humor returning. "Wonder where she gets that from."

"Certainly not from me," you retorted automatically, falling into your familiar pattern of banter before you could stop yourself.

Suki looked up at you both, her dark eyes narrowing with that uncanny perceptiveness again. "No more fighting," she warned, squeezing your hands. "Promise?"

The way she said it—like she was the parent and you were the children—made something catch in your throat. This tiny person somehow had the power to make you feel both chastised and protected.

"Promise," you said softly, and meant it.

"For now," Riki added with a ghost of his usual mischief, but when Suki's eyes narrowed further, he quickly amended, "I mean, yes, I promise too."

Suki nodded, satisfied with your compliance. "Good," she declared. "Now pancakes."

She pulled you both toward the door with the confidence of someone who knew exactly where she was going and expected the rest of the world to follow. And somehow, despite everything—the confusion, the impossibility of the situation, the fact that you were in a strange house with the person you'd spent seven years despising—you found yourself following her lead.

As you passed through the doorway, your arm brushed against Riki's, and instead of flinching away as you normally would, you felt an odd sense of reassurance from the contact. You were both lost here, both confused, but at least you were lost together.

"Temporary truce?" you whispered to him, just low enough that Suki couldn't hear.

"Absolutely," he agreed, his voice equally soft. "But for the record, I still think this is somehow your fault."

"And I'm certain it's yours," you countered, but there was no real heat in it.

Suki glanced back, caught you whispering, and gave you both a look of such knowing approval that you wondered if she'd somehow orchestrated this whole bizarre situation. For a three-year-old, she seemed remarkably in control.

"Come on, slow pokes!" she called, tugging you forward. "Sara waiting!"

The voice from down the hall called again, more insistently this time:

"DADA! UP NOW!"

You followed in stunned silence, wondering what cosmic joke had landed you in a future where you and Nishimura Riki had not only married but created this earnest little peacemaker and her baby sister.

After a chaotic breakfast involving Sara wearing more pancake than she ate and Suki demonstrating her surprisingly advanced levitation skills ("No, Suki, we don't float the syrup to the ceiling"), you finally managed to settle the children with enchanted coloring books in the living room.

"We have approximately seven minutes before disaster strikes again," Riki muttered, watching Sara scribble with determined focus. "Let's use them wisely."

"We need to search the house," you whispered. "Find anything that might explain what happened or how to reverse it."

You split up, Riki taking the study while you explored the sitting room. The cottage was larger than it appeared from outside—clearly magically extended—with comfortable, lived-in furnishings that blended wizarding and Muggle styles seamlessly.

The walls were covered with photographs—magical ones that moved and Muggle ones that didn't. They told the story of a life you couldn't remember living: graduation from Hogwarts (standing suspiciously close to Riki), your wedding (looking disgustingly happy), Riki in formal Auror robes receiving some kind of commendation, you in professor's robes surrounded by students.

You paused at a series of photos displaying Suki's early days. There was one of you in a hospital bed, looking exhausted but radiant, cradling a newborn bundle while Riki sat beside you, one arm around your shoulders. The look on his face—pure wonder mixed with what could only be described as adoration—was so unlike any expression you'd ever seen him wear that you had to look away.

"Found something," Riki called softly from the study. "Photo albums. Lots of them."

You joined him, settling on the floor as he spread several leather-bound albums before you. Each was meticulously labeled in what appeared to be your handwriting: "Wedding," "Suki's First Year," "Sara's Birth," "Family Holidays."

"This is surreal," you muttered, opening the one labeled "Sara's Birth."

The images inside showed a progression: you with a rounded belly, Riki's hand resting on it with a proud smile; you in labor, gripping Riki's hand so tightly his fingers were white (that one gave you a small satisfaction); and finally, Riki holding newborn Sara, tears streaming unashamedly down his face while Suki peered curiously at her new sister.

"I look...happy," Riki said quietly, touching the edge of the photo.

"We both do," you admitted reluctantly.

You flipped through more pages, watching your impossible family life unfold. Holidays at what appeared to be his parents' home in Japan. Suki's first steps. Sara's naming ceremony.

"Look at this one," Riki said, pointing to a photo of both of you asleep on a couch, Suki as a baby nestled between you. The image captured pure exhaustion, but also undeniable contentment.

"This can't be real," you whispered, but the evidence was overwhelming. "How did we go from hexing each other to...this?"

Riki closed the album carefully. "More importantly, how do we get back to our time?"

You stood abruptly, pacing the study. "There must be something in this house—your research notes, my lesson plans, anything that might explain the magic that sent us here."

"Or how to reverse it," Riki added, rising to his feet.

"Exactly," you agreed, turning too quickly and colliding with him. His hands automatically steadied you, fingers wrapping around your upper arms.

You jerked away. "Don't touch me, Nishimura," you hissed. "Get your filthy fingers off me. God knows where they've been."

Something flickered in his eyes—hurt, perhaps?—before his usual smirk reappeared. He leaned closer, voice dropping to a whisper. "I don't know about God, but judging by these photos, I think I know where you'd like them to be."

Your face burned. "You're disgusting."

"And yet, apparently, you married me," he countered, gesturing to the ring on your finger. "Enthusiastically, from the looks of these albums."

You were about to deliver a scathing retort when a small sniffle from the doorway froze you both. Suki stood there, clutching Puff, her bottom lip wobbling dangerously.

"Mama and Dada fighting again?" she asked, voice trembling.

Pure panic flashed across Riki's face—the same feeling coursing through you. You had exactly two seconds to prevent another meltdown.

Without thinking, you stepped forward and wrapped your arms around Riki's waist, plastering what you hoped was a convincing smile on your face.

"Not fighting, sweetheart," you said quickly. "Dada and I were just...playing."

Riki, to his credit, recovered quickly. His arm slid around your shoulders, pulling you close against his side.

"That's right," he agreed, smiling down at Suki. "Mama and I were just being silly."

Suki didn't look entirely convinced. "No more loud voices?"

"No more loud voices," you promised.

She studied you both with those unnervingly perceptive eyes, then nodded slowly. "Okay. Sara made mess. Big mess."

You exchanged an alarmed glance with Riki before hurrying to the living room, where you discovered Sara had somehow gotten hold of a pot of Everlasting Ink. The black liquid covered the toddler, the carpet, and most of a nearby armchair.

"How—" you began.

"I left for one minute!" Suki defended herself. "One minute!"

You bit back a laugh at her indignant tone—so reminiscent of your own when dealing with Riki's pranks—and turned to assess the damage.

"I'll take Sara for a bath," Riki offered, gingerly lifting the ink-covered toddler. "You tackle the furniture?"

You nodded, surprised by how easily you both fell into problem-solving mode. "Suki, can you show me where we keep the cleaning supplies?"

The crisis was half-managed when a bright silver light burst through the window. A tabby cat Patronus landed gracefully on the coffee table, fixing you both with a stern, familiar gaze.

"Mr. Nishimura. Miss L/N ]," came Professor McGonagall's voice from the ethereal cat. "Or should I say, Professor and Auror Nishimura? I am aware of your...temporal predicament. Report to my office at Hogwarts immediately. Without the children, if you please. Eight o'clock this evening. Do try not to destroy anything else in the meantime."

The Patronus dissolved, leaving a stunned silence in its wake.

"She knows," you whispered.

"Of course she does," Riki said, Sara squirming in his arms, leaving ink stains on his shirt. "She's McGonagall."

"But how? And what did she mean 'destroy anything else'?" A thought struck you. "Merlin's beard—what if our spell did more than just send us through time? What if we changed something important?"

Riki frowned. "Or broke something magical."

"The timeline itself, perhaps," you suggested, feeling sick.

"Well," he said, shifting Sara to his other hip, "at least we don't have to figure this out alone now."

You looked around at the chaotic scene—the ink-stained room, the confused children, the evidence of a life neither of you remembered building—and felt a wave of hysterical laughter bubble up.

"What's so funny?" Riki asked, eyebrows raised.

"Just picturing McGonagall's face when we have to explain that this all started because you tried to make me miss an exam."

He opened his mouth to argue, then shook his head with a rueful smile. "We are so getting detention. For a month. Possibly the rest of our lives."

Suki tugged at your hand. "Who was the cat lady?"

You knelt down to her level. "That was Headmistress McGonagall. She's...an old friend."

"The scary one from your stories?" Suki asked, eyes wide. "The one who can turn into a cat?"

"Exactly that one," Riki confirmed.

Suki considered this information solemnly. "She mad at you?"

You exchanged a look with Riki. "Probably," you admitted.

"Definitely," he corrected.

"You need timeout?" Suki asked seriously.

This time, when your eyes met Riki's, you couldn't help it—you both burst out laughing, the tension of the morning finally breaking. Suki looked between you, confused but pleased that her parents were laughing instead of fighting.

"Yes, Suki," you managed when you could speak again. "I think Dada and I are in a very long timeout."

"The longest," Riki agreed, his smile—his real smile, not the smirk you were used to—making something flutter strangely in your chest.

You quickly looked away, focusing on the ink stain. Whatever was happening, whatever McGonagall knew, one thing was certain—you needed to fix this mess and get back where you belonged. Before you started getting used to Riki's genuine smile, or the way Suki's hand felt in yours, or the strange sense of rightness that kept creeping in despite your best efforts to ignore it.

Because this wasn't your life. It couldn't be. No matter what the photographs showed or how natural it sometimes felt.

...Could it?

Meeting with McGonagall had been exactly as intimidating as expected. Even as adults—or at least, in adult bodies—you both found yourselves fidgeting under her stern gaze like first-years caught out after curfew.

"Of all the reckless, irresponsible applications of magic," she'd said, pacing her office while portraits of former headmasters watched with varying degrees of amusement. "A temporal displacement caused by a schoolyard rivalry. Albus would have found this terribly entertaining." Her tone made it clear she did not share this sentiment.

McGonagall had explained, with remarkable patience, that your spell collision had created a rare but not unprecedented magical phenomenon. You had essentially switched places with your future selves—who were now presumably navigating your teenage lives at Hogwarts.

"So does that mean we can go back?" you'd asked hopefully.

Her answer had crushed that hope. "The magic will resolve itself naturally in approximately four weeks. Any attempt to force a reversal could cause irreparable damage to both timelines."

"Four WEEKS?" Riki had choked out.

"Consider it an educational opportunity, Mr. Nishimura," McGonagall had replied, the ghost of a smile playing at her lips. "A chance to see where your choices lead. Perhaps it will inspire better decision-making in your youth."

And with that decidedly unhelpful advice, she'd sent you both back to your cottage and your borrowed life, with instructions to maintain your professional obligations and "try not to destroy the timeline."

Which was how you found yourself standing in front of a classroom of third-year students the next morning, trying to remember anything useful about shield charms beyond the basics you'd learned in fifth year.

"Professor?" A Ravenclaw girl in the front row raised her hand. "You said last week we'd be practicing against minor hexes today."

"Right," you said, stalling. "But first, let's review. Can anyone tell me the three key principles of effective shielding?"

Thank Merlin for eager students. As they rattled off answers, you discreetly consulted the lesson plans you'd found in your desk drawer. Apparently, your future self was exceptionally organized—each lesson meticulously planned with notes on individual students' progress.

Meanwhile, Riki had reluctantly departed for the Ministry, armed with a crash course in current Auror protocols courtesy of a surprisingly helpful portrait of a former Head of Magical Law Enforcement hanging in McGonagall's office.

"Just act important and delegate everything," the portrait had advised with a wink. "Standard procedure for department heads after a vacation."

Department head. Apparently, Riki had risen quickly through Auror ranks to lead a specialized unit focused on magical smuggling and illegal enchantments. Your respect for your future husband's abilities had increased considerably—not that you'd admit it aloud.

The day passed in a blur of classes, staff meetings, and trying not to reveal your temporal displacement to colleagues who clearly knew you well. By evening, you were mentally exhausted but strangely exhilarated. You'd always secretly considered teaching, and discovering that you'd achieved that ambition was oddly satisfying.

Riki returned home via Floo just before dinner, looking shell-shocked but intact. The children greeted him with enthusiasm, Suki launching herself at his legs while Sara babbled excitedly from her high chair.

"How was it?" you asked once the initial chaos subsided.

"Terrifying," he admitted quietly, accepting the cup of tea you offered. "I'm apparently in charge of seventeen Aurors and coordinating with magical law enforcement across Europe. Me. The guy who once transfigured all the Slytherin common room furniture into rubber ducks."

"Well, you always were good at transfiguration," you pointed out, surprising yourself with the compliment.

He looked equally surprised. "Did you just acknowledge one of my skills without adding an insult?"

"Don't get used to it." But you found yourself smiling anyway.

Suki, ever watchful, observed this exchange with obvious approval. "Dada catch bad wizards today?" she asked, climbing onto his lap.

"Sort of," Riki answered, automatically adjusting to accommodate her. "Dada mostly signed papers and pretended to know what he was doing."

"That's what you always say," Suki giggled, clearly accustomed to this joke.

You watched them together, struck again by how naturally Riki had adapted to fatherhood. The boy who'd once charmed your quills to write nothing but love poems about himself was now patiently listening to a toddler's detailed description of her day at magical daycare.

"Miss Penny let me feed the pygmy puffs," Suki was explaining earnestly. "And I didn't even squeeze them too hard this time."

"That's my girl," Riki said, genuine pride in his voice. "Always improving."

Later, after you'd managed bathtime (Sara could apparently generate tsunamis with minimal water) and bedtime stories (Suki insisted on three, with different voices for each character), you and Riki faced the awkward reality of sleeping arrangements.

"I'll take the sofa," he offered, hovering in the bedroom doorway.

"Don't be ridiculous," you said practically. "That sofa is barely long enough for Suki. We're adults. We can share a bed without it being... weird."

Both of you knew this was a lie, but neither acknowledged it.

You established firm boundaries—a pillow wall down the center of the mattress and strict adherence to respective sides. You changed in the bathroom, emerging in pajamas you'd found in a drawer (thankfully modest), while Riki wore sweatpants and a t-shirt that he'd clearly transfigured to be baggier than its original fit.

"Goodnight," you said stiffly, turning your back to the pillow barrier.

"Goodnight," he replied from his side. "Try not to snore."

"I do not snore!"

"How would you know? You're asleep when it happens."

Just like that, you were arguing again—the familiar pattern a strange comfort in this unfamiliar situation.

You must have eventually fallen asleep, because the next thing you knew, you were waking to a small voice and the mattress dipping slightly.

"Mama? Dada? Bad dream."

Suki stood beside the bed in her Holyhead Harpies pajamas, Puff clutched tightly to her chest, eyes wide and frightened in the dim wandlight that automatically illuminated at her distress.

Riki sat up immediately, all traces of sleep vanishing. "What kind of bad dream, Suki-bean?"

The casual endearment slipped out so naturally that neither of you remarked on it.

"Monsters," she whispered dramatically. "In the closet. And under bed. And in curtains."

"That's a lot of monsters," you said, sitting up as well.

"So many," she agreed solemnly. "Need both Mama and Dada."

She was already climbing onto the bed, worming her way directly into the center—right over your carefully constructed pillow barrier. She settled between you, looking from one to the other expectantly.

"Both stay," she insisted. "Both keep monsters away."

Riki met your eyes over her head, silently communicating in that strange way you'd developed over the past few days. You nodded slightly.

"We'll both stay," he promised. "No monsters allowed."

"That's right," you agreed. "Mama and Dada are scarier than any monsters."

Suki considered this, then nodded decisively. "Mama has scary voice when Sara draws on walls."

Riki bit back a laugh. "She certainly does."

You elbowed him lightly, but couldn't help smiling. Suki snuggled down between you, one small hand gripping your pajama top, the other clutching Riki's shirt.

"Night-night," she murmured, already drifting back to sleep, secure in the knowledge that her parents would keep her safe.

You lay awake long after her breathing deepened, acutely aware of Riki doing the same on the other side of your daughter. Your daughter. The thought still sent a jolt through you.

"This is strange, isn't it?" he whispered finally. "How quickly this starts feeling..."

"Normal," you finished when he trailed off. "I know."

"I'm not as terrible at this as I would have expected," he admitted.

"And I'm not hexing you every five minutes, which shows remarkable restraint on my part."

His low chuckle vibrated through the mattress. "Perhaps we've matured. A little."

"Apparently enough to create this," you said softly, gently brushing a strand of hair from Suki's forehead.

"She's pretty amazing, isn't she?" The naked pride in his voice made your throat tighten.

"Both of them are."

Silence fell again, but it was different now—contemplative rather than awkward. Eventually, you drifted off to sleep, the last sensation being Suki's warm weight against your side and, just beyond her, the steady rhythm of Riki's breathing.

The next few days established a strange new routine. You taught Defense Against the Dark Arts by day, gradually growing more comfortable as muscle memory and your future self's excellent notes guided you. Your colleagues clearly respected you—Professor Flitwick even mentioned your recent paper on practical defensive applications of Charms work published in Transfiguration Today.

Riki adapted to Auror work with surprising skill, his natural talent for thinking outside conventional boundaries apparently serving him well in investigating magical smuggling operations. He returned home each evening with increasingly fewer looks of panic and more stories of actual accomplishment.

The children attended Little Sorcerers, a magical daycare in Hogsmeade run by a cheerful witch named Penny Clearwater who had apparently been a few years ahead of you at Hogwarts. Suki was in the "Developing Wands" group for magical children showing early signs of ability, while Sara stayed in the "Baby Beasts" room.

Domestic life fell into place with unexpected ease. You discovered household charms you'd never known, apparently perfected by your future self. Riki, much to your surprise, was an excellent cook—another skill his future self had developed.

"My mother always said cooking is just like potions, but with less chance of explosion," he explained one evening as he expertly charmed knives to chop vegetables. "Usually less chance, anyway."

One week into your strange displacement, you were sitting at the kitchen table grading essays while Riki played with the girls in the living room. His patient voice floated through the doorway as he explained, for what must have been the thousandth time, why Sara couldn't ride the toy broomstick Suki had received for her birthday.

"Because she's too little, Suki. Remember when you were her age and tried to ride Uncle Jake's broom? What happened?"

"I falled in rosebushes," Suki recited reluctantly. "And needed ouchie potion."

"Exactly. So Sara needs to wait until she's bigger, just like you did."

You found yourself smiling at the exchange. The Riki you knew from Hogwarts had never shown this kind of patience. But then, you'd never really looked for it either, had you? You'd been so busy competing, bickering, retaliating for pranks, that you'd never considered there might be more to him.

Later that night, after the children were asleep, you found yourself lingering in the study, examining framed certificates and photographs. Your teaching credentials from a specialized Defense mastery program. Riki's Auror certification, with honors. A joint commendation from the Ministry for some collaborative project.

Riki found you there, two mugs of tea in hand. He offered one silently, and you accepted with a nod of thanks.

"Strange to see what we become," he said finally, examining a photo of you both at what appeared to be a Ministry function.

"Not what I expected," you admitted.

"No?"

You gestured around the study. "Look at all this. Professional success. Academic recognition. A home, a family..." You trailed off, not quite able to complete the thought.

Riki did it for you. "Everything we secretly wanted but were too proud to admit?"

You looked at him sharply. "What do you mean?"

He shrugged, suddenly looking vulnerable in a way the seventeen-year-old Riki never would have allowed. "I never hated you, you know. I was just..."

"Competitive?" you supplied.

"Immature," he corrected with a rueful smile. "And maybe a little intimidated. You always knew exactly what you wanted and how to get it. I just knew what I didn't want—to follow my father into the diplomatic service, to be serious all the time."

"So you became the class clown instead?"

"I became whatever would get a reaction." His honesty surprised you. "Especially from you."

You weren't ready for this conversation—this glimpse beneath the surface of your carefully maintained animosity. So you deflected.

"Well, apparently it worked out for both of us." You gestured to the evidence of your successful careers. "Though I still can't believe I married someone who once enchanted my hair to glow in the dark during exams."

"In my defense, you looked incredible. Like a vengeful goddess."

Despite yourself, you laughed. "I was so furious. I couldn't figure out how to counter it for three days."

"I know." His smile turned reminiscent. "McGonagall finally took pity on you. But not before I got to admire my handiwork for half a week."

The ease between you was new and unsettling. It felt like a betrayal of your properly antagonistic relationship, yet it also felt... right. As if your bodies remembered a friendship—and more—that your minds hadn't yet experienced.

"We should sleep," you said abruptly, uncomfortable with the direction of your thoughts. "Early classes tomorrow."

Riki nodded, the moment broken. "Right. Of course."

You both headed to the bedroom, maintaining the pretense of the pillow barrier even though Suki had demolished it the past three nights in a row, inevitably climbing into your bed with complaints of monsters, bad dreams, or simply "missing Mama and Dada."

But as you lay in the darkness, listening to Riki's breathing slow on the other side of the useless barrier, you couldn't help wondering: If this was your future—a respected career, beautiful children, and an unexpectedly supportive partner—was it really something you wanted to undo?

The thought followed you into dreams where seventeen-year-old Riki laughed as he turned your hair pink, but adult Riki smiled as he helped you wash it out, his fingers gentle against your scalp and his eyes holding something you weren't ready to name.

Morning sunlight filtered through the curtains as you carefully extracted yourself from the bed, trying not to disturb Riki. Over the past ten days, you'd fallen into an uneasy routine—you rose early to prepare for your classes while he handled the nighttime wake-ups with Sara, who still wasn't sleeping through the night.

Today you had a particularly early staff meeting to review the upcoming O.W.L. practical examinations. You gathered your teaching robes and had just started toward the bathroom when a loud chiming sound filled the room.

A glowing orb materialized above the dresser—something like a remembrall but larger and pulsing with magical energy. You approached it cautiously, poking it with your wand.

The orb expanded, revealing the face of a woman you didn't recognize—though she clearly knew you, judging by her broad smile.

"Fucking finally! I've been trying to reach you since yesterday!" the woman exclaimed. Her curly hair was piled haphazardly atop her head, and she appeared to be wearing pajamas. "Did you get my message about Friday? Because Marcus is taking the kids to his mother's, and I'm desperate for a girls' night."

You froze, desperately trying to place her. This must be a friend of your future self—possibly your best friend, given her casual manner.

"I, um—" you stammered.

"Oh shit, did I wake you? What time is it there?" She squinted, then gasped dramatically. "Is that Riki in bed behind you? Sorry! Although..." her voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper, "since I've got you both, I might as well ask. That thing you mentioned last month? The tongue thing?"

Your face burned as you realized what kind of "thing" she was referring to.

"I tried it with Marcus but I must be doing something wrong because he just looked confused, and honestly, after three kids you'd think I'd have figured out how to keep things interesting," she continued, seemingly oblivious to your discomfort. "But you always seem to have Riki thoroughly fucked—he practically glows every time I see him—so clearly you're doing something right."

You heard a muffled sound from the bed and glanced back to see Riki stirring, his eyes opening with confusion that quickly transformed to interest as he caught snippets of the conversation.

"I mean," your friend continued, lowering her voice even more, "last time we talked, you said it was all about the pattern you use with your tongue and how you have to maintain eye contact the whole time? And something about using a specific angle? I tried but Marcus kept laughing and saying it tickled."

Riki's eyebrows shot up, and he propped himself on his elbows, now fully awake and listening intently.

"And then you mentioned that thing with the ice cube beforehand? Did you mean like directly on his—"

"I REALLY need to go," you interrupted desperately, but your friend was on a roll.

"—because that seemed extreme, but then again, your sex life is legendary. Remember at New Year's when you two disappeared for an hour and came back looking like you'd been mauled by something? And Riki couldn't stop smirking for the rest of the night? Merlin's balls, whatever you did to him must have been spectacular."

At this point, Riki had both hands clamped over his mouth, his entire body shaking with barely contained laughter.

"Anyway," your friend continued, blissfully unaware of the chaos she was causing, "I just need a refresher. When you grip his thighs, is it more about the pressure or the—"

"FOR FUCK'S SAKE!" you finally shouted, frantically tapping the orb, trying to end the call. "I'M ABOUT TO BE LATE FOR A MEETING!"

"Oh! Sorry!" she said, finally noticing your distress. "But just quickly—that position you mentioned, the one where you—"

"SILENCIO!" you bellowed, finally succeeding in muting her. But the call continued, her lips moving silently as she enthusiastically mimed what appeared to be a particularly athletic maneuver.

Behind you, Riki had lost his battle with composure. He was now howling with laughter, rolling on the bed and clutching his stomach.

"Holy shit," he gasped between fits of hysterical laughter. "Eye contact the whole time? Ice cubes? What the fuck do our future selves get up to?"

You finally located the deactivation rune and jabbed it violently. The orb vanished with a small pop, leaving mortified silence in its wake.

Well, silence except for Riki's continued uncontrollable laughter.

"I will hex you into next week," you threatened, your face burning hot enough to fry an egg.

"The fucking tongue thing!" he wheezed, tears streaming down his face. "And apparently I get 'thoroughly mauled' at New Year's? No wonder future-me always looks so damn pleased with himself!"

"Would you SHUT UP?" you hissed, grabbing a pillow and launching it at his head.

He caught it mid-air, his Quidditch reflexes intact even as he gasped for breath between laughs. "I can't—I can't breathe—"

"Good! Die, then!"

"Aww, don't be embarrassed," he teased, finally regaining some control. "Obviously our future selves enjoy fucking each other. We have two tiny munchkins as proof of that." He gestured toward the nursery with a grin. "Concrete evidence of at least two very successful encounters."

"This isn't funny, you absolute ass!" But your embarrassment was being overtaken by reluctant amusement at the absurdity of the situation.

"It's extremely funny," he countered, sitting up and wiping tears from his eyes. "Your face when she started mimicking that position—"

You launched yourself across the bed, determined to silence him before he could continue. Your hand clamped over his mouth as you landed half on top of him, using your body weight to pin him down.

"Not. Another. Goddamn. Word." You glared down at him, trying to look intimidating despite your undoubtedly bright red face.

His eyes crinkled at the corners, amusement evident even with his mouth covered. But then something shifted in his gaze—the laughter fading into something warmer, more intense. You suddenly became acutely aware of your position: straddling his lap, one hand over his mouth, your faces inches apart.

His breath was warm against your palm. You should move. You should definitely move. But your body seemed frozen, caught in the magnetic pull of his gaze.

Slowly, deliberately, he reached up and wrapped his fingers around your wrist, gently pulling your hand away from his mouth. The casual strength in his grip sent an unexpected shiver down your spine.

"Is this how you keep me thoroughly fucked and satisfied?" he murmured, voice pitched low in a way you'd never heard from seventeen-year-old Riki. "Pinning me down until I submit?"

Your breath caught. The air between you felt charged, crackling with a tension that had nothing to do with your usual animosity.

"I—" Whatever you might have said was lost as a piercing wail erupted from the nursery monitor on the nightstand.

"DAAAAADAAAA!" Sara's voice shattered the moment. "UP! UP NOW!"

Riki closed his eyes briefly, a mixture of frustration and resignation crossing his features. "Fuck. Perfect timing, as always," he muttered.

You scrambled off him, nearly falling in your haste to put distance between your bodies. "I should—shower. Meeting. Early."

Eloquence had apparently abandoned you entirely.

He swung his legs over the side of the bed, running a hand through his already disheveled hair. "I'll check on Sara."

"Right. Good. Yes." You edged toward the bathroom, clutching your teaching robes like a shield.

At the door, he paused, throwing you a look over his shoulder. "You know we're going to have to continue this conversation eventually."

"What conversation?" you asked, aiming for innocent and missing by several miles.

His smile was slow and knowing. "The one about all the ways our future selves apparently enjoy fucking each other. And maybe that tongue thing. Seems like valuable information we shouldn't waste."

With that parting shot, he left to tend to Sara, leaving you leaning weakly against the bathroom door, your heart racing and your mind filled with images you had no business imagining.

You'd just finished putting Sara down for her nap when the distinct crack of apparition sounded from the front garden. Wand instantly in hand—a reflex from your Defense teaching—you moved cautiously toward the window.

A petite Japanese woman in elegant midnight-blue robes stood at your gate, a large ornate box floating beside her. Her hair was pulled into a sleek knot at the nape of her neck, and though she must have been in her fifties, she had the posture of someone half her age.

"Riki!" you called, recognizing her from the family photos. "Your mother's here!"

There was a crash from the kitchen, followed by a string of muffled curses.

"My WHAT?" he hissed, appearing in the doorway with a look of undisguised panic. "Why? Did you know she was coming?"

"How would I know that?" you whispered back frantically.

"You're the one who's apparently been married to me for years! Don't you have a schedule or something?"

Before you could argue further, an imperious knock sounded at the door. You both froze like guilty first-years caught out after curfew.

Suki, oblivious to your distress, came barreling down the hall. "GRANDMA!" she squealed, reaching for the doorknob before either of you could stop her.

The door swung open to reveal Riki's mother, her stern expression instantly transforming into a warm smile at the sight of her granddaughter.

"Suki!" she exclaimed, setting down her floating package to sweep the child into her arms. "Have you been practicing your Japanese?"

"Hai, Grandma!" Suki replied proudly.

"Good girl." She kissed Suki's forehead before setting her down, then turned her attention to you and Riki, who was hovering awkwardly behind you.

"Darling," she greeted you with unexpected warmth, moving forward to embrace you. "You look tired. Is my son helping enough with the children?" She didn't wait for an answer before turning to Riki. "Riki! Your hair is a mess. Are you still sleeping until noon? You have responsibilities now!"

Without warning, she reached up and slapped the back of his head—a feat requiring her to almost stand on tiptoe, given the height difference.

"Mom!" Riki protested, rubbing his head. "It's good to see you too."

"Is it? When was the last time you visited?" She grabbed his ear and tugged, pulling his head down to her level. "Do I need to remind you of the importance of family?"

You bit your lip, trying desperately not to laugh at the sight of fully-grown Auror Riki being treated like a naughty schoolboy. The look of helpless resignation on his face suggested this was a regular occurrence.

"We've been busy with work, Mom," you intervened, taking pity on him. "Please, come in. Would you like some tea?"

She released Riki's ear and beamed at you. "Always so polite. This one knows how to show respect, Riki. You should learn from your wife."

"Yes, Mom," Riki muttered, rubbing his ear.

"Grandma bring presents?" Suki asked hopefully, eyeing the box that had resumed floating beside her grandmother.

"Just one special delivery today," Hana replied, guiding the box into the living room with a flick of her wand. "For your parents."

You led everyone into the kitchen, where you busied yourself preparing tea. Riki, clearly trying to behave, pulled out a chair for his mother.

"Such good manners," Hana observed with mock surprise. "Did your wife teach you that, too?"

"Mom..." Riki began with a long-suffering sigh.

"I'm teasing, Riki," she said, but slapped his arm anyway. "Mostly."

You placed a teacup in front of her, grateful that your future self apparently knew how she took her tea.

"Now," Hana said after taking a delicate sip, "about the item you asked me to find."

You exchanged a quick glance with Riki, neither of you having any idea what she was referring to.

"I've brought it, just as promised," she continued. "Though why you couldn't have asked for it during your visit last month instead of by owl, I don't understand."

"Work has been... unpredictable," you improvised, hoping it was a plausible excuse.

Hana made a dismissive gesture. "Always work with you two. But I suppose that's why you're both so successful." There was genuine pride in her voice, despite her criticisms.

"Suki," she said, turning to her granddaughter who was attempting to climb onto Riki's lap, "would you show me your new drawings? The ones you told Grandma about in your message?"

Suki nodded eagerly. "In my room! I drawed a dragon eating ice cream!"

"Drew, Baby," Riki corrected automatically.

"That's what I said, Daddy," Suki replied with the confidence of a child who could never be wrong. She took her grandmother's hand and began tugging her toward the stairs.

"I'll just be a few minutes," Hana said, allowing herself to be led away. "Riki, make yourself useful and start dinner. Your wife works all day teaching those hopeless children to defend themselves. The least you can do is feed her properly."

"Yes, Mom," Riki replied with practiced patience.

The moment they disappeared upstairs, he turned to you. "What the hell is going on? What did you apparently ask her for?"

"How should I know?" you whispered back. "Maybe it's in that box she brought?"

You both turned to look at the ornate package still floating in the living room. It was wrapped in deep blue silk with silver constellations that actually twinkled and shifted across the fabric.

"Whatever it is, it's fancy," Riki observed. "And apparently important."

"We can't open it until we know what it is," you said reasonably. "Your mother might expect a specific reaction."

"I haven't seen her this... pleasant... in years," Riki admitted. "Usually there's at least twenty minutes of criticism before she even considers smiling."

"She seems quite fond of me," you couldn't help noting with a slight smirk.

"Of course she is," Riki grumbled. "You're exactly the type of person she wanted me to be—studious, responsible, organized. You probably color-code your lesson plans."

"I do not!" you protested, then caught yourself. "Well, future-me might, but that's beside the point."

Before you could continue, Hana reappeared, sans Suki. "She's showing Sara her drawings now," she explained. "That child could talk for England in the Olympics."

"Wonder where she gets that from," you said, giving Riki a pointed look.

Hana laughed. "Exactly what I was thinking." She moved to the box and gestured for you to join her. "Come, I'll show you what I found. Riki, start the rice. The women are talking."

Riki rolled his eyes but obediently moved to the kitchen, muttering something about "impossible women ganging up on him."

Hana drew you to the far side of the living room, lowering her voice. "I wanted to give this to you privately first," she said, untying the silk wrapping. "So you can decide how to present it to him for your anniversary."

Anniversary? Your heart rate picked up. Exactly how close was this supposedly important date?

The silk fell away, revealing a carved wooden box with the Nishimura family crest inlaid in mother-of-pearl. Hana opened it carefully to reveal a stunning platinum pocket watch nestled in velvet.

"It belonged to his grandfather," she explained, lifting it gently. "Riki adored it as a child. Used to beg to hold it, would sit for hours watching the constellation dial shift with the seasons."

She opened the watch's case, revealing an exquisitely detailed night sky in miniature, with tiny stars that glittered and moved in real-time. The craftsmanship was breathtaking.

"His grandfather promised it to him when he became a man worthy of it," Hana continued, a soft smile playing at her lips. "But he passed before Riki finished Hogwarts."

She pressed the watch into your hands. "When you wrote asking if I still had it—if I would consider letting you give it to him for your fifth anniversary—I admit I cried. You understand my son in ways I never could."

Fifth anniversary. The words echoed in your mind. You and Riki had been married for five years in this timeline.

"I..." you began, genuinely moved by both the gift and the sentiment behind it.

"No need for words," Hana said, patting your hand. "I know you'll present it perfectly. Just promise me you'll take a photograph of his face when he sees it."

"I promise," you said sincerely, carefully returning the watch to its case.

"Good. Now hide it away before he—"

"Before I what?" Riki asked, returning from the kitchen with a dish towel over his shoulder.

Hana moved with surprising speed, snatching the box and thrusting it behind you. "Before you stick your nose where it doesn't belong!" she scolded, reaching up to tug his ear again. "Honestly, Riki, eavesdropping at your age!"

"I wasn't—" he protested, bending awkwardly to accommodate her grip on his ear. "Mom, please!"

"Go back to the kitchen," she commanded. "The rice will burn."

"It's in a spelled pot, it can't burn," he argued.

She released his ear only to slap the back of his head again. "Don't contradict your mother. Go. Shoo."

Riki shot you a pleading look, but you merely shrugged, hiding your amusement poorly. He slouched back to the kitchen, muttering something that sounded suspiciously like "traitor."

Once he was out of earshot, Hana handed you the box again. "Hide this somewhere he won't look. Do you have such a place?"

You thought quickly. "My lesson plan cabinet. He'd rather face a Hungarian Horntail than look through teaching materials."

Hana nodded approvingly. "Smart girl. This is why I always said you were too good for him."

"I don't know about that," you said, surprising yourself with the sincerity in your voice.

Hana's expression softened. "Neither does he. That's what makes you perfect together." She straightened her robes briskly. "Now, I should supervise his cooking before he ruins dinner. His father was the same way—brilliant man, hopeless with domestic spells."

As she marched toward the kitchen, you heard her exclaim, "Riki! What are you doing to those poor vegetables? Here, let me show you again..."

You slipped the box into your teaching bag, mind reeling. Five years of marriage. A thoughtful anniversary gift that Riki would apparently treasure. A mother-in-law who clearly adored you and whom you called "Mom" with ease.

This life—this future—kept revealing layers that made it harder and harder to dismiss as a nightmare or a prank gone wrong. Because parts of it, if you were being honest with yourself, didn't feel wrong at all.

They felt alarmingly, confusingly right.

From the kitchen came the sound of Riki's protests, followed by his mother's firm instructions and what sounded like another light slap. Despite everything—your displacement in time, your confusion about your feelings, the lingering embarrassment from this morning's call—you found yourself smiling.

Some things, apparently, never changed. Even in a future where everything else had.

Two days after Hana's visit, you were grading essays in the study when the fireplace flared green. Instinctively, you reached for your wand, still not entirely comfortable with the casual magical security of your future home.A man's head appeared in the flames—mid-thirties, with an easy smile and close-cropped hair. "Riki! You home, mate?" he called.

You hesitated, unsure how to respond. Thankfully, Riki appeared from the kitchen, and you were surprised to see genuine delight spreading across his face.

"Jake!" He rushed to the fireplace, the dish towel in his hands forgotten. "Merlin, it's good to see you."

The relief in his voice was palpable—this wasn't just recognition of someone from this future timeline, but someone he genuinely knew.

"Good to see me? You saw me three days ago at the office," Jake's floating head laughed. "Listen, just checking about tomorrow night. Seera's been on my case all week about what time you two are arriving."

Riki blinked, momentarily thrown. "Tomorrow night?"

Jake's expression turned exasperated. "The department dinner? Don't tell me you forgot. You RSVPed weeks ago."

"Right. The department dinner," Riki repeated, shooting you a panicked glance.

"Unbelievable," Jake said, but his tone was affectionate rather than annoyed. "I've been reminding you about deadlines since you were nine, and you still forget. Good thing I called. Seera would hex me into next week if you two didn't show—she's been looking forward to catching up with the professor here." He nodded in your direction.

You gave a small wave, noting how Riki seemed to relax into the familiar dynamic with Jake.

"It's just..." Riki began, running a hand through his hair, "with the children and everything—"

"Don't even start," Jake cut him off. "You already arranged for Molly Weasley to watch the girls. You told me yourself last week. Said it was your anniversary gift to yourselves—an evening without sticky fingers and bedtime tantrums."

Your eyes met Riki's, a silent message passing between you. He looked both relieved to be talking to someone from his past and confused by the new information.

"Right," Riki said, recovering his composure. "Sorry, just a long week. What time is it again?"

"Seven for drinks, dinner at eight," Jake replied. "At Theodesia's in Diagon Alley. The private room upstairs." He paused, then added with a knowing smirk, "Formal dress. You know how the boss loves any excuse for everyone to get fancy."

"Great," Riki said with more genuine enthusiasm now. "Looking forward to it."

"You'd better be. Seera's been practicing her speech all week." Jake winked. "She's determined to toast the department's most disgustingly perfect couple on their anniversary milestone."

"Our... right." Riki's hand went back to his hair—a nervous tell you'd noticed over the past weeks. "Wouldn't miss it."

"Excellent! See you both tomorrow, then," Jake said. His head started to withdraw, then popped back. "Oh, and Riki? Wear the blue dress robes. Your wife once told Seera they make your ass look fantastic."

With that parting shot and a laugh, he disappeared, leaving the fireplace ordinary once more.

Riki stared at the empty fireplace for a moment, a complicated mix of emotions crossing his face.

"You know him," you said, not a question but an observation. "From before all this."

"Jake Sim," Riki nodded, sinking onto the sofa beside you. "He lived down the street from us when I was a kid. Seven years older than me, but he always let me tag along when his friends played Quidditch. Taught me how to fly, actually." His voice softened with fondness. "Kind of the big brother I never had."

"That must be nice," you said carefully. "Having someone familiar in all this strangeness."

"It is," he admitted. "Weird to see him so much older, though." He glanced at you. "Apparently he works in the Auror department with me. That explains a lot—he always said he wanted to be an Auror."

"So," you said, returning to practicalities, "department dinner tomorrow."

"Apparently." Riki looked less panicked now, almost reassured by the connection to his past. "Formal. With at least one person I actually know."

"And a toast to our anniversary." You groaned. "Perfect."

"Let me check the details," Riki said, summoning his work organizer from his bag and flipping through to tomorrow's date. "Here it is. 'Annual Auror Division Recognition Dinner. Special achievement acknowledgments.' And in smaller writing: 'Jake and Seera Sim confirmed, Table 3.'"

"Recognition dinner? Is your future self getting an award or something?"

"I have no idea." Riki looked genuinely alarmed by the possibility. "I'm still trying to figure out where to find case files in my office."

You rubbed your temples, feeling a headache forming. "So now we have to attend a formal dinner with people who know us—our future selves—well enough to comment on how your ass looks in dress robes, make anniversary toasts, and possibly present you with some kind of award."

"Don't forget we apparently arranged childcare with Molly Weasley," Riki added. "Whom neither of us has spoken to in this timeline."

"Shit." You dropped your head into your hands. "This is getting more complicated by the day."

Riki was quiet for a moment, then said thoughtfully, "Maybe we should look at this as an opportunity."

You raised your head. "An opportunity for what? Public humiliation?"

"Information gathering," he corrected, looking more confident than he had in days. "Jake knows me—the real me. And he obviously knows our future selves well too. He might be able to help us understand how we ended up... here." He gestured vaguely between you. "Plus, if this is some kind of work event, I might learn more about what my job actually entails."

He had a point. And if you were honest with yourself, you were a bit curious about your social circle in this future life—especially this childhood friend who had clearly remained important to Riki into adulthood.

"Fine," you conceded. "But we need a strategy. Signals if one of us is getting into conversational quicksand."

"I'll step on your foot if you start heading into dangerous territory," Riki suggested.

"And I'll spill my drink on you if you do the same."

"Seems fair," he agreed, then glanced at the clock. "Should we... call Molly? Confirm the childcare arrangement?"

"As much as I'm dreading it, probably," you admitted. "We also need to figure out what to wear to this thing."

Riki stood up. "I'll check the wardrobe for the allegedly ass-flattering blue robes. You handle Molly."

"Why do I get the hard job?" you protested.

"Because she already loves you, Professor," he said with a grin. "Everyone does, apparently."

You threw a quill at him, which he dodged easily as he headed upstairs.

After an awkward but ultimately successful Floo call to Molly Weasley—who indeed seemed already aware of your childcare needs and waved off your attempts to confirm details with a cheerful "Of course, dear, just bring them over before six like usual"—you headed upstairs to assess your own formal wear options.

The master bedroom closet revealed an impressive collection of teaching robes interspersed with more formal attire. Near the back, you found several elegant dress robes and gowns that your seventeen-year-old self would never have imagined owning.

You were examining a particularly stunning deep green gown when Riki emerged from the bathroom, holding up a set of formal midnight-blue dress robes with silver embroidery along the cuffs and collar.

"Found them," he announced. "Think these are the ones that make my ass look fantastic?"

"I wouldn't know," you said primly. "I've never made a habit of assessing that particular feature."

"Liar," he said with a smirk. "I've caught you looking."

"I have not—" you began, then stopped at his triumphant expression. "You're just trying to get a rise out of me!"

"And succeeding." He grinned, then nodded at the green gown in your hands. "That one. It's phenomenal."

You glanced down at the gown, surprised by his comment. "You think?"

"I know." His voice had lost its teasing edge. "You wore something similar to the Yule Ball in fourth year. I remembered thinking..." He trailed off, suddenly looking uncomfortable.

"Thinking what?" you prompted, curious despite yourself.

"Nothing important." He focused intently on his dress robes, inspecting them for non-existent lint. "Just that you looked... nice."

The admission hung in the air between you, unexpectedly weighty. You'd gone to the Yule Ball with a Ravenclaw boy whose name you barely remembered now. You hadn't even realized Riki had noticed you that night.

"Well," you said, trying to sound casual, "I suppose this will do, then."

"We should probably practice," Riki said abruptly.

"Practice what?"

"Acting like... you know. A couple." His cheeks had colored slightly. "If these people know us well, they'll expect certain behaviors. Interactions."

"Like what?" You weren't sure if the flutter in your stomach was anxiety or something else.

"I don't know, exactly. But probably more than the awkward distance we've been maintaining." He gestured between you. "People who've been married for five years don't flinch when they accidentally brush hands passing the salt."

He had a point, loath as you were to admit it. Your attempts at playing happy couple in front of the children were unconvincing enough; fooling adults who knew you well would be even harder.

"What did you have in mind?" you asked cautiously.

"Just... getting more comfortable. Small things." He stepped closer, tentatively reaching for your hand. "May I?"

Your heart stuttered as you nodded, allowing him to take your hand in his. His fingers were warm, slightly calloused—Auror training, perhaps, or years of Quidditch.

"See? Not so terrible." His voice had dropped to a lower register that sent an unexpected shiver through you.

"I suppose not," you managed.

He took another half step closer. "At an event like this, I might... put my arm around you." Slowly, telegraphing his movements, he released your hand and slid his arm around your waist.

You tensed briefly, then made yourself relax into the contact. It felt strange—Nishimura Riki touching you without it being part of some prank or competition—but not unpleasant.

"And you might lean into me a little," he suggested. "Like it's natural."

Hesitantly, you shifted your weight, allowing your body to rest slightly against his. He was solid, warm, his familiar scent—sandalwood and something uniquely him—enveloping you.

"Better," he murmured. "Almost convincing."

You looked up, intending to make some sarcastic remark, but the words died in your throat. His face was much closer than you'd realized, his dark eyes studying you with an intensity that made your pulse quicken.

"People might expect us to..." he began, then paused. "That is, married couples usually..."

"Usually what?" you whispered, though you knew perfectly well what he meant.

His gaze dropped briefly to your lips, then back to your eyes. "Dance," he finished, stepping back abruptly and breaking the moment. "We should practice dancing. For tomorrow."

"Right," you said, ignoring the confusing pang of disappointment. "Dancing. Good idea."

"I'll, um, let you finish looking through your options," he said, backing toward the door with his blue robes still clutched in one hand. "Need to check on the girls anyway."

He disappeared down the hall, leaving you alone with a racing heart and the lingering sensation of his arm around your waist.

You turned back to the closet, fingers brushing against the green fabric of the gown. A formal dinner with colleagues who knew your future selves intimately. An anniversary toast. And Riki in robes specifically noted for how well they fit him.

Tomorrow night promised to be interesting, to say the least.

part 2

TL: @ziiao @seonhoon @beariegyu @somuchdard @ddolleri @zzhengyu @annybah @elairah @dreamy-carat @geniejunn @kristynaaah @zoemeltigloos @mellowgalaxystrawberry @inlovewithningning @vveebee @m3wkledreamy @lovelycassy @highway-143 @koizekomi @tiny-shiny @simbabyikeu @cristy-101 @bloomiize @dearestdreamies @enhaverse713586 @cybe4ss @starniras @wonuziex @sol3chu @simj4k3 @jakewonist @azzy02 @addictedtohobi @cherrybeomm @urmomdotcom5678 @jaeyunsbimbo @yongbokified @changbinniescurlyhair @en-whims

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baepsays · 12 days ago

Text

I'D GIVE YOU EVERYTHING (I JUST WANT TO SEE YOU WIN) ‧₊˚𓇢𓆸 ⸻ clan head Gojo

CHAPTER TWO: Lady Gojo

𓍯𓂃 pairing⋙ post Shinjuku clan leader Gojo x non-sorcerer reader

𓍯𓂃 description⋙ navigating a married life is hard enough, it is harder when you know nothing about your husband other than his heroic scars and dizzying smile.

𓆰𓆪 cw in this chapter⋙ canon divergence, NSFW, MDNI, clan and jujutsu world politics, arranged marriage, husband Gojo, Gojo with scars, one sided conflict, one sided pining, eventually both sided pining, so much yearning, slow burn, in a sort of eccentric way ngl, suggestive stuff, they are both a little stupid about e/o, misogyny (not by Gojo), dysfunctional families, fem oriented reader, use of she/her pronouns, angst, some fluff, eventually fully, Mr. wife guy (non derogatory), condescending Gojo, this is quite an angsty chapter, lots of unhealed trauma, childhood abuse, physical abuse, mention of food, throwing up, riddled with insecurity, mention of death, blood, he is an idiot.

𓍯𓂃 a/n: art in the header by @/RUEheree on twt. honestly i do not think this is as sad as i am making it to be, lol it could be worse. and maybe it will get worse idk? anyway hope you have fun reading <3

word count: 8.1k

SERIES MASTERLIST ‖ <<PREVIOUS CHAPTER . NEXT CHAPTER>>soon!

People usually have a lot of expectations about the first day after their wedding. Things like sleeping in, making breakfast together, and having sex. Or go on a honeymoon, where you have more sex, to somewhere more scenic.

Unfortunately this was not a very usual marriage that you have stumbled upon. Being the lady of the Gojo clan was huge in and of itself, but when you are married to Gojo Satoru on top of that, the living enigma—it is hard to say if you can exist in the shadows anymore.

It was daunting, to say the least, being the center of everyone’s scrutiny and attention. Entirety of thirty six hours have gone by, with you becoming the new lady Gojo, standing beside Satoru, and trying not to get eclipsed by him. Which is a flawed expression of words when there stood the same amount of distance between you two, as the sun and the moon—you have spent some easier thirty six days in your life compared to these last thirty six hours.

Mere thirty six hours, and you have somehow driven your husband further away from you than the preexisting light years of difference between you two.

All you did was, do as you were told. And yet here you were. Somehow things just do not work out for you even when you do as instructed. Neither do they work out when you try to go against the grain.

There has always been a misfit piece of puzzle handed to you, and when you try to forcibly jam it in, everyone seems to get more mad at you. But what can you do with the hand of cards you were dealt with? You play them. But when those cards do not seem to win you anything, how late are you to back away from these games?

What are you to do when your husband calls you wrong for trying to live up to the expectations of the society, your gender, and your respective families? If only you truly knew the answers to all these questions, which are far bigger in the grand scheme of things, than your head could comprehend.

And now it is a lifetime of fumbling around, until you are yet again able to become translucent enough to be ignored for the rest of time.

You predict that your penchant for wanderlust into the pits of anxiety at this huge table, expanding along with the stretch of the entire room, would be a common occurring theme. Especially with the lack of a husband opposite you on the dining table, and an absence of appetite for the array of delicious food in front of you. Far too much for you to finish by yourself, and far too precious to disappoint the chef; who came up to you and introduced himself to you with the sweetest most welcoming smile that you have been offered by someone in a while.

“I hope you enjoy everything Gojo-san, Gojo-sama specially requested everything to be made to your liking. ” Was all he said before he disappeared back into the kitchen.

So you did your best. To finish as much as you could, at the very least, to try a bite out of everything chef Suzuki prepared, especially for you, apparently with your husband’s special request.

Even though he, himself, was not available to eat a proper meal with you under his roof. He made sure the food was catered to your preference, he most likely got the intel from your mother or someone else, because there was barely anything you could swallow down your throat without almost regurgitating it.

You have spent your life in the confines of your father’s estate trying to mold into a perfectly eligible lady for a clan head to wed off. And that required a very specific diet and taste. Which unfortunately you never really became fond of, nor did you get accustomed to. You distinctly remember how as a child when you threw a tantrum at the dining table, for not wanting to eat the same soup you were chugging down currently, you were left to starve the entire night instead.

The lashes of thin bamboo leaving red marks all over your arms, were still fresh in your memories. And when the sweet grandma who did your laundry, and her grandson, sneaked in some packaged chips for you—you remember how hard you cried for two days and fell ill, not because of the lashes you got as punishment, but because your one and only childhood friend, and his grandmother, the elderly lady who actually treated you like a child, were dismissed and driven out of your clan's estate without a single thought.

You do not want to repeat those mistakes again. One wrong move by you could have someone pay for it with their entire livelihood. Who knows if Gojo Satoru will even spare the chef his life. You have heard how much of a cruel man he is behind his suave facade, and you did not want to unmask that.

But how sure were you that the mask was not already being chipped away at? After the events of last night and this morning, you were not sure about your position in this game, what move to make next. Everything you know about the rules; the rights and wrongs, were all backfiring.

So the wisest thing to do here, is to sit pretty and do as you are told.

The first seven days after the wedding were monotonous to say the least, and somber to say the most. The tour of the estate took about almost three days, and even then you could only explore the entirety of the right wing’s ground floor and some parts in the center, leaving behind at least more than sixty percent of the property unexplored. And you were left too tired and too overwhelmed to finish the rest of it. So you simply told the ladies appointed to show you around, that,

‘I have a lifetime to familiarize myself with the entirety of it.’

Sure the nervous chuckle you gave them before turning on your feet and heading towards the opposite direction, seemed innocent and endearing enough for them to spread the word—that how happy their madame is to be here!

But the truth couldn't be further from that.

To simply put it, it was too frightening. And it felt like you were crossing some sort of imaginary boundary. In these last three days, you've been confined to the right side, and some partial space in the center of the building. And it felt like that's all you've been permitted access to, because that's how it has always been. In fact this was more than what you've been brought up with. Sure, your parental home isn't as vast and huge as your husband's, but even then it was huge in size compared to what you think most normal houses are. And you've only been able to walk through only some of the halls of the place which was meant to be your home.

For a place which you wanted to call your home, it sure never felt like it. Whenever you wandered anywhere other than the library you cherished, your own room, and the gardens, and some other sitting rooms; you were given stern punishments. Eventually the unknown nooks and crannies of your own house became not worth the stinging red lines on the palm of your hands, or the little amount of food that was served to your room.

So naturally, when Satoru carried you in through the main entrance, and walked through the halls to get to your room, you associated that selected path, and area as your newfound boundary. Even the stairs leading to the second story of the mansion was too forbidden of sorts, for you to walk up to.

So part of the reason why you are yet to tour the entire estate was this, and the other part was that you were not ready to stumble into your husband in these halls.

Even if it's your shared property, it's not your home. It's his, it's all his. And how dare you step a foot on something of his without proper permission? You should just be thankful enough to have been given so much, and it'd just be too greedy to ask for more.

So you left your husband to himself, and left him alone with some of the center, the left wing of the mansion, and the entirety of the first floor. In exchange, you gave yourself solace in the gardens surrounding the mansion, and the woods beyond it. So you couldn't dare to step over that line.

Except, maybe, the library.

Books have always been a lovely companion to you, when much of your own words didn't mean anything. So you appreciated all the books scattered across all the shelves in the rooms you did not hesitate to step into. But you wanted to allow yourself some audacity to look for the actual library. The thought of its sheer size and capacity to hold hundreds and thousands of centuries old books, made you want to step over that imaginary line you drew for yourself.

But then, you also have other things to distract you from giving into your desires.

The practice of acclimating with your duties as the now lady of the estate, was much easier than receiving the never ending messages of congratulations, or fighting the urges to cross over the unspoken boundaries that you drew out yourself. It was not as burdensome as you feared it would be, but nonetheless, the duties of the wife of the Gojo Satoru, was sure not easy.

The first few days were spent in awe of everything, even though you were not from someone’s blood lacking in any affluence; but your new residence, surname, and—the living legend of sorts—husband were scintillating to a blinding degree. And any apparent distant giggling teases of a feet sweeping honeymoon, envisioned by the ladies at your reception—was not happening, to their utter dismay.

Yet still you have come to enjoy the mundane tasks. Waking up to an empty bed for a straight week, since your first night with your husband, is compensated for by your ladies in waiting, namely, Mia and Suki . Both of their lively fuss in the morning over dressing you up feels more rejuvenating than any cup of coffee.

It makes you want to look forward to the mornings when you go to bed waiting for Satoru, only for him to slip under the sheets after he has been reassured by the maids that you are deep in slumber. So then he could walk into your room, as discreetly as possible, and get ready to slip under the same sheets as you.

To then only stare at how your eyelashes fall on your cheeks, the curve of your cupid’s bow, the bridge of your nose, and the blemishes on your skin, until he falls asleep himself—to then wake up before you, leaving his side of the bed cold and empty, and so neatly cleaned up. That it looks untouched.

Meeting Ichiji after breakfast, to go over Satoru’s schedule, before your husband’s departure to work, feels much more inviting than having breakfast at an empty table with your husband’s absence.

Discussing breakfast the previous night with chef Suzuki, lunch for yourself and the staff at the estate—as well as discussing what should be packed and sent for the lord of the estate’s lunch. Looking over the needs of each staff member, catering to their meal requirements etc. it was quite a hard job, when done genuinely, but it made you feel closer to each and every member of your new family.

Understanding the accounts of the estate expenditure, making notes of days when the staff are to be paid, fulfilling their requests, corresponding with other clan members etc. surprisingly kept you busy, as you did your best to remain accurate in your calculations. Because these were to then Bypass Satoru's finals checking.

It was a matter of concern for you before, how you will be spending your time usefully, rather than just sitting idly in a pretty attire. Before, you used to spend your days teaching destitute children, until your parents deemed your career as a good pastime that went on long enough, and eventually it was just that you were to focus on your overdue duties—marriage.

And just like that, that little freedom was also snatched away even after much groveling to your parents. So you presumed as much, it was going to be absurd to even ask your husband to continue that vocation—after all if the people of your own blood can confine you within a boundary before wedding you off on your merry way, like some livestock they raised to be butchered—then expecting anything more from a husband of a week and mere convenience, was out of the question.

The hardest possible job was calling your husband during a particular time of the day, to enquire about his preference for each day's dinner. When he would be on his break, you'd call him, but not at a time when he was actually free enough to pick up his phone immediately. But just busy enough to not be actually able to pick up the phone himself.

It took you some time to perfect the right timing. It is exactly two and a half rings, before you could hang up the phone without any guilt. It was long enough that it showed, ‘oh yes she really called.’, but not long enough for your husband to actually pick up the phone and converse with you. Of course it was silly. Why would you call him if you did not even mean to speak to him?

Because that was not the purpose of the call. It was almost another formality. And how dare you ruin all the efforts he has been putting into to ignore you, for an entire week at that? Of course it was nothing enraging enough to make you do petty things, because this was not petty! You just either really wanted to respect his wishes, or that you were too scared to start another conversation with him. And maybe the answer could be an amalgamation of all the aforementioned reasons.

It seems that you would rather go to far fetched lengths than speak to your own husband directly about what he would like for the kitchen to prepare for dinner. Instead, it was easier to call Ichiji with the excuse that Satoru did not pick up, to then have him ask and relay back what should be prepared for dinner.

It was not that it was imperative for you to ask Satoru such tedious things, you were not even sure how this whole thing started. The very first day after you two were wed, and later in the morning when he walked out on you after calling you wrong for trying to abide by your wifely duties, the kitchen asked for your opinion for dinner. And after that nauseating breakfast experience, you did not have the mind to think about food, so you skipped lunch, and so did Satoru, without you at the table he simply dismissed everyone to their own vices and returned to his hiding. You wanted to respect their wishes and give them an answer, but you also did not really have anything on your mind.

Naturally, you told them to just ask Satoru, but since apparently your husband already locked himself in his office in the very opposite end of the estate from you, and had some important people over to congratulate him, no one was brave enough to disrupt him.

But something told them it was acceptable for you to intervene.

“How- how am I supposed to ask him? I, I do not think I should.” You spoke loud enough for the staff to hear, but it was mostly for yourself to hear those words, and know your place.

“We truly think Gojo-sama would not mind if you went in, madam. Well, if you are still so hesitant, why not just call him?” Chef Suzuki suggested for the others to nod along with him. And you did not have the heart to tell them the already sour nature of your relationship with their lord. So you sat down in the nearest sitting room, if you can even call such a massive room, just that. The Gojo estate expanded through truly acres and acres of land, so there were plenty of rooms with the most comfortable couches and chairs, and plenty more telephone to communicate with people in the other areas of the estate.

One ring. Two rings. Two and a half rings. Three rings-

“Hello.”

Oh he picked up. And oh, his voice sounded different. Different from how he speaks with you. It sounded more authoritative. More rough, more distant.

And here you thought only you were subjugated to his apathy and ignorance.

“Hello?” Oh right, you answer someone when they pick up the phone, right.

“Um- hello.” All sound on his end halted. Or maybe it felt like that to him.

“I- I just, I mean- the chef wanted to ask- what would you like for dinner?” Goodness, when did you get so bad at conversing over the phone?

There was a long awkward pause after that question. You were fully expecting him to just scoff at your audacity to even think you could call him to ask such things, and hang up on you. You were expecting dinner to be cancelled altogether. And after skipping lunch, and throwing up everything you had for breakfast, you couldn't afford that.

“Please let the chef know that I'll have whatever you'd like.” His voice sounded softer than how he previously spoke, or maybe it was just that he was trying to not shout at you in front of his guests. Either way, you were grateful. That he did not prolong this call with names of illegible culinary words you could not relay back, and get deemed unsophisticated.

“Alright. Please be at the table by the time it is served.” You did not expect him to have dinner with you. But you still asked, maybe there was some pleading in your voice as well. Or maybe you just did not want to eat alone.

“Of course, sweetheart. And I'm sorry about this morning.”

Oh?

Oh!

He says sorry? The head of the Gojo clan says sorry, to his wife? In front of other people of authority? You've had some wild and confusing interactions with this man since you married him not even barely twenty four hours ago, and this was probably the wildest interaction you've had with a man in your life. A man with such power at that. And you could not, or maybe you did not know how to answer him. So you did the next worst thing to stutter an ok, you hung up on him.

Everyone around you giggled and smiled discreetly, as you scrambled away to the kitchen, offering not needed, but appreciated, help to chef Suzuki.

And when dinner time came, you started setting up that huge table by yourself, dismissing everyone to eat their own meals. Not expecting a husband to accompany you for the meal, you busied yourself with the cutlery and fine china, when a looming figure leaned on the door frame to observe you from a far.

It seems as though Gojo Satoru has developed a weird pension for staring at his wife from afar.

And he has also developed the knack for scaring her by silently coming up to her from behind without any warning. He liked that you shriek and jump when you realize you're not just by yourself anymore. He likes to think that one day you'll jump in joy rather than surprise to see him walk in without any warning.

So you both silently sat yourselves down at the very opposite ends of the dining table, both at the head of each end, and silently ate your dinner. Which was much easier to chow down than the breakfast you had earlier. Which thankfully did not upset your stomach too bad. You did not exchange words, just silently stole glances, and when your eyes would land on his eyes, which would be already trained on you more than half of the time—you’d scurry to finish your meal before him and leave him at an empty table.

Reap what you sow.

Now that is how this entire calling Satoru—or Ichiji to be more exact—thing started. Everyday since then you've never failed to call him, and hung up after that almost third ring, to not allow him the chance to respond; to then ask him through Ichiji, what he'd like for dinner. For lunch, If he was at his home office, he'd eat there. And if he was not home, his lunch would be packed and delivered.

Some sorry it was. Given as a formality, and taken not seriously.

The chef, or the staff, or the ladies appointed to you, never clarified that you did not have to do this entire thing, calling him everyday to just ask about dinner. This was not part of the duties assigned to you, and the kitchen has always cycled through a set of preparation their lord preferred, and it was already an established, much easier, routine. But no one tried to object to the new everyday routine.

Especially when Satoru himself did not mind the new routine. Sure, he'd much appreciate you asking him directly, but he'd have the short end of the bargain either way.

And everyday it was more than enough entertainment for all of them to see their madame struggle to address their master. Satoru was never truly involved in such tasks, much of the responsibilities you take care of now used to fall on poor Ichiji’s shoulders, so the change of pace was much appreciated by everyone. After all, he was too busy being the strongest weapon in jujutsu history to look after everything himself.

So somewhere everyone, including your husband, found your insistence to note down his opinions over such trivial things, too endearing to enlighten you. Though this routine of calls have become quite complicated over the past week. And so you have developed a habit of having lunch with the chef and kitchen staff.

On rare, yet day by day more frequent occasions, like today, instead of the kitchen staff, you would be sitting opposite your husband over lunch.

It was not often you sat down in a room with Satoru without any reason, in fact you can count on one hand how many times you have done that. So waiting for lunch to be served on a comically large dining table, sitting on the very opposite end from him, was new everytime. It was awkward enough to share any meal other than the scheduled dinner with him, that too he always left much earlier than you, thankfully.

Who knows what it was? Was it his engulfing cologne clogging your nose, disabling you from smelling the food served in front of you. Or simply the annoyingly perfect sight of him, so casually eating like it was the most natural thing to do—while you sat there, a nervous wreck. But regardless, you did not seem to have any appetite. Which was apparent enough for everyone, including Satoru to notice that across from the table.

“Is there anything on your plate that you don’t like? I can ask the chef to make you something else.” There was, as if, a genuine concern in his voice. For you, that was simply weird.

“Oh. No, I am fine. I just had a snack earlier.” The poorly told lie was not one to pass Gojo Satoru or his six eyes. But for you he was willing to make an excuse.

“Is that so? I think I am done as well.” It was a risky tactic he was employing, trying to bait you with guilt was low even for him.

“But you’ve barely started!?” “And you barely had any breakfast. I am more than sure if I asked anyone here what fulfilling snack you had, the answer would be underwhelming.” How would he even know what you did or not have for breakfast when he was not even there to begin with?

For a few seconds he sat there assessing if he had pissed you off again. As invigorating as it is to mildly anger you, he would not have that at the cost of your meal. To his relief without any more protest you went back to your plate to take a proper mouthful bite.

If anyone tested Satoru’s patience as you did, as well as avoided him as skillfully as you have; it would have ended up not as kindly as it has been with you. He has been trying to give you space, to let you breathe, and foster a home for yourself, in his house. Unfortunately in those attempts he has made you feel neglected and ignored instead, for someone so perceptive, he sure is clueless.

Because when he tried to give you that space, after that poorly said sorry, he thought by extension it was part of the apology. Which mistranslated to you, as some formality and ignorance. When he was merely trying to make you feel more comfortable, and holding himself back from stepping over any more land mines.

Those said land mines are simply just his unfathomably and rapidly growing feelings for you. His concerns, and worries about your wellbeing. And just thoughts of you randomly hijacking his mind. It takes Suguru one too many times a day to nudge his head, to bring him out of some sort of trance that he goes into when you come into his mind.

But after the first week, he has found himself to enjoy invading your space rather than trying to give you space. It made him ecstatic to hear your voice panic a little when from time to time he would pick up your routinely strategic calls instead of missing them. He does think, even you have to admit for yourself, that two and a half rings are far too few before hanging up on someone. Also he did not appreciate Ichiji asking him what he would like for dinner, instead of you. You made this new habit, you must be the one to ask as well.

“What would you like for the chef to prepare tonight?”

“Hmm?” he looked a little dumbfounded at your sudden question, was it not enough you were infiltrating his mind and now you are reading his thoughts as well? Upon acclimating with the situation, he sees his own and your empty plates. Guess he finished his meal while he was too busy thinking of, again, you.

“I mean, what do you want for dinner?” you ask once again, in hopes of a more clear answer. But god forbid your husband ever gave you a desirable answer to your questions.

“You.”

If someone wanted to learn how to kill someone with a single word, it should be recorded how this exchange happened. The food in your mouth choked in your throat, it had your husband sprint from his own seat to your end of the table, to pat you on the back and hand you a glass of water. After a few minutes and some water later, the food went down the pipe, but the word did not.

“Goodness, I was only joking, sweets.”

He was in fact, not joking.

“Y-you were?” He nodded a very convincing yes, trying not to scare off his already spooked wife.

“It was a very poor attempt at a joke. But I appreciate the effort.” You ended your sentence with a smile that subconsciously made its way to your lips. He does not remember when was the last time you smiled at him, or, for him.

And he chuckled at your honesty. He found it so refreshing and interesting. It is not that no one has ever told him how bad his jokes were, or worse when people laugh at his jokes merely outbid fear. He knows his humor was not to everyone's taste. But he liked that you did not just put him down, maybe out of your still very scared view of him, or maybe out of sympathy. But he appreciated the change of pace where his friends would just shit on him for such jokes, or when people would laugh too loud and too obviously out of fear.

But then again, he was just trying to mask truth with humor.

Which has been a staple for him. The truth is as plain as he said it, he wants you. He wants you carnally maybe, he wants to eat you up. He wants you to chew him up like a gum and spit him out at your convenience.

But more than that, Satoru thinks he also wants you beyond bodily, physical needs. He does not think he even thought about touching you since your first meeting, until he actually touched your skin that night. He saw you in that room, sitting behind that cedar wood table, looking smaller than everyone in that room, despite your status. And he thought—’Great. A meek little mouse instead of a bride.’

But when you actually answered his teasing, and honestly, patronizing question instead of timidly bowing your head in respect, like he expected you to—he saw a dwindling spark in your eyes in that moment, instead of fear and vast pit of emptiness, that he first saw in them when he opened those doors.

And he knew even if there was someone more capable to stand beside him, maybe he would rather stand with you.

He cannot still exactly pinpoint what it is that he craved from you, or if it's just that he simply craves you, but he wants more. He wants more of you, more from you. He wants you just simply to exist around him. Your skin sent waves of heat through his skin when he touched it, it was burning hot compared to his own cold body, you felt so warm and so alive in that moment, and he simply wants more.

He does not think he loves you. Yet. At the very least. He does not think he fell in love with you just as he laid his eyes on you that day, maybe he pities you that much. Maybe it is just like adopting a frail kitten stuck in a storm and giving her a shelter to thrive in. He has thought about that. But he came to the conclusion that he is done playing some hero.

The world has had enough of Gojo Satoru—the strongest, the saviour, and the weapon.

He simply wants to exist, as he wants to exist for someone. He does not want to sacrifice anymore. For once he wants to be selfish. He wants to selfishly live on, and live with someone. And he has chosen that someone to be you.

And if you were just some sympathy case, he doesn't think he would've felt such feelings for you. He truly needs you, more than he wants you. He needs you to want him, he needs you to look at him with the same eyes as you did when you told him off for being late, or when you looked him up through those blurry pupils while being pinned under him.

He truly, earnestly, needs to have you. Most romantically, spiritually, and disrespectfully.

He would rather have you on this table than the spread of a very well prepared meal. But those aren't thoughts that can be easily dumped on his wife, who has schemed up tactful ways to avoid even hearing his voice through the phone.

“Just ask them to prepare what you'd like.” He smiled reassuringly before picking up your plate, as well as his, so quickly, even beating the staff and you to it—and headed straight to the kitchen sink.

To maybe drown himself in the sink after putting away the dirty plates.

It is truly magnificent, how wonderful the garden looks at night.

How the koi pond dims down at night, and the stones and the sand become cold with the dropping temperature. The pine trees rustled and threw their needles all over the ground, as if to deter the sharp wind, to protect their garden from its sharp claws. And it seems like an entire play is happening right outside of your windows.

But you have been more interested in what goes on behind that battle ground. In the little grove of trees, and wild flowers, where the wind seems more forgiving, and the trees feel more comforting.

And it feels like an entirely new world beyond the bridge over the stream, that connects to the lake nestled in the trees. And you've come to find a safety net in that new world of yours.

Particularly sitting down on one of those benches under the cherry blossom trees by the said lake, the one near the bridge seems too out of your reach, so you always opt for the one across it—the only reason why is because your husband seems to like that bench for himself.

Though it takes a bit of a walk from your room on the right side, or even the left wing of the mansion, to go over the only bridge that crosses the stream, which lies as a boundary between the tidy gardens and the unbridled woods—it was easily accessible from the center.

After the first time you did dare to cross that bridge, you did not think of crossing it again. Maybe because you were too busy waiting for your husband to return to bed, or afraid of interrupting Satoru. Either way, you tried your best to not cross that bridge.

The second time you went there, was when you saw Satoru crossing that bridge around twelve AM, when you were just sprawled on the couch in that particular drawing room that looked over the bridge. Not ready to retire to that huge bed by yourself, you followed him there.

And all he did was sit on the bench under the cherry blossom tree, which stood by the lake around twenty five steps away from the bridge.

You did not dare to disturb him, he looked so calm, and at peace. For once, from what you could make out from behind the huge and unkempt hydrangea bushes, his eyes did not look pained.

It is that people often saw Gojo Satoru only with his blindfold on, but you mostly ever saw him without it. So you honestly felt like he was punishing you when he started wearing them around you more often since the first time you two had dinner together. You hadn't seen him for the entirety of that day, the entire morning you spent hunched over the toilet, and the evening you spent by replaying the conversation you had with him over the phone.

‘I’m sorry.’

Is what he said. And you thought, maybe it was just a fluke, what happened that morning. Things will get better. Then to only be greeted with a husband across that long table, with a blindfold covering half of his face. And it felt more punishing than being told that you were wrong.

But from what you made out of what you have seen of his eyes, and those half empty smiles and smirks he threw your way—he was pained. It hurt him, to simply see you, just to be around you. The only place where he roamed around so freely without those obstructions in front of his eyes, for his own good, was his home—and now you've taken that away from him as well.

So then you started to ignore him. After waiting for him in that huge bed, that huge table, those huge rooms—you gave up easily. As easily as he threw a half assed apology for you to latch onto some false hope. You avoided walking into him. You avoided trying to stay up for him, or starving yourself, you avoided his voice, and but you still tried to get a peek of his hidden eyes.

Until you couldn't help but follow him into these woods. And so you sat there looking at him, creeping in the shadows, while the lake’s water reflected beams of light on his face, and made his blue eyes shine a different shade of blue than what it usually reflects. And the scars that dug themselves on his skin, looked deeper than what they usually did. It looked like he was freshly wounded, and the most vulnerable, he could allow himself to be.

You waited there until he got up from his seat and disappeared into the thin air.

And that's how your own routine started. You waited until twelve AM to see if Satoru went into the woods, and waited for about an hour and a half more to check if the lights in your room were turned on from under the door. To then sneak into the woods. Some days he'd be gone, other days he'd still be under that cherry blossom tree.

And if he was not there, you'd make your own way to take a seat under the cherry blossom tree across the lake, other times you'd wait for him to disappear from behind those hydrangea bushes.

Today was one of those days.

You waited, and waited, until it seemed like he had teleported back to your bedroom, to make your way to the bench on the other side. And when you made it there, you found it out to be occupied by your husband himself. So you did what you could do, in a state of panic, you tried your best to silently turn around and walk away without rumbling the bushes or rustling the grass under your feet. To make your escape.

“You're leaving already?” His voice came out smooth and steady as ever. And you stopped in your tracks with your back to his back.

“Come here, sit down.” He simply said, without as much as even turning around from where he sat.

And you could not help but obey. If it was possible, you'd run, run so fast and quick that even his techniques would not be able to track you down. But that is just a delusional imagination.

“I won't repeat.” He said in a heavier tone, but it didn't sound commanding, it was playful if anything. Light and breezy, but sharp. Sharp enough that if you tried to avoid it, it'd cut right through. So despite yourself, you walked over to the bench you've come to love so dearly over the course of the last few weeks, and sat down on the very edge of it. As far away from him as you possibly could sit.

But Satoru couldn't allow that.

It took him a second to lift his left hand off his lap, to lean slightly to your side and drag you towards him by your waist. The ring you put on him the day you married you, shined in the darkness with his swift movements.

And just like that, you were sitting side by side with your husband. Your bare arm touched the soft fabric of the sleeves on his t-shirt, and the rigid muscles under them pushed into your own arm. His left arm loosened around your back, but his hand remained steady and static on your waist. And your lungs stopped working.

“Need help with breathing also?” It was only his taunting tone that gave your lungs the air needed to not pass out then and there.

You did not answer him. You did not wish to entertain him. You've entertained him enough by thinking you could get away with trying to sneak past his eyes, when he had his sight on you from the beginning, all six of them. And yet again you felt like a defeated fool against him.

“You- come here often?” The suppressed giggle in his throat almost spilled over with each word uttered.

“Don’t ask questions that you already know the answers to.” You looked away from him, to face the lake, and the ripples in the water. It's as if even the lake was coming down with a second hand embarrassment, looking at how chaotically it's water started moving.

“Alrightttt, alright. I'll stop.” With a last few giggles, he looked away from your face, and focused his covered eyes on the same cherry blossom tree you were eyeing. The one he usually sits under, looked completely different from the other side.

“I wish they'd bloom soon.” He spoke out loud, it sounded like a passing thought that spilled out unintentionally.

“Do you like cherry blossoms?” You turned your face towards him, his face however, did not turn.

“No. Not really.” “Really?”

“Why? Couldn't you tell that by just looking at me?” he smiled a big toothy grin. That stretched across his face, but even with the blindfold on, you could tell it didn't reach his eyes.

“No. I couldn't. Especially with that thing covering half of your face.” You sure were feeling brave today. Maybe it was the darkness of the night, or the secrecy in the woods, or just the embarrassment of how you ended up here. But words just seemed to flow out of your mouth instead of getting stuck in your throat.

He finally looked towards you, and cranked his neck to look down at your eyes, looking up at him. And he could tell that you knew. That you knew even with his blindfold between your eyes and his, whether he was lying or not. So why bother with it at all right?

He brought his right hand up to his face, to hook his index and middle finger under his blindfold, and dragged it down on his neck.“I don't think I enjoy how quickly they wither away. But I like how they look when they fall. Unihibited and free.”

He looked back over towards the lake. With his eyes free to shine under the moonlight. And there it was, the pain.

“Is that why you have been avoiding me?” you blurted out with furrowed eyebrows and determined eyes.

“I've been- what? Because of the cherry blossoms?” His head whipped towards you as fast as it could without snapping his neck, his left hand tightened around you, and he looked confused.

“No. Because you look like you are in pain whenever you're around me.” Your throat was starting to tighten up.

Suddenly you felt like crying. In fact, your eyes started to well up after every passing moment from when you said your thoughts out loud. This is weird. You don't cry. You never cry. It's been years since you cried. Why are you crying? Is he going to reprimand you for that?

Well, you can't wait here on this bench to find that out. So you haphazardly pulled yourself out of his arms, and made your way back to the mansion.

You couldn't even make it past the fifth step, when Satoru dragged you back towards him. He was still sitting on that bench, except now you stood there between him and the cherry blossom tree, in between his legs. Once again, stuck. His chin rested itself on your stomach, as it fluttered away, his eyes looked so soft and his face looked like it wanted to be caressed. Both of his hands ended up on either side of your hips, as if his legs weren't enough to keep you captured. Even when your protests didn't match his strength.

He patiently waited like that until you stopped protesting, and just looked down at his face, still resting on your stomach, looking up at you, and you gave in trying to shove him off of you by his shoulders. Instead you just let them rest there.

“Would you like to elaborate? Pleaseee?” If you told anyone that Gojo Satoru was whining to you right now, they'd call you insane. And maybe that's what's happening to you.

“No.” You are becoming insane.

“Please.” Other than his many ancient and sought after techniques, his most lethal weapon was his pout. So how could you resist those quivering billowy lips?

“I- You just-”, you stuttered trying to answer him, thinking whether or not you could get away with some excuse or straight up lies. But of course you cannot. He truly is too dangerous.

“You just, always- you look as if you're in so much pain when you're around me.” You sighed, finally voicing it out loud, “Isn’t that why you started wearing these around the house, around me?” You passingly pulled on the blindfold hanging on his neck, to make a point.

Yet again, he was left speechless. It's as if you deploy all his devices useless. You render him to nothing.

How was he supposed to answer you?

That yes, yes you pain him. Your presence simply has become so enthralling that it physically hurts him to hold himself back. To not cross lines he might not be able to come back from. That your claws are creeping deeper in his chest, and he is doing nothing to stop that bleeding.

He has bled to death on a battlefield twice, with no regrets on his mind. But if you were the one to sever him to death—he would gladly take it. And he'd regret that why couldn't he die at your hands an infinite amount of times more. This time around he'd be truly unhappy to leave behind the mortal realm. Because it’d mean leaving you behind with it.

He could not do that. He cannot survive, he simply cannot do anything against you.

And that pains him. Aches him really, to be this close and yet so far away from you.

He hates to make you feel avoided, and neglected, but what is he to do when he doesn't have any control over his thoughts and actions when he's around you?

When your scent simply travels with the wind when you sneak into the woods trying to not alert him, his chest starts tightening up. Your clogged up loose hair in the shower runs a shiver down his spine. When you chew the food on your plate across from him, he wants to leap over the table and pull you into a kiss.

He wants to be the one to show you around the entire estate, and pull you into random little corners and halls, to kiss you helplessly, hidden away from some passing eyes. He wants to be the one to show you the library because he heard from a helper at parent's house that is where you spent most of your days, he wants to buy you all the books you have ever wanted and will ever want.

He'd like to hold you and lull you to sleep, and dig his face in your chest, and just fall asleep listening to your heart beat—to feel your blood flow under his touch, and your skin warm up against him.

And it truly hurts him. It hurts to know you've never known a home.

So he wants to give you that. He wants to hand you all the control over him, and have you pull all the strings from here onwards. He wants you to know that everything to his name is yours, even his name is yours, his mere existence is all yours. Because he wants to give it all up to you.

So it hurts him. It hurts to know that you don't know that.

“I'll take your silence as confirmation then.” His grasp on you easily broke off, maybe he was in a trance again, or maybe it was just the power you already held over him. But to you he was simply found guilty of the accusations that you made. And with no sense of justice, you walked away from him.

And he did not protest.

Because maybe it's too fast. It's too quick. To feel what he is feeling. How was he going to ever even verbalize these things to you? And not sound crazy? Let alone give you a satisfying explanation.

It has been barely a month since he has married you, barely two months since he's known you. Wouldn't it be too sudden to go from essentially neglecting you, to professing his vow of devotion to you?

But it's just that suddenly, Gojo Satoru realized then and there, how deep he is. That there were no excuses left to make. That perhaps it was too sudden, too quick, just as quick as cherry blossoms blooming and withering away in spring—maybe he is falling for you.

No. Scratch that. It's idiotic to even question this at this point. He has uninhibitedly and freely, fallen for you.

NEXT CHAPTER>>soon!

TO FIND MORE OF MY WORKS CLICK HERE.

divider by @/omi-resources. header is from, and watashitachi wa douka shiteiru drama. art in the header by @/RUEheree on twt.

thank you to indie @indiewritesxoxo beloved for proof reading pre edit <3 wouldn't be out today otherwise

i do not think it was that bad, was it? also i am just calling him husband and blah blah by his titles a lot. which if you find annoying womp womp because i am using that as part of the narration, like she will slowly start to see him more than that. and again it is slow burn, so sit with it. i am making bro so emotionally constipated muahahahaha he is gonna be rambling about sighhhh she is so sighhhhh and then be like hmm not like i love her or anything yk. he is just like me frfr

tag list (1): @cheralith @slayzzz @madamechrissy @gojosperms @gojoao @cuntphoric @cuntyji @cuntphoric @aishi-toru @fushitoru @rriwyu @arcanarix @lover-lyn @buckysm @wwwritererm @indiewritesxoxo @shouiow @user25384959574 @dxmnsaera @emyyy007 @ineedbetterhobbies0809 @littlemisswitch67 @dxmnsaera @kazupop @tabalugax @mariaelizabeth21-blog1 @thetiredcollegestudent @tokyolhtl @emochosoluvr @moncher-ire @hyunjinspdf @younjunie @em0cleo @novaisbebita @hisarmsaremycocoon @wise-fangirl @sheep-infog @arrozyfrijoles23 @ppejmurde @miizuzu @ricecake-mochi @tushkiiiiiii @ovela @69-gojos-wife-69 @lxxnour @mereniss @theorphicangel @gojosconsort @soupicidesquad +

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sturniowhore · 7 months ago

Text

Kiss Cam!

Warnings: Fluff, Secret/hidden relationship, Chris x Fem!reader, swearing

Tags: @d3axplr @miss-ykwho @mattsturnziolio @joemamaaa42069

A/n: this shit is so ass ngl LMAO sorry if some of the wording doesn't make sense i'm exhausted and I refuse to download grammerly! Also I hope I didn't screw up the hockey scenes I know NOTHING about the sport

Dividers: @bernardsbendystraws

In which.. Y/n and Chris decide to keep their relationship out of the public eye. What happens when they decide to go to a hockey game and they appear on the kiss cam on live television..?

You and Chris shuffle through the crowds of excited hockey fans trying to find your seats. Chris leads with one of his hands behind him, allowing for you to take hold of it so you don't get lost amidst the swarm of people.

Eventually, you two make it to your designated seats. You sit down waiting for the game to start, Chris's arm drapes over your shoulder "you excited?" he turns to you with a toothy grin. To be honest you could care less about the game, you didn't even know which teams were playing tonight. You still wanted to come with Chris though, knowing it'd make him happy. "Yeah! Can't wait! Also.. who are we rooting for again?" Chris laughs, leaning in and placing a kiss on your temple.

As he starts explaining, the screens in the middle of the arena started counting down and the lights dim. The crowd starts cheering, awaiting the players to come into view. Chris stops speaking immediately, his eyes widened and glued onto the ice. You smile at his excited expression and turn your head to one of the screens.

The lights of the arena came back up as the sports commentator announced the first team. "WELCOME TO THE ICE THE BOSTON BRUINNSSSSSS" The crowd went wild! People were jumping, screaming, waving their arms around in support. "WOOOOOO" Chris cheered clapping his hands together. The opposing team was also announced, it was the other half of the arena's turn to cheer.

The game soon started, the opposing team taking the lead. The people in the stands were on the edge of their seats, watching the puck glide around the ice waiting for it to go into one of the goals. One of the players from the opposing team scored a goal. Half the crowd started cheering, the other half kept quiet out of respect but still had sour looks on their faces.

Your boyfriend sucked his teeth, using one hand to rub his chin in frustration. "c'mon c'mon" Chris muttered under his breath as the game continued. He was watching the game with intensity, his eyes never leaving the ice.

Soon enough the Bruins made a goal, the score was now 1-1. Much to everyone's disliking the game paused for an intermission. People got up to use the bathroom, grab something to eat, stretch their legs, trying to use the short break to the best of their ability not wanting to miss anything.

You yawned, head leaning against your boyfriend's shoulder. "what? ya bored already?" He smirked down at you. "no no just uhm..." Chris laughed at you failing to find an excuse, holding you close to him. The screens in the middle of the arena changed, it went from the arena's name to a white page with the words KISS CAM in pink letters and hearts around it.

"here we go with that corny shit" Chris rolled his eyes. "stop, I think it's cute" you pouted at him and turned back to the screen. The first pair that was shown were an elderly couple, the woman was first to notice and pointed it out to her husband. when he saw the screen he gently cupped her face and gave her a soft kiss. "aww that's so sweet" Your eyes widened at the sight, a slight pout forming on your lips. Chris tried to suppress his smile but failed. He leaned down, his breath tickling your ear "that's gonna be us in 40 years." You blushed at his words, your eyes peering into his "yeah? you think so?" "oh I know so 100%" Chris said with confidence. You couldn't help but smile at his words, you loved that he was thinking of a future with you.

The next pair on the kiss cam brought you out of your trance. It was a father and his daughter, the girl looked no older than 3. The father pointed to the screen to show his little girl they were on tv, the girl grinned ear to ear clapping her little chubby hands together. The father kissed his baby's cheeks and she let out a happy giggle. The whole stadium erupted into awes, smiling at the wholesome interaction in front of them.

Chris's arm's were drawing patterns on your shoulder mindlessly, he was distracted by the bustling crowds of people walking up and down the stairs to notice that you were trying to get his attention. "Chris..." no response "Chris" you repeat, again no response. "Chris." you say a little louder this time, this catches his attention "hm?" he questions with a lazy look. You point at the screen in front of you. He looks over expecting to see another couple you found cute, what he saw wasn't what he expected at all.

On the screen, he saw himself and you displayed in front of everyone that was inside TD garden, not to mention the thousands of people watching the game live on television and he knew some of those people were probably his fans. His eyes widened at the sight, on different circumstances he would've kissed you on the spot not caring about a thing. But this was different.

You've gotten enough hate just for hanging out with the triplets and being in their videos, imagine how much hate you'd get for kissing one of them? Let alone dating. You and Chris kept your relationship hidden from the public for years knowing that you would get crucified if some of the fans found out.

You were in a state of panic not knowing what to do. You looked at your boyfriend for answers, he was just as clueless. You looked back at the screen hoping it would've moved onto another couple, it didn't. The camera was still on the two of you. "I swear whoever's operating this is praying on our downfall" You nervously chuckle Chris is silent, still in a state of shock. "just kiss already!" some stranger said from afar.

Chris's thoughts were running wild in his mind, He didn't want his fans to go ballistic on you but the thought of the two of you kissing in front of thousands of people was making him go crazy, he wanted to show the world that you were his and his only.

"Fuck it." Chris grabbed your face with both hands pulling you into a forceful kiss. You were stunned. Chris pulled away, grinning ear to ear at your surprised expression. The kiss cam moved on to another couple soon after, not paying attention to the two of you anymore. "I can't believe you just did that" you say astonished. Chris still grinning, faced towards the ice and shrugged "I mean we were on the kiss cam right? we had to" "but your f-" "don't worry about it ma I'll deal with it" Chris grabbed your hand interlocking it with his, bringing it up to his lips and kissing the back of your palm. You had a shy smile plastered on your face "I uh.. thought you said kiss cams were corny" "they are" "then why'd you kiss me?" you questioned. You knew the answer, he knew you knew the answer. "Oh y'know, we couldn't let the people be disappointed" trying to act as nonchalant as possible, failing terribly. "of course of course" you played along.

The intermission ended and the game continued. Chris had a hard time focusing on the game, his mind wandering to the events that had just unfolded a few minutes ago. He wanted to for so long to show everyone that the two of you were together and he finally did. He didn't care what the haters had to say, all that mattered to him was that you were his and that he was yours.

hours later....

You and Chris went inside the house. Both of you were exhausted, you planned to take a nice warm shower and to finally get some sleep. But someone had other plans..

"what the fuck were you guys THINKING?" Nick screamed at the two of you. Matt watches from the couch with amusement, holding Trevor in his lap. "what are you-" you were about to question him but the man cut you off by shoving his phone in your face. On it was a clip of you and Chris kissing on the kiss cam. "oh.." Soft chuckles came out of Matt's mouth "you both are fucked everyone is going insane." He was right, that video has a million likes and hundreds of thousands of comments.

"Are you guys mentally okay!? Did you not use your brains for a second!? Why on EARTH did you do that!?" Chris rolled his eyes at his brother's antics. "Nick what the fuck were we supposed to do? The stupid cameraman wouldn't move on until we kissed each other" "You could've said no!" "Its fine Nick, whatever's happened happened. You don't gotta worry about it anymore kay?" Chris shrugged. "fine fine but you're gonna have to deal with this cause i most certainly am not. Good night." Nick put both his arms up in surrender and walked to his room.

Matt got up from his spot from the couch. He walked up to you both, he gave Chris a supportive pat on the shoulder and he shot you a reassuring smile before walking up to his room, Trevor following close behind.

You plopped down on the couch, your face was buried in your hands. "we shouldn't have done that" you groaned, your voice filled with regret. Chris sat down next to you "hey.. it's gonna be fine, I promise if anyone tries some shit I'll block them and they will no longer have access to any Sturniolo Triplet content" His hands went to his cheeks as he gave a faux surprised look. You laugh "you can't block them all" "yeah but if I block 3 of them I'm sure the rest will get the message" He grins. You shake your head in disbelief, a playful smile resting on your face. "alright now no more sadness we just came back from an awesome bruins game and we need to keep the good vibes goin'. I'll run you a bath yeah?" With that Chris ran up the stairs to the bathroom. You couldn't help but chuckle, somehow that man always knew how to make you laugh even in the most dire situations.

You picked up your phone opening Tiktok, you weren't surprised when the first video that popped up was the kiss cam clip. You knew you shouldn't, you knew what you were about to do was dumb, but you couldn't help it the curiosity of peoples opinions took over. You opened the comment section bracing yourself for the hate and insults

comments:

user3453985: I KNEW IT

user7654876: I'm not even surprised they were so bad at hiding it I LOVE THIS THO

user2832733: AWWW CUTIES 🩷🩷🩷

user003328: they're perfect together omg!

User33314: really? her? he could do sm better tbh. 🤷‍♀️

user22383: @user33314 like who? you? girl please sit down.

As you were reading the comments your smile got bigger and bigger. Sure there was some hate, but the amount of positive comments were drowning them out almost completely. Everything might be okay after all.

#chris sturniolo #chris sturniolo x reader #christopher sturniolo #matt sturniolo #nick sturniolo #sturniolo imagine #sturniolo smut #sturniolo triplets #sturniolo x reader #chris sturniolo smut #chris sturniolo imagine #chris sturniolo x you #sturniolo #the sturniolo triplets #matthew sturniolo #nicolas sturniolo #sturniolo fanfic #chris sturniolo fluff #sturniolo fluff

1K notes · View notes

swordgrace · 2 months ago

Text

❝ 𝐥𝐨𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐝 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐚𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐮𝐧-𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐦𝐞𝐝 𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐡. ❞

┊ 𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬: as handmaiden to rhaenyra targaryen, you have stood ever-faithfully by her side, through the brewing storm. loneliness seems to tether the two of you together.

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: rhaenyra targaryen x fem!reader.

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 10.0K (not sorry)

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: smut (mdni), power imbalance (not in a bad way), age gap (legal), infidelity, mentions of rhaenicent and daemyra, rhaenyra is bisexual, internalized homophobia, lots of making out, groping, biting, dry humping, risk of getting caught, fingering (fem!rec), breast play, cunnilingus, oral sex (fem!rec), rhaenyra is a soft pleasure dom, aftercare + sweet ending.

𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫’𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞: first wlw fic & first time writing for rhaenyra, please be gentle! ngl I loved writing this so unbelievably much, I would love some requests for her! I hope you all enjoy, I’m really proud of this one and it’s def more meaningful to me as a queer woman! ❤️

TEMPESTUOUS TIDES RAGED WITHIN A CERULEAN OCEAN, WAVES KISSING THE CLIFF SIDES OF DRAGONSTONE, AN ANCIENT CITADEL HELD ALOFT BY ARCHAIC STONE. SALTWATER MIST HUNG HEAVY UPON THE BREEZE, A MIDDAY SUN GLISTENING OVERHEAD, BLANKETING THE SEASON IN GLITTERING RAYS OF VIBRANCY.

In the wake of usurpation, the realm was torn asunder, thrust into the wake of a war that had already consumed lives — lives that needn’t be lost. Upon the knife’s edge of chaos, Rhaenyra had felt more alone than ever before.

Loyalties were fickle; some bought, others severed. As days progressed, she had felt more frayed than ever, stretched too thin. Bloodthirst had already consumed the life of her beloved Lucerys and Prince Jaehaerys II, a needless slaughter.

The day had progressed at a sluggish pace, between council meetings and correspondence with Jacaerys. Poised within an ornate chair, she remained sequestered within her chambers, lingering beside the window, left ajar.

Betwixt her fingers, she cradled the crown of Jaehaerys the Conciliator, once the emblem of a peaceful Targaryen regime — formerly placed upon the brow of her late father.

Recent occurrences had forced her to face an ugly preponderance; did the crown fit upon her own brow as it had for so many others before her?

Had her father never been so brazen as to break hundreds of years of tradition, Lucerys might still live, and the realm at-peace. Rhaenyra lived with the knowledge that a greater war lingered beyond, hidden within the shadows — the Conqueror’s dream.

With Daemon gone to play King-Consort in the Riverlands and Jacaerys determined to gain the allegiance of the Freys, it was as if she were standing alone upon an island. Rhaenys could only console her so much before such wise words lost their luster.

Even Elinda herself was away; and that left you, bound to the Queen’s side.

Raised within a lesser house who had sworn their allegiance to Viserys’s true heir, your servitude to Queen Rhaenyra had been one of the greatest honors of your lifetime.

With her half-brother now sitting the Iron Throne, conflict chafed at the realm, cruel tendrils seeking to spread across the land; an embittered war of kin against kin. Such strife was felt by all within Dragonstone, including yourself.

Tension seemed to linger within the Queen, a terse countenance interlaced with an underlying melancholy. Grief still clung to her; the passing of Lucerys, the passing of her stillborn daughter. With Daemon away and their relationship fragmented, you often felt concerned for her wellbeing.

It was expected of her, to remain headstrong — to shoulder the weight of responsibility, the curse of a crown so heavy that it nearly obliterated her. However, you were privy to her strength, a resilient determination to seize her birthright, come what may.

Summoned to her chambers, your knuckles tapped against ancient wood, iron-wrought doors groaning in protest. The creaking reverberated throughout the hall of stone, slivers of sunlight dancing across the floors.

“My Queen,” A soft cough bubbled from your throat, effectively fracturing her ruminations. Lilac hues drifted from the tarnished crown to you, sharp features bathed in the midday glow. “You summoned me.”

Rhaenyra had become something of a friend to you, if that term were appropriate for a monarch. In her own perspective, you were a shrewd maiden; comely and polite, loyal without fault. Conversation had felt effortless with her, and oftentimes, she confided in you without question.

The strife she faced was immense, and to you, she seemed exceptionally lonely, a notion that you were empathetic to. Despite the differences in histories and the lives you led, you were not bereft of your morality.

Rising from her seat, the Queen regarded you with an indiscernible expression, some amalgamation of warmth intermingled with something forlornly. A cordial smile crossed her features, fading as soon as it had appeared.

“Yes,” Placing the crown upon the window’s ledge, she smoothed her palms over her gown, a rich hue of burgundy, trimmed in draconic patterns of silver. “I wish for you to accompany me to the archives. I’ve much reading to do.”

Targaryen histories were not unfamiliar to her, and yet, it proved a worthy distraction in the face of such uncertainty. Rhaenyra hoped that it would better serve her reign, to know of the Conqueror’s Dream, of the coming war in the North.

“Of course, your Grace.” Devotion was a mere understatement when it came to that of your Queen; you admired her all the same. She carried herself with a dignified strength that you yearned for, a poise becoming of a ruler.

Stepping aside, you made a berth for Rhaenyra, allowing her to pass before you flocked to her flank. The Queensguard prepared to accompany you, causing the Queen to halt in her tracks.

“We needn’t be accompanied.” Rhaenyra’s sharp announcement was enough to rattle both men, Ser Darklyn and Ser Marbrand taking careful steps back, posted outside of her chambers. With a soft hum, the Queen continued, her gait measured as it came to slow.

Oftentimes, you were behind her, commonplace for a lady of your station. Much to your bewilderment, she had let her pace come to a leisurely crawl, keeping in-stride with you. “Your Grace, do not trouble yourself with …”

“Nonsense,” A brief sigh unraveled from her lips, hands poised before her, occasionally gathering her skirts to descend a flight of stairs. “I cannot speak with you if I am far ahead.” It was a welcome change-of-pace for you, admittedly.

Neglecting to protest her request, you nodded, allowing yourself to dutifully walk by her side. For a moment, you remained silent, afraid to speak your mind. “As you wish, your Grace. If I may inquire, what is the reason for our visit to the library?”

“You have already inquired,” A teasing lilt clung to her tone, a cadence that oozed with grace. She was ethereal, whimsical to behold, in truth. You had never glimpsed upon a woman as beautiful as she, lilac hues possessing a faint shimmer. “It is a distraction, reading; I can only stomach so much of my chamber walls.”

A peculiar heat crawled along the nape of your neck, hands folding themselves together as you made for the library. “I am sure that the constant scenery can become mundane for you, my Queen. I should hope that this venture offers you solace.”

Solace — Rhaenyra had not felt such a sensation in many years, merely a facade. For much of her life, it had been hallmarked by tragedy and betrayal, and yet, she knew what privilege she had, even still.

Lucerys’s passing had left a void within her, chipped away by Viserys, by Visenya, who never drew her first breath. Grief followed her like a haunting spectre, nipping at her heels, allowing its gnarled tendrils to wrap around her heart.

Attempting to brave the tumultuous storm of melancholy tested her at every turn, and each day, the pain only seemed to ebb and flow. This war had already taken much from her — Rhaenyra wondered how much more it would cost her.

A sheen of sadness shimmered within her gaze, drawn toward the distance, as if she were remembering. You feared that you had spoken out-of-turn, lips parting as you cleared your throat. “Forgive me, your Grace — I did not mean to offend.”

Rhaenyra seemed dismissive of your apology, as the two of you entered through arching doors, marked by flickering braziers. Dragonstone’s library was rather impressive, scaling walls filled with ancient tomes and scrolls, pieces of the past all kept within one sanctuary.

“You did not offend, sweet girl.” The warmth of her affectionate moniker made your stomach tremble with butterflies, a sensation you seldom felt.

It was not your responsibility to bear the brunt of her pain, and Rhaenyra knew this. Your words were of good intent, tidings of peace, if that were even attainable. She recalled what it was like when she was your age — times were simpler, then.

Following her into the labyrinth of parchment, it seemed that she had already made a temporary residence here. A large, ornate desk had already been organized with historical volumes and various papers, one that she had made consistent use of.

As she lowered herself into one of the numerous chairs, you curiously ogled the many shelves, wishing that you had enough time to read it all. Possessing a passion for literature, you wondered what hidden gems rest beneath the mountainous weight of parchment.

The hall remained quiet, save for the distant song of the tides, the air carrying the distinct scent of dust-laden paper. Braziers crackled with smoldering embers, daylight pooling in through stained-glass window panes.

Rhaenyra’s gaze flickered to you, silently wandering the numerous shelves that scaled to the ceilings. “You are welcome to read whatever you wish,” Bewilderment etched itself into your features. “Most of these texts have seen better days.”

It felt like a sin, laying your hand upon anything in this library — it was all above you, a mausoleum of Targaryen histories and beyond. “That is a thoughtful offer, my Queen, but I do not believe that it is appropriate for someone of my station …”

A soft huff tore past her parted lips, a glint of amusement heavy within lilac hues. With a dismissive sound, she shook her head. “I believe that it is appropriate. They shall find no use, otherwise.” A lighthearted lilt permeated her tone, and you promptly curtsied.

Gratitude seeped from every pore, lips curling into a gentle smile. “You have my thanks, your Grace.” Curiosity got the better of you, gaze lingering over many texts, until one in particular seized your attention.

It was a lightweight volume, riddled with dust, careworn from the passage of time. Its tattered pages contained plenty of material regarding the history of dragons, something that perplexed you to no end.

Prying it from the shelf, you moved to sit, dusting your fingertips across the book’s dilapidated cover. The color had faded, showing signs of age, but you persisted. Much of the script was written in High Valyrian, a language that you knew pieces of, a puzzle indiscernible to you.

Rooted behind the sturdy expanse of an ornate table, Rhaenyra observed you, even still. Violet hues brazenly rake across your hands; delicate yet hardened, like that of some precious jewel.

Beauty clung to your youthful features like the first breath of spring, vibrant and warm. It was your heart that oozed with a brightness, the same was your countenance. She had grown fond of you, perhaps too fond, suppressing lingering feelings.

The mass of parchment beneath her palm suddenly loses all of its meaning. It is the stare of a dragon, one that unknowingly covets something that does not belong to her. Trapped within the cage of her own thoughts, the Queen does not register the inquiry that floated from your lips.

A tendril of shame festers within her, then and there. Rhaenyra exhaled, jaw terse as she regarded you with a kindly disposition, albeit a touch strained. It was the same shame she had felt when she first held Alicent’s hand, when she had bed Harwin Strong; something forbidden.

Whatever she began to feel, she knew that it was somewhat an extension of her loneliness; her sons away, Daemon drowning in the fire of his ambition, Rhaenys to Driftmark.

“Your Grace?”

“My apologies,” With a distant smile, lilac hues briefly avert themselves, as if attempting to remain innocuous. “I have felt strained, as of-late. It is something that I should not subject you to.”

Words sizzled upon your tongue, begging for freedom as you sat straighter, your gaze tearing itself away from the book. “I do not intend to speak out of-turn, my Queen, but I would consider you something of a friend — you have not subjected me to anything.”

True, pious friendships seemed difficult to obtain for her, most having passed, others now turncoats in the wake of the Greens’ reign. A flicker of appreciation settled within her eyes, fingertips brushing across a bound scroll.

Rhaenyra had confided plenty in you, professed doubts and insecurities, spilled her heart and let it bleed onto her sleeve; there was nothing truer than that. “You have my gratitude — truly.” Her voice was gentle yet regal, a lull that often enticed you.

“You needn’t thank me, your Grace. I know that you have been pressed beneath an oppressive weight, a burden that I do not fully understand. Your strength does not go unnoticed.” Sympathy clung to each syllable, a sentiment that she clung to, heart stirring within her breast.

A brief hum escaped her, one that bordered upon sardonic as she toyed with a piece of parchment. “I do not often feel as strong as I should,” Her confession was wrought with dismay. “I know that many would view my inaction as a weakness.”

Daemon had urged her to act — to kill, to burn, to obliterate — Rhaenyra had not found it within herself to conform to such intentions. She had little desire to rule over a kingdom of ash, let alone bloodletting when so much had been spilled already.

Some sliver of her desired that — bloodlust, revenge, the heads of usurpers upon spikes.

It would always be part of her, something she had learned to acknowledge. Meeting your gaze, her jaw tensed somewhat, considering her next words before you cut through the tenuous silence.

“Strength is not always found in our actions — sometimes it is the things we do not follow through on, our temperance,” A brief pause; your hands folded together atop your book. “A sound leader considers the counsel of those around her, and herself — and you have done just that.”

Rhaenyra considered you in silent observation, mauve hues flickering over you with a thinly-veiled admiration. “If only so many thought as you did,” Her smile was forlorn, heavy with doubt. “I often wonder if the throne truly is my birthright.”

“I did not know your father, your Grace, but from what I’ve been told, he never faltered from naming you heir — it is your birthright,” Nails began to dig into the book’s fragile spine. “Despite what opposition lingers, you are the Queen this realm deserves.”

It was a satisfying feeling, to be believed in, to be beloved — Rhaenyra seldom felt such sensations in recent weeks, often undermined at each turn. She seemed to subtly preen beneath the genuine weight of your words, warmth fluttering throughout her sternum.

“You have my thanks.” With a solemn lament, the Queen’s incendiary gaze remained transfixed upon you, features blanketed by a warm smile. She found you to be comely, a young maiden who desired purpose in the world.

“Of course, my Queen,” Words stilled upon your tongue, a bout of hesitancy gripping you before you continued. “To have a woman sit the Throne would mean more than you could ever imagine to so many, including myself.”

Men had always sat upon the Iron Throne, but Rhaenyra’s opportunity to strike down a longstanding tradition was at-hand. She had often detested the roles laid before her in her youth — betrothals, marriages, stripped of independence.

She could seldom imagine what women endured, especially those less fortunate than herself. Your circumstances were something similar — serving at her side had spared you from a potential betrothal, something that you had little desire for.

Rhaenyra considered your words — what importance they held, the implications. Should the war be won and her crown reclaimed, she wondered how much it would mean to the smallfolk, to denizens like yourself.

“I should hope that I am worthy enough for it,” It was the wisp of insecurities breathing life into her words, and she shook her head. “I apologize — I do not wish for this conversation to be so dour.” She uttered, stress residing within her visage.

Perplexed, your head cocked to one side, as if she had said something blasphemous. “There is no one worthier, my Queen,” Lips fleetingly curled into an amiable, reassuring smile. “You needn’t apologize for it, either. I know that these last few weeks have not been kind to you.”

A sharp pang of aching melancholy festered within her heart, a raw reminder of loss, of love’s rage. Rhaenyra seemed to grow distant for a moment, as if attempting to compose herself for the sake of your conversation.

Growing quiet, you wondered if you had sorely overstepped her boundaries with such words, able to feel the forlornly frustration wafting from her. In truth, you also felt more alone than ever — your father was away, family scattered to the winds.

The Queen was the only source of companionship you had, and despite being bound by duty, you thoroughly enjoyed her presence. Time had withered the tenuous air between you both, weathering away your initial intimidation until the both of you spoke freely.

Rising from her seat, Rhaenyra’s measured steps rounded the table, coming to lean against the edge as she peered at her hands. “I feel as if I haven’t had a moment’s peace to properly grieve, as if duty demands I must press on.”

She mourned who her daughter could’ve been — something fierce, someone kind, and she mourned who Lucerys was, gentle and just. Their weight within her heart felt heavy, a raw reminder of their passing.

“When my sister died, kind words seemed fleeting — everyone seemed too preoccupied with replacing her, with what came next, instead of acknowledging the void that she left,” As you spoke with such sympathy, Rhaenyra’s eyes softened. “I felt much the same, left without a moment to mourn what I lost.”

As you moved from your seat, your gaze seemed drawn to the midday sun pooling in from the windows, catching flecks of dust through the glittering rays. The book felt incredibly weighty within your hands, no longer holding the significance that it had moments prior.

“I am sorry for your sister,” She uttered, pale brows furrowing together. Dismissive of it, the Queen cleared her throat. “I am no stranger to loss,” Rhaenyra lamented, her smile a saddened one, lilac hues following you with an unusual intensity. “It does not make things any easier, I’m afraid.”

With a brief shake of your head, your head canted toward the ground, averting her stare. “It does not — I hope that peace finds you, my Queen. You’ve endured much, and yet, you remain resilient.”

Rhaenyra felt soothed by your words, a kindness that seemed lacking within her counsel as of-late. There was a semblance of ease, at your side. “I must thank you, for speaking to me — it does some good to converse in this way.”

A bubble of laughter slipped past your lips, a fleeting sound that seemed heavy with a sense of contentment. “You needn’t continue to thank me, your Grace. I value this just as much as you do — you are the only voice I’ve heard in these last few days.”

A rare smile graced the Queen’s features, hauntingly beautiful, ethereal like the rest of her. It waned as soon as it had appeared, but you clung to it nonetheless. “I’ve grown rather used to yours.” She remarked, tone bordering upon precociousness.

Tendrils of fire began to seep into your belly, skin crawling with an unnatural warmth. It was sinful to allow yourself to be smitten by the Queen, a woman married, a mother, but it became difficult to ignore the stirring within your chest.

“I should hope it hasn’t become grating for you, your Grace.” With a feeble attempt at deflecting her subtle compliment, your fingers twisted together, interwoven atop the book’s spine. Whatever sentiments surged within you, any attempt to suppress them were futile.

Rhaenyra hummed, head cocking slightly to one side. “Quite the opposite — it eases my heart.” A haze of tension permeated the space between you both, one that seemed to linger.

Swallowing the growing lump that formed within your throat, you appeared flattered, lashes fluttering and your countenance demure. “Thank you, your Grace,” A pause gripped you, and with carelessness, you continued. “I look forward to your company each day, in truth.”

Despite the innocuous nature of your statement, there was something deeper laced within — a yearning, a gnawing ache. Whatever you felt for your Queen, it was steadily transcending all bonds of propriety, a scourge upon her honor, and yours.

In the spirit of transparency, Rhaenyra felt something lurch within her, a desperation; vanquishing loneliness. Growing close to you was not a mere accident, and she felt lecherous in her own desires, not wanting to soil this nurtured companionship.

It was your candor and tenderness that beguiled her so, a gentler hand — kinder than Daemon, softer than Harwin, and lacking Alicent’s callous betrayal.

A brief hitch formed within her throat, subtle in the face of her usual poise, pale brow furrowing in contemplation. Whatever she felt for you, it began to simmer to the surface, like the violent swell of a tempestuous tide, dragging her beneath the squall.

With a steady exhale, Rhaenyra had stepped closer, well within arm’s reach of you. “As I long for yours,” She uttered. “You’ve been a spot of light in such times of darkness.” Exuding restraint, she looked to you, countenance swirling with an amalgamation of emotions, some indiscernible to you.

Longing seemed too powerful a word, something that evoked a twinge of bewilderment from you. The lull of her cadence subdued you, a rush of heat licking from the nape of your neck to the base of your spine.

The weight of repressed sin hung heavy within your heart, akin to that of an anvil. Such sentiments had plagued you for as long as you could recall, thoughts stretched thin with fantasies that the Faith of the Seven often outlawed.

Yet, when you caught a glimpse of Rhaenyra, none of it felt sinful — it was as if you were burning, basked within a pleasant heat. Her beauty was divine, a goddess swathed in dragon’s scales, violet hues seemingly boring into you, attempting to pick you apart at the seams.

“It is difficult not to feel such isolation,” The confession that spilled from your lips mirrored her own inner turmoil. “Aside from yourself, Elinda, and the Kingsguard, I’ve often felt like a stranger, a ghost shambling about within these halls.”

If you were brazen and emboldened, you might’ve continued, lavishing your Queen with sweet words. You nearly imparted upon her that she had made you feel such invigoration, no longer a spectre — and it all felt so untoward.

“You aren’t alone,” Rhaenyra exhaled, allowing a sliver of tension to unfurl from her shoulders. The silence that had passed between you was nearly exhilarating. “I’ve felt it too, after Daemon departed — more than ever before, in truth.”

Daemon was an enigma — an arrogant enigma, one that had brought both love and suffering into Rhaenyra’s life. His abandonment and ambition were sore subjects as of-late, and she thought of him as a concerned wife would; nothing more.

“You have my sympathies, your Grace,” It seemed to be some pull you had towards one another, strings of fate tethering you to her. Rhaenyra had sluggishly circled about, coming to halt by your side. “Trust that you shall always have my shoulder to lean upon, no matter the storm.”

Whatever action proceeded your words seemed wholly involuntary, as if you were acting upon the stirring within your heart. Brazenly, you had reached for her, unable to stop yourself as your hand slipped against her forearm.

Your comfort and reassurance had ensnared her long before your digits graced her arm, a fire rousing within her. Her heart stuttered, gooseflesh permeating the back of her neck at the briefest sensation, and she did not recoil.

A noticeable shift began to stir, tension simmering to life like that of an open flame, permeating the air around you. Rhaenyra gazed at you longingly, wordlessly reaching for your waist, slender digits curling into the fabric there.

Bewilderment entangled with exhilaration scrawled across your countenance, breath hitching within your throat as she stepped closer. The silence was deafening, wrought with the onslaught of something foreign, something thrilling.

Slowly, your hand began to crawl from her forearm to her shoulder, the neckline of her gown encrusted with jewels and draconic patterns. Rhaenyra did not stop you from continuing, shivering as the silky pads of your fingertips ghosted along the column of her throat.

“My Queen, I …” A sudden fear gripped you then, as if this had carried on to the point of no return. This was the Queen of the Seven Kingdoms, and you were merely a handmaiden. All bonds of impropriety shattered, besmirching her honor; you would be executed.

Before your weak declaration of protest could be vocalized, she drew you closer still, any sliver of space fading between bodies. Words turned to ash, floating away into the dust-laden library as her lips pressed against yours.

The kiss was brief, dancing upon the thin line of restraint as Rhaenyra drew back, lilac hues half-lidded. She dared not press you further, caressing against the small of your back as you attempted to regain your composure.

It was you she waited for, gauging to see if you wished to continue. Instead of executing caution, you broke upon the blade of temptation, mouth returning to hers after a moment of hesitation. Your kiss lacked experience, sheepishly mimicking her movements.

A sharp exhale ripped through her lungs, pale brows creasing in concentration as she reciprocated your kiss, blinding you with a flurry of passion. She held you close, caging you in against her, able to smell the faint perfume that dabbled your collarbone.

A soft, trembling gasp escaped you as her palm moved to cup the nape of your neck, thumb stroking beneath your ear. Each kiss was akin to a blaze of wildfire, tearing through you with all of its heat and ardent intensity, enough to scorch your flesh.

Clamoring fingers moved to drape themselves over her shoulders, interlocking against the top of her spine, able to graze across her bare skin. Rhaenyra did not relent, grasping you fiercely, as if asserting her claim as she tilted her head, deepening your fervent entanglement.

Some dizzying haze washed over you then, bitten by desire, by devotion. Lips untethered themselves from hers as you pressed a string of kisses against the sharp line of her jaw, and then to her throat. A hum of approval left the Queen, the bridge of her nose buried into your crown.

Reverence seeped into each and every ministration, as if you were worshiping her — and she deserved nothing less. Strings of passionate kisses feathered themselves across her neck, evoking a myriad of pleasurable sounds from Rhaenyra.

Arousal began to mount between your thighs, warm and heady as friction crackled, your back digging into the ornate desk. Despite your glaring inexperience, it became easier to chase after baser instincts, belly sloshing with molten heat.

As you littered her flesh in constant kisses, you felt her palm cup the base of your skull, digits sinking into your tresses. It was her other hand that had tantalizingly danced along your spine before groping your hip, nails catching upon fabric.

Wordlessly, she guided your lips back to hers, thumb caressing your jaw as mouths collided once more. A simpering moan ripped through your diaphragm, lost within the divine labyrinth of her lips.

Deep-seated repression had festered to the surface, unorthodox desires that had brought you ruin and scorn, now laid bare before your charge. It felt wrong to indulge yourself in this way, but in-turn, you had felt so liberated.

Passion blossomed like an untamable thicket, consuming the both of you; hunger followed suit, a tempting shadow. You had not experienced a kiss like this — Rhaenyra was practiced yet unbound, showing little restraint in the face of your own hesitation.

It was then that you felt the feather-light pressure of her thigh split between your legs, briefly grazing your nethers. A sudden shiver gripped you, and you nearly stumbled in your actions, lips clamoring for hers, longing to be near her.

The thunderous groan of wooden doors intercepted the both of you, as you immediately tore away from your Queen as if you’d been scorched. Writhing from between her body and the table, you relocated towards the numerous shelves, heart beating like that of bird’s wings.

“Your Grace, there has been word from The Twins — your son has delivered a missive.” Ser Darklyn announced, standing at the top of the steps, gazing down upon Rhaenyra. Her composure hung by a mere thread as she nodded, hands clenched within her skirts.

“Thank you, Ser Steffon. I shall join you momentarily.” Rhaenyra echoed, features warmed by a shade of scarlet. Mauve hues searched for you, cowering beside a shelf before you swiftly curtsied before her.

Desiring to make a swift exit as to deal with the aftermath of your own dishonorable actions, you swallowed the lump within your throat. “Your Grace, I shall be taking my leave.” Scuttling about, Rhaenyra did not have an opportunity to get in a single word before you’d disappeared from the archives altogether.

Surely, you had misinterpreted things.

As a star-laden penumbra lingered over Dragonstone, you had excused yourself for the evening, allowing another handmaiden to assume your duties. Guilt and shame had ripped through you for the rest of midday, a torrent of sin that threatened to obliterate you.

Strewn across your bed within the underbelly of the servant’s quarters, you were faced with the raw realization of desire.

Throwing yourself at the feet of a woman whose birthright transcended you was unbecoming, untoward; a manifestation of years of seeking purpose, seeking yourself. It was wrong of you to drag the Queen into your own repressed fantasies, ones that you thought you’d buried.

Through the coolness of dusk, you hoped to find some peace in the blanket of slumber, but even that seemed to evade you. It was not yet the hour of the bat, and you felt your body cringe at the sound of the door opening.

“The Queen has asked for you.” Sera crooned, politely shutting the door behind her. Dread seeped into your stomach, and you feared that you had overstepped all boundaries, tarnished honor beyond all recognition.

With limbs like anchors, you slowly clamored from your cot, dressing yourself in your burgundy trappings. Between midday and now, you had freshened up, binding the gown around you as you prepared to make the arduous journey to your Queen’s chambers.

The trek was perilous, as if all time had stood still, and you were left to slog through the growing storm. It was trepidation that gripped you, a gnawing worry that this was all some grave misunderstanding — you prayed that you wouldn’t lose your head.

As you stood before iron-wrought doors, bedecked in the roaring heads of dragons, you noticed the lack of lingering Kingsguard. They were posted elsewhere, further down the corridor, much to your bewilderment.

With a shrewd knock, you heard the command of your Queen from within, beckoning you to enter. Slipping past the set of massive doors, you turned to close them, posture unnaturally rigid as you awkwardly shuffled further into her chambers.

Rhaenyra sat before the hearth, pale tresses unbound from their intricate braids, spilling over slender shoulders. An evening gown of silver clung to her, rich silks from Pentos, shrouded by a robe of a dark cerulean, embroidered with a draconian motif; you had never seen anyone more beautiful.

She ripped the air from your lungs as if she had stolen it herself, poised within a high-backed seat, violet hues drifting away from the flames. The Queen turned enough to catch a glimpse of you, doe-eyed and clearly feeling the weight of nervousness.

“Your Grace, I … I have come to beg for your forgiveness,” You felt as if you were going to wretch, fingers twisting together as you watched her stand, arms loosely folded across her chest. “What occurred today was unbecoming of my station and a stain upon your honor.”

Rhaenyra regarded you with a gentle intensity, eyes swirling with a thinly-veiled adoration. You hadn’t done anything wrong — nothing that she didn’t want, hadn’t dreamt of. Neither she nor you had done anything like this, outside of mere fantasy and years of repression.

She stepped closer, hoping to dissolve your bout of anxiousness. “It is I who should be begging for forgiveness, sweet girl,” She uttered, cadence whimsically smooth, a brilliant lull. “I should have inquired if you wanted to indulge before acting upon my own desires.”

Shock rippled through you, heart hammering like the tides breaking upon rock, and you swallowed once more. “Indulge? My Queen, I — I shouldn’t, I am your servant,” Gods help you — you desired her in a way that shook the foundations of the earth. “Your husband, he …”

“Daemon is not here,” Rhaenyra moved closer, pale brows furrowing as she reached for you, palm cupping your jaw. “You are an equal to me — I would wish for you to stay with me, though I would honor your wishes, whatever you choose.”

The swell of fondness that glistened within her eyes was purely genuine, not born out of desperation or loneliness. She wanted you; craved your beating heart, longing for you like sun-warmed earth.

“It feels sinful to want to stay,” With a wisp of a murmur, you shuddered as silken fingertips brushed over your flesh. It was gentle, loving — something that you felt wholly undeserving of. “And yet I do not wish to leave your side.”

Faith had kept you shackled to misery for so long, and now, Rhaenyra saw you as you were and accepted you for it, loved you for it. She could see the war that waged within you, written so clearly upon your countenance.

It was the same anguish she once saw in Laenor, and she did not wish to see it blossom within you, either. Rhaenyra once felt as you did, with Alicent — such sentiments for her old friend had waned, but the core desire had remained intact.

Disarmingly tender, the Valyrian Queen began to guide you deeper into the comforting recesses of her quarters, a room that you were intimately familiar with. Beside the hearth, you steadily began to relax — just a sliver.

“You are not a sin, sweet girl — none of this is sinful.” Rhaenyra murmured, thumb caressing the curve of your jaw, soothing your inner turmoil. That affectionate moniker of hers had tugged at your heartstrings, uprooted you and everything you thought you knew.

Relief washed over you then, and you turned, lips pressing against her palm. Silence hung heavy, taut with a burning tension as she drew you closer as she had in the archives, lips sealing themselves against yours.

Whatever restraint you had exuded prior had begun to dissipate, splintering at the seams as you clung to her like that of a drowning woman. Your hands clumsily found their purchase atop her shoulders, able to feel her digits sink against your hips, one palm splayed across your lower back.

A moonlit gloom pooled in from stained-glass windows, procuring a glittering array of light across stone floors. Firelight danced from within the hearth, its tendrils illuminating you, blanketing her in a peculiar glow, like that of a dragon.

Two hearts grasped at one another, clawing for a shred of reprieve, of affection — you were endlessly greedy, starved of adoration.

Rhaenyra savored your taste, saccharine and one of sheer piety, a rarity in the realm’s current state. A twinge of nervousness permeated your every move, as if you were afraid to allow desire to unfurl, something that she sympathized with.

Vigor seeped into her kiss, growing in intensity as she caged you in against her, head canting enough to deepen your entanglement. A breathy exhale emerged from betwixt your lips, pitched with a desirous thrill that swallowed you whole.

Withdrawing yourself, the flush of ecstasy clung to your flesh, the first whisper of an ardent heat. Violet hues regarded you with a fondness, oozing sensuality and protection. Her palm idly circled over your spine, allowing you to take your time with it all.

“You are more beautiful than the heavens themselves — the envy of a thousand stars,” As the soft-spoken compliment slipped from your lips, Rhaenyra hummed, mouth twitching into an amicable smile. “My Queen.”

“You discredit yourself, surely,” The Targaryen pressed her lips to your brow, and then to your jaw, reveling in the quiver of your sigh. “I find you captivating, sweetling.” Warmth tore at your bones, elation rippling through you as you preened beneath her alluring words.

Gods, to be cherished, to be wanted; it transcended duty, that of infatuation. Ardor scorched your flesh, a searing fire of your Queen’s adoration, a flame that you happily burned within.

Beneath your breast, the thrumming of your heart rattled against your sternum, causing you to shiver with a thinly-veiled euphoria. Practiced digits began to map your delicate features, still alight with the vibrancy of youth, thumb stroking across your lower lip.

An amalgamation of desire and zeal glistened within lilac hues, mirroring your own countenance, doe-eyed and brimming with devotion. Gathering what threadbare confidence you had, your lips found hers once more, a bruising kiss that overflowed with passion.

Rhaenyra was no stranger to pleasure, well-adept at knowing the body of another, including her own. She handled you with utmost care, allowing you to act on your own accord, without her influence. It made her burn for you all the more.

It was then that your courage spurred onward, palm drifting from the nape of her neck toward her bosom, sheepishly cupping her clothed breast. A low hum of satisfaction slipped from her lips, approval scrawled upon ethereal features.

Guiding you toward the velvet-cushioned seat, it was Rhaenyra who lowered herself to sit, noticing the sheepish expression you bore. “Do I frighten you, sweet girl?” The Queen’s tone held a playful lilt to it, head canting to one side.

Intimidated, not afraid, you thought, stomach churning with a volatile heat. “Not at all, your Grace. I — I suppose it seems cruel of me to not focus upon your own pleasure.” With your meek confession now spilled, Rhaenyra’s lips began to curl into an assuring smile.

“Rhaenyra,” She corrected; perhaps abandoning formalities would ease the tenuous barrier still lingering between you. “Pleasure is a shared sentiment, I assure you.” Beckoning you forward, she extended her hand to you, inviting you to sit within her lap.

A heavy exhale lingered within your ribs, and you stepped forward, sinking into her lap without question. You felt smitten beneath her smoldering stare, one that brazenly admired you, absorbing every facet of your beauty.

Foreheads grazed against the other, warmth drifting between bodies as you stole another kiss from her, one that nearly dazed her. Rhaenyra kneaded into your curves, feeling your silken fingertips gently push against the front of her robe.

With renewed confidence, you palmed at her breast, able to feel the swell of soft flesh through her nightgown. A stifled sigh escaped the Queen, whose desire had grown tenfold, raging like a tempest within her.

Prying your lips away, you kissed beneath her jaw, allowing yourself to follow after instinct, planting a string of heated kisses along her neck. With your other hand, your digits twisted into the fabric beside her knee, pulling it up along her legs.

Rhaenyra shivered with a pang of ecstasy, adjusting you enough upon her lap, allowing the silken material to bunch around her thighs. With incessant tugs of your own stiff garments, she wished to see you with less obstructions.

“Relieve yourself of this,” The sultry lilt of her tone made you gasp, insides filling with a searing liquid, beginning to ooze between your thighs. “I wish to see you.” Little more than a soft purr, you were swift to obey her command.

Untethering the thick, crimson robe, you allowed the garment to flutter to the stone, leaving you in a threadbare shift, one that left little to the imagination. You nearly buckled beneath her hawkish gaze, one that openly bled with ardor and a twinge of possessiveness.

Admiration glittered upon her visage, the very image of beauty, a goddess incarnate. A shiver gripped you as she traced your spine with her fingertips, palm coming to knead against your haunch. Reverence oozed from her embrace, making you feel at-ease.

As your palm cupped her breast, threatening to delve beneath the gossamer of her nightgown, the other remained poised atop her knee. With a fistful of fabric, you allowed your fingertips to dance against the bare flesh of her thigh.

Rhaenyra looked to you, silently beseeching you to continue, allowing you to explore as you pleased. Her lips sought the delicate plane of your throat, pressing a series of kisses beneath your jaw to start, fingers sinking into your derrière.

A sharp exhale punctured your lungs, wrought with exhilaration as your hand continued its path, caressing along her thigh, seeking the warmth between her legs. Sheepish still, your touch was disarmingly gentle, as kind as springtime, yet succeeded in making your Queen shiver.

This sweetness you possessed was something Rhaenyra reveled in, your tenderness a welcome respite. A low moan quaked from her lips as your digits nimbly danced over her nethers, features warming with a twinge of excitement.

As the defined bridge of her nose grazed over your jugular, you began to touch her with more urgency this time. Delicate fingers began to slip against her cunt, ministrations somewhat unsteady as you attempted to find your rhythm.

Kneading against your derrière, Rhaenyra huffed, the sound a pleasurable one as she continued to kiss your neck. Softness had grown into the flame of desire, ardor simmering in the space between your bodies, enough to make you shiver.

“Rhaenyra,” A sigh of ecstasy tore past your kiss-swollen lips, and she preened at the sound of her name. It was heavenly, uttered with such reverence, such adoration. “Gods, you are enchanting.” You murmured.

A soft moan left you as she kissed the dip between your throat and shoulder, lips pursing enough to leave behind a token of her affection. It was etched into your flesh like a brand — and you wanted more.

It was then that her hand tangled against the collar of your shift, peeling the fabric aside, unveiling your breasts to her. The sight was a feast, a kindly beauty that the Targaryen had become rather infatuated with. Her lips were soon to follow, kissing a hot trail across your collar.

Hips urged against your hand as you stroked eager circles against her core, thumb finding its way to the sensitive bundle of nerves. A sharp, dizzying gasp inhabited her throat, a punctuated sound that nearly made you pause, if it weren’t for her soft moan.

Admittedly, she was starved for contact, having wished for a kinder embrace for some time. It was often your heavenly hand she’d dreamt of, the vibrancy of your smile, the reverence that often oozed from your tongue.

Mapping each curve of her body, each tick of pleasure, you only desired her more than you thought possible. Want only seemed to grow in her wake, her embrace leaving behind a trail of fire, smiting you to little more than wanton ash.

Kissing towards your bosom, Rhaenyra gingerly cupped your breast, able to feel your body keen into her caress. A practiced thumb flicked across your nipple, mouth continuing to blaze over your flesh, kiss after kiss until she neared your chest.

“You drive me to madness.” Rhaenyra’s utterance emerged as a breathy sigh, whispered into your flesh like some prayer. Butterflies erupted within your stomach, accompanied by a churning of molten heat. A hitch formed within your throat, features warming.

Slotting yourself atop one of her thighs, it allowed you some advantage, digits continuing to glide along her cunt. A myriad of low, sonorous moans left her, smothered against your sternum as she turned, taking one of your breasts into her mouth.

A startled whine rippled through you, torn asunder by bliss on all sides, pleasure becoming a mutual experience. Adroit lips began to pepper your breast with soft kisses, pursing around the pliant mound as she drew forth a cry of delight from your mouth.

Despite the satisfying distraction, your ministrations refused to cease, digits gaining both fervor and confidence. You continued to let your fingers rock against her nethers, thumb toying with the pearl of her cunt, enough to make her writhe.

Wanton sighs and breathy moans inhabit the space between your bodies, charged with a zealous desire. As if possessed by invisible strings, your hips lurched forward, gently rocking yourself atop her thigh. Friction simmered in the wake of your movements, arousal seeping between your legs.

Yearning lips trailed from your breast to the valley between, kissing along your flesh until she found your throat once more. Rhaenyra exhaled desire, unable to withhold the blissful noises that tore past her mouth.

“Do not stop,” With a poignant command, spoken through a soft exhale, you heeded the words of your Queen. Allowing your digits to dip lower, two fingers gently prodded against her core, the pad of your thumb caressing her pearl. “There.”

Her voice had often beguiled you so, whimsical and ethereal, as if it were from a distant dream. Now, it was strung-out with desire, a touch husky, as smooth as that of a crystalline dusk. She pressed a kiss beneath your jaw, her own wrought with tension as her hips urged forward.

Foreheads brushed against one another as you rocked yourself atop her thigh, the friction sending shockwaves through your belly. It grazed against your nethers, forcing a soft sigh from your lips, fingers teasing her cunt.

It was then that you dipped forward, evoking a groan from Rhaenyra, whose mouth shifted to claim yours in a dizzying kiss. A fervent flame crackled between, like that of a wildfire, seeking to consume everything in its path.

She tasted of fire, a sting of citrus and a hint of some honeyed swill, her tongue gently seeking entry into your maw. Without protest, you allowed her in, kiss after kiss being lost between you both, her palm shifting to seize the nape of your neck.

“Your Grace,” A pleading moan thrummed from your throat, tapering off into some hapless whine as she groped at your backside once more. The title had made her head spin, filled with some arduous haze as she careened into your touch. “Please.”

It was a ceaseless clash of lips, teeth, and tongues, a ballad of a blossoming adoration. Beneath your breast, your heart galloped with excitement, fingers easing in and out of her cunt, desperate to please her.

A subtle ‘fuck’ escaped Rhaenyra, muttered from beneath her cacophony of moans, and you barely caught it. Gooseflesh born of exhilaration raked down your spine like that of a tidal wave, and you shuddered within her firm grasp.

“Gods.” Rhaenyra groaned, feeling herself clench around your slender digits, grip hard enough to leave bruises against your haunch. Your thumb continued to toy with her pearl in languid circles, again and again.

For one seemingly so inept, you possessed a peculiar keenness, as if you were attuned to her physique already. She craved you as one craved for a gust of air, her ache marrow-deep, a heart’s call that echoed your name.

As she approached her climax, her teeth briefly grazed your lower lip, sealing yours in another blistering kiss. It ripped through you like talons, a bliss that nearly overwhelmed you. Ensuring that you reciprocated, you returned her kiss, lungs searing with a pleasant burning.

Bathed beneath the intermingled glow of both the moon and hearth, she appeared to you as some deity, a goddess of beauty. Never before had you seen someone as resplendent as she, the Queen, veins imbued with dragon’s fire.

A soft gasp took up residence within your lungs, emerging as a gentle tremble, one that seemed wrought with awe at the sight of her. Even through your state of wonder, your digits did not stop, obeying her command.

Violet hues were half-lidded in a state of bliss, momentarily shifting to seek your gaze, as warm as that of midsummer. Her lips parted then, body writhing beneath you as her pinnacle wracked her with such force.

As she came undone upon your hand, you nearly melted at the sight, features warming in the wake of her release. Honeyed arousal wept from her core, coating your digits in her nectar as you pleasured her even still, allowing yourself to slow down.

Tendrils of perspiration glistened upon her brow, likely due in-part to the close proximity of the waning firelight. Rhaenyra exhaled, face nudging against your own as she captured your lips in a bruising kiss, disarmingly tender.

Passion lingered still, momentarily subdued as she composed herself, feeling her thighs twitch, body caught within the afterglow. “You are rather mesmerizing,” Her regal cadence filled your belly with a familiar fire. “Sweet girl.”

“I didn’t cause you harm, did I?” For your own sanity, you hoped that she was well-satisfied and comfortable. The hint of a smile crossed her features, mauve hues raking over you, not quite finished with you yet.

“Quite the opposite,” Soothing your brow, the Queen placed a lingering kiss to your jaw, palm smoothing along your spine. “Though, I am not yet satisfied.” With a desirous lilt, her sultry purr made you clench your thighs together.

Fearing you weren’t good enough, you nearly blubbered some pitiful apology until she eased you off of her lap, gently guiding you toward her bed. A twinge of bewilderment rippled through you; you did not expect to share her bed with her this evening.

Neglecting to inquire further, Rhaenyra coaxed you to sit along the edge of her feathered bed, watching as you lowered yourself without question. She stood over you, soft palm cupping your chin as her thumb sweetly traced over your lower lip.

As if acting upon instinct, you kissed the pad of her thumb, careening into her tender embrace. She bent down, pressing her mouth to yours once more, allowing you to linger within your passionate entanglement.

“You are exquisite.” Your reverence was thinly-veiled, seeped in adoration as you sighed into her mouth. Rhaenyra cherished every word that escaped you, forehead momentarily pressing to yours before she withdrew.

“As are you,” It was then that the Queen knelt before you, an act that took you by complete surprise. Before you could attempt to refute this position, she began to inch your skirts along your thighs, fabric pooling around your hips. “May I?”

The Queen asking for this — it did not feel proper, but you were not one to interfere with her indulgences. “Y—Yes,” With a bumbling stammer, you swallowed the lump of excitement within your throat. “Rhaenyra …”

Wordlessly, her answer was emblazoned as a kiss, sealed against your inner thigh. Fire blossomed from mere contact, and you couldn’t help but gaze down at her with complete and utter ardor. This love you had for her transcended that of duty, one considered forbidden.

Rhaenyra had fantasized about this more often than she cared to admit, knowing fully well that you hadn’t had the pleasure of experiencing it. There was a power she felt even when kneeling between your thighs, pressing a trail of kisses towards your aching nethers.

Her tongue raked embers over your cunt, sluggish and exploratory as she gathered her bearings. She had not done something like this before, other than what had been done to her. Rhaenyra watched you squirm, hands desperately fisting at the sheets on either side of you.

The sharp bridge of her nose buried itself against your mound, brushing along your slick petals. It was as if you were an unfurling flower, and she, the bee; your taste was ambrosial, something that filled her mouth with such sweetness.

Keeping yourself from crying out, you moaned, mouth agape as your hips involuntarily urged forward. Her tongue greeted you with a slow lap, tracing along your core as she delved further, visage slotted between your thighs.

Dexterous hands danced across your flesh, over your legs as she anchored her grip there, violet hues occasionally flickering towards your countenance. Your expression had contorted into a look of complete and utter bliss.

It felt horribly wrong of you, sitting here while your Queen knelt, but you dared not interrupt her now. Each stroke of her tongue brought you to heel, legs rattling like wind-stirred leaves as wave after wave of pleasure flooded throughout your body.

Rhaenyra shared in your bliss, reveling in the way you’d reacted so viscerally to her lips, which only served to make her confidence swell. A low hum resonated from her throat, ministrations imbued with an endless passion.

Throaty whines erupted in a cacophony from your mouth, followed by constant sighs of ecstasy. Her hands continued to smooth over your thighs, keeping your legs parted as her tongue tantalizingly raked over your entrance.

As your cunt clenched pathetically around nothing at all, you felt as if you were drowning within an ocean of bliss, eyes nearly closed. It was a sensation unlike any other, her lips peppering a string of greedy kisses to your slit.

She let your legs find rest atop her shoulders, nightgown having loosened upon her frame. Her pale flesh was akin to a canvas — unblemished, pearlescent, nothing short of perfection.

Lilac hues beseech you to steal a glance, gazes locking together for only a moment. The mere sight of her feasting upon the wellspring between your thighs made you whimper, teeth snagging across your bottom lip. The incendiary nature of her ogling fills you with a feverish heat.

Adept with her tongue, Rhaenyra hums again; a low, contented sound that causes your fingers to claw at the sheets. Lapping at your core once more, her nose briefly grazes over your pearl, causing you to shiver around her, wrought with desperation.

“Rh—Rhaenyra,” A noisy moan tears past your lips when you feel her tongue circle over the pearl of your cunt, hips lurching forward. You feel strange, begging for her mouth, but she seems to derive plenty of satisfaction from it. “Gods, do not stop!”

Melting within her grasp, you had not known pleasure like this before, never thought it possible to collapse beneath her touch. Sin had washed away, swept out into the tides, leaving only your sentiments for her — devotion, love.

Each stroke of her tongue is akin to the searing of a wildfire, volatile and burning, with enough force to send you to your knees. Hunger revealed itself like some long-hidden shadow, unfurling in the wake of your own desire and that of your Queen’s.

It felt exhilarating, to be wanted in this way, to be cherished, worshiped. Impulse drove you as one hand skittered from the silken sheets, reaching for her hand, slender digits interlocking atop the meat of your thigh.

Holding you close, Rhaenyra continued to greedily seek your cunt without pause, ceaselessly lapping over your core. It was then that her mouth sluggishly relocated, mauve hues momentarily fixating upon your countenance as her lips gingerly pursed around your pearl.

A gasp ripped through your diaphragm, body suddenly wracked with an overwhelming wave of ecstasy. As she toyed with your clit, suckling upon the sensitive clutch of nerves, you were left reeling, other arm keeping yourself afloat.

Whatever had pushed you over the brink, you were uncertain, feeling your hips jolt forward once more. Rhaenyra continued to shower your nethers in lap after greedy lap of her tongue, intermingling with brief circles over your pearl.

Buckling beneath the weight of your mounting arousal, your body succumbed, as if a barrier had been obliterated within you. A surge of heat flooded your insides, pooling between your thighs as you quivered in the aftermath.

A white-hot rush of ecstasy swarmed you, voice tapering off into incoherent praises and wanton moans, filling her chambers with your delight. As nectar oozed from your weeping slit, she teased you further, tongue slowing to a crawl.

Your chest burned with exasperated sighs as you fought to regain your composure, beginning to settle from the onslaught of your release. Perspiration lingered along the column of your spine, body bitten by the sting of desire.

Rhaenyra withdrew, pressing a string of feather-light kisses along the inside of your thigh, her grasp upon your hand beginning to loosen. Her tongue absentmindedly wet her bottom lip, rising from between your legs in order to capture your mouth with hers.

The kiss made you deliriously warm, dizzy as you clung to her as if you were drowning, able to taste yourself upon her tongue. “You are exemplary.” Her regal lull was akin to music, stroking every part of your mind as she slipped away.

High praise made you preen, happy that she seemed satisfied with you. It was a first — and it felt liberating to finally shed the shackles of your longstanding repression. You watched as she moved to drag a warm cloth over her face, ridding herself of sweat.

Exhaustion hit you then and there, and you stood enough to adjust your skirts, preparing to go and find your crimson robe.

“Stay awhile longer,” Rhaenyra’s cadence was disarmingly tender, inviting you to share her bed. The dusk was still young enough, the hour of the bat not yet upon you. “Unless you have business elsewhere.” She did not dare to interfere with your duties, no matter how much she wanted to.

Smitten, you sank back down onto her bed, growing flustered in the wake of such carnal acts. Admittedly, you half expected her to dismiss you once you were finished, but you were delighted to be proven wrong.

Warmth continued to coalesce between your thighs, a burning reminder that would likely linger for weeks to come. She noticed your sheepish behavior, crossing the threshold once more to join you on her bed, coaxing you into her embrace.

As she laid down, your cheek pressed flush to her collarbone, allowing an arm to drape around her, cradling her close. Rhaenyra welcomed your embrace, her hand finding yours, slender digits idly toying with your own.

“Your Grace, I … I hope that I satisfied you well enough,” Your nervous murmur ensnared her attention, lilac hues flickering over your worried visage. She cupped your cheek, pale brows furrowing together. “This is so very new.”

“I care little for satisfaction, sweet girl,” Rhaenyra corrected, turning just enough to prop her head up with one palm, sheets drawn around the both of you. The older woman looked upon you with a thinly-veiled affection, fondness only growing in the afterglow. “It is you I care for.”

A hitch formed within your throat, lashes fluttering as you held her hand, pressing a kiss to her knuckles. “As I care for you, your Gr — Rhaenyra,” Catching yourself, your lips twitched into a warm smile. “You’ve made me feel as if I am worthy of love.”

Untangling your hands, she reached to cup your face, thumb dragging over your cheekbone and beneath your eye. “You are beyond worthy of such sentiments,” With a soft exhale, Rhaenyra moved closer, until space had all but dissipated. “You shall have mine.”

“As you have mine own.” You whispered, garnering the courage to kiss her first, mouths seamlessly melding together, as if made to mold to one another. She savored your lips, caressing the nape of your neck as she brought you into the heat of her chest.

Rhaenyra had loved, and loved again throughout her lifetime — Alicent Hightower, Harwin Strong, Daemon, and now, you. She loved Daemon still, and yet she allowed her heart to simply grow, let it bend and expand until she had made enough room for you.

#hotd #house of the dragon #hotd x reader #rhaenyra targaryen x reader #rhaenyra targaryen x you #rhaenyra targaryen #house of the dragon fanfiction #game of thrones x reader #hotd smut #hotd fanfic #house of the dragon smut #rhaenyra x reader

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san8ny · 10 months ago

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‘HITTIN MY PHONE IS SO RIGHT !

?: You can’t seem to put an end to a salacious affair between you and your boss. However, lately with the new cameras being installed around units, it’s getting increasingly risky for you two. What’ll it be, your job or Abby’s? / A.A x Fem!Reader

!: hellurrrr.. xD haven’t proof-read this ngl bc my eyes hurt/ ALSO AN OLD DRAFT I HATE..im srry :P

“Fuckin’ hell..she’s just clamping onto me..” Abby coos from where her head is thrown back on the office chair; you, on her lap, rocking your hips deliciously into her, each snap feeling like a tidal wave of pleasure surging through Abby’s veins. You’d never in a hundred years think this would be a common event that took place between you and your employer after hours, a dirty secret that was buried deep within Abby’s Law-Firm.

“S-shitttt, don’t speak like that..” You whine, digits burying themself into Abby’s Golden locks when it seems like her pace speeds up; “Can’t when this messy cunt ‘s talking to me..” Abby takes a sharp inhale of air when you rip open the first two buttons of her blazer, scattering across the room.

“Not fair..’wanna take ‘em off..” You whine, wrapping your arms tighter around your lovers neck— soft tits pressed up into Abby’s face where she sneakily kisses around your areola, taking a nipple into her warm mouth, earning a weak huff from you.

“Shh..gotta be quiet, doll..can’t risk having you heard.” She whispers against your skin, pulling you down to press a messy kiss against your lips, “that I have ‘fuckin favorites…”; You shriek when she manages to slam you even harder on the XL strap, the one that’s tied oh-so-perfectly around her hips.

The buzzing on her desk brings her away from your lips and her attention instead, is on the lit-up phone, grabbing it with ease as she maintains a rhythm with how she bounces you, caller ID reading OWEN.

“Not this timing..” She groans, shushing your mewls once again when she takes your head and slightly angles it into her neck as an attempt to muffle your noises while she takes the call; “Get to the point.”

While she talks, you sink your teeth into her nape unexpectedly, illiciting a dirty, guttural moan from Abby to the point she almost lets the phone slip out of her grasp, “Uh..you okay?” Owen asks, confused at what was happening on the other end of the phone as he peels an orange; Abby hums at this, poorly trying to reaffirm Owen with eyes clenched closed as you leave harsh hickeys on her neck, ones she’d have to indefinitely cover up all week with series of collered pantsuits.

“P-please, ‘Abs..”You pant, saliva stretching from your quivering lips to her bruised neck. Abby pathetically caves in, murmuring mantras of ‘hear you, baby’ into the humid office air, head spinning and the call long forgotten as she throws it across the desk; her obsession with you ran deep, from the very moment you stepped into the office scene, all pencil skirts and painted lips— you were something she needed around here, and maybe the only thing that kept her hauled up in this shit-hole while all her other colleagues ran themselves into bankruptcy and alcoholism.

“I’ll give it to my sweet girl, ‘always do..ah—? S-she just needs to be ‘fuckin patient..” Abby’s breath hitching when you scrape your nailbeds across her, now, unclothed back. “You’re so—o ‘fuckin nasty..begging to fuck when they’ve installed surveillance every square inch of the damn place—love my pretty g-girl..”

“G-gna cum, pleaseee.. if you keep ‘talkin to me like t—this!” You stutter out with furrowed brows, annoyance and arousal a mixture when she picks you up and slams you directly against the desk now, a stark contrast to where you two were meekly teasing eachother earlier on her swivel chair but shit, does this angle make you take her even deeper..

After some time of her relentlessly pounding into you, and tears falling from your glossy eyes, down your full cheeks— you finally crack. This doesn’t end it, no, because after 2 orgasms ripped out of you— Abby leans down and kisses your cheek softly, her lips lingering condescendingly, “one more before we go, hm? Then we’ll clock out and i’ll take us home, baby”, all while two fingers work figure 8’s on your puffy clit, soothing you through the aftershocks of your orgasm.

Home?

You look at her up from heavy lidded eyes, sleep wanting to consume you completely but you oblige, mewling when Abby lowers herself to her knees and begins kitten-licking at your sensitive pussy; maybe you were obsessed with the blonde as much as she was with you, even if it could cost you both your jobs potentially one day.

#Abby Anderson #Tlou 2 #the last of us fanfiction #wlw #abby anderson x female reader #abby anderson x f!reader #abby anderson blurb #abby anderson smut #tlou smut

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mihii-i · 8 months ago

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(I don't do requests often, so I read your rules like three times out of nervousness 😭)

Could you write an Il Capitano x fem!reader where the reader is forced to walk home by her family after a ball. While walking back, Capitano picks her up and offers to take the reader to where she lives. Maybe toss in some soft/kind Capitano?

Thank you so much, I hope this is an ok request!

pitch black.

Pairings: capitano x fem!reader

CW: sfw, female reader, assy family members, written before natlan, so capitano might be slightly ooc, can be read as platonic or romantic, yum frostbite yay, ngl id cry myself to sleep if I was in snezhnaya bc I can’t handle cold weather, probably an iron deficiency, lazy writing at the end again AUUUUGHHHH, freakytano my glorious king, not proofread.

A/N: HIHIHIHI ALSO IM SORRY IF I MISREAD THE FAMILY THING BUTTTT I ACTUALLY WROTE ON A WEEKDAY YAY also guys should I do like a special for 1k cause my followers are eating rn ok but seriously thank u so much for all the support love yall!! 🕯️

Cold swishes of air circled the pitch black sky faintly illuminated by a star or two, ruffling the silky fluff of a heavy coat adorning your figure. You firmly tightened your grasp around the lapels of the large coat, fabric wrinkling and dragged between the clutches of your paling knuckles tinted a soft pink from Snezhnaya’s biting cold.

Hollow crunches of your footsteps simply rang aloud in your years as your father’s words piled up in your mind. They were merely harmless, yet the intent behind your family’s dismissal stung like a sharpened blade spearing into your chest. But of course, it wasn’t anything new. A gust of wind howled into the canal of your ear sharply, ringing the ill memory of your family spitting the venom laced words of ordering you to trudge home in the nation’s burrowing winter. They didn’t even bother to provide a coat or furnish your body in any way, simply shooing you off as if they were desperate to make you keep your distance from them.

You had been awkwardly situated next to them, the chatter making you shift uncomfortably in an off putting stance, similar to that of an upright statue. Their exasperating laughs bellowed throughout the ballroom obnoxiously, catching an occasional glance of a person or two eyeing them. If hunching your shoulders in embarrassment wasn’t enough, their attitude was more than enough for you to have a strong urge to pray for the Tsaritsa’s wrath to be bestowed upon them.

People had noticed your huddled stance, tracing the rim of your glass in circular motions in hopes to distract yourself from the growing oddity of your placement in the ball. And without hesitation, they would of course begin to approach you. Possibly out of pity? Perhaps even the goodness of their heart wanting to accompany the girl who wasn’t very engaged in the celebration. Each person would approach you, friendly smiles stretching their face as they’d attempt to greet you—only for it to be cut short by your parents’ attention snapping to the guest stood before you, slicing the conversation short as they’d beckon the person to come speak with them instead.

Tremors of disdain pooled inside of you upon seeing your family members so obviously attempt to shove out any possible chance of a trail of hopeful socialization paved on your direction. Your isolation only grew more and more frustrating as indistinct chatter bounced off the walls of the ball, your eyes following the sound of the echo trailing from the marble structure to the intricate chandelier and candles flickering. At this moment, you purely felt alone. Isolated from everything as you mentally stood still in a pitch black void, with drowned out voices clouding the lonesome darkness.

“(Name). I think it’s about time you headed home.” Your father rasped out, not even making eye contact with you as his gaze was locked onto the champagne bottle and glass snug between his hands. “The ball is over anyway. We’re only staying for extra drinks. Your mother and I will be out meeting some other relatives at the nearby restaurant.”

“Father, it’s too cold for me to walk back home. You know how-“

“Oh, (Name). You’ll be fine. I raised you to be an independent woman. You’ll find the way home just fine.”

Pushing past your father, your mother pokes her shoulder out as well, casting you a glance as she chimes in to the conversation.

“He’s right, dear. Go ahead and head home for the night. I trust you’ll fare just fine without us accompanying you home.”

“Mother, that’s not what I-“

“(Name). That’s enough. You should head home. End of discussion.”

You knew you couldn’t properly explain to them. They’d always toss you aside and swat off your remarks as such. You bit back your protest, swallowing as you scanned the ballroom for a spare coat anywhere. There were a few harbingers around, so a raggedy stray coat shouldn’t be too uncommon.

“Sorry. I’ll be heading home now.” You submitted under your breath, masking your mixed irritation dissolved into your tone. You only further grimaced slightly as your mother smiled and leaned over to place a faux affectionate kiss to your forehead. With one dismissive wave once more, her and your father turned their back to you to exit the ball, shouldering through the heavy spruce doors packed with people crowding them.

You blinked, fervent shivers making you tremble against each flake of snow that brushed along the exposed parts of your skin as you realized you had just stepped midway through. The searing cold made your head spin as you began to lose yourself, frostbite clouding your senses and enveloping the tips of your fingers slowly. No matter. You could make it home if you simply stopped spacing out and thinking about your shitty parents. Just then, a loud crunch resounded with the howling wind, heavy clanks of metal being heard in addition to the crunches.

The heavy thuds only seemed to become clearer as they grew closer and closer, a light drag of chains shuffling behind you as well. Your heart nearly pounded out of your chest in anticipation, a sense of apprehension overtaking you as you clutched the coat draped over you tighter in a pathetic attempt to shield yourself using the thick fabrics. The thuds came to a halt as your eyes slowly roamed over the man who halted before you. His figure loomed over you, as his towering frame was quite intimidating to the least.

The metal lining of his mask enshrouded his face in a sightless black, cloaking his face completely as it seemed like an empty void bore into the gap of his helmet. Streams of jet black hair along with that adorned along the cheekbone of his mask and down his shoulders, a few stray strands of his long hair edged along the sharp steel edges of his mask. On top of that. A thick white coat with black fluff was draped along his shoulders, the small fabric emblem in the corner pertaining to that of the Fatui. If he was wearing this coat, your best bet was he was definitely a Fatui harbinger. Likely a strong one at that.

Backing up slightly, your eyes wandered over the man’s figure as you stood neatly frozen in place, the wind swaying his streaming hair while the harbinger looked down upon you.

“Is something the matter, ma’am?”

His low voice cast the illusion of protruding through the thickened frozen air, a faint muffle present in his speech considering he had spoken through the hollow opening of his seemingly endless mask.

“I was just walking home..”

“You seemed to be troubled, though.”

You simply wanted to scoff, yet you only tilted your head away from the harbinger in shame. Had your family humiliated you this much to the point where a figure of such high status took pity on you?

Sucking in a breath, you slowly turned your head back towards him, his body frozen in place, and looking down at you like a great statue. His gaze remained locked on you—yet you couldn’t tell due to the hollow blackness pitched into the carving of his mask. “Your name?” He hummed lowly, his body still enveloped by his large coat, and arms hidden under the sides of the thick pale silk.

“(Name).” You replied bluntly, clearing your throat and lowering your voice almost immediately after as to not give a rude impression. “Yours?”

“Il Capitano.”

Capitano seemed to follow your lingering gaze as he spoke, tracing each spot your eyes transfixed on periodically. However, there was one particular spot you couldn’t take your eyes off, and he didn’t take long to notice you focused on the Fatui emblem at the corner of his harbinger coat. “First of the Fatui harbingers.” He added, sensing that you had been wondering his relation to the infamous organization serving under the Cryo Archon dispersed across Teyvat.

Sensing your evident shifts and subtle kicks of your feet, he didn’t take long to pick up on your troubled state fidgeting before him, as if you were afraid of a train of emotional danger clouding your judgement to even think properly—much less walk in such bitter conditions.

“Where are you off to so late, miss (Name)?”

“I’m just walking home…it’s important family business.”

You immediately added that last part as an audible afterthought, not wanting to involve a harbinger in your personal affairs. Capitano wasn’t stupid, however. The clouds of tension and fear were palpable amidst the indifferent expression of yours, flaked white from the occasional crystals of snow fluttering onto your face. Heavy clanks followed your words as he stepped forward carefully, not wanting to startle you as he made his way directly beside you.

The black fur lining the neckline of his coat brushed against your collarbone as he stood closely shoulder to shoulder with you, head kept high. He continued to stare off into the distance ahead of him, as if the burrowing fog wasn’t enshrouding the entire vicinity before the two of you and dimming your line of sight.

“Do you mind if I accompany you home?”

You blinked out of pure surprise. A harbinger? Walking you home? At first it was too much, you couldn’t possibly accept this, much less waste his time like this! However the chilling thought of walking alone at night so late sent a shiver down your spine, and it was definitely not just from the cold.

“Not at all, Sir Capitano.”

He shook his head, stepping forward as he beckoned you to catch up to him.

“No need for formalities. Just Capitano is fine.”

Nodding, you briskly walked beside him to match his pace. The two of you were purely silent as he walked into the swirls of fog patterned along the vicinity clouding the array of homes lined up on either side of the street. Shuffles of chains and howls of wind were the only noticeable sound echoing along the empty night roads, inducing a rush of calmness that replaced your previous anxious state. Halfway through, you proceeded to extend your arm out, pointer finger fixing ahead of you at a slight angle.

“My home should be around there.”

Capitano simply nodded, shifting his path in the direction of your finger’s aim as he slowly headed toward the squeezed space of homes cluttered along the sides. Once reaching your doorstep, he halted at the hardened spruce topped with a silver knocker situated above the center, as if he was awaiting your next words. You delivered him a sincere and thoughtful smile, folding your arms as you didn’t know what exactly to do with them. The freezing steel of the knocker uncomfortably brushed along the exposed skin of your shoulder, which was not effectively covered by the ragged coat, making you hunch over upon contact embarrassingly.

“Thank you, Capitano. I don’t think I could have reached home quick enough before passing out on the streets..”

He let out an affirmative hum once more, looking down at you through his helmet framed by his long hair which was now a bit unkempt from the winds mixed with the fog. But it was only a strand or two off anyway.

“The pleasure is all mine, Miss (Name).” He paused briefly, before adding once more. “If you’re in any trouble that requires my assistance, don’t feel afraid to call me.” His words were sweet, yet they made you laugh faintly, making you biting your tongue at his low tone questioning what was so humorous about his statement.

“Ah. It’s nothing, Capitano. It’s just…we met under a few hours ago..”

“It’s not the time we knew each other that’s the matter. Rather, it’s the fact that it’s obvious you’re clearly going through something, (Name). I don’t mean to pry, I just want to do what is just for you. And I can tell you’re a good person.”

His words only brought that faint elated smile back onto your face, an unexplainable disappointment drooping within you when he steps away from the door to head back. You wave to him, and he gives a quick nod, turning his back to you and heading back to god knows where. That smile remained on your lips for quite a bit, even when you rocked open the door slowly into the comfort and warmth of your home.

What a respectable and kind man.

A/N: it’s 1 am and I have a quiz tomorrow morning LOLLL

Anyway I’m so happy I got this done yay

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masorciereviolette · 1 month ago

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You Can Find Me In The Space Between 1

Pairing: AU Agatha Harkness x Reader, Past Agatha Harkness x Rio Vidal

Warnings: Soft Domestic Themes, Fluff, Vulnerable Reader, Reassurance, Slight Angst, Comfort, Soft Agatha, Jealous Rio, Possessive Agatha, Defensive Agatha, Happy Endings.

Word count: 15.8k

Summary: Agatha Harkness has finally found happiness again. As a powerhouse district attorney in New York City, she's built a life she's incredibly proud of-with a woman she loves deeply. You, a sharp and intuitive NYPD detective, have become her home, her solace. But loving Agatha means accepting that parts of her past will always linger, and one part in particular comes with piercing dark eyes and a smirk that still holds too much power.

Rio Vidal-high-end art dealer, Agatha's ex-wife, and the mother of their six-year-old son, Nicholas. Rio's presence is constant & unavoidable. She and Agatha share a child, a history, a familiarity that you can never touch. And as you watched the perfect little family interact-Agatha brushing a wave from Nicholas' forehead, Rio laughing at an inside joke from years before-doubt begins to takes root. No matter how much you love her, will you ever truly belong?

A/N: Ngl rio is kinda a raging bitch in this one so i honestly understand if it’s not your cup of tea. Everyone’s got reading preferences. These are just ONE of mine—✋🏽😭 Ts is unreasonably long, so it stretches over several days. My apologies I fr got carried away. I’ll warn you now there is a some light pov switching but not too bad. (More note at the end to avoid spoilers) The Next Part Here

Taglist: @ambessas-doll @milflovers4 @graceful-witch07

There were rare moments in life when everything felt still—when the weight of the world, the noise of the city, and the unrelenting press of time all seemed to pause.This much to your appreciation, was one of them.

The world outside continued its relentless churn—sirens echoing in the distance, the muffled thrum of life pressing against the city walls—but in here, in the quiet hum of your shared space, time stretched into something languid and unhurried.

You’re currently stretched out on the couch resting your head against Agatha’s chest, your legs tangled together under the blanket. The TV flickered in the dimly lit apartment, but neither of you were truly paying attention to the out dated comedy drama playing on the screen.

Agatha’s fingers danced absently along the length of your arm, drawing lazy circles that sent tendrils of warmth skittering beneath your skin. Her other hand rested low on your hip, fingers curled just enough to remind you she was there. The slow, even rhythm of her breathing against the crown of your head was as familiar as the city skyline beyond the window, a steady presence in a life that had once felt anything but.

“You falling asleep on me?” you murmured, your lips curving as you felt her chin still on top of your head.

A soft, almost reluctant hum came from her chest. “Mmhmm. But in my defense, I’ve had a long day and a bottle of wine.”

“You’ve had two glasses” you corrected pulling back to tilt your head up slightly. Catching the ghost of a smirk playing at her lips.

Agatha arched a lazy brow, her fingers pausing against your arm to give a light pinch. “Are you calling me a lightweight?” There was mock offense in her voice, but the way her lips brushed softly against your hairline betrayed the teasing lilt beneath it.

You chuckled, shifting just enough to tighten your hold around her. “Oh counselor, I would never.” You teased softly. The truth was, Agatha Harkness was not a lightweight in any sense of the word. She moved through life with an unshakable confidence, commanding it and any courtroom unlucky enough with the same precision she used to navigate the tangled mess of your heart.

There was a sharpness to her, an edge honed by years of experience, yet here—away from the ruthless battles of the legal world, away from the weight of expectation—she was softer. Still sharp, still quick-witted, but warm in a way that felt like something only you were allowed to see.

A rare, well-kept secret.

She exhaled against you, her fingers brushing your shoulder as she pressed another soft, absentminded kiss to your head. “Y’know” she mused, voice thick with teasing. “The more I think about it, I’m pretty sure you were the one who fell for me first….”

You scoffed, twisting slightly to look up at her. The amusement in her eyes was unmistakable, dancing like the flicker of the TV’s light. “Oh, please. You were looking at me like I was the answer to a question you didn’t even know you were asking—”

Agatha smirked, tilting her head. “Detective, if I recall correctly, you were standing over a mutilated body when we first met.”

You grinned, settling back against her chest. “Precisely.” She let out a dramatic sigh, shaking her head. “I did think you were quite the pain in the ass.”

“Incorrect, you were the one getting in my way,” you shot back, your fingers tracing over her arm in slow, deliberate strokes. “Always looming, always arguing with me in those ridiculously— distracting high heels.”

Agatha chuckled softly. “I was just doing my job.”

“Oh, is that what you call it?” You arched a brow, shifting to the side slightly, wedging your body between her own and the cushions, allowing you to face her now more comfortably. You kept your leg slotted between her own, enjoying the close contact. “It honestly felt like you were trying to bully me into letting you do whatever you wanted.”

Her fingers tightened around your hip, a pleased, knowing smile curling her lips. “And yet, here you are, tangled up with me on my couch.” She tilted her head down, brushing a slow, lazy kiss against your jaw. “Guess my tactics worked.”

You rolled your eyes, but the warmth in your chest betrayed you. “You’re so insufferable.” you muttered softly.

“And you’re so in love with me” she countered, her voice impossibly smooth as she dragged the words over your skin. Your breath hitched slightly—not much, but just enough for her to catch. Agatha, ever observant, pulled back just enough to study your face, her smirk softening into something more genuine, something that made your heart ache in the best way.

“Seriously,” she murmured, her thumb tracing the curve of your cheekbone, slow and unhurried. “I think about it sometimes—how we got here. You and me.”

You swallowed, bringing you hand up, fingers threading through her own. “You mean how we went from arguing over an active crime scene to you hijacking all the blankets every night?”

“Exactly.” Her lips quirked at the corner. “I like this ending much better.”

You exhaled, letting your forehead press up against hers. “Me too.” Her grip on you tightened momentarily, as if she could press the moment further into permanence. There was something in her touch that felt like gratitude, like a quiet acknowledgment of the long road that had led you here. You settled back into her chest, nuzzling your cheek into her sweater.

The case on which you both had first met was high profile—a gruesome homicide that sent shockwaves through the city. You had been the lead detective assigned to the case, and Agatha had been the assigned ADA. Your first encounter had been a clash of sharp minds and sharper tongues. Your captain damn near had to separate the both of you within the first fifteen minutes, neither party would stop bickering like petulant children.

She had accused you of overstepping; you had accused her of being a bureaucratic nightmare, too clinical in a case that demanded something more human. She had scoffed at your bleeding heart sentimentality, you had bristled at her bold arrogance.

But somewhere between the heated debates and the begrudging late-night case reviews, something had shifted. Somewhere in the wreckage of your stubbornness and hers, the lines had blurred. And now, here you were. Curled up against her, wrapped in the warmth of something that had once felt absolutely impossible. The weight of the day melted away beneath her touch, the steady rise and fall of her breath settling against you like a quiet reassurance.

“You’re quiet,” she murmured, pressing a kiss to your the top of your hair. “That usually means you’re thinking too much.”

You huffed out a laugh, giving her waist a squeeze. “Just appreciating the moment.”

Agatha hummed, content. “Well, for the record, I like this moment too.” Her voice was softer now, laced with something private, something only for you. Her hand slipped up underneath the back of your shirt, fingertips skating slowly along your spine, drawing lazy patterns that sent a shiver up your back. The way she touched you wasn’t idle—it never was. It was intentional, a reassurance wrapped in the weight of her presence.

You smiled against her touch, allowing yourself to sink further into her warmth, into the rare stillness of this place, of this moment. Outside, the city continued its ceaseless march, cars moving in a constant rhythm, lights flashing, voices blending into an indistinct hum. But inside, in the quiet bubble of your apartment, wrapped in her arms, the world felt smaller, Softer.

It was then that the phone rang. Agatha groaned, an exaggerated, disgruntled sound, letting her head drop back against the couch with theatrical flair. “No. No, I refuse.”

You smirked, shifting slightly off of her to grab both of your cell phones from the coffee table, your fingers brushing against hers as you passed over her device. “It’s not me love.”

Her shoulders, once lax and at ease, stiffened the second she glanced at her screen. The shift was instantaneous, the moment shattered before it could fully settle. The small smile that had been on her lips moments ago disappeared, and in its place, the familiar lines of tension pulled at her features. You didn’t have to ask—you already knew who it was.

You hesitated, already starting to move off of her, intending to give her privacy. But before you could completely move away, an arm slipped around your waist tightening its hold, keeping you anchored down, a silent refusal.

Agatha exhaled sharply, closing her eyes for a fraction of a second before swiping her thumb across the screen. “Rio” she said, her voice carrying that sharp edge it always did when she spoke to her ex-wife. A pause. You couldn’t make out the words on the other end, but the tone was enough—low, measured, insistent. Agatha’s jaw clenched, a muscle ticking beneath the smooth expanse of her skin.

“Are you serious?” she hissed, her grip tightening on the phone. “First It’s my weekend, Second we got him settled less than half an hour ago. I agreed to—”Another pause. The muffled response was firm, unwavering. You could practically hear the smirk in Rio’s voice without having to make out the words.

Agatha rolled her eyes, dropping her head back dramatically against the arm of the couch. The exhaustion, the weight she carried so carefully beneath layers of dry wit and stubborn resilience, slipped through the cracks. You saw it, the way her posture stiffened, the way her fingers curled tighter around the device “Fine,” she bit out. “Give us fifteen minutes.”

She hung up with a sharp press of her thumb, the silence between you stretching taut as she tossed the phone aside, flexing her fingers as though shaking off the remnants of the conversation.

You knew what she was going to say before she even opened her mouth. “Let me guess,” you murmured, keeping your tone carefully even. “Rio needs something.” She didn’t answer immediately, but her silence was all the confirmation you needed.

You swallowed, shifting slightly, the familiar, unwelcome knot beginning to form in your stomach. You hated feeling this way, it felt juvenile. The way it always seemed to happen like this—your peace interrupted, stolen by the one person who seemed to know exactly how to wedge herself between you and Agatha, sometimes you swore she was doing this on purpose….“What is it?”

Agatha flexed her hand against your hip, fingers pressing absently into your skin as though grounding herself. “She’s leaving for an auction down state early tomorrow morning and will be gone for the week. She wants to stop by and say goodbye to Nicholas before she goes.”

The weight in your chest pressed heavier, sinking deep. You had always known that being with Agatha meant accepting that part of her life, that Rio would always be there, woven into the very fabric of it. You had told yourself over and over again that it didn’t bother you, that it didn’t matter. But knowing it and feeling it were two very different things. Your grip on the blanket tightened slightly. “Its kind of late, you’re just going to let her—”

“She’s his mother.” Agatha cut in, voice tight.

The finality in her tone made you flinch, and you hated yourself for it. Of course she was. You had no claim there, not really. For all that you and Agatha had built together, for all the love that existed between you, Nicholas was theirs. A bond you couldn’t touch. And Rio? She was a reminder that no matter how much you loved Agatha, no matter how much she loved you, there would always be a space between you. One you weren’t sure you could ever properly fill.

Agatha must have noticed the way your expression shifted, the way your fingers curled just slightly tighter into the fabric of the thick blanket, because her body softened beneath you. She reached for your hand, prying it free with gentle insistence before threading her fingers through yours.

“Hey,” she murmured, coaxing your gaze back to her. “I know what you’re thinking, and you need to stop.”

You tried to force a smile. “I wasn’t thinking about anything.” Her lips quirked, though there was something sad in it. “Liar.”

You swallowed hard, looking away. “I just… sometimes I don’t know if I’ll ever fit.” The words felt fragile, vulnerable in a way you weren’t used to. You didn’t like it.

Agatha sighed then, shifting your body so that she could cup your face between her hands. Her thumbs brushed absently along your cheekbones, her touch grounding. “You do” she said softly, pressing her forehead to yours. “You do, sweetheart. I promise you do.”

You exhaled slowly, closing your eyes for a moment, letting yourself lean into her warmth. Agatha wasn’t one for soft reassurances, not in words, but in this—her touch, her presence, the way she held you like you were something precious—you knew she meant it.

“I don’t want to be the outsider in my own life” you admitted, voice barely above a whisper. “I don’t want to wonder if I’ll ever truly belong here… or if you’ll ever truly belong to me—”

Agatha tilted her head, her lips ghosting the corner of your mouth. “You’re not an outsider. You never have been.”

You huffed, skeptical. “She—”

“Is just Rio,” Agatha interrupted, her tone firm but without malice. “And Nicholas—he’s ours. All of ours, do you hear me?” She pulled back enough to look you in the eye, her expression steady, unwavering. “You are not temporary. You are not some place filler. I chose you, and I will keep choosing you.” Your throat tightened, your mind grasping onto her words like a lifeline.

Agatha’s voice softened then, a rare kind of tenderness threading through it. “I know it’s not easy. I know she gets under your skin, makes you doubt. And I know I don’t always say things the way I should. But listen to me—this?” She gestured between the two of you, her hands moving from your face to rest over your heart. “This is real. You and me, we built something, something no one else can touch. Not her, not the past. You are mine, just as much as I am yours. I need you to believe that.”

Something inside you cracked at her words, the weight of your insecurities momentarily lifting under the certainty in her voice. She never just said things to make you feel better—Agatha Harkness was many things, but sentimental for sentimentality’s sake wasn’t one of them. If she said it, she meant it. You let out a shaky breath, your fingers curling into the fabric of her sweater as you whispered “Then make me believe it.”

Her breath hitched, her hand tightening ever so slightly on your face. And then, slowly, deliberately, she leaned in, pressing her lips firmly to your own. It wasn’t rushed or desperate. It was warm, lingering, filled with unspoken things neither of you had found the words for. She kissed you like she was sealing a promise, like she was anchoring you to this moment, to her.

When she finally pulled back, she rested her forehead against yours again, her voice quiet but certain. “You fit, my love,” she murmured. “You always have, And you always will.”

Her hands slipped down your arms, squeezing gently as she added, “So I’ll say it as many times as it takes. Every day, if I have to. I’ll carve it into the damn sky if that’s what you need.” Her lips brushed your temple, lingering. “You are not replaceable. You are not something I could ever grow tired of. You belong here—with me, with him, with us.”

A lump formed in your throat, your chest aching in the best and worst way. Agatha had never been one for grand declarations, but this—this was a promise written in her every touch, her every breath. Your fingers tightened in the fabric of her sweater, as if holding onto her securely could somehow make the feeling last longer. The warmth of her breath ghosted against your skin, the scent of her—something dark, something familiar—grounding you in a way you hadn’t expected.

“I hate that you know exactly what to say” you muttered, trying to keep your voice steady.

Agatha huffed a small laugh, her fingers tracing a slow path down your arms before settling at your waist. “I don’t always,” she admitted, her voice softer now. “But when it comes to you, I really try.”

Your chest ached at that, the weight of her words curling around your ribs, making it hard to breathe. She wasn’t perfect—God, she wasn’t perfect, but neither were you. And maybe, maybe that was okay.

Your fingers released their hold trailing up, tracing the line of her jaw, your thumb brushing over the curve of her bottom lip. She was watching you—watching the way your breath hitched, the way your pulse betrayed you beneath her touch. Agatha’s hands tightened on your waist, drawing you closer until there was little space left between you. “You don’t have to try so hard…just stay” you had whispered

Something flickered in her eyes then, something deep and unreadable. And yet, there was no hesitation when she replied, “I’m right here.”When she looked at you like this—like you were something sacred, something only she had the right to hold—the rest of the world blurred into irrelevance. Her lips found yours again, but this time, there was something different in it.

Something sharper, something that tasted like possession. She kissed you like she needed to remind you, like she needed to make sure you felt every word she had just said. You were hers. Just as much as she was yours.

Your hands slid back, fingers wrapping around the back of her neck as she deepened the kiss, her tongue slipping past your lips caressing your own languidly. Her hands roamed—up your back, down your sides, fingers pressing in like she needed to feel every inch of you, needed to make sure you understood. This was real.

Slipping one hand up your back, her fingers tangling in your hair, body pressing firmly against your own. A whine escaped your throat, something soft, something surrendering, and Agatha swallowed it greedily.

As Agatha’s lips moved against yours with a slow, possessive hunger, her grip tightening to keep you close. The weight of you settled against her, legs tangled and bodies pressed together so there was no space left between you, only warmth and the rapid beat of your hearts. And then like clockwork—Theres a rapid knock at the door.

Agatha froze beneath you, her fingers still buried in your hair, her breath coming just a little heavier than before. Another knock followed, more insistent this time, breaking through the haze of the moment like a cruel interruption. You groaned against her lips, your forehead dropping to her shoulder in exasperation. “Of fucking course.”

Agatha’s grip on you didn’t loosen. “I might actually set something on fire.” she muttered, voice low and full of irritation

You huffed out a quiet laugh, nuzzling against her neck for just a moment longer before reluctantly pulling back enough to meet her gaze. “Tempting, but I think Nicky would be very disappointed if you burned our home down.”

Agatha exhaled sharply through her nose, her hand moving lower down to your hip, fingers flexing like she wasn’t quite ready to let go. “He’d get over it.”

You smiled, brushing your nose against hers before pressing the softest kiss to her jaw. “Agatha” you drawled.

She tilted her head back with a huff , clearly not pleased about any of this. “What.”

“We can finish this later.” Your voice was a quiet promise, your hand slipping down to rest over hers. “I swear it.”

She studied you, her sharp blue eyes searching yours like she needed to be certain you weren’t just saying it to placate her. After a long moment, she let out a dramatic sigh, fully dropping her hands back against the cushions stubbornly. “You better mean that.”

You smirked. Leaning in to nip lightly at her bottom lip before finally sitting up, resting a hand on top of the back of the couch, still straddling her thigh. “Oh I mean it.” You purred, adding a teasingly roll of your hips hoping to incentivize her, which really on your part was dumb a mistake.

Her hands immediately snapped back into position, tightened on your hips as she raised her leg quickly, pressing it firmly between your own. Slowly she grinds you down against her flexed muscle, a firm but deliberate motion, guiding your hips.

Your breath hitched softly as your hands scrambled to her shoulders, fingers digging in roughly to ground yourself. The friction between her thigh and your leggings rubbing achingly slow across your already sensitive core was providing was absolutely delicious feeling. You could slowly feel your resolve slipping, maybe you could pretend you both fell asleep and she would just disappear.

Agatha smirked at you triumphantly voice dropping to a seductive purr “We could always just-“ she began to whisper when another knock, sharper and louder this time rang through the apartment cutting her off mid sentence. Agatha groaned ceasing her guided movements of your hips, throwing a glare towards the door.

You sighed, with a quick kiss to her cheek you pushed yourself off of her with no small amount of reluctance, shifting to sit on the cushion beside her “Let’s just be civil, this shouldn’t be long” You muttered softly.

Agatha sighed beside you, rubbing a hand over her face before sitting up. “No promises. Another knock on the door came louder than necessary. You had expected Rio to show up with the effortless ease of someone who belonged, but there was something almost pointed in the way she knocked—as if she was already staking her claim before even stepping inside.

You straightened up properly, smoothing down the wrinkles in your shirt. Agatha huffed pushing herself up from the couch before dragging her feet to the door. It swung open, revealing Rio Vidal in all her effortlessly put-together glory.

Dressed in a tailored black coat and knee-high boots. Her dark shoulder length hair was swept back, accentuating sharp cheekbones and the ever-present smirk tugging at her lips. “Well,” she drawled, stepping inside without waiting for an invitation. “Don’t you two just look cozy.” Your spine stiffened.

Agatha didn’t waver. “Was this necessary, Rio?”

Rio hummed, casually undoing the buttons of her coat as she surveyed the space with an air of practiced indifference. “Saying goodnight to my son? Which, by the way, I did text about. Yes. So please, let’s not act surprised.”

Agatha’s lips pressed together. “He’s asleep by now.”

“And whose fault is that?” Rio countered smoothly, dark eyes flickering past Agatha—toward you. “You could have let me come earlier, but I understand. Timing is everything.”

Her gaze swept over you with the kind of casual assessment that wasn’t outright dismissive but carried just enough weight to make itself known. A subtle pressure applied without force—enough to see if you’d flinch. You didn’t. Agatha, however, stepped in before anything could settle. “You don’t get to do this and then act like the wronged party.”

Rio’s lips twitched, almost amused, before she tilted her head slightly. “I didn’t say I was wronged. Just that I could’ve come earlier, before it was so crowded. Maybe I should have insisted.”

Agatha scoffed, crossing her arms as she leaned against the doorframe. “Oh, please.”

Rio’s smirk widened as she unbuttoned her coat further, as if making herself comfortable, even in the face of Agatha’s barely concealed anger. “Well, I do try to be polite when it suits me.” Her gaze flickered toward you again, as if the statement was meant for you as much as it was for Agatha.

Agatha’s jaw tightened. “And yet, here you are, proving otherwise.”

Rio exhaled a soft, knowing chuckle, unbothered by the venom in Agatha’s voice. “Oh, Aggie always so dramatic.” She finally turned her full attention back to Agatha, tilting her head in faux consideration.

“You can drop the act, you know. I’m not here to steal your time. I just wanted to check on Nicky.” There was something deliberate in the way she spoke, like every word was placed exactly where it needed to be, not a single one wasted.

Agatha let out a slow, measured breath. “You’re going to say goodnight to Nicholas, and then you’re going to leave. If you’re looking to stir something up, do it somewhere else.”

Rio sighed, shaking her head as if Agatha were being unreasonable. “You always think the worst of me.”

Agatha’s arms crossed. “Because I unfortunately know you.”

There was a pause before Rio’s gaze flickered back to you, her expression unreadable. “I imagine that must take patience.”

You narrowed your eyes slightly. “What?”

Rio offered a small, easy smile. “Just that she’s always been… particular. About everything.” She gestured loosely toward Agatha. “That kind of intensity can be overwhelming in the long run, if you’re not used to it.” There was nothing outwardly cruel about the words, nothing sharp or direct. But they lingered just long enough for you to feel them.

Agatha exhaled through her nose, irritation creeping into her expression. “That’s enough.”

Rio lifted her hands in mock surrender, all charm and ease. “No offense meant. Just an observation.” The smirk didn’t fade, but there was something satisfied in the way her eyes flickered over Agatha’s stance, like she had gotten exactly what she wanted. A reaction. A tell.

Agatha shifted, stepping in front of you slightly—not quite blocking, but just enough that the intent was clear. The movement was subtle, instinctual, protective. “I’m not repeating myself,” Agatha said, her voice steady, low. “Go.”

Rio exhaled through her nose, shaking her head in a way that almost looked amused. “You really are no fun anymore.” Agatha’s expression didn’t change. A beat of silence. A stare-down.

Something passed between them, something quiet and unspoken, built on history, on a language neither of them had to speak aloud. You hated it. Then finally, Rio let out a small, almost wistful sigh before tilting her head toward the hallway. “Fine. I’ll be quick.” She peeled her coat off her shoulders, tossing it onto the chair before disappeared down the hall, leaving you and Agatha alone in the tension-choked living room.

Silence. The kind that lingers too long, heavy and suffocating, pressing down on your ribs. You exhaled slowly, trying to will the tightness in your chest away, but it clung to you. Agatha was already looking at you, Her face softened. “You okay?”

You forced a bitter smirk, leaning back against the couch. “Oh, sure. Love feeling like an afterthought in my own home.”

Agatha sighed and closed the distance between you. She sat beside you, reaching for your hand—but you hesitated. Just a second too long. Her fingers hovered, then curled into her palm before she let them rest on her lap instead. Her lips pressed together. “Don’t do that.”

You swallowed. “Do what?”

Her gaze didn’t waver. “Push me away.”

You almost laughed, Almost. Because it wasn’t her you were pushing away. It was the gnawing, relentless feeling in your gut—the whisper of doubt that refused to be silenced. The part of you that constantly screamed you don’t belong here, a voice that conveniently sounded like rio….But she wouldn’t understand that. Not fully. You sighed and shook your head. “I just—” You stopped, words catching in your throat. Agatha waited. She was always good at waiting for you. Finally, you whispered dejectedly “She fits Agatha.”

Agatha let out a breath, her expression shifting—not frustration, not anger, just something softer. Something sad. She reached for you again, slower this time, like she was giving you a choice. When you didn’t pull away, her fingers found yours, squeezing lightly. “You honestly think love is about fitting perfectly into each other’s lives?” Her voice was quiet, steady. “You think that’s what that was?”

You hesitated. “I—”

She shook her head softly cutting you off. “No. It’s about choosing. Every day. Through the easy parts and the hard ones. Through the doubts and the arguments.”

Your throat tightened. “I know. But what if—”

She didn’t let you finish. Agatha shifted closer, her free hand moving to cup your cheek, her touch grounding. “No. Not ‘what if.’ Not with us.”

Your breath caught. “But she—”

“Is not you.” Her voice was firm. “I need you to hear me when I say this. She could be a thousand unsavory things, but she’s not you. And I—” She swallowed, voice dipping into something quieter, almost vulnerable. “I don’t want a version of this that doesn’t have you in it.”

You blinked, startled by the intensity of her words. Her fingers brushed against your jaw, thumb tracing soft, slow circles. “I love you” A small, wry smile tugged at her lips. “And frankly, you piss me off sometimes. But I still love you.”

That startled a weak chuckle from you, and she took the opportunity—leaning in, her nose brushing yours before her lips met yours in a kiss. It wasn’t rushed. It wasn’t desperate. It was soft. Intentional. A reassurance pressed into you, meant to settle the storm in your chest. When she pulled back, her forehead rested against yours. “I really need you to believe me.”

Your fingers curled around hers, holding tight.

“I’m trying, I promise.” She was watching you so intently, eyes searching yours, waiting for you to believe her words. To believe that her love was enough. But before either of you could break the quiet, Rio’s voice cut through the air.

“Well,” she mused, her tone smooth as ever. “Wasn’t that sweet.” You tensed as Rio strolled back into the living room, moving like she owned the place, like she had the right to comment on whatever she’d just walked in on. Her gaze flicked lazily between you and Agatha, lips curling at the corners, like she’d found something amusing.

Agatha, to her credit, didn’t so much as flinch. “Is he back asleep?”

“Of course,” Rio said, slipping her coat back on. “Not that I expected anything less. He’s always an angel with me.”

Agatha’s brow twitched, but she let it go. “Then you can leave now.”

Rio’s smirk deepened. “Why must you always be so eager to kick me out?” The air between them was sharp, carrying an old familiar ease that came from years of knowing someone too well. It made your stomach turn. Rio’s presence had a way of settling over the room like smoke, curling into spaces it didn’t belong, clinging to the air. Maybe that was what Rio found so amusing—the fact that you were standing here, trying to carve a place for yourself in a life that had already been lived, lived in by her.

Her gaze slid to you, sharp and assessing, flickering over you like she was trying to place you in the picture she had of Agatha’s life. Her smirk widened though it seemed angrily “So, how long have you two been—playing house?”

You clenched your jaw, pulse kicking up. “Not that it’s any of your business, but long enough.”

Rio’s brows lifted, feigning innocence. “Oh? Long enough for what?”

“Long enough to know I’m not going anywhere” you said evenly, holding her gaze. For the briefest second, something passed through Rio’s expression—something quick and sharp, like a crack in an otherwise flawless mask. But then, just as easily, it was gone. She chuckled, shaking her head. “Alright, Detective. I’ll give you that one.”

You didn’t know what irritated you more—the way she said it, like this was a game, or the fact that Agatha obviously hadn’t told her you were officially living here yet, Had she deemed it not worth mentioning? Despite everything, Rio assumed you were still just a visitor in the space, And that realization settles in your chest like lead.

Agatha shifted closer to you, her fingers curling tightly into yours—not for show, not to prove anything to Rio, but because she wanted to. For you. Rio’s gaze flickered downward, noticing the gesture. “You really do like making things permanent, don’t you Aggie?”

Agatha’s grip tightened sharply around your hand. “Don’t push it.”

Rio raised her hands in mock surrender, but her smirk remained. “Relax. I’m just making conversation.” She adjusted her coat, taking a step back toward the door. “But since you both seem to be getting so comfortable, I suppose I should get going.”

Rio’s smirk lingered as she turned sauntering away, reaching for the door handle. Just as she was halfway out, she turned over her shoulder. “By the way” she mused, eyes flickering toward Agatha, “Nicholas asked about our wedding today. Thought you might want to know.”

Agatha barely reacted. If anything, there was the faintest arch of her brow, as if the comment was dull, hardly worth addressing. “And?”

That single word was sharp. Indifferent. Rio’s smirk faltered for just a fraction of a second. “Just thought it was interesting” she said, tone still light but missing its usual bite.

You leaned into Agatha slightly, letting the warmth of her presence settle against yours. “Kids are curious” you said easily, flashing Rio a small smile. “But I wouldn’t overthink it too much.”

Rio’s jaw tightened just barely, but she smoothed it over so quickly that most people wouldn’t have noticed. But you did, Agatha did, And that made victory so much sweeter. Rio adjusted her coat, giving you both one last unreadable look before exhaling. “Well, I’ll let you two get back to whatever this is.”

Agatha’s lips curled, just slightly. “Yes. You should.” Rio didn’t rise to it. Didn’t let anything crack. But as she stepped outside and shut the door behind her, there was no doubt—it had gotten under her skin. And that? That felt really damn good.

As the door shut with a satisfying finality, you exhaled, letting your head fall back against the couch. Agatha’s presence beside you was a solid warmth, something steady after the whirlwind that was Rio Vidal. Agatha stretched her arms over her head with a dramatic sigh before settling back into the couch, tilting her head to regard you with a lazy smirk. “Well, that was exhausting,” she drawled, shifting so she could lay back against the cushions, making herself comfortable. “You should come over here and comfort me.”

You scoffed, pushing yourself up to sit straighter. “Excuse me?”

She hummed, opening her arms invitingly. “Come on, darling. It’s been a long night. Let’s not pretend we don’t both want to curl up and pretend we don’t exist for a while.”

You eyed her, unimpressed. “You’re awfully demanding for someone who just had their ass verbally handed to them.”

Agatha rolled her eyes. “That was not an ass-handing. That was a minor inconvenience.” She reached for you then, tugging at the sleeve of your shirt with a small pout. “Come on. Just lay down.”

You didn’t budge. “Why didn’t you tell Rio that I was living here now?” Agatha stilled, fingers curling slightly where they still rested against your sleeve. You watched as her eyes flickered away for a moment, her lips pressing together in something unreadable before she sighed, pulling her hand back.

She let out an exaggerated sigh, tipping her head back against the cushions before glancing at you with a look that was equal parts tired and exasperated. “Because I didn’t feel like dealing with her shit” she said flatly. “You’ve seen her—she’d either turn it into a melodramatic soap opera or make some passive-aggressive dig about how tragic it is that we ended up here. Frankly, I wasn’t in the mood for either.”

You gave her a long, unimpressed stare. “So you just… didn’t tell her?”

She scoffed. “What, was I supposed to send out a formal announcement? ‘Dear Ex-Wife just a heads-up, y/n is residing here for the foreseeable future. So please, feel free to drop by and ruin my day at your earliest convenience’?” She waved a hand, sarcasm dripping from her words. “No, thank you.”

You folded your arms, still watching her, waiting for more. And Agatha—Agatha always noticed when you were waiting. She exhaled, letting her head roll back to the side to look at you, something in her gaze a little less flippant now. “Look,” she muttered, rubbing a hand over her face, “I didn’t want her showing up here, sniffing around, trying to get a read on things. On me, on us…on you.” She paused, her voice dropping just slightly. “She’s already got enough power in my life. I wasn’t about to hand her more.”

That landed. You didn’t say anything right away, just watching the way she now stared at some indiscernible spot on the ceiling like she was regretting saying anything at all. It was rare that Agatha admitted when something unsettled her—when someone unsettled her. You let out a slow breath. “Fair enough,” you murmured.

Agatha perked up immediately, reaching toward you with a triumphant grin as she opened her arms once more. “Excellent. Now, are you going to stop being stubborn and come here, or do I have to start fake-sobbing about how heartless you are?”

You scoffed but didn’t fight her this time as you shifted down, letting her pull you down into her arms. “You are exhausting.”

She hummed, her fingers lightly tracing along your arm as she smirked against your hair. “And yet, you’re still here.” She hummed pressing a soft kiss to your temple as you settled against her.

——————————

The first thing you registered was warmth. Not just the kind from the thick blanket draped over you, but the kind that seeped into your skin—the steady, familiar heat of Agatha pressed against you. Your eyes fluttered open, the dim glow of morning light filtering through the living room curtains. It took a second to orient yourself, to push through the grogginess clinging to your mind.

You hadn’t meant to fall asleep out here. The last thing you remembered was curling up with Agatha on the couch, her arms wrapped around you as some old sitcom was playing on the TV. You must have drifted off somewhere between her teasing commentary and the soothing cadence of her voice.

Now, she was still asleep behind you, her breath warm against the back of your neck, her arm draped over your waist as if even in sleep, she refused to let go. The apartment was quiet, save for the rhythmic sound of steady breathing, the gentle rise and fall of Agatha’s chest against your back. Your legs were tangled together beneath the blanket, the soft scent of her lingering in the space between you.

You were warm. Safe. Home. For a moment, you let yourself sink into it. And then—Tiny hands gripped your shoulders, shaking you with all the strength of a six-year-old on a mission. “Wake up, wake up, wake up!”

You let out a groggy hum, barely opening your eyes before being met with a pair of bright, mischievous ones staring back at you. Nicholas. You blinked at him, voice still thick with sleep. “What are you doing up so early?”

“Pancakes,” he declared confidently. “I want pancakes.” You chuckled, rubbing your eyes. “What, no ‘good morning’ first?”

Nicholas sighed dramatically. “Good morning, my favorite person in the world,” he amended, flashing you a cheeky smile. “Now please make me pancakes.”

You feigned consideration, glancing over your shoulder toward Agatha. She was still asleep, her face relaxed in a way you rarely got to see. Carefully and with much skill, you slipped from her grasp without waking her—one you had perfected over the months of sleeping beside a woman who endearingly clung to you like a damn octopus in her sleep.

“Alright, my little prince,” you whispered conspiratorially, ruffling Nicholas’s hair. “Let’s go make some pancakes.” His face lit up, and in that moment, you felt nothing but pure love.

Once In the kitchen, You lifted Nicholas placing him on the counter beside you, little feet swinging as he stirred the batter with exaggerated focus. You kept a steadying hand on the bowl, watching as his tiny hands worked the oversized spoon. “You’re getting better at this,” you mused, nudging him lightly.

“I am,” he agreed, brows furrowed in concentration. “I think I’m like a chef now.”

You grinned. “Oh, absolutely. A pancake master, even.” Nicholas beamed, clearly pleased with himself, before turning his attention back to the batter. The two of you worked in perfect rhythm—you pouring, him stirring, you flipping, him counting down the seconds until the pancakes were golden brown.

And in the midst of it all, you felt a pair of eyes on you. You glanced over your shoulder. Agatha stood in the doorway, arms crossed, leaning against the frame as she watched the two of you. Something in her gaze made your stomach flip—something soft, something unreadable. But before you could ask, before you could decipher what was behind those alluring blue eyes, she blinked, shaking off whatever thought had rooted her in place. Her lips curled into a smirk. “You’ve traded my expertise for my own sons, I see.”

Nicholas grinned. “Yup!”

You laughed, flipping another pancake onto the growing stack. “To be fair, he’s a better sous chef than you.”

Agatha scoffed, pushing off the doorframe and making her way toward you. “Excuse me? I am exceptional at breakfast-related endeavors.”

Nicholas giggled. “No mom, you’re really not.”

“Utter betrayal—” Agatha muttered, pressing a dramatic hand to her chest.

You smirked, handing her a plate. “You gonna eat, or are you just here to make unnecessary commentary?” Agatha took the plate but didn��t immediately move to grab a pancake. Instead, she hesitated—just for a moment before her gaze settled on you again. That same look. That same unreadable expression. You tilted your head quizzically. “What?”

Agatha blinked, as if snapping out of it. “Nothing,” she said smoothly, rolling her shoulders back. “Just thinking.”

You didn’t push, But you noticed. As the day stretched on, the three of you moved through it in an easy rhythm. Nicholas, ever the ball of boundless energy, insisted on playing outside after breakfast, and you indulged him, bundling him up in his coat before stepping out into the crisp air.

Agatha lingered just inside the window, sipping her coffee as she watched you chase Nicholas across the small playground. He shrieked with laughter when you finally caught him, scooping him up and spinning him around in the air before depositing him back onto the ground. He stumbled, dizzy but delighted, and immediately started plotting his next escape.

You turned your head up just in time to catch Agatha watching again. It had become a pattern throughout the morning so far—the glances, the long stares, the way she’d snap out of it whenever you caught her. You wanted to push, to ask, but every time you did, she would smirk, shrug or simply say nothing. This time a small smile before retreating from the windowsill, and away from view.

Lunch was a casual affair—grilled cheese sandwiches and tomato soup, something simple that Nicholas could still help with. He sat on the counter again, happily buttering the bread (with far too much enthusiasm), while you grilled the sandwiches on the stove. Agatha leaned against the fridge, arms crossed, observing.

You sighed, looking at her over your shoulder. “Are you going to help or just stand there and make me nervous?”

Agatha smirked. “Oh, I don’t need to help. You’re doing such a wonderful job.”

Nicholas nodded sagely. “The best grilled cheese maker.”

You hummed, flipping a sandwich. “At least someone here appreciates my talents.”

Agatha chuckled but didn’t stop watching. That same thoughtful look flickered across her face again, but just as quickly, she masked it. You let it slide, For now.

The day carried on, filled with small, quiet moments of domesticity. Nicholas played, you and Agatha cleaned up, and the three of you spent the afternoon sprawled on the couch watching some animated movie that Nicholas insisted was the best thing ever.

At some point before the film even ended, Nicholas had curled up against Agatha, drifting into a light nap. You stole glances at them as Agatha absentmindedly smoothed a hand over his wild waves, fingers light and gentle. The sight did something strange to your chest, but you pushed it down, unwilling to linger on the feeling. Instead, you stood, stretching. “Dinner?”

Agatha arched a brow, her hand still resting against Nicholas’ hair. “Feeling ambitious?”

“Always.”

She smirked softly shifting Nicholas to rest on the cushions, before following you into the kitchen. Nicholas eventually wandered in a few minutes later, groggy but eager to help. You tasked him with something simple—ripping basil leaves while you and Agatha worked side by side, chopping vegetables, simmering sauces, moving in and out of each other’s space without effort. It was easy. Too easy.

Every time you glanced up, she was looking again. Every time you brushed past her, you swore you felt her hesitate, just for a second, before stepping aside. By the time dinner was ready, your patience was running thin.

The three of you sat at the table, plates full, wine poured for the adults, and conversation flowing naturally. Nicholas was happily chatting about some grand adventure he had concocted in his head, going on about dragons and wizards and heroes, and you were content to listen, nodding along as you ate.

But no matter how hard you attempted, your mind couldn’t completely focus on the wild story, It was on Agatha. She wasn’t eating so much as picking at her food, twirling her fork between her fingers. Every so often, her gaze would drift to you, linger, then shift away. Finally, you set your fork down with a sigh. “Alright. What is it?” Agatha blinked, looking up. You leveled her with a stare. “You’ve been watching me all day and now you’re being all weird”

She smirked, tilting her head. “Have I?”

“Yes,” you deadpanned.

Nicholas glanced between the two of you momentarily, clearly sensing something but too preoccupied with his meal to show much interest. Agatha hummed, taking a slow sip of her wine before setting the glass down. And then, with that infuriating smirk still in place, she simply said, “Nothing.”

You exhaled sharply, resisting the urge to throw your napkin at her. “Liar.”

She chuckled, but didn’t elaborate. Didn’t say a word. Just watched you over the rim of her glass, eyes twinkling with something secret, something unreadable.

After dinner, the three of you moved through the familiar routine of cleaning up, each settling into their unspoken roles—Nicholas setting his plate in the sink, you washing, and Agatha drying. The house was warm with the lingering smell of dinner, and the steady rhythm of it all felt… natural. Comfortable. Something that had been done a thousand times before.

Once the kitchen was tidy, Nicholas tugged at your sleeve, looking up at you with sleepy eyes. “Bedtime?” he mumbled around a yawn.

You smiled, brushing his curls back. “Unfortunately it is my dear, Let’s go get you tucked in.” Agatha followed as you led him to his room, the three of you moving in quiet synchrony. Nicholas climbed into bed, pulling the covers up to his chin as you and Agatha settled on either side of him.

“Story?” he asked, blinking up at you both.

Agatha smirked. “Didn’t you just tell us an entire saga over dinner?”

Nicholas pouted. “That was different.”

You chuckled, smoothing a hand over his forehead. “Alright, alright. A short one.”Nicholas snuggled deeper into the blankets, content. You glanced at Agatha, arching a brow. “You wanna do the honors?”

She hesitated. Just for a second. Then, with a small sigh, she shifted, leaning closer to Nicholas. “Once upon a time,” she began, voice softer than usual, “there was a little prince who thought he was a dragon.”

Nicholas giggled, immediately enraptured.

“And this little prince who was definitely a dragon—was the fiercest, bravest creature in all the land,” Agatha continued, her voice dipping into something almost melodic. “He had fire in his heart and magic in his veins, and no one could stop him.” You listened, watching her as she spun the story, watching the way Nicholas hung onto every word. And maybe, just maybe, you hung onto them too.

By the time she finished, Nicholas’ eyes had begun to droop, his little hand curled into the blanket. You reached out, brushing his hair back once more. “Goodnight, my little prince.”

“G’night,” he murmured sleepily, already half gone. Agatha leaned down, pressing a kiss to his forehead, something soft, something natural. “Sleep well, baby dragon.” He hummed in response, already lost to sleep.

As you quietly shut Nicholas’ bedroom door, the warmth of the moment still lingered between you and Agatha. For a long second, neither of you spoke, standing side by side in the dim hallway, listening to the soft, steady rhythm of his breathing through the door.

Then Agatha let out a quiet exhale, the kind that carried more weight than it should, and you turned to look at her. “You okay?” you asked, voice hushed, not wanting to disturb the stillness of the apartment.

She tilted her head, gaze flicking to the door before settling on you. “He really is something, isn’t he?” You softened. “Yeah. He is.”

She nodded, lips pressed together as if she were holding back something else, something bigger. But then, as if deciding against it, she simply sighed, shaking her head. You nudged her gently with your shoulder. “Come on, let’s get some rest before he wakes us up at an ungodly hour demanding more food again.”

Agatha let out a quiet chuckle but didn’t argue, following you toward the bedroom. The walk was slow, neither of you in any rush, as if stretching out the peace for as long as possible. The soft glow of a lamp in the corner cast long shadows, painting the space in warm, muted tones. The air between you had shifted—not tense, not uncertain, but something else. Something quieter.

When you stepped inside, you made your way to the dresser, to grab something more comfortable to sleep in. Agatha sat on the edge of the bed, rolling her shoulders back, stretching as if trying to shake off an invisible weight. And then, when you turned, you caught her staring. Again. You sighed, exasperated but not annoyed. “Alright. Spill.”

Agatha arched a brow. “Spill what?”

You crossed your arms, leveling her with a look. “You’ve been watching me all day. And before you say ‘nothing’ again, I swear I will throw this pill bottle at you.” She smirked at that, but there was something softer beneath it. She hesitated, and for a moment, you thought she’d deflect again. But then, after a long pause, she exhaled, fingers idly tracing the seam of the blanket.

“I was just thinking,” she admitted. “About today. About how… nice it was.” You arched a brow, waiting for her to elaborate.

She hesitated, her fingers lightly brushing against the bedspread as she searched for the right words. “I just… appreciate it.”

Your expression softened. “Appreciate what?” you asked slowly making your way to the bed, settling down on your side.

She met your gaze, something quiet and contemplative in her eyes. “You,” she admitted. “This.” Your heart thudded a little harder against your ribs. Agatha inhaled slowly, like she was steadying herself. “The way we move together. How easy it is. How we just… work.” She let out a soft, almost incredulous laugh. “Even after all these months, after everything we’ve been through, you still seem to know me better than most people. Better than I know myself sometimes.” You swallowed, something warm settling in your chest.

Agatha shook her head, a small, almost self-deprecating smirk pulling at her lips. “I used to think love was just—” She waved a hand vaguely. “Something complicatedly toxic. Something that came with rules and conditions, something that required you to constantly prove yourself.” She huffed, shaking her head. “But with you… it’s never felt like that.” Your throat tightened, and for a moment, you weren’t sure what to say.

Agatha’s gaze flickered to yours again, something unreadable in those deep blue eyes. “I don’t just love you,” she murmured. “I choose you, Every day. Over and over.” You felt your breath hitch, caught in the weight of those words. She let out a soft exhale, as if she had just realized something herself. “And I want to keep choosing you.”

Your fingers twitched where they rested on the sheets, as if they were resisting the urge to reach for her. Agatha shook her head again, almost in disbelief, her lips curving slightly.

After a few moments in silence she blinked, as if processing what she had just said, then laughed softly, almost to herself. “I mean, I already knew that. But today—today just…” She trailed off, shaking her head. “It made me sure.” You stared at her, warmth flooding through you like a slow-moving tide.

Agatha glanced down, as if suddenly aware of how much she had just confessed. Then, with a light scoff, she reclined back against the pillows, rolling her shoulders as if to shake off the weight of her own emotions. “Well,” she drawled, “that’s enough sincerity for one night.”

You let out a breath of laughter, shaking your head. “Yeah, wouldn’t want you to spontaneously combust from all the genuine emotions.”

She hummed. “Exactly.” You rolled your eyes but followed her lead, slipping beneath the covers, the warmth of her presence grounding. The room fell into a comfortable silence, the kind only the two of you could share. And then a hand, Light, Tentative. Brushing against your hip beneath the blanket before slowly pulling you closer, closing what little space remained.

Agatha’s warmth pressed against your back, the steady rise and fall of her breathing a quiet reassurance. She didn’t say anything—didn’t need to. Instead, she slipped an arm around your waist, her fingers curling against your ribs as if afraid you might slip away.

Just as sleep began to pull you under, you felt it. A soft press of lips against the curve of your neck—brief, lingering just long enough to leave a ghost of warmth in its wake. A silent promise. You hummed breath leveling out slowly, letting yourself sink into it, into her. And with that, Agatha sighed against your skin, her body relaxing into yours as sleep finally claimed you both.

——————————

The apartment was still draped in the quiet hush of morning when Agatha woke up. The warmth of your body pressed against hers, your steady breathing the only sound in the room. For a long moment, she simply lay there, absorbing the peace, knowing how fleeting it could be.

She turned her head, eyes tracing the features she had memorized over the time together. The slope of your nose, the way your lips softened in sleep, the way her pillow always managed to keep the faintest trace of your scent. A pang of something deep and certain settled in her chest.

Today was the day. She had been thinking about it for a while, but now, finally, she was ready. And she needed help.

Carefully, she slipped out from under the covers, moving with precision. She brushed a stray strand of hair from your cheek, resisting the urge to press a lingering kiss to your forehead before turning away. Silent as a shadow, she pulled on her hoodie and padded barefoot down the hallway, ensuring each step was measured—she couldn’t risk waking you.

Reaching Nicholas’ room, she eased the door open, peeking inside. He was a tiny bundle beneath the blankets, only his wild waves visible, his foot sticking out from under the covers at an odd angle.

Agatha smirked, stepping inside and kneeling beside the bed. With gentle fingers, she smoothed a hand over his back. “Wake up my little dragon.”

Nicholas groaned, shifting but not quite waking. “Nooo, to early” he mumbled into his pillow.

Agatha’s lips twitched. “Come on love bug. We’ve got important business.” That got his attention—barely. One bleary eye peeked open. “Important like waffles?”

She chuckled. “More important than waffles.”

That made him lift his head. “That’s impossible.”

Agatha smirked. “I need your help picking something out. Something very, very special.”

Nicholas blinked, clearly intrigued but still sleep-heavy. He rubbed at his eyes before murmuring, “Like a new toy?”

Agatha huffed a quiet laugh. “No, darling. Something shiny.”

Nicholas sat up a little more at that, the gears in his small brain turning. “Shiny?”

She nodded, tucking a curl behind his ear. “But we have to be very sneaky. No waking her up, okay?”

Nicholas’ eyes widened, as if sensing the gravity of the mission. He nodded solemnly. “Okay.”

“Good boy.” Agatha pressed a quick kiss to his forehead. “Now, get dressed. We’ll talk more in the car.”

Nicholas scrambled out of bed, still half-dazed, but still determined. Agatha handed him his little sneakers and helped him into his coat, making sure to keep quiet as they crept through the apartment. She grabbed her purse, keys, and the market bag she had strategically left by the door the night before—an excuse if she needed one. Slipping on her shoes she softly opened the door, ushering Nicholas out.

Once outside of the building, as they stepped into the crisp morning air Nicholas finally looked up at her, curiosity buzzing behind his sleep-heavy expression. “What are we getting Mom?”

Agatha smiled, slowing her steps as they walked toward the car. “A ring.”

Nicholas blinked. “A ring?”

She chuckled. “Yes bug. A different kind of ring, A very special one.”

Nicholas furrowed his brows, trying to piece it together. Then his face lit up. “Like a wedding ring?”

Agatha’s chest tightened—not with fear, not with doubt, but with the weight of how right it felt. “Exactly like a wedding ring.”

Nicholas gasped, grabbing onto her hand with both of his tiny ones. “You’re gonna marry her?”

Agatha exhaled slowly, crouching down so she was at eye level with him. She smoothed a hand over his wind swept hair, her voice soft but steady. “Yes.”

Nicholas beamed unapologetically. “Forever?”

Agatha’s lips curled upwards. “Forever.”

Nicholas processed this for a moment, then tilted his head. “Does that mean she’s gonna be my extra mom?”

Agatha huffed a laugh. “I’d say she already is by now, don’t you think?”

Nicholas grinned, nodding eagerly. “Yeah.”

Agatha stood, taking his hand in hers as they continued toward the car. “That’s why I need your help. You’re one of the most important people in my life, I need you to help me pick out the perfect one.”

Nicholas puffed up with pride. “Okay! But how do we know which one is the perfect one?”

Agatha smirked, ruffling his hair as she opened the car door. “I think you’ll know it when you see it.”

Nicholas climbed in, still full of thoughts. “Do you think she’ll say yes?”

Agatha faltered only slightly, but her voice was firm when she said, “I think, I wouldn’t be asking if I didn’t already know the answer.”

Nicholas nodded seriously, then grinned. “Okay! But then can we get waffles after?”

Agatha laughed as she buckled him in. “Yes, We can get waffles after.” Nicholas cheered, kicking his little feet in excitement. Agatha shook her head fondly as she shut the door and made her way to the driver’s seat. She exhaled slowly, gripping the steering wheel for a moment before turning the key in the ignition. This was happening. And, for the first time in a long time, Agatha Harkness wasn’t nervous.

Nicholas’ tiny fingers curled around Agatha’s hand as they stepped into the jewelry store. His eyes widened as he took in the shimmering cases, the way the lights reflected off of silver and gold. “Are we buying a super shiny one?” he asked, voice filled with curiosity.

Agatha chuckled. “Something like that.”

She had known for a while that she wanted to marry you. But knowing and acting on it were two very different things. Now, standing here, staring at rows upon rows of rings, the reality of it settled deep in her chest.

She was going to ask you. She was going to ask you to spend forever with her. “That one,” Nicholas suddenly piped up, pointing at a delicate but elegant band with a dark blue gemstone in the center. “Its blue like your eyes mom.”

Agatha smiled, It did. And it utterly was perfect. She exchanged a look with the jeweler before nodding. “We’ll take it.”

Nicholas clapped his hands together excitedly, bouncing slightly on his feet. “Does this really mean we get to keep her forever?”

Agatha exhaled slowly, bending down so she could plant a kiss to the top of his head “That’s the plan my love.” She muttered softly into his crown of her hair.

Nicholas beamed, jumping up to throw his arms around her neck. And in that moment, Agatha knew—Because choosing you had never been a question. It had always been a certainty. Something about her son’s unbridled approval just solidified it that much more.

Now, she just had to figure out how to ask you. And most importantly— “Hey,” she said, pulling back slightly, looking Nicholas right in the eye. “You cannot tell her, okay? It’s a surprise.”

Nicholas’ eyes widened. “A surprise?”

Agatha nodded. “A very big surprise.”

He pressed his lips together, then mimed zipping them shut. “I promise.” Agatha smirked. “Good boy.” She only hoped he could actually keep the secret for the day.

The lack of noise was the first thing you noticed. Additionally the warmth of Agatha’s body beside you gone, no steady rhythm of her breathing against your shoulder—just empty space. The bed felt strangely vast without her, the sheets cool where her body should have been.

Your brows furrowed as you blinked awake, your hand instinctively reaching toward her side of the bed, but all you found was the lingering warmth she’d left behind. Fingers splayed against the fabric, you sighed, letting your head fall back against the pillow for a moment before your gaze shifted. Your eyes caught the small note sitting on her pillow.

Went out to get some essentials. Try not to miss me too much. —A

A soft smile tugged at your lips as you traced over the words with your fingers. Even when she was gone, she had a way of leaving pieces of herself behind, making sure you felt her presence.

You rolled onto your back, stretching lazily before finally swinging your legs over the edge of the bed. The apartment was quiet—eerily so without the usual morning chatter of Nicholas bouncing around, asking a hundred questions a minute, and Agatha halfheartedly scolding him between sips of coffee. You had forgotten what silence felt like.

Might as well make use of it.

Padding toward the bathroom, you stretched again, working out the stiffness in your muscles before stepping inside. You turned on the shower, letting the water warm as you undressed, then stepping in, sighing softly as the heat cascaded over your skin.

For a few minutes, you just stood there, letting the water run down your shoulders, washing away the remnants of sleep. The scent of Agatha’s shampoo lingered in the air—lavender and something darker, richer, unmistakably her. You reached for the bottle, working the lather through your hair, momentarily allowing yourself to be surrounded by the familiar scent.

By the time you stepped out, the quiet still prominent , wrapping around the house like a soft cocoon. You dried off quickly, slipping into a pair of loose sweat pants and an old university shirt before heading toward Nicholas’ room.

The door creaked slightly as you pushed it open, revealing the carefully cultivated chaos of a six-year-old’s world. Toys were scattered across the floor, books half-open on his bed, and a small collection of stuffed animals arranged in what looked like a haphazard battle formation on his dresser. You chuckled, shaking your head as you knelt to begin tidying up.

You stacked the books properly, smoothing out the covers before setting them neatly on the nightstand. The stuffed animals were returned to their rightful place on the bed, though you left Nicholas’ favorite—a small, well-loved dragon—right where it had been, knowing he’d probably search for it the moment he got back.

By the time you were done, the room felt more put together, though still lived-in, still his. You sat back for a moment, glancing around, a familiar warmth settling in your chest. This was home—the scattered pieces of it, the quiet in-between moments, the love woven into even the smallest tasks.

At the time they returned you had already finished cleaning, pulled on one of Agatha’s oversized crew necks, and were halfway through making lunch. The scent of garlic and herbs filled the kitchen, the faint sizzle of a pan the only sound in the apartment. It was then, the front door swung open.

“We’re home!” Nicholas called out, his little voice full of excitement. You turned, wiping your hands on a dish towel, only to find the six-year-old barreling toward you with way too much energy. You barely had time to brace yourself before he flung his arms around your waist, squeezing tight.

“Whoa,” you laughed, running a hand through his curls. “What’s all this for?”

He leaned back just enough to flash you a toothy grin. “Because i missed you!”

Your heart clenched in the best way possible. “You were only gone for few hours my little prince.”

“Very, very long hours” Agatha’s voice cut in smoothly. You looked up, and there she was—standing in the doorway, arms draped in several bags, but it wasn’t the bags that caught your attention. It was the flowers. A arrangement of deep purple petunias and soft cream lilies held delicately in one hand.

“For you, darling” Agatha said, lips curling into that signature smirk of hers. You raised an eyebrow, but there was no stopping the way your stomach flipped. “Flowers? What did you do?”

Agatha let out a dramatic sigh, shaking her head. “Why do I always have to have an ulterior motive?”

“You quite literally always have an ulterior motive” you shot back, taking the bouquet from her hands. She smirked, but there was something soft in the way she watched you, something unreadable flickering behind her eyes. You didn’t press. Instead, you turned your attention to Nicholas. “Did you help pick these out?”

He beamed, nodding enthusiastically. “I picked the white ones! Mom said they reminded her of you.” Your chest tightened. You glanced at Agatha, but she was already looking away, busying herself with the items bought, as if she hadn’t just casually melted your heart. Something about her felt… different. Not in a bad way, just different.

You couldn’t quite put your finger on it. But whatever it was, you knew it had everything to do with the way she had been staring at you yesterday. And the way she was avoiding your gaze now.

Lunch had become one of those easy, familiar parts of your weekends—one that blended seamlessly into the rhythm of life with Agatha and Nicholas. It was never just about eating; it was about being together, about existing in a space where the world didn’t matter for a little while.

The sun streamed lazily through the windows, casting warm, golden light across the table, and the sound of soft laughter filled the air—a melody you had unknowingly started to crave. You had just finished setting your plates on the table when a blur of movement in your peripheral vision barely gave you enough time to brace yourself.

Nicholas came running full speed toward you, little arms outstretched like wings, a determined glint in his eye that told you resistance was futile. With practiced ease like this was something he had been doing for years—he launched himself onto your lap, wiggling into a comfortable position as if he had always belonged there.

You barely had time to react before without so much as a pause for theatrics—he reached for your sandwich, taking an audaciously huge bite, his small fingers clutching the bread like it was the most natural thing in the world. The absolute nerve. You blinked at him, momentarily speechless, before finally managing, “Wow. No hesitation, huh?”

Nicholas beamed at you through a mouthful of food, completely unbothered by the crumbs now decorating his shirt. “You always share with me!” he reasoned, chewing happily, as if that simply explained everything.

You couldn’t even be mad. The sheer confidence was impressive. Across the table, Agatha had been watching the entire ordeal unfold with the kind of amused smirk that made you certain she was enjoying this far too much. With an air of smug satisfaction, she leaned forward, plucking an olive straight from your salad bowl, her fingers quick and deliberate. Your eyes narrowed at her. “Really?”

She met your gaze with an expression so unapologetic it bordered on smug. Popping the olive into her mouth, she shrugged, chewing slowly. “What? He took your sandwich. This only seems fair.”

You scoffed, shaking your head, but there was no real frustration behind it. If anything, this ridiculous, chaotic, borderline lawless dynamic—was something you had grown to love more than you ever expected, You honestly feel a bit foolish for ever questioning its permanence to begin with.

The unspoken ease of it, the natural way the three of you fit together as if this had always been the plan. It wasn’t perfect, and it wasn’t something you ever would have foreseen for yourself, but sitting here, with Nicholas practically fused to your side and Agatha stealing bites of your food like it was her God-given right… It felt right.

Your gaze lingered on her for a moment, studying the way her eyes softened whenever they landed on Nicholas, how she seemed to be etching every second of this into her memory, like she was afraid she might forget it. Then, just as quickly, her gaze flickered to you—lingering, observing like she was committing you to memory, too. Like there was something else she was seeing, something she was holding onto.

It wasn’t the first time you had caught her doing it. Over the past few days, you had noticed it more and more—the way she would watch you in those quiet moments, the way her expression would shift, unreadable yet oddly tender. It sent a strange sort of warmth curling in your chest, a sensation you weren’t entirely sure you knew what to do with. But before you could ask, before you could tease her about it or even attempt to read her mind, the moment shattered.

Her phone buzzed against the table. Agatha’s posture stiffened just slightly, so subtle it was nearly imperceptible. But you saw it. You always did.

She exhaled, reaching for her phone with a practiced nonchalance, but the slight clench of her jaw betrayed her. As her eyes scanned the screen, something unreadable flickered across her face—gone in an instant. And then, before you could even think to ask, she stood.

“Be right back,” she murmured, already halfway to the other room.

Your brows furrowed. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah,” she called over her shoulder, too quickly. “Just work.”

It was a lie. Or maybe not a full lie, but certainly not the whole truth. You knew her well enough to catch the way she moved just a little too fast, the way she disappeared down the hall before you could press further. A deliberate retreat. And maybe—on another day—you would’ve let it go.

But something about the way she had been watching you lately, something about the way she had been… planning something, you could feel it, gnawed at the edges of your mind. So, before you could talk yourself out of it, you gently shifted Nicholas off your lap, murmuring, “I’ll be right back little man.”

You followed Agatha down the hall, careful to step lightly, keeping just enough distance to hear without being seen.

“Please tell me you confirmed it.” Her voice was low, hushed—but urgent. There was a pause, then a quiet sigh of relief. “Good. I was scared they didn’t properly reserve it.”

Reserve what? Your heart stuttered for a moment. Agatha rarely kept secrets from you—not ones that mattered. So what could possibly be important enough for her to be sneaking around about?

Before you could step closer— “Hey!” Nicholas’ voice rang out from the kitchen, loud and indignant. “Come back! We’re supposed to be eating together!”

Your jaw clenched. Damn kid.

Agatha turned just as you did, her eyes locking onto yours instantly, then just barely her lips curled into something amused, something knowing. You sighed, shaking your head. Fine. She wins this round, For now.

Later that afternoon the three of you had settled into the living room. The TV flickered in the background, its hum filling the space, but none of you were really watching. Nicholas was sprawled on the floor, his little legs kicking absently as he guy colored, tongue poking out in concentration. Every now and then, he’d hum a tune under his breath, the sound light and content.

Agatha had disappeared into the bathroom a few minutes ago, leaving her phone behind on the couch beside her. It sat there, face down, quiet and unassuming—until it buzzed. You glanced toward the hallway, listening for the sound of the sink or a door creaking open. Nothing. Your eyes flickered back to the phone.

It was right there.

You weren’t the kind of person to snoop. Normally. But after this morning? After the hushed phone calls, the careful glances, the way Agatha had been slipping off with vague excuses? It wasn’t paranoia—it was curiosity. And maybe a little suspicion. Before you could talk yourself out of it, your fingers brushed over the device, just enough to wake the screen. A text thread appeared.

Unknown Number: Everything is set.

Unknown Number: Sunset.

Your brows furrowed, a flicker of confusion twisting in your chest. What the hell was that supposed to mean? Your brain scrambled to put the pieces together, but before you could read any further, before you could even blink, the bathroom door creaked open. In one fluid motion, Agatha snatched the phone out of your hands.

Your head snapped up the second Agatha’s presence shifted. She stood there, phone effortlessly balanced between her fingers, her gaze drilling into you—sharp, assessing, unreadable. A silent standoff. The air between you hummed, stretched thin like a wire ready to snap.

Then, the corner of her mouth twitched, just barely. “Find something interesting?” she murmured, voice smooth, casual. Too casual. Like she was already five steps ahead, enjoying the fact that you had no idea where this was going.

You exhaled slowly, settling back against the couch but refusing to look away. “Wouldn’t know,” you said evenly. “Didn’t get the chance to read much before you nearly shattered the sound barrier snatching it away.”

Her smirk deepened, dark amusement flickering across her face. “Fast fingers, darling. You should know that by now.”

Your eyes narrowed. She was hiding something. That much was obvious. And worse? She was enjoying this. Entirely too much. “Sunset?” you asked, watching her reaction closely.

Agatha didn’t so much as blink. No flicker of hesitation, no crack in her carefully constructed mask. Instead, she moved effortless, fluid—crossing the space between you in a way that always made it hard to breathe. Then, just as you prepared to press further, she leaned in, her lips brushing the corner of your mouth in a slow, lingering kiss.

Warm. Soft. Deliberate. You could feel her smile against your skin, the ghost of amusement curling at the edges. And just like that, she was gone, already drifting toward the kitchen as if the moment between you had never happened. Your stomach twisted, your pulse stumbled. Whatever this was—whatever game she was playing, it was leading to something big obviously.

You narrowed your eyes at her, but before you could press, Nicholas popped up from his spot on the floor, running across the room until he jumped onto the couch cushions, beaming brightly. “Are we still going to dinner tonight?!” he practically shouted, bouncing in his seat.

Agatha shot him a look from over the bar. “Inside voice, Nicky.”

He huffed but immediately turned to you, eyes wide with excitement. “We’re going somewhere super fancy!”

Your brows furrowed in mild confusion. “Fancy?” You turned to Agatha, noting the slight smirk playing at her lips. “Are we?”

Agatha hummed, swirling her tea in her cup. “I thought we could use a night out.”

“A night out,” you echoed, utterly unconvinced. “Since when do you voluntarily spend the evening in public?”

Agatha’s smirk deepened, her eyes gleaming with something unreadable. “Since I decided you deserved to be spoiled.”

Your stomach flipped, heat creeping up your neck at the sudden sincerity in her voice. She was definitely up to something. But before you could get a word in, Nicholas latched onto your arm, tugging eagerly.

“You’re gonna love it” he insisted, practically vibrating with excitement. “I even picked my outfit! Mama says I look very cool.”

“I said you look like a prince” Agatha corrected, resting her elbow on the counter as she studied the two of you with an air of amusement.

Nicholas grinned, utterly pleased with himself. “Same thing.”

You laughed softly, ruffling his hair. “And what exactly am I supposed to wear to this fancy outing?”

Agatha tilted her head, lazily dragging her gaze over you. “Something nice, but not too nice” she mused. “Wouldn’t want you overshadowing me.”

You snorted. “As if that’s possible.” She arched a brow but said nothing, simply watching you over the rim of her cup. That smirk of hers hadn’t wavered.

Nicholas, unaware or simply uninterested in the subtleties of whatever game Agatha was playing, bounced excitedly. “Can I pick out your outfit?!”

You chuckled, nudging him gently. “I’d love your fashion expertise, but I think I can manage.”

Nicholas pouted dramatically but nodded, clearly satisfied just to be involved. “Okay, but can I at least help you pick your shoes?”

Agatha scoffed. “Why stop there? Why don’t you do her hair too?”

Nicholas gasped as if she’d just handed him the world. “Wait can I?!”

You shot Agatha a glare while she merely grinned, thoroughly enjoying herself. “You’re really getting a kick out of this, huh?”

“Immensely,” she drawled, finishing the last sip of her tea before setting the cup down with a soft clink. Then, with an exaggerated shooing motion, she waved you toward the hallway. “Now go, get ready. I would like my girl to be properly polished before we leave.”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t suppress the small smile tugging at your lips. “And what about you?”

Agatha stretched leisurely before strolling out of the kitchen, toward Nicholas who was already scampering off to pick out whatever accessories he deemed necessary for your ensemble. She shot you a wink over her shoulder. “I’ll be handling my own masterpiece.”

You huffed a laugh, but just as you turned to leave, you felt a gentle tug at your wrist. Before you could react, Agatha had pulled you in, her lips brushing against yours in a kiss that was soft but teasing—just enough to leave you breathless.

Your pulse jumped, fingers instinctively curling against the fabric of her shirt as she lingered for a second longer than necessary. When she pulled back, her smirk was still in place, but there was something warmer beneath it, something real. “Now, be my good girl and go get ready” she murmured, her voice a quiet rasp against your skin.

You scoffed, shaking your head as you stepped back, ignoring the way your heart hammered against your ribs, cheeks growing warm. “You’re impossible.”

“And you love it” she quipped, turning on her heel as if nothing had happened.

You watched her go, exhaling a sharp breath before muttering under your breath, “Unfortunately.” And with that, you made your way toward the bedroom, still feeling the ghost of her lips against yours. Whatever Agatha was planning, you had a feeling tonight was going to be anything but ordinary.

After spending far too much time fussing over your shoes, you finally emerged from the bedroom, smoothing down the fabric of your dress as you made your way into the living room. You weren’t sure what reaction to expect, but the moment Nicholas turned and saw you, his face lit up like the Fourth of July.

“Whoa!” he gasped, practically bouncing on his heels. “You look so pretty!” He ran over, grabbing your hand You let out a soft laugh, touched by his enthusiasm.

“Thank you, sweetheart.” Ruffling his hair, you glanced up—only to feel your breath hitch the second your eyes landed on Agatha. Standing by the door, arms folded with a knowing smirk, she was clad in a tailored maroon pantsuit that fit her like a dream.

The deep shade contrasted beautifully against her pale skin, and the open collar of her blouse teased just enough to be unfair. You swallowed hard, trying not to make it obvious that you were staring, but the sight of her radiant, confident, utterly stunning—made that simply impossible.

Agatha arched a brow, clearly enjoying your momentary speechlessness. “Cat got your tongue, darling?”

You opened your mouth, but Nicholas beat you to it, tugging your hand excitedly. “Look, I match Mom!”

Shaking yourself out of your daze, you finally noticed the tiny maroon jacket he was wearing, tailored just enough to be adorable but still formal. The resemblance between the two was uncanny, from the way they both stood with a natural air of confidence to the matching smirks on their faces.

“Oh, my god” you muttered, pressing a hand to your heart as you took in the sight of them together. “I’m never recovering from this.”

Nicholas grinned, puffing out his chest proudly. “I look cool, right?”

“You look beyond handsome ” you assured him, bending slightly to straighten the lapels of his jacket. “And incredibly adorable.”

He giggled, clearly pleased, and Agatha hummed in approval. “Not bad for a night out, hm?”

You straightened, crossing your arms as you took her in once more. “You…” You exhaled, shaking your head. “You look incredible.”

Agatha smirked but didn’t deflect like she usually did. Instead, she stepped closer, brushing her fingers along your wrist in an almost absentminded caress. “As do you.” Her voice dipped slightly, sending a shiver down your spine. “I knew that color would suit you.”

Your heart fluttered, but before you could respond, Nicholas grabbed your hand again, practically vibrating with excitement. “Can we go now?! I wanna see the fancy place!”

Agatha chuckled, stepping back. “Yes, yes, let’s not keep the little prince waiting.”

You let out a soft breath, stealing one last glance at Agatha before nodding. Whatever this night held, one thing was for certain—you were utterly, hopelessly doomed. Now, When you had suspected Agatha was up to something, what you hadn’t expected was her to reserve the entire rooftop at the Rooftop Refinery.

The moment you stepped out of the elevator, you were hit with a breathtaking view of the city skyline, bathed in the golden hues of sunset. The entire rooftop had been adorned with elegant, flickering candlelight, the warm glow contrasting beautifully against the deepening twilight. A soft, intimate melody played somewhere in the background, adding to the dreamlike atmosphere.

It was stunning. And way too much effort for a casual night out. Your eyes narrowed as you turned toward Agatha, who stood beside you with her hands in her pockets, watching your reaction with a too-casual expression.

“Okay,” you said, crossing your arms. “What is this?”

Agatha’s lips twitched, a telltale sign that she was holding back a smirk. “Dinner.”

Nicholas, however, had no interest in subtlety. He tugged on your hand, practically bouncing in place. “Do you like it?! Mom said it had to be perfect!”

Your brow arched, gaze flickering between them. “Perfect for what exactly?”

Agatha shot Nicholas a look a sharp, a quieting glance—and the little traitor quickly clamped a hand over his mouth, though his eyes still sparkled with excitement.

Your gaze slid back to Agatha, who shrugged as if the entire setup wasn’t screaming with ulterior motives. Instead of answering, she stepped closer, the scent of her signature dark vanilla and spice perfume wrapping around you as she gently placed a hand on the small of your back. The warmth of her touch was subtle, yet so incredibly grounding, a silent plea for you to just go along with it. “Humor me, please” she murmured, voice dipping into something soft, teasing.

You sighed, exasperated but unable to fight the way your body melted ever so slightly into her touch. “You’re impossible.”

“And yet, you keep me around.” Her smirk returned full force, this time dripping with amusement.

Before you could retort, she steered you toward the elegantly set table, her touch lingering a moment too long before she pulled away. Ever the charmer, she pulled out your chair for you, her fingers brushing lightly against your shoulder as you sat before she took her own seat across from you. Despite your lingering suspicions… you let yourself enjoy it.

Conversation flowed as easily as the wine in your glasses. Nicholas, between bites of pasta far too big for his tiny fork, chattered animatedly about everything and nothing, detailing his latest school project, a funny video he saw, and how he was so sure the dog at the park last weekend was actually a shapeshifter in disguise.

Agatha—in an uncharacteristically quiet moment—wasn’t speaking much. She was watching you again.

Not in the usual smug, teasing way—but like she was trying to commit every moment to memory. Like she was drinking in the way you laughed, how your fingers toyed absentmindedly with the stem of your glass, how your eyes softened when Nicholas said something particularly ridiculous.

Like she was terrified she might forget what this felt like. You met her gaze mid-sip, brow furrowing slightly. She didn’t look away. That was the first real sign that something was definitely up. Your foot nudged hers under the table, earning the slightest flinch before she recovered, smirking around the rim of her glass.

“You keep staring at me like that Harkness, and I’m going to start charging.”

A husky chuckle rumbled from her chest as she leaned forward slightly, resting her elbow against the table. “You think very highly of yourself, darling.”

“You don’t exactly do a great job of hiding your obsession,” you teased, sipping from your glass.

Her smirk didn’t falter, but there was something deeper behind her eyes, something… unspoken. Still, even as the evening stretched on, as laughter and conversation filled the air, your instincts kept whispering that Agatha had something up her sleeve.

And judging by the way she was still watching you, fingers absently twisting the ring on her hand—you were about to find out exactly what it was. Dinner came and went, the sky deepening into a velvety shade of indigo as the city lights twinkled like fallen stars beneath you.

The warmth of the evening lingered in the flickering candlelight, the air filled with the quiet hum of music, the soft clink of glasses, and the occasional sound of Nicholas stifling a giggle over whatever mischief was forming in his little mind. It was beautiful.

But the feeling in your gut told you it wasn’t over yet, And you were right. Because just as you were about to stand, Agatha cleared her throat. “Nicky,” she said, voice smooth but with a slight edge of tension, “go grab what I asked you to hide.”

Nicholas gasped—as if he had just remembered—before scurrying off, his little shoes tapping against the polished rooftop floor.

You frowned, brow furrowing. “Where is he—” But before you could finish the sentence, Agatha turned to face you fully, reaching across the table. Her fingers brushed softly over yours, then curled around your hand with surprising gentleness.

And then—finally—you saw it. The nerves, The vulnerability that Agatha Harkness never let anyone see. Your chest tightened at the sight of it. “Agatha…” you murmured, her name barely a breath on your lips.

She exhaled slowly, the pads of her thumbs tracing slow, deliberate circles over your knuckles, as if grounding herself in your touch. The candlelight flickered across her face, highlighting the delicate tension in her features—the way her usual confident smirk had been replaced by something softer, raw.

“I’m not an easy person to love,” she admitted, voice quieter than usual, tinged with something so achingly honest it made your throat tighten. “I’m stubborn. I overthink. I push when I shouldn’t, and I—” she paused, her grip tightening slightly around your fingers. “I don’t always say the right things at the right time.” You hated that she felt the need to say that.

Your grip tightened in response, silently urging her to continue. “But you?” She swallowed, her eyes locked onto yours like you were the only thing anchoring her to this moment. “You love me anyway. You love me despite all of it. And I—” she let out a quiet laugh, shaking her head slightly, like she was frustrated with herself. “I don’t always know how to say it. But I need you to know that I do. I love you more than I know what to do with.” Your heart ached in the best possible way.

There was something so fragile and real in the way she said it—like the words had been clawing at her from the inside, desperate to be spoken aloud. And then Nicholas returned, Clutching a small, velvet box in one his tiny hands, a large white lily in the other. Your breath hitched. He beamed, practically vibrating with excitement as he held it out. “Mom! Here! You almost forgot it!”

Agatha huffed a small laugh, the nervous energy breaking for just a second. “I didn’t forget darling.”

Your heart pounded against your ribs as she took the box from him. But she didn’t break eye contact. Didn’t waver. And then—with the smooth confidence only she possessed she slid from her chair, lowering herself onto both knees right in front of you.

Your brain completely short-circuited. Every thought, every suspicion, every fleeting doubt about the extravagance of this evening vanished in an instant.

Agatha Harkness—the Agatha Harkness—was on her knees in front of you, holding a ring, staring up at you like you were the most important thing in the entire universe. She smirked, a hint of her usual mischief glimmering beneath all the tenderness. “You’re gonna need to breathe, darling.”

A watery, disbelieving laugh escaped your lips, your chest rising and falling in a shaky breath as you blinked against the sudden burning in your eyes, she was serious. This wasn’t a joke. This wasn’t a spur-of-the-moment whim. This was Agatha offering you forever. Your gaze flickered down to the ring—and your breath caught.

The gemstone gleamed in the candlelight, a deep, rich blue with flecks of silver running through it. And for a second, your entire world narrowed to that one, impossibly perfect detail. Because that ring—God, that ring it looked exactly like her eyes.

That same stormy, captivating blue, shifting like the ocean on a restless night. Always deep. Always pulling you in. Just like her. Had she chosen it on purpose? Did she know that whenever you looked at it you’d be reminded of her, of every stolen glance, every teasing smirk, every moment where she had held you together when you didn’t even realize you were breaking?

Your fingers trembled slightly as you reached out, touching the delicate band as if trying to convince yourself this was real. Your voice was barely above a whisper. “Baby of course, I’ll marry you.”

Agatha exhaled sharply, like she had been holding her breath without realizing it. Her hands steady, careful, reverent—took yours as she slid the ring onto your finger, her thumb brushing against your skin as she did. Then before you could say another word, she pulled you down into a searing kiss.

It was deep, slow and utterly undeniable, filled with everything she couldn’t put into words. Her hands slid to your waist, pulling herself up, closer like she was terrified you might disappear. You could feel her heartbeat—wild and frantic beneath your palms as your fingers curled into the lapels of her coat, she tasted like red wine and eternity.

Nicholas lets out a dramatic gross, but you barely register it over the way your heart thundered in your chest. When you finally pulled apart, foreheads pressed together, breath mingling, Agatha’s voice dropped into something softer, rougher.

“You’re all mine” she murmured. A statement. A promise. You smiled, still breathless, still trembling with the sheer weight of this moment.

“And you’re mine”you whispered back. Your gaze dropped to the ring once more, the gemstone still glinting under the city lights. This was it.

Her, you, and Nicholas.

A family. Forever.

———————————————————

AN: Ngl i absolutely loved writing this so if anyone would like a part two involving the planning of the wedding // the wedding itself and the wedding night (yes it’ll be 18+) I’ll totally write one!!! Just lmk. I hope you enjoyed & sorry if you disliked it, I really just wanted a comfort // fluff fic for my girl yk.

#agatha harkness #agatha harkness x reader #agatha all along #agatha x reader #aaa #rio vidal #agatha x rio #agathario #nicholas scratch #marvel mcu #marvel #kathryn hahn x reader #kathryn hahn #aubrey plaza #comfort #angst #surprise

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theyhavetakenovermylife · 9 months ago

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Only Fans (18+)

Bayverse!Raphael x reader

A/N: Inspired by a post I saw here on Tumblr. I can’t remember who posted it, so if someone knows who they are, please tag them and let them know I wrote something inspired by their little Raph x reader Only Fans idea. Because honestly, I agree. I think he would be into that, ngl.

Takes place in a world where mutants are accepted in human society.

All characters are aged up.

Warnings: Size difference (size kink?), filming, filming of porn?, voyeurism?, rough sex.

It started with small home videos, you and your boyfriend made for only the two of you to enjoy. The first film was due to the simple reason, that Raph wanted you to see what he saw whenever his thick member stretched you out. You were only able to feel it, not see it. His thick, almost over sized green member pushing in and out of you, with your wetness all over it. It was erotic to watch, you would have to admit that. And that was when you and Raph had the idea to continue filming yourselves just for the fun of it.

Then the need for money came into play. Both you and Raph worked a lot, but with the whole world only getting more and more expensive, especially in a city like New York, with everything but the wages raising, you and Raph had to find another way to make income on the side. And the idea came surprisingly quick to the two of you - opening an Only Fans.

Human mutant relationships were nothing new at that point. They had been happening for years, especially after the official acceptance of mutants in society. Yet you and Raph were surprised to see how few videos of humans and mutants that were on the internet. It was an untouched market, just waiting for you and your boyfriend to tap into it. And with the thought of knowing people would watch what your boyfriend was able to do to you, excited the two of you quite a lot.

Your first video was a success. Filmed on your shared bed with the camera angled just right, so that Raph’s large member thrusting in and out of you was on full display, both of your faces out of the line of sight. And with the title “Mutants ramming human hard from behind”, both mutants and humans were on it in no time.

One video became two, and then two became five, and soon it was a whole thing. You and Raph was gaining the money you needed, just by having sex in the comfort of your own home. Even before you and Raphg started this Only Fans thing, the two of you had a very busy and healthy sex life. Now you had a busy and healthy sex life, gaining money on it. You only saw wins.

Your most popular video to date, was one of you and Raph on the couch, with the camera standing on the coffee table. It started with the two of you being dressed in very formal clothing, as the two of you had just gotten home from a date at a local restaurant, making out with your faces just out of the shot. It didn’t take long before Raph had your red dress pushed up, your lace panties pulled to the side, and his long finger inside of you, making you moan and whimper as you held on to him for dear life. Soon, Raph’s slack pants was down around his angels with you straddling his waist, bouncing on his long erection, his large hands holding your dress up and panties to the side. Soon it took the turn that you and Raph’s videos usually did. As the intensity grew, things got rougher, resulting in Raph ripping off your underwear, before grabbing a hold of your waist from under your thighs, leaving your legs dangling up over his big strong arms. From this angel it was easy for him to lift you up before slamming you down onto him once again, making you scream and moan, while Raph groaned and churred. It ended with both of you caming hard, with you having an earth shattering orgasm that left shaking and convulsing on Raph, while he shot his white robes into you.

You couldn’t walk right for a whole week after that, proving in more ways than the numbers on the video, that it had been a success. And as soon as your legs were functioning normally again, you and Raph was back on it again, making hard rough love in front of a camera.

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bakugoushotwife · 2 years ago

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kinktober day eleven: monsterfucking kink

>>> guys this one may be my fav day ngl...as you can tell by my blog's entire theme that this is my biggest and most violent fantasy i need dragon king bakugou in the worst way please oh my god please

>>> EDIT 10/11: MHA LEAKS OMFG THIS DROPPED THE DAY MHA LEAKS BAKUGOU IS BACK MY GLORIOUS KING!!!!

>>> starring: dragon king!bakugou x curvy!fem!reader >>> cw: monsterfucking, bakugou is a hybrid, no prep, creampie, breeding, biting, blood, dark content, kinda forced marriage? mating bonds, uh, i think that's it. >>>wc: 2.9k >>> event masterlist

it was the new king’s coronation day, and as tradition demands, he shall have his pick of the finest women in his lands. you were brought forth amongst a host of other ladies deemed pretty enough for the young king to choose from. you were the only one of them that seemed irritated by the prospect, all the other girls were tittering and combing their hair while discussing their chances of being picked to be the dragon king’s new bride. he examined you all in a line, sneering at all the smiling and fluttering lashes—sending them crying from the room. he pauses on you, his gaze was stern and fiery but you didn’t hesitate to square your shoulders and meet it. he’s surprised; you don’t smile or extend your hand for him to kiss. you challenge him, you tell him with that strong set jaw and steel stare that you won’t be easy. he feels a pull on his heart, something he cannot yet explain. he likes you.

you tilt your chin up, almost like you’re the one sizing him up. you’re so regal and amusing to him that his mind is made up instantly, but he gives you a few more minutes of looking him over, hoping to see some semblance of interest on your face. king bakugou was a hulking form of a man, towering above everyone in the room. they always were bigger than the normal humans, but he was larger than any of the dragon shifters you had ever come across. the room almost didn’t seem big enough to contain him, and it was his castle. his burlap trousers balloon around his lower half, but it seems there were not shirts big enough to fit the new king of dragons, only a long fur cloak that fastened with a golden dragon broach stretching across the broad expanse of his chest. he was tanned and scarred from years of flight and battle, and muscled even more so. he had hints of sparkling scarlet scales trailing along his collarbones with pointy teeth that alluded to his other form. his biceps bulged as he folded his arms across his chest, admiring you as you admire him with a satisfied smirk on his face. you didn’t throw yourself at him like the rest, and he doubted you would yet still, but you weren’t shy to let your eyes linger on him. he likes you.

he smirks your way, grunting his approval. you were the perfect match. you certainly were the most beautiful creature of his kingdom, and your womanly figure assured him that he would sire several successful heirs with you. you captivated him and you had not yet spoken a word, though the young king could feel that fierce tugging on his heart again, something he now recognizes to be his mating bond the longer he looks at you and the stronger the feeling grows.

“mine.” he says simply, nodding at you in content. his right hand man and fellow dragon shifter steps closer, handing his friend and king a fur pelt similar to the one he wears before retreating back into the onlooking crowd. the king unclasps the matching golden dragon, swinging the covering over your shoulders and snapping the jewelry back into place with a surprising nimbleness. this was the first of many gifts the king would dole out for his mate and queen, but this is the first one to mark you as his. you’re shocked to be chosen, convinced he would take your surveying for disrespect and brutalize you here to send a message— but alas, the most explosive dragon ruler in all the lands chose you as his bride. “you are my mate. we will marry in two moons. dismissed.”

he looks over your head when he says this, ending the celebrations in favor of alone time with his chosen. his gaze has a hint of boredom to it as it glides around the room, red and fiery with unspoken strength and power behind them. you straighten yourself under the weight of your new cloak, bowing your head out of respect, albeit so quick it made the king exhale heavily through his nose as if to chuckle.

“you are amusing, mate.” he says, extending a warm battle-worn hand to push your hair away from your neck. he lets it rest against your shoulder, smirking at how small you were compared to him. it was overwhelmingly apparent that he could do anything he wanted to with you, and you weren’t necessarily opposed to the concept. you started this day with immense rage and dread at having to go before the king and be selected like a prize horse. but he surprised you, even being every bit as brute and brash as everyone said he’d be, his eyes sparkled when they came across you. he declared you his mate—-a huge deal for a dragon shifter, and shrouded you in the engagement cloak without so much as a second thought. there was no arguing with the king, nor his mating bond. your soul was created to nurture his, and vice versa. he felt this snap into place instantly, as a mortal, you probably wouldn’t feel the strength of your connection for several days to weeks. it was an honor, one you couldn’t believe was bestowed upon you—but you certainly weren’t complaining anymore. “i like you.”

you feel your body warm a bit from something as simple as his touch. he’s rough around the edges, and certainly doesn’t know how to be gentle or verbose, but his statement makes you smile warmly anyway. “thank you, my king. i’m quite amused as well.”

he lets his hand slide from your shoulder all the way to your hand, clutching it tight as he brings it to his lips, giving it a chaste kiss. your scent makes his heart skip a beat, and he wonders if he can make it through the next two months without ravaging his sweet maiden.

the days pass, slowly, but they pass. your king brings you several gifts and trinkets, filling your new chambers with tokens of his affection and fondness for his mate. the dragons were known for this, and your mate was the brightest and biggest of them all. so never did he go out to fly without returning with a clutch of presents. he was always so proud of himself as he showed them to you, shoving all the perfumes and jewels in your hands with a boastful grin.

“i found these for you. wear them.” he grunts, roughly pulling you into his arms for a crushing hug. he was working on it, but he manhandled you on accident a majority of the time, not used to interacting with women. you were getting used to it anyhow, only giggling and nodding your acceptance, cooing at how beautiful all the gifts were. he preens in your praise, eager to earn the deep affection that the bond produces.

you couldn’t deny that the bond was starting to affect you, as if you needed any help falling for the monster of a man meant to be your husband. he was kind and loving to you, and you couldn’t ask for much more. he was feared and revered, if you were dumb enough to cross him or his kingdom—soon to be your kingdom, then you earned the punishment of his hellfire tenfold. you wouldn’t find yourself begging for lives to be spared as you stand in the crowd while watching the king dole out sentences. he was brutal, and scary, vicious and primal in every way. his servants tremored in his wake, and though his people loved his protection, they feared his wrath. you were truly the only exception, and it was mystical for everyone to see the fierceness that abounds for his soon to be wife, his forever mate, his queen. and they could only hope your loving tenderness would tame the wild king.

he took meals with you, showed you around his dreary and plain castle, easily agreeing to your every decoration suggestion and insisting you do whatever you want—this is your home now too. he even took you on rides in his gorgeous dragon form, letting you see how beautiful the sun setting over the kingdom was, flying you to different nations, journeying close to the seawaters so you could feel the salty wind on your skin. he forced himself to sleep in his own quarters at night, trying and struggling to abide by common decency.

when your wedding day finally arrived, the king was more than ready to make you his queen officially—and then cart you to bed where decency would be the last thing on his mind. the ceremony is gorgeous, the image of you in your wedding gown was never to be forgotten on him, even though he couldn’t wait to rip it off of you. his brain had already geared into the darker side of things by the time you were being shown to your now shared chambers, and he could not resist his mate any longer.

you weren’t faring much better. however this mating bond usually affected mortal women, it had you ready to climb your king like a tree. as soon as the doors were closed, he was on you, shoving you backwards while hastily tearing at your dress. you assist him in getting it over your head with only minimal rips in the fabric. you can’t bring yourself to care as you fall back on the bed with his body covering yours like a blanket. he’s snarling, but he’s not angry, just eager and too impatient to think about all the lessons he’s learned in being gentle. he scoops you up and tosses you up towards headboard, and you swear you can see steam billow off his form as he eyes you down, watching you lay and spread for him.

“it’s been hard…waiting for you.” he complains, unfastening his cloak and letting it fall to the floor. the moment is so intense, you can feel the air thicken, smell the need permeating the air. he’s breathing heavily already, tugging at the weaving strings keeping his pants closed. your breath hitches when you see his scales glisten in the moonlight, the outline of his cock pressing against the troublesome burlap material. you pant out and nod, knowing the growth before you was only the first hint of what he had to pleasure his mate with. dragon shifters are larger than mortal men in every way, reflecting their dragon status in several different physical markers along their bodies, scales along their collarbones and spines, long mane-esque hairstyles, and of course their cocks. he steps out of the clothing, his massive leaking dick slapping up against his abs with a loud smack, you moan.

his ashy patch of hair and the scarlet scales glistening against his hip bones direct your attention to the monster cock you married. he’s long, thick, curved, lined with veins and a throbbing pink tip leaking his pre-cum in droplets on the bed. it was easily half the size of his thigh, both length and width wise. he fixes himself on the bed, shredding your panties with sharp talons and eyeing your tiny hole. he has all the intentions to stretch you a bit, to get you soaked to accommodate him but when he looks back up at you, you’re drooling.

you can’t imagine how good that’s going to feel inside you. all the times you had touched yourself out of curiosity or even genuine horniness would hardly compare to this, to the man it’s attached to—the way he watches you like a predator tells you there was nothing in this world that would prepare you for what he was about to do to you–what you wanted him to do to you. “i know…” you say after taking a deep breath, reaching for his face. “i’ve had to wait just as long.”

you squirm in place, lidded eyes flickering from his endowment to his eyes and then back again. “just wanna feel my king…i know you’ll fill me up so well.” you coo, batting your lashes.

he’s not in the right mind to banter with you, the only thoughts crossing his brain at the sight and scent of you was to ravage. he grips your hips tightly, trying to will himself to be stronger and give his new bride the treatment she deserves. he should prepare you like a gentleman, but unfortunately the young king is unable to will himself to be gentle. you seem to read his mind, nodding and spreading your legs a bit further, allowing him to get settled in the space you provide. he wastes no time in lining up with your entrance and bottoming out. he knows it’s sadistic that he enjoys the way your eyes cross at the sensation, the burning and splitting stretch ripping a sob from your throat. you clutch at his arms, the natural slick you produced just from your own anticipation aiding him in the glide. he stays still for a moment, letting you adjust to him so he can also adjust to the feeling of your virgin pussy gripping him like a hand-tailored glove. he can’t fight the groan that leaves his lips, mindfully keeping his talons retracted as he rakes his hands over your plush stomach and wide hips, stopping to paw at your thick thighs and fat ass. he’s already rendered speechless, only able to grunt and groan as he starts to move, putting your legs up to his shoulders as to not face any resistance. you cry out at the new angle, absolutely feeling the searing heat of him splitting you apart, but you love it. you move your hips against his, head digging back against the pillow at the newfound pleasure.

it’s so hard for him to go slow, especially as you fuck yourself into him and cry out for more. your body takes him so well, as it was designed to, but he still didn’t expect it to feel and look and sound so good. he can see himself in your stomach, the spikes along his base curling into you and hitting every spot so well. you didn’t even know it was possible to feel this good, his cockhead drilling into your womb so hard it has the corners of your vision turning white.

he’s growling, unable to repress his animalistic side completely. he leans forward, snapping his hips to yours as your wanton moans fill the room. he lets his tongue lave over your neck, making you gasp out at the feeling. “mate–i need to mark–bite..” he rumbles in your ear, goosebumps rippling over his body when you whine out and nod.

“please! bite me, got those teeth f’r a reason—” you plead, your small hand guiding his face to the crook of your neck. your eagerness makes his cock twitch, your enjoyment paramount to him just as much as claiming his mate for the first time. he abides by your wishes, sinking his teeth into your flesh and clamping down, feeling you do the same around his dick. you moan out, clawing at his back with your own kind of talons. he can’t stop, driving bruises and bloody spots all along your neck and chest. he’d never go too deep even in his lusty haze, his primal instinct to protect his other half would never allow him to cause permanent harm. he admires his work, “pretty mate, my teeth marks.”

he grunts out, gripping your hips and roughly turning you over, grabbing a fistful of your hair to yank you into a deep arch. you scream at the new angle, some blood trickling down your neck and pooling between your breasts. he’s entranced by the shape of your body beneath him, how his hands take up your entire waist and the way your ass ripples as he hammers into you. you’re struggling to hold your body up under the force of his thrusts, gripping the covers beneath you for dear life. he reaches around your hip, locating the sweet bundle of nerves at the apex of your thighs. your hips falter when he presses his touch to your clit, a little sob coming from your lips as you begin to fall apart.

“pretty. coat my cock.” he grunts, cock jumping again as you nod and fall forward, your pussy spasming around him like crazy. he feels the rush of you, sending him shuddering towards his end too. “g’nna take my heirs.” he groans, slamming your hips back into his as he spills into you for the first time.

he pulls out quickly to gather you up in his arms, laying on his back with you protected by the expanse of his chest. you’re incoherent as his seed trickles out of you, and as bewitching as the sight is, he wants you to give him several warrior princes and princesses. so he slides his hands between your legs and chuckles as you jerk when you feel his fingers stuffing his cum back inside. you whine, so sensitive but yearning for all of his touches. he grunts a bit, leaning over to smooth your tousled hair and gently kissing the bruises and shallow wounds he gave you. his kindness touches you, and you relax into his body with a grin, knowing he would hold you to his heart’s content and then have the servants run a bath for the new dragon queen.

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plotsignificanthaircut555 · 1 year ago

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Sleepover with Drunk Nanami

Nanami crashes on your couch after a drunken meeting on a rare night out.

Warnings: SMUT, MDNI, 18+ ONLY. fem! Reader, Soft Nanami, drunk Nanami, slow burn (sorta? Does nine hours count?), discussions of consent, Gojo is in it also lol.

Word count: 13.9k, Ngl this one kind of got away from me 🤭🫣. Don’t have sex with drunk people! let the tension build until that consent is sober and enthusiastic.

This was inspired by the song Get Up by Ciara, and my being very horny. I haven’t written fanfic in almost ten years, so here’s what I have for you. This was so fun to write, I really hope y’all enjoy it. I am so obsessed with this man its actually insane.

Clubs were not his preferred way to “cut loose”. He hated the claustrophobic proximity, the overpriced drinks, the flagrants displays of affection, most of all the inability to hold a conversation. Resounding bass and artificial light blaring against his skull was sure to culminate in tomorrow’s headache. Nanami couldn't be bothered to entertain the idea of joining his coworkers to dance and drink as they so often invited him. He much preferred to keep his own company, drinking at home, indulging in the occasional (and strictly, personally regulated) cigarette, and reading in the bath. Although the last two weeks he found himself working around the clock. It seemed that as soon as he crossed his own home’s threshold he was back to work in some capacity or other. He couldn't remember the last time he had been able to turn his brain off completely in between shifts. He hated working, period, let alone working outside of his normal hours, but the work needed to be done, and as the days trudged forward, his work life balance compounded into a singularity designed specifically to siphon any free time he could find.

But that had ended this afternoon, completing a mission’s adjoining paperwork and being released for a three day leave in between assignments. Returning to his small office, he begins to retrieve his coat and pack his bag to depart and return home to finally relax. Already feeling his shoulders unknot themselves, Nanami allowed a blissful sigh to leave his lips. No sooner had he begun to draw in the following breath than had the rapping of angular knuckles against his door frame rung in his ears. Raising his eyes, Kento sees long time (reluctant) friend and daily annoyance, Satoru Gojo, strolling casually inside and plopping across the desk from him.

“So what time should I pick you up?” Although Kento could not see his eyes behind the famous black blindfold hiding them, the blase demeanor and entitlement dripping from his question was apparent.

Already feeling the vein in his head begin to pulse, Nanami sighed out, “I’m sure I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Come out with us tonight. You’re off the ne t few days. I’m sure even you can recover from one night out in that time. Everyone is goin, Suguru, Shoko, yours truly…even Ijichi said he would come,” Gojo allows his smile to lure in the other man, “So you have to come.”

A familiar feeling rose the skin on the back of his neck as Kento heard his familiar train of thought, Absolutely not. I’m exhausted. I have to decline. Don’t wait up for me, but before the reluctance to break his own routine won over, his shoulders softened, “Okay.”

Gojo snapped to attention, his planned seduction now moot in the face of Nanami’s quick acceptance. He hadn't said yes to going out in two months, and the last time he had joined the group, he left less than an hour in claiming a headache and calling a cab.

“For real?” Gojo couldn't help himself, he was waiting for this to be a joke.

“Yes, 9:00 you’ll pick me up. We’ll go out. I could use the break. Thank you for the invitation.”

Gojo was beside himself, feeling his lips stretch from ear to ear, he rose to his feet and began to head to the door. He had to limit the time for Nanami to come to his senses, fearing this may all be some bought of madness from the usually grumpy man.

“See you then, wear something I like.”

Idiot always had to have the last word. Nanami lowered himself into his desk chair, taken aback by his own enthusiasm, a small smile creeping across his lips. He wasn't sure what had come over him, but he couldn't say he was upset by it, it had been a long time since he had tried to meet his friends like this. He wasn't social by nature, and he was grateful to have people who understood that, allowing him his space but still continuing to include him in their extroverted fun. As much as Gojo’s refusal to allow him peace took its toll, Nanami was pleased to have someone so insistent on pushing his social limits. Although he would never tell him that.

These are the circumstances that lead Nanami to drinking as much as he had, to loosening his tie eventually to the point of hanging on either shoulder, to laying his jacket along the barstool of the hightop table he and his friends occupied. Dancing, actually dancing inside of the group of people gyrating together on the club’s designated dance floor. Eyes closed, hair sticking to his forehead, Kento felt the weight of fall away and the warm embrace of intoxication take over.

Gojo laughed over his dark sunglasses, nudging Geto’s elbow with his own before tipping his head to their large, very uncharacteristically drunk friend. They watched in shared admiration, laughing to each other, remembering fondly the stiff demeanor their friend had always carried. Since they’d known him they had seen him get drunk countless times, but drunk enough to dance? Only a handful. Drunk enough to have undone his top three buttons and reveal a growing flush down his neck and shoulders, maybe twice.

“He really needed this,” Geto praised Gojo lightly, it was him who always insisted on inviting out Nanami once again, despite the likely improbability of it happening.

Gojo smiled warmly before laughing again, this time to himself, he didn't want to reveal how easy it really was. How little he had had to push to get him out, he let the praise wash over him as he admired the usually stuffy man’s catharsis. Shoko returned then from the bar, two shots for herself and one for Ijichi who followed closely behind her, already starting to stumble himself.

That’s when Nanami saw you. Finally opening his eyes, pupils adjusting to the dim light, you appeared to him like a vision. And a vision you were, long legs wrapped in a skirt, a top lightly grazing the hemline at your waist, arms full and strong, hair styled specifically showcasing care and effort as well as routine. Engaged in conversation with a friend of yours, both laughing and allowing the atmosphere to relax you, Kento didn't realize his body had stopped dancing as he now stood dumbly in the center of the dancefloor. With soft pushes and thoughtless instinctual movement, he moved to the outskirts of the dancefloor, although still within sight of you. His breath caught in his chest, his hands ran cold, becoming clammy quickly as he watched you share a shot with your friend, head tipping back and revealing the full column of your neck to him. He felt his face flush further than the alcohol could.

Soon enough his back found the table that Shoko currently occupied, digging in her discarded coat’s pocket for her lighter, cigarette hanging loosely between her lips. Cooly placing her hand atop a few rattled glasses knocked around by his collision, she inquired as to Nanami’s dreamy state, “something got your attention?” her laugh broke through his haze just as she followed his eyeline to you.

“She’s pretty, you know her?” she was finally able to fish her lighter from the correct pocket.

Nanmi shook his head, still not able to tear his gaze away,” do you?”

“Never seen her before.” She observed the dumbstruck look in Nanami’s eyes weighing whether her input was more prescient than her desire for a smoke break, “You should try to talk to her. Who knows when we’ll get you out again. Make the most of it.”

With that she headed back towards the smoker’s patio, leaving Nanami with her words bouncing between his ears. When was the last time he had flirted with someone? When was the last time he had been on an actual date? When was the last time he had gotten to take someone home? When was the last time he had shared a bed with someone? When was the last time someone else had made him cum, not just himself between disgruntled days and nights working too much with little output? He had a break, he had come out, hadn't he? As he had gotten ready tonight he chastised his own mind for indulging in fantasies of meeting someone, But he didn't think he would find someone so ... .magnetic.

He wasn't even sure how long it had been since Shoko had gone outside, Kento snapped back to himself when he saw you set your drink down- nearly finished- and head into the throng of dancing bodies. His body moves before he can consciously decide how best to approach you; feet escorting him to the dance floor, hips following the beat and loosening the rest of him. His hands moved upward around his shoulders imitating a boxer’s stance, the alcohol clearly influencing his dancing style. Pressing forward he found himself just to your left. It was as though you had your own kinespheric bubble surrounding you, people danced near you but not on you. He felt invited in by this space, as though you had saved it just for him. He watched your body move, circling your hips and allowing your neck to follow the melody freely, your arms raising above your head as your eyes fluttered between completely closed and mostly closed. Your lips were parted beautifully, lip gloss catching the light so beautifully.

Maybe it was just chapstick, or it was lipstick, he had no idea, but just seeing the glint along your bottom lip made his mouth water for your kiss.

Would you use your tongue right away, or would he need to draw it out of you with his? Would you want him to guide you, or did you want to lead him yourself? He found his heart quickening at ever new possibility. When you finally allowed your eyes to open, they found him almost instantly. Locking eyes with you finally, Kento thought his skin was going to burst. Heart quickened, hand clammy, breath quick he searched for any reciprocation in your own eyes.

So when your eyes crinkle, following the line of your smile, so clearly directed right at him and only him, Kento can't resist but bring his hands to the sides of your hips.

The blonde man had been watching you since you got here. You noticed, Sophie noticed. As soon as you left the bar and staked your claim on an open hightop bordering the crowded but lively dance floor, she had jutted her chin toward him on the other side of the floor.

“Got one already.” she said impressed with your efficiency.

You turned to briefly meet his gaze, in just a second his gaze was so intense you could tell his eyes were honey brown and they were trained on you and only you, “oh come on. I’m sure he’s just checking everyone out.” you dismissed, still feeling the hot eyes on the back of your neck.

“He’s still looking at you,” Sophie marveled, “still looking…still…wow I don't think hes even trying to hide it.”

You knew. You could feel it, your heart raced. You had just barely looked at him but you had seen enough to see how attractive he was. A tall, broad frame, well cultivated outfit, neat, well styled hair, confidence and stability oozing from every pore. So clearly unabashedly interested. God, he was your type. Before you knew it most of your drink was drained, the nerves of being observed having made you suddenly parched. The liquid confidence settling in your system motivated you to pull Sophie to dance. You two found an open bubble in the sea of bodies and allowed yourself to release your lingering thoughts of the watcher.

That is, until you open your eyes once more, finding a pair of honey brown eyes begging for yours. It was him. He was less than two feet from you, he had sought you out. You couldn't help yourself, his interest and obvious enthusiasm brought a curl to your lips. Your smile locking him into a stare, you didn't flinch when you felt large, strong hands on your hips. It felt right, looking into his eyes the idea of not feeling him touch you felt preposterous. Your hips still followed the music, his soon joining their routine. His hands, once brazen, now stayed still and solid against your hips, moving with you, but never straying from their position. Emboldened by his sudden demure approach,wanting to reciprocate with just as much interested you turned, facing your back to him and pressing the curve of your ass against his hips, you thought you hear a soft groan exit his mouth. Once you had turned away from him, a bit of tension is relieved. You feel braver not looking him directly in the eye anymore. You grip onto one of his hands and trail it up your body, leaving the other gripping your hip harder and harder. Soon your back was fully against his chest, the music carried your pelvis, joined against his, everything else fell away as you guided his right hand across your body, side, hips, stomach and ass. His body felt so solid against yours, it was so solid against yours. He was an imposing figure, six foot or more, strong and cultivated build demonstrating both his personal strength and his own discipline. How you could have not noticed him here before was beyond you.

Nanami was hypnotized. From the moment you had looked him in the eye, he was hooked. Now that your body was flush against his, ass grinding into the front of his slacks, he couldn't think about anything else. He breathed hot against your ear as your fingers curled around his, sliding his fingers up from your hip to your stomach. It was so intimate, your leading his hand along your body, showing him exactly where you wanted his touch. You had your head cocked to the left, opening the side of your neck to him and moving your hair just under his nose, the smell of your shampoo was thrilling, he longed to run his fingers through your hair, to ruin your styling and pull. He wondered if you would let him brush it for you, wash it for you. He could learn exactly how you liked your routine, learn to style, learn to braid, anything to keep this smell close to him.

Behind his eyelids he wondered about your body, how your breasts would look, how your skin would flush through excitement or exertion, how wet you would get, how you would taste. He wondered, too, about your kiss, again thinking about how much tongue you would use, and if you would want to be in charge or him. A soft moan escaped his lips as he thought of your tongue sliding against his, directly against the shell of your ear. As if cued you spun around again, your leg slotted between his, allowing you both to move as one, grinding unashamed as your arms wrapped around his neck.

“You can touch me yourself you know,” You could barely hear the music but Nanami knew exactly what you had said, “Or do you just like being told what to do.”

Your flirting sent a shock directly down his body, feeling his cock swell against the inside of his slacks, he slid his hands up the curves and folds of your back, your skin was so soft, he saw your lips part as he touched you. You were so reactive, he couldn't hear the caught breaths of the soft moans over the club’s speakers, but he watched as your eyes fluttered and your knees pulled tighter around him. One hand traveled down to the side of your leg, brushing down the side of your hip and ass to grip your thigh. The front strands of his hair had loosened and now hung freely in his face, a dark blush settled across his freckled nose and cheeks, one of your hands moved down his shoulder and onto his chest, he wished he had been more reckless and undone a few more buttons for you, he longed to have your fingers on his skin. But for now they held the collar of his shirt in their grasp, he longed for your eyes again, and as if you had read his find they met his own. He prayed you couldn't feel the way the eye contact had made his dick twitch, the blush deepening at the shame of being so crass in his attraction to you. Pulling him somehow even closer, he could feel your breath on his neck, he was panting a bit from the exertion of dance and the intense sexual tension. The song was beginning to end, and the DJ was already beginning to blend it with the introduction of the next song.

Seizing his opportunity, Nanami finally spoke his first words to you, “Can I buy you a drink?”

You nodded, smiling at him, he wanted to make you smile again and again, the warmth of your gazing making the stuffy club feel icy by comparison.

“Thank you!”, you moved a hand down his arm to join your hands together. Guiding him over to the bar. Your hand in his felt electric, you both could feel it. His large, work roughened palm against your own. They had fit together so naturally.

As you made your way over to the bar the music became less and less overwhelming, the pressing of bodies became less insistent. You turned your head to find Sophie, chatting to a few friends she had planned to run into, she caught your eye before giving you a knowing look and a thumbs up. You smiled and winked at her before turning back to the man behind you. You caught him at the end of turning his head from what looked to be a group of his own friends. All of whom were looking at the pair of you. One, particularly tall man with dark glasses was giving an encouraging thumbs up mirroring Sophie’s. You caught yourself wondering if your friends would get along, if he would get along with your friends, if you would get along with his. You didn't even know this man's name, you had barely spoken to him, and here you were ready to merge friend groups and make brunch plans. What the hell was going on tonight?

Finally reaching the bar right as two seats opened up, you both sat, giving your exhausted legs much needed refuge. The air between you two suddenly became thick, without the immediacy of movement you found yourself suddenly worried about how to engage him again in the heat you had just had.

“What do you like to drink?”, he started right as you offered a question of your own,

“So what’s your name..”

You both laughed for a second, the acknowledgement of shared nerves taking a little pressure off. His smile was reserved, seemingly unpracticed. But his eyes betrayed his warmth, you could see.

“Kento Nanami,” He answered your question first, fighting the urge to hold out his hand for a chaste and professional handshake. He lifted his eyebrows to signify it being your turn to answer, you told him your name, and his smile returned again, “That's a beautiful name.” he repeated it back to you, ensuring his pronunciation was correct, when in actuality he could have rolled your name in his mouth a thousand times and never tired of the taste.

“I’d love a gin and tonic,” You offered, answering his question, “Or whatever you’re drinking.”

Drinking, he was drinking. Suddenly he was aware of how much he had been drinking. Skin hot and red, probably sweating all over you, stinking of booze. He felt the embarrassment move throughout his body as he replayed his invitation to buy you a drink. Were you just being nice to him? Wanting to find a polite way to get away from him and return to your friend? He had been so casual, so unhindered.

God, he was an idiot

“Sorry to take you away from your friends, I understand if you want to go back.”He wanted to offer you an out, feeling himself try to straighten up and will the drunkenness out of him before he embarrassed you or himself further. But to his surprise, you cocked your head to the side, eyes narrowing to assess his change in demeanor. You could see right through him.

“Don’t get shy on me now, the nights just starting,” you offered a new, slyer smile, “isn’t it?”

He nodded slowly, the bartender finally rounded the bar top to take your orders. Nanami ordered your drink as well as one of his own, you added on the desire for some ice water. Once the drinks were down set, you offered him a little cheers, tapping your glass against his before sipping. The drink was cool and refreshing, the perfect remedy for the heat rising in your neck and face.

He was so handsome, from his carved cheekbones speckled with freckles, you wondered if they were anywhere further down his collar. His bottom lip was full and plump, parted slightly as he tasted his drink, with his face profile to yours you could see a small pink circle on the side of his nose.

“Do you wear glasses?”, you asked.

Nanami’s brows twitched slightly together, “I do.”

“You have those little impressions on your nose. From the bridge of your glasses.” You answer, without him having asked how you could tell, “I bet you look handsome with your glasses on.”

Nanami cursed himself for leaving his glasses in his coat pocket across the bar. He’ll never make that mistake again. Bringing the chilled glass to his lips, attempting to cover his smile. He feels so seen by you, the way your eyes move over every inch of him, he doesn’t know if he’s ever been observed so closely. It’s exhilarating, it’s terrifying. You’re terrifying. You’re exhilarating. You’re still looking at him. You’re looking at him expectantly. You asked him another question and he missed it. He scrambles through the last few seconds searching for what you may have said to him, and how he possibly could have missed it.

“I’m sorry, what did you say?”

“I asked if those were your friends over there.” You pointed over his shoulder.

Nanami turned quickly, oh god too quickly, his head spinning a bit as his equilibrium struggled to catch up. Gojo was waving at him, gesturing broadly in unintelligible charades. Nanami felt his frustration flare up at both having been distracted from you and also having to once again decipher another one of Satoru’s riddles. At the meeting of their eye line, Gojo began to move over to where the pair of you were seated, Geto and Shoko sharing the weight of a stumbling Ijichi. The head vein began pulsing again, he ought to name it after Gojo the way he sets it off. Panic set throughout his body, he didn’t want you to meet his friends— or maybe he didn’t want them to meet you. Not yet. He didn’t want to risk ruining what hadn’t yet really started. Suddenly feeling very territorial of you, he turned back, once again sending his head swimming.

“Yes. Those are my coworkers. I’m not—“

“Nanamiiiiin. We gotta take Ijichi home, he’s already thrown up twice. It’s gross.” Gojo was already halfway through his sentence before reaching the bar.

You assessed the new crowd of faces. Odd faces, all so well built and specific. Between the tall man in the darkest sunglasses you had ever seen in an already dark bar, the lithe woman with purple eyeshadow and the most perfect beauty mark, and the embodiment of tall dark and handsome— you wondered what exactly Nanami did for a living. Was there some kind of work force that employed only the hottest people you had ever seen. It took you a second to notice the younger, far drunker man with his arm slung around the black haired man with the gauges. The white haired man was still talking to Nanami, maybe arguing, but they spoke too softly for you to hear specifics. Both were cut off

“So do you want a ride home or are you good here?” Gauges asked eyes moving between you and Nanami coolly, before readjusting his hold of the nearly asleep fourth man.

The woman tapped on her phone, seemingly uninvested in what was happening, now barely holding onto their friend.

The white haired man cut in before Nanami could answer, “you hit those drinks pretty hard, Nanami. We don’t want you getting taken advantage of.” His face turned toward you and although you couldn’t see his eyes, you felt them.

Wow, like really felt them, he was sizing you up, it was clear. It was confusing, his inflection was teasing-almost joking, but his energy was severe.

Nanami was seething, mortified by the intrusion and Gojo’s crass assertion, “I can get myself home.”

It would have sounded more convincing if the slurring of his voice hadn’t married the words myself and home into a mess. You noticed, realizing for the first time that you were much more sober than him. His friends noticed too.

Nanami cleared his throat before speaking again, “I’m a grown man, I don’t need you to babysit me, Gojo. I’m enjoying my evening. Please take Ijichi home.”

Gojo didn’t seem convinced, turning his face back to you and finally sliding the sunglasses down his nose to reveal the bluest pair of eyes you had ever seen. They nearly glowed in the dim club. This gesture caused the others of the group to stiffen up. The woman finally putting her phone down, Gauges eyeing him carefully, even Nanami drew in a tense breath.

“We quite like our friend Nanami, we wouldn’t want him getting hurt.” He spoke directly to you, between his height and your seated position he leaned over you slightly, “are you someone we can trust our friend with?”

Nanami was about to cut in but before he could you met those azure eyes with yours, “I quite like your friend too.,” you copied his inflection, “ I understand why you’d be wary of some stranger taking him home. Since you have your hands full, I’ll watch him for the night. If he decides he needs a ride home, why don’t I call you directly?”

Nanami felt his jaw drop, looking between you and Gojo carefully. He caught Geto’s eye, seeing him smile lightly. No one talked to Gojo like this. Shoko chuckled softly, impressed with your lack of fear in the face of their “strongest” friend. There was no way for you to know the risk you were taking, but it was thrilling nonetheless.

“That is, if he would like to join me back to mine?” You continued, looking away from Gojo and back to Nanami.

“I’d like that very much.” Nanami answered quickly, in any other situation he would be embarrassed at how eager he sounded, especially in front of his friends. But you wanted to take him home, you wanted to keep talking to him, he could see where you lived, maybe you would let him kiss you, or touch you again.

“Give me your phone.”

The request snapped Nanami from his fantasy. Gojo held his hand out expectantly. To his surprise you handed over your cell phone. Gojo typed quickly, “This is my phone number and where Nanami lives. If I don’t answer, stick him in a cab to this address. Okay?”

“Okay. It’s nice to meet you, Gojo.” You attempted to ease the tension created, “I promise you’ve left him in good hands and I’ll return him to you in one piece.” You smiled warmly at him, cutting through the attempts at intimidation, even offering a small wink to Nanami over his friend’s shoulder.

You didn’t back down, you understood why anyone would be concerned about leaving their drunk friend with a stranger. It was a testament to how much he cared, he seemed completely sober himself. Playing DD, you assumed, was not a role he took lightly. You respected his protectiveness, you had done nearly the same on many occasions. If this is what Nanami’s friends were like, you would definitely fit in. You glanced down at where Gojo had written in the notes app of your phone. A string of numbers— his cell, and an address, Nanami’s, and below that another line, just for you.

Be nice to him, he’s more sensitive than he looks :)

Yeah, you would get along with this one. You smiled up at him and Nanami both before the dark haired man slung the full weight of the now completely passed out bespectacled man on his back in an attempt at a piggy back, and smiled to you warmly,

“We’ll see you tomorrow, Kento. Have a nice night.” Before turning and leading the group toward the exit. Gojo handed off Nanami’s jacket before pushing his glasses up his nose and turning around to follow.

With no more company, the two of you were once again alone. Nanami struggled to collect his thoughts before you soothed him, “Your friends are nice. They seem to really care about you. How long have you all worked together?”

“We all went to high school together.”

“And you’re still friends? That impressive, I barely keep up with friends from that long ago.”

“We’re, sort of, stuck with each other.” Nanami started, caught in the trap of having to figure out some way to explain his job without, actually, explaining his job. Thankfully, you cut that conversational thread and moved forward.

“I hope I wasn't too forward. You don't have to come back to mine. I felt like we were just getting to talking and I didn’t want to cut it short yet. But please don’t feel obligated.” You wanted to assure him that he could proceed however he wanted to. Despite how hopelessly attracted to this man you were, you recognized your responsibility as the more sober party to remain respectful.

“No I want to!” He blurted, not thinking about his volume, quickly standing.

You laughed, “I didn’t mean now! If you want to stay and have another drink, or dance more, that's good too.”

His resolve was starting to crack, it had been nearly an hour since he first saw you enter the club. He wanted desperately to be alone with you, suddenly the club was too hot and too crowded and too loud. Everything was overwhelming, and the only thing he wanted to overwhelm him was you.

Still standing he stepped in toward you a sudden surge of confidence lowering his voice and causing his head to dip down to meet you at eye level, “I would, very much like to join you back at your place.”

His voice was dripping with want, the eroticism behind his words lidding his eyes and sending chills down the side of your neck. You let out a small shaky breath before standing up, chest nearly colliding with his, sending him back up to his full height.

“Let me tell my friend I’m leaving. Stay here.”

You nearly ran to find Sophie and your mutual friends at a table of their own. Leaving Nanami to settle his tab and wait patiently at the bar for your return. Your heart was beating so fast you could barely hear the music. When you finally found her, you pulled her close to speak directly into her ear.

“I’m taking blondie back to mine. You all good here?”

She gave you a taunting oooh before smiling, “you really do work fast. Next time lets see if you can last two full hours before taking someone home.”

You rolled your eyes before giving her a tight hug and grabbing your jacket, “love you, text me when you get home.”

Waving to your other friends you turned on your heels and saw Nanami still standing at the bar patiently at the bar patiently. He hadn't pulled out his phone to pass the time, he simply waited, just as you had told him. God, if he could follow benign instructions like this so well, you can only imagine how well he would do with something more salacious. You had to relax, you knew nothing would happen tonight. He would come over and crash, and that was enough for now.

Nanami counted to six in his head over and over, trying to measure his breaths as though if he increased his oxygen intake he wouldn't be drunk anymore. The sides of his vision were fuzzy and dreamlike, ears hot, tongue a bit dry, all his physical indicators of intoxication were present. He paid his tab, the only things on it were your and his brief shared drink. Realizing that since Gojo( maybe Geto?) had purchased the earlier rounds, he actually had no way of knowing how much he had had tonight. What had he gotten himself into? His attempts to sober up proved inefficient because just as quickly as you had left, you were standing in front of him once more wearing your jacket and sliding your purse over your shoulder. You still looked so beautiful,

“Ready?”

He nodded, “Ready.”

And now he sat in the back of a cab, behind the driver, you on the other side. Had he remembered to open the door for you? Had you two waited outside for the cab to pull up long? A window had been cracked allowing fresh, night air to brush past his face. Your thumb ran over the back of his hand. You were holding his hand. He looked down to confirm that your fingers were interlocked with his resting on the middle seat between the two of you. They looked good like that, his long fingers laced with yours. How long had you been holding hands? Eyes wandering he saw the skin of your thigh where your skirt had ridden up, he wanted to feel your leg against his, the space between you in the backseat suddenly feeling cavernous.

“You’re so far away.” he mutters, not really intending to say so out loud.

Without saying anything you giggled and scooted closer to him, moving your joined hands into your lap and your leg right against his. You tipped your head up to look at him, he wanted desperately to kiss you. Just as he began to lean into your lips you stopped him with your fingers.

“Not yet.” was all you offered him as conciliation.

He nodded, lips still restrained by your fingertips. The faint smell of the lime you had squeezed into your drink still lingering. Even just having his lips on your fingertips sent his body into a frenzy. But he was a patient man. Drunk or not, he knew how to wait for what he wanted. Still, he allowed himself to indulge a little, he kissed your finger tips before pulling back with a sigh, nodding silently.

The rest of the drive was quick, or at least it felt quick. You lived in an apartment building and when the cab pulled up outside, you handed over a few bills before sliding out of the door closest to you. Nanami began to move toward his before it opened suddenly. You had opened his door for him and were now offering your hand to help him out. He stared up at you entranced, he felt romanced by you. It dawned on him that he had truly let himself be “picked up”. Taking your hand he exited the car and tried to think if he had ever had this happen before. Women approached him sure, men too, but whenever he allowed himself to spend the night with someone they had always come back to his place. It allowed him a sense of control, and thus comfort in a vulnerable situation. Vulnerability did not come naturally to him, not now anyway. He wasn't prudish or uncomfortable with casual sex, but he liked to remain the organizer of them. Much like everything in his life he liked it to remain under his control. But tonight, you had steered him right to your door and he was so willing, it dawned on him only once that maybe he could have gotten himself in a dangerous situation. He barely knew anything about you, he knew your name, and now where you lived, but the rest of you was a mystery to him. And yet here he was, following you down the hallway to your apartment door truly not caring what could be on the other side as long as it meant more time with you.

You hesitated at the front door, holding your keys in one hand, aimed at the lock.

“I want you to know I’ll call your friend whenever you like. If you decide you want to leave, you just say so and It won't be a problem. You won't hurt my feelings and it doesn’t have to be awkward.” It felt redundant at his point, but you couldn't shake the discomfort of having taken him home in this state. He had nodded off briefly in the cab, holding your hand tightly, before coming too and staring at you with wide eyes. You nearly backed off then and redirected the driver to the address his friend-- neigh, Bodyguard-- had written down. But then he had wanted you to come closer, and tried to kiss you. You knew he wasn't thinking clearly, but still he sought you out.

Gnawing the inside of your lip you looked up at him nervously, waiting for his response. Nanami looked down at you, his already drooping eyes still warm toward you, “I really like you. I think you’re beautiful. I bet you're a great decorator, can I please see what you’ve done to your apartment?”

His response made you laugh again. He Hadn't really answered you, but it was clear what he wanted. You weren't sure if he was intending to be funny, but nonetheless, the anxiety you had just felt slipped away once again and you turned the lock, leading him inside. You liked your apartment, it wasn't the nicest place available. But it was a two bedroom you could afford by yourself, with a good sized kitchen and small personal patio. Frankly, you were lucky to have even found it. You were a good decorator, and you were proud of the job you had done with the interior. A large, well managed and organized bookshelf along one wall with a recliner and side table, art along the walls you had collected since first moving away from home. A medium sized brown couch that was perfect for movie nights with Sophie or an afternoon nap. You had made a home here, and you were thankful for the chance to show it off.

“Wow…” Nanami’s voice sounded nice inside of your home.

“You like it?” you began to shed your jacket, hanging it on a tree rack by the door and clicking on a few lights. You offered to take his coat.

“It’s beautiful, so warm.” Nanami began to slip his jacket down his shoulder, suddenly realizing he didn't actually remember putting it on, “you did all of this yourself?”

You barely heard his question, distracted by the way his shirt stretched over the muscles of his back, “Uh.. yeah. I moved in about three years ago. So it's been a process but I’m pretty proud of how it turned out.”

You turned to hang his coat next to yours, even they looked cute together. He removed his shoes carefully, still stumbling a bit before he took a few steps into your apartment’s main room.

“Why don’t you take a seat.” you gestured to the couch

He sat gracelessly, cushion sinking more under him than he expected. His couch at home was pretty stiff, yours was soft and pliant under his weight. He steadied himself again, feeling embarrassed suddenly.

“I dont usually drink like this, I drink.. Just not so….like this?” He attempted to save some face in the wake of his stumble.

You stood by the edge of the couch before moving into the kitchen area.

“Are you hungry? I could make us something before bed.” You offered, more needing an escape from the building sexual tension than feeling any actual hunger.

“Oh I couldn’t put you out like that…” He started, feeling his limbs get heavy with comfort as the softness of your couch lulled him to lay down. It wouldn't hurt to just lay down a little, right?

“It's no trouble, really! We may feel better in the morning if we eat something now.” you called from behind him. Your voice seemed further away somehow as he pressed his cheek against the soft suede beneath him.

The couch smelled so good, like incense and home cooked food. He wondered if you had a pet he hadn't yet seen, or if you wanted one. Were you a dog person? Or did you prefer cats? Maybe you were one of those people into reptiles, he could learn to love one if you wanted him to. In this state he would do anything you asked him. Which was precisely why he wasn't getting the one thing he wanted from you, he buried his frustrated expression further into the couch. A small groan exiting his lips. Your hand brushed the back of his neck, rousing him back to attention.

“Kento, honey? You still with me?” your voice was so sweet saying his name, he wanted to hear it again. Once he looked up at you he saw you had a glass of water in your hand offering it to him, “Are you good to sleep in these clothes or should I look for something for you to wear?”

He was still in his dress clothes, not his work dress clothes, but not exactly lounge wear. His button up was stiff and pants had been well tailored, hell, he was still wearing his belt, “thank you.” he accepted the water, and by proxy your offer.

He was left alone in your living room. Slurping down the cool water he tried once against to regain his composure. Had he fallen asleep again just now? You seemed to have abandoned the idea of eating so he must have drifted off. This job really had run him ragged.

“They still may not be the right size, but they’ll work for the night I think.” You returned from the side room, presumably your bedroom, with a pair of black sweatpants, “They used to be my brother’s, but they've got some paint stains from when I redid the bathroom. Sorry I don't really have anything else.”

He accepted them graciously, setting the water down on a coaster before standing, “Thank you, this is all very nice of you. Letting me stay the night like this, I'm really not usually like this…”he started to repeat himself.

“It's really no trouble, it's been a long time since I let a man as handsome as you sleep on my couch.”

The couch. So he wouldn't be joining you in bed tonight. Part of him had hoped that even though he wouldn't be sleeping with you tonight, he could at least sleep in your bed, “The couch, huh?” His half awake state allowed the thought to slip out half formed.

“Mhm, the couch. You two seem to have really hit it off. I'm certain the drool puddle wasn't there when I left.” You pointed to a small wet spot on the cushion where his face had been.

Once again the embarrassment of his current state shot through his body like electricity, so he had fallen asleep again. He hung his head cringing at himself, “Oh jesus…I cant believe this.. I’m--”

You cut him off, “You really don't need to be sorry. I like having you here. And tomorrow morning maybe we can have coffee and talk some more. I hope you don't think I was just inviting you over to fuck you.”

His breath caught, “No, I- well.. I thought you--”

“I, of course, want to fuck you. And I don't really see any point in hiding it anymore now that you’re here. But it’s just not going to happen tonight. And I don't think I'll get a wink of sleep next to you when all I can think about is that. Does that make sense?”You were tired, you didn't want to be coy and demure anymore. You wanted to be frank and upfront about how you felt and what you wanted. Nanami nodded understandingly, although still a little surprised at your confession. You continued, “So, you’ll sleep here. I’ll sleep in my bed. I usually wake up at 8, the door to my bedroom is unlocked. If you need anything during the night, please don't hesitate to wake me up. The bathroom is the door behind you, you can change in there.”

Nanami was awestruck by your instructional tone, it sent his mind in a thousand directions; thinking of you telling him house work that needed to be done on the weekend, to you telling him exactly how to please you. He wanted you so badly, pants growing tighter, breath getting heavier. You stepped forward, nearly right up against his chest.

“I hope you're not too disappointed that I won't take advantage of you tonight.” Your voice soft.

“I respect your self control.” His eyes were locked on your lips, so plump and soft looking.

“I’m going to bed,”You leaned in closer, so close he could smell your perfume again, still as hypnotic as it was in the club, “Goodnight, Kento.”

You pressed your lips against his cheek. His body shuddered as your lips lingered there before you pulled away back on flat feet. Trying desperately to regulate his racing heart, Nanmi looked at you desperately.

“Goodnight.”

You turned back to the side room hitting a wall switch to extinguish the kitchen light before closing your bedroom door and leaving him in your dimly lit living room. He could still feel your lips burning on his cheek, he stood for a few seconds not wanting any other sensations that could potentially dull this one. Finally, he shed his pants, folding them haphazardly and setting them on your recliner. He sweatpants you had given him fit okay, the drawstring was broken so they hung pretty loose around his hips, showing just the elastic of his briefs. He undid the rest of his shirt buttons and folded it to stack atop his pants. He hoped you wouldn't mind, but he never slept with a shirt on. Honestly, he didn't usually sleep with pants on either, he already ran hot but sleeping was an entirely different story. Sleeping fully clothed almost always culminated in him waking up in a pool of sweat as though he had just broken a fever. Laying on his back on the couch he pulled a throw blanket over him, mind racing with thoughts of tomorrow.

In your room you stared up at the ceiling of your bedroom. You had returned to your room like every night, put on an old t shirt and shorts as you always did, washed your face and brushed your hair as though it was any old night, turned on your white noise and gotten into bed as if there wasn't the most attractive and charming man you had ever met settling in to sleep on your couch at this very moment. The nights events played and replayed in your mind on a loop, the intensity of his gaze across the floor, the way he had materialized right in front of you, the feeling of his body pressed up behind yours, his hands on your back back, his hand in yours, him asking to kiss you in the cab, him snoring softly on your couch, the way he had looked at you as he said goodnight. You had never felt so pulled toward another person before. It was far from a perfect night, on a perfect night you’d be fucking each other blind until the sun came up at this very moment. On a perfect night you wouldn't have even been in that club, you would already be his, spending romantic evenings reading and cooking. You wondered if he liked to read, what his favorite meals were, if he wanted pets, if he would want to move in here or if he’d ask you to move in with him. You recognized the street name of his address, he lived in a far nicer part of the city than you did. You wondered what his place looked like, if he had decorated it personally or if he had help. God, you haven't even asked if he had a girlfriend. You checked for a ring while you were dancing, but you got so caught up that the idea of a girlfriend hadn’t even crossed your mind. You rolled onto your side trying to relieve some anxiety, he didn't have a girlfriend. You met his friends, they were intense, sure. And sure, one of them had lightly threatened you, but it didn't seem like the threat was rooted in a fear of infidelity. It seemed like the threat came purely from a safety standpoint.

Were you being irresponsible? Was it smart of you to have brought him here so easily? You rarely brought hook ups here, almost always opting to follow them home and politely excuse yourself in the morning. You found yourself bending so many of your usual rules for him, giving your information to his friends, leaving the club so quickly, bringing him to your apartment. Nanami was so big and looked so strong, it probably wouldn't take a lot for him to overpower you. You had practically offered yourself to him on a silver plate. And yet, you couldn't bring yourself to be afraid of him. You couldn't say that you knew him well enough to know he was safe, but you just…trusted him. And you felt that he trusted you too.

Your lips still tingled from kissing him. It was just a goodnight kiss, a simple gesture intended to convey continued interest but the end of the conversation around sex. You could call it chaste, even. And yet here you were, lips feeling electrified from a mere two second kiss on the cheek. Whatever product he uses in his hair smelled incredible, like honey or tobacco or sandalwood. Something organic and masculine. The soft sound of surprise he had let out when you touched the back of his sleeping neck resounded in your ears. His voice was so pretty, your mind attempted to conjure what he could sound like when he climaxed. If he would let out a low, husky groan, or if he would whine and beg you for more. You felt your pussy dampen at what your imagination offered you. Thoughts of him were consuming you, seconds moving by glacially as you begged for sleep to take over and bring the beautiful, sober light of day through your bedroom window. When it finally did your dreams were abstract but they were blue and honey and blonde.

Nanami could already feel his head pulsing before he opened his eyes. Oh God. When he finally did manage to pry his eyes open, he found himself not looking at his bedroom wall. He wasn't in his bedroom at all. He wasn't in his bed. Where the fuck was he? He sat up slowly, head pounding and back aching. He took in his new surroundings: he was on a couch, there were his clothes folded on the chair, he remembered taking them off, he looked to the coffee table and saw a glass of water mostly untouched with two small painkillers next to it. It must have been left there by you. YOU! This was your apartment, he had slept on your couch in your apartment! Memories of the previous night came screaming back against his aching head. The club, the shots, meeting you, dancing, you taking him home, you taking care of him-- oh god he was so drunk. Had he really fallen asleep twice? He was mortified. He didn't know if he could face seeing you. He remembered Gojo’s threats and his cheeks burned both in embarrassment and rage, where does he get off acting like some kind of guardian over him. Then again, if he was that drunk then maybe he needed it…maybe just not that one. He stood up on shaky, sore legs, even these pants weren't his. He needed to leave before he embarrassed you or himself any further. This was a mistake, he can't believe he let himself get so carried away, you must have thought he was some drunken fool who cant take care of himself. Maybe he was a drunken fool who couldnt take care of himself.

He unfolded his pants and wracked his brain for whether you had told him which door was your bathroom so he could change back into his own clothes. Just as he was trying to remember which door you had said led to the bathroom, you emerged from the side room yawning.

“Good morning!” You stretched a bit as you walked into the kitchen, “I hope you weren't planning on running off before I got out here. I set the coffee to make enough for two and if you don't drink part of it, I'll be buzzing for the rest of the day.”

The lilt of your laugh brought it all back. He knew exactly how he let himself get carried away. You were magnificent, even more beautiful in the morning light, hair undone, legs exposed under your sleep shorts, what appeared to be a well loved sweatshirt hanging off your shoulders. You took his breath away, he couldn't believe you were actually real. Not some dream his drunken state had conjured to torment him.

You were so grateful to have your back turned on him, it was stupid of you to assume he would have slept in that button up, and you hadn't given him a shirt to wear, despite having an extensive collection of oversized t-shirts that would certainly have covered him. But seeing him shirtless in your living room just for the duration of your walk from bedroom to coffee maker was enough to nearly make you falter right then and there. He was so, fucking, built. How does one even get a body like that, did he live at the gym? He hadn't really explained what it was he did for work, was he a trainer? You weren't really a big gym person, but you could be convinced to start going if it meant watching him huff and puff and sweat.

“Good morning. I don't know where to begin…”, His voice was the same as the previous night, low and smooth, but this morning it was more reserved, more even and controlled, “I can’t thank you enough for helping me out last night. I really can't believe my own behavior. I’m truly sorry.”

You turned to face him, you were expecting some kind of hangover induced remorse, but he sounded genuinely apologetic, as though he had imposed himself upon you rather than having been invited as a guest.

He continued, “I know it doesn't mean much, but I don’t go out very often. I had had a rough few weeks at work and my friends wanted to help me loosen up a bit. Apparently I did a little too good of a job with that part. I'm so sorry to have put you out, I hope your night wasn’t ruined by having to take care of me. I'm grateful to you, I'm just so…”

“How do you take it?” you cut him off before allowing him to apologize to you once again, turning back around to the two cups of coffee you had poured.

“Excuse me?”

“Your coffee,” you opened the fridge to see if you even had any milk to offer him.

“I--”

“I have sugar, or honey if you prefer, and then I don't have any cream but i do have oat milk. I usually take mine with one sugar. How do you take yours?”

Nanami was beside himself, mid flagellation, completely shut down and now once again having to ask something of you, “One sugar is perfect.”

You dropped about a teaspoon of sugar into each mug, giving them both a quick stir before setting the spoon in the sink and walking over to the couch to meet him. Getting close you saw that his freckles did extend down onto his shoulders. Small scatterings of cinnamon dusted on fair, even skin. You handed him one mug, your favorite mug actually, it was dark blue and hand thrown. You had bought it at an art fair when you first moved to town, you’d tell him that story eventually.

“I don’t want you to apologize to me. I’m glad I met you last night. And I’m glad you stayed over. And I'm especially glad you're still here now.” You took a seat on your usual spot on the couch, to the right of him. He was still standing, body facing the kitchen but face watching you intently, now holding his mug but not drinking. You patted the spot next to you on the couch. He sat down, silence fell between the two of you as you sipped your coffee again. He followed suit, the steaming drink already starting to soothe his hangover. He couldn't help the soft moan the escaped him, drinking down the relief of caffeine.

“Taste okay?” you checked in.

“Its perfect. Thank you.” he felt himself loosen up, his brain choosing to be kinder and remind himself of the parts of last night that had gone well. Making you laugh, making you smile, dancing with you, the smell of your hair, your lips on his cheek. You were sat facing him, back against the arm of the couch, legs curled in front of you, he sat up right with his feet planted on the ground, allowing his poster to relax a bit and lean against the back of your couch.

You took his relaxation as an opportunity to take him in. So this was what he was like in the morning: shyer, a bit stiffer, still so fucking handsome. His brown eyes were still a bit droopy with sleep (and likely a bit of light sensitivity), a light impression of the hem of your couch cushion had imprinted itself on his cheek, his hairstyle had fallen and his blonde strands now hung loosely in front of his face. And he still hasn't put a shirt on. His torso was like something in a museum. Strong, broad shoulders sat atop full, muscle built pectorals. The hair there was light and looked soft, it became darker and coarser leading down his toned stomach. You longed to run your tongue over every inch of him, but chose instead to sip your coffee and gawk somewhat openly. Finally the silence became too much and you spoke up again,

“When do I need to have you back to your bodyguard?” you teased sliding your knee to bump against his.

“My-- oh, Gojo, don’t worry about him. He’s likely forgotten all about it.” Nanami tried to cover up the hopefulness in his voice. “Do you have anywhere you need to be today?”

It was a Friday, it was plausible you would have to go into a job today, but he didn't know what you did for work so it was equally plausible that you, like him, were off. To his delight you shook your head, smiling coyly over the rim of your coffee cup, leaning back against the throw pillows he had arranged to rest his head last night. Feeling more confident now that he had shaken off the initial mortification, Nanami scooted closer to you on the couch, setting his mug down on your coffee table. He moved one hand to gently take your mug and place it on the coffee table beside his. He then put his hands at the top of your knees and pulled you closer to him, so you were nearly sitting in his lap.

“So I have a question.” He kept his hands on your legs as he spoke.

“Mm?” you were too stunned to form any actual words.

“Last night, you said something to me. Something about wanting to wait until this morning to fuck me,” he shocked himself at his boldness, “how do you feel about that now?”

Your eyes were wide, pupils nearly all encompassing as his hands touched your skin, this was the most you had touched since the dance floor. His fingertips felt like they were burning you, but the way a hot bath burns your skin just before it becomes relaxing.

This was it, you met his eyes, flicking down briefly to his lips, then back up,“I am still, very interested. What about you.”

Nanami moved one hand over your shoulder, to the back of your neck, leaning in so close you could feel his breath on your lips and he spoke, “I can't believe you made me wait all night.”

He pushed his lips to yours, finally feeling the kiss you both had waited so desperately for. His lips were so soft, the coffee you prepared lingering on both of you. His hand on your neck rose to tangle in your hair and yours reached out to find his neck, his shoulder, his hair-- fucking ANYTHING. He leaned over you slightly, catching a momentary moan and sliding his tongue between your lips, he found himself moaning, feeling your tongue slide against his. Your hands were on his back now, feeling the muscles flex and retract at every turn of his head or readjustment of his hands. The hand not on your head how found your waist, sliding up and down your form savoring every roll and bump and divot his fingers could find. Finally, fucking finally he could touch you, his lips slotted against yours over and over, allowing your tongues adjust and readjust, it was messy and desperate and so passionate, Nanami kissed you like he would never kiss you or anyone else every again. Like a man who knew he could die tomorrow and never again know the warmth of a kiss this intense. You pulled away briefly for air and before his hungry lips could pull you back down you started to remove your top. He met your hands half way and finished the motion for you, you hadn't put a bra on since waking up, opting instead for the thick sweatshirt instead. Your chest was now as exposed as his was. As desperate as he was to have your lips on his again, he took a moment to admire you. Your breasts were full, and round enough to fit perfectly in his grip, nipples hardened already in your exhilaration, still so reactive for him. He wondered if you were wet already, and if so- how wet were you. He couldn't wait to find out. He was staring, lost in his thoughts of how best to appreciate everything you were giving him. So much care, so much trust, your beautiful body. He wanted to know how best to show you what it meant to him.

You squirmed uncomfortably under his gaze. Since you shed your top he was staring at you. You didn't mind it at first, but it was starting to make you self conscious. You weren't insecure about your body, but the intensity of his gaze, how you could nearly hear his mind racing, made you desperate to know what he thought. Finally he broke his gaze away from your chest, raising up one hand to hold your right breast firmly, he looked deep into your eyes moving to kiss you again, softer and more intimately but still just as passionate as before.

“So beautiful…” he said in between kisses, “Even better than I imagined. You’re so beautiful.”

You moaned against his lips as he massaged your chest. He redirected his kisses down the side of your neck, across your collarbone and right to the breast held in his hand. He kissed around the nipple before finally taking it into his mouth. A haughty moan was pulled from you as he sucked hard, eyes flicking up to watch you arch under his mouth. He moved to the otherside, and your hand took refuge in the short hair at the back of his neck. The cropped undercut left little to grip, so your nails dug lightly into his scalp. He moaned around your nipple, eyes rolling back slightly, and hips jutting into the couch involuntarily.

You marvel at his reaction, letting out a small chuckle before moving your nails across his hair again, “You like that?”

He nods wordlessly, mouth still full of you. He knew he was kissing hard enough to bruise, he didn't care. The taste of your skin, the feeling of your body under his, of your fingers in your hair had him feeling drunker than last night. He couldn't get enough of you, he was truly insatiable. He began to move to return to the first side of your chest when you pulled him back up to your mouth, kissing him hard.

“‘Need you.” you pleaded against him

“Need you too, so fucking bad.” He agreed, leaning back upright, and bringing you with him.

You pulled off and stood up quickly, your boobs bouncing as you moved, he would have been embarrassed of the sizable tent growing in the borrowed sweatpants, if he had had any remaining brain power to think about anything other than fucking you. But he didn’t. He stood up and followed you into your bedroom. You had a queen bed, a small wardrobe, a vanity table that appeared to double as a work desk and maybe moonlighted as a craft station. He couldn’t wait to find out what clothes went in what drawers, maybe eventually you would let him keep some of his work clothes here so he could spend the night on weekdays. You turned to face him before reaching the bed, wrapping your arms around his neck and pulling him down once again to kiss you. His hands fell to your exposed waist, the skin so soft and supple, they teased along the topline of your shorts, lingering to be told the next move. Without him having to ask, you nodded against his lips, and his hands dipped underneath the waist band, finding not underwear but only skin. His hands gripped into the meat of your ass, pulling moans from both of you. Your own hands had slipped down his stomach and began to remove the second hand pants from him as well. Finding the tangled up positioning complicated, you both pulled away briefly to remove the last of your clothing before you led him in climbing on the bed. He followed suit, ogling openly at how your body curved and folded and stretched with every motion. You were nearly serpentine the way your hips shifted climbing onto your bed. His cock was so hard between his legs, pre cum dripping onto your comforter as he followed your crawl. As you turned onto your back, he was right behind you, moving himself between your legs to meet your lips once more. A hand started on the back of one of your thighs, causing you to shiver deliciously.

“You're so sensitive.” He praised, sliding a finger feather light from your ass to the back of your knee.

You mewled unabashedly, proving his point. Finger trailing back down, his hands now gripped both of your thighs, he was on his knees before you, parting your legs further to finally, FINALLY look right at your glistening wet pussy. He nearly fainted at the sight. Lower lips parted to reveal the most beautiful, most delicious looking pussy he had ever seen. He couldn't stop himself, he leaned right down and planted a kiss directly onto it. His eyes rolled back in his head at the sensation, the taste, the smell, the feel of your pussy lips against his mouth, soft pubic hair brushing his nose and he gave a long lick from bottom to top.

“Thank you,” he was so grateful to you. For last night, for taking care of him, for being here this morning, for being here at all, he couldn't believe he had found you like this, and he planned to make the most of his chance.

Never in your life had you been thanked by someone eating your pussy. But here was Kento Nanami devouring you like he hadn't eaten in weeks and whimpering gratitudes into your wetness. You hadn't had time to even realize his intentions before he pushed his tongue between your lips, and once he had your brain had short circuited, causing you to assume the initial “thank you” had been all in your head. It wasn't until it was a mantra he clung to while increasing his ferocity that you realized he really was thanking you. Your hands flew to his hair again, this time pushing back the longer strands in the front that had gathered in his face. You pulled hard when he first sucked your clit into his mouth, the moan he let out sent vibrations up your body and added to the pleasure he was already giving you. Your legs were over his shoulders, your hands in his hair, his mouth was taking you apart one lap at a time, one of his hands found your breasts again, there was so much sensation it was like he knew precisely how to make you unravel before him.

Nanami didn't even realize he was rutting his hips into your mattress, his body desperately seeking friction to his painfully hard cock. He didnt think he had been this hard in years, he couldnt think at-fucking-all. The only thing on his mind was how good you tasted, how pretty you sounded above him, he wanted to hear you say his name, he wanted to make you say his name. He brought his free hand up and slid two of his fingers up and down your folds, getting them thoroughly wet before stopping them just in front of your already clenching hole.

“Do you want these?” his voice is even lower than before, mouth pornographically drenched in you.

You nodded helplessly, just looking at him between your legs threatening to make you cum. He gave a rough squeeze to the breast he held, “No.” he corrected, “ask me.”

You knew what game he wanted to play now, you knew he could tell how much wetter you had just gotten at his darker tone and rougher grip, the tiny showcase of his strength already sending your mind reeling to know how rough he could really get with you. But not right now, now you needed him, any of him, inside of you more than you needed air. So you’ll play along.

“Please, oh fuck please Kento, please put your fingers inside me, i need it. I need it so bad, please.”

More than pleased with your efforts, he slides his fingers into you, they go in so easily, youre so fucking wet. He resumes his meal, already itching to taste you again, now using his fingers to draw even more wetness out of you and onto his tongue. He curls his fingers slightly upward and your moans raise in pitch. He’s hit it, if he keeps this up you’ll cum in no time. You're panting, your moaning, you’re nearly screaming and Kento continues to thrust his long fingers into you, hitting your g spot with inhuman accuracy. You can feel it, you’re nearly there.

“K-Kento i’m..oh fuck i..I’m cumming of fuck I--”, a half scream-half moan rips through your lungs robbing you of the end of your sentence as he pulls your orgasm out of you. You're shaking, you’re pulling his hair, you’re repeating his name over and over until it's completely garbled in your mouth. He takes everything you give him, holding your hips down firmly so you stay connected to his mouth, not letting up with his fingers until he's satisfied you’re through the totality of your first climax. He continues lazy licks as you come down from your high, slowly easing out his fingers and sucking those clean as well.

From your spot on your back you look down at him still panting and dazed from cumming harder than you thought possible with another person. You and your trusty vibrator had made some good memories, but you never expected someone could make you cum like that on the first try. He knew it too, he could see it on your face as he savored the remnants of your cum on his fingers. You moved your hands to his shoulders, weakly pulling, urging him to come up to you. He followed your lead and moved his body over you. You could finally see how fucking hard he was. And how fucking big he was. Just by looking you had to assume he was seven or eight inches long, and he was thick, thicker towards the head than at the base, two pretty veins wrapped around him, the tip was so pink it was nearly red, sticky with precum and still weeping. It curved upward, wanting to rest against his lower abdomen, and the darker blond hair there that grew at the base of him. He clearly kept it groomed, it not being too long or unkempt, but you were grateful it was there. The monstrous thing would probably only look more intimidating without it.

He could see that you were doing the same mental calculations he had seen in every partner he had ever had, and he tucked away the immature arrogant pride and chose to instead kiss the side of your mouth, along your jaw, and up to the shell of your ear,

“It’ll fit, you're already so wet for me, and if it doesn't fit all in one go, that's okay. We can work our way up to it. Trust me.” He kissed your neck soothingly, and that was all you needed. You could already feel yourself dampening again, you wanted so desperately to please him, had just made you cum so hard, you had to at least try to settle the score. Finding his lips once again, you pulled him into another desperate kiss, this time trailing your hand down and wrapping your hand around his cock. Using his already collected precum to coat his shaft, you moved your hand up and down a few times, trying to find the right rhythm before his hand gripped your wrist sternly, forcing you to look him in the eye,

“I nearly came already just from eating your pussy, if you touch me like that I’ll cum right now and I have to be inside of you at least once before then.” he moves your hand away from him and above your head. You keep it there, although direction is ungiven, and he seems pleased by this. He moves to his knees between your legs, Wrapping your legs around his waist, he grips his desperate cock and slides it against your pussy, collecting as much arousal as he can. He doesn’t want to hurt you, he knows how big he is, he knows if he bottoms out without enough prep it won’t feel good for you the way it would for him, he wants you to feel good. He wants you to make that sound again. That pretty scream of his name and pure pleasure. You watch him as he becomes laser focused on the point where you'll be connected in mere moments, you feel honored, in a way to see him like this. He’s being so attentive, so thoughtful and he's making you feel so good. Your hand reaches up and touches the side of his face, and he leans into your palm, nuzzling into it.

“I trust you, Kento. Please, baby, fill me up, I need you so bad, please fuck me.”

He presses a kiss to the heel of your hand, the light breaks in your voice making cock twitch in his own hand, he can’t wait any longer, he begins easing himself inside. He tries, he really tries to go as slow as he can, but hes so fucked out and desperate he cant control his movements as well as he usually would. Feeling him push inside of you, you’ve never been so full in your life, he stretches you so nicely, a slight burn but the combination of foreplay and your first orgasm soothe any pain or anxiety you may have had. His eyes are closed, his brows are furrowed, lips parted and still wet. He looks so beautiful like this. You think he's finally gotten all the way in as he stops his movements, you couldn't be more wrong, his hands lift your hips up slightly, more aligned with his pelvis and he slides back out an inch, before pushing the rest of his length inside of you. You feel him against your cervix, you feel him along every inch inside of you.

Looking down at you, he finally opens his eyes, you look so beautiful filled with him. Mouth dropped open, a warm flush settling over your chest and neck, one hand gripping his arm tightly, the other buried in the blanket beneath you. He wants to keep you like this forever, he attempts to push even deeper, seeing how far you can really take him. Gasping your back arches away from his grasp, but he pulls you back to him.

“Just like this, take it all. Look at you, such a good girl for me. Taking every inch.” His praise coaxes you to relax again. He's so deep inside of you, it feels amazing, “You think I can move now, baby?”

You nod desperately. He starts a slow thrust, opening you up little by little. He's hitting every spot inside of you, you don't know how but you can already feel another orgasm building from just the first few thrusts.

“How do you expect me to fuck you properly, when she wont let me go.” he teases above you, sliding his fingers in a V shape along your innermost fold, right where you’ve gripped around him so tightly.

“‘Mm sorry.” you gasp out barely registering the conversation.

“Oh fuck,” he sputters, finally able to pull completely out before diving back in.

Youre finally warmed up enough for him to fuck completely. He pulls on your legs to place over his shoulder as he deepens his thrusts. Your moans are syncing with his, his movements are starting to become jerky again, trying to control himself as much as possible, Kento brings a thumb to circle your clit making you see stars behind your eyelids, when you open your eyes the only thing you can see his him, gripping onto you leg firmly, staring intently at how well you’re taking him, watching himself move in and out of you. He feels you start to grow tighter around him before you can even start to whimper out,

“Fuck, fuck, kento I---aughhh.” you came around him with no warning,the feeling of you pussy spasming and tightening around him is nearly enough for him to lose his own. He releases a deep moan.

“Where can I cum, please baby, fuck where do you want me to cum, i’m so fucking close.” he can feel the sweat dripping down his face, he’s so dangerously close to blowing it inside of you. He wants to so badly, but he needs to hear you want him to.

“Inside, please, inside me, i need you to fill me up, please fuck.”

Music to his fucking ears, he carried on with his thrusts as you continue begging him to cum inside of you. Your wicked tongue is so dangerous, anything you asked of him in this moment he would do, as long as it meant he could stay like this forever. His thrusts grow shorter, faster, more frantic, he’s truly rutting against you, so deseperate for release the only word on his lips is a repetition of “fuck” and your name. It sounds so good coming from him, like he was born to say it. Finally, he lets out a long strangled cry, coming from low in his belly. You can feel his cock twitch inside of you as his release covers your inner walls. He thrusts a few more times, emptying himself completely before stilling his movements, still locked inside of you.

Heavy pants fill the room, cutting through the thickened air. Nanami collapses over you, resting his head on your chest, the sound of your heart quickening underneath him cutting a smile into his face. You brush the front of his hair off his head once more, cycling your fingers through the sweat-dampened strands. Contented, satisfied sighs escaped both of you, neither of you spoke, neither of you wanted to, not wanting anything to break up this bliss of this moment.

Morning light dripped through your window curtains, golden rays illuminating his features, the freckles on his cheeks, the soft wrinkles by his eyes, a small scar cut into the arch of one eyebrow. He really was beautiful, you wondered how many people had gotten to see him like this. A man of his stature, his strength, completely unguarded. One of his large hands found yours, bringing it up to his lips, kissing your fingers, so sweet, so intimate. You really could fall in love with him. Finally, he looked up to face you, eyes catching the light and turning gold, he winced lightly, still feeling the sensitivity of his hangover. You flattened your palm in the path of the sun’s beam, offering his tender eyes solace in the shade. The gesture is short lived as he moves up to press his lips against yours again, his still buried cock shifting and igniting your inner nerves once again. Feeling you begin to tremble, Nanami wills himself to pull out and move onto his back next to you, one large arm wrapping around you, desperate to not be parted from you for even a second. You rest your forehead against the side of his neck snuggling up to his side. His smell fills your nose, the lingering cologne that you first smelled on the club’s crowded floor, mixed with something so uniquely and naturally him. You felt his lips press onto your forehead, arms pulling you tighter to his side.

Kento was the first to break the silence, “would you want to have dinner with me tonight?”

Your lips curve warmly already imagining how handsome he’ll look like in a nice restaurant, candlelight flicking over his face, maybe he’ll even wear his glasses.

“I’d love that.”

Author’s notes:

Okay thank you guys! I hope you enjoyed!I know I did, I know I said it earlie but I haven’t written in forever so I would love to hear some feedback! Don’t be scared, I know I can take it!

it’s up on Ao3 too.

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gatorbites-imagines · 1 year ago

Note

Anakin flirting with m reader and ending making out? Pls

Anakin Skywalker x Male reader

Headcanons

You are a non-jedi general during the Clone wars, cuz yall lost focus and had a consensual workplace relationship.

This turned out a lot sweeter than i had planned ngl.

You were a general during the clone wars. You weren’t anything special, you couldn’t use the force, you weren’t from some rich or special background, your name didn’t carry any weight. The only gift you seemed to have, was your inability to be affected by the force. All in all, you weren’t anything to write home about.

Of course, that’s also what made you so damn useful in your role. No one kept an eye on you, everyone underestimated you, you could get away with so much because to most people in charge, you didn’t exist. You not being able to be manipulated by the force, also made you extremely skilled in what you did, without anyone seeming to notice.

Your feat of climbing the military ranks in leaps and bounds only got you mild acknowledgments, and a handful of attempted manipulations from some people in power. But when they realized you didn’t bend, but you weren’t important enough to get rid of, they left you alone.

At 22 you had reached the rank of senior general in the republic army, placing you above even a good chunk of the jedi you fought against, which was also why you had been placed with the 501st, to apparently teach their general the basics.

Anakin and Obi-Wan had both been unsettled by the fact that they couldn’t sense you in the force the first time you met. Every being, even the nonliving, had a presence. But you didn’t. it was like you didn’t exist.

That took quite some time to get used too, especially to someone as force sensitive as Anakin. But over time you two started getting along, and though it took him some time and a lot of grumbling, Anakin did learn quite a lot from you.

The flirting had been subtle in the beginning, or as subtle as Anakin could be. From getting your help on reports and readings he just “couldn’t understand”, to getting you to help him stretch after he had spent hours going through his katas.

You weren’t oblivious, you couldn’t be with the life you lived, so of course you noticed his attempts at flirting. It was endearing in a way. To see someone who was supposed to have no connection to people like that, seem so drawn to you.

It also left you feeling uneasy in a way, as you had never really had much time to relationships or even flirting for that matter, having spent all these years making something of yourself.

Alongside the flirting you two became good friends, and you had even signed yourself up to stay with his platoon, even when your training was done. This was also where you learned he had had a thing with Padme, but they realized they were better as friends a while ago.

When you shared your own lack of experience, it seemed to boost some of Anakin’s confidence, seeing as you both were on new ground. And like with anything else, he took to it with gusto.

The fact that you never turned him down or rejected him, sometimes even laughing and playing along, only made Anakin try even harder. It was cute, to see him trying his best to woo you in a subtle and less noticeable way, seeing as he was still a jedi and it wasn’t actually allowed.

The 501st knew though. Of course they knew, and when Ahsoka came around she figured it out very fast, and she most likely took up the role as hype man and background support.

Your flirting became part of your dynamic, it was just something that you two did, which to outsiders was just seen as banter to keep the spirits up.

It also didn’t go past flirting for a long time, seeing as you guys were always surrounded by people. And being besides Anakin didn’t let you slip into the shadows like you were used too, since he would glow so brightly.

The need for privacy was what had you two slinking off to the side during one of the nights in camp, the platoon having settled down on a planet and waiting for their next orders. Anakin and you had decided to wander off, settling somewhere nearby, but far enough away to get some time alone together.

There might also have been a bottle of alcohol in your coat. It was nowhere near enough to get either of you drunk, especially with the force helping clear it out of Anakin’s system quicker than average folk. But it was enough to loosen up and get comfortable.

Your normal banter of flirting was constant, but as the buzz settled it became something softer and somehow hotter, the feelings growing thick in the air and noticeable enough that even you, who was as force sensitive as a rock if not lesser, could sense it.

Anakin must have made some corny pass at you, that cocky grin on his lips and his hair brushed back and out of his face, letting you truly see his handsome features. Something came over you, later you would blame the force, but it just felt right.

Leaning in and closing the gap between you seemed to have shocked Anakin, his eyes wide before he seemingly melted against you, arms wrapping around your neck and torso and pulling you even closer.

The kiss was far from the most skilled or pleasant, but your shared lack of experience was fully made up for by enthusiasm.

Anakin would pant and grunt as the kiss turned steamier, lips parting and tongues rubbing together, spit gathering at the edges of your mouths and a line of drool running down his chin. His eyes were shut tightly in concentration, his brows furrowed and hands grasping as your coat.

You had no idea how long you two were laying there, kissing like two lovesick fools from some romance novel. Hands were grasping and exploring, but never going further than that. Now wasn’t the time to go any wilder than what you were doing, but the possibility of it was enough to make the kiss even better.

When you pulled away, Anakin leaned after you with a soft noise, bottom lip pouting out and red from the insistent kissing, his eyes cracking open to look at you with the softest look you had ever seen from him.

“Not all of us can hold our breath for hours” you snarked with a soft chuckle, since you knew he could, thanks to the force. Your jedi grumbled, but tucked his head under your chin, still clutching you close and brushing his lips against your neck.

Neither of you spoke for a while, just holding onto each other. You found yourself brushing your fingers through his hair, Anakin almost arching into the touch like an affection starved tooka, a sight that only made you smile more.

“I like you a lot” he mumbled, glancing up at you through his lashes with that insistent determined, but somehow still soft and warm look in his eyes. Just seeing him like that made you wanna kiss him again, to devour him whole.

“I think I like you too” you replied, an upwards tick to your lips as you pulled him close again. Even without the ability to feel the force, you could still feel it flare, like the sun rising in the morning. It would be no surprise if Ahsoka knew exactly what had happened, and the padawan would be confronting you guys about it later.

But right now all that mattered was laying there with Anakin, and maybe stealing a couple more of those deep insistent and longing kisses, since he sounded so pretty when you did. You guys could deal with everything else later.

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houseofhyde · 8 months ago

Text

“aemond, i’m out shopping…”

pairing. modern!aegon targaryen x fem!reader synopsis. ...but you’re under aegon and he’s not stopping. ( read part one here ) warnings. modern au, best friend's brother!aegon, drummer!aegon, fuckbuddy!aegon, references to alcohol & drug usage, smut ( aegon is giving switch vibes ngl, f oral, fingering, m masturbation, pussy pronouns bc aegon straight up talks to it like it's a sentient being independent of the reader, exhibitionism, hair pulling, sweat kink?, spit as lubrication, cum tasting, one single slap, mentions of sex toys & tribute pictures, dubcon but only bc the reader protests even though she doesn't mean it ) word count. 5.2k hyde’s input. my modus operandi is making a silly smut fic ( that involves aegon or aemond fucking around with their brother's love interest ) and then ( quite some time later ) writing a part 2 that accidentally trips and falls into a whole load of plot that simply must be further explored, and then oh no! a series is born! the horrors! read on ao3.

Aegon Targaryen is no stranger to waking up naked in a stranger’s bed.

It’s an occurrence that’s marked his formative years, truly. Drinking hard, partying late. Crashing harder, waking later. Last night's clothes strewn across the bedroom, bathroom, kitchen floors, an arm gone numb with the weight of the head that rests upon it. Hair of black, blonde, brown, red, blue tangled on the pillow next to his own. He’s never been picky with who he takes to bed. A warm body is a warm body, and Aegon Targaryen is but a creature of cold blood searching for some reprieve.

This, however, is new to him.

Awakening to unfamiliar walls still dressed in last night’s clothes and laying completely alone. There’s a pounding in his head that beats at his skull, harder than his foot kicks a bass drum. The smell of cheap liquor sticks to his skin — vodka, or tequila, or rum; he can’t pinpoint which he drank more of. The spot next to him is empty, cold to the touch as a hand stretches across the mattress, searching for some sign of life.

Last night is a blur of nicotine in his lungs, glitter in his hair, and far too many broken drum sticks. He needs to stop snapping them over his knee at the end of every solo. The band had been playing at some new bar, that much he does remember. Then, their set finished, and the drinks began to flow, and more than once he was called into the bathroom for a sniff of snow.

When things can’t get worse, they often do.The scream of an alarm clock, somewhere to the left of him and completely out of arm’s reach. With a groan and a grimace, Aegon’s rolling over, tangling himself in floral sheets and, there he finds the damn noise-maker, sitting pretty on a nightstand, living in the space between a pile of well-read books and a scented candle burnt down three quarters of the jar it lives in. An ashtray filled with trinkets, and earrings, and necklaces, and a single cigarette butt, sits right next to a phone, a glass of water, and two unlabelled white pills, one simple note attached.

Went 4 run. Don’t burn down apartment.

Aegon can’t even get offended by the comment. He once set Helaena’s carpet on fire, with nothing but a bottle of nail polish remover, a box of matches, and a whole lot of morbid curiosity. More than once, he’s left a pot on the stove and come back to find flames engulfing it. In a world of pyromaniacs, Aegon is a pyro-misfortunate, too typically present when things go up in flames — literally or figuratively.

Right now, the only fire is in his head, and the safety of water lies within a glass. His fingers scramble along the bedside table, grasping at straws to pick up the two pills. As one presses into the palm of his hand, the other slips off the edge. He tries to catch it as it falls. It has the opposite effect, the pill he’s captured slipping through the crack between his fingers and crashing against the floor, exploding in a powder of white. The other tablet is in no better state.

He could cry. He almost does, as he throws the upper half of his body off the bed, dangling down to scrape up the salvageable remnants of his pain relief.

“Every time I think you can’t get more pathetic, you prove me wrong.”

The voice of Aegon’s salvation.

You appear to him, an angel in the doorway. Upside down, clad in a sports bra, running shorts, and mismatching socks, your skin glistening with its own sweat, backlit by the unforgiving shine of an afternoon sun. And it’s all a hallucination, no doubt, because Aegon has not so much as heard from — never mind seen — you.

Not since that last Sunday you’d spent kneeling on his van floor.

He thought your words were nothing but a bluff. This can’t happen again. It was a bluff every other time, a silly thing to comfort the part of your conscience that feels it owes Aemond some kind of unwarranted loyalty, only to then forget about it the next time his text buzzes in, a misspelt nmeed you, or lemmesee you 2moro, or ur pxssy my mouth pls? lighting up the screen. Nearly a month since he watched you slip out his van door, it seems the only way to see you is in a come-down, hungover state of delirium.

But you’re moving towards him, and crouching down to grasp the tablets he’s left to perish, and sitting him up right, leaving his limp body to collapse back against the bed — your bed? A hand racks itself through his disjointed hair, a momentarily soothing touch, until it tightens into a fist and tugs at his roots, angling his head till his blues meet your eyes. A moan slips its way past Aegon’s lips, the delicious burn at his scalp waking his easily aroused mind.

“Look at you,” you practically spit your disgust at him, but the pity in your stare lessens the blows of your anger-laced voice. Your voice, oh how he’s missed it. “There’s a little more life in those eyes than last night, but, god, you look like shit.”

“Hmm, love it when you degrade me, baby,” he says, a shit-eating grin stretching his lips. “Gets me so hard.”

You recoil within an instant, hands off him like he’s a flaming ball of fire and you’re a barrel of oil, impending doom awaiting when both casualties collide. Aegon chases after you, however, and so you don’t make it far, his arms snaking around your waist and pulling you down into the sheets with him.

Twisted limbs, wrinkled sheets. You weakly thrash against his hold, his arms tighten around you. Burrowing itself in the crevice where neck kisses shoulder, Aegon’s face seeks the refuge of darkness and burrows itself in the smell of skin, your skin.

“Ew, Aegon!” A cry from above, his warm tongue slivering out the cavern of his mouth and dragging itself along a patch of sweat stained skin. Salty, sweet, musky. Everything he likes, everything you. “Let me go, I’m all- You’re making me sweat all over my sheets!”

“Well, that’s no fun,” the pout practically drips off his voice, giving away his expression as if you can’t already feel it pressed right up against your neck. Mind of their own, his hips grind against the leg trapped between his, the swell of his waking cock slowly making itself known. “I’d rather make you sweat, without the s.”

“Weat,” the cooling damp of your skin soothes his burning headache, the perfect remedy to last night’s cocktail of bad choices. Undulating hips, setting an unsteady rhythm that nurtures the hardness between his thighs, feeds its growing hunger slowly. Too slowly. Too long since Aegon last felt you, since Aegon last felt anything. “You’re saying you want to make me weat.”

“Wet. Sweat without the s,” seizing the opportunity, he takes it upon himself to grab a hold of control, flipping you onto your back with a lack of elegance that can only be justified by his hungover state. With your earlier protests still echoing in his mind, you seem to have no issue spreading your legs and making a space for him between them, inviting the Targaryen boy to drape himself over you, face in neck, crotch against crotch, sweaty skin against sweaty skin. “Phonetically.”

“Wow, that’s a big word for you, Aegon!” Despite your grinning mouth and facetious words, deft fingers slip into the crack between your bodies and work at the buckle of his belt, worn leather leaving speckles of itself on your fingertips. “Did Aemond teach you it?”

“Ha, ha.” His hands pinch at your side, an unseen eye-roll at the mention of his younger brother. Perfect Aemond, always finding a way to make things about himself, even when he’s not in the room. The cut feels a little deeper when you’re involved, the only thing of Aemond’s that Aegon has ever dared try take for himself, a sick prize in the depths of his perverted mind. “Who needs big words when you have a big coc-”

The doorbell rings and interrupts him.

Both of you freeze, hands burrowed in hair and fingers tracing over flesh. Aegon’s quick to recover, dragging his attention back to the shape you make up beneath him, a sight that brings him physical ache. He lets his gaze wander over the length of your torso, over the slopes and curves and dips of your body, and hooks his thumbs under either side of your nylon shorts.

“Ignore it,” he says, relishing in how easily the tenseness in you melts away as your eyes find his again, stiff muscles melting as easily as candle wax.

Layers of clothing shed away, his liquor-stained shirt now a pile of cotton by the door, your shorts tossed blindly over his shoulder. He sinks back down, your own limbs following suit, folding beneath his on-coming body. Mouths find one another, like a moth finds a flame, and refuse to part.

Aegon’s missed you. He won’t say it, but he feels it. In every brush of his tongue against your own, and every spine-tingling touch your hands drag over his naked back, and every breath he pulls in stained with the smell of your shampoo. It’s too overwhelming to think of, and so he forces himself to focus on a far more pressing matter: his fingers dipping beneath the waistline of your panties.

As thumb meets navel, a phone screen lights up on the bedside table.

He tries, so desperately, to chase your mouth as your head flees, and one less hand, five less fingers touch his skin, reaching out to grasp your buzzing phone, the name on the screen rousing contempt within him.

“Don’t answer,” he’s pleading, even as he watches your thumb swipe up on the green. “Please, don’t.”

Your eyes refuse to meet his own, you put the phone to your ear.

“Aemond,” a sucker punch to the gut, a name that reminds him of the pounding in his head. Aegon recoils from you, resting back on his haunches, the pathway to your thighs a trail laid out before him. “Hi, sorry.”

He wants to admit defeat. Crawl off your bed, scoop up his shirt, lace up his boots — wherever they are. Spare not even a fleeting glance as he takes his leave, let you stay focused on the brother that clearly owns more of your attention than him. And the worst thing is, Aegon cannot pretend this feeling is rational.

Aemond is your friend, your best friend. The one you call when you need saving, the one who pulls the weight of your textbooks out of your arms and into his own, the one who wins a smile out of you like it’s as easy as breathing air. Whereas Aegon can’t even claim he’s losing the race to his little brother, because he’s not even on the same track.

Unfortunately, defeat just isn’t in his nature.

“Oh. Yeah, I’m,” his hand on your knee, you don’t even flinch. Still won’t even look at him. The hand smooths up your thigh, a light squeeze of flesh as it reaches halfway. “Not in. Aemond, I’m out shopping.”

He snorts back a laugh and, finally, your eyes are on him. Wide, panicked, and pleading for silence.

Aegon ignores it.

Fingers dance up the expanse of your thigh, a pleasant hum rumbling out his chest at the warmth of your skin. He can hear his brother on the other end of the line, unintelligible words blending with the familiar sound of his voice. He can almost picture Aemond, a wrinkle free shirt and tailored trousers, looking up at your building from the entrance, phone pressed to his ear and frown creasing his forehead. The image stays fresh in his mind as his fingers smooth over the soft skin that melts your thighs into the curve of your hips, and sneak their way under the elastic band of your panties.

He pulls at it and releases, watches the way it snaps back down onto your skin. A foot weakly kicks at his side, that stare of yours growing deadlier.

“Are you okay? What happened?” God, the way you want to comfort Aemond, it makes him sick. Or maybe that’s just his hangover. Yeah, that makes more sense.

All is forgotten, for a moment, as he traces over the slope of your mound, finger flexing to press against your clit, hidden out of sight beneath damp cotton. You try to play it cool, like his touch doesn’t faze you, but Aegon’s too quick to notice the hitch in your breath, the way you seem to take a moment too long to reply to his brother.

“Can’t you try to speak with your professor about it, Aim?”

The nickname you speak has Aegon laughing again, a facetious chuckle he presses into your knee, spine curved as he bends down to kiss it. Another kick, this one hits his ribs. Like a saddled horse, it spurs him on, tells him to move faster, touch you more.

It’s hard to pick which sight gets him harder: the peeling back of your panties to reveal the mouthwatering view of your cunt, shining with slick and inviting him to dive right in, or the way your faux composure crumbles, for an instance, back arching reflexively and teeth pressing down against the pillow of your bottom lip, your eyes glued right on his.

“That’s bullshit,” you seem to remember Aemond’s still there, ranting along his own woes in your ear. Again, Aegon wonders if he’s outside. “You’re literally the top student in your year. Hell, you’re probably one of the top students on our whole campus.”

Aegon can’t even disagree. Resident brainiac, the younger Targaryen has always been the overachieving student, winning every useless award and wearing every golden medal. And maybe, were you not two feet below him, dripping wet in nothing but a sports bra, he’d be interested in hearing where this conversation goes, find out what exactly his do-no-wrong brother has fucked up enough not even his flawless grades can save him. His finger is dipping into you before he can even let the thought repeat itself.

“My poor girl,” he mutters aloud, eyes glued on the pretty sight between your legs, hypnotised with how the digit disappears into your pussy, all the way in till knuckles kiss the pillowy soft lips. “So tight. Has mummy not been taking proper care of you, hm? Not letting someone stretch you out, fuck you real good like you deserve?”

“Would you shut up?” You hiss from the pillows, interrupting his reunion with his best friend. He curls his finger up, gently, pressing into the spongy wall of your cunt, just to delight in how easily the animosity flees your eyes as they roll back. Only to shoot wide open again, pressing the phone tighter against your ear. “Sorry, that wasn’t aimed at you! There’s- There was just some creep harassing me about the queue. Yes, I’m okay. No, you don’t have to come get me.”

“This is a private conversation,” Aegon’s free hand pinches the skin of your thigh, that devilish grin of his unwithering as he watches the subtle grind your hips give, fucking his finger deeper into the heat of your cunt. Even in anger, you want him. “Think I need to give her a present, something to keep her nice and stuffed,” he draws the word out, slipping a second finger into you.

You squirm away, for a moment, but his hand chases after you and you’re giving right in, at his mercy, one hand clutching the sheets, the other keeping the phone pressed tight against your ear. Two pumps of his fore and middle finger, until he lets them drift apart, a gentle stretch to your clenching walls.

“Or is my baby more of a Rose toy kind of girl, huh?” Whether on purpose or on instinct, words fall louder each time he opens his mouth. The very same mouth that’s leaning down to meet you in a gasp-worthy kiss, lips pressing sweetly against the throb of your clit, tongue coming out to play in a flurry of three kitten licks, all the while he works his wrist into a dull ache, each thrust forcing his fingers deeper than the last. “Something to soothe this little clit and something to fuck this tight pussy, is that what she needs?”

The hand on the mattress finds his hair, a harsh tug that has him parting with a few strands. He doesn’t care. In fact, he hopes the near-white locks get lost in your sheets if only to be found by a curious Aemond next time he can’t be bothered masking his way home and crashes at your place. What he wouldn't give to see the look on his brother’s face, holding up the hair to see it’s not even half the length of his well-groomed, pin-straight hair.

You’re talking again, doing your best to keep your voice neutral and your breathing even, hand still tangled in Aegon. He half expects you to pull again, kick him again. Tell him to focus on getting off of you, instead of getting you off. But you don’t do that. No, actually, you’re pulling him closer, keeping his mouth pressed to your soft skin, making sure his tongue continues to dance along the nerve-buzzing runway of your cunt, lapping up the taste of you till he’s sure it’s going to seep into his DNA, alter his genetic make-up so you’ll always be a part of him, even when you’re apart from him.

The throb between his own legs is growing, pulsing your name in morse code. As much as he wants the sweet release of flipping you over, arching your back, and feeling your walls clench around the girth of his cock, he’s too attached to the taste of your skin, head burrowing itself deeper, nose smushed against your clit as the tip of his tongue knocks at your slit, soaked fingers spreading your lips open. His own desire will need to find a different method of salvation.

A free hand, switching between gripping at your waist and squeezing the meat of your thigh. It departs from your body with a muted hesitation, a momentary pause before it shrugs away his empty belt buckle and fishes out the lever to his zipper. A swift tug, his pants loosening their snug fit around his hips, leaving his fingers with the freedom to dip beneath the waistband of his boxer briefs and grasp at his aching cock.

“Mhmm,” you almost moan, disguising it as an agreement to whatever his brother is saying to you now. In turn, Aegon lets himself give into it, moaning loud enough for the two of you, letting the sound vibrate into your soaked cunt. “Sorry, repeat that, I- I can’t hear you.”

Shameless as he’s always been, he lets his cock spring free from the confines of the nylon material, standing to attention and slapping against his lower stomach, the tip already dribbling with pre-cum.

“See how much I’ve missed her, baby?” This time, he’s talking to you, lips in a wicked grin, shining with your own wetness. Brushing dry fingers over the mess he’s made between your thighs, a mix of spit and arousal, he relishes in watching how easily you get his fingers soaked. One curl of three fingers, pressing teasingly at that spot he knows too well, then he’s pulling away, extending his hand out towards you. “Spit. Now.”

Your eyes watch his, wide and impatient. The cool air must be soothing, he thinks, brushing against your now abandoned pussy, yet he doubts you find any solace in it. You’ve always been the kind who wants to melt, not freeze.

Phone angled away from you, Aemond’s voice still pouring out its speaker, you lean forward and let it drip: a string of spit.

Basking in the proper attention you’re finally giving him, Aegon wraps the newly soaked hand around his cock, letting the head of it slap back against his torso before he really puts the mixture of your fluids to use. Tight fisted, lips parted, he finds himself leaning back on his haunches, free hand splayed out behind him and holding the weight of himself as he puts on a show for you, stroking his cock. The bed beneath you both creaks as he lets himself fuck up slowly into his hand, a cacophony of pretty moans and desperate whines filling the space between you. Can Aemond hear? God, he hopes so.

The sight of your own hand snaking its way down between your legs is enough to remind him of his mission, the whole reason he’s not given into his want, his need to bury his cock inside you.

You barely brush over your clit before he’s slapping your hand away with a tut, a non-verbal protest as his lips reunite with your cunt, the hand between his own legs beginning a new pace, stroking over his hardness in rhythm with the strokes of his tongue and the speed of his fingers pumping into you.

Hang up, he wants to demand, but he’s got a mouthful of you and he intends to savour it until the end.

“Aemond,” your teeth bite down on your lip in sync with how his own drag over your clit, a silent warning against saying his brother’s name again. Next time, I’ll bite harder, he’s promising, only partially wishing you’ll tempt fate. “Shit, sorry, I have to go, I’m- yeah, next in line.”

Not even a goodbye.

Your thumb presses messily at the red button, the caller ID fading off your screen as the phone fades away into obscurity, left to get lost in the sheets as you give him what he’s been missing all alone, the sweet melody of moan, after moan, after moan falling from your lips, fingers pulling once more at the tresses of his hair.

“Hmm, d’ya think he can hear us, baby?” A nano-second, lips parted from your skin, his eyes flickering to the open window. “Think he’s out there waiting on your doorstep like a loyal hound, while you’re letting me get a taste of heaven?”

You’re close. He can see it, feel it, taste it, each stroke of his tongue greeted with a fresh wave of your sweetness. Both of you are a mess of unintelligible noises, hips rising off the mattress, and thrusting into open palms, sullying yourselves in the paint of pleasure.

He calls your name softly, whiplash against the intense feeling swelling within you.

“Let me see it,” he’s begging, no shame. Glassy eyed, hungover, pussy drunk, wishing you’d give him the one thing he’s been missing all these weeks without you. “Cum. Go on. Cum for me. Please.”

The chord of tension snaps and at last you’re an uncontrollable mess beneath him. Eyes rolling back, back arching up, thighs shaking with a force of nature, the prettiest cries of his name. He’s there with you, the whole time, tongue, and mouth, and hand coaxing you through the maze of lust that consumes you in your orgasm, guiding you safely to the end.

You don’t calm with ease, still trembling as he places one last chaste kiss against you before he lets his face rest on the warmth of your thigh, smearing the stains you’ve left upon him onto your own skin as he continues bucking into his hand, each thrust more desperate, erratic, pathetic than the last, chasing the fast-approaching end.

Until your hand tugs at his hair and he’s frozen beneath your gaze, mouth hanging open, chest heaving in shallow breaths, hips stuttering as he fails to fully control his urges, the tip of his cock blushing red with angry desire, desperate for release. He’s awaiting your dismissal of his own touch, waiting for you to replace it with yours, remind him of just how well you know his body. Your hand does meet his skin, but not how he expects.

You slap him.

A sting in his cheek in the wake of it, and a rush of blood to his groin, eyes rolling back for a split second. “Hmm, next time hit me harder. Promise I won’t break.”

“How could you do that?” You heave out, no doubt intending your voice to hold more power, but it’s weak, and breathy, and turning him on even more. “Aemond was- He could’ve- Fuck, this wasn’t supposed to happen again.”

“If it’s any consolation, you tried. Haven’t answered my texts in weeks,” he’s aware he sounds desperate. Because he is. Or is that just his hangover again? “Would think you’d died or something, if I didn’t have to hear your name come out of Aemond’s mouth everyday.”

“Don’t say it like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like he’s the one in the wrong.”

A blanket of silence engulfs you both, heavy and uncomfortable over your sweaty bodies. His hand still sits tight around the base of his cock, begging for attention, but he can’t bring himself to move.

Not until he knows you’re okay.

“I’m sorry,” the shape of it is foreign on his tongue, scarcely said and never with a speck of honesty. “I shouldn’t have put you in that situation. I just- I guess I just thought if you remembered how I could treat you… thought if I could just make you feel good, you’d-” He cuts himself off, words hardly making sense in his own head.

You heave a sigh, smooth your hand down the side of his face that still stings. “You don’t just make me feel good. You make me feel better than anyone else, and that’s the problem. First man to touch me, and now all the others can’t compare.”

Aegon is a fiend for praise, so used to words of disappointment and looks of disgust. But then one day, he dove between a woman’s thighs and heard her calls of pleasure, listened as she praised his efforts, revered his good job, delighted in his skills upon the mattress. It’s no wonder he began to find solace in the pleasures of the flesh, the first and only thing he’s done right in his life.

“You let others touch you?” A silly thing to get hung up on, yet he can’t let it slip away. The hand around his cock skates forward, stroking slowly before smoothing over the sensitive tip with the palm of his hand.

You nod your head.

“Sometimes. Guys can get touchy at frat parties, but I’m sure you know all about that.” He doesn’t bother to negate it, he knows you know him too well. No doubt Aemond shared every anecdote of Aegon during his short-lived frat days. A hiss slips past his lips as he continues the slow caress of his aching length. You clear your throat. “Stop denying yourself. Just cum, it’s okay.”

Sometimes, he can follow orders.

Especially one like this, that leaves him reaching once more for the sweet relief of release, wave after wave of it rolling down his spine as his hand works himself to completion.

“Can I,” he stutters over a moan, cutting himself off and getting swept away in the rapid currents of reignited lust, each touch more frantic than the last.

You finish the thought for him. “Cum on me, Aegon.”

White, thick, hot. Rope after rope of his spoils spill down onto your naked skin, a painting so beautiful he almost wants to picture it and sell it on as modern art. It’s better than anything Aemond’s ever made with his easel and brush.

Time melts away into nothing, fading to obscurity as he floats on cloud nine, body weightless, mind rested. Tingles down his spine, up his thighs, on his face where you still touch him, thumb smoothing over his cheek.

A giggle pulls his mind back into his body.

“I told you this wouldn’t happen again, and now look at me!” Your tone is softer than earlier, even if your voice has regained its usual energy. “God, I just might be the biggest idiot.”

“Don’t say that. You’re smart,” you shoot a sceptical look his way, wanting to negate him, but he doubles down. “You are. Don’t forget I know your best friend, I hear all the shit you’re achieving on that campus. You’ve got me beat, at least. Couldn’t even make it past my first year before I dropped out.”

“I look like I belong at some conceptualist’s art exposition on tribute pictures.”

“I could give you a real tribute picture,” his eyes are glued to yours, even as he swipes a finger over his cum upon your lower belly and brings it up to his mouth, teasing his tongue with the salty taste. “Just need my phone camera, a nice big cheesy grin from you, and a printer.”

“Keep dreaming.”

“Oh, I will.”

Throwing a leg off the bed, he tests his stability, hand reaching down to tuck his limp dick back into his trousers and zip the fly up halfway. Despite the dizziness that threatens to cloud his mind, he manages to get his second foot on the ground.

“I’ll leave you to your shower, sweaty,” he calls over his shoulder, making his way over to the bedroom door.

“Where are you going?” He could almost coo at you, wide-eyed gaze, legs tangled in floral sheets. You’ve sat up, and don’t seem to care about the way his cum drips down you onto the bed. All you care about is him, even if it's just for a moment, and Aegon has to physically stop himself from stumbling back over and engulfing you with his body once more.

Instead, he leaves you with a shrug and a simple explanation, “you fed me, now let me feed you.”

By the time he’s got eggs cooking on the stove and bread warming in the toaster, the sound of running water fills your apartment. A familiar buzz rings out, leading Aegon over to where his phone lays, buried in the cracks between your couch cushions. The screen lights up.

One missed call - Mother.

Unlocking at the sight of his face, he swipes up on the screen. It opens onto a chat log. Your chat log. His stomach drops as he scans over the messages, dreading what inebriated-Aegon had gone and texted.

Needyou - 04:47 am

Plase - 04:49 am

Thinik Imgonna K Hole in nnnnn bathroOm - 04:52 am

All three messages are in blue.

Beneath them, your reply lives in a muted grey bubble, yet it somehow has his eyes watering. Maybe he just needs to turn the screen brightness down.

Send me your address. I’ll be there ASAP - 04:53 am.

The pop of the toaster scares him out his own skin. He turns his head only to curse under his breath. Flames engulf the small frying pan, the food within charred black. He gives a gentle call of your name.

“I hope you like your eggs well-done.”

+extra hyde.

so, how are we feeling? do we want more of these two weirdos ( affectionate )?

i stopped doing taglists a while back bc i lowkey always forget about them but @481theralicat dmed me a while ago asking to be tagged if i ever wrote a second part to drummer!aegon and that message was partially what gave me the motivation to finish part 2, so i feel like the least i can do it tag them. i hope you enjoyed it & the wait was worth it <3

#aegon targaryen smut #aegon targaryen x reader #aegon targaryen fanfic #modern aegon targaryen #aegon targaryen oneshot #aegon targaryen fic #house of the dragon smut

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