#guards! dissolve that man

[openphrase123]

i was slightly worried that running inutile and the isabeau angst document concurrently would feel too angst same-y because they're both fics that deal with deep dives into the insecurities of the narrator

but oh boy they could not be more different the more i get into the isabeau document

[hoseoksluna]

LIQUID STARS | jjk

pairing: fuck buddy!jungkook x f. reader (feat. bam)

genre: angst, smut

word count: 11.8k

summary: to seal the deal, you give jungkook what he wants—your kiss, your cunt and your virginity.

playlist: liquid stars / pinterest board: wine

warnings: size kink, heavy dd/lg themes, provocation, dry humping, dirty talk, mentions of porn, oral sex (f. + m. receiving), multiple orgasms & countdown, dom/sub dynamics, reader has daddy issues (like the writer), first time, jealousy, inner child healing, plushie used during intercourse, jungkook fucks her numb & dumb, praise kink, cum eating, pet names and the establishment of a title, bondage, raw sex, tummy bulge, desperation, pain felt during intercourse, squirting

note: as difficult as it was to write this, i'm immensely thankful. this changed my life; it healed me and i'll dream about it for a long, long time. i was as exhausted as oc once i finished this, because i truly did give my all. everyone, this is part four to my series 'wine' and therefore the very end. this is the very beginning of jungkook's and oc's relationship. can be read as a standalone as there aren't any quirks from the other parts (except for bunny), though if you wish to read them now, now is the perfect time. now you can see the beautiful gradual development of their relationship. please, enjoy as you read and let me know your favorite parts bc i need to talk about this. heed the warnings as there are dd/lg themes that can be uncomfortable for some. thank you! and thank you for all the love on this series. i'll never forget it. i love you, guys. ʚɞ

side note: give some round of applause for 3D daddy provider jungkook everyone!! he deserves it!!!

Silky lilac bows adorn the tops of your pigtails that cascade down in loose braids, sprawled on the cotton of his pillow and on the soft belly of a bunny plushie. There are still traces of sunlight left on the bedding, which dissolve, little by little, into nothingness as the large star goes down, saying goodbye. It’s lightweight, the atmosphere—homely almost. And much to your surprise, you feel relatively at ease, despite the fact a man lies on top of you—a man you have a certain liking for. 

It was natural for you to end up here and you, yourself, wished for it, even. Deemed it was only right after the man took you around for a walk while his silly Doberman guarded each and every step both of you had taken in sync, especially so when he persisted in buying you a small plastic ring of the same bunny you’re lying against. He didn’t even forget about his own canine friend waiting outside patiently like the obedient dog he is, and fed him the snackies he got for him as soon as he returned from the shop. You swore Bam was as giddy as you when he received his gift. 

Now the ring glints in the last rays of the sun. His, too. 

While yours is as white as the cloudy morning sky, Jungkook’s is as black as the drowsily dozing night sky. You think it’s the perfect contrast between the pair of you. Not that you should be noting these things, considering you’re just friends. But his skin is satiny soft, painted in impressionist tattoos, while his muscles, that his well-fitted T-shirt graciously allows you to see, are strong. You’re sure he could just lift you and throw you around without much of a strain. And it certainly doesn’t help that he’s such a striking image of pure beauty. How could you not notice these intertwinings when they’re this lovely?

You like him—without a shadow of doubt. Can feel the call of an emotional attachment forming the more he studies your skin with the tip of his index finger, embellished with the Miffy ring, and it’s owed to the fact you’ve never been touched this way before. No one has ever come this close, no one has ever been interested in the moles scattered upon your shoulders, in the veins that make the pathway to the column of your neck. No one has ever gazed twice at them—but Jungkook?

He hasn’t stopped looking at them ever since he laid you down in the middle of his bed. 

How could you stop such a call? Such a lull, such a magnetic pull. You know you should, but for the meantime, you simply don’t want to. Can’t lose this moment, can’t lose this once in a lifetime opportunity—

Jungkook presses his lips against the prominent mole in the center of your left shoulder. Those pretty, puffy lips, closing against your skin, the smallest dart of tongue swiping past. It shocks you for a moment before the feeling dissolves beneath, adjusting within the freshness of your system. How could you refuse such dynamic poetry, expressed against your own forlorn body? When it’s so blatant that it’s natural, that your body willingly accepts it without a fight. 

You couldn’t. 

Stretching your fingers between the thick strands of his hair, you close your eyes to savor the feeling of being wanted. The movement of his mouth, going even as far as to the first vein rooted in your arm—following it with those half-closed pillows. Up, up until he finds the line of your collarbone. Jungkook pauses there, simply breathes against you before he interperses little pecks there, nibbles and gentle swipes of tongue. The lining of your top won’t let him go further down, so he changes direction—relies on the pathway of your veins to guide him to your neck. And there… at the first contact, you grip the roots of his hair. 

His kisses and nibbles are much harder here. And what’s worse, he takes the sensitive skin into his mouth and sucks. You fail at containing the whimpers that break out of your mouth and Jungkook reacts to them. Hums ever so deeply, rocks his hips against the mattress. You wish you were a bit bigger so you could feel the collision, but you’re just so small compared to his large form. You imagine he’s writing down the poems collecting inside of him with each cursive roll of his tongue. Wonder if there’s enough paper on your skin for all his words. 

“You sweet little thing,” Jungkook coos onto the crook of your neck, dragging his lips up and down before he stops at your jaw. You feel the warmth of his breath and his body heat seeps into yours, creating unity, blackening the ink. It feels strange, it feels so new. Brisk and springlike, like fresh air in a stuffed room. You want to stay here for a long time, tasting the wholeness of spring captured in him. You want his words to flush you red with the tinge of the entire sunlight that opens the buds of flowers during all seasons in a loop. “Can I kiss you?”

You haven’t gone beyond the innocent touching of hands with him. You brim with a tight feeling of thankfulness that he asked you such a graceful question, although something else steals your attention entirely. 

“Little?” you say, the smile on your lips pulled so taut that it quivers ever so slightly. It makes you crazy that he calls you that, but you play the game. Revel in it. “What do you mean little? I’m bigger than you.”

Jungkook cocks his brow at you, mouth falling into a lopsided grin. He sits back and you feel a whiff of coldness pass by the perimeter of your body, as if someone opened the window and let the winter air in, when it’s just his brief distance that caused it. The forming attachment in you tenses and before you can think about your actions, your hand finds his knee, his thigh and traces slow patterns there. Jungkook suddenly squeezes your waist, surprising you, and the ecstatic fluttering of butterfly wings break havoc all over your body. The solidness of his hands, their weight, their firmness, giving life to your body, meaning. You note how his fingers touch when he has his hands enveloped around you like that. And the inkling that your body matters in his hands like that slips into your mind, spreading through its axis. 

You bite your lower lip. A small ache begins to grow in your intimate parts. It’s so nice to be wanted, to be considered good enough to be touched, to be kissed. 

“You? Bigger than me?” Jungkook squeezes your waist again. Sucks in a breath through his teeth. Smiles softly; in a way that you find unbearably endearing. “No, you’re just little. Just a tiny, little bug. So tiny in my hands.” 

For the breath he inhaled, you exhale it. 

He leaves his hands there when he bends over you, hovering his lips over yours. His weight, his heat. You sigh against him in relief, in a newly blossoming excitement that he’s back again. You spread your legs wider, feet grazing his calves—

“Let me kiss you, please.” 

You’d give in, but the game is just so pleasurable. 

Your laugh is but a breath. “You wanna kiss me?” 

You exhaled, he inhaled. 

“Don’t ask stupid questions.”

“Since when do friends kiss?” You cock your eyebrow at him just like he did, prodding your tongue on the inside of your cheek. 

He hovers a little bit higher above you, hanging his head in defeat, sighing. Places his hands in fists on either side of you, caging you in. 

“Premium friends do,” he mutters, lifting his head, face all serious. You dig your toe into the toned muscle of his thigh, twirling sweet little circles, gliding up and down. Watch as his eyes lid and he tries to control it. “Don’t do that or I’ll fuck you.” 

Your body panics, but you will it to relax. 

“Does that come with the premium subscription?” 

Jungkook purses his lips, supports his weight on one hand as the other, the tattooed one, grips your jaw. He squishes your cheeks, bites his lip once—seemingly ponders whether he should play your game or not before he lets go of your pout, but still keeps his hand there. He traces the shape of your lips with this thumb, feeding his desire to kiss you with scraps. 

“Yes,” he utters. “Kisses, orgasms, my dog. It’s all—”

Orgasms, not just sex. Orgasms. 

“I get to take Bam?” 

Jungkook tuts at you. “You get to take me,” he corrects you. “Though, can even such a little thing like you take me?” 

Probably not. Definitely not. 

“But what about Bam?” 

He looks at you as if he couldn’t believe the words you’re saying, turning his head slightly to hear you better. Then, he scoffs, running his tongue across his lips swiftly, letting them express the enjoyment of your provocation by stretching into a smirk. He places his hand back on the right side of you, thinking over his words. 

“Bam is mine, but you can pet him. You can kiss him.” You can hear the feigned venom in that word as he spits it and you grin, pleased with yourself. You enjoy doing this to him. “And if you’re good, I’ll let you take him out for his walkies.” 

You gasp slowly, fingers absentmindedly gripping his thigh. Butterflies buzz you with a mere hint of arousal and to convey it, you wet your top lip with the tip of your tongue. The dominance, the principle of proving to him whether you’re deserving of something. Your heartbeat quickens, reaching for him with each swell. 

Oh, you’ll be good. You’ll be good until he’s sick of it. 

It seems he’s as pleased with himself as you were with yourself, reading your body language as he beams down at you, dimples poking holes in his cheeks. You want to stick your fingers there, pinch the skin at the corners of his mouth. Feel them, kiss them—

“Deal.” 

Jungkook blinks at you. He most likely expected you to be difficult. You like the look of surprise on him. A sweet kind of glint perches itself upon his irises. You’re at awe of how he manages to be so adorable and alluring at the same time. You could never understand it. You deem he must be otherworldly. 

“A kiss to seal the deal?” he tries, raising his brows, lowering himself to his elbows. 

He skims his lips across your cheek, descending to your neck. Places one, singular kiss there. Lifts his head to hear your answer, a soft curtain of hair falling across his forehead. 

You make a face as if you’re thinking about it. 

Jungkook groans. 

It’s cold, the way he turns away from you and it startles you—but then he slides his hands under your back and lifts you with ease, sitting you down on his lap. He moves you from the muscles on his thighs to the hardness of his intimate parts and you groan at the feeling of it. You’re wearing an airy short skirt with tights and knee socks underneath, the barrier so thin that you feel the solid, thick shape of him right under your femininity. 

You rock against him once. Jungkook lets out a sound akin to yours, fingers flexing—hands almost reaching for your behind before he decides against it and keeps them planted against your back. 

He desires your consent. And that makes you feel light-headed. Tipsy on the wholeness of him, on the pleasure coursing through your body. 

You rock your hips again—and this time, Jungkook whimpers. 

You take your hands and, slowly, you make a pathway down his chiseled chest. He twitches against you when your fingers pass by his nipples, his body following and squirming along. And once you reach the definition of his abdomen, your hands rise and fall against its quickening movement as his lungs heave. You’re mesmerized by his reaction to your touch. It’s as if it was his first time as well and something about that makes you woozy, savage and absolutely feline. 

And something about the way you’re allowed to do as you please, whereas he’s not, strengthens that state of mind, enriches it, thoroughly worsens it. 

You want him. 

It began with a ring and ended right here. 

And the process of your decision starts at his hips, finalizes at the pebbles of his nipples and finishes completely at the sides of his neck. He gives you the same, if not better, reaction, his manhood moving against you, and it’s settled. 

The giving of virginity to seal the deal, not just a kiss. 

Hovering your lips against his, you slip your hand to the place where you’re connected to feel up the shape of him. You moan onto him, vigorous power seizing you, propelling you to wrap your fingers around him. The breaths Jungkook emits are desperate, tortured, wafting over you, intoxicating you. It fills you with confidence unlike any other that you’re able to coax such a thing of beauty out of him—that you, the artist, have the upper hand momentarily while he doesn’t. 

And he waits, depends on you. You want to cry due to how happy it makes you, due to the way it suffuses an empty part of you, left abandoned by someone who should’ve taken care of it a long, long time ago. 

Because of that—if it’s kisses that he wants, you’ll give him as many as his body desires as a thank you. 

“You’re so hard against me,” you whisper. 

Jungkook grips your waist hard. 

“If you want it, you have to seal the deal,” he mimics your intonation, voice deep, tingling your tummy. 

“I want it.” You clutch both of your hands on his jawline, thumbs finding the invisible dimples. 

“Kiss me, then.” 

You whimper at the longing to do so. Your tummy clenches, butterflies inside swarm around and—

When you close your lips against his top lip, they burst into smithereens. Jungkook sighs in relief, enveloping you in his warmth. 

The kiss is hungry. You expected his first taste of you to be careful, contemplative, but he goes all in. Takes charge of the lip lock, swallowing you whole, moving against you, uttering low sounds that make your head spin and you just comply. Accept that you’re the one who submits to his craving and you find yourself liking it; find yourself wanting to deepen your submission. 

You wrap your legs around his waist, your head tilted as you reciprocate all of those hard kisses. When he comes up for air, he just gazes down at you, out of breath. One hand still on your back, the other cradles your cheek. There’s something puzzling in his eyes, as if he was fighting something within. You’re radiated by that energy, heavied down by it, letting him pet you like a puppy while you wait for the next step. 

“You’re so good that I’m considering letting you take Bam out,” he breathes, curling a wisp of your hair behind your ear. “Sweet little thing.” 

He pecks you once. You grind against his manhood and as he shortly groans onto your mouth, you splutter into giggles. Behind you, as if he heard him, the dog peeks his head out of the door, giving his Daddy a questioning look. Jungkook chuckles. 

“Bam, house.” 

The dog leaves and Jungkook sinks his fingers into your hair, sighing. Kisses you, again without tongue—only does what you’ve allowed him, but you overflow with the desire for more. He’s so considerate, so respectful and while you’re grateful for it, you want to break it. Your trust in him, made whole by all that he’s done for you, settled within you, made a bed in the sensitive parts of you that now shine. He doesn’t need to remain there—you want to go beyond that. 

“Touch me, please.” You look up into his eyes as you say it, willing them to see with all your energy how much you want him. 

He rubs soothing circles on your back. “If I touch you, I’ll fuck you, sweetheart.” 

You lift your butt ever so slightly and bounce down on him, your skirt furling. Jungkook moans, pleasing you to the core. It’s bratty of you, but it serves him right for being so stubborn, so firm in his control. You want to break him. 

“Can’t you see how much I want that?” you purr, bunching the cotton of his T-shirt in your fists. 

He merely shakes his head, licking his lower lip, fucking with you. He tugs on one of your braided pigtail, the other hand gliding to your hipbone. “This little girl is horny? I couldn’t tell.” 

A yellow light, sleepy in nature, spills through the blinds, latching onto the side of your neck. His eyes flick to it and his teeth sink into the wetness of his lip. He looks back at you when he says, “what was it that made you horny? The neck kisses?” 

He straps both of his hands to your hipbones now, adjusting you so your sweetest spot rests against his cock, rocking your hips like he wants them to. He swallows down his noises, makes room for yours. You figure he wants to hear them. 

You think about what made you horny. His respectful behavior. An electric spark spasms in your core at the memory and you roll your body against his at the impact—nipples pebbled, grazing below the hardness of his pecks. You moan loudly. He breathes heavily, can’t for the life of him contain that, gripping you with strength that will surely leave bruises. You add it to the list. 

His control—the momentary, delicious lack of it, too. The dominance that follows it. His noises and how unrestrained he is when it comes to them. The allure and the attractive charm of his looks, blended with that insufferable cutesiness. His hard cock. The neck kisses, too, of course. 

You summarize your answer and you tell him, “you.” 

A hitch in his throat. “Fuck.” 

Fuck, indeed. Fuck the steady rhythm—Jungkook speeds up your movement, the pace so fast your pigtails and your ribbons bounce, tits following suit. Your breath falls in step, moans echo within the walls of his room. He kisses you harshly, but that doesn’t silence you. He swallows your noises down, grunting. 

“You wanna know what made me hard for you?” 

You nod your head, lips forming a natural pout at the loss of contact. 

“Those fucking pigtails of yours. The knee socks. How tiny you are in my hands. Seeing you lose your fucking mind when I kissed your neck. Those marks I left behind, hm, fuck yes. Those marks made me crazy,” he mutters, staring you down. “And you know what else?” 

You wait for his answer as white flashes blind you, your roaring orgasm beckoning you close. He doesn’t stop rocking you against him, not once. Fills your brain with emptiness with his words coated wet by his dominant energy. You feel your own wetness soaking the fabric of your panties. 

“Your brattiness,” he says. “I want to fuck it out of you and make a good girl out of you that won’t misbehave again with her smart words.” 

A faint part of you, half affected by the pleasure he gives you, arises to stand up for you. “But I was good and you said so.” 

He clicks his tongue, disapprovingly shaking his head. Slows down the pace so you’re able to hear him loud and clear, your orgasm backing away. “You see the thing is with little bratty girls like you, even when they act good for me, there’s still that dark little side of them that hides. Unless I fuck it out of them, they play with me. And trust me, I like the game until I don’t.” 

You frown at him, but a moan betrays you. A fight throngs inside of you, his dominance yet again permeating you, causing you to flourish, but on the other hand, you don’t like being added to the mix. You want to be the only one—and it makes you angry that he had someone like you before you, that he even said it altogether. Though unfortunately, that’s something you can only keep to yourself. 

The forming attachment breaks, splitting into two, with the knowledge that your wish is futile. You understand he said it for the sake of the role-play that you both naturally, wordlessly established through sexual attraction, but you still have a lot of getting used to within the dynamic. He’s experienced, you’re not. Though, when you think about it, he doesn’t know a thing about your purity. You never told him. 

You blame yourself for your own pain. It’s your fault—you should’ve had a conversation with him about it before you let him do anything to you, instead of playing flirty games with him. You wouldn’t have gotten hurt, if he knew you were a virgin. The thought of what you’ve done stains you, makes you feel filthy, but you will it to kneel inside of you like a wounded animal. You need to be strong if you don’t want to storm out of his room in tears. 

No attachment, no liking. 

Just sex. 

There’s still a frown to your face, despite the fact you set yourself free with your decision. Jungkook chuckles at it, oblivious to your internal storm. 

“You didn’t like that, did you?” You didn’t like being compared to other girls he’d been with; there’s nothing to be said of the like about the role-play aspect. Being called bratty did rouse a moan out of you. “You prove my words right.” 

You roll your eyes. Jungkook grips your ass hard and spanks you. As the sting reverberates, along with it comes the realization you got what you wanted. 

You broke him. 

And now you have to face the repercussions. 

Good thing you’ve sobered up from the stupefaction of your arousal. 

You cradle his face and kiss him deeply in effort to change the narrative. No feeling of affection from earlier hangs upon your heart and you find that it’s easier like this. No strings, no pain. It relieves you—so much that you sense a layer of lightness to your body and tiny, manageable tears well in your eyes. You get to enjoy this after all. 

There’s radiance to your eyes, rooted in hope, and true softness to your words when you say, “I want you to fuck it out of me. I want you to be my first.” 

You want to be different—your pride is uninfluenced by your decision. If he fucks it out of you, the new narrative you’re longing for will fully take place and make living through this bearable. You know you can’t have him the way you’d like, but if fate wrote that you’re to have him this way—you don’t mind altering it to the little desires you’re allowing yourself to have. 

Once in a lifetime opportunity. You can’t lose it. 

Jungkook is left astounded by your words, eyes widening, shock evident on his features. Like your words, he softens, unclenching his fingers from your suppleness, the darkness in his irises making a way for gentleness to come through. He rubs the small of your back, hands ascending to your spine, feeling the clip of your bra, until he finds the nape of your neck. He holds you there, tenderly, as if you were a porcelain doll he now was careful not to break. 

The change in his demeanor is stark. It surprises you as well—and like everything that has happened within the hour, it isn’t something you expected from him. The emotion that emerges from the roundness of his eyes touches the hardness of your decision, tries to get through, pokes a gap inside, letting the light in. 

He tucks his darkness back inside. Strokes the back of your head, the silky ends of your ribbons sifting through his slender fingers. You relax against him and your body does it for you. It welcomes his tenderness, glad for the truth to be out. You fight against it—against yourself, willing your decision not to break but remain firm. 

No strings, no pain.

But to no avail. The light spreads. His light. Celestial twinkles of stars, small parts of him that make him who he is. 

“You’ve never had anyone before me?” he husks, regret glossing over his eyes, holding your head firmly as he awaits your answer. More stars spill like liquid. 

You shake your head ‘no’, your chest tightening. 

He kisses you and there’s something different about the way he does it. Now you can sense the carefulness you searched for earlier and you taste the primal core of loving care in the movement of his lips. The kisses are long, deep. As if you’re a different person now, a girl unlike any of the ones he mentioned. Someone who matters, someone who’s solid. You’re back at the beginning. 

A lump forms in your throat. 

“You sure about this?” he asks. 

One part of you, greater and illuminated by his stars, wants it gently like this, with flowers of innocence and purity besprinkled across his features, never leaving you out of his sight, taking care of you. But you fear that if you allow him to be tender, your heart will choose him again and cling to his side. The other, more faint part of you, affected by your decision, thinks it’s better to stick to the role-play, for there’s the aspect of illusoriness that will not bruise anyone’s hearts, especially not yours. It will make you horny, Jungkook will get you off and, glowing, you’ll go home.

You can’t decide. It’s too much of a heavy weight to bear on your shoulders. You can’t do it.

You need him to say the word. You need him to decide what will be the face of the trajectory of your premium friendship. 

Flowery or deceitful? 

A small candlelight in you hopes for gentleness and purity before your fear unfairly puffs it out. 

“Yes, I’m sure. I want you.” 

Jungkook lays you down and, at last, you feel his manhood against you. He bends to pepper apologetic kisses along the column of your neck and you feel the authenticity of his regret, thrumming against you warmly. Your breath hitches in your throat, the principle of the candlelight in you not being a high hope after all—

“I’m sorry. I should’ve gone about this better.” A kiss to your cheek; you stifle your sobs. “I should’ve checked in with you, but I jumped straight in. This was a mistake on my part. I’m sorry.”

He blames himself, not you. 

You want to remain stoic, but his authenticity beckons yours to come out and envelop him whole, gives access to your emotions and you can’t stop the miniature teardrop from flowing down the side of your nose. Neither can you stop the words that follow its footsteps. 

“I should’ve told you first,” you whisper, sniffling. Jungkook furrows his brows at the expression of your pain in tender emotion, wiping it away. “But I was bad—reckless.” 

He chuckles softly, caressing your hair. “You’re an angel. Sent to my side for me. You weren’t bad. I didn’t mean what I'd said.” 

His words, his touch, the kiss he adds to your cheek to punctuate his sentence—Jungkook erases everything that has just happened. 

Newness rushes in your chest, the pouring of spring into summer permeates your whole being. You hear the birds sing, the rustle of flimsy flower petals on tree branches as the warm wind grazes it with its touch. Jungkook seals this feeling by pressing a kiss to your sternum. 

He said it, so it must be so. You trust him. 

The firmness of the cage around your decision unlatches. Doesn’t fly away like the birds. Is a little bit afraid of peeking out. The candlelight returns to light up the room around that cage, blossoming into the sun. 

“We don’t have to do anything, if you don’t want to,” he says, looking up at you from the place where he dragged your top down to kiss your skin. 

The sun rays in you absorb all of the darkness. The firmness extends one wing. 

You run your fingers through his hair. Figure the only thing the summer in you is missing is the heat. You want him, you want sex and you don’t want to think about feelings or consequences. You don’t want to choose between anything anymore. You just want to enjoy yourself. 

“I meant it when I said that I want you to be my first,” you say, fingers curling around his ear. Jungkook leans into your touch and it’s as if he’s massaging the wing to alleviate it from a cramp due to being tucked in for so long. 

“Okay,” he sighs, taking your hands and pinning them on the pillow and bunny above your head. He sits up, examines you and you wonder if he can see how truly fragile you feel. “Do you trust me?” 

He’s had half a year of going out with you, mingling his life with yours, spending money on you and treating you like an absolute treasure to build your overall trust. And what he did just now? How he erased your pain? Your nod is immediate; you don’t need to think twice. 

“Of course I trust you.” 

“Good.” A soft smile. “I’ll make sure your first time will be beautiful for you.” 

Your heart thuds. His words steal all the breath in your lungs, smoothing out the surface of your body for his stars to fill. Tears prick at your waterline. 

“Are you scared?” 

You’re an empty canvas. 

“Not anymore.” 

Jungkook nods, gladness pulsating off of him. “I’ll be here the whole time. I won’t leave you, not even once, okay?” 

“Okay.” 

He finds the zipper on the side of your skirt and yanks it down. “How many times do you wanna come?” 

The ridiculousness of the question makes you laugh and you hide your face beneath your palms. “To be honest, I don’t expect to come at all. It is my first time after all.” 

You marvel at the honesty seeping out of you. His work, no doubt. 

Jungkook frowns, ridding you of the skirt, fingers hooking under the hem of your top. At the reveal of your pink, flowery, see-through bra, he stops altogether, stunned. He fondles the material, grazing over your soft nipples, at last reaching the embroidery of the small petals. He gasps in wonder, eyes flicking to your intimate parts to see if you’re wearing a matching set. 

The same flowers adorn the suppleness of your tummy. 

Jungkook smiles at his discovery. Is hasty as he drags the nylon of your tights down your legs, along with your knee socks. 

“I’ll decide how many times you come for me, then.” 

Heat pools in your femininity. There it is, the dominance that you love. Yet this time, it’s laced with his gentleness. Heaven on earth—a meadow full of flowers in the middle of summer. Like the ones on your lingerie. 

Joy grasps your heart. “Do I get to know before you start?” 

Jungkook chuckles, pressing a kiss on your tummy. “What, you wanna count them down for me?” 

You asked just because, but the idea excites you. You nod. 

Your response prolongs the rumble of his laughter and you feel its vibration as he kisses his way up to your clothed breasts. You’d think he’d focus his attention on them, but he straightens—reaches for something behind him and retrieves your white knee socks. He bunches them in his hands and puts them on you as if he were dressing a child. 

Paradoxically, goosebumps spread all over your thighs. 

Smoothing the material over your thighs, he lies back down against you, lips latching on the spillage of your breasts that your bra gives him. While it feels dizzying, you still want to know the number. You poke him in the bulging muscle of his arm and in the process, you flush his cheeks red. 

Jungkook pushes your tits together and licks over the line in the middle. The sight of the shine of his wet tongue against it drenches your pussy, ruining your pretty underwear, and you want him there, on your sweetest spot. Your nipples stand to attention and Jungkook listens to their call, thumbs brushing across them. 

You mewl, grinding your hips against his stomach. 

“Two times when I eat you out; two times around my cock,” he answers finally, awakening your butterflies. “How many times is that, then?” 

Amidst the pleasure, you do the math. “Four.” 

“That’s right. You think you can do that for me?” 

You’re not sure. In fact, you’re not sure of anything—lost in his touch, in his energy. 

“I don’t know,” you say, truthfully, skimming his face for a sliver of disappointment in his features. 

You find none. Only tenderness—round, soft eyes, brown in the light he radiates, nose and mouth buried in your tits, sucking on the skin, making you feel good. 

“That’s okay. We’ll try together. Nothing bad is gonna happen to you if you don’t come as many times. Or at all. I promise.” 

Your chest clenches. You grab his face and kiss him, licking over his bottom lip before you slip your tongue inside. Jungkook grunts, rolls his own muscle over yours, tasting you, feeling you. He inhales sharply against you, once again taking charge of the kiss, taking each and every thought and negative feeling you had and crushing it to smithereens. 

He lifts you and switches places with you, sitting you down on his lap with your back supported by his chest. He roams his hands all over you—tits, tummy, hips, sides and thighs while he busies his mouth on your shoulder. As your eyes follow each movement, you notice the marks he embellished your breasts with and your arousal grows—so much that you take his wandering hands and hook them under the waistband of your underwear, guiding them down your thighs. 

There’s a change to his breath when his index and middle finger feels up the fleshiness of your cunt for the first time. Hard, raggedy and absolutely tormented. He glides those digits up and down your dewiness, listening for the squelching sound that makes his cock twitch beneath you. 

He moans onto your neck, nose tracing the column on its way to your ear.  “How do you touch yourself?” 

A sudden shyness overtakes you and you turn your head, needing to hide in his neck this time. You remain silent, the words lodged in your throat. 

Jungkook sees you. 

“Do you rub your little clit from side to side or in circles?” he questions, helping you answer. 

“I—I like both,” you whisper onto his skin, moving your hips so his fingers slip to your clit, the sweet spot where you need him the most. He grabs the back of your thigh and lifts it, spreading you open, meanwhile you chase the firmness of his fingers.

“Just like that, ride them,” he husks, eyes dazed, fixed on the roll of your pelvis. “Feels good, doesn’t it?” 

Head on top of yours, you nod, never ceasing your movement, transfixed, just like him, by the constant way the pads of his fingers fondle your clit before dipping between your lips. The heat of the summer tightens in your lower belly and it’s a desperate litany of begging what your mouth utters, despite the fact you’re not really sure what you’re asking for, but you let him hear it. You’re close, so unbelievably close, yet still have a road to walk on before you, and you close your eyes to feel the delight of his touch more deeply, only to find that you manage to do nothing of the kind. 

When you sense his eyes on you and by instinct you reciprocate his stare, that’s when you feel the depth you sought after. Mouth parted, pupils dilated, eyelashes a drowsy catastrophe, messy hair casting a soft shadow over the planes of his blissed-out face. You want to kiss him. You want to make him feel as good as he’s making you feel—

“Let me do it now,” Jungkook says hurriedly, sensing the nearness of your climax. 

“Yes,” you croak out, halting the movement of your hips—and ‘yes’ is the word that ripples out of your mouth a hundred, a thousand more times when he spreads you wider and rubs his fingers on your clit from side to side. 

He feels the pleasure in sync with you, accepting all of your yes’, twisting his face the moment yours does, quickening the rapidness of his hand once he switches to circles to carry you to your summer-breathed paradise. 

And when you come all over his hand, he slips two fingers inside your hole.

He stills the buck of your hips. 

You widen your eyes at the new feeling of fullness and, panicking and constricting around him, you look at Jungkook, who merely strengthens his hold around you. 

“Trust me,” he says, breathing heavily. He doesn’t move his fingers past his first knuckles; he lets you adjust to the size. Gives you a kiss full of tongue to distract you. “Does it burn?”

You begin to pant against his mouth, the high of your orgasm long gone. You’re uncertain to count it as one when it was so short lived, ruined by the sudden plunge of his digits. But much to your surprise, you don’t detect any burn in your walls that he speaks of, which you realize was his intention.

“No, it just feels a bit uncomfortable.” 

He kisses you again. You feel your lips go numb, eyes lidding at the pressure you feel as he sinks his fingers a little bit deeper and begins to move them sluggishly, your slick creating another ring for him around his fingers. You try to meet his thrusts as the visceral sensation of being filled by longer, thicker fingers settles within you and takes roots. You discover that movement is the key to parting the uncomfortable feeling and it steps to the side to let the pleasure walk forward.  

Jungkook presses his palm flat against your clit, guides the pleasure to envelop your body when he plunges his fingers deeper, past the second knuckles and fucks you in swift jerks. Your mouth falls open in a silent moan and he fills in the sound, expressing his fiery delight for you at the clench of your walls against him, accommodating for him, for his desire to stretch you out, so when he finally enters you, no pain comes to greet you. 

Deeper and harder—yes, that’s what feels good. You roll your body, becoming waves of the sea as wetness and the build up of pleasure—seafoam—is all your senses wrap around. 

“Feels good, baby?” 

His need to check in with you speeds up the nearing expansion of your orgasm. Pointer and pinky finger digging into the skin of your backside, you watch the in and out motion, the digits coming out wetter and wetter each time.

“Feels so fucking good. I’m gonna come. I’m so close.” 

It’s quicker. Way quicker than your first tiny orgasm. He slips in and out of you so smoothly—you’re obsessed with the sight, ravaged by it entirely. You grind your hips and fuck yourself back, picking up the pace but slowing down instantly when you feel yourself at the peak of your climax.

You want to prolong it. You love the feeling too much to end it too soon.

Jungkook stops your movements fully.

“I want to be the one who makes you come,” he murmurs. “I want to be the one who fucks your brain out. I want to feel you squeeze around my fingers. Fuck, I want it so bad.” 

His hand drifts to your neck just to hold you there, the other, the busy one, fingers you harder, your fast approaching orgasm blinding your senses. Your drenched cunt squelches around him, the sound so lewd it causes you to seek comfort—your hand flies to his on your throat, fingers wrapping around his wrist, the tip of your pointer reaching the fat bulb of bunny’s head on his ring. 

Harder and faster. A scalding fire burns you and you just take it. Loll your head back against his shoulder, giving him the space to grip your jawline. Flames grow closer and closer, leaving a layer of sheen on your body in its wake. You feel the sudden need to pee.

“Oh my god, Gguk—” Your muscles tense. Close, so close. “Gguk, Gguk—”

“What, baby? What’s the matter?” he husks, squeezing your neck once. “You’re gonna come for me? Gonna come on my fingers?” 

You nod quickly, too quickly. Flames of the sun, licking you. Flames of the summer heat. Just what you wanted. 

Jungkook opens your jaw, swirling his tongue around yours. “Let go. Come for me. You can do it, I got you—I got you. Come for me, baby, please.”

Obeying his desperate order, you do.

A small stream of your pleasure, a faint fountain, trickles out of you and into his hand. He gasps, in unison with your whimpers, and you’re transmitted elsewhere. The wildly colorful, blooming meadow on a hill, overlooking the languorous sea and he’s there. Reaches behind himself. Offers you his hand. The wind ruffles his black hair, sweeps it back and you’re giddy—as giddy as Bam, as giddy as you were in the moment the slid the white bunny ring on your finger—to take the last two of his slender fingers, the pinky and the ring, and sit with him by the edge of the cliff. 

“Did so well for me.” 

The whisper takes you back and you awake. 

You’re different. Incandescent. Of life, of stars and its light, of growing fondness for the man you sit perched on the lap of, whose fingers still remain sheathed inside of you. He changed you. Perpetually, absolutely. He changed you and made you into something new. Something that is softer, more elegant—smaller but assertive. Alluring and kind. Indisputably good. 

He fucked everything negative out of you with his fingers. Left the vast canvas of stars inside of you.

You’re no longer a plain spread of cotton, but a living, breathing artwork. His artwork.

Once he fucks you with his cock, you wonder what further internal changes are going to occur within you.

You feel a great deal of gratitude for him—and you want to reciprocate all that he’s done for you. You want to work hard at it. Spoil him. Make him whimper. You believe he deserves it.   

“You finger yourself often? How come you took my fingers so well, hm?” 

You’re panting, unable to speak. Absorbing the sharpness of the stars, acclimatizing to the change. 

“I guess you do, huh?” he deduces. “Good little girl, preparing herself for me.” 

For the life of you, you can’t catch your breath.

Jungkook kisses your cheek deeply. Pecks you on the same spot a hundred times, slowly taking out his fingers. Lets you see your slick coating his fingers and, softly, you gasp at the little ripples of wrinkles upon the tips of his fingers, mouth parting.

And then he sinks them into your mouth. 

His hardness twitches behind you and you moan, your daintily bittersweet taste making your head spin. And when you look at him, you’re met with the utmost pink-dusted adoration painted on his face. You kiss it, inhaling it, letting it flow into your system so it suffuses your bloodstream, letting him taste you. You may not feel your lips, but the sentient poetry of the stars begins to sing in you. His stars. You feel like a flushed floweret visited by a bee. Spent, but happy. 

Happy to be wanted.

Good, because he said you were.

As if internally intertwined with him, you feel the identical heat tinge your cheeks. 

He says nothing as he lays you down and spreads your legs back to the way they were. Though when he’s graced with the sight of your bare cunt in all her glory, his face says everything that his mouth isn’t capable of. Hunger and torture—lips agape, corners of the mouth shiny with the rush of drool and Jungkook wipes it away, then lowers his fingers to your clit, to your lips, becoming more acquainted with this intimate part of you that no one had seen before him. He traces your small hole, even going as far as to your other, tinier hole and you yelp, stopping his exploration. 

Jungkook merely chuckles, eyes darting to yours. “You’re so pretty.” You grow so hot that you think you must be on fire. “Especially there.” 

You mewl, shrinking, hands looking for anything to hold and finding his bunny plushie. You take her into your arms, inhaling a scent that could never be hers. You recognize immediately whose it is. 

Musk, vanilla, wood. 

The thought of Jungkook cradling her while he sleeps moves you and you pout. 

“How we feeling?” he asks, still caressing your fleshy cunt, dripping with dew. 

Overjoyed. Overstimulated.

Heavenly.

“Good.” 

A foxy smile. “How many orgasms was that, hm?” 

You don’t know where your shyness comes from and why it chokes all of the words you want to say. You bury your face in bunny for a moment, taking a breath to fight against it, so you can please him because that’s all you yearn to do. 

You open your mouth, but no words come out. 

Jungkook stifles a laugh and it makes you feel terrible. And it’s worse when he leans over to kiss you, turns his head at the last moment and faces bunny.

“Bunny, how many times did she come?” he asks her, offering her his ear to hear her answer. Looks at you. Widens his eyes. Gasps. “Two,” he mouths. Listens some more. Nods. “I know she thought she wouldn’t come at all. Crazy, right?” Then he lets out an endearing sound. “She said she’d believed you could do it the moment you said it. She’s so happy for you. How cute,” he coos. 

You giggle, the bridge in your throat loosening, light flooding you, over and over, until you think you can’t take any more of it. You feel so full, so happy and the sensation threatens to pour out of your tear ducts. 

It heals something within you—that he treats you like this at your most vulnerable state. Your inner child flares, the stars the strength that fixes her stoop, helping her arise, stand straight, stand powerfully. 

He smiles down fondly at you. “So what number are we at?” 

You hide your face behind your hands. “Two.” 

“What did you say? I didn’t catch that.” 

You drop your hands and with as much energy as you can muster, you repeat the number. 

He purrs, caressing your cheek. “Good girl.” As a reward, as if the praise wasn’t enough, he kisses you deeply. “Will you let me taste you?” 

You swallow his desire, but speak up your own, “I want to taste you first, please.” 

Jungkook hums, curses under his breath. He straightens and kneels before your form, fingers pinching the back of his T-shirt and pulling it over his body. You catch the sight of his broad shoulders, of each dip and muscle, and your irises grown in width. Him ridding himself of his clothes dishevels his hair and as he untangles his arms from the material, he smiles down at you, noticing your stare. 

He caresses the back of your thigh before his hand flies to his hard length. He palms himself once, then continues to undress—tugs his sweatpants down to his knees, though he doesn’t bother himself to fully take them off. The shape of him is more prominent through the fabric of his white Calvins, the bulge of his mushroom wet and pellucid, and you sit up, hand itching to touch him, to join his in making him feel good, but he cups your chin—forcing you to look up at him. 

He swipes his thumb over your lips. “You want it?” 

You nod. “So bad.” 

Jungkook curses again, the sound low and rough. 

“Touch it,” he orders and both of your hands listen, wrapping around his girth, squeezing beneath the head of his cock. The thickness of him makes you see the light of the stars that you sense fluttering feverishly inside of you. Your mind is too empty, too washed out by your orgasm, by the change that you don’t even think about how you’re going to take him. Jungkook hisses, tilting his head back before he looks down at you intently. “You did this before?” 

You’ve never seen one in real life before, let alone touched one.

“I’ve never let anyone get this close.” 

Jungkook strokes your pigtails. “How come you know what to do then?” 

Instinct or memory from porn you watched—you don’t know, it all blends together within the fuzziness of your mind. And you tell him.

“I watch a lot of porn.” 

Jungkook smiles coyly and it strikes you. You’ve never seen him smile this way before or, even, feel this way before. All you know from him is dominance, dominance and dominance. 

You release him from the confines of his boxers and repress your gasp. His ever glistening tip reaches just below his navel and the thickness of his girth obscures most of his pubic hair. Along with the sound of your surprise, you also have a hard time swallowing the saliva collecting in your mouth. 

“I want you so bad,” you whisper, needy eyes looking up at him. Shy, too shy to let your gaze linger at the most intimate part of him. 

He sucks in a breath at your words, hissing. And you need him inside of you all over again. 

Fuck fuzzines in your mind. You’re fuzzy all over. Wrecked with nerves, suddenly. Your hands tremble, hovering in front of his manhood. Jungkook covers them with his, soothing you, and guides you to his shaft. Wraps your fingers around him. Doesn’t let go. 

The feel of him under his supervision is slow. He allows you to take in every ridge of him, every vein—the softness of his skin, the warmth and the weight. Round after round, up and down, until you get familiarized with him. A trickle of his male essence drips down the side of him and your tongue instinctively darts out. Like your hands, Jungkook’s breath shakes and he anticipates your next move, despite the fact he’s in charge. 

He’s been patient all this time, giving you the time you needed. But that hardly applies when you have him in your hands, when you own his neediness. His whimpers while he waits coax your slick out of you, soaking the bedding beneath you and you can’t take it anymore. 

Neither, evidently, can he. 

“Baby, please,” Jungkook croaks out. Tortured, so terribly tortured. Grip tight and clammy around your hands. 

So vulnerable. 

You ache. 

You lick up a stripe of his essence on the side of his cock and Jungkook shudders. Shifting onto your knees, you show him the milkie on the tip of your tongue and Jungkook pulls your hair, tilting your head back. Kisses you nastily, licking into your mouth. Moans, lowly. Then, he holds his girth at the base and pushes your head. 

When you take him, a mewl ripples around the thickness of him. His eyes roll back and his grasp of your hair tightens, burning your scalp, adding to the fire. He lets you feel it out; lets you figure out what to do, testing your knowledge from the porn you’ve watched. And the tensing of his stomach divulges his strained effort not to fuck your mouth. 

You go slow about it. Swirling your tongue around that rosy head of his, along that delicious ridge, licking a flat stripe across that line of his slit. Getting to know him in all those intimate places, relying on your senses—on them to tell you what he likes. Your hand begins to move on its own, gliding back and forth in tandem with your tongue stimulating his sensitivity. You try not to think about how you can barely fit him in your mouth, because if you do—you’ll ruin his bedsheets. 

But then Jungkook hums in approval, sending a gush of wetness out of you and you whimper—you whimper at the worsening ache you feel, at the helplessness that pools in your system by being just so filthily wet and horny. 

He moves your hand faster. Breath jagged, bedroom eyes zeroing down on you. And then—

Jungkook moans your name. Over and over, clenching and unclenching his hand on the back of your head. 

“Don’t have to teach you shit,” he spits. “You just watch porn all day, don’t you? Naughty girl.” 

Losing control for a split second, he rams his cock into your throat—and you don’t panic, you don’t yelp. Instead, you groan. 

He pulls you away from him with a sharp tug. Kisses you harshly. Shoves you down into the pillows with one push on your sternum.

Bending you in half, he drinks your cunt. Lips immediately suck on your needy bundle of nerves and it’s so fast you don’t even know which part of you he’s focusing on because he’s everywhere. Clit, hole, clit, hole—sucking, licking. Alternating, alternating so swiftly and deliciously that you completely lose your mind. 

And then he lifts your hips and holds them in the air, wanting you to see what he’s doing to you. Like you, he darts out his tongue and teases you, hovering the muscle above your clit. Shiny, nimble, capable of doing unspeakable things to you. He watches as your pussy drools for him and he chuckles darkly. Tongue lowering to collect it, but unlike you he never does it. He lets the dew trickle down your skin. 

“Cute little pussy. So wet. Wetter than when I fucked it. You liked playing with me on your knees, didn’t you?” 

With your fucked out brain, you don’t think it’s taunting what he’s doing. You deem it’s just him reveling in what he’s able to do to your body—in the fact that he owns it, that he teaches it new things. The glint in his dusky, lustful eyes proves it. 

Jungkook drags a long stripe on your clit, making your eyes flutter closed and your teeth to sink into your bottom lip to cage in your moans. 

“Talk to me.” 

You can’t. You don’t know how to talk. 

He stares you down. 

No answer from you. Just hard pants. Pussy drooling. 

“I won’t play with you, then.” 

Panic. “No.” 

He cocks a brow at you. “No?” 

Silence. 

He begins to lower you down but you grip his forearm. 

“Jungkook.” 

Bent over above you, head low, he merely flicks his eyes to yours. Duskiness, such blackening duskiness in those orbs. 

“Beg.” 

All your muscles tense. Wetness gushes out of you. 

Lucky for you, that word he wants is the one you haven’t forgotten. 

“Please.” 

“Please what?” 

You groan in frustration. 

“Be nice or—”

“Please, lick me.” 

That dark chuckle. You feel yourself becoming obsessed with it. 

“Where?” 

A challenge. Your throat dries up. 

“There.” 

He shakes his head disapprovingly, making a sound that expresses just how much he didn’t like that. 

“Try again. Last chance, little girl.” 

The loving smile on his face says everything about how that threat is feigned. You hear it tell you—you have as many chances as you need. He’s merely encouraging you to step out of your comfort zone. 

And something about that mellow, hidden kindness gently ushers you to do just that. 

“Lick my clit, please.” 

A hum. A long stripe on that sensitive, thumping spot. A roll of his tongue forward and backward.  

“Like this?” 

You choke out a moan. 

“Yes, please.” 

“Or—” He blows on you, causing you to tremble. “Like this?”

He shakes his head against you briskly, not yet at a full tilt. Just like his, your body shudders in his hands and he tightens his grip on your supple hips. You can’t take it, the pleasure is overwhelming and—

“Look at me,” he orders and you open your eyes, immediately. “Like this?” 

Jungkook adds more pressure and rapidness to the movement, leaving you glazed sweetly in the sheen of his saliva. He moves your hips up and down on the firmness of his tongue and you scream, taking a strong hold of his hair.

“Oh my god, yes, fuck, Daddy—”

Shocked, Jungkook groans against your pussy, slowing down to ingest what your mouth has just uttered. It’s more than natural to call him by a title like this, instinctual, innate. It fits him so well and it drenches your pussy, your slick amalgamating with his liquid love. You’re certain he feels the rush.

Your Daddy. 

You roll your hips against his tongue. Dark and more dark, those eyes of his. Bottomless pit.

“Fuck yes, call me Daddy again.” 

The whimpers you let out are pathetic and Jungkook shudders at them, groaning. You whine the title over and over again, a verdant, dreamlike litany of your feminine sexuality pampered, cared for, supervised. Jungkook accepts the gravity of it all, each declaration propelling him to suck your clit harder, bruises forming on your hips from his deathly grip, black eyes never leaving yours, hypnotizing you. 

And when you come like this, it’s unification what happens. 

You’re bound to him and he’s bound to you. 

Daddy and little girl. 

Throughout your sexual experience today, you had a hard time accepting things but this—this is something that slept inside of you all your life and just now has been awoken to a flickering canvas of bright stars. You feel it blink, adjust to the piercing light, before it smiles dolefully—happy to be conscious, happy to be caressed.

Jungkook kisses you and takes his time. The taste of your femininity, the fresh coldness of your change, the strong wine of his desire. You’re drunk. You’re slurring your mewls. 

And one thing about unification, it’s a mirror. 

You swallow down the same mewls, uttered by his throat. 

“Daddy’s gonna give it to you,” he whispers, adjusting between your legs. “Will be gentle. You’re safe with me.” 

He rakes the tip of his length along the entirety of your little sea-kissed seashell. 

“You want it? You want Daddy’s cock inside of you?” 

Jungkook looks into your eyes deeply as he asks you that question, the tip ready at your significantly smaller hole. He peppers kisses along your jawline and chin. 

“I’m scared it’ll hurt,” you murmur, brows furrowed. 

He kisses your cheek, the corner of your mouth. 

“We’ll chase the pain away,” he promises.

Your frown deepens. 

“But what if it doesn’t fit?” 

You expect him to chuckle, but he does no such thing. He absorbs your worry by kissing you tenderly. Then he glances at your body. Remembers he never took off your bra and fixes his mistake. 

“You may be small, but you were made to take me,” he says and your heart skips a beat; you wonder if he understands the gravity of his words as they take roots within you, rising to bloom into splendid flowers. “Besides, my dick is tiny. You won’t even feel it.” 

It is so far from the truth that you burst into giggles. He laughs along with you—a mirror reflected. 

Stars and flowers. Sea and freshness. You were made to take him. You trust him. 

He kisses your breasts, licking over your nipple—but briefly. Holding his shaft, he asks if you’re ready. You nod, your fingers desperately searching for his and Jungkook notices. Sinking slowly inside of you, he grabs his bunny plushie and tucks her into the crook of your elbow. 

There’s a pinch of pain, blended with the feeling of discomfort as your walls stretch around his head. 

Seeing it painted on your face, Jungkook draws close, enveloping you and bunny in his heat. Pushes a little more in. You wail softly, the pain intensifying. Fear intermingles with your features and Jungkook—the worry in his countenance makes you almost weep.

“Hold onto me,” he says, brows scrunched, so—so serious. “Relax, baby. I got you.”

You hook your arms around his neck, bunny sandwiched between your chest and his. Jungkook saves this time to let you adjust around him. 

“I know it hurts,” he whispers onto your mouth, index finger, the ringed one, stretching to graze your cheek. “Just relax your muscles for me. It’ll feel good soon.” 

You nod, trusting him. 

He pecks you. Smiles. 

“How many orgasms are we at?” 

You roll your eyes, your own smile threatening your lips. “Three.”

Jungkook hums. Pecks you again. You feel your walls loosening, little by little.

A smug smirk. “You didn’t expect that, did you?” 

“You obliterated my expectations.” 

“Just wait until I fuck you properly.” 

You blush, eyes twinkling. 

“Pretty girl.” He kisses you and you feel your attachment forming again, though this time—newly. As light, as free as an entanglement of seaweed upon seashore, you and him. Connected. Bound. No fear, not even a hint of it. “I heard you watch porn.” 

Your flush deepens. Jungkook sinks a little deeper. A faint pain—nothing bad. 

“Who told you?” You laugh, the sound ridding you of your shyness. 

But Jungkook grows solemn.

“Tell me what kind you watch,” he whispers, angling his head to give you a tiny kiss. 

Your cheeks hurt from the smiling, from the onrush of emotions within you, sloshing to and fro. You feel hot all over.

“The one where all the focus is on the girl,” you whisper back. “The guy uses all kinds of toys on her and she just takes it. Comes so many times and there’s a countdown for it.”

Humming, he begins to nibble on the skin beneath your jaw, making your breath shallow. He pushes in another inch—and the pain is worse. You tighten your grip around him.

“And how many times do you come when you watch it?” Deep, deep is his voice, the calmness to your nerves due to the pricking you feel. 

“I don’t stop coming.” 

Jungkook swears under his breath and clenches his digits into a fist beside your head.

“And you finger yourself?” 

You nod, confidently. Another inch. He smiles at your confirmation of his deduction.

“How many fingers?” 

You scoff. “Just one.” 

“Well done,” he praises, kissing you once, keeping his mouth on you even as he asks, “ready?” 

You nod, again, even though there’s fright to your eyes. He sees it and he brushes his eyelashes against your eyelids while he kisses you, taking it all away. And he doesn’t stop, even as he pulls out and thrusts back into your heat. Gently, so awfully gently. 

He didn’t break his promise. 

Jungkook rocks his hips in slow, sensual, prolonged staccatos, moaning into your parted mouth. You’re so focused on him—on the bulging of his muscles on the either side of your head, the broadness of his shoulders, the slick sweat dripping down his neck, right from the top of his tattoo; on the sheerness of his pleasure as he moves in and out, carefully so as to not frighten you, that the pain quickly subsides. 

And there you feel it. 

The sensation unlike any other. 

He rams into you, seeing the wrinkle between your brows smoothing, the lust clouding your eyes as the delight spreads all over your body, bringing along little dots of goosebumps. The night sea, windless, still hot from the afternoon’s goodbye kiss. You feel it—and you feel it deeply, sinking inside of you with every inch of his manhood. So much that you meet his thrusts. 

“That’s it, baby. Fuck yes,” Jungkook murmurs, enraging the waves within. “Feels good, doesn’t it? Being fucked?” 

Stars and its light. He picks up the pace, hooking your leg over his shoulder, entering you deeper and deeper, giving you more than half. The thrill of feeling so full—you curse, you moan, you can’t hold it in, even if you tried. And Jungkook coos at your conveyance of the pleasure he’s giving you, never lifting his eyes off of yours, off of your features, your emotions. Surveying you, controlling you, making sure you’re okay—more than okay.

You sense the pressure coil deep within your core, the sense of your climax approaching and you’re astonished at how quick it is. You halt your own movements, needing—wanting him to be the one to get you there, the one who owns your orgasms. 

“Gguk, Gguk, fuck—”

“I know,” he breathes. “I’m gonna make you come all over my cock.” 

He fucks you harder, making you cry out. Deep, deep staccatos, so different from the slow, languid ones. You can’t catch your breath, the sea within you sloshes violently and then—

Softly, you sprinkle him with your fountain of pleasure. Not enough to drive him out, but sweetly enough to force him to groan against you and pound you harder into the mattress. Continuing as if you hadn’t come. 

You don’t have the time or the space to think about what just happened—he fucks each and every thought of you. 

“My little squirter,” Jungkook mutters, kissing you. “One more, baby. One more for me and I’ll paint you with my cummie. Hm, you want that?” You’re gone, flung out of this world into a tranquil island. The palm trees, the sea and his cock. Your emotions are numb, body limp. All you feel is his cock, ramming and ramming into you. “Or you wanna swallow it for me like a good girl?” 

“Swallow, please,” you croak out and Jungkook makes a sound of approval. Rewards you by giving you the full thing, filling you balls-deep. 

“You feel me?” He kisses you, tugging your bottom lip with his teeth. 

Glorious, glorious delight. You can’t breathe. Too much. 

“I feel you—” You lift your head to look down where you’re connected. “I—I feel you in my stomach.” 

Sitting back, he lifts your hips and palms the bulge just a little bit above your mound. Feels it move under him once he resumes fucking you. He replaces his hand with yours, keeping you distracted as he undoes the ribbon in your hair and ties your wrists with it. Right there above the bulge, where he fucks you. Then he latches onto your hips and jackhammers his cock into you, watching as your tits along with bunny bounce with each slam. 

“You look so pretty like this, tied up for me, taking all that I’m giving you,” he says, thumbing your clit, making you cry out. “Such a good fucking girl for me. I’m bringing you up so well.” 

“Daddy,” you call out and Jungkook nods.

“Yes, that’s right. Daddy is fucking you so good.” 

White flashes. Seafoam. The pressure in your tummy deepening and deepening. The roar of the night sea and your body following—you come all over him, painting him iridescent with your dewiness. His joggers, dragged halfway down his thighs, his boxers are all ruined—pelvis, thighs and cock glistening. It’s such a beautiful image to you that it suffuses you with energy and you begin to speak. 

“Please, come for me.” 

Surprised, Jungkook chuckles. “Don’t you have orgasms to count down?” 

The ever persistent need for control. You kiss him, slip your tongue into his mouth to shut him up and you struggle against your ribbon, for the feeling of kissing him without your hands makes you feel iffy.

“Five. I came five times for you just like you wanted,” you whisper. “You fucked me so good. I’ll never forget it.” 

And it’s the truth.

Jungkook pecks you once deeply, humming into the kiss. He pulls out of you and whilst he strokes his cock, his fingers tug down the ribbon around your wrists. You take your place on your knees, gazing with awe and hunger at his shiny length. And as if he needed it, he plunges his fingers into your mouth for more lubrication. Then, grabbing your jawline gently, he pulls you in towards his cock, letting your lips play with his tip the way you like it as he jerks himself off. You flick your tongue under the ridge of his head and his length twitches, stunning you. You do it again, more rapidly, and you don’t stop until Jungkook begins to tremble. Pulling him inside your mouth, then out, flicking faster and faster. Repeat. 

Jungkook grunts. 

“Yes, like that, princess. Fuck, I’m gonna come for you.” 

He announces it, but it still comes as a surprise when the first rope of hot cum spills onto your flushed cheek. You suck him harder for a moment before you stick out your tongue, eyes flick up, as he empties his balls for you, his hand never ceasing the swift tug on his length. 

And he just keeps coming. Rope after rope. Liquid star after star.

And you swallow it all. 

Spent, sweaty and breathless, he helps you swallow it. Dragging his fingers to the places your tongue can’t reach, he feeds you his cum and you suck on his digits. Your heart thuds in your ribcage, especially when he begins to play with your tongue, smiling down at you in that dopey way. 

He pats you on the cheek once you show him you’ve swallowed it all. 

“Good girl. Good little princess.” 

That you are. A changed person for all eternity.

“Is your tummy full?” 

You nod, beaming vehemently up at him, the aftertaste of the bitterness of his liquid stars still wafting through your senses.

The three forbidden words rise in your tongue, even though you don’t believe them—you think it’s just the opulence of new emotions and experience that forces those words on your tongue. But they remain adamant when he bathes you clean, when he brushes your hair and gives you his clothes to wear to bed. They provoke you right there on the tip of your tongue when he gives you his zipper hoodie to wear on his balcony once you tell him you need a smoke and he joins you, giving you his pack of cigarettes. 

And they come off the edge, in a different form, when you tell him of how he changed you while you hold his hand and he caresses your damp strands with a cigarette propped between his index and middle fingers, kissing your cheek. The smoke fixes a makeshift halo around both of your heads. One body, one halo. Bound.

“You’re such a lovable person, Gguk.”

What you don’t know is that those mere words changed the entire trajectory of his life. Yours, too.

© 2024 hoseoksluna, all rights reserved.

BACK to masterlist / read part one, read part two, part three

[uzurakis]

THEIR ACT OF INTIMACY!

featuring: geto suguru. megumi fushiguro. itadori yuuji. nanami kento.

n. a sign of them being very comfortable with you. slighty suggestive in itadori’s part. PART 2 HERE :0

GETO SUGURU. suguru finds it aggravating when the others try to mess up his hair, with the exception of you. after the relationship evolved, you'd sit on the bed with him after he showered and brush the large tangles out of his hair. other times, you might put it up in a bun or another style when he isn't looking. you spend that quiet time talking and enjoying one other's company.

in the quiet of your shared space, suguru sat on the edge of the bed, fresh from the shower, his damp hair a tangle of knots. you approached him with a gentle smile, brush in hand. “you know the rule," suguru said with a hint of playfulness, though his eyes softened at the sight of you. “i know, i know," you replied, taking a seat beside him. "this is a condition comes with me being your girlfriend. i got to brush your hair and you get to play mine.”

as you carefully detangled his hair, the room filled with the sound of your voices, sharing stories and laughter. with each stroke of the brush, suguru felt a sense of calm wash over him, grateful for this quiet moment with you.

once his hair was finally smooth and manageable, you surprised him by styling it into a loose bun, eliciting a surprised gasp from suguru as he caught sight of his reflection. “you did it again, didn't you?" he said, pretending to scold you, though his eyes twinkled with affection. you simply smiled and leaned in to press a soft kiss to his cheek. "i can't help it. i love making you look even more handsome."

ITADORI YUUJI. itadori enjoys lying and lounging about naked together. it feels like complete vulnerability, with no walls between you, resyncing your relationship as you melt into each other's body. he has a habit of writing something on your skin as a game in which you have to guess what he wrote down. other times, he simply likes to nap in the afternoon while you tell him a story in bed.

lounging comfortably in your bed, naked and unguarded, itadori traced lazy patterns on your skin with his touch sending shivers down your spine. "guess what i wrote this time," he whispered, his finger leaving a trail of invisible words on your back. you chuckled softly, leaning into his touch. "hmm, let me think..."

as you concentrated, trying to decipher his secret message, itadori pressed a kiss to your shoulder, his warmth enveloping you entirely. then finally, you ventured a guess, feeling his smile against your skin as you spoke the words aloud.

"wrong," he teased, his laughter mingling with yours. “you gotta get it right next time, babe. or else i’ll bite your thighs again.”

with each lighthearted round of the game, the barriers between you appeared to dissolve, leaving only the raw, unfiltered connection to be felt.

MEGUMI FUSHIGURO. megumi has a difficult time opening up to others, and you were the one who showed him that it is acceptable to talk about what he feels together. you understood that him speaking meaningful words in a serious manner to you puts a toll on his ego; not that he doesn’t care, he just wasn't used to it. what surprises you is how effortlessly he drops those words only in the spur of the moment, as if he hasn't been fighting to say them all along. he also brings up topics you've already discussed and gives every single penny of thought to conversations that deepen feelings between the both of you.

in the quiet of the evening, megumi sat beside you, his expression guarded as always. you both were doing your homework together and then, in a moment that took you by surprise, he spoke, his words flowing effortlessly.

"i care about you," he said softly, his eyes meeting yours with a depth of emotion that took your breath away. "more than i can put into words."

"why so suddenly?" you asked, surprised by the unexpected confession. the man paused, his expression earnest as he searched for the right words. "i.. just feel you need to hear them from me." he replied, his voice gentle yet resolute. “sorry..”

you could feel your heart swelling with emotion, touched by the sincerity in his words. "thank you, i care about you too, ‘gumi” you whispered, feeling the weight of his feelings enveloping you like a warm embrace. "i like it when you talk about what you're feeling, you know.” you said gently, reaching out to brush a stray lock of hair from his face.

you knew that megumi's words had transcended the barriers he had once struggled to break through. and as you leaned in to press a tender kiss to his lips, you realized that sometimes, the most meaningful words are the ones spoken from the heart, even if they come unexpectedly.

NANAMI KENTO. nanami believes there is nothing better than a massage after a long and tiring day. he believes that the best massages are those that he earns without having to ask for them; you just knew he needed one and vice versa.

nanami trudged through the door, weary from the demands of the day. you greeted him with a warm smile, sensing the weight on his shoulders without a word spoken. "rough day?" you asked, already moving towards him with a knowing look. nanami nodded, sinking into their embrace. "you have no idea."

without hesitation, you guided him to the couch and began to knead away the tension that had settled in his muscles. "this is exactly what i needed," the man sighed, feeling the knots slowly unraveling beneath your touch.

you smiled softly, your fingers working with practiced ease. "i could tell. you always carry so much on your shoulders."

as the stress of the day melted away, he found himself falling even more deeply in love with the one who cared for him so effortlessly.

@uzurakis

[novemberheart]

{overview} Ammends are made

{warnings} fem reader, poly 141, a/b/o dynamics, some threatening, slight emotional angst

Chapter 37 <- Chapter 38 -> Chapter 39

They are wearing you down. The near clawing and whining at the door, like two pups. Even John had given up trying to deter the two betas. John entered Simon’s room, heading straight past the man and towards the bathroom. They shared a bathroom, the other door leading directly into his room- your shared room. It wasn’t just his room anymore. He didn’t want it to be.

The door was unlocked, lucky for him. Your eyes narrowed at him, a growl dying in your throat.

“What do I have to do to make this better?”

It caught you off guard. The man with an answer to everything was unsure of how to approach this. Why didn’t he? He was your alpha. It was his job to know how to fix this.

“How do I remind you how much we love you?” He said just above a whisper. Your eyes welled, your throat constricting painfully.

“I’m mad at you,” was all you were able to get out.

“Sweet girl there was nothing we could do,” he rasped. He sat on the edge of the bed, his fingers aching to grab a hold of you.

“I just think the timing is convenient,” you started. “I’m marked, then suddenly all of the gestures go away. Marked omegas leave their packs all the time you kno”-

“Don’t be cruel,” John chided. “Threatening to leave,” he spat to himself. “When are you going to stop looking for a reason to leave us before we leave you?” he questioned. Your breath caught in your throat, your heartbeat pounding in your ears.

“You’re worse than I am,” Simon spoke from the doorway. How long had he been there? “Remember when you marked me and you asked me to not run away from it?” he asked. “Remember?” he pressed after you didn't answer.

“Yes,” you whispered.

“Well I'm asking the same of you,” his voice was firm- unwavering.

He headed towards the door unlocking it for the betas who charged in, nearly tripping over each other in the process. Kyle reached you first, the beta resting you against his chest. His scent was anxious while Johnny's was sad. it made you whimper, your heart twisting in your chest.

You couldn’t refuse anymore. Your stiff body relaxing between theirs, a soft purr rising in you at the sheer comfort they brought you.

This was deeper than the rest of your pack knew. The only people who knew its depths were you, Anais and Briggs. Maybe that was part of your resentment. You were scared. Scared of who was tracking you and scared of what your pack would do if they found out. Why would they want anything to do with you? You did nothing but cause problems.

Maybe you should just rip the bandaid off now.

You were already upset. The storm had already been unleashed. You were in the eye of it now.

What about Anais and Briggs? You couldn't get them in trouble.

But what if what Briggs said was true? What if your pack already knew about your visit. They had already known you went to the medical center. They were your alphas and it would be well within their rights to question the procedure that had been done. Why didn't they call you on it? Maybe they didn't want to deal with it. It was your problem- not theirs.

What would happen if you just came clean? Either way you would know where you stood within your pack. Either way you would have an answer to the question that had been eating you alive the past few days.

“I lied,” the words fell from your lips and landed against Kyle’s shoulder. He shuddered from under you. Johnny brushed the hair away from your face, the never ending ache in his chest flaring up again. “There was a wire in my leg- one meant for tracking. It was supposed to have dissolved by now, it hadn't, my body rejected it. That's why I went to the medical center. They removed it and sent it to a lab so I could see who it belonged to,” your words were shaky. You couldn't bear to look at any of them, your eyes trained on the headboard.

You waited for the vile scent of an angry pack. Yet it never came. It was like you were surrounded by statues. None of the breathing, moving or speaking.

“Not happy about you keeping it from us,” John broke the silence. “How long ago was it placed in you?” he asked.

“The doctor guessed eight-ish years ago,” you replied, holding your own breath.

“Just because we weren't with you then doesn't mean it isn't our concern,” John continued.

“Are you mad?” you asked suddenly.

“No,” he replied instantly. “I don't know- or want to know how long you were planning on hiding it from us. But you told us now, that's what matters.”

Where were you?

Why wasn't he bearing his teeth and charging towards the medical center for not informing anyone? Why wasn't Simon scolding you for not telling them as soon as they walked through the door? Why wasn't Johnny rolling up your pant leg to inspect the injury? Why wasn't Kyle already logged into a computer tracking the person down himself?

Why was everyone so calm?

“Let me see Bonnie,” Johnny murmured. Well at least one thing came true. You rolled up your pant leg, Johnny's fingers pulling the small band aid that covered your measly four stitches. “They'll need to be taken out soon,” he sighed, his lips connecting with your knee. “Hate you had to do this alone,” he growled, tucking you back against Kyle. Your heart warmed, the uneasiness beginning to settle.

“Me and John’ll go to the lab tomorrow. See if they've found anything on it,” Kyle added. That seemed more like it. The uneasiness flooded back when you remembered one little detail.

It was under Anais’ name. Not yours.

Think fast.

“It's under Anais’ name,” you explained. “I thought that would be a better idea just in case the person who placed it could still have access to it because it wasn't fully dissolved. If it was under my name there would be a record of it and they would know I know about it. If it was under her name they’d think it just dissolved and I know nothing about it,” you explained like the script had been written for you.

If they knew you were lying you think amongst their anger they would be secretly impressed.

“That's quite clever,” John muttered. “We’ll still have a look at it tomorrow,” he assured. “Don’t want you worrying about it anymore,” he insisted. “It’s on us now,” his large hand ran up and down your back, your skin erupting at his touch. You couldn't help but lean into it.

“Thank you,” you breathed.

You woke up to everything being right in the world.

The past few weeks left you exhausted and your sleeping schedule showed that. You woke up to your body being moved upright, your head lulling into a perfect spot against John’s shoulder.

“Time for lunch,” he murmured, his hands running up and down your sides. “You need some food in ‘ya,” he pressed, his lips firm against your forehead. You agreed, begrudgingly. Still half asleep as you untangle yourself from his lap, not bothering to change out of your sleep clothes, just throwing one of his sweatshirts over top.

Price

Was painted across your back making the alpha more than pleased.

“Name fits you better than me,” he hummed, his hand traveling down your back. You peered up at him sleepily, a small smile on your lips. “Missed you, sweetheart,” he whispered, his lips finding their home against your cheek. “And don't listen to any pesky thoughts in your head tellIng you otherwise,” he urged.

“Missed you too,” you whispered back. You nuzzled your way under his arm, the affection making the edge in his scent disappear.

Johnny had picked up breakfast for all of you. You were grateful you didn't have to go to the cafeteria.

“Bagel with strawberry cream cheese for the pretty lass,” Johnny smirked, pressing a kiss against your forehead. “And a fruit cup,” he added. You smiled widely. This is what you had missed. Being doted on. You don't care if it makes you spoiled.

Johnny finished assembling your bagel for you, a grateful purr leaving you and you quickly gripped his jaw pressing rapid kisses against his cheek. His cheeks raised from under you.

“Anytime, peaches,” he smirked.

“You have a kickboxing class today,” Simon spoke, passing you the parts of his bacon that ‘weren’t cooked enough.’ Truth was that Simon just liked burnt food. “Still up for it?”

As soon as Simon saw the sign up sheet for kickboxing he added you to the list- in fact- you were the first name on it.

You nodded your head, mumbling a small ‘yeah’ through your bacon. The rest of breakfast was nice. Domestic. Familiar. The energy was still a bit off, mostly due to Kyle and John. Something strange was happening, but you didn't have the energy to press.

“Let’s get you ready, pup,” Simon sighed, grabbing your empty plate from you.

Getting ready included Johnny helping you pick out and outfit and then helping you with your knotted hair.

Maybe you were spoiled…

“We have to tell her,” Kyle spoke as soon as the front door shut. John sighed, folding his arms over his chest. “It's the perfect time. We can play it off like we never knew,” he continued.

“Then what if she goes lookin’ for her?” John reminded. “Especially after all that's gone down between us all. She may feel more inclined to find a different pack,” John gruffed, already working on his fourth cigar of the day.

“Give her some credit,” Kyle sneered. “She won’t just up and leave us,” Kyle defended. “And she has every right to want to reconnect with her mother.”

“Her mother doesn't deserve her,” John shot back. “She already left her once. It's not like her mother doesn't know where she is. She has probably been tracking her till it disconnected. Leave it up to her mom to decide.”

“Her mother is probably scared. Could you imagine leaving her then wandering back into her life after years have passed? She probably assumes she never wants to see her again,” Kyle illustrated. John shook his head, his lips pressed in a tight line.

“That may be true. Then what happens if she does reconnect? What if her mother moved on, has her own pack and wants to take our girl away from us? Then what? What if she could provide her with the stability we can't?” John questioned.

“What if our girl finds out we hid it from her not only once, but twice? She’ll never forgive us and I- I can't live with that,” Kyle breathed, his throat tightening. “We have to let her decide,” Kyle affirmed. “Whatever happens, happens.”

“No,” John growled. “It's our job as her pack to protect her.” John ran a hand over his face, his eyes falling onto the kitchen counter. An idea popped into his head. A compromise. “What if we track down her mother?” John hummed. Kyle’s brows furrowed. “We are her pack. We reach out to her and ask if she even has any interest reconnecting with her daughter. If she does we’ll access her- make sure her intentions are pure. Then we bring it to our omega,” John explained.

Kyle’s shoulders felt lighter already, his back resting against the chair.

“That's not bad. We won’t necessarily be lying and we’ll be able to keep our girl out of harm's way,”

“So you agree?” John pressed. Kyle nodded slowly. “Atta boy,” He smiled, his hand clapping against the betas shoulder.

“She's a fierce little thing, isn't she?” Johnny smiled. Simon was flushed under his mask, his eyes not quite sure where to linger. You were doing very well in your new class. It was much more fun than you thought it would be- especially with all your pent up emotions.

“That one yours?” A man asked from next to the pair.

Johnny smiled wider, a bounce in his shoulders.

“Aye, she is as perfect as she look”- he cut himself off. His smile faded from his face as he stared down the man. Simon’s lips quirked beneath his mask at the sergeant's change in demeanor. “She is mine,” The Scot kept it short and not-so-sweet this time. “Which one is yours?” he asked.

“I don't have one. I just like to watch someti”-

He had no opportunity to finish the thought before Johnny had him by his scruff, escorting him out of the room. “Well, you chose to watch the wrong one cause I’ll scoop out your eyeballs if I catch you looking at her again,” Johnny growled against his ear. It was a bit cliche- but it got his point across.

“Where’s Johnny?” you panted, taking a small towel from Simon to dab your face with.

“Your beta had some issues to take care of. Should be back soon,” Simon said blankly. He rested a hand on the back of your head, guiding you out of the training room.

“Did I miss the finale?” Johnny questioned, hoisting you up to press a kiss against your sweaty cheek. You giggled your feet swinging to find the floor.

“Coach said she did decent,” Simon approved, downplaying your success. You rolled your eyes, nuzzling your way into the Scots side.

“I did really good,” you smiled.

“Course you did Bonbon,” he whispered back.

Hi friends! Hope you enjoyed this chapter! Ser you in four days for the next one! Lots of love 🧡

[lalunanymph]

𝐄𝐏𝐈𝐒𝐎𝐃𝐄 𝟏: 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐓𝐇

after a scandal that rocks the entire nation, itadori 'ryomen' sukuna is forced to marry a girl chosen by his brother in order to straighten him out. but, what jin doesn't expect is how much he's willing to destroy everything he knows just to get his freedom back—even at the expense of breaking his wife's soul.

warnings: misogyny, talks of ageism, unrequited love, dubious cheating, gaslighting, mentions of a/nal, e/xplicit smut, mentions of w/eed, mentions of a/lcohol, substance a/buse, toxic family dynamics, class differences, sukuna is anti-noveau riche, sukuna is a walking red flag, jin itadori supremacy, hiromi and nanami duke it out in court, exposition, mentions of a m/urder, negligence, court cases, MDNI

masterlist | playlist

Treading the world of marriage as a woman past her prime in a judgemental upper class society was a dance that left you exhausted and skittish; wishing you could put an end to its haunting melody. 

As you were ticking fast past the rotten age of twenty-seven, your family’s empire hung by a thread as nervous investors and stakeholders started to ask the golden question: When will your only daughter get married, Jiro? 

Suitors knocked on your door, only to be turned away by your snobbish mother and your equally weak-kneed father who tried to appease her. None of them good enough for you; handsome enough for you or rich enough to grow your family’s vaults. 

That was until Itadori Jin reached out to your family with an offer your father could not refuse.

His older twin brother, Itadori Sukuna, has just been released from an investigation and needed a bride to save the family name. 

They wanted to paint him in a good light to the press: partying bad boy turned a charming, married man who was now working towards building a family with another girl of his standing.

And, that was when you came into the picture.

The first time you saw Itadori “Ryomen” Sukuna was a moment you would never forget.

The tattoos swirling around his face should’ve given you pause; made you backtrack on the idea of marriage to the Itadori house the second it left your father’s lips—especially when it came to a man like him.

In his neatly pressed white button-down which strained over his (admittedly) impressive pecs, and pair of expensive Bottega slacks, he would’ve been the picture of sophisticated upper class if it weren’t for the tribal lines on his face and arms—the sight almost making you high tail it out of the cafe you were both seated in.

It was the first time you were meeting him without your parents to chaperone. Bodyguards stood by the doors, stationed close by in case the press got too nosy. 

With this being the first time you were talking to him without your mother lingering in the background, you were free to eye him up and down, unsure of what to make of the disdain setting his mouth into a hard line.

He was different from the men you had encountered before. Tall in an imposing way and with his shock of pink hair, you could spot him from a mile away in the middle of a crowded room. Sukuna carried himself with an air of princely cruelty, often staring down the line of his nose; astride the white stead of his borned privilege and high position in society. 

But, the one thing that stood out were his eyes.

The warmest brown dissolved into a shade of vermillion which shone blood-red under different lights.

You couldn’t quite keep your eyes off them or stare at them for too long, and you sensed rather than knew how much he enjoyed your discomfort. 

He swivels his coffee, spilling some down the pristine white cup. Somewhere behind him, a guard stifles a yawn.

“So… what do you like to do for fun?”

You sit up straighter, practiced to perfection with your reply. “I love watching horse races, Itadori-san. On some days, I prefer pottery and painting. I’ve always wanted to open my own art gallery.”

He glances at his nails, looking almost bored. “And why didn’t you open your own gallery?”

It’s a cordial question at best, but you bristle as if he had just mocked your interests.

“I… don’t have the time,” you mutter meekly. 

He looks up at you, and you think he might finally unleash the scathing remark he’s been holding back for the last few minutes.

“What does a prissy girl like you know about not having time? I thought you thrived on wasting your life away with hot pilates classes and private-jetting to islands?”

You bite back your fuming reply, masking your discomfort with a bright smile. “Itadori-san, you judge me so harshly. I only attend one hot pilates class per week.”

What you hoped was a light-hearted reply dissolves into a sour note when he sighs and sits back, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“Look, sweetheart. I know this can’t be easy on you, too, but you don’t know what’s at stake here.” Sukuna leans forward, invading your space with the spicy sweetness of his cologne. “I have a reputation to change and you have daddy’s money to keep. We’re both each other’s salvation from the shit our family put us through so I need you to work with me here.”

You frown, unsure of what he was trying to get at. “But, I am trying to work with you. I’m here on this date, aren’t I?” 

“You gotta look decent,” he doesn’t beat around the bush. Gesturing to your modest midi floral dress and neutral beige Mary Janes, the look of disgust on his face breaks something in your chest. “You’re dressed like a goddamn Mormon college girl. For someone very rich, you sure don’t have taste.”

Offended, you stared at him, unable to fathom what he had just said—how he had just insulted you unprompted and in broad daylight.

But, Sukuna doesn't give you time to revel in his words. He grabs a cigarette from his pocket, ignores your wrinkling nose as he smokes openly in this establishment. The waiters don’t dare to cross him, pretending the smell of tobacco doesn’t faze them.

You, however, were finding it harder to mask your disgust. For the sake of your mother’s excitement at finding you a suitable match, you tried to tame down the anger frothing in your veins, slapping on a sweet, yet sardonic smile.

“And what is your definition of ‘taste’, Itadori-san?”

He peers at you over the veil of smoke, taking his time to piece together his reply. “Plunging necklines. Satin. Bows. Thinner heels. I need a mature woman by my side, not some plain old maid playing dress up as a prepubescent girl.”

His words stung, and you leaned back, suddenly feeling too small. The cafe lights felt like a pair of microscopic lenses studying your every move, highlighting your discomfort and sudden unease. Your skin flashed hot and cold, the anger cresting and ebbing. Whenever you were upset, you didn’t lash out or cry, preferring to fall silent until the storm passed.

Despite a tiny voice in the back of your mind telling you it would be useless to try, you attempted another shot at winning his validation; hoping Sukuna would bestow it unto you readily and without mockery.

“Then, why don’t you come and shop with me? I’m sure a man of your taste would help my image.”

He stares at you for a long moment, unblinking. You’re reminded of a snake—its tongue scenting the air to determine whether to strike, unlidded eyes locking onto its target. 

Sukuna thaws, tapping off the excess ash onto the floor. You try not to cringe at how the poor waiters would have to sweep all of that up once he had left.

“Fine. I’ll help,” he says like it's the biggest feat in his life to perform. “But, on one condition.”

Eager, you nod, not wanting to turn him off or jeopardize a moment with such a handsome man who wouldn’t look twice at you if it weren’t for your last name.

“We push the wedding back by a month.”

Flashback: One week ago

Tensions were running high in the courtroom.

Rows of judges and the impassive jury hollows out in shades of gray, fading into the white buzz of his mind as Sukuna glances at his brother’s ashen face. Outside, the hungry press waits, sharks roaming in deathly waters waiting for the first drop of blood.

Itadori Jin clenches his pen in his white-knuckled grip. Their defense attorney, Hiromi Higuruma leans close to him, whispering something under his breath. 

Sukuna can’t hear him from his vantage point on the testimonial seat, but he can venture a guess when his younger twin nods, pushing his glasses up the sweaty bridge of his nose.

“Higuruma-san, please take the floor,” the judge intones, allowing for their docketed defense to play out. 

The ruthless, cold lawyer clears his throat, and stands. 

He turns to face the jury, those soulless eyes sparking with a passion Sukuna has never seen before in all his twenty eight years of knowing the old lawyer.

“Your honor—Judge Itachi. Ladies and gentlemen of the jury. How many of us have often mistaken goodwill for evil? We don’t bite the hand that feeds us and yet, we have every right to question when something isn’t as sanctimonious as it seems.” He turns his dark gaze to the rows of people.

“Itadori Sukuna has devoted half of his life to the bolstering of young athletes. Football is one of his biggest passions and he often pays meticulous attention to the facilities that nurture the talent of our future sportsmen. The sole person to be blamed for the murder of young Masamichi Ryota isn’t the man sitting on that podium—it’s to be found in the coach who pushed him beyond his capabilities and forced him to play even with a ruptured spleen—”

“Objection, your honor.” Nanami Kento, an unctuous piece of shit in a neatly-pressed suit who thrives on taking cases pro-bono to bolster his spotless reputation, stands. He adjusts his tie, looking at the plaintiff’s family—the coach’s great mustache trembling as he holds back his anger. 

“The post-mortem report submitted shows that Coach Tanaka has explicitly asked for a leave of rest for the star player. But, the rejection letter—traced from Itadori Sukuna’s hand, I might add—explicitly denied that request on grounds of the millions of yen he has betted on that poor boy’s success.”

The crowd moves, a great sea snake whispering, scales rustling. Unsure of whether to attack or stand down.

“Your Honor, that is a stretch,” Hiromi drones. “The young man was known to have a history of smoking and a regrettable habit of shooting ecstasy. A fact, we found out later on, that was unearthed in the same autopsy reports you had just shared, Nanami-san.” 

This time, the two attorneys stare each other down. 

Sukuna fights back a smirk at the blonde man’s narrowed eyes. Beside him, Tanaka, the coach, hangs his head.

“While his death is very regrettable and a horror to his family and loved ones, Masamichi was not known for reigning in his… impulses. He has a weak will and a fondness for abusing substances.”

“Objection,” Nanami raised his voice. “Defaming the deceased’s name is a violation of—”

“Order, order,” Judge Itachi bangs his gavel, shaking his jowls as he glares down from the stand. The room quietens. Nanami takes a deep breath while Hiromi glances at his watch. 

“Nanami-san, the Defamation Act 2013 does not apply to this situation as Masamichi is not a minor. A lawyer of your caliber should know this.” Nodding towards Higuruma, he says, “Continue.”

This time, Sukuna can’t help the chuckle slipping from his mouth. 

Hearing him, Jin shakes his head with a glare, hazel eyes drilling Now’s not the time, asshole deep into his skull. 

Higuruma, having heard his slip, also narrows his eyes.

Nanami uses this moment to pounce on Sukuna’s perceived indifference.

“He openly mocks the death of one of Japan’s brightest football stars, and yet, we’re supposed to believe in his goodwill? If you were to speak of my client’s dead prodigy, you should take into account what kind of man Itadori Sukuna truly is.”

Commanding the floor, the sharply-dressed blonde man takes center stage. 

“Ladies and gentlemen. Judge and jury. Itadori Sukuna hails from an affluent family, but do not let that distract you from how he uses his position in society to silence those lower than him.” Looking straight into Sukuna’s eye with that infuriating, righteous stare these bootlickers always had, Kento seethes. 

“He is a drug-addled playboy who spends his time exploiting young talent for his own gain. These young men under his program are little more than betting fodder for him and his other rich friends. Wouldn’t you say that is correct? How many times have we seen him in the news because of his drunk folly? If he were an actor, we would’ve banned him from screens, and yet, because of his standing in society, we commend him for exploiting our sporting talents—and ultimately, playing in the negligence to cause someone’s death.”

Higuruma bristles, not expecting his opponent to pull out his client’s reputation and smear it across the courtroom floors.

“You claim defamation is uncouth, and yet, you’re doing the same thing to my client, Nanami-san—”

“Order,” Judge Itachi bangs his gavel again, this time looking irritated at how this case had turned.

Sukuna suddenly catches sight of a woman from across the room. She’s glaring at him with unabashed hatred, her dark eyes swollen and red-rimmed, lower lip wobbling. Beside her, the man he assumes is her husband wears a stony mask, his gaze locked on the floor, completely still except for the rapid rising and falling of his erratic breaths.

They were both clad in a dress, shirt and slacks that looked like they belonged to the 90s—neat and clean, but shabby in a way that only these lower class scum could pull off if the dress code given to them was business casual. 

These must be Ryota’s good-for-nothing power hungry parents who threw him into the harsh pits of Japanese football in hopes of improving their standing in society. How plain and old they look. Sukuna fights back the urge to sneer at them, keeping his expression neutral.

It’s like Jin’s voice is in his ear: Do not misbehave. Do not give them more reason to already hate you. Remember—Jin’s infuriatingly kind eyes were unflinching and serious. They’ve just lost their son. Have some compassion and remorse.

“Attorneys, return to your seat. The jury has already made their decision and I, for one, can vouch for it.”

Sukuna feels his palms going clammy, and suddenly, the idea of investing in sports from Ino’s advice was making his stomach turn.

I’m going to kill that bastard once I’m out of here.

Removing the slip of paper from the white envelope of justice, Judge Itachi clears his throat.

Higuruma sits back down, his viper-like eyes locked on the judge’s face. Trying to predict the outcome.

“The court today has deemed the case Itadori v Japan’s Football League a negligence in duty of care concerning Masamichi Ryota’s untimely death.”

No one is breathing, all attention on the judge with his pockmarked face. 

Sukuna is fixated on Jin, whose head is bowed, eyes closed. If this blew up in their faces, a case like this would cause Itadori Enterprises to suffer a major investor fallout.

And once again, the blame of their family’s bad fortune would be on him. 

Sukuna swears the last time he was this nervous, he was waiting for Este’s pregnancy test results to come back negative.

It was one time, ‘Kuna! She had tears in her eyes, the stupid white stick clenched in her hand. Can you lay off of me and take responsibility for once in your goddamn life?

He should call her after this—apologize to her. God knows it would be his last fuck before he has to spend half of his life behind bars for the death of some schmuck kid whose name he had already forgotten.

Judge Itachi speaks again, knocking him out of his reverie.

“Therefore, the jury and I have come to the conclusion. In the case of Itadori Itadori-san, we find him—”

The clock ticks. Every lung is constricted—jury, attorneys, a few press members who had managed to bribe their way in. Sukuna recognizes them with their obnoxious yellow press tags; thinks how many of these leeches would get a raise once they broke the scoop on him.

Oh, the irony, he muses. His downfall being their salvation to fighting back against the rising cost of living.

“—not guilty.”

…

Sukuna is unsure if he’s heard it right.

Not guilty. 

Not guilty. 

Not guilty.

He doesn’t react immediately, blinking slowly like a fish caught out of water. The oldest son of Itadori Wasuke tries to meet his twin’s eye, but Jin is as shocked as he was, frozen with his laser-sharp focus trailed on the stand—trying to digest this turn of events.

Higuruma is the one who finally breaks the ice, standing and bowing to Judge Itachi. On cue, the rest of the room follows suit, getting to their feet and showing the retreating judge their begrudging respect.

Sukuna bows jerkily, unused to such a humble gesture he had almost forgotten how to do it.

In front of him, the brat’s mother starts to bawl, her husband’s arms coming to wrap around her as they both shuffle out of the courtroom, looking older and grayer than when they had entered.

Sukuna doesn’t have much time to force a lick of sympathy for them, not when this farce of a trial was over and he was late for Ino’s party.

He hops down the stand, ambling easily to his younger brother who was whispering in low tones with their lawyer. A few feet away, Nanami Kento reassures the coach and his family, painting a picture of trying to achieve righteous justice for that good name—a feat Sukuna knew he would never achieve.

After all, the Itadori empire wasn’t built on rainbows on sunshine but pure, hard grit. And a little bit of blood and here and there to get what they want.

Jin looks up, frowns. “Let’s catch the sedan and have a smoke. You and I have a lot to discuss about.”

The way he said it made Sukuna feel like a kid again, about to be chastised for peeing the bed or killing off the pet goldfish.

Higuruma packed up his briefcase of documents, and a pack of bodyguards stationed around the different points of the courtroom swarmed to the middle, shielding the two brothers and their lawyers the second the doors opened and the press descended on them. 

Flashing lights went off in a wave of clicks, the vultures with their cameras snapping his humiliation at every angle for their publications; boldly throwing their questions at him without fear now that the great Itadori “Ryomen” Sukuna was knocked down a peg or two. 

Itadori-san, can you comment about Masamichi-san’s death at length? 

One woman with a silver bob shoved a mic in his face. The guard on his right quickly elbowed her out of the way, throwing his arm up to hide Sukuna’s visage from the bug-like chittering click of these press leeches and their expensive cameras.

Itadori-san, this news must come as a shock. What does this mean for the future of Itadori Enterprise?

Will this affect any future mergers, particularly a rumor circulating about a potential collaboration with Nara Corp? 

Itadori-san, do you ever regret investing in football?

A few sport reporters were also seen trying to push their way through the crowd, recorders in hand to glean some golden nuggets for their pathetic column.

Itadori-san, what does your verdict mean for the future of the Japan Football League?

Itadori-san, did you know that Masamichi-san was about to prepare for his university entrance exams? How does his death make you feel?

“No comment,” Higuruma intones, taking Jin and Sukuna both by the elbow to steer them towards their waiting car like they were teenagers again; back when he had to bring the twins straight into Wasuke’s study to discuss their future inheritance.

A fresh-faced rookie Sukuna had never seen before stumbles in front of their entourage, and he’s mortified to see a pink lipstick print on the front of the intern’s tag.

Royale News' first appearance in such a serious case.

“Itadori-san, you’re already approaching the ripe age of thirty," the dim-wit says. “Do you have your eye on a woman who can domesticate you? Can you ever be tamed?”

Amidst the overlapping voices and chaos, that question sticks to Sukuna like sweat on skin during an unbearable summer heat, unsettling him until he sinks into the sedan with Jin beside him and Higuruma on the opposite seat. 

The door closes shut, bodyguards standing in front of the heavily tinted side windows to keep the press from clamoring after them.

Once the chaos was left behind on the freeway in a cloud of smoke and ashes, did Jin lean forward to raise the privacy screen. With the driver unable to hear them, his younger twin reaches for his packet of Montecristos, lighting three of them up and passing one to each man.

Higuruma accepts his offer with a nod, while Sukuna grabs the nicotine-laced vice from him with a ferocity that takes his brother aback. He inhales deeply, exhaling rings of smoke which fogs up the car, tasting cherries, cedarwood, tobacco and his freedom. 

“Easy, ‘Kuna,” Jin mumbles tersely. Sukuna resists the urge to flip him off.

Instead, he drags his gaze to the lawyer smoking quietly in front of him, smiling sleazily in triumph. “You did a good job, Higuruma. If I were you, I’d ask for a raise.”

The Itadori scion expects his brother to join in the jest meekly, like he always does. Not glare at him with pure vitriol in his eyes, the kind Sukuna had never seen Jin harbor for him.

“You scumbag,” Jin mutters hotly. His brother half expects him to throw a curse word or two with how riled up he was. “You were supposed to dump this stupid hobby. I gave you the money to start a foundation for good press. Not throw it all into some useless human betting ring. Are you an imbecile?”

That was a new insult. Jin rarely ever threw him a good verbal uppercut, and Sukuna must’ve really fucked up to earn this side of his younger twin brother.

He plasters on a sleazy smile, giving his otouto a once over. 

“Well, aren’t you a fucking ray of sunshine? You should be glad Higuruma managed to avert the crisis and get me out of it. Or, are you going to piss in these blessings?”

“I would rather you didn’t embroil yourself in such a shit show in the first place.”

Jin sighs, sags into the seat and massages his temple. “One day, Sukuna, you’re going to give me a heart attack and you’ll have to take over oto-san’s company. Then, you will know true responsibility. True suffering.”

Sukuna hums, staring outside at the scenery flying by.

“Neither the company nor its investors would last a day with me at the helm. So, for your sake and mine, I’m going to ask the doctor to keep the life support machine going even if you’re hanging onto your last breath, dear brother.”

“Good luck with that,” Jin refutes with a slight snarl. “I would explicitly mention it in my will to refute your efforts at reviving me.”

“Then, I will rebuke your will.”

“You can’t because I actually have a son to execute it.”

“Yuuji is two. He can’t even hold a pencil.”

Any insult towards his beloved son would never be tolerated by the famed Itadori family man. Jin puffs out his chest, about to berate his older brother, when Higuruma stops them both with a sigh.

“If only your parents could see the both of you now. How disappointed they would be in you, Sukuna.”

Hiromi sucks in a deep breath of the sweet cigar, turning his head and exhaling lightly out of politeness for smoking in his employer’s car. 

Despite his hulking muscles and blase attitude, Sukuna can’t help but glower in petulance at any mention of Wasuke and Kasumi’s disappointment in him. Growing up as the black sheep has casted a permanent cloud over him—his best efforts were seen as second tier in comparison with his perfect, golden brother. And Sukuna resents any mention of it.

Their family lawyer continues on, as if he hadn’t made two of them heel to an uneasy stop.

“At your age, you should be taking over Jin’s part. But, your brother is too nice. He took up the burden so you could do what, exactly? Party every night? Sleep with models? Get involved in scandals?”

Hiromi sighs, and Sukuna turns his glare outside the window, unwilling to take such a personal beat down. 

“Your mother had hoped you would snap out of your selfish streak. She even thought you would settle down and give her some grandchildren by the time you turned twenty five. But, you had to be pictured… fucking… the mayor’s daughter during a gala. How crude.”

“Stop talking down to me like you’re even at my level, Higuruma.” Sukuna snaps and something in his tone catches the other two men off guard. “You think just because we employ you in our good graces, you have the fucking right—”

“What Hiromi is trying to say is this,” Jin interjects before this could escalate into a full fist fight. “Both of us have come up with the best way for our family to get past this scandal.”

Sukuna has heard this a thousand times before. The Itadori pockets were bottomless when it came to preserving their good name.

“How?” He sneers, dismissive and mildly insulted that the two of them had made a decision for him without his input. “Don’t tell me you’re going to flush out more money to keep the press quiet. We can’t keep using the same strategy over and over again.”

In answer, Hiromi and Jin share a look. Sukuna suddenly feels like the car seat he’s on is about to be pulled from under him.

Wilted ash drips from the tip of his neglected cigar. He tenses, darts his vermillion eyes between his two conspirators and wardens.

“Hiromi and I have come up with a better idea,” Jin begins his pitches like he always does—with a little smile and a sniffle. “The idea is—”

“Marriage,” Hiromi intones, taking one brother aback and the other on a guilt trip. 

Jin grimaces. Sukuna stumbles with the words stuttering out like a reckless oil spill.

So, the only thing he could spout was, “M-marriage?! What kind of trickery is this? Jin—” He looks to his otouto, hoping against hope his ears are just fucked up and he didn’t actually hear Hiromi saying the tragic, forbidden ‘M’ word.

“—this has to be a mistake.”

“No, it’s not,” Hiromi steps in to cover Jin’s ass, placing himself at the front to take the bullets of rage that would no doubt rain down on him once the whole plan was laid bare to the older, hot-headed twin. 

“We believe that with your souring reputation and increasing questions surrounding your perpetual bachelorhood, settling down with someone would be in the interest of the family business. And of course, your inheritance.”

Hiromi makes sure to dangle the most effective carrot in front of him; that sadistic bastard.

Sukuna seethes—confusion, anger, disappointment and fear coalescing to overtake his first instinct to run. Numbing him with his inaction of thoughts and body. 

Hiromi lifts his heavy-bagged eyes, pinning him right to the spot. The knife slices deeper, cutting him from the inside out; hammering in this decision he absolutely had no say in unless he would want to kiss his lavish lifestyle goodbye.

“We need to get you married off by the end of the year.” A death sentence knells right into his chest; Hiromi digs the pain deeper. 

“In fact, the sooner, the better.” 

Sukuna remembers the very first time he had seen you in your wedding dress. 

It was a chance encounter as he passed by a Morinaga boutique in downtown Shibuya; his brother having orchestrated the entire meeting so Sukuna would catch a glance of his future bride trying on her custom-made dress.

With her head bowed, and shoulders bare under the light, the older Itadori twin thought her figure was appeasing and pleasing to the eyes. That is, until she turned around with her naked face and he had to physically stop himself from recoiling.

“Is that her?” he demands, unwilling to believe Jin would sell him out like this. Shades of disgust lines his tone, and he tries not to put his stupid twin in a headlock and break his neck.

Jin notices his reluctance and makes a face. “She’s unlike the girls you whore yourself out to, that’s for sure.”

The more he looks at you, the more Sukuna is starting to think this was a mistake.

“She’s so… boring. Vanilla. Are you sure this is what you think is best for me?”

Since their father passed on and the business went to his younger twin, Sukuna was often painted in their society and by the media as the irresponsible Itadori—the audacious older brother, the partier.

The playboy.

Often having a gaggle of girls at his mercy, he was not exempted from warming beautiful model’s beds, and having flings with other trust fund babes—bad habits his younger brother was desperately trying to get him to shrug off to take on more of the family business mantle. 

“You’re almost thirty, ‘Kuna. It’s time to act like it.” 

Jin sighs, removes his glasses. The action reminds him so much of their father that Sukuna pauses for a second, blinking away the mirage of that senile, old man.

Sukuna hadn’t noticed just how old his younger brother had gotten.

Dressed in a sleek trench coat costing four times more than a McDonald workers’ monthly salary, Itadori Jin was quiet and unassuming, yet only his twin brother knew that still waters ran the deepest.

An inch shorter than him and with a kid from his old, dead wife, Itadori Jin was the antithesis of Sukuna’s recklessness. Where the older twin was all hulking machismo and a massive ego, his brother was soft-spoken and with a sharp mind that was always one step ahead of his, bringing their father’s company back from the brink of bankruptcy and launching it into international waters from his sheer will. 

Sukuna respects the guy, and as much as he wants to rile Jin up and pop a vein on his younger brother’s temple, he tempers down his sarcasm, preferring to roll his eyes.

“Whatever. So, her daddy wants the merger money and you want me to settle down with some ugly chick?”

Jin winces, wishing his brother wasn’t being this curt and lewd. 

“Her father wants an heir. And he wants 40% of our shares. That’s a whole different game.”

“He can’t have those.” Sukuna was irresponsible as they came, but even he understood the basic math of divesting half of your company’s assets to a party other than your stipulated stakeholders. “The Nara family already holds 22% of our board and the Ikina’s are up close with 15%. If those vultures take 40, how’re we gonna break even in the next quarter? We’ll be bleeding red if we give into their whims.”

In answer, the corners of his brother’s mouth twitches. “I see you’ve been doing your homework. Impressive.”

They both have stopped in their tracks, standing a little ways on the sidewalk where prying ears couldn’t hear their discussion.

Jin suddenly turns serious. “L/N-san has struck gold with new fintech models. We need to curry his favor if he wants to reduce the patent price for us to move on with Project Armstrong. I hope you understand the gravity of this situation.”

Usually, Sukuna prefers not talking business with his brother in such broad daylight without a drink in hand. But, seeing as how Jin has left him no choice, he relents to this impromptu exchange, feeling more and more like some wild stock being sold in a farm the longer he speaks to his brother. 

“And she’s nicknamed the Wisteria Woman because her entire family latches onto fame and power like leeches,” he bristles, catching Jin by surprise. 

See? Even a useless ass like him could bother with basic research. And the rumors were nastier than he imagined.

“I already don’t like the sound of that—of her.”

The younger Itadori cocks his head. “Then, I think you should be honest with her if that is how you feel. That this is a business arrangement and nothing else.”

Sukuna flicks a cigarette from his leather coat’s pocket, sticking it between his teeth.

“Say I agree to this plan. What’s in it for me?”

Without a beat of hesitation, Jin replies: 

“110% of the profit.”

Sukuna nearly spits out his stick. 

The amount yawns before him, looming zeros and zeros staring him in the face. 

“What? Cat got your tongue?” Jin teases, though there’s tension crinkling in the corner of his eyes.

Switching gears, Sukuna turns mellow; even slaps on a smile. “I see. Interesting.”

“So. Are you on board with this?” 

In the distance, he sees your silhouette exiting the bridal shop, bags in hand with your maids or girlfriends following behind. The sunlight does little to bring any depth to your expression or features, but he appreciates that you look semi-decent from his vantage point.

“Fine,” he says, clicking open his vintage Dupont to light the tip of his cigarette. “Count me in.”

He supposes that even with such an embarrassing family background that will drag the Itadori name through the mud, the high stakes more than made up for such a lackluster wife.

His favorite whore sighs right into his shoulder, the smell of his cum, sweat and her expensive perfume strong on her skin.

After ejaculating right onto her tits and smearing it everywhere down her belly, Sukuna was exhausted and in a need for something stronger than nicotine. Rolling over, he picks up a joint Ino had passed to him as congratulations for making it out of that nasty as fuck trial, lighting it up and inhaling with a tremendous sigh.

Este’s lips are right on his shoulder, kissing a path from his deltoid to collarbone. Sukuna wraps a hand in her soft, brown hair, holding her firmly in place as he makes a move like he was about to kiss her; her lips parting and smoke pouring into her waiting mouth, her hitched inhale pulling a cruel smile across his own lips. 

She turns her face away, eyes watering and fighting back a coughing fit. “Asshole.”

“An invitation for anal? Gladly, baby.” He turns her onto her belly, peals of laughter muffled by the pillow, strong arms holding her down as he positions her on her hands and knees, joint stuck in between his teeth.

Este turns her face to the side, catching his eye. Mascara smudges around her eyes, her red lipstick feathering at the corners of her impishly smiling mouth.

“What’re you doing, ‘Kuna?” 

“Y’know what I’m doing,” he murmurs, cock stirring at her wiggling hips and devilish grin.

“Are you really going to take my ass?” 

He sucks in another inhale of the joint, feeling the high slowly unlocking his muscles and turning his brain fuzzy. “Scared? Afraid daddy might find out his daughter is going around offering her virgin hole to any rich man who’s on the marriage market?” 

Condescension drips in poisonous tendrils, and she bristles. “Fuck you, ‘Kuna.”

In one swift motion, he’s sheathed inside of her, feeling her walls choke down on his cock. His head tosses back, sweat glistening off the tribal tattoos on his chest, hips drawing back and snapping forward in languid thrusts. 

The moon shines strong. Cheap Southern alcohol pumps in his blood, his sweat soaks through her skin and hair, damp skin illuminated by the ember tip of his joint. 

“Isn’t that what I’m already doing to you?” He drawls, and her body starts to shake. 

“We still—mhm—h-haven’t talked about your m-marriage…” 

Her voice fades; cracks on the reality of him no longer sharing a bed with her.

Jesus. Does everyone know about this? 

Sukuna doesn’t do anything to comfort her, except for slipping a hand between her legs to rub soft circles on her clit as a flimsy apology.

She keens, white-knuckled grip fisting the soft blankets. Her mediterranean mix shows under the weak light, tan skin stretching over defined back muscles, dark roots growing past the brown dye job she gets done once every two weeks.

In another life, Sukuna thinks he could’ve been in love with her.

Este screams his name as she shatters around him. Sukuna tosses the half-smoked joint back on the side table, not caring if it would catch on something and burn her room down. He’d just fuck her through the flames until she asphyxiates and succumbs to both the lack of oxygen and her orgasm.

She clings onto him, a second layer of skin he wants nothing to do with. 

Sukuna pushes her away not so gently, grabbing his joint and snuffing it out with the heel of his palm. 

“I gotta go,” he mumbles, reaching for his shirt, pants. She watches as he dresses, still dazed and starry-eyed from her release.

“Are you going back to her? To Y/N?” 

Sukuna crinkles his nose, as if the mention of your name was enough to make him lose his appetite. “Don’t be stupid. No. I’m going back to my place for a shower and a nightcap. I’ll see you around.”

Tossing her a nonchalant wave, Sukuna leaves Este’s sheets, knowing that in a few more days, he would be back here again.

That’s the thing he likes about Este Nara—she’s easy. Not just to get in bed, but to get away from. She doesn’t bitch or moan about him being distant and aloof. She takes his cruelty without much flinching, seeing the dangerous man lurking under his tattoos and barely thinking anything of it. 

If she even had half a brain to think.

He revs the engine of his Ducati Superleggera, hightails it past her condominium with his helmet buckled haphazardly around his neck; not slowing down, wishing he could leave his problems in the dust being kicked up by his tires.

“What do you mean he’s trying to push the marriage to a month later?” your mother seethes over her coffee, glaring at you.

You shrink from her anger, pushing around a soggy banana with your fork tines. “It’s what he told me,” you argue back weakly. “What was I going to say?”

“What about actually standing up for yourself and doing what is best for our agreement?” 

She arches a perfectly groomed brow, waiting for you to respond. You cast a despairing look to your father who picks up his glass of bourbon, sipping on it while he listlessly scrolls through his iPad. 

“Listen to your mother, my little light.”

“I did,” you tried again, willing them both to understand. Bunching your fists over your lap, you take a deep breath, hoping they would listen. “I did everything you asked me to: not interrupt him. Let him talk. Laugh at his jokes. Everything,” you emphasize. “And yet he asked me to consider pushing the marriage back by a few weeks. What else could I say?”

You reiterate your question, growing hotter in the cheeks. Finally understanding why some people could have a heart attack in the middle of dinner when the entire situation was spun around to paint you as a villain when you had tried your best to be as cooperative as you could. 

A grimace stretches across her plastic-filled cheeks. People often said your mother could win a beauty pageant on her worst days; rising above other beautiful women with her wit, charm and charisma. Of course, she was also the daughter of a department store king, so the money graciously ‘donated’ to these glittery showcases put her many steps forward compared to other contestants.

“I don’t know where I went wrong in raising you,” she sighs, dramatic as always. “Jiro, please. Can you speak to Itadori Jin-san and tell him what our daughter told us? There is no way his brother can resist this offer.”

Offer. Like you were a cow to be traded in the market.

“Lia, I told you, Itadori Jin-san has no control over Itadori-san. That’s his nii-san. It would be a perversion of authority if he forces Sukana-san’s hand in any way.”

Her expression sours. “Well, isn’t there some way we can orchestrate a reunion, perhaps? A dinner or getaway to officially welcome them to the family?” 

You blanch at the idea of seeing Sukuna again, stewing in your mortification and humiliation when he had already made it clear how distasteful he finds you.

You’re about to say you don’t mind going with Sukuna’s timeline when he sets his glass down with a pensive look on his face.

Ten years older than your mother and with a brilliant mind born from the best business school in Tokyo, your father was not a man to be played with; his word was law, and that was how he spearheaded the tech scene at the tender age of twenty-five with nothing but a dream and his gritty determination. 

Knowing he had to prove himself to your grandfather—your mother’s father, on his capabilities to build a home and a better life for a woman who already had everything—made you wonder how he did it.

From nobody to somebody. It’s why no matter how he treated you, he would always have your respect.

“A getaway?” Jiro murmurs, an idea darkening his thoughts. “That could be interesting. Very interesting indeed. I’ll make some plans and we’ll play it by ear.”

He went back to scrolling, ignoring his smugly beaming wife.

Pacified that she had gotten what she wanted, your mother turns nurturing once more, cooing and touching your shoulder.

“We should get you a spa treatment and a light makeover before Itadori-san sees you. Do you have something to wear in mind?” 

As if you were a doll whose only purpose was to be dressed up, this was the reality you were living in for the past twenty-seven years of your life. If Itadori-san didn’t want to marry you fast enough and get you out of your childhood home, you were sure a swift bullet to the head would be the best alternative.

Plastering on a smile, you ponder for a second on your choice. 

“I want to try something new,” you decide. A furrow appears in her brow. 

“What do you mean by new, my dear?” 

“Something Itadori-san would like,” you try to curry her approval, feeling lighter and happier when her solemn face breaks into a knowing smile. 

“He says he loves dresses with satin and plunging necklines. Thinner heels. I think Okuta-san would understand.”

Referring to your personal stylist, your mother nods her approval.

“That’s perfect. I’ll get her to do some digging on some of Itadori-san’s past girlfriends and see what they wore.”

Unruffled by how audacious that statement was, you were truly reminded that this marriage was a cruelty of convenience when her smile deepens.

“I’m proud of you for taking this step, my dear,” your mother’s voice warms, though the implications of them make you freeze. 

“You’re finally proving your worth to the L/N family.”

a.n. OKAY WE'RE SO BACK. ive deleted the first chapter due to low interaction and decided to give this series a second chance by starting with y/n's pov !! this series will rely heavily on feedback and reblogs (my adhd ass cant work on something if i and other people dont care for it) or else it'll be scraped and we keep things moving (i sincerely hope u loved this <3)

©️ lalunanymph. do not copy, repost, change the sentence structures, translate across any other platforms

[astrxq]

jacaerys velaryon x wife!reader — prompt list 1.22 from my autumn party!

words: 4.9k

notes: “Well, how do you like it when I touch myself?” “It... Turns me on.” - oooooor: jace's focus has been split between political responsibilities and the ache of missing you. after days of separation, he finds you in your chambers, ready to show him how much you've missed him. requested

The chamber was dimly lit, the glow of flickering candles casting long shadows that danced across the walls. The fire crackled in the hearth, filling the room with warmth, yet there was a cold tension that lingered in the air, waiting to be dissolved. You stood by the window, gazing out at the fading twilight, your thoughts restless, drifting toward the man who had been absent for too long.

It had been days – no, weeks – since Jacaerys last stood beside you. His absence left an ache, deep and unspoken, though you both knew it well. He was always called away, summoned to mend the broken ties between houses, to settle disputes and broker peace. You understood, of course you did, but it never lessened the weight of loneliness that crept into the corners of your heart each time he left. Tonight, though, he was coming back.

You heard the door creak open, and your heart skipped a beat. There he stood, his tall frame filling the entrance, still cloaked in the regal, yet travel-worn attire of a diplomat, his hair tousled from the long ride, his eyes shadowed with exhaustion. But beneath that fatigue, there was something else – a hunger, a need that flared to life the moment his gaze fell on you.

"You're back," you said softly, turning toward him, your voice like silk, soft yet purposeful. It was an acknowledgment, a quiet invitation. His name lingered unspoken on your lips, but the weight of it was heavy between you both.

Jacaerys didn’t respond immediately, his eyes locked on yours, as if to confirm you were truly there. His expression was guarded at first, the burdens of his duty still etched across his face. But as you took a slow step toward him, his dark eyes followed your movements, a flicker of something deeper passing over his features. Desire, yes – but also relief, and a yearning that felt almost palpable.

You smiled, the kind that you knew he couldn’t resist. Without breaking eye contact, you began to undo the laces of your gown. Slowly. Deliberately. You could feel the shift in the room, the way his breath caught slightly as he realized what you were doing.

"Is this how you greet your husband after all these days?" His voice was hoarse, rough from the strain of his recent negotiations. But beneath that, there was a teasing edge, the corner of his mouth lifting ever so slightly.

You took a step closer, the barest whisper of your feet against the floor. “You’ve been away for too long,” you said, your voice low, holding a playful note, though your eyes were intent, unwavering. You raised one hand to trail lightly down the side of your neck, your fingertips brushing over your collarbone, tracing the curve of your body in a way you knew would unravel him.

His gaze darkened, heat flooding his features as he watched you with unrestrained want. He took a step closer, as if drawn by an invisible force, but he didn’t touch you – not yet. There was an unspoken rule, a tension that coiled between you both.

“Do you know how much I’ve missed you?” His voice was strained, thick with need, but there was an edge of desperation there too. “How hard it was to keep my mind on anything else but you?”

You smiled, your fingers pausing just above your navel. “Is that so, my prince?” you asked, teasing him with a soft lilt. “Then perhaps I should give you something else to focus on.”

Your words hung in the air, heavy with suggestion, and you took another step closer, until you were almost within arm’s reach. He watched you intently, the muscles in his jaw tightening as he fought for control. But you could see it in his eyes – the battle was already lost. He was yours, completely.

With deliberate slowness, you ran your hand down the length of your body, a soft, languid caress that left nothing to the imagination. The heat of your touch seemed to radiate through the room, pulling him in like a magnet.

“You don’t know what you’re doing to me,” Jacaerys breathed, his voice barely a whisper. His eyes were glued to your movements, and you could see the strain in him, the way he clenched his fists at his sides, holding back the urge to close the distance between you.

You paused, your hand resting just above your thigh, and tilted your head slightly, giving him a knowing look. “Then come here,” you murmured, your voice low and sultry. “And show me.”

He didn’t need to be told twice. In two swift strides, he was in front of you, his hands gripping your waist with a possessive intensity that sent a shiver down your spine. His touch was desperate, heated, as if he had been starved for you, which, in truth, he had been. He pulled you against him, his mouth capturing yours in a kiss that was all-consuming, his breath hot against your lips.

You melted into him, your hands sliding up his chest, feeling the rapid beat of his heart beneath your fingertips. He had always been intense, but now there was something more – a need that bordered on frantic, a longing that had built up over days of separation and sleepless nights. His hands roamed your body with a feverish hunger, as if trying to make up for every moment he had been away.

“I missed this,” he murmured against your lips, his voice rough and thick with emotion. “I missed you.” His hands slid down to your hips, pulling you impossibly closer, his breath ragged as he fought to control himself.

You smiled against his mouth, your fingers threading through his hair as you tugged him back slightly, forcing him to meet your gaze. “Then stop holding back,” you whispered, your voice a challenge, daring him to let go of the restraint that was barely holding him together.

His eyes darkened at your words, and for a moment, the air between you felt charged, electric. Then, without warning, he swept you up into his arms, carrying you toward the bed with a single-minded focus that made your pulse quicken. The need in him was palpable, his every movement filled with an urgency that sent a thrill through you.

He set you down gently, though his hands trembled with the effort of control, his eyes never leaving yours as he lowered himself beside you. His fingers brushed over your skin, soft yet burning, tracing the line of your jaw, down your neck, to the curve of your shoulder. Every touch felt deliberate, as if he were memorizing every inch of you, as if he were trying to make up for all the time you had been apart.

“Tell me,” he breathed, his voice barely above a whisper, his lips hovering just above yours. “Tell me how much you missed me.”

You let out a soft laugh, your fingers trailing down the length of his back. “More than you’ll ever know,” you murmured, pulling him closer, your bodies pressing together in a way that made you both gasp.

His lips crashed into yours again, and this time, there was no holding back. It was a kiss filled with raw, unfiltered desire, his hands roaming over your body as if he couldn’t get enough of you. You responded in kind, your fingers exploring every inch of him, feeling the tension in his muscles, the way his body trembled under your touch.

“I need you,” he groaned, his voice rough with desperation as he pulled back just enough to look at you. His eyes were dark, filled with a hunger that sent a thrill of excitement coursing through you.

You saw the flicker of reluctance pass over Jacaerys’s face as he paused, his lips still brushing against yours, his breath hot and uneven. He pulled back just enough to rest his forehead against yours, eyes closed for a brief moment, as if trying to gather the strength to speak.

“There’s a council meeting,” he murmured, his voice heavy with regret. “They need me.”

It was the last thing you wanted to hear, and for a moment, you felt the sharp sting of disappointment. But then, the fire inside you burned brighter. You knew this game well enough by now – knew the delicate balance he walked, the duty that pulled him away. But tonight, you weren’t going to let it win. Tonight, he belonged to you.

“They’ve had you long enough,” you whispered, your hands tightening against the fabric of his tunic. “Stay. Just this once.”

His eyes opened, and the conflict there was plain. “I want to,” he said, and you believed him. You could feel the way his body leaned into yours, craving the closeness. But then he swallowed, pulling away with visible reluctance. “But if I miss it… the negotiations are delicate.” His voice was strained, like he was trying to convince himself as much as you.

You tilted your head, giving him a pointed look, your voice a gentle challenge. “And who’s going to stop you, Jacaerys? You’re the prince. You have the right to say no.”

He huffed, half-laughing, but there was an edge of longing in his eyes as he looked at you. “You make it sound so simple.”

“It is,” you insisted, your voice firm, your hands sliding up to his shoulders as you looked him directly in the eyes. “Stay.”

His eyes flickered, caught between duty and desire. He was on the edge of giving in, you knew it, and you pushed just a bit more, the teasing edge returning to your smile. “Or,” you added, your voice softening to a sultry whisper as your fingers brushed down his chest, “I could give you a reason not to go.”

The words seemed to ripple through him. His breath quickened, and his hands moved instinctively to grip your hips, fingers tightening as if to ground himself. You could see the battle waging within him, the way his eyes darkened with want, the way his jaw tightened as he fought to maintain control. For a moment, you thought you’d won.

But then, with a groan of frustration, he pulled away, rubbing a hand over his face. “Gods, you make this impossible.” He took two steps back, his shoulders tense, the weight of his responsibilities still bearing down. “I can’t just– ” He stopped, the words halting on his tongue as he turned toward the door, as if trying to force himself to walk away.

It was then that you made your move. You reached for the straps of your dress, letting your fingers glide over them slowly, pulling each one down with a practiced grace. The fabric slipped lower, revealing the curve of your shoulders and the bare skin beneath. You knew the effect it would have – knew the way his gaze would be drawn, helpless to resist.

And you were right.

He stopped mid-stride, eyes snapping back to you. For a moment, he was still, as if frozen by the sight. His gaze dragged over the bare skin you revealed, lingering on the smooth lines and the way the candlelight caught the curve of your collarbone. You could see the struggle in his expression, the way his fists clenched as he tried to tear his eyes away but failed.

You let the dress fall further, your fingers tracing a slow path down the straps as they slid down your arms. The fabric pooled at your elbows, leaving little to the imagination. You kept your eyes locked on him, a smile curling at your lips, daring him to look away. “Are you sure you have to go?”

His jaw tightened, and you could see the effort it took for him to speak, his voice rough, almost pained. “You know what you’re doing, don’t you?”

You raised an eyebrow, letting the dress slip a little lower, baring more skin. “What if I do?” you asked, your voice lilting, sweet, but your eyes held a challenge. “Will you still walk away?”

He took a hesitant step forward, and then another, his eyes burning with a heat that sent shivers racing through you. “You’re cruel, you know that?” he muttered, but his tone held no anger, only a desperate, aching want.

You shrugged, the motion causing the dress to slip down further, just enough to reveal the swell of your chest. “Maybe,” you admitted, “but you’ve made me wait too long.” You let your hands move down your body, slow, languid, as if savoring the feel of your own skin. “So, what will it be, Jace?”

He was undone. You could see it in the way he moved, closing the distance between you with a sudden, fierce intensity. His hands reached for you, pulling you flush against him, the dress forgotten as his fingers dug into your waist. His mouth crashed into yours, and the kiss was searing, a release of all the pent-up longing and frustration that had been building between you for weeks.

“I should be at that meeting,” he groaned against your lips, but there was no real conviction in his words anymore. His hands slid down your back, pressing you closer, his breath hot and ragged as he trailed kisses down your neck, his resolve crumbling beneath the touch of your skin.

“Stay,” you murmured, fingers threading through his hair, tugging gently as you pulled him closer. “They can wait.”

And that was all it took. The tension finally snapped, and he was yours again, completely. He lifted you up effortlessly, his grip strong, possessive, as he carried you back toward the bed, his lips never leaving your skin. The heat between you built, the air thick with the scent of desire, as he laid you down, his eyes burning with an intensity that made your heart race.

“They’ll have to manage without me,” he said, his voice sent a thrill through you. 

His eyes flashed with a mix of amusement and desire before he leaned down, capturing your lips again with a fierceness that took your breath away. He kissed you like he was starved for you, like every moment apart had only fueled the need burning within him. You felt the intensity of his longing in every kiss, every caress, and it was overwhelming, intoxicating.

You pulled him closer, your bodies fitting together like pieces of a puzzle, moving in sync as if you’d done this a thousand times before and would do it a thousand times again. The room filled with the sound of your mingled breaths, the crackle of the fire in the hearth, and the soft rustle of sheets as he guided you down, his touch reverent yet urgent.

His lips moved down your neck, leaving a trail of heated kisses that made you gasp, your fingers clutching at his tunic. You felt the fabric give way beneath your touch as you pushed it aside, eager to feel the warmth of his skin against yours. He shivered as your hands traced the lines of his chest, and you smiled at the way he responded to your touch, the way his breath quickened when you whispered his name.

The kiss broke, breathless and electric, but the heat between you simmered, creating a tension that hung thick in the air. Jacaerys leaned back slightly, his hands still gripping your waist, his dark eyes locked onto yours. The flickering candlelight danced across his face, highlighting the way his brow furrowed in desire, the shadow of worry that still lingered beneath the surface.

You couldn't resist teasing him just a bit more. “You know,” you began, your voice playful, laced with mock seriousness, “if you spent less time attending to those silly lords and more time attending to your wife, perhaps I wouldn’t have to resort to such… drastic measures.” Your smile widened, and you let your gaze drop, a light challenge hidden beneath your playful tone.

His expression shifted, a mix of amusement and intrigue crossing his features. “I can hardly neglect my duties,” he replied, but the way his breath hitched at your words hinted at the truth – he wanted you, needed you, more than he wanted to admit.

You could see the tension in his jaw, the way his gaze flickered between your eyes and your lips, then lower, to the curves of your body, all exposed and vulnerable before him. The heat of his gaze ignited something deep within you, a wickedness that pulled at your core. “What do you think I should do, my prince?” you purred, your voice sultry and low, your eyes sparkling with mischief.

Without breaking eye contact, you let your fingers trail down your body, slowly, purposefully. You started at your collarbone, letting your fingertips glide over the delicate skin of your chest, down to the soft curves of your waist. You relished the way his breath quickened, the way he leaned in, hanging on your every movement as if you were the only thing in his world.

“Tell me,” you said, a teasing lilt in your voice, “if I were to neglect my own needs, how long would it take before you noticed?” You let your hand drift lower, teasingly close to where you wanted him to be – your fingertips barely brushed the soft skin above your thigh, making your heart race. The look on his face was priceless, a mix of desire and desperation as he watched, utterly captivated.

“Gods,” he breathed, and you could see the shudder ripple through him. His gaze burned with a need that was almost palpable, and you could feel the raw intensity of his desire wash over you like a wave. “You’re playing a dangerous game.”

You smiled coyly, the heat in the room growing more intense with every breath. “Am I?” With a slow, deliberate movement, you let your fingers continue their journey, slipping lower still, the fabric of your dress now a mere memory.

You could see his muscles tense, a shudder coursing through him as he fought against the impulse to reach out and pull you closer.

“Well, how do you like it when I touch myself?” 

“It... Turns me on.”

You knew you were pushing him to the edge, and you reveled in it, watching as his breath came in ragged gasps, the battle within him escalating.

His eyes darkened, the heat of his gaze searing into you, and you knew he was teetering on the brink of losing all control. “You’re unbearable,” he murmured, the words laced with a mix of desire and exasperation. “You can’t just– ”

But before he could finish, you let your fingers slip lower, a teasing caress that sent a shiver through him. You watched as he shuddered, the raw need in his eyes becoming unbearable. He was torn, caught between duty and the insatiable want that radiated from you, and you thrived on the tension, the way it pulled at you both.

“Do you see what you’ve done?” he groaned, leaning closer, his voice low and hoarse. “You’ve made me forget everything.” There was a flicker of something deeper in his gaze, an acknowledgment of how utterly you captivated him, how lost he felt in your presence.

You reveled in the electric tension between you, a tantalizing pulse that hummed in the air. With a playful glint in your eyes, you leaned forward and pressed a chaste kiss to his lips – light, teasing, just enough to leave him wanting more. The brief contact sent a rush of warmth through you, and you could feel the spark that ignited with that small touch.

Jacaerys's reaction was immediate and visceral. His eyes darkened, filled with a desperate hunger as he leaned in closer, his breath mingling with yours. You could see the conflict warring within him, the way his fingers twitched as they brushed against your skin, a silent plea for more. 

“Gods,” he breathed, his voice low and throaty, the tension in his body taut like a bowstring. “What was that?”

You smiled coyly, watching him with amusement as his gaze flickered between your eyes and your lips, the unspoken question hanging in the air. “Just a little taste,” you replied, your tone playful as you kept your gaze steady, challenging him to take the next step.

But it was evident that he wanted more, so much more. With a growl of frustration, he surged forward, capturing your lips with his in a feverish kiss that made your heart race. His hands found your wrists, gripping them gently yet firmly, as if anchoring you to him. You could feel the heat radiating from his body, the urgency of his touch speaking volumes about how much he craved you.

“Show me,” he whispered against your mouth, the words barely audible, yet they rang clear with the intensity of his longing. “Show me what you do when you miss me.” 

His gaze bore into yours, raw and searching, and you felt a thrill race through you at his request. There was an intensity in his voice that sent a shiver down your spine, a need for connection that mirrored your own. You nodded slowly, letting your eyes spark with mischief as you let your hands drift to your own body again, teasing him with the promise of what was to come.

You leaned back slightly, giving him a better view, your fingers tracing the lines of your skin as if illustrating a story he desperately wanted to read. You let your fingertips dance over the swell of your waist, gliding downwards in a slow, deliberate motion, ensuring he took in every detail, every reaction as you touched yourself. 

“Like this?” you murmured, the air thick with the intimacy of the moment. The soft rustle of sheets filled the silence, mingling with the crackling of the fire, creating a backdrop for the symphony of your shared desire.

He swallowed hard, his eyes wide and pupils dilated as he watched you, his breath quickening. “More,” he urged, his voice strained, caught somewhere between command and plea. “Show me how much you’ve missed me.”

The invitation sent a rush of adrenaline through you. With each movement, you could see him edging closer to the precipice of restraint, his eyes dark with need. You leaned into the moment, letting your fingers slip lower, teasing the boundaries as you let out a breathy sigh, savoring the sensation of your own skin beneath your fingertips.

The room felt charged, electric, and as you met his gaze, you could see the way his breath hitched, the raw want etched across his features. “Do you feel that?” you whispered, your voice thick with desire. “This is what I’ve been yearning for every moment you’ve been away.”

His hand tightened around your wrist, and he pulled you closer, almost instinctively, his need overriding all thoughts of restraint. “You have no idea what you do to me,” he murmured, the weight of his desire palpable, his breath hot against your skin. “Show me more.”

Encouraged by his words, you moved your fingers in slow, teasing circles, reveling in the way he watched, utterly captivated. Each movement drew him in further, the tension thickening as the moments stretched out, full of promise and need. You leaned closer, your lips grazing his ear, whispering sweetly, “Then come here and feel it for yourself.”

That was all it took.

Jacaerys’s resolve shattered like glass at your words. The fire within him ignited, and he surged forward, capturing you in his arms with a possessiveness that made your heart race. His mouth found yours again, deepening the kiss, pouring all his pent-up desire into that moment. It was intoxicating, a heady mix of urgency and longing that consumed you both.

His hands slid down your arms, brushing against your skin, igniting every nerve ending. You felt the warmth of his body pressing against you, the unmistakable strength that radiated from him. He pulled you closer still, his touch becoming more insistent, more demanding as he tried to close the distance between you.

“Gods, you make it impossible to think,” he murmured against your lips, the words laced with frustration and desire. “How can I possibly focus on anything else when you’re right here?”

You smiled against his mouth, delighting in the way your teasing had driven him to this point.

You reveled in the chaos you’d created, the way his breath quickened and his heart raced beneath your touch. “Maybe that’s the point,” you replied, your voice low and playful, brushing your lips against his just enough to tease him further.

His eyes darkened, a storm of emotions swirling in their depths – desire, frustration, and a hint of vulnerability that made your heart flutter. He pressed you back into the softness of the sheets, his hands gripping your waist, and you could feel the strength of his body surrounding you, wrapping you in warmth and protection. You shivered at the sensation, at how he made you feel both safe and utterly desired.

“Do you enjoy watching me lose my mind?” he whispered, his voice low and rough, a hint of a smile playing at the corners of his mouth even as he gazed at you with an intensity that made your breath hitch. “Because it’s working.”

You laughed softly, a sound that danced between you, lightening the tension that crackled in the air. “Maybe just a little,” you admitted, tilting your head back to meet his gaze, the warmth of the fire casting flickering shadows across his features. “But you’re the one who keeps coming back for more.”

He leaned in closer, the heat of his breath brushing against your skin, sending shivers coursing through you. “I can’t help it,” he confessed, his voice earnest, vulnerability breaking through the layers of desire.

Your heart raced, and in that moment, time seemed to stand still. Jacaerys’s voice, low and earnest, wrapped around you like a warm embrace, grounding you in the midst of the chaos that swirled between your bodies. But as his words hung in the air, you felt the rush of adrenaline coursing through your veins, pulling you deeper into this intoxicating connection.

You paused, your hand stilling in its teasing journey, and his grip tightened around your wrist, urging you to continue. The tension in the air was palpable, thick enough to taste, as he breathed into your mouth, his tongue sliding against yours with a hunger that made you shiver. Each brush of his lips ignited a fire within you, making it nearly impossible to think.

“Don’t stop,” he breathed, his voice a mixture of desperation and desire, sending heat flooding through you. “Keep touching yourself.”

The raw need in his eyes left you breathless, igniting a fierce longing within you. You nodded slowly, your breath mingling with his as you let your fingers resume their slow exploration. The warmth of his body pressed against you only heightened the sensations, the sweet ache of anticipation coiling tightly in your stomach.

With every deliberate movement, you could feel him watching, his gaze locked onto your hand as it glided over your skin. The intimacy of the moment enveloped you both, and you could sense the struggle within him – a battle between control and the consuming desire that burned like a wildfire.

As you continued, your free hand moved to touch him, your fingertips tracing the contours of his body, exploring the firm muscles of his chest, feeling the rapid beat of his heart beneath your palm. A low groan escaped his lips at your touch, the sound reverberating through you like a melody of desire.

“You’re driving me wild,” he murmured, his breath hitching as your fingers danced across his skin. The desperation in his voice fueled the fire that raged between you, and you relished the way he surrendered to the moment, his tension giving way to need.

His hand slid to the back of your neck, tilting your head just enough to deepen the kiss. You felt his tongue dance with yours, a languid exploration that tasted of urgency and passion. Each movement ignited a spark that lit you both ablaze, and you could feel his hands roaming, pulling you closer, as if he were trying to merge your bodies into one.

“Show me,” he whispered again, this time with a raw intensity that made your heart race. “Show me what you want.”

You pressed closer, your bodies fitting together perfectly as you reveled in the heat of his touch. You could feel the urgency building between you, the air thick with unspoken promises and desperate need. With each movement, each breathless sigh, you lost yourself in the moment, completely consumed by the connection that bound you together.

“Just like this,” you breathed against his lips, your voice a sultry whisper, filled with promise as your fingers continued their tantalizing journey. “Just let go.”

He answered with a fierce kiss, pouring every ounce of his desire into that one electrifying moment. The world outside faded away, leaving only the two of you, wrapped in the warmth of the firelight and the intensity of your connection. Time melted as you surrendered to the rhythm of each other's breaths, bodies entwined, hearts racing, and desires ignited in a dance as old as time itself.

[shan-yee]

𝘍𝘦𝘺𝘥 𝘙𝘢𝘶𝘵𝘩𝘢 𝘹 𝘱𝘳𝘰𝘮𝘪𝘴𝘤𝘶𝘰𝘶𝘴!𝘧𝘦𝘮!𝘙𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳 ๏𝚆𝚘𝚛𝚍𝚜 = 5897 ๏𝚆𝚊𝚛𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚜 = fingering, cunnilingus, vaginal sex, marquing + blood, breeding, talk of pregnancy ? I think that it’s all. ๏𝚂𝚞𝚖𝚖𝚊𝚛𝚢 = When Lady Margot is called to seduce the Na-baron Feyd-Rautha, the first daughter of the emperor Shaddam IV must accompany her in case things do not go as planned and indeed, things do not go as planned. ๏𝙰/𝙽 = Damn. IT TOOK ME 6 DAYS TO WRITE THIS SHIT !? I really hope that it was worth it :’) Also, did I wrote Feyd correctly ? ๏𝙰/𝙽 2 = I would like to point out that English is not my first language, so if you see a mistake please tell me ! And I don’t know why but i couldn’t find the account of the last two person i taged, so i don’t know if they received it ٩( ᐛ )و

——— 🅃🄰🄶🄻🄸🅂🅃 • • •

@the-dark-dreamer25 @alexandrainlove @void21 @luxiniary szapizzapanda tom-pls-fuck-me

—Princess, the Reverend Mother wishes to see you. Announced the guard, head bowed.

The man was new, and certainly he had heard many rumors about Princess [Y/N], first daughter of Emperor Shaddam. Earlier, when he was ordered to go get the princess, he noticed the smirks of his comrades and their whispers.

But it was sure that when he opened the large doors of the royal bedroom he did not expect to find his princess and three men, probably soldiers, naked. Two watched a young man with blond hair sneak between the legs of the [H/C] haired girl. He held her thighs apart but raised his head when he heard the doors open, a shiny substance running down his lips and chin, a substance that he quickly licked while looking up at his lover.

The princess clearly seemed unhappy and even less sexually satisfied, but seeing the guard's eyes open wide and his inability to look at them a slight smirk appeared on her lips. The fingers of her right hand tenderly caressed the hair of the young man as her other hand touched affectionately the jaw of another man, leaving the third man frustrated and begging for affection from his lady.

—What does that old witch want ? she finally asked.

—I-I don’t know your highness…He shudder, his gaze moving to the side, towards a wall of the large bedroom.

Suddenly, the young woman's fingers closed in the blond's hair between her thighs, who emitted a slight grunt of pain and surprise.

—Not only do you not look your princess in the eyes when you speak to her, but you are not even capable of giving her an answer.

The terrified young man could do nothing but get on his knees, begging her to spare him. In a split second all the pleasure and excitement she felt had dissolved, the crazy old woman had the talent of interrupting her at the worst moments. Knowing very well that the reverent mother would never leave her alone, she got up, grabbed a bathrobe that was on the floor before leaning over the three men, sitting quietly on her bed, to kiss their lips, one at a time.

—I’m sorry my pretty pets, wait for me. She whispered, looking affectionately at them and the three men nodded happily.

Taking one last look at her lovers [Y/N] walked out of the large bedroom, stepping on the left hand of the guard, still on the ground. He only got up after she left the room to close the doors and follow his princess, watching one last time as the three soldiers lay on the bed and talked, as naked as the day they were born, waiting patiently for the return of their beloved mistress.

The princess' footsteps echoed on the concrete slabs leading to a small open veranda, the sun was beating down on her face and the cotton of the bathrobe was starting to stick to her skin making her movements unpleasant, which had the effect of annoying her even more.

—Reverend Mother, sister…Lady Margot. She greeted, once she reached the veranda, where the three women were sitting around a cup of tea.

The mother Mohiam looked up at the young woman to greet her but changed her mind when she saw her outfit, she slowly shook her head bringing her tase to her lips. Irulan's cheeks tinged with pink, pink with shame, and she couldn't help but glance at the oldest woman.

—What indecency. This outfit is not worthy of a woman of your rank, you shame the order by showing yourself in this way.

Hands on her hips [Y/N] lowered her head to observe her outfit, her bathrobe was slightly open at her chest but she had worn much more vulgar, with a sigh of boredom she sat down at a corner of the square table, Irulan to her right and Lady Margot, who still had not spoken, to her left.

One thigh on top of the other and her upper body relaxed against her chair, she looked like anything but a high-ranking woman.

—Stop your reprimands and spill the beans. The [H/C] haired woman grumbled, which earned her a look of disapproval from her sister and a warning from the reverent mother, a raised eyebrow.

—Hold your tongue young woman. A deep aura laced the old woman's voice.

[Y/N] just crossed her arms across her chest, showing her displeasure, you had to be stupid but above all suicidal to contradict or defy the Bene Gesserit, the princess was neither of the two. Lady Margot put her cup down after finishing her tea, making the three women around her turn their heads and the blonde smiled graciously at them.

—We have a request for you princess, one that, I am sure, will satisfy you. Informed the countess.

The young adult arched an eyebrow while staring at her elder, then a curious smile appeared on her lips and her companions quickly understood that she was suddenly interested in the conversation.

—Well, you have my full attention.

—Baron Vladimir Harkonnen is hosting a grand banquet in honor of his nephew, Na-baron Feyd-Rautha.

—I don't see how this concerns me. Interrupted [Y/N] not seeing the point of this conversation.

Lady Margot cleared her throat with a soft sneer before glancing at the reverent mother who took over.

—You will accompany Lady Margot to Giedi Prime. We need to find out if this young man is controllable.

—I still don't see why I should get involved in your stories. Your plan failed, Lady Jessica was supposed to be on your side and you were supposed to have control over her and her son. She accentuated all the “you”s with a mocking look.

—Sister ! Exclaimed Irulan, red with shame.

—We are Bene Gesserit, everything has always been under our control and that will not change today. If the great houses learn what your father has commissioned, he will lose the throne and you, your comfort. This mission is important and you must play your role without whining for once. Mohiam finally ordered, silencing the two sisters.

She knew that the Reverent Mother was right, if the rumor of what her father had done got around, then that would be the end. She wasn't ready to give up her luxury and wealthy life because of a brat and her father's lust for power. Silence reigned for a few moments before the eldest princess spoke again.

—Feyd-Rautha…a mad man I think I heard during conversations. What do I have to gain from it ?

—We heard that the Na-baron had practices...somewhat similar to yours, if you know what I mean. If everything does not go as planned, you will have the right to interfere and “take advantage”. Replied Lady Margot.

The young woman thought about it for a moment. The few things she had heard about the baron's nephew never painted him in a good light, but it was true that she had heard of his sexual appetite. Only she wasn't sure if she would have the opportunity to taste it, but just to be able to finally admire the young man, she accepted.

—Can I bring my pet-

Her question was interrupted by a nudge from Irulan, who couldn't stand her jokes, although this time, it wasn't a joke.

The journey to Giedi Prime was done in silence, Lady Margot and [Y/N] weren't really the best of friends. The countess was much too simple and calm for the princess. Their characters were diametrically opposed, yet they could still talk to each other without it turning into a bloodbath.

Only, right now, the youngest was angry at her elder's privilege. [Y/N] was just a backup if their mission didn't go as planned and the Na-baron didn't find anything interesting in Lady Margot. But if, indeed, he was interested in the blonde, [Y/N] would have left her pets for nothing, a reality that did not please her at all.

Arriving at the Harkonnens, they were welcomed by the Baron and his oldest nephew, Rabban. This particularly irritated the princess who took Feyd's non-presence as an affront, after all, she was of imperial blood.

Without really paying attention to the Baron, she was accompanied to her quarters which were in a different place from those of her companion, because of their difference in rank, which did not displease the princess.

Later she learned that the Na-baron had not appeared before them since he was preparing for the hundredth fight, a spectacle apparently eagerly awaited by the inhabitants of Giedi Prime.

Later she learned that the Na-baron had not appeared before them since he was preparing for the hundredth fight, a spectacle apparently eagerly awaited by the inhabitants of Giedi Prime.

dressed in her most beautiful dress and her most sumptuous jewelry, she intended to overshadow Lady Margot, decided not to have come to this planet for nothing.

The black sun was beating down on everyone and it was clearly not missed by [Y/N] who was fed up with Kaitan's constant sun. She was patiently awaiting the arrival of Feyd-Rautha, Lady Margot at her side who also seemed excited although she hid it with her calm and reserved air.

Bene Gesserit sisters joined them but the princess ignored them, much more interested in the still empty arena than in their conversation, which she did not even listen to with one ear. Her fingers played with the chain of her gold necklace, trying to occupy herself with something when the Na-baron finally entered.

[Y/N] wanting to get a good view of the young man leaning forward while slightly getting up from her seat, she brought her binoculars to her eyes and a satisfied smile appeared on her lips. The young woman was generally not very picky when it came to men, although she always had certain criteria.

And this man, he ticked all her criteria. His milky skin made the princess want to sink her teeth into it, to stain it scarlet, but above all, mark it. She wanted to take his jaw between her fingers and force him to look at her, touch his defined lips and kiss his throat, maybe even run her tongue across it.

When the Harkonnen knelt for his uncle, [Y/N] began to wish he had knelt in front of her instead. That he pledge allegiance to her and agree to be hers, to belong to her and her alone.

A rush of excitement filled her as she let out a chuckle that did not go unnoticed by the Bene Gesserit. After seeing him it was clear that she was not going to let the Countess steal him from her, he looked much too appetizing.

Throughout his fight [Y/N] watched his body move and his muscles shifting under his armor, his movements were sharp but controlled, good news for her. Her skin shived as she already imagined all the things she could do to him or he could do to her. Time passed far too quickly for the princess's liking and when he won his hundredth fight she forced herself to sit and applaud him calmly, not wanting him to notice her euphoria.

The same evening it was planned that Lady Margot would go and court him, the young woman then decided that he was going to be hers no matter what the order wanted. Since she was very young, Mother Mohiam had taught her the art of being a Bene Gesserit. Unfortunately, as a teenager, lust overcame her desire to learn more.

She still listened during her lessons but the order and their prophecies no longer interested her as much as before. Only, as an imperial princess, she had never been able to stop them. Today she was very happy with it.

Manipulation and persuasion via The voice were part of the teachings of the Bene Gesserit. It had taken her several years to perfect her learning, compared to her younger sister who was obviously a prodigy and had quickly made up for the extra years that [Y/N] had.

At seven p.m. the great banquet in honor of Feyd-Rautha began and the young woman was finally introduced to the Na-baron. She took advantage of this opportunity to once again contemplate Feyd attentively, she didn't even bother to hide her excitement this time.

Her eyes wandered over his jawline which she loved to admire so much, she could already imagine her hands gently grasping it before caressing his cheekbones with the tips of her thumbs. She dove into his electric blue eyes and for a moment she had the impression of losing herself in their depth, this sensation made her shudder with desire but above all with apprehension, she had never felt such attraction before, even with her favorite lovers.

His lack of eyebrows and hair did not repel her, she, who loved pulling her partners' locks. But the idea of squeezing his neck to force him to look at her only made her even more excited. Finally her mouth curved into a mischievous smile.

Next to his uncle, Feyd then placed one knee on the ground, right hand on his heart, and his cold fingers grabbed the young woman's hand to place a kiss on it. She felt her skin warm up tenderly while the young man's lips were anything but warm, and this coldness made her body shudder and her lower stomach tighten.

He left his lips on her skin slightly longer than acceptable and raised an amused but also penetrating gaze, as if he knew what she was thinking. And at that moment many things were stirring in her mind. By kneeling in this way, he was submitting to her. And having a man with such a reputation as Feyd-Rautha give up his dominance was thrilling.

She even came to wish that he had knelt in front of her under different circumstances.... With a discreet gesture she passed her thumb over the Harkonnen's lower lip, testing its softness. This didn't seem to bother him since he closed his eyes as he felt her finger move, then, a grin appeared on those said lips, letting her see the black-tinted teeth she had perceive during his fight.

After these few seconds, maybe a minute and a half at most, he stood up, his arms crossed behind his back. This moment didn't last long but she had the impression of staying in this position for hours.

Baron Vladimir looked at them discreetly but said nothing, anyway, if something happened between them it would benefit the Harkonnens. Having ties with the imperial family, such close ties, could be decisive.

Dinner went very well, although the princess couldn't help but stare at the Na-baron most of the time. But it didn't seem to bother him that much, most of the time he even stared back, their intense staring game had left [Y/N] finishing the meal with her thighs tight and slightly sweating.

When everyone had to excuse themselves to go get ready for the fireworks. The young woman turned one last time, while holding her dress so she could walk in her heels, to look at the Harkonnen and her lips parted to let out the whisper of a sentence that only he could hear.

« Come to me. »

Then, she smiled brightly at him as Feyd's pupils dilated, for a moment everything around him disappeared and only her voice reached him.

Surely he should have ignored it, continue his life with his dear concubines and enjoy the huge party that was going to take place in his honor. Only, something inside him screamed at him to go after her and obey her. Obey all her requests, no matter what they are.

And now he found himself in front of the princess's quarters, dressed in black, which made his milky skin stand out.

He went inside, then closed the door behind him, not bothering to knock, after all he was at home. Once in the guest room he looked for the young woman, passing over the large bed in front of him and the few supplies placed everywhere, but he did not find her, for a moment he really thought that she was making fun of him and that irritated him to the highest point.

But the same voice that had ordered him to go find her rang through the air again, making him hold his head for a moment, clearly not used to the tricks of the Bene Gesserit.

« Here. Come meet me. »

Feyd then turned his head trying to find the source of this mystical voice and he saw a gray door, just like the walls of the room, slightly half-open. He took a slight breath, not out of fear but rather apprehension, he wondered how he was going to find her. Naked ? Dressed in a sensual outfit ? Maybe she was even making fun of him and playing hide and seak ?

In any case, he stomped forward while tilting his head in curiosity. With the back of his hand, he pushed the door open and stopped at the doorstep. He found a large bathroom, a shower side to properly remove dirt and a bath side, with a large bathtub.

He found [Y/N] there. Arms hanging outside the bathtub, legs crossed and raised, revealing her knees as well as her feet. She looked at him with a petty grin that made him feel warm, maybe he really liked submission.

« Kneel, beside me. »

And for the third time that evening, his actions were directed by this woman. In other circumstances he would have slit her throat and fed her to his darlings. But the lump in his throat and the heat he felt in his body were far from unpleasant, he craved her and all the things she wanted to do to him.

Then he knelt down beside her and observed her attentively. The curve of her throat and her neckline covered in warm, transparent droplets. Too busy observing her body, he did not notice her hand coming to rest on his cheek until her warm skin came in contact against the coldness of his.

He then relives their proximity from a few hours ago, when she had caressed his lip. Only this time, he felt the humidity of her palm, humidity which made his skin shiny in addition to its whiteness.

—I wanted you the moment I saw you. The [H/C] haired woman whispered, so as not to break the bubble of sensuality that had formed between them.

—Did you, woman. He replied, his hoarse voice cutting through the air.

She didn't like this tone and took it as a challenge. Her hand on his cheek stopped it’s caresses and came to firmly grip his jaw as she frown, her gaze hard.

—You should be grateful, that I, the first imperial princess, has taken a liking to you. She replied in a stern tone that matched her expression.

Feyd held her gaze, his eyes wandering over her angry face, he definitely liked her tone a lot. A shiver of excitement ran through his body, his breathing starting to get heavy.

[Y/N] didn't take long to understand that this situation excited him more than anything else and ended up getting up after releasing the young man. She got out of the bathtub without giving him a glance before retrieving a bathrobe which she wrapped around herself after drying herself slightly.

Then she turned towards the Na-baron who did not move, only turned his head to spy on her. He quickly understood that she wanted him to move and stood up to follow her as she returned to the large bedroom.

The princess took a cup and filled it with water before sitting on the bed, bringing the cup to her lips while looking at him.

—Take off your clothes.

This time she didn't use The voice, she understood that he would listen to her no matter what she said, so what was the point of wasting her energy on these sleight of hand tricks ? Feyd nodded and slowly started to remove his clothes.

The Bene Gesserit stared at his movements, she watched the muscles in his arms move as he removed his bottoms and unbuttoned his black top. She then let out a slight sigh of pleasure, his body was magnificent to look at but surely even more so to touch. Only, she wanted to make him boil.

That he begged her to touch him everywhere and as she wanted. However, her determination didn't last long when she saw the defined bulge he had in his underwear. And seeing her hastily swallowing her saliva, he grinned, like a mischievous little child.

Regaining control of the situation he approached her, then once at her level he undid her bathrobe before throwing it a little further when she did not push him away. On his knees once again, but between her thighs this time, he gently spread them, letting his icy fingers climb over them. While following the movements that her chest was making as it rose.

Because once he was on the ground, the young woman's breathing had taken off and her skin suddenly heated up. Her lower abdomen tightened with apprehension as she saw him getting closer and closer to her crotch.

Letting him do so, she leaned back slightly, grasping the sheets between her fingers nervously, while closing her eyes. She had never felt something so strong and yet she was well accustomed to sex and many unspeakable sexual practices.

Only this time it was different. He was something that didn't belong to her, something she wasn't supposed to touch or approach unless she was beckoned. And yet she had braved this prohibition and done the complete opposite of what she had been asked.

He represented dangerousness, sensuality but also a forbidden fruit, and right now, she wanted to sink her teeth into this fruit, devour it raw but above all savor it.

[Y/N] was quickly brought back to earth by feeling the warm muscle of her lover. In surprise her abdominal muscles contracted and she let out whine, her thighs instinctively tightened around his head.

She was going to loosen them immediately but Feyd held them back, his hands holding tightly the plump of her thighs so that she wouldn't move them. His throat let out a low moan of pleasure, he wasn't suffocating, but having her thighs around him gave him a new feeling of closeness.

Watching him do it, the young woman finally decided to relax and calm her breathing as best she could. Her body fell against the soft mattress before her eyes closed again, taking advantage of the only source of warmth Feyd possessed.

Usually the Harkonnen was not the type of man to kneel for a woman, his concubines always cared for him and only his pleasure. The only times he touched them was to inflict pain that gave him satisfaction.

But now that he had tasted the princess he couldn't live without it and his only goal was to make her scream. The smell of the young woman became intoxicating, a drug which he, from now on, could no longer do without.

His tongue tried to catch as much of her transparent and succulent nectar as possible, wandering into every nook and cranny of her soaked slit. Quickly one of his hands left her thighs and came to join his tongue, the contrast between his cold fingers and his hot muscle made the body of the [H/C] haired woman tremble.

Her lips parted as she gasped, her back arching and her brows furrowed for the second time, she definitely couldn't get used to his coldness, even less when he touched such a sensitive area of her body.

Feyd moved away from her swollen lips for a few seconds, moistening his fingers with saliva before going to collect some of her juices, humidifying them enough so that he could slide them slowly inside her. He watches his fingers dig in before looking up at her, his lips red and wet as was his chin which was glistening slightly.

She felt dizzy with arouse, her limbs trembling under the emotion and the touch of the Harkonnen between her thighs, his fingers inside her only dived her into pleasure and passion. Finally she dared to look down at him, meeting his greedy gaze.

He smirked at her. She wanted to hit him, not liking his superior air, surely he felt proud to have put her in one hell of a state. Only, her body was much too heavy for her to do anything to him and anyway, even if she wouldn't admit it to herself, she liked the way he made her feel.

Finally he began to move his fingers, withdrawing them slightly before pushing them back in with urgency, as if he immediately wanted to find the warmth of her inner walls which tightened around his middle and ring fingers.

—Is it to your liking imperial princess ? He teased, loving to see her lose her cool because of his movements.

His spike had the effect of a slap and she stood up suddenly, grabbing his wrist to stop his back and forth movements. He admired her chest rising and falling as she tried to regain calm breathing and the light beads of sweat running down her face and neckline.

—Look at you, drenched in sweat even though you haven’t done anything. He chuckled, deciding to ignore her warning look.

Apparently she didn't like his teasing at all as her hand circled around his throat, squeezing it slightly as he groaned quietly, the corners of his lips curling up, at least he would have had control for a little while.

—Know your place. She panted, gradually regaining her breathing.

He finally opened his eyes, which he had closed when he felt her squeeze his throat a little more, enjoying the intoxicating sensation of suffocation. She brought her face closer to his and the young man's orbs flickered from her gaze to her lips, a sudden urge to kiss her taking him in the gut.

And if she had noticed it she made no comment, forcing him to stand up by pulling his throat forward. He then found himself on his back, on the black silk sheets, his lover on top of him. He stared at her inner thighs, where he could see her wetness running lightly down them.

[Y/N] leaned over his throat which she had finally released not wanting him to pass out, but little by little you could see light red finger marks, making her smile. Her tongue flicked over them, making him shiver and groan beneath her.

Her hands held his wrist this time, not wanting him to touch her as she enjoyed playing with him. Her muscle moved down his chest before her teeth sank into his pale flesh.

She closed her eyes, beginning to taste the metallic taste of blood, blood that didn't belong to her. Feyd had emitted a low moan of pleasure, an aching pain took hold of him but that only aroused him more. Especially when he saw her eagerly licking the small wound she had inflicted on him, collecting the droplets of blood that escaped.

The young woman looked at her work with satisfaction, she, who had dreamed all evening of marking it, had finally done it. You could clearly see the bite on his white skin, plus it will probably leave a purplish mark for a few days or even a week or two. She was so proud of herself that she made him a few more.

Again on the torso but also the shoulders and throat, each time repeating the same ritual, biting, cleaning and admiring. Feyd let her do it, letting out grunts and moans from time to time. He had once tried to free his wrists to grab her hips but she had bitten him even harder to make him understand to stay still.

Once her work was finished, her teeth went to nibble his left ear, tickling it slightly. He took advantage of her proximity to turn his head and furtively kiss her throat, making the princess sigh, not liking to be interrupted.

[Y/N] then started to stare at him, thinking about what she was going to do to him, but she was starting to get impatient and the wetness of her sex was starting to bother her, she wanted him right away.

Bringing her right hand to her lips she let her saliva fall there while using her other hand to hold herself above him.

—You shall give me a daughter. She ordered him.

She didn't forget the main reason for her coming, but their passionate embrace was starting to make her head spin. She would return with the Kwistaz Haderach, and thanks to that, perhaps the Bene Gesserit will let her have the privilege of seeing him again, after all she would give them what they want, so they can grant her that.

Feyd was probably going to say something but she quickly silenced him with her lips. She hungrily explored his mouth, making him groan in surprise as he closed his eyes. Their hot breaths mingled as their noses brushed together, making her grumble since she couldn't move as much as she wanted.

Her lips parted as her glistening hand descended to his cock, which she delicately grasped. He buckled his hips in her hand in surprise and he let out a grunt followed by a light hoarse laugh. He grabbed the back of her neck, keeping their lips firmly connected as his tongue had ventured between her lips when she had parted them.

The Bene Gesserit's delicate hand gently moved up-and-down, wetting him to make sure he would fit inside without harm, but she was so soaked that she was sure nothing would block.

Finally she lifted her hips above him and sink down on his cock, her hands on his chest, letting a choked moan escape her as she pulled her face away from his and Feyd grabbed her hips, forcing her to stay still. His breathing accelerated as he bit his tongue to prevent a too loud moan from coming out while throwing his head back.

He tried to compose himself, his muscles tensing. His heart was beating hard against his chest and his blood was boiling inside him. She enveloped him in a pleasant and sensual warmth making him feel hazy. While regaining his senses, he caressed her hips with the tips of his thumbs to make her wait a little longer before sitting down.

Finally, he nodded and she rolled her hips, keeping him inside her as he reached up to grab her thighs and wrap them around his waist. She let him do it, very happy not to have to move herself and get tired.

—A daughter you said ?

The Na-baron rested his forehead against hers admiring the way her lips parted and her eyes closed as he lifted her, his hands gripping her backside tightly, then he slammed her back on his hard cock.

She let out a cry of pleasure, putting her arms behind his neck, bringing their faces even closer while their sweating foreheads were already in contact. [Y/N] took the initiative to place light kisses on his lips while he continued his movements.

Every time she separated their lips, he chased her mouth away with a growl, begging her to let him kiss her longer. But she never let him, delicately scratching his back to make him understand her displeasure.

They kept eye contact whatever happened, observing each other's reactions of pleasure. Her moans and shortness of breath for the young woman and his grunts followed by sighs for Feyd.

[Y/N]'s warmth contrasted perfectly with the Na-baron's coldness, it gradually warmed his body and his heart without even realizing it. He saw the beginnings of affection and mutual attraction in her eyes, encouraging him to speed up his movements although his arms were starting to hurt slightly. But he ignored this pain which was not that unpleasant if he was honest.

Quickly she joined his movements as best she could, feeling her pleasure increase and her mind become foggy. With each thrust he bury himself deeper, desperately seeking her and his release. Her walls clinching around him brought him closer and closer.

Feeling that she would not resist long, her thighs tightened their grip around his waist and she hide her face in the crock of his neck, his scent lulling her and allowing her to reach her climax, making her release the sharper and louder moan of the evening, her nails clawed at his back for dear life, once again tracing his milky skin red.

Her lower stomach contracted and her whole body seemed to convulse against him, her chest pressing completely against his torso while her being was overcome by a deep thrill of ecstasy.

The pain these scratches gave him allowed him too, about ten seconds and some back and forth later, to reach his orgasm. He gripped her thighs in such a way that he was sure it would leave marks for a few hours. His seed sank deep into her warmth, making her sigh as she felt the warmth of it.

He held her against his chest for a few minutes before falling back on the mattress, his lady's face buried against his chest. The contact with the fabric of the sheets made his scratches burn slightly, making him sigh a discreet groan.

Finally she raised her head and lifted her hips bringing out his, now soft, shaft. Feeling his cum sliding down the inside of her thighs she tried to contract her walls to keep as much of it inside and Feyd noticing this, raised his hand to slide his middle and index fingers inside her hole as she hissed being still a little sensible.

The young woman looked down to admire the veins on her arm stand out slightly, then she met the gaze of the Na-baron who was smiling mischievously at her. She was preparing to lean in to kiss his lips but the explosion of fireworks made their heads spin.

That's it. She had what she wanted and Lady Margot will not have the pleasure of tasting this magnificent Apollo. Only, “winning” wasn’t even what she appreciated the most.

Their compatibility had been perfect, their movements had matched and their bodies understood each other perfectly. She had never felt so much pleasure and satisfaction with just one round.

Feyd brought her out of her torpor by leaning over her chest, placing small kisses there as he began to move his fingers back and forth again, he wanted to be sure that no drop of his seed came out.

Her attention back on him she grabbed his jaw affectionately and placed a kiss on his lips then her tongue collected the salty pearls on his right cheek.

—You shall dream of me every night, think of me every time your mind wander and breathe for me and only me. She whispered at the crook of his ear.

He smiled at her, a dark smile that told her that he belonged to her and that she was now the only woman he wanted, before his eyes stared longingly at her lips.

—As you wish my princess.

[its-avalon-08]

Hiiiii!! Can I request a daniel ricciardo x driver! reader? Like a grumpy! reader x sunshine! danny? with a hint of friends to lovers but the grid doesn’t know?

I was so excited to see someone open their request and can’t wait to read everythinggggg! Super grateful for the opportunity🫶 may you have a great time writing<3

Ps. It’s totally okay if this doesn’t get a response, I still look forward reading your other works ❤️

she's my grump

the monaco grand prix was always a whirlwind. the air crackled with champagne and exhaust fumes, celebrities swarmed the paddock, and for danny ricciardo, it was pure electric. but amidst the chaos, his gaze always landed on you, his secret weapon – literally and figuratively.

you, (y/n) (l/n), were the engineer who made his car a sleek, purring beast. you were also the complete opposite of him. where danny was sunshine personified, you were a sly smile and a dry wit, a black cat in a room full of golden retrievers. being slightly reserved whilst dating the man with the biggest smile would seem odd to others, but danny loved you in all your light.

"alright team!" danny boomed, his energy radiating as he clapped his hands. "let's make monaco ours!"

you, in redbull uniform, raised an eyebrow. "more coffee, sunshine?" you deadpanned, handing him a steaming mug.

he grinned, taking a swig. "thanks, (y/n). you're a lifesaver." he winked, then lowered his voice conspiratorially, "just remember, if we win, that victory shoey is all yours."

you snorted, a small sound that always tickled danny's heart. "just don't splash champagne on me and make sure you don't scratch the car."

he chuckled, leaning closer. "don't worry, love. i wouldn't dream of it." the last word was barely a whisper, sending a shiver down your spine. you were dating for a few months now, a secret you both fiercely guarded. it wasn't because you were ashamed, rather it was to protect both of your personal lives. you had been friends for seven years and dating for one year. all the other drivers loved you and saw you as a little sister. being the polar opposite of daniel, everyone thought you were a match made in heaven.

flashback

the cityscape of singapore twinkled below, a kaleidoscope of neon against the inky night. danny, relaxed after a podium finish, leaned against the balcony railing, a beer balanced precariously in his hand. you perched on a nearby chair, fiddling with a stray napkin. six years of friendship, countless late-night talks, and a simmering desire that threatened to boil over. tonight, you were determined to make a move.

"crazy race, right?" you started, your voice barely above a whisper. you hated how nervous you felt around him, a stark contrast to your usual sharp wit.

danny chuckled, the sound warm and inviting. "yeah, those final laps were a heart-stopper. but hey, at least i didn't get sandwiched between bottas and verstappen this time."

you managed a smile. "true. though, witnessing your car-handling skills under pressure is always a treat for the eyes." a teasing lilt crept into your voice, the one that usually made him laugh. but tonight, he just raised an eyebrow, his gaze holding yours.

"so," you continued, feeling a familiar heat creep up your cheeks, "about that victory dinner tomorrow night..."

"yeah?" he prompted, taking a swig of his beer.

"well, i was thinking, maybe we could..." you trailed off, the carefully rehearsed words dissolving on your tongue. frustration bubbled within you. why was this so hard?

"maybe we could what?" danny asked gently, his voice laced with a hint of concern.

you squeezed the napkin in your hand, the flimsy paper threatening to tear. "forget it. it's stupid."

"hey," danny said, setting his beer down and turning to face you fully. his eyes, usually sparkling with mischief, were now soft and serious. "nothing you say is stupid, (y/n)."

you looked away, overwhelmed by the intensity of his gaze. "except maybe what i was about to say."

a beat of silence stretched between you, thick with unspoken emotions. you felt a tear prick your eye, the frustration morphing into a strange mix of despair and defiance.

"look, danny," you blurted out, your voice shaky, "we've been friends for, what, six years now? we practically share a brain when it comes to the car. but lately... lately, things feel different."

he stepped closer, his presence a tangible warmth in the cool night air. "different how?"

you took a shaky breath. "i don't know how to say this. it's stupid, really. but..." you met his gaze, your voice barely audible, "i think i might be falling for you."

the words hung heavy in the air. a flicker of surprise crossed danny's face, then a slow smile spread across his lips. it was the most beautiful thing you'd ever seen.

"you think?" he said, his voice a husky whisper. he cupped your face in his hand, his thumb gently brushing away the stray tear that escaped your eye.

"maybe," you mumbled, your heart pounding a frantic rhythm against your ribs.

before you could say anything else, danny closed the gap between you. his kiss was soft, tentative at first, then deepened with a newfound urgency. it was a kiss filled with unspoken desires, a culmination of years of unspoken feelings. you melted into him, the familiar warmth of his friendship now tinged with a passionate intensity that left you breathless.

when he finally pulled away, his forehead resting against yours, you could hear the ragged rhythm of his breath.

"i think i might be falling for you too, (y/n)," he murmured, his voice husky with emotion. "a lot more than maybe."

a laugh, shaky but genuine, escaped your lips. relief washed over you, mingled with a newfound sense of joy. in the neon glow of singapore night, under the watchful gaze of a million twinkling stars, you knew this was just the beginning of something extraordinary.

end of flashback

the qualifying session was a nail-biter. you watched from the pit wall, your fingers unconsciously tapping a rhythm against the table. danny caught your eye, flashed a reassuring smile, and then was off, a blur of blue and red. when he secured pole position, the team erupted.

in the celebratory chaos, danny spotted you amidst the throng, a lone island of calm amidst the cheering. he weaved his way through the crowd, his eyes fixed on you. reaching you, he bent down slightly, a playful glint in his eyes.

"ready to celebrate, ms. genius ?" he asked, extending his hand.

you smirked, a playful jab back. "only if it involves avoiding exuberant displays of footwear."

he laughed, a sound that always warmed your heart. "no promises, love," he winked, then surprised you. his hand, instead of taking yours, brushed yours lightly, his pinky extending out and interlocking with yours.

you knew what it meant. a silent exchange in your secret language. a small gesture, easily missed by others, but to you, it was a secret handshake, a whispered affirmation in the middle of the storm. your own pinky curled around his, a silent promise. being a black cat dating the biggest golden retriever

the race was a heart-stopper. strategy calls crackled through your earpiece, fueling your anxiety. finally, the checkered flag fell, and danny emerged victorious. the roar of the crowd was deafening.

as danny jumped out of the car, his helmet still on, he scanned the crowd. his eyes met yours, and a wide grin split his face. he sprinted towards you, the cameras flashing around you. but he ignored them all, reaching you and scooping you into a tight hug.

"we did it, (y/n)!" he shouted, his voice muffled by your silky hair.

you hugged him back tightly, a surge of relief and pride washing over you. in that moment, under the watchful eyes of the oblivious crowd, you knew your secret weapon wasn't just the science behind the car. it was the sunshine-haired driver with whom you shared a silent language, a pinky promise, and a love that thrived even in the whirlwind of monaco.

the other drivers, who had long suspected something between you two, exchanged knowing glances. lewis hamilton raised a knowing eyebrow at max verstappen. "looks like ricciardo found his lucky charm," he remarked.

max just grinned. "more like his secret weapon."

🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️

i hope you enjoyed! happy reading <3 do send in more requests! as for pre existing requests- im working on it! lots of love ava

🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️

[skzdarlings]

vexatious vixen ; felix x reader ; part 2/2

masterlist.

PART 2/2. READ PART 1 HERE. ( READ ON AO3. )

You always get what you want. When an unassuming security guard named Felix stops your latest venture, you escalate the stakes until he has no choice but to put you in your place.

pairing: lee felix/reader content info: romantic comedy. strangers to enemies to lovers. cat-and-mouse. dom/sub dynamics, dom!felix and sub!reader. brat tamer!felix and brat!reader. everything that transpires is fully consensual with implied conversations on kink preferences, and an established colour safeword system before the scene. that being said, they still get a lil kinky. please heed the following content warnings: fear kink/cnc, hiding, chasing, lots and lots of dirty talk, fingering, blow jobs, face fucking, throat fucking, a little bit of crying, penetrative sex. (protected but dirty talk like it's not.)

(chapter word count: 7750 words.)

enjoy! <3

-

The gentlest nip of a summer breeze moves through the settling blue darkness.  Everything feels romantic.  Everything except the handcuffs chaining you to Felix,  Security Guard of the Year, Man of the People, and Defender of Propriety and Pop Star Penis.   

Felix does not look at you as he drags you away from the stadium.  He smiles sweetly at passersby, doing his best to hide the handcuffs no thanks to your flamboyant gesticulations, but it dissolves again to that grim, determined countenance. 

Felix has an interesting face, so many sharp lines, but the overall effect is somehow delicate.  A body of contradictions, slender but strong, a stark masculinity rippling beneath the glittery prettiness he happily indulges in.  Blue hair should not look that good on anyone, but you doubt anything could make him look bad.  He sparkles like the glitter star on his cheek. 

You poke that cheek.  A muscle in his jaw twitches.  He looks at you sideways, all pretty brown eyes and a constellation of even prettier freckles.  

“Do not,” he says. 

“Do not what?”

“Just. Do not.” 

You obey his demand for silence.  For about six seconds. 

“So how long have you been a security guard?” you ask amiably. 

“You’re really trying to have a normal conversation with me,” he says.  “Now? After that introduction?”

“I prefer the term meet-cute.”

“We wrestled on the ground then you handcuffed us together and threw away the key—”

“Adorable.”

“Right.” He picks up his speed.  You could easily keep pace but you decide to stagger along like he is too fast for you, whining as he drags you behind him.  Felix sighs but slows his pace.  To your surprise, he answers your question.  “A month,” he says.  “I’ve been working there a month.” 

“And you’re already gunning for CEO,” you say.  “Considering how dedicated you are to bringing justice—”

He slams to a stop.  Your chain jingles when you collide, hands smacking together.  He faces you. Wisps of blue escape from his half-ponytail to dance across his face.   

“I already told you,” he says.  “My job is checking tickets.  Chasing you down was my personal pleasure.”

“You’re a sick bastard,” you say.   

He smiles.  It is a gentle smile, seemingly sympathetic out of nowhere, his eyes softening with the lift of his brow.  He has an uncanny ability to make softness more threatening than roughness. It gives you a shiver. 

“Let me guess,” he says.  “You don’t have a job, do you, sweetheart?  You can’t hold one down.  You don’t know how. Your parents have money and it’s nice, sure, but they were overbearing your whole childhood, weren’t they?  Until one day they decided you were grown and just stopped caring.  And now you’re out in the world with no more rules and you don’t know how to deal with it.  Except by acting out.  It’s fun, right?  Looking for trouble.  Makes you feel something for a minute.  Because even though you have everyone fooled into thinking you’re this wild and carefree person, you’re locked up inside.  You’re not scared of consequences because you’re already trapped.  Oh, uhh, stop me if I’m getting cold, yeah?”

You just stare as he blithely runs his pretty mouth. 

“You don’t really care about the prize, it’s just about the chase,” he continues.  “You told me I was a good boy, yeah?  Your words.  And you think you’re bad.  A bad, bad girl,” his deep voice drops even more, like the heavy-handed thud of a low blow, striking some place intimate inside you, “but that’s not really true, is it?” 

He smiles that particular smile again, full of affection and tenderness, an expression that is completely alien to your brash and aggressive nature. 

“Deep, deep down, you just want to be good,” he says.  “But you need to earn it to enjoy it, don’t you?  You need someone to tell you that you can, that it’s okay.  But you don’t make it easy.  And you’ve been running for so long, you probably can’t even remember how it feels when someone cares enough to catch you.” 

You suddenly feel the weight of the handcuffs. You expected this dull pretty boy to have a hidden mean streak to rival your own, not for him to blast through your barriers and drag your innermost thoughts to the surface.  To say nothing of his perfect speculation on your background. 

“So what, you’re some kind of stalker with a philosophy major?” you ask. 

He is still smiling. 

He laughs, a low chuckle.  He looks like a star, glittering silver and blue in the moonlight. 

“No, I’m not,” he says.  “I’m just the same as you.  Vexatious, apparently, because I’m all smiles all the time.  Just so good, you know?”  He is almost theatrical in tone.   “Of course, that’s technically the opposite of you.  Isn’t it?” 

When you don’t answer, he touches your chin, just his fingertips.  It is still enough to guide your face to his, locking eyes. 

“I said, isn’t it?” he asks, his tone sharper. 

If he is insinuating that you are only pretending to be bad, then that means he is only pretending to be good.  If you are secretly good, then he is secretly—

His mouth hovers close to yours.  He abruptly steps back. 

Oh.  You blink quickly.  Yes.  Of course.  It is always the real bad boys who take care to be good, isn’t it?  He does not need to flaunt it.  He can just smile at you. 

“Come on,” he says, interlocking your fingers with his.  He tugs you along, humming to himself as he leads you down the street.  So seemingly innocent.  Grinning to himself like the cheshire cat. 

You stare at those freckles, the glitter stars, his dimples. 

A vexatious vixen, indeed.

“So that Jisung guy,” you say. “The one who gave you these handcuffs.  He thinks you’re a nice guy who needs some adventure in his life.  It was just a prank gift and he thought he was being funny.”

“Yup,” Felix says, popping the sound.

“Little does he know you’re actually some sick and twisted pervert,” you say.

“Tsk,” he says, looking at you with a cheeky grin, as if to say what a silly girl you are.  “I’m not sick.  See, unlike you who bothers everyone whether they like or not, I only chase the ones who like to run.  Twisted, on the other hand… well…” 

The handcuffs jingle, strung around your joined hands like the red string of fate.  You look at each other, starlight on your faces, a noisy arena behind you and a game ahead of you. 

You smile back at him. 

You still intend to win.

-

It is a twenty minute walk.  Your conversation weaves around implications, some very forthright flirtations, and a couple scandalizing explanations.  Despite his previous goading, Felix is far more reserved in his desires.  He blinks when you describe a very dirty scenario and get detailed.   Very, very detailed.   

“Um, right,” he says.  “Fun as that sounds, I’m pretty sure that constitutes as a human rights violation.”

“So?”

“I, uhh, prefer to do things that don’t get me put on an Interpol watch list.” 

“Coward.”

You nonetheless accept this and describe a totally different scenario.  He looks a little wan. 

“Where would I get a rocket launcher?” he asks when you are finished. 

“I dunno, get creative.  My friend Seungmin once—oh shit, my friends!”

“Wait, huh?  Your friend Seungmin has a rocket launcher…?”

You take out your phone to find a gathering collection of texts from Seungmin and Minho, ranging from teasing you about losing your touch to asking if you got arrested and they need to bail you out.  Your friends are a nightmare which is why you like them, but they always get you out of trouble in the end. 

You confirm you are safe, that you already left, and that you are trying to have sex with a hot, insane, kinky sadist of a security guard.  

“You know I can read everything you are typing right now,” Felix says.  “I am standing right beside you.  You’re typing with a hand literally attached to mine.”

“Well, mind your own business.”  You do not bother hiding your texts. 

“You are giving them my name and address,” Felix replies.  “It sounds like my business.” 

“Well, it’s not.  We’ve already established the world revolves around me.  You’re the supporting character, pal.” 

“Right,” he says.  He blinks at the screen.  In a more serious voice, he asks, “Do you want the postal code too?” 

It never hurts to be thorough.  You type the address and send it to the boys. 

Good thing you waxed, Seungmin writes. 

Felix squints at the screen and tilts his head like a curious cat.  “You waxed for a concert?” he asks, giving you a once-over.  “What did you think was gonna—”

“I am prepared for every eventuality,” you interrupt.  “It’s why I always win.”

He holds up your handcuffed wrists and cocks an eyebrow.  “Is this what you call winning?” he asks. 

You smirk, your whole expression bright despite the suggestive wiggling of your eyebrows.  “Matter of opinion, I suppose,” you say.  “And my opinion is the only one that matters.” 

“Right,” he says, forcing a frown.  Despite his efforts, a smile is tugging at his lips.  He suffices to roll his eyes and march ahead, yanking you along behind him.  “Come on,” he says.  “We’re almost there.”  

Once your friends have your information, you put your phone in your little purse.  You turn the corner and find yourself looking at an absolutely gorgeous house.  Your jaw drops as Felix leads you up the driveway.  It is an ostentatious design to say the least.  You pass a gate mounted with two lion statues.  

“Not my style,” he says when you gawk at the stone kitties.  “This place belongs to my parents.  They usually rent it out but they let me live here while I go to school.” 

“So you weren’t kidding,” you say, a funny sensation in your chest and stomach.  “About your background, I mean.  You and me really are alike.” 

You realize the sensation in your chest is an inkling of feelings.  Genuine, heart-felt, soul-stirring feelings. You look at Felix and see a lot of yourself, though he is like a mirror version, exactly the same and completely the opposite.  It makes you huff, holding a hand to your stomach like you can control the butterflies there. 

“What’s wrong?” Felix asks, pausing at the front door. 

“When was the last time you had a feeling?” you ask.

“A… feeling?” he asks.  He stands silent for a long moment.  When he realizes you are not going to elaborate, he asks, “What kind of feeling?”

“Just a feeling,” you say.  “You know.” 

“Uhh.”  He blinks quickly.  “I have feelings all the time.  Every day.”

“Wow,” you say.  “That sounds exhausting.  Explains a lot about you.” 

“All right.”  He shakes his head.  He reaches into his back pocket and fishes out a set of house keys, twirling them around his fingers until he finds the right one. 

“Wouldn’t it be funny if I threw those keys too?” you ask.

He gives you an exasperated look.  You grin.

With a shake of his head, he sighs and unlocks the door.  The foyer lights flicker to life and the house alarm starts ringing.  It gives you a punch of adrenaline which has the predictable effect of getting your blood pumping.  Your body does not know the difference between fear and desire.  You have only been here two seconds but you are already licking your lips. 

Felix is none-the-wiser.  He flips open the alarm panel and punches in a code.  It beeps and goes quiet.   You look at each other in the soft golden glow of the foyer lamplight.  He still looks stupidly pretty, blue hair and glitter, sleeveless shirt and jeans.  Unassuming, gentle, sweet.  Not at all like he could throw you over his shoulder or manhandle you in the grass.  But he can.  He did.

“Come on,” he says, tugging on the chain between you. 

You feign disinterest but your eyes scour his space.  You pass through the kitchen where there is an array of baking utensils drying in the dishes rack.  The entire kitchen is clearly maintained with great care.  The rest of the space is a little chaotic, shelves and desks and units overflowing with technological equipment that you can neither recognize nor name. 

“I build computers,” he says, catching you staring at the pile of miscellaneous parts.  “Sorry for the mess.  I wasn’t expecting company.” 

This is uttered dryly and you wave it away.  You do not want to admit you find it somewhat endearing.  Your hobbies primarily consist of keeping the local PD on their toes, but you appreciate the practice of a craft.  It only adds another layer to this weird dude, pretty but athletic but intelligent but ridiculous but charming but geeky.  And just as competitive and crazy and freaky as you. 

“Bedroom’s this way,” he says.  “And, uh, don’t get any ideas.” 

“Too late,” you answer, though truthfully your filthier fantasies are fracturing in wake of the reality of him.  The computers, the baking tools, the wall of games and consoles, collectible toys and ughhh why did he have to be kind of adorable and secretly have a personality.  Mutual objectification is more your style.  Not quivering under a gentle touch and feeling… feelings. 

“You look like you are thinking way too hard,” Felix says, pausing at his bedroom door.  “It’s freaky.” 

“Not thinking anything,” you say, because you are too busy feeling to be thinking.  Ugh.   You shake it off and push open his bedroom door. 

He shakes his head and leads you in.  He has a pretty elaborate gaming setup, the rest of the room plain in comparison.  His bed is neatly made and you cannot help but envision a mess of sheets.  Yes.  That is more your thing.  Taking that sweet and gentle façade and corrupting it, right down to the core.  You want him to lose control.  You want to drive him crazy.  You want to draw this out, use the handcuffs and—

“Aha,” he says. “Right here.”

He pulls open a bedside drawer.  A pair of handcuffs is sitting inside it, the key right on top.  He takes it out and immediately unlocks you. 

The cuffs fall to the floor.  He scoops them up and jingles them in your face. 

You stare at them then slowly meet his gaze.

“Oh,” you say.  “You evil son of a bitch.”   

He looks at you with a soft little pout, like he cannot imagine why you would be upset and you are hurting his oh-so sensitive feelings.  But he knew you wanted to play him.  He knew you wanted the handcuffs a little longer.  Now there is no reason to linger.  Now you can just walk out the door and never see him again. 

He is going to make you ask for it. 

That is not your style.  You hate being out-smarted.  And you really, really, really hate losing. 

“Right,” you say.  “I guess that’s it then.”

“Guess so,” he says.  “Bye.” 

“Bye.”

“Bye.”

You are still standing in his bedroom.  It is dark but there is an elaborate lighting rig around his computer, all bright blue neon and blinking lights.  You are swimming in blue, breathing it in.  His hair, the room, and moonlight. 

You will never see this colour the same way again.  Of that much you are certain. 

“Blue,” you say. 

His brow crinkles.  “Blue?” he repeats. 

“Mm.”  You look around the room, pretending you are unbothered by the intensity of his gaze.   “Red.  Yellow.  Green.  Colours can say a lot, don’t you think?”

“Yes,” he says, exhaled on a breath.  The neon light catches the little star on his cheek, glinting at you.  He is dazzling.  This moment is larger than life.

You take a step back, holding his gaze. 

“Red for stop, yellow for slow down, green for go…” you drawl, backing out of his room.  “It’s amazing what you can say with just a colour…” 

“Uh-huh,” he says.  He looks at you like he did at the arena, maybe even more intensely.  Now he knows what you are capable of doing.  Now you understand each other. 

He follows you, assessing every step you take.  There is a subtle flex to the lean muscles of his arms, reminding you that while he is beautiful, he is also capable of more. 

“And what does blue mean?” he asks.  “To you?” 

You walk backwards, an unspoken understanding that once you turn your back, the game begins.  So you hold his gaze, smirking, inviting.  The foyer lights flash on and gold light fills the space between you, casting shadows across your smiling faces. 

He walks like a predatory cat, slow and smooth.  His confidence is easy.  He needs no grand display of machoism.  He just smiles that pretty pink mouth.  The glitter on his cheek sparkles.    

“Blue is the colour we show on the outside,” you say, “when deep down we really want something else.”

“I see,” he says.  Abruptly, his intensity vanishes when he laughs and says, “Put it back.” 

Somehow, despite diverting his attention, he still saw your slight-of-hand.  You swiped the closest object, a little jewel-encrusted clock on the nearby table.  You waited until your body obscured the view but he still saw.  

He can read you that easily, predict your moves that well.  Because it is not as though he loves the clock.  It stands out from his things, clearly one of the ostentatious designs, courtesy of his parents.  You can read him that easily too.  He does not like gaudy, shiny little knick-knacks.  He likes neon and blue and you. 

“Put what back?” you ask.  You have reached the front door.  Your hands are behind your back, the bauble in one, the other twisting the doorknob. 

“I’m not gonna ask twice,” he says. 

You push the door open. 

“I’ll give it back, if that’s what you really want,” you say.  With a suggestive little smirk, you ask, “So what’s your colour?” 

Red to stop.  Yellow to pause.  Green to give in. 

“Blue,” he says.  To play. 

You smile.  You hold up the bauble, wink, then zip it into your purse.    

“In that case,” you say, “you’ll have to catch me first.” 

His expression changes in an instant, that playful giggling gone as quickly as it came.  He breathes and it fills him, makes him look sturdy, makes him look ready.   

“Sweetheart,” he says.  “Don’t make me do this.” 

The softness of the pet name is completely undone by the dark tone of his voice.  There is nothing soft about him.  He is ice cold blue and burning red heat at once, searing you with his eyes, the way they rove your whole body.  You feel each glance.  A shiver races down your spine.  Instinctively, your body braces itself, fearful of that voice and that gaze. 

It also gets you so, so hot. 

All that tension snaps. 

You turn and run, bolting down the driveway and past the fancy gate.  You are quick on your feet, practiced and lithe.  You show him no mercy this time.  Earlier you were unprepared, severely misjudging his capabilities, but you will not make the same mistake again. 

You glance over your shoulder.  He is no where to be seen so you slow your pace, bemused. 

A minute later, he comes tearing around the corner and your heart starts pumping again.   Just like back at the arena, he grins as he thunders after you. 

An instinctive little yelp leaves your mouth.  You resume your pace, booking it for the corner of the block.  There is a little patch of green park so you run there, disappearing between the bushes. 

It seemed like a good idea but the streetlight barely breaks the thick tree branches. It is darker and eerier here, genuine fright overcoming you.  You come to a clumsy stop, fumbling with your purse to grab your phone.  A flashlight will stop you tripping, but it will also lead Felix right to you. 

You hear him behind you, clambering through the bushes.  Your heart leaps.  The darkness makes you forget this is all pretend.  You run without a light, dashing down the narrow path and squinting for even a glimpse of street light.  You need to get out of the bushes otherwise you risk falling on your face, then he will be right on top of you in seconds.   But running on the road will expose you too quickly. 

You will not surrender that easily.  He knows that. 

Torn between the garden and the road, you get a brilliant idea.  You dash back onto the street and hope it takes him a minute to follow.  He is not behind you so you race back to his house. 

There is no way he will circle back here.  He knows you want a chase, so a chase is what he anticipates.  He would never guess you ran back into his house.  Oh, you can’t wait for the look on his face when he finds you perched on his bed, feigning boredom as you wait. 

You run back up the driveway.  The front door is closed and you crash right into it, assuming it would be unlocked.  Nope. He locked it.  Maybe that is why he was delayed. 

You spin around, halfway expecting to find him there, ready to push you up against his door and cage you in.  But no, you are still winning.  He is undoubtedly still running through those bushes. He will circle the whole block before heading back here.    

You hurry down the side of the house, looking for any open windows.  You do not think he had time to set the alarm.  Did he?  Maybe that is why he was so far behind. 

The side gate is unlocked so you slip into the backyard.  You come to a surprised stop because it is a beautiful landscape.  The greenery is pristine and there are little couches and chairs scattered around.  There is a shed, some storage trunks, a fire pit.    In the middle of everything is a pool, sparkling blue in the golden lamplight.  Of course. 

You do not rush. You cross the yard in a slow walk, taking a moment to catch your breath.  You strategize your next move.  Should you pose on one of the pool chairs?  Wait by his back door and knock when he gets home? 

Your thoughts are interrupted by a low hum.  Someone is making their way down the side of the house.  

You panic.  You are often caught scampering around places you are not supposed to be, so instinct propels you to hide.   You run to one of the storage trunks and duck behind it. 

No sooner have you hidden does Felix stroll into the backyard.  He is a little dishevelled, a few strands of hair escaping from his half-ponytail, but he seems mostly unbothered.  He moves at a leisurely pace, humming to himself as he swings the gate open. 

He pauses there, leaning against the tall fence.   You are quite certain the world has never been this quiet.    

 “I know you’re here,” Felix says, his deep voice shattering the silence. 

Your heart leaps into your throat.  You should have known better.  Of course he had the same idea as you.  Now what?  How can you outsmart someone who can predict your every move? 

You peek around the storage trunk.  Felix is smiling, all dimples and delight.  Even his eyes are glittering as he swings the gate shut.  He looks across the yard as he curls his fist around the padlock.  He slams it shut, effectively locking you in with him. 

So that is why he took so long.  He unlocked the gate before giving chase.  He laid a trap and you ran right into it. 

His walk is more of a prowl, a slow but steady tread across the grass.

“Come out, come out,” he sing-songs, uncannily chipper. 

You cannot believe you are about to be beaten so quickly.  It has your head spinning, your heart racing from your run, your adrenaline pounding as he approaches. 

Your heart tempers itself when he stops.  He pokes his head around the fire pit to see if you are hiding there.  

“Sweetheart,” he says, casting his gaze around the yard.  “You don’t need to hide.  I promise I’m not mad.”  He strolls around the pool, looking from here to there, even up at the trees.  He hums thoughtfully to himself.  “Now, now… If I was a troublemaker who needed to learn a lesson, where would I hide…”  He ducks behind a pool chair, frowning.  “Hmm, hmm, hmm…” 

He stands for a minute, tapping his chin.  You want to glean some semblance of your surroundings, but you do not want to take your eyes off him.  You are convinced if you do, he will manifest right beside you.  So you look at the house then at him, the gate then at him, the trees then at him.   You almost want to scream.  He is not even moving and he has you completely captivated, every last sense in your body attuned to him. 

“Pleeeeease,” he says in a long drawl, a cute little tone.  He ambles over to a different storage trunk and lifts the lid.  “I promise I won’t hurt you.”

He slams the lid down so hard it makes the unit wobble.  Even though you are far away, it makes you jump.  You have to cover your mouth to stop a yelp from escaping. 

You stare as he leans over the other unit, peering behind it.  He huffs in frustration when he finds nothing.  Despite the angry grimace, when he stands upright, he is wearing that saccharine smile. 

“You’re hurting my feelings, sweetheart,” he says.  “I thought we were turning into friends.  Don’t you want to be my friend?” 

He flings a chair out of his way, then swiftly drops to his knees to peer under the picnic table.  He is getting closer, bit by bit, which is somehow more terrifying than if he beelined right at you. 

He is giving you time, you realize.  He wants you worked up.  He wants your heart racing.  He wants you quivering and soft and afraid. 

You look around frantically, searching for an escape. 

Your hope rises then plummets.  The back door is ajar but that is an obvious trap.  It leads into the house but there is no way you are crossing the yard without him seeing you. 

You jump at another slam.  It was the shed door.  He is stepping inside it, rifling through the yard tools in case you are crouched inside. 

“Come on,” he says into the shed.  “Don’t be scared.” 

You take a deep breath.  You have only seconds to cross the yard while his back is turned.  You do not waste another moment, jumping to your feet and running as quietly and as quickly as you can. 

He is just as quiet.  You shriek at the sudden arm that catches you, just like it did at the arena.  Felix tackles you onto the grass again, pushing you down on your back and covering your mouth. 

You wrestle him, just like last time, ignoring his laughter as you claw and bite at him. 

“You’re a little mean, you know that?” he says, waving his hand after narrowing dodging your teeth.  He dives back in, undeterred, grabbing your face in one hand.  “Yeah, that’s it,” he says.  “Fight me.  Brat.” 

You do not surrender easily, but he manhandles you with the same effortless skill as before.  There is no doubt he has training that you lack, flipping you in his arm then pushing you down on your front.  You kick your legs as he straddles your backside.  He brings your hands together on the base of your spine. 

You know what is coming and it makes you shriek with frustration.  Just like last time, he slaps the handcuffs on your wrists and locks your hands behind your back. 

“You stupid little—” you start, your words stifled when he puts his hand over your mouth and yanks your head up.  He holds the handcuff key in front of your face, then makes a show of throwing it.  You are pretty sure it is still in his fist, but the very idea has you whimpering into his palm. 

“That’s better,” he says, slowly taking his hand off your mouth.  It hovers like he expects you to start screaming.  You just exhale heavily, glaring.  “All right,” he says.  “Very good.  Come on.” 

You play at obedience long enough to get off the ground.  He helps you stand, then you immediately kick at him.  He tries to grab your leg but you dodge the swipe of his hand, running the opposite way. 

Your balance is thrown, dizzy from the takedown and the handcuffs.  He catches you quickly.   You yelp when he sweeps you off your feet, boasting all that hidden strength again. 

He carries you over to the deck where he drops down, sitting with his legs spread to fit you in between.  With your back to his front, he pulls you against him, an arm across your chest to keep you pinned together. 

“Oh fuck you,” you say, wriggling helplessly. 

“Not quite,” he says, laughing.  “I’ve been picturing something else.” 

He covers your mouth again, catching your shriek when he tugs your shirt open.  The flannel falls down your shoulders and he yanks the tank top down, getting a handful of everything you inadvertently flashed him earlier. 

Despite the force of his initial touch, he is not rough.  You might have kept your cool if he was; you are used to rough, fast, hard.  But his hand is tender, almost loving, a slow touch that trails from your neck down your chest, thumb circling the peak of your nipple before he squeezes your curves in the cup of his hand.   It is maddeningly slow and careful, your whining trapped in the palm of his hand. 

“This is what I was picturing,” he says.  It sounds like a growl, his deep tone just above a rough whisper.  His lips graze your ear and you shiver. 

You gasp, taking in deep gulps of air when he frees your mouth.  A weak whimper is all you manage when he hooks his legs around yours and pries them apart.  His hand dives down to your shorts, making swift work of the buttons. 

“Yup, just what I thought,” he says as his fingers sink inside you.  “Do you feel that?” he asks, as if your attention could be on anything but the thorough, rolling touch of his fingers, torturing the sensitive bundle of nerves between your legs.  He slides his fingers into you with no resistance whatsoever. He starts finger-fucking you, laughing when you moan, when you rear up under his hand for more.  “Mmm, yeah, you want it don’t you?”  You try to resist but it is hard, especially when he teases you, making you chase him with your hips.  He just laughs again, slowing his touch maddeningly.  “God, that’s hot,” he says.  “You might be a brat but your pussy...   It’s begging for it, isn’t it?  Does it like this, sweetheart, hmm?  Hmm?” 

He is absolutely torturing you, rubbing those swollen nerves to the crest of an orgasm then withdrawing, again and again, until you swear it burns.  You make a strangled sound, clutching his hand on your chest, still cupped possessively on your naked breast. 

“Tell me,” he says.  “Tell me how much you want me to make you come.” 

“Mmmph,” is your oh-so intelligent reply. 

“You can do better than that,” he says.  “Come on.  Show me how much you want it.  You can’t lie to me, sweetheart.  I can feel it, hmm?  Gonna feel it when you come.  Gonna feel your pussy get nice and tight around my fingers, asking for it, baby—oh yeah, what’s that?  What’s it want?” 

“Ugh, fuck you,” you whine. 

“Nuh-uh, sweetheart,” he says.  “Fuck you.  You can run that pretty mouth but I know what you really need.  You’re gonna be begging me for my cock, to fill you up and make you feel all full for real. Isn’t that right?  Go on.  Show me you want it.  Show me.” 

Your chest is heaving.  Your eyes close.  You concentrate on that orgasm, chasing it desperately.  It approaches rapidly and your thighs start shaking. 

He covers your mouth again, once more predicting you.  He knows you are about to come.  This time he takes you right over, groaning in your ear, clutching you tight while never once slowing the deft thrust of his hand.  You scream into his palm, the intensity of the orgasm washing over you.  The blue light of the pool flickers even with your eyes closed, seeing nothing but blue, blue, blue.   He surrounds you, his voice, his moans, his touch. 

Your hips buck, your heart skipping a frantic beat when pleasure turns to sensitivity. He chuckles but stops, dropping his hand off your mouth.  You catch your breath, slumping against his chest. 

He touches your face with the hand he just used to fuck you, wet fingers streaking across your mouth as he turns your head.  You blink at him and part your lips just for him to shove his fingers in your mouth.  You cannot help but moan, eyes closing as you suck the tangy wetness right off his fingers.  You watch when he takes them back, when he licks them for himself.  Strands of blue fall across his forehead.  He looks as flushed and filthy as you feel. 

He grins around his fingers.  Then he grabs the back of your neck and pulls your face to his.  He kisses you for the first time with the taste of your pussy on both your mouths.  His kiss is deep and bold, as if you are already his.  You are dizzy when he stops, gasping when he pecks your lips with sweet, chaste little kisses. 

“Gonna uncuff you now,” he says softly.  “Because for what we do next…”  He grabs you by the throat and you mewl, clenching around nothing when he rolls his hips under you, showing you how hard he is.  “Yeah, sweetheart.  For that, I need all of you.” 

You sit quietly while he uncuffs you.  You feign complacency, standing on shaky legs when he guides you upright.   You fix your shirt, glaring at him, though it is a little harder while you are still catching your breath. 

He was right about one thing; you need him like you have never needed anyone.  You are throbbing, completely and totally aching with the loss of his touch.  You have never felt such clear pulsations, your body begging for more even while your expression is petulant. 

You follow him to the open door.  One step, two steps. 

Then you say, “Blue.” 

You take off running into the house. 

He laughs incredulously, not even making an attempt to grab you. 

He slams the door shut behind him.  You skid to a stop in the hall, listening to the gentle beeping of the alarm as he arms it from the inside.  It is the same quiet threat as the padlock; there is no escape. 

Giddy, excited, practically vibrating with anticipation, you run and hide.  There are boxes and tables piled high with gadgetry, not to mention his couch and bookshelves and general appliances.  Plenty more places to hide than that big back yard.  And when he finally does find you, when you have worked him up the way he worked you up—

That is what winning is all about. 

You sit in your hiding place, breathing hard.    

“Sweetheart,” Felix says in that too-sweet voice.  His footsteps are slow, unhurried, casual.  “Stop hiding.  I said I didn’t want to hurt you, but if you keep this up…” 

You peer at him between some boxes.  He stops in the middle of the room, catching his breath too.  The glittering amusement has left his eyes.  They are narrowed, his flushed cheeks and sweaty hairline only exacerbating his predatory air. 

He unties his half-ponytail, then bends over to run his fingers through the length of it.  He flips back up, all that blue falling prettily in place.  He licks his lips as he prowls through the room, looking behind boxes, ducking under tables. 

You shuffle with him, moving when he does.  He checks your previous hiding space with a jaunty, “A-ha!” then curses. 

“Come on now,” he says, turning around.  He smiles like a shark, all teeth, hungry despite the innocent flash of a dimple.  “You’re only hurting yourself,” he says.  “I know you, sweetheart.  You’re in here somewhere, and you can’t tell me you’re not thinking about what it’s gonna feel like when I catch you, yeah?  Hmm.  You’re fast.  I bet you’re flexible too.  I bet I can get you into all sorts of positions.  Get you making all sorts of noises for me…” 

It is a struggle to be quiet as you move.  Your limbs are still shaky.  Every word out of his mouth makes your breath catch. 

You swallow hard, freezing when he pauses.  Did he hear that?  Maybe not.  He turns the other way, heaving a deep sigh before he laughs.  It lacks amusement, a harsh sound as he turns and turns. 

“Come out, come out,” he sing-songs.  In a harder voice, he snaps, “Stop hiding from me.”  Then he smiles again.  He turns in your direction slowly.  “You’re not scared of me, are you?” 

You cover your mouth, cowering down when he seems to look right at you.  Your heart is pounding so hard, you would not be surprised if he could hear it, even feel it, shaking this whole damn house. 

“If you come out on your own,” he says, “I promise to make you feel good.  You’ll come so hard, you’ll forget how scared you are.” 

You keep that hand over your mouth, fighting to keep quiet.  It stifles a shriek when he suddenly waves at you, a drole little finger-wiggle.    

“Come on, sweetheart,” he says.  He crouches down, putting himself at eye-level, peering between the boxes that shield you.  “Don’t make me come get you,” he says.  “I’ve been nice, haven’t I? Don’t make me do something we’ll both regret.”    

You shuffle to the side.  He slaps a hand over his face, shaking his head while he laughs. 

“Right,” he says.  “Fine.  We’ll do it that way.” 

You bolt when he does, shrieking as you clamber around some equipment to get away.  You manage to escape to the foyer, cursing when the automatic lights flash on.  It feels like a spotlight, illuminating you in the middle of that big empty space with no where to hide. 

You can hear Felix stomping after you.  You scurry into the kitchen, looking around frantically for somewhere to hide. 

You yelp when he bursts in behind you.  This time, he does not give.   He grabs you roughly when you try to run again.  With very little effort, like you are scarcely more than a mild inconvenience, he lifts you off your feet and slings you over his shoulder.  He says nothing while you curse and squirm and slap his back. 

“You know what I wonder?” he eventually says, marching you right into the bedroom.  “I wonder… if I make you cry, is that gonna make you tighter, you think?”  He slides you down his body, holding you flush against him.  He smiles.  “Worth a shot, no?” 

And then he handcuffs your wrist to his wrist and tosses the key across the room.

“Oops,” he says. 

He grabs your throat and you gasp, spilling onto the bed when he pushes you.  He puts your on your back then straddles your chest, swiftly unbuttoning his jeans. 

“Open up,” he says, practically prying your mouth open, just giggling when you bite at him.  “If you bite me,” he says, two fingers shoved deep in your mouth, “I promise, I’ll give you something to be fucking scared of.” 

You were right.  You will never see the colour blue the same way again.  You will never be able to settle for anything less than Felix again. 

With a whimpery sigh, you relent, blissful as your mouth falls open.  He shoves his clothes out of his way, just enough.  He is rock hard and wet at the tip when he guides your mouth around his dick.  He cradles your head gently, even if the rest of him is not gentle.

You moan, your pussy literally twitching for attention as he shoves into your throat and makes your eyes water.  You take him well and he groans, pulsing in your mouth when tears start running down your face.  He fucks your mouth and throat, a back and forth that has your seeing stars.  Eventually he pulls back, laughing as runs his fingers through his hair. 

“Oh, baby,” he says.  He reaches down to wipe a tear.  “I wanted to do that the second you started mouthing off to me.”

“Asshole,” you say, though it comes out with a giggle. 

He laughs, sliding down your body to get between your legs. He gets your shorts and underwear out of his way, kissing across your pussy and up your stomach.  He lifts your shirt and crosses your breasts with his mouth, leaving little bite marks in his wake.

With the hand cuffed to yours, he interlocks your fingers sweetly, pressing it into the mattress.  Then he swoops up.  He kisses you, his tongue a soothing touch after everything. 

You moan, literally shaking with need as he smiles against your lips.   He speaks in that low, rasping voice when he says, “I can’t wait to see the look on your face when you realize you’re gonna come all over my cock.” 

“Oh god,” is your rough reply. 

“It’s Felix,” he says.  “You’re gonna be screaming it in a second, aren’t you, sweetheart?” 

He has a condom in his bedside drawer.  Though you see him put it on, he still leans down to dirty talk, holding your throat as he whispers, “Was gonna be nice and wrap it, but you don’t like it nice, do you?”  He spreads your legs with his own, pushing down with his hips.  You whimper when the head of his cock glides over where you are very wet and very needy.  “No, sweetheart,” he says.  “I’m gonna have all of you.  And you – are gonna – take it.” 

He punctuates this with short thrusts, gradually easing inside you.  You moan, canting your hips to meet him, needing more.  When he starts fucking you in earnest, your whole body gets pliant like it never has before.  You let him hold you, tethered to him by the handcuffs and something else, something to do with those feelings inside you.  You let them melt into the physical sensations.  When he touches you, working you into an orgasm while he is deep inside you, it all washes over you.  You come with a cry, screaming his name just like he said. 

“Yeah, that’s it,” he says.  Your bodies are flush together, chests touching, your legs wrapped tightly around his waist.  His face is in your neck when he laughs.  It is not a fake laugh, not coloured darkly, but ringing with true amusement.  “What’s your name?” he asks.

You laugh too, whispering it against his mouth when he leans in to kiss you.  He groans, kissing you, and says your name against your lips when he comes.  It binds you to him more effectively than the handcuffs. 

You lay there for some time afterward, all that pent-up adrenaline taking its time to dwindle.  He lays on your chest, your free hand in his hair, stroking it.  Eventually he looks at you with wide eyes. 

“I’m not, you know, like that, I mean—” he says. 

“I know,” you reply, massaging the nape of his neck.  You get uncharacteristically bashful.  Usually your partners, being more dominant, are the ones offering consolation to you, and you seldom need much.  Felix, you can tell, needs something, and it draws something out of you that you hardly knew existed.  Something tender and soft, that enjoys touching him and soothing him and making him smile. 

“Do you still have that, uh, feeling?” he later asks. 

You nod.  He smiles. 

“Me too,” he says. 

“That’s nice.  Can we get the handcuff key now?” you ask, making him laugh. 

The handcuffs end up on the floor with your clothes. 

This is usually the part where you run away, but you think you are done with running for a while.  You lay down with Felix, side by side, washed in the neon blue light.  You take a breath and roll onto his chest, resting your head there, and he runs a hand down your back in a soft caress. 

“I’m just glad I didn’t wax for no reason,” you break the silence, making him snort.  He slaps a hand over his face, shaking his head.  “What!  Don’t look at me like that or I’ll try and sneak into another concert when you’re on the clock.”

“Mm, will you?” he asks, grinning.  “I better be prepared.” 

“Oh no, I’m not messing with you.  I’m picking an easier target next time.”

“I’ll find you anyway,” he says.  “Can’t hide from me, sweetheart.”

“Hmm,” you say, hiding your face because that squishy feeling in your chest is back.  “I still won this round.” 

He lifts your face so he can look at you.  Your eyes close when he swoops in and kisses you.  You can’t even pretend to be annoyed with him anymore.  Vexatious vixen, indeed.   

“I think,” he says, “we might have tied this round, sweetheart.” 

“Fine,” you say.  You kiss again, long and sweet.  Then you bop him on the nose.  “But next time it’ll be me.”

He sighs but smiles, shaking his head.  Then he cups your face and pulls you in for another kiss.   

[just-brighteyes]

If only it were that simple...

AU fic snippet under the cut 👀

Finally, the formal event was over and Zelda allowed herself to be whisked away from the tiring night of politics. The rulers of each race and village, like Link, were unhappy with her Zelda's resumption of her traditional throne and the strained, yet polite, negotiations had worn her patience thin.

Though Link had been happy to return to duty as a royal guard and trusted confidant, his relationship with Zelda had become tense as he expressed his agreement with the rulers of Hyrule; the monarchy should be dissolved in favour of a council of representatives.

Walking through the gardens on the way back to her rooms, Zelda could feel his stare on the back of her neck.

"I know you don't agree with my ruling Hyrule, but you don't have to be so surly about it."

"Hm," came his non-committal response.

"I can't abandon the kingdom my father worked so hard to protect, even if he made my life a misery back then. I have to carry on his legacy, otherwise it was all for nothing."

She stopped walking and turned to face him. Link caught up and was standing close to her, the moon illuminated his tired and stern face as clear as day.

"Don't look at me like that, you know I have to rule so we can have peace in Hyrule."

His expression softened and he stepped forward, wrapping his arms around her in a familiar hug. He'd grown a few inches since the calamity, now a fully grown soldier, and she took comfort in these moments when they could be just Link and Zelda, not the Hero and the Princess.

After a moment, she felt him stiffen, as though he had made up his mind about something.

"What's wrong?"

"Abdicate," he said.

"What?"

He raised a gloved hand to her chin, tilting her face towards his. A warm glow dusted his tanned cheeks as he repeated,

"Abdicate. Hyrule has ruled itself for a hundred years, it can take care of itself. Then... maybe..." his voice quivered and failed.

Her ears burning, her eyes flicked unwillingly from his eyes to his mouth. How desperately she wanted to live the life he was boldly offering to her, finally giving voice to the tension that had been building for months.

He was offering her a simple life among the people where they could simply be. No critical decisions, no complex political events more dangerous than a battleground, no treaties to write or prisoners to sentence.

It was impossible.

"Link. You know why I can't..."

She knew it would happen. It hurt just the same.

Disappointment and hurt flashed across his handsome face, before his eyes hardened as he slipped back into his role as the perfect soldier. He dropped his hand and stepped back to a respectable distance.

"Very well, Princess."

"Link I-"

"It's late, your highness. Let me escort you to your rooms."

Evan as a man of few words, he had never been this formal with her, despite her numerous protests. She knew at this moment, she'd lost him.

[jujutsukaisenwriting]

JJK Characters Realizing They Start Falling for You [Pt.2]

Bonus: manga character in the end!

Choso:

Being one of the Death Paintings, he never experienced such feelings before. At first, he tries identifying it but fails. It’s more than friendship and more than simple protectiveness. After some time, he goes to Yuji and reluctantly asks for advice.

Grumpy and aloof by nature, Choso starts with tiny steps: sitting a bit closer to you than usually, talking to you more often or even doing small acts of service like holding the door for you.

He actually has lots of passion, emotions and affection inside and with you around, he feels more in touch with these emotions than ever.

Is very sweet and once opening up, will blow you away with his wit and humor.

Will surely take some time to mentally prepare for asking you out since a) he doesn't believe he has a chance and b) has super low self esteem in terms of being a romantic partner.

Takes you to a quiet place where he can gather his thoughts. Is surprisingly straightforward though and just admits he likes you and would like to get to know you more.

INSTANT SMILE OF RELIEF

Cups your face and stares in your eyes with a huge goofy smile, not quite comprehending what just happened.

Yuta:

Since he had a history with Rika, at first he brushes off any thoughts of potential love interests.

However, you make it hard for him not to pay attention to the way you laugh, carry yourself, or spar.

Opens up with you more, replacing his shy facade with his true, ingenious and passionate self.

He finds it fascinating how easy it is to talk to you and just be around you, with no need to pretend or stay alert.

Is actually a very protective type and it will show almost instantly. He will always make sure you are safe and comfortable but he won't be obtrusive at all.

One day just asks you to join him and spend some time in an amusement park. While walking, will casually drop the "I quite like you" line and will smile softly, talking your hand.

From the start, he never doubted in your answer and now smiles in quiet confidence.

Toji:

Needless to say, the man is super reserved so at first, he will just act as his usual self: keeping the distance and occasionally glancing at your side with a frown.

Is annoyed at himself because he never thought he’d be interested in another person again. Apparently, you found your way under his skin.

Toji knows how to be a husband but has forgotten how to be a boyfriend so he’ll have hard time figuring out where to start.

Are flowers okay? What do people even do these days? Should he take you out somewhere?

His rage surprisingly dissolves in your presence and he cherishes this feeling though never admits it out loud.

Will take you to a secluded and quiet restaurant and will simply state that yes, he’d love to… try this whole…relationship thing with you.

Geto:

Usually has no trouble asking someone out or simply flirting but finds himself at loss of words in your presence.

It’s weird and he both likes it and feels a bit embarrassed.

Is a type to observe you from the distance and make mental notes on your behavior and habits. He doesn’t stalk though: he is just hesitant to approach you yet.

Is amused by the way you laugh or fix your hair and smiles softly and admires you quietly

Loves to touch you, be it holding your hand occasionally or brushing a strand of hair from your face.

Will probably ask you out while you two share a quiet and cozy evening. Something like stargazing together sounds like a perfect start for your blooming relationship.

“I’m not used to needing someone as much as I need you, but I’ll be honored if you decide to give it a try and become my partner”

Higuruma:

Not really a romance type of guy and has never been pursuing a relationship, prioritising work.

Is caught off guard by the sight of you. His eyes open widely and his whole expression changes as if the veil, that’s been hiding his features, was finally lifted.

Tries to rationalise his feelings and emotions. Like, he should control them, right? Logic should be above it all?

In your presence, acts in a rather sharp manner, trying to hide nervousness.

Old-school romance is his style. One day, he will just show up with a huge bouquet of flowers, assembled specifically to your liking.

Will be brutally honest like “I don’t know why I’m feeling this way but I’d rather spend evening with you than by myself”

Will actually open up and as it turns out, has a wonderful sense of humor and lots of witty stories that he will gladly share.

Note though that he is a perfect listener. This man is genuinely interested in your day, your mood and your thoughts.

He wants to become part of your life and is willing to work on any complexities that might arise.

[hotchner-edu]

Linger | Hotch x Ghost!Reader 

Synopsis: Aaron comes back home after a minor head injury with the ability to see the ghost that's been living in his home.

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x Ghost!Reader

Warnings: age gap (unspecified, hinted), fluff, angst (?), this one got away from me a bit—

Winter was finally melting away into spring, the fluttering of bright green leaves outside the living room window told you as much. Your gaze is directed away from the dancing leaves and toward the toddler sitting at the kitchen table, coloring in some pictures as his aunt watches over him with a small smile. 

You sigh and drift around aimlessly in the living room, feeling a small sense of panic slowly blooming through your chest, sticking like honey to your lungs. Finally, you hear the clumsy clicking of locks and muffled thumping coming from the front door. 

The dull atmosphere of the home is immediately replaced with excitement as the two other occupants of the home move away from the kitchen and toward the front door as it swings open, multiple voices ringing out simultaneously. 

“Hotch, man, slow down, you’re going to land yourself back in the hospital.” A man grunts out as he slowly enters the home and sets down some bags and a briefcase— evidently not his by the way he subtly stares at it in confusion, mumbling something about its weight. 

“I’m fine.” Hotch sighs softly and enters next, his face immediately splitting into a fond smile as the toddler hurries toward him with a squeal of excitement. You note the butterfly bandages on his forehead, a sizeable cut running down from the front of his forehead to his temple. “Hey buddy!” He greets with a relieved sigh as he crouches down to hug his son. 

“And no hug for me, little man?” The other man jokes and chuckles, watching the both of them. 

“Uncle Morgan!” Jack says excitedly and slips out of his father’s grip to hug the man’s legs. 

As the two hug, you feel a wave of calmness washing over you. Hotch stands back up and steps further into the house. “Thank you for taking care of him, Jess.” He nods at the woman and in the next moment, you’re rooted to the spot you’re standing in as his eyes lock with yours. 

He frowns a bit and his eyes flash in faint recognition. He turns to Jessica and mumbles a bit, “Who’s this? A friend of yours?” 

Jessica stares at him in confusion and briefly turns her head to sweep her gaze across the room. “Who’s who?” She asks him, her eyes looking right through you as she assesses the living room. 

“You didn’t tell me you were inviting anyone else over.” His voice is a bit guarded, clearly very cautious about strangers around his son, but still tinged with kindness as he gives you a small nod of acknowledgement. 

“There’s no one else here, Aaron.” She says bluntly, her face a mask of concern as she looks at his head injury. 

Morgan, having let go of his hug with Jack, glances at the man and frowns in worry. “You sure you’re good, Hotch?” 

Aaron takes a long blink and keeps staring at you, as if willing you to dissolve into thin air, before he coughs softly and nods. “Yes, I’m alright. Must’ve been a bit dizzy for a moment.” 

The other two adults don’t look too convinced, but they brush it aside as Jack excitedly asks if they can have a movie night now that his father is home from the hospital. Morgan declines with a look of regret as he states he has a few statements he needs to fill out back at the bureau, and gives Jack another hug before telling Aaron to give him a call if anything happens. 

Aaron still stares right at you and you frown a bit before walking out of the living room and up the stairs, wanting to flee from his sudden attention on you. A few minutes go by, and you hear the front door open and shut again before you hear the familiar footsteps climbing up the stairs and nearing where you were. 

You’re lingering by Aaron’s bedroom door, watching him curiously as he stops in his tracks and stares at you again. 

“You can see me.” It’s not a question and rather a statement, but you can’t help but let the shock slip into your tone. 

He frowns a bit. "You're... real."

You nod slowly and watch him cautiously to see how he's going to react.

"You're a ghost." He states in a matter of fact tone, no longer seeming surprised.

You clear your throat softly. "Yes."

An unsettling silence settles between you both as you see the gears turning in his head, clearly still trying to process everything.

“Can I ask your name?” He asks and steps toward you, a bit wary again. 

You momentarily hesitate, but when you softly tell him your name, you see the same flash of recognition that flickered through his eyes earlier. “Do you know me?” 

He doesn’t respond to your question, and he looks over your shoulder for a moment, clearly in thought, before glancing back at you and speaking. “How long have you been here?” 

“A while.” You answer vaguely, not ready to tell him how you’ve been wandering around his home since before he was legally declared a widower. “Honestly, time is a blur.” You say softly. 

“Are you... stuck here?” He asks more kindly and slowly approaches his bedroom door, stepping around you even when he didn’t have to, and walking inside. He glances back at you to let you know you still have his attention.

You linger in the doorway and nod a bit. “Yes, in a way.” You mumble. 

Aaron gives you a small amused glance and nods. “In a way.” He echoes before contemplating something. “Then... it should be okay. Just… don’t hurt or scare Jack.” His sudden serious tone catches you by surprise, but you nod in understanding and agreement. 

“I would never.” You answer softly. 

From then, you peacefully cohabitate with him in the Hotchner home, watching over the two Hotchner’s and bathing in the feeling of peace and happiness they fill the house with. 

You're surprised that Aaron elects to acknowledge your existence in the following days, often making small talk and telling you about his team, even going as far as to give you a heads up when he had to leave for days at a time for cases.

Peering at his shuffling figure curiously, you lean against the doorframe as you watch him grabbing his go-bag, his movements fluid and almost rehearsed.

"Where to this time?" You ask and nod toward his dresser. "Don't forget your phone."

"Portland." He quickly snatches the device and nods to you in thanks before stopping in front of you and furrowing his eyebrows a bit. "I'll be back in a few days."

"Don't worry about it." You wave your hand dismissively.

"Take care of yourself." He orders softly, giving you a strict look.

You shake your head and wave him off as you walk down the hall to walk him out of the house. "Just stay safe out there, Aaron."

Over the next few weeks, you continue trailing by Aaron’s side and watching him do chores, sneaking whispers with each other when Jack was around as to not alert him. 

“It would be funny. It would show him that it’s okay to have invisible friends even at such an old age.” You joke and tease, huffing proudly at your own comment when you see the playful glare he gives you. You’re sitting on the kitchen counter, watching as he begins to prepare lunch for him and Jack on one of his rare days off. 

He shakes his head a bit and looks over his shoulder to see Jack watching television in the living room. “Very funny, young lady.” He shoots back mockingly. 

“Never call me that again.” You say with a horrified frown, shuddering dramatically. “Anyway, Jack is super excited for you to come see the play he’s in next week. He was telling Jessica about it yesterday.” 

“Oh? I’ll have to tell him that my invisible friend is spying on him.” Aaron hums softly, evidently not letting go of your initial jab at him. 

You roll your eyes and watch as he nearly slices his thumb off while cutting the tomato. “And you’ll also have to clap for him with nine-and-a-half fingers if you keep that up.” You smile cheekily at the withering look he gives you, one carrying no heat or threat.

On an early spring morning, you’re aimlessly wandering the corridor of the second floor when you’re startled by Aaron. “Your pacing woke me up.” 

You swivel your head to face him and smile a bit, looking at his disheveled sleep clothes and tired face. “Hearing things, are we, Aaron?” You tease softly, knowing you weren't able to produce any audible noises aside from talking. 

“I hope not. But really, it’s almost as though I can sense your restlessness. Don’t you ever rest at night?” Aaron grumbles fondly and yawns, his morning voice lowering so as to not disturb Jack’s slumber just down the hall. 

“Nope. I’m bored though.” You shrug and walk toward his bedroom doorway as he slips back inside the room, walking toward his briefcase. “Working already? It’s your day off…” You ask in surprise and tilt your head. 

“Just brushing up on a case.” He answers back and glances up at you, eyes lingering on your face with an inscrutable expression before he’s flipping open some case files and gathering them into his arms. 

You nod and tap the doorway with your knuckles, no noise emitting from the small action despite how rapidly you rapt your knuckles against the wood. 

“You always linger.” Aaron comments, attention back on you as he stands by the foot of his bed. 

“Not much else for me to do.” You chuckle softly and smile, a resigned bitterness coating your words. 

“Come here.” Aaron says quietly, looking at you like he was picking apart your every microexpression— profiling you, from what you’ve learned from him. 

Frowning a bit, you look at your feet and back into his bedroom. “You’re inviting me in?” 

“Yes.” He nods and waits for you. “Are ghosts like vampires? You can’t come in until invited?” He quips, joking a bit with you as he can see your reluctance. 

“No, I’m just a polite ghost.” You laugh breathlessly before slowly stepping into his bedroom, slowly enveloped by a creeping warmth within yourself when you cross the threshold. 

You gaze at Aaron as he stares back at you, and you step closer to him. “My team and I will be in California tomorrow.” He whispers, suddenly serious and carrying the firm look you’ve associated with him when he’s plagued by his thoughts and burdens of being the unit chief. 

“For how long?” You ask curiously and glance down at the files in his arms. 

“For however long it takes.” He seems a bit hesitant as he continues, voice marred with a bit of unease. 

You slowly reach for him, hand hovering over his wrist. It was the first time either of you had ever tried to initiate contact, keeping up an unspoken boundary between you both until now. When your hand gently lands on his skin, you can feel his warmth— his life. 

“Can you feel me?” You ask faintly, seeking an answer that will never come. 

Aaron doesn’t respond to your question, but brings his free hand up to hover over your hand, feeling nothing of your apparition, yet gazing down at you as if your touch carries the same warmth as his. “You asked me if I recognized you that day I came back from the hospital.”

You say nothing, eyes still fixed on his hand that looked as though it was resting atop of yours. 

“I did…” He whispers and leans his head down a bit to try and catch your eyes, clearly trying to convey something significant to you. “Honey.” 

His sudden pet name for you has you raising your gaze up. 

He continues, voice still gentle, “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Is that why you’re going to California so suddenly?” You finally muster up the words to reply, a sinking feeling blanketing any previous feelings of contentment you felt. 

“Yes. I put in a request to reopen your case.” He replies and his hand moves from yours and toward your face, fingers shaking a bit as they inch closer. 

“Why?” You immediately ask, not fond of recalling the events that led to your current state. “To find my body?” 

“And to find the person who did this to you.” He whispers back, eyes pleading with you to understand. "It's why you're stuck here, right? You need me to solve your case."

"I don't need you to do anything." You respond weakly, torn between letting him proceed with his goal and trying to dissuade him.

Aaron's eyes flicker across your face and you can see the pain in his expression. "I have to."

“If this is something you want so bad, then why do you look like you’re about to die while you’re telling me this?” You move your hand from his arm to rest it against his cheek, watching as he closes his eyes as if to imagine how your touch would feel. 

“Because it means you might move on.” 

It takes Aaron and the rest of the BAU team almost six days to solve your cold case. While investigating the unsub, they discovered the bodies of numerous other victims before you, all of them previously deemed as missing persons.

The team doesn’t comment on Aaron's sudden urgency to reopen and solve the case, but they’re certainly more keen to question him when he works himself down to the bone in those five days, unrelenting in his efforts as he barely sleeps or eat.

It was clearly a personal case for him, but the team couldn’t figure out why for the life of them.

The man responsible, a man a bit older than him and waist-deep in an alcohol addiction, glares into Aaron’s eyes as he’s being detained and spits out words that haunt him the rest of the way back to Quantico. 

“You’ll never find her now.” 

Aaron hated to admit how deep those words struck him. In more ways than one, the man was right. Despite solving the case and discovering several more victims and their bodies, the only known victim they had been unable to locate was you. 

And now, he was going to lose you.

Aaron tries to delay going home that night when they get back, wondering if you felt alone when you moved on, and if you thought of him in those moments.

When he opens his front door, he’s steeling his nerves for disappointment— for that familiar biting feeling of loneliness and loss that you’d managed to eclipse in the span of time he’d been able to see you. 

“Welcome back, you look like hell.” 

Your voice has him snapping his gaze up, briefcase dropping to the floor beside his shoes. 

There you were, standing by the couch and smiling softly, eyes full of relief and longing.

His heart is racing and he’s staring at you like you're the only source of respite for him in a life so hellbent on testing him in every way. 

He says your name like a prayer before his lips part again in disbelief.

“It’s good to be home.” He finally responds while smiling at you, eyes a bit misty. 

And he meant it in more ways than one, in ways that escaped you, because how could you ever know that he’s found peace within you—how he’s made himself a home in your every glance and whisper. 

[arcielee]

the salver & the sword

paring: Suguru Geto x reader summary: Prince Satoru Gojo sends his trusted general, and friend, across the kingdom to retrieve the girl who saved him when he was a boy. You loathe the idea of having your life uprooted on the whim of some faraway prince, and General Suguru Geto is determined to see through his prince's command, by whatever means. word count: 2.8k+ warnings: AFAB reader, the threat of marriage, mostly just the beginning seeds of slow burn! author's note: This has been thrumming inside of my head since I finished jjk. Thank you for much @thenameswinter99 for reading this over and allowing me to ramble on and on about this au. 💜

Chapter I ~ The Beginning

“My lady, you have been chosen. You have been summoned by the crowned prince, Satoru Gojo.”

You blinked and looked up from where you were kneeling, your brow furrowing at the fairytale being spoken. The news of the broken engagement between the crowned prince and Princess Iori Utahime was something that seared throughout the kingdom, spreading to the outer borders to where even your village was tittering away with their speculation on what had happened. 

What followed was the royal decree from the queen, stating her only son must find a wife. It was also said she was furious of the spectacle he made it to be–but again, these were just the rumors shared amongst the commonfolk. 

It was not anything you bothered to dwell on, but that was before your garden was shadowed by the two men now standing before you. 

You focused on the one who was closer and he shifted under your scrutiny, an almost orchestra of the Queensguard armor that he wore, polished and glinting in the sunlight. He held onto his helmet, sweat beading at his hairline and his cheeks rosy. His eyes were wide and he looked towards the other man who accompanied him, waiting.  

The other man watching you was the renowned General Suguru Geto, friend of the crowned prince and his personal guard. He was as captivating as the stories; tall and lithe, unadorned by armor but wearing the queen’s sigil embossed on a leather cuirass across his broad chest, over his tunic. His black hair fell past his shoulders, some falling in his eyes that burned through you. 

Any other woman would have an array of emotions to pull for such a moment as this: perhaps an initial coy surprise followed by acceptance, the fantasy of becoming a princess staining their cheeks as their practiced bashfulness surfaced. 

Instead, you frowned. “Why,” you asked them, your tone flat. 

“Why?” The first man echoed but an octave higher. His eyes darted back to the general, bright with his disbelief at your question.

You also looked back to the general and saw the ghost of a smirk playing on his lips. You held your gaze, contemplating him. You were almost certain it had to be the general, seeing the two distinct features always mentioned with his lore. 

The first was the broadsword that was strapped to his backside, its gleaming handle peering over his shoulder. A stone was embedded into the pommel, and its ever-changing iridescent coloring was said to be an enchantment, a sentience to this weapon. It was legend crafted–the tale of a sword capable of cutting through anyone or anything, as long as it was wielded by someone deemed worthy. 

And Geto was said to be just that: worthy. 

It was the sword you first recalled, followed by his eyes that bore through you, heating your blood beneath; the murmured moniker of the purple-eyed demon, as given by his enemies. 

The very same who now was smirking at your skepticism. 

You chose to break the silence. “Yes,” you pressed your palms into the soft earth, pushing yourself to stand and face them both, “I am aware, as anyone, of the mess that followed a very public…” you took a moment to settle on a word, “...dissolvement between the prince and the princess. But what I fail to understand is why he would then decide to marry me?” 

Geto continued to watch you with a quiet contemplation while the other man was quick to answer you, beaming. “The prince said that you saved his life!” 

Your kindness was your curse; you closed your eyes with an inward groan. “But that was a lifetime ago,” you argued. 

In fact it had happened almost eighteen years prior. This had been when you and your father lived more centrally to the capital, in a humble cottage by the river winding throughout the city. You had been outside when you heard someone fall in, his wail and frantic splash had you rushing to pull him from the water. 

You remembered the matted mess of his white hair, the celestial blue of his eyes that was a known trait in the royal family–Prince Satoru Gojo. He shivered through his wet clothes, confessing to running away, with his plea pitiful: please don’t tell my mother. 

This memory evaporated and instead, you said: “Who would even remember that?” 

“Prince Satoru does!” He was still grinning.

You refrained from rolling your eyes. “But what if I do not wish to go and marry Prince Satoru?” 

He looked incredulous, wilting back towards Geto, desperate for any guidance on how to handle this woman he clearly thought mad. The general remained quiet.

The knight looked back to you, past you, and nodded his head towards your home, a different decorum this time. “He said he only wished to reward the woman who saved him,” his words tactfully chosen, “and that he wished to liberate you from your life of poverty.” 

You recoiled, fury alight in your eyes. The poverty he was referring to was the bit of land that had been left by your father. It had been purchased with the reward given when the queen came to retrieve her son; it was enough to start anew, to find a home that was not so haunted. 

It was why you returned to the north, closer to the border of the Ryomen Kingdom, with enough leftover to build your home. 

It was here that your father rebuilt his reputation as an esteemed salver. He spent his days helping any ailment, and his evenings spent notating his accumulated knowledge of remedies in a leather bound book embossed: Atsumeru.

You shadowed him and he was happy to show you everything he knew, proud of your keen eye that could decipher the differences in herbs. He bought you a mortar and pestle, a smoky agate, teaching you healing concoctions that he used. He taught you to read, to write, and he brought you along to every house call, praising your aptitude to help instill your own repute. 

But despite all this, there was still a hesitation after your father passed away, a rough transition when you stepped into the void he left behind.  

You had your maternal determinations seeded in your bones, and it allowed you to recarve your niche back within the village. They, inevitably, learned to show you the same respect reserved for your father. 

It was not a rich life, not anything you could expect someone of a higher social status could comprehend, but you found comfort with its simplicity, a satisfaction when you were able to help those in need. There was a warmth that coiled in your chest as you continued the work your father devoted himself to; he felt alive whenever your cursive writing knitted into his detailed notes, forever bonded. 

Your father gifted your independence and you would be damned before you allowed yourself 

to be ripped away because some prince almost drowned. 

And this is exactly what you said to them. 

The knight was pained with your declaration. “My lady,” he licked his lips, nervous, “I am afraid that I have been commanded to bring you back with me…” 

Your boldness would not hear him. “You may inform your prince that I am pleased he never fell victim to another body of water.” You were already in motion, scooping up the half-filled wicker basket to balance on your hips, honeysuckle and lavender curling in the autumn air. “And you tell him that I am declining his offer, that I am choosing to remain in my poverty.” 

You meant to storm back into your home, to shut and bar the door, but you forgot about the general until he reached to catch your elbow. Your fury brimmed as you turned to face him and his amethyst eyes glowed. 

“My lady,” his voice was soft, low, but resolute, “I apologize, but I will see my prince’s command to the very end, even if this means I must throw you over my shoulder and carry you back.” 

You hated the heat that licked your stomach with his threat, something that spawned from his strong but careful touch. You forced yourself to glare back at him. “I…” but whatever venom that was poised on your tongue stopped. 

One of them heavily armed was an issue, but facing both was impossible. And even if you somehow succeeded, where could you even run to? Your entire life was ingrained into the very earth you were standing on, and they had been commanded to uproot you, to return you back to Prince Satoru as if you were a prize and not a person. 

What choice did you truly have?

Your shoulders slumped and you swallowed thickly. “Would he force me?” You wished your voice did not sound so small. 

His face softened with your words, a dawning revelation that relaxed his hold on you. “My lady, the prince is a proud man, but I swear he would never force himself on anyone. He only wishes for an answer.” Geto paused, a grimace flickering across his sharp features. “But in person.” 

You sighed, pulling at his fingers until his hand dropped back to his side. “Very well, I will come with you but only so I may tell Prince Gojo that I have no intention of marrying him. However,” you looked back over your garden, the molds you placed in the shade of the banyan trees, your hard work half done, “I request that I at least sell my stock at the charter market. It is my only source of income and it is how I am able to stock up to prepare for winter illnesses.” 

They both stared at you. Geto and his curiosity that knitted his brows together, his careful consideration to what you just shared, while the knight looked as confused as ever; he opened his mouth first. “Winter illnesses…?”  

You grit your teeth, caging you irritation, and explained, “I am a healer in this region. I help those who need it.” You paused, a smirk. “Like your prince, for example.” 

“You cannot expect to make him wait–” 

“You and the general are welcomed to help me, if you wish to leave sooner. But you know the market visits each region annually and I will not abandon my stock to traipse across the kingdom on a fool’s errand.”

He imploded. “He is a decorated general of the Queensguard! How can you expect–!” 

“Haibara,” Geto cut through, not by raising his voice but still commanding nonetheless; Haibara straightened his spine. The general looked you over, deciding to test your resolve. “And if we choose to see through what I just said?” 

You blinked. His tone was teasing you, his amusement returning with an upwards tick of his lips. “If you decide to drag me away,” you faced him, daring him, “I vow that I will not make the journey easy, by any means necessary.” 

Geto chuckled, unbothered. “Very well then. Haibara,” his focus returned to the knight while yours fell rapt to watch as the general began to unbuckle his harness to set his blade aside; his long and slender fingers were quick to unlace his chest piece, lifting it over his head before he began to roll up his sleeves, “you will return and tell Satoru that we found her and I will be bringing her back myself.”  

Haibara was flustered pink. “But what will you…?” 

“I will remain at her side, helping with the harvest or the market or whatever chores are needed to be done in order for her to willingly come with me.” 

He was incredulous. “You are truly going to help her?” 

You were equally surprised, still watching as Geto knotted his dark hair at the base of his neck, pulling it away from his face. “This is what I just said,” he looked back at you and you swore his eyes glittered. “If this is the only way I can see through to what my prince commanded–”

“Otherwise, I will be kicking and biting the whole way.” You could not stop your tongue. 

Geto grinned. “Then what choice do I have?” 

+ + + +

It was a myth: a sword said to be forged by the immortals, an impenetrable steel that could cut down the gods themselves. It could not be controlled, but you could hope to be worthy to wield the blade. Over time many tried, many undeserving souls that were cursed by its touch before it would disappear again, waiting, waiting. 

At the time Suguru Geto was a young man unknown, with only his loyalty to the crown and to his friend, Prince Satoru Gojo. He was a strong and fearsome fighter, with piercing amethyst eyes always watching, which was how he spotted the pommel and its chromatic glint of purples and blues. 

At the time war was rampant with the neighboring kingdom. Its new, brash king, Sukuna of the Ryomen Kingdom, rallied to expand past the borders that had been respected the last century, guided by his bloodlust and his greed.

It was said that Geto claimed the sword and the purple-eyed demon became legend embodied, worthy to wield this great power and halt the invasion. 

And now, this same sword and its iridescent stone was glittering in the sunlight.

You were quick to realize several things about the notorious General Suguru Geto. The first was the palpable respect he commanded. It was not bold, but his veritable demeanor that thrummed deep within, his careful composure with every action that had you enthralled. 

You saw it with how the knight Haibara did leave as he was told. His hesitation was set aside and he climbed aback one of the horses they rode it on. He left just as the general instructed. 

You watched as the horse climbed back up the slope that led down to your home, leaving you alone with the general. “So then, where should I begin?” Geto asked. 

The second was how you learned the genuineness behind every question, that the general was not a man for idle conversation. At first, you were almost uneasy with how his eyes settled onto you, the amethyst that shone bright as he listened to you explain the method to the chaos that surrounded you both. 

It was his sincerity with his question that followed that made you smile. “But what is it called?” 

Bars of soap was an endeavor your father poured himself into. He believed that hygiene was a vital aspect for maintaining good health and overall well-being. You remembered watching as he carved the molds into the thick, wooden planks, the outside decorated with jars and pots to collect the rainwater, the constant smolder of hardwood to collect its ashes. 

He allowed you to choose the scents, honeysuckle and rosemary and lavender planted in the garden outside. He showed you how to spud the cassia bark, claiming the pungent sweet and spicy favorite to add. 

You smiled from these. “It is cheap to make them,” you finished, gesturing around, “but it can also tedious.” 

The banyan leaves had been cut and were soaking, which would have them more malleable to allow you to wrap the bars individually and tie them with twine. Sprigs of its scent were slipped under the knot to decipher the smells easier. You showed this to the general and your curious eyes watched his slender fingers recreated, wrapping and knotting the string, tucking a lavender stem with care.

You burned with the intrusive thought of how many lives were taken by these same hands. 

But as the day waned away, you could admit that you found his company endearing. You enjoyed his soft cadence of questions, asking in detail about your life. In return, you pittered and pulled at his practiced stoicism, a sense of satisfaction to be rewarded with his small smile instead of another damn smirk. 

“Where is the charter market held in this region?” 

It was less than half a day’s walk on foot, but that had been before, considering the wicker basket you filled to the brim and carried. His brow raised. “By yourself?” 

You scoffed. “I am stronger than I look.” 

“I believe that.” 

You burned, quick to look away from the teasing curl of his mouth, and you mentioned the old buggy you had despite no longer having a horse for it. Geto offered his own and helped you load multiple wicker baskets, preparing to leave first thing the next morning.

The supper prepared was modest but savory, with a quieter tension settling over, the thought as to where you would have the general sleep. He suggested first that he would post to watch over the cart and stock.  

“Outside?” You could not help but ask. 

Another smirk. “I am stronger than I look.” 

And as you laid in bed, processing your day, your mind eventually wandered back to the general outside and his perpetual smirk, to the purple that shone bright in his eyes. 

arcie's navi | jjk masterlist the salver & the sword masterlist

[penkura]

last forever [9/13]

Summary: Zoro only offered to marry you to keep you out of an arranged marriage with a man much older than you. You agreed with the caveat of ending it via annulment once you received word from your parents regarding the original engagement, despite your growing feelings for your close friend.

Pairing: Zoro x Fem!reader, mentioned Sanami later (like epilogue later so chill)

Warnings: Marriage of Convenience, Fake Marriage, referenced sex (waaaaaay later on), mutual pining, Zoro is bad at feelings but what's new there, eventual romance I promise, mention of past attempted assault (I'll warn in that chapter), creepy older dude later on

Note: Post-timeskip, go let's go. Of course, they're a little older now, we know Zoro is 21, so Reader is now 20. :) This chapter IS shorter than the others that are left, but that just means we're getting into the better parts of the story. I really can't wait for you all to see what's next. :)

Taglist:

@misfits1a

[Ch. 1] ● [Ch. 2] ● [Ch. 3] ● [Ch. 4] ● [Ch. 5] ● [Ch. 6] ● [Ch. 7] ● [Ch. 8]

It’s been a long time since you’ve felt such strong anxiety about seeing people, not since the last time you’d met with your parents’ chosen fiancé for you, but it’s come back in spades at the thought of seeing your crew again after two years.

At the thought of seeing Zoro again, more than anything.

The thought of him deciding to dissolve your marriage when he sees you again is the main source of your anxiety, what you try to push away as you leave the lovely group of swordswomen who took care of you for the last two years, those who you’d told about your situationship with Zoro wishing you the best as they dropped you off. You hope no one is jinxing anything, but still feel nervous every time you see someone or something that could be Zoro as you go about, looking for things to purchase and for your friends.

When Nami and Usopp find you, the happiness between the three of you makes all your worries and anxieties dissipate for the time being. Both hug you so tightly, a three-person group hug, you almost cry out of happiness at seeing them again, before Nami starts fawning over how you look so much stronger yourself. She can’t believe how different you seem! She adores your outfit of course, a fitted tank top with knee-length shorts to match and ankle boots, your beloved sword from Elias still attached to your hip. You tell her how wonderful she looks, giving Usopp the same compliment as the three of you start making your way towards Sunny, running into a distraught Chopper who you’re able to calm down after an explanation of the fake Starw Hats on Sabaody.

Chopper gives you a big hug and lets you carry him the rest of the way, its like you have a child but you don’t mind it. You’ll baby Chopper all he wants, it’s the least you can do after he’d taken such great care of you all as your crew’s doctor before you were separated.

Once you make it to Sunny, you’re glad to see your ship and home is safe, and receive compliments from Franky and Robin regarding how more grown up you look. You are twenty now, after all, but it makes you smile shyly and your face feel warm as you thank them both.

After Chopper leaves to retrieve the missing members of your crew once Brook arrives, you start to feel your anxiety creep in again, Robin noticing right away and giving you a soft smile.

“Zoro will be glad to see you again.”

“You,” you gulp a bit, smiling nervously now, “you think so?”

“I do. You two have been close since I’ve been with everyone, I’m sure he’ll be happy to see you’re well.”

You really do hope Robin is right, especially when you hear Chopper calling for you all, the large bird he’d left on returning now with Luffy, Sanji, and Zoro aboard as well. You surprise yourself by not crying when you see Zoro, instead grinning brightly and joining Usopp at waving widely to the three of them, shouting their names.

It slightly catches Zoro off guard to see you so happy, but still makes him keep his own smile on his face when he sees you. Robin is correct, though Zoro doesn’t know that, but he is truly glad to see you’re fine, you look so much stronger than two years ago, and seeing how you keep yourself up on your feet when Luffy flings himself down to give you a hug, he’s even more impressed. He wants, needs, to talk to you alone, but after making it on deck, Luffy still hasn’t let you go, Zoro realizes its going to be a bit before he can take you elsewhere to talk, especially so once Sanji recovers from his nosebleed and also gives you a hug. He turns to fawning over you like Nami did, telling you how lovely you look.

Zoro can’t disagree with that statement.

He gives you time with Sanji, who continues to talk to you and tries to tell you about his own two years, until he notices you’re constantly glancing past him, and he knows exactly why.

Sanji smiles at you, before taking you by the shoulder and pushing you towards Zoro, essentially telling you to go see your husband already, he’s been waiting for you to be free so you could talk maybe. It makes you smile at him before you finally walk over to Zoro, who had turned to leaning against the rail with his arms crossed and eyes closed, until you tap his shoulder and he opens his one good eye to see you.

“Hey there.”

“Hey.”

You feel nervous, for some reason, before you notice the scar over his left eye finally and tilt your head.

“What happened with your eye?”

“Training accident,” Shrugging, Zoro stands up straight and you realize he’s gotten slightly taller in the last two years, he notices the same for you but you’re still shorter than him, “Come with me for a bit, yeah?”

Nodding, you follow Zoro up to the crow’s nest, the two of you briefly talking about your two years. You’re amazed to hear he trained under Mihawk, while Zoro is beyond impressed you ended up in a village for swordswoman. He knew you looked stronger, he can’t wait to see how much better you’ve become with your sword.

Once you’re both in the crow’s nest, before you can say anything else, Zoro surprises you this time but hugging you as tightly as he can, which you return once you’ve shaken off the shock that he’s initiated this. You thought the two years would make the two of you drift apart, not being around each other or anything, but perhaps you’d just been paranoid the whole time.

Don’t cry, I don’t want to cry right now…

“I missed you.”

He’s making it difficult for you not to cry, so you just nod a bit, biting your tongue to keep from crying.

“I missed you too, Zoro…”

Neither of you say anything for a while, you’re impressed the rest of your crew hasn’t tried to bother and bring you both back down with everyone, but you’re also grateful for it. You both need this, just some time together, time alone, it’s probably not enough time to discuss your marriage and what’s next, but you don’t really care that much.

“I…I love you…”

Zoro nods, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead briefly.

“I know.”

That’s enough for you right now, it still makes you smile up at him, before you frown a bit, causing Zoro to raise an eyebrow at you.

“My parents…they still want me to go back and marry him…”

“Oh yeah?”

You nod, staying quiet for a moment before you sigh and lay your head back against his chest and gripping his top while he strokes your hair a bit. He may not agree with what you’re about to say, but after two and a half years, your marriage could only be ended by divorce, a thought you’ve hated since this came into being. You even hated the thought of the annulment plans, and now, you two only had the choices of divorcing or staying married.

“I don’t want a divorce…”

“We’re not gonna. Not now,” Zoro hugs you a little tighter, one arm around your shoulders and the other around your waist as he gives you a kiss on the top of your head, “I won’t let anyone take you away from the crew, even if we stay married forever.”

“Thank you…thank you so, so much, Zoro…”

“Of course. I’d never let anyone force you into anything, wife.”

+!+

You think Fishman Island was one of the fastest “get to city enter battle” events you’ve experienced do far, maybe second only to Sabaody. Your crew was separated almost immediately, you ended up with Nami and she took you to the shops right away, demanding discounts and trying to put cute clothes on you, things she swears Zoro would probably like to see you in with a grin while you shy away and push her off a bit. Admitting to her and Robin that you’re in love with Zoro might have been a mistake, but at least you have people to talk to about the situation.

Of course, though, nothing is easy as a member of the Straw Hats and you all quickly are defending the Ryugyu Kingdom from Hordy Jones, fighting off masses of Fishmen to protect yourselves and the innocent citizens of the kingdom.

While you don’t take out anywhere near as many enemies as Zoro or Sanji, you still fight enough to help keep them at bay, getting some compliments post-battle from your crewmates and some of the citizens. It makes you feel both shy and proud at the same time, your two years of training weren’t a waste after all, even Zoro can see the changes in your fighting style and how well your attacks land now. You don’t look as nervous as you used to either, despite the confidant air you’d put on back then. The little bout you two had when you asked to stay with him, he saw you shaking so badly because you were scared but also still recovering from being sick, you tried your best and Zoro could see that, it’s part of why he had no problem with you following him, especially once you let him start teaching you more about swordsmanship.

You’ve definitely improved from the shaky, scared girl he met four years ago.

You feel like Zoro hasn’t changed at all, despite the scar over his left eye and definitely becoming bulkier, he was still the same to you. Still makes your heart flutter when you watch him fight, he still checks on you after fights, it makes you happy to see he’s still the same. He’s still Zoro, of course he wouldn’t change.

“Hey, come with me for a minute.”

During the celebration that’s being thrown for you all as thanks for saving Fishman Island, Zoro takes your hand leads you off again, just the two of you. It makes you comment that if he keeps taking you away from everyone, someone is going to get the wrong idea, but Zoro just shrugs it off. He doesn’t really care what others think still, you’ve always known that.

Once you’re far enough away from everyone, he guides you to sit beside him before surprising you with what he says next.

“We should talk about our situation.”

The fact Zoro actually wants to discuss what’s going to happen next is the surprise, but you still nod, agreeing with him.

“Change your mind on us divorcing?”

“No, I haven’t,” Zoro brushes a bit of hair behind your ear, placing his hand on your cheek which makes you smile at him, “We’re not divorcing unless you want to, but…I think we should try, you know, dating, or whatever you want to call it…”

You blink a few times, completely confused and shocked before tilting your head.

“…huh? You…what?”

“What, you suddenly going deaf or something?” Zoro pinches your cheek a little which makes you wince and pout, before giving him a glare that makes him smirk at you, “We should try a relationship, forget your parents and our original deal. I…I want to try being your boyfriend.”

You really didn’t expect this, you first thought,  like you asked, that Zoro had changed his mind and decided he was done with your fake marriage, but instead, he actually wants to give the two of you a try. Wants to see if this might be something that really could last, not a temporary solution to your personal problems.

While you think it through for a moment, you barely register that Zoro is starting to look nervous, something you’ve never really seen before. Once you make up your mind, before he can say anything more, you lean up and kiss him, pulling away with a smile that Zoro returns.

“I’d love to give us a real try, Zoro.”

Everything is going to be okay, you’re sure of it.

+!+

Sanji and Nami can see a difference in your and Zoro’s relationship quickly after you leave Fishman Island. As you approach Punk Hazard, Zoro doesn’t really let you go, keeping you near to him even as you all draw straws and you end up being one of the group to stay on Sunny and keep watch. Neither of them say anything when he pulls you aside once again, but the smile you have while you talk to Zoro tells them both everything is fine, especially when you nod once more and hug him, which he returns to their surprise.

The two look at each with questioning glances, trying to see if you’ve said anything to the other, but both shrug. Truthfully there’s not been time to talk to either of them, and when the group Zoro’s a part of leaves, the two drag you to the kitchen and start asking questions, which causes you to laugh, but Nami doesn’t really think it’s funny.

“Come oooonnnn,” Nami leans against your arm, giving you a pout, “You guys are acting weird, you can’t tell us something isn’t going on.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Nami.”

The blush on your face starts to give you away, and Sanji figures it out, giving you a slight grin.

“Did he finally tell you he likes you back?”

“Mm…something like that.”

“Are you guys dating then?”

“Maybe~” You’re not very good at being coy, to the point Nami gasps and shouts that she knew it before hugging you tightly while you laugh and Sanji sighs, still smiling.

“About damn time. That stupid mosshead, taming two years to tell you anything.”

“Well, all he said was that he wants to try a relationship, so that’s what we’re doing.”

“So he’s your boyfriend!” The little squeal and giggle from Nami makes you join in. “Finally, I told you he liked you back!!”

“Yeah, yeah, you were right!”

Sanji is quiet while he watches the two of you for a few moments. He really does hope that you and Zoro are going to be okay one day, that he’ll stay your husband and neither of you has to deal with the divorce papers or anything like that. He doesn’t want to watch another couple in his life break down, even as you two are just starting out.

Well, minus your two and a half years of actually being married, even though it hasn’t been a real marriage yet. It still isn’t, as you explain after a bit, but your friends seem to get it. You still want things kept under wraps, until Nami brings something up.

“Yeah…umm…about that…”

You give her a confused look as Sanji sighs again.

“Luffy kind of told everyone that didn’t know. It was the day Franky was making comments about you and mosshead being in his bed.”

Groaning, you lean back in your seat before nodding.

“All right then…let’s keep me and Zoro dating between the four of us then?”

“A good idea.”

“At least we can keep a secret.”

[wholoveseggs]

Extraordinary

18+ ---- {Masterlist}

Just a quick ménage à trois with the boys

6k words - Warnings: so fucking smutty, barely a plot, Klaus being mildly inappropriate (duh!) oh! and...so. fucking. smutty. But I'm still a romantic at heart so there isn't anything crazy. If you rather read this on Ao3- Link is here {Part Two}{Part Three}

"It's okay to love fucking them both. I did."

Extraordinary

The room was filled with the sounds of passion: moans, heavy breathing, and the hot, wet noises of your bodies colliding. Your hands tightly grasped his shoulders while his lips traced soft kisses along your neck. Waves of pleasure surged through your body with every stroke, each movement sending electric sparks as his pelvis brushed against you. The room echoed with your whispered words of love and devotion, his name escaping your lips.

In those moments of intensity, it transcended mere physical connection; it became something far more profound—an emotional experience. The quiet, serious man you knew so well was now pouring all of his feelings into each deep, passionate thrust. You couldn't speak, the heat of your cheeks almost burning. The way he made you feel was like nothing else, a mix of pure fire and vulnerability, as if your hearts were beating as one. 

He emitted a low, appreciative hum upon noticing your flushed cheeks. His hands cradled your heated body against his, his gaze never wavering from yours as he admired your flawless face. He gently pressed his forehead to yours, his lips seeking yours with a desperate hunger, kissing you as if he couldn't get enough. The sensations he elicited sent your heart racing and your breath hitching, lost in the profound love he was conveying.

He was intimately familiar with your body, attuned to your every response. His eyes looked into yours with warmth and affection as he sensed your approaching climax. A tender smile graced his lips, love emanating with every touch.

"I love you, my beautiful one," he murmured, his grip on your thighs tightening as he lifted them higher, allowing him to delve deeper inside you.

"I-I..." you tried to respond, but your words dissolved into short gasps as his cock hit your sweet spot with every deep thrust. You began to pant and moan as your pleasure soared, your body tense and shaking from being on the edge of exploding.

"I know," he said softly, his voice was a low rumble against your ear. His thrusts became harder as he felt your undoing. 

"I can hear you two all the way from the first floor," Klaus said, his voice cutting through your intimate moment like a knife.

His interruption caught you off guard, and you climaxed unexpectedly, gripping Elijah's shoulders tightly and emitting a loud whine. Embarrassment painted your face a deep shade of red, and you buried your face in his chest, seeking refuge from the intrusion.

Klaus was leaning casually in the doorway, watching you with hungry eyes.

Elijah's expression turned from one of pleasure to annoyance in an instant. "Klaus, get the fuck out!" he roared, his voice reverberating through the room.

Klaus, undeterred by Elijah's fury, merely grinned wider, thoroughly enjoying his brother's discomfort. "Oh, I do apologize for intruding on your... privacy," he said, his tone dripping with sarcasm. "I'm merely ensuring that you two are fully aware of the acoustics in this house," he quipped, his eyes flickering mischievously between the two of you.

You felt a mixture of embarrassment and annoyance, still recovering from the intimate moment that had been so abruptly shattered. "Can't you knock or something?" you shot back, your voice laced with frustration.

Klaus merely shrugged, feigning innocence. "Where's the fun in that? I do enjoy surprises," he replied, his grin widening.

Elijah was seething, his anger palpable as he tightened his embrace around you, shielding you from Klaus's view. "I'm not joking, Klaus," he warned, his voice a dangerous undertone. "Leave us, now."

Klaus raised an eyebrow, his tone mockingly innocent. "As you wish, dear brother," he said, pushing away from the doorframe. "I'll go have a drink and pretend I heard nothing. But do try to keep the noise down, won't you?"

With a final wink, Klaus made his exit, leaving you and Elijah in blessed solitude. You breathed a sigh of relief against Elijah's chest, the embarrassment slowly receding.

"I am truly sorry for Klaus's behavior," he murmured, his voice soft and reassuring as he looked down at you. "He has a talent for impeccable timing."

You managed a weak smile, appreciating his efforts to make you feel comfortable despite the embarrassing situation. "It's not your fault," you replied, your voice still shaky.

Elijah pressed a loving kiss to your forehead, his arms wrapped protectively around you. "I promise to deal with him later."

The next morning, you woke up to Elijah still sleeping soundly, and decided to surprise him with a homemade breakfast. As you quietly made your way downstairs, you couldn't help but chuckle at the memory of Klaus's interruption from the night before.

In the kitchen, you set to work, chopping vegetables and preparing a hearty breakfast. The sound of sizzling bacon filled the room, and you hummed a tune to yourself, enjoying the simple pleasure of cooking for the man you loved.

Just as you were about to set the table, Klaus strolled into the kitchen, his eyes wandering appreciatively over your figure. You tensed, feeling uncomfortable under his gaze.

"Good morning, love," Klaus purred, his tone dripping with charm. "I must say, you look even more enchanting in the daylight."

You forced a polite smile, trying to ignore his advances. "Good morning, Klaus. I'm making breakfast for Elijah. Would you like some too?"

Klaus leaned against the counter, his smile never wavering. "Ah, the sounds of passion I heard last night were proof of Elijah's good taste," he said, his words laced with innuendo. "But I assure you, I can make you scream even louder."

Your face flushed with anger, and you took a step back, putting some distance between you and Klaus. "Oh fuck off, Klaus. You are disgusting,"

Klaus chuckled, seemingly unfazed by your rejection. "Oh, I love a challenge. You know… if it makes you more comfortable, Elijah and I have shared lovers before," he said, his eyes darkening with desire.

Your curiosity got the better of you, and you couldn't help but ask, "You and Elijah have shared lovers?"

Klaus grinned, seemingly enjoying your curiosity. "Indeed, we have, darling. It can be quite an exhilarating experience."

Before you could inquire further, Elijah entered the kitchen, his presence immediately drawing your attention. He observed the exchange between you and Klaus, his expression growing darker by the second.

Klaus decided to playfully push the boundaries, stepping closer to you and letting his fingers brush against your arm. "But, my dear, there is something you should know. We've never shared someone one of us loves."

Elijah couldn't contain his anger any longer. He stormed over to you, putting himself between you and Klaus, and held you close, his lips finding yours in a passionate kiss. It was a clear declaration to Klaus that you were his, and his alone.

Klaus raised an eyebrow, seemingly unfazed by Elijah's possessiveness. "Well, aren't you the protective one today," he said with a smirk.

Elijah's voice was cold and firm as he spoke to Klaus. "I won't allow you to disrespect her or encroach on what's mine."

Klaus merely chuckled. "No need to get so defensive, brother. I was just having a little fun."

Despite Elijah's possessive display, you found yourself intrigued by the idea of being with both of them at the same time. You couldn't help but ask, "What would it entail? Being with both of you?"

Elijah looked down at you, his expression a mixture of concern and curiosity. "Are you sure? It's a path that requires careful consideration."

Klaus grinned mischievously, clearly enjoying the turn of events. "It would be an experience you'd never forget, darling," he added.

Feeling a mix of excitement and apprehension, you looked from Elijah to Klaus, trying to gauge their reactions. Elijah's eyes bore into yours, searching for any signs of discomfort or hesitation.

"Are you okay with this?" you ask Elijah, not wanting to push him if he wasn't comfortable sharing you. 

Elijah's gaze softened, his thumb brushing over your lips in a tender gesture. "I want you to understand that you mean everything to me," he said, his voice gentle yet firm. "If you are curious or willing to explore this, I will support you. But I need you to be certain.”

Klaus's eyes glittered with a mix of desire and amusement. "Well, isn't this a fascinating turn of events," he remarked, his tone playful yet suggestive. "I suppose I'll leave you two to discuss the logistics."

"Hold on," you said firmly, looking from Klaus to Elijah. "I want to make a few things clear. First, what happens between Klaus and me will be purely physical; I love only Elijah. Second, I want it to be a surprise – Elijah gets to decide when and where. Third, I'm in control."

Elijah's eyes held a mixture of appreciation and pride as he nodded in agreement. "Your conditions are reasonable, my love. I'll choose a wonderful spot," he said, his voice filled with warmth and affection.

Klaus, ever the charmer, grinned, seemingly undeterred by your terms. "A challenge and spontaneity, my favorite combination," he remarked. "I look forward to the surprise, and I'll gladly play by your rules, my dear."

You met Klaus's gaze, your expression firm. "No games, Klaus. This is about exploration and trust, not manipulation."

Klaus raised his hands in a mock surrender, his eyes twinkling with mischief. "I promise, no tricks. Just pleasure, pure and simple."

The following days were filled with anticipation and unspoken desire. It was as though a different kind of electricity lingered in the air, a palpable tension that hung between you, Elijah, and Klaus. You carried on with your daily routines, but beneath the surface, a thrilling secret awaited its unveiling.

You found yourself constantly thinking about what lay ahead, wondering when the surprise would come, and how it would unfold. Every touch, every look from Elijah and Klaus seemed to carry a new layer of meaning, hinting at the depths of their longing.

One evening, as you lounged on the comfortable sofa, lost in a book, Klaus approached you with a knowing smile. "My dear, how about a little change of scenery?" he suggested, his voice dripping with intrigue. "Elijah is waiting for us."

You glanced up from your book, a mixture of excitement and apprehension coursing through you. "Where is he?" you asked.

Klaus chuckled, his gaze filled with mischief. "It's a surprise, love. You'll have to trust us."

With a silent nod, you closed your book and let Klaus lead the way. As you followed him through the grand house, your heart raced with anticipation, and your body tingled with a mixture of nervousness and excitement. 

The destination remained a mystery until you reached the rooftop. A cool breeze swept over you, carrying the scents of the night and a breathtaking view of the city's lights. A blanket was spread out on the rooftop, complete with comfortable cushions and soft blankets. Soft twinkle lights hung above and there were a few candles placed about, the atmosphere sensual and romantic.

Elijah was waiting there, his hand found its way to yours, his fingers intertwining and he reassured you with a loving squeeze. He guided you near the makeshift bed, his hands on your waist, and he whispered into your ear, "This is where our adventure begins, beautiful one."

You could feel Klaus's presence behind you. "Are you ready, darling?" he asked.

With a mixture of excitement and determination, you met their gazes, your heart pounding in anticipation. "I trust both of you," you said, your voice unwavering.

Elijah's lips found yours in a sweet, lingering kiss, a promise of what was to come. Klaus, came up from behind and began kissing your neck, igniting a fire of longing within you. 

“I have an idea,” you said softly, untying Elijah’s tie, pulling it off slowly and giving him a look full of desire. “Could you put this around my eyes?” you ask, a flush of embarrassment heating up your cheeks. 

Elijah's eyes darkened with arousal as he watched you, understanding the vulnerability and trust behind your request. He gently took the tie from your hands and nodded, his touch reassuring as he carefully blindfolded you, tying the silk securely around your eyes.

The world around you plunged into darkness, heightening your other senses. You could feel the warmth of their bodies close to you and the steady rhythm of your own heartbeat. The anticipation hung thick in the air, making every touch and caress more electrifying.

With a delicate touch, Elijah's fingers trailed down the zipper of your dress, slowly revealing the soft skin underneath. The fabric slipped off your shoulders, pooling at your feet, leaving you in nothing but your underwear. His hands explored the curves of your body, igniting sparks of desire wherever they roamed.

Meanwhile, Klaus's lips continued to kiss your neck, his hands found the clasp of your bra, deftly undoing it and freeing your breasts to the night air. His touch was confident as he cupped them, his thumbs brushing over your hardened nipples. You bit your lip to suppress a moan, already incredibly turned on.

"I want to hear you, darling," Klaus murmured against your skin, he lightly grazed your nipples again, and you let out a soft gasp. “That's it,” he replied approvingly. 

Elijah's fingers continued their exploration, tracing the outline of your wetness through the fabric of your panties. Your hips instinctively moved in rhythm with his touch, seeking more of the delicious friction he provided. Klaus, sensing your growing need, took your arms, pinning them gently behind you, leaving you completely at their mercy.

Elijah, emboldened by your responses, slipped a finger beneath your panties, his touch making your cheeks flush. He found your clit, rubbing it in slow, deliberate circles that made your head spin with pleasure. You couldn't help the moans that escaped your lips, your body writhing with desire, caught between the dual sensations of Klaus's firm hold and Elijah's teasing caresses.

"You're so responsive," Elijah murmured, his voice a low, seductive growl. His fingers continued their torturous exploration, each stroke pushing you closer. The blindfold heightened your senses, making everything more electrifying.

“And we have barely begun,” Klaus said as he continued to kiss your neck, occasionally nibbling on your ear, his free hand playing with your nipples.

Elijah slipped another finger beneath your panties, his touch quickening. He found your entrance, teasingly circling before slowly sliding inside you. You let out a soft gasp, a mixture of pleasure and surprise flooding your senses. His thumb maintained its rhythm on your clit, intensifying the sensations that threatened to overwhelm you.

Klaus's grip on your arms tightened slightly, he turned your head roughly, his lips finding yours in a fierce, demanding kiss that left you breathless.

"You taste exquisite," Klaus murmured against your lips, his words sending waves of pleasure straight to your core.

Delicious pressure began to build, pushing you closer to the edge. Your moans filled the night air, blending with the soft, wet sounds of Elijah's fingers inside you. The darkness of the blindfold amplified every touch, every sound, every breath, until you felt like you were on the precipice of a glorious fall.

"Please," you begged, your voice a desperate plea. The need in your voice was unmistakable, your body craving release.

Elijah's lips found yours again, swallowing your moans as he whispered against your mouth, his words a promise and a command. "Let go, my love. We're here to catch you."

Elijah's fingers expertly found the perfect angle, sending a shockwave of pleasure through your entire being. Your body convulsed with the force of your release, a loud cry escaping your lips. 

As your senses slowly returned, you became aware of the warmth of their bodies pressed against yours, the rhythm of their breathing, the lingering echoes of pleasure that still pulsed through your veins. The tie around your eyes intensifying the intimacy of the moment.

Elijah's warm hand found yours, guiding you down onto the makeshift bed. Your body trembled with anticipation as you got on your knees, fully aware of the impending pleasure. The sound of rustling fabric filled the air as they undressed, their hands then guiding you onto your back, your head resting on the soft pillows.

Elijah positioned himself on your left, his lips tracing a path along your neck, his hands exploring your body and parting your legs. On your right, Klaus eagerly kissed you, his hands cupping and squeezing your breasts, eliciting soft moans from your lips.

"Such pretty sounds," Elijah murmured appreciatively, leaving a trail of kisses as he moved lower down your body.

"Allow me a taste, brother," Klaus requested, causing Elijah to pause his descent. You could feel Klaus positioning himself between your legs. Then suddenly you feel his tongue gliding along your wet folds, eagerly savoring your arousal. He was rougher than what you were used to with Elijah, he plunged three fingers into you with a sense of urgency as he teased your clit with his lips and teeth.

You whimpered, your hips moving in rhythm with his tongue, pleasure building within you, your hands pulling on his hair. Klaus used his free hand to hold your thigh down, while Elijah kissed you neck, whispering sweet things in your ear, his arm wrapped around your waist, momentarily stilling your movements.

Incoherent words spilled from your lips as the overwhelming sensations consumed you, the dual pleasure from their intimate touch becoming almost too intense to bear. Elijah's lips found yours in a hungry kiss, muffling your cries of pleasure. He held you tightly, his fingers trailing over your skin. Klaus continued to eat you out, his fingers moving inside you with a relentless rhythm. You felt like you were on fire, every nerve ending tingling with pleasure as your climax approached.

As the intensity of your pleasure peaked, you cried out their names, your body convulsing with the force of your release. Elijah and Klaus continued to touch you, prolonging your pleasure until you were left trembling and utterly spent, a sheen of sweat covering your skin.

Klaus's lips traveled to your thigh, where he kissed and sucked on the soft skin. Feeling his teeth graze along it, you sat up slightly, shaking your head in warning.

"Don't bite me, Klaus," you said firmly, your voice still shaky from your orgasm.

Klaus let out a disappointed sigh, wiping the wetness on his face onto your leg before moving away from you.

You could feel Elijah's smile against your neck. "Good girl," he hummed, capturing your lips in a passionate kiss. "You are mine," he declared, slipping his tongue into your mouth.

"You two are insufferable," Klaus chuckled lightheartedly as his hands traveled up your curves to your waist. 

Suddenly, Klaus turned you around, pulling you onto his lap. You could feel the heat of Elijah's body settling behind you, his chest pressing into your back.

You gasped at the sudden change in position, Elijah's arms wrapped around you, holding you securely against his chest. Klaus's hands moved from your waist to your thighs, his thumb grazing your clit, making you tremble.

"Show us what you want," Elijah whispered in your ear, his hands cupping your breasts, his fingers gently teasing your nipples.

You reached out, your fingers grazing Klaus's chest before trailing down to find his cock, his size felt comparable to Elijah's. Sitting up, you adjusted your legs for better control and guided Klaus to your cunt, slowly lowering yourself. A smile played on your lips as you adjusted to his size, pleasure coursing through you.

Elijah hummed in your ear, his voice a soft murmur. "Taking my brother in so well," he observed. "You should see his face."

Elijah shifted, and you reached out for him, your hand finding his thigh near your face. You slid your hand up his leg to his cock, applying the perfect amount of pressure as you started to stroke him.

You began to rock your hips, gradually increasing your pace and Klaus let out a groan. His hands slid down to grip your ass, delivering a loud, harsh smack. You yelped, your movements faltering, and Klaus seized your hips roughly, taking control and making you bounce on his cock.

A loud moan escaped your lips, and you took Elijah into your mouth, sucking on the head before slowly taking more of him down your throat, your movements synchronized with Klaus's thrusts.

The room was filled with the sounds of your pleasure, the wet, rhythmic noises of your body moving against Klaus's, the soft slurping sounds as you took Elijah deeper into your mouth. 

Klaus's grip on your hips tightened, guiding your movements as he thrust upwards, meeting your downward motions with a force that made your whole body tremble. He smacked your ass hard over and over in the same spot, it was stinging and burning, the mix of pain and pleasure making you tighten around him.

Your mouth began to drip with saliva, your eyes tearing up under the tie still around your head. Elijah's fingers tangled in your hair, urging you on as you took him in deeper, the sensation both overwhelming and exhilarating.

Elijah's voice was a low growl. "That's it, my love. Take us both. Show us how good you are."

Your moans were muffled around Elijah's cock, your body responding eagerly to their commands. The pleasure built within you, an intense heat coiling in your belly, threatening to consume you entirely.

With a final, powerful thrust, Klaus came inside you, his grip on your hips unyielding. His release triggered your own; waves of pleasure crashing over you as your body exploded. Elijah, too, reached his peak, his grip on your hair tightening almost painfully as he spilled himself into your mouth.

The three of you collapsed in a tangled mess of limbs and heavy breathing, spent from the intensity of your shared pleasure. Elijah pulled you into his chest, positioning you so you were lying next to him, holding you close and kissing you passionately. 

"I have an idea; I'll be right back," Klaus said, getting up and leaving the roof.

Elijah gently removed the blindfold, his eyes filled with deep love and devotion as he looked at you. His hand moved to grip your thigh, pulling it up around his hip, you could feel his cock brushing against you. 

"Are you alright?" he asked sweetly, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear with affection.

You nodded, still too blissed out to articulate your emotions. Your fingers traced his cheekbone softly, overwhelmed by the love and care he displayed.

"We can stop now if you want," he murmured gently, his warm brown eyes locked onto yours with concern.

"No, I want more," you replied with a shaky voice, offering him a sweet smile. "This is amazing." 

Elijah's eyes softened with adoration, his thumb gently caressing your cheek. "As you wish," he whispered.

Shortly after, Klaus reappeared, carrying a sizable vibrator and a bottle of lube. Your eyes widened, uncertainty clouding your thoughts about taking things to that level.

Elijah's reassuring touch on your thigh comforted you, but your cheeks flushed, and you instinctively buried your head into his chest. "I don't know if she's up for it, Klaus," Elijah asserted firmly, his protective embrace around you unwavering.

"Oh, come now, darling. I promised to make you scream," Klaus said with a wild grin, his excitement evident as he settled down behind you. 

You were caught between the anticipation of exploring further and the mild apprehension about what Klaus had in mind. Elijah's protective presence offered a sense of security, his warm fingers trailing soothing patterns on your thigh.

Elijah's words carried a tone of concern as he addressed Klaus, "Klaus, we need to be considerate of her feelings and comfort."

Klaus, undeterred by Elijah's caution, leaned in closer, his lips brushing against your ear as he whispered with a hint of mischief, "Don't worry. We'll take it slow, and if at any point you want to stop, just say the word."

Elijah kissed your forehead gently, offering silent support and reassurance. With cautious excitement, you gave a hesitant nod, pulling the blindfold back down over your eyes. 

You felt both men shift around you, your body trembling again as a million naughty thoughts raced through your mind. You felt two hands dip under you, pulling you into a lap, your back against their front. You realized it was Klaus by his breathing, he began nibbling on your ear, sending heat straight to your core. 

"Now, love, have you explored this territory before?" Klaus inquired, his hand venturing down between you, gently inserting a finger into your other hole. The tightness of the muscle pressed against his digit.

You nodded, biting your lip as you comprehended his suggestion. Klaus's lips curved into a knowing smile against your neck, his tongue tracing the delicate skin. "Tsk, tsk, I had no idea you and Elijah were so adventurous," he teased.

"Only for special occasions," Elijah chimed in from in front of you, his hands gripping your thighs possessively.

"Is it alright if I?" Klaus whispered in your ear. You nodded eagerly, your arousal already evident, the thought of having both of them at the same time driving you wild with desire.

With your consent, Klaus continued his teasing exploration, his skilled fingers working their magic, preparing you for what was to come. You felt a mix of anticipation and nervous excitement, the air crackling with the promise of a new, intense experience.

Elijah's hands, strong and reassuring, held your thighs gently, his touch grounding you amidst the whirlwind of sensations. "Relax, my love," he murmured, his voice soothing your nerves. You took a deep breath, trying to heed his words, finding comfort in his presence.

Klaus's touch was surprisingly gentle, his fingers working patiently, eliciting soft moans from your lips. Elijah leaned in, his lips tracing a path along your jawline, his warm breath sending shivers down your spine. "You're doing wonderfully," he praised, his words instilling you with confidence.

The blindfold heightened your other senses, making every touch, every breath, every word an intensified experience. Klaus's fingers worked its magic, and you felt a third finger join, stretching you gently. You gasped softly, your body adjusting to the new sensations.

"Are you ready for me?" Klaus asked, his voice a whisper against your ear.

"Yes," you moaned, the anticipation driving you wild.

You heard the sound of Klaus dispensing the lube, and then you gasped at the cold sensation as he applied it, preparing you for what was to come. Elijah's hands gently lifted you off of Klaus's lap, and then he slowly guided you back down onto Klaus's cock. The slow descent sent a burning sensation through you, making you whine and throw your head back, the overwhelming fullness momentarily taking your breath away. Elijah whispered soft reassurances in your ear as Klaus let out a guttural moan of pleasure.

Once you were fully seated, you leaned back into Klaus, your legs trembling as he kissed your neck and squeezed your breasts. The sensation of being filled by Klaus was both overwhelming and exhilarating. Your body stretched to accommodate him, a mix of pleasure and discomfort intertwining in a heady concoction. Elijah's hands remained on your hips, steadying you as you adjusted to the feeling of Klaus inside you.

Klaus's hands moved possessively over your body, his touch igniting a trail of fire wherever he roamed. He placed his hands under your legs, lifting them up and planting your feet on his thighs. His lips found the sensitive spot on your neck, eliciting a shiver from you. "You feel incredible," he murmured against your skin, his voice laced with desire.

Elijah, ever attentive to your needs, continued to whisper sweet reassurances in your ear. His hands gilded down your sides, his thumb brushing over your clit. The dual sensations of Elijah's touch and Klaus deep inside your ass sent shockwaves of pleasure through your body.

With Klaus's hands on your hips, he guided your movements up and down, setting a slow, deliberate pace. You began to rock your hips, your mouth falling open as you moaned loudly. The vibrator hummed to life, sending an electric thrill through your body. You eagerly followed the sound as Elijah moved it between your legs, the soft buzz against your clit causing you to cry out. Your hips moved erratically, swept away in the surge of pleasure.

The combined sensations of Klaus inside you and the vibrator against your most sensitive spot were driving you to the edge. Elijah could sense your mounting climax. His own desire burning hot, he longed to give you even more, he turned up the vibrator, sending a jolt of pure desire coursing through your body. 

“Elijah,” you moaned, reaching out for him and gripping his chest. “I want you, please,” you begged.

Klaus let out a low chuckle. “Both of us at once?” he asked.

“Yes, please, yes,” you moaned, the buzzing sensation making it hard to articulate your desires.

“You look so beautiful like this,” Elijah said, removing the vibrator and setting it aside. "Are you ready, my love?" he asked.

You nodded, your breath catching in your throat. "Yes, Elijah, please," you whispered, your voice a desperate plea. The anticipation and need for them were overwhelming, the promise of being filled by both of them sending waves of longing through you.

Elijah went to remove the blindfold, but you shook your head gently. He let out a low hum, incredibly turned on by your desire. Both men repositioned you slightly, Klaus ran his hands along your legs, raising them into the air, careful not to hurt you with his cock still in your ass. 

With a slow, deliberate movement, Elijah pushed inside you, his cock sliding into your cunt, filling you completely. The sensation of being stretched to your limits, taken by both men at once, was mind-blowing. Pleasure and pressure mingled in a divine concoction, your body adjusting to the dual intrusion. You gasped, your entire being consumed by the pleasure of having both of them inside you. The feeling of fullness, the friction, the stimulation—it was an overload of ecstasy that threatened to send you over the edge. 

"Fuck, you feel incredible," Klaus groaned, his voice raw with desire.

Elijah's lips found yours, capturing your moans in a searing kiss. The air was filled with the sounds of your pleasure—the wet noises of sex and the passionate moans that escaped your lips.

Your moans mingled with theirs, the room filled with the sounds of passion as the three of you found a rhythm, moving together in perfect harmony. Elijah's hands roamed your body, worshiping every inch of your skin with his fingertips, his lips trailing a path of fire along your neck and shoulders.

Klaus's thrusts were slow and deep, the sensation of him moving inside you in tandem with Elijah was mind-blowing. Pleasure surged through you, igniting every nerve ending, until you felt like you were about to erupt.

"Elijah," you gasped, your voice a desperate plea, "Klaus, please, I'm so close."

The men responded to your pleas, their movements becoming more urgent, their touches more possessive. Klaus reached for the vibrator, pressing it against your clit and increased the intensity to max, the overwhelming sensation pushing you over the edge. Your body convulsed in ecstasy, your screams of release filling the air. The sensations of Klaus and Elijah inside you, the vibrations against your clit, and the overwhelming pleasure combined in a mind-shattering climax. You felt like you were falling, your mind consumed by the powerful waves of pleasure that crashed over you, drowning you in a sea of bliss.

The men's movements grew more frantic, spurred on by your release. With a final, desperate thrust, they found their own release, filling you with their cum.

Elijah and Klaus held you close as you rode out the waves of pleasure, their hands gentle and comforting. You were lost in the blissful haze, your body spent, your mind floating in the aftermath of your climax.

As the intensity of the moment began to fade, Klaus withdrew the vibrator, and they slowly pulled out of you. Elijah bent down and picked you up off of Klaus's lap, removing your blindfold and kissing you softly. You felt a mix of satisfaction and emptiness, your body still buzzing from the powerful release.

Elijah put you down between them, and they held you tenderly, their arms wrapped around you, offering comfort and warmth. The three of you lay entwined, basking in the afterglow of your shared passion. Elijah pressed a soft kiss to your forehead, his lips lingering there with a tenderness that melted your heart.

"Are you alright, my love?" he whispered, his voice a soothing melody.

You nodded, a contented sigh escaping your lips. "That was… fucking extraordinary," you confessed.

Elijah's arms tightened around you, his warmth and affection a comforting embrace. "I'm glad you enjoyed it," he murmured against your skin, his lips trailing tender kisses along your neck.

As you lay there in the intimate embrace of Elijah, his devotion radiating like a warm glow, you felt a surge of contentment wash over you. The intensity of your shared experience had bonded you even closer to him, and you realized the depth of the love you both shared.

Klaus, who had been merely a physical presence in this encounter, sat back, seemingly satisfied with the evening's events. His eyes held a spark of amusement, and he leaned in to place a chaste kiss on your cheek.

"Until next time, love," Klaus murmured, his tone light and playful, as he rose to his feet and began to dress.

"Thank you, both of you," you whispered, your voice filled with genuine appreciation. "This was an incredible experience."

Klaus winked at you both before making his way to the rooftop door. "It was my pleasure," he replied with a sly grin, and with a final wave, he disappeared into the night.

Alone with Elijah, you felt an overwhelming sense of love and connection. He kissed you gently, his lips conveying a depth of emotion that words couldn't capture. "Lets go get cleaned up," he suggested.

You nodded, feeling a sense of gratitude for his care and consideration. With his help, you stood up, your legs still a little shaky. You let out a giggle as Elijah scooped you up and carried you back inside, taking you to the bathroom, where he ran a warm bath for you, filling it with fragrant bubbles.

Elijah held you close as you both stepped into the bath, his arms wrapped securely around you as you leaned into him. He began to gently cleanse your skin, his touch tender and loving. 

After the bath, he dried you off with care, his hands moving with gentle precision, as if you were the most delicate and precious thing in the world. He led you to the bedroom, where fresh sheets awaited you, inviting you to rest and recuperate.

As you settled into bed, Elijah laid beside you, his arms wrapped protectively around you as you rested your head on his chest. With a soft sigh, you closed your eyes, allowing yourself to be surrounded by the warmth and love of this extraordinary man, falling into a deep sleep.

{Part Two}{Part Three}

[mintmatcha]

cw: cisfem reader, sex work mention, slight blood mention

“You don’t belong here.”

The man jumps, surprised, then dissolves into a chuckle as he brings his drink to his lips. There's something familiar about this face, hidden under the swollen cheekbone and bruised fat lip, but you can't place where you know him from. You apparently marvel too long, as the stranger cheeks grow redder by the second.

“Is it really that obvious?”

“Um, yeah.” You gesture up and down him, “You’re stiff as a board and you tried to order food.”

The stranger scoffs into his drink, genuinely insulted for a moment before he dissolves back into his smile. There's no airs about him - a rare occurrence for the clientele here- and that knows you a bit off guard. "What’s wrong with ordering food?"

You ignore how the bartender shoots you a look when you slip into the seat beside your tall blonde and simply gesture to the place as if it explains itself- dim mood lighting, men in suits, women in dresses that barely cover anything. There's a woman on stage, perched on all fours and writhing ever so gracefully, arching her back as she slinks on the floor. Her quirk activates for a moment and her skin shimmers with a kaleidoscope of colors, a fairy under neon lights.

This place has the decency to call itself a gentleman's club. It has polished glasses and comfortable seats, but that doesn't change what it is. It's a strip club. Through and through. It's lacquered shine doesn't change anything underneath. It still reeks of malintent.

"What’s wrong with ordering food?" he repeats. He places his drink down and you take it before he can react, bringing it up to your lips with a playful grin. When he doesn't protest, instead just watching you with wide, wide eyes, you take a sip. It's strong enough to make your chest bloom with heat.

"I don't think they have food here."

"They do," he replies.

"Then you're going to pay six thousand yen for three bites of food." Your lipstick clings to the rim as you hand it back to him.

"Well," he sniffs, flinching at his own crinkled nose. It must be broken; there's flecks of dried blood lining his fulcrum. "Have you ever tried it?"

"Clearly not."

He takes a long chug from his drink and finished the glass. When he gestures for another, your lipstick has smudged on to his cheek. "Maybe it's worth the money then."

You laugh, and it's not your normal practiced giggle. It's real and loud enough that the bartender shoots you another look. He knows what you're supposed to be doing here, and it's not hanging with the slummiest man in the room. When you meet his eye, there's a bit of a silent conversation between you two.

I know, you try to tell him, Let me have my fun.

"What are you doing here?" You turn back to your current play thing. The man shrinks slightly, a sheepish smile creeping back onto his face.

"Long night," the stranger mumbles, "Needed a drink and, well-"

He looks towards the stage, where a mouse eared girl spins on her pole, dark braids the only thing covering her tits. She's short and thick in the places that make you look longer than you should

"Some pretty things to look at?" You finish for him.

He tears his eyes away and back to you. You don't miss how they flicker down, how they soften when you scooch closer.

"Does that make me a bad person?"

"I think it makes you a guy," you shrug. One of the better guys, in fact. The unashamed ones get grabby and mean; this one talks to you like he considers you a person.

"What's your name?" he asks suddenly. You debate giving him your real one for a second, but then you adjust your legs and feel the bite of your stiletto straps on your ankles.

"Star."

"I'm Taishiro."

You regard him again, soaking in all the little details about him. He's tall- insanely so. There's a fair amount of muscle on his frame and you think maybe, under those bruises, he's pretty.

"You a boxer, Tai?"

"Y-yeah. Yeah, I am," he hesitates, "How'd you know?"

"Well, your nose is broken, so you definitely fight, but you aren't a hero," you gesture to his clothes. Oversized sweatpants, and a loose long sleeve - he looks like someone that's cut weight lately. "I know all the heroes in the area, and you aren't one of them. I would have remembered your pretty face."

The stranger draws back a bit, brow scrunched with confusion, but a smile creeping across his face. He must not get compliments much. You slyly check his finger for a ring and find it empty. Good, but that doesn't mean anything. Lots of men take off their rings.

"And you aren't a bad guy or a villain. You don't have that scent to you."

He also doesn't smell like anyone else. If he slept next to someone, there'd be lingerings of them.

"Villains have a smell now?"

"To me, they do." You nap the side of your nose, "It's a quirk thing."

Your quirk sounds more useful than it is. There's a scent to bad intentions, something that lingers

He rolls his head to his shoulder and finally relaxes fully. "You can sniff out crime? Full on McGruff the Crime Dog?"

You mirror him. Ear to your shoulder, a slight grin tugged onto your lips, you say: "A dog? Are you calling me a bitch?"

The stranger blanches. His hand flies to his face so quickly that you're worried he's going to hit himself.

"Oh, geez, I didn't-"

You lean forward with a tinkle of laughter and pat his thigh. The muscle is tight and corded through the thick fabric. Messing with him is easy. Too easy. You almost feel bad for riling him up. "I'm teasing. I'm like a bloodhound."

"How does it work?" Taishiro asks, "What do I smell like?"

He smells like home cooking, with spices and herbs you can't quite place. It's homey, it's warm, it's familiar in ways you can't quite place. There's an edge in there you can't quite place, not quite sour or sweet, but just off enough that you know he's not being 100% truthful with you. You suspect his name isn't what he says, or his boxing career isn't exactly that.

You can't judge. Your name clearly isn't Star.

But, then again, he moves so earnestly that you have a hard time assuming he's bad in anyway, especially next to some of these men. One of them, an older man you unfortunately recognize, keeps looking at you. His smell is sweet in the same way rot is.

"It's a secret," you reply, "Just keep on behaving and you won't have to worry about it."

He laughs at that, big and booming enough that a couple of the girl walking around look your way, and you can't help but join it. You think, if you had met him anywhere else, if you were someone else, you'd pursue this further, let something develop between you.

But you aren't anyone else.

"Can I buy you a drink?" he asks, suddenly, and you suddenly are hit with the guilt of reality.

"I gotta be honest with you." You peel your hand from his thigh. "I don't come to strip bars for the tits, baby."

"Do- do you work here?"

"Men buy my time." He stares at you blankly and you sigh. "My companionship for the evening. And my boss is going to get mad if I don't start schmoozing paying customers."

Taishiro furrows his brow, then widens his eyes as the realization hits him.

"Oh. Oh." He swallows and nods, clearly thinking this through. Just as you start to get up, he reaches for you, wide, wide, wide hand on your hip to keep you in place. "How much?"

Something inside you sinks. You should have expected this. "I didn't think you were interested in that."

"I'm not-- I mean, I am, but not like- well-" He staggers through his thoughts, "I just want to keep talking. Really. Maybe even split my food, if you want, but I don't- not that kind of companionship- just, like, normal companion stuff."

You sniff. He still smells the the truth, for the most part. You're not sure if you pity him.

"Two hundred thousand yen for the night," you say. "Ends at sun up- no exceptions."

"Oh," he perks up, head tilted like a puppy again, "That's it?"

"What does that mean?"

"I thought it was going to be--" he pauses and shakes his head, thinking better of it, "Yeah, that's okay."

"Do you think I'm cheap?" you gape.

"No, I just--" he laughs again, clearly embarrassed. "You just look really, really, really expensive?"

Despite yourself, with a roll of your eyes, you smile too. "Nice save."

He mum les to himself, rubbing the back of his neck. Most of your clients are experienced with this life, but the new ones are always like him. Nervous. Scared. You step closer to him, trailing your fingers down his arm. You both watch your manicured nails trace loose patterns.

"You really want to spend that kind of money to just have dinner with me?"

You'd fuck him. Of course you would. You expect him to crumble under the flirtations, just like the others did.

But he surprises you when he nods.

"Yeah, I am," Taishiro says, "Is that okay?"

You shrug. "It's your night. Anything you want is okay."

The hand on your waist squeezes tighter, but it's not sexual. It's comforting, almost normal.

"I guess I'll..." he says awkwardly, "Get cash?"

"Cash is good."

-

Taishiro knows this is a bad idea.

A horrible, awful, terrible idea.

Using his real name was stupid; he's lucky you incorrectly guessed his career. If he wasn't so thin right now, you might have recognized him. He'll if he's not careful, you could figure him out anyway.

If the media gets word of this, his career would be ruined. His poor interns would never meet his eye again. The headlines flash in his mind: FATGUM CAUGHT WITH PROSTITUTE. OR ESCORT. WHAT'S THE DIFFERENCE?

Well, he's sure they'd be more creative than that.

He shakes it out of his head. This isn't about sex. He's just... lonely. So, unbearably lonely. It's just a dinner, just something to stop him from going hone and wallowing by himself again. Sure, you're the prettiest thing that's ever talked to him-

He shakes that out of his head too.