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sharkenedfangs · 3 months ago

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— ☆ “PRETTY BOY.”

— expect the worst when whitney has a stupidly, dumb puppy love crush on his upperclassman that happens to be you and even more so, when you predictably take notice of it. but, remember— he asked for it first, didn’t he? 3.5k w.

— warnings? yeah, mildly dub-con, handjob in broad fucking daylight, somewhat exhibitionism although no one gets to see the stupid, pretty boy squirm and upperclassman male reader who’s sort of.. a bitch. y’know the drill by now, plus a younger whitney (still an adult, no worries. I’m not into that sorta shit.)

Like a clueless moth instinctually drawn towards a burning flame, he’s no goddamn different than the clingy idiots who can’t seem to automatically take a hint when given so in their direction— y’know, the ones he’d audibly snicker and scoff at due to the sheer embarrassment, disgustingly obvious puppy love streaked along their flushed faces as they mindlessly follow the other’s every move. Innocently peer up in search of their crush’s approval like some sort of brain dead dog whose sole purpose is to joyfully please their master. Hell, it’s gross, and the blonde doesn’t make it any more difficult to showcase his wrongly placed dislike for it— yeah, by the repeated gagging noises spilling forth from his open maw.

“It’s nauseating to watch, stinks up the whole room with those big, puppy, doe eyes”— he’d openly say with an absent shrug of his broad shoulders, glinting, barely visible glimpse of the metallic barbell freshly pierced upon his curved tongue proving his judgemental statements to be otherwise.. fuckin’ hypocritical, no? ‘Cuz, isn’t that same piercing found in his mouth done due to one, single, stray comment you aimlessly made by chance?

Not like your liking of things plays a grand role in whatever he does, trouble he’s immediately roped into, fuck— no, definitely not! It’s a stupid, damn coincidence is what it is, nothing more and nothing less either. No need to uselessly pry any further in the meaning of his baseless actions. Just.. happened to have it done on the same consequential day you confidently expressed your idea that he’d get one because— y’a said it’d look good on him, didn’t you? And, look here, he fuckin’ did it like some cheap mutt. Obediently parted his rosy lips for your viewing pleasure to willingly prove to your pretty eyes that he truly went along with your absently made suggestion, for real. Gleefully hung upon your every important word like his life depended on it— god, it isn’t like that, okay?

An upperclassman he’s briefly looked up to is all you are, all you’ve ever been for that matter, and he’ll punch the shitty, fuckin’ lights out of any big mouthed idiot who dares to say so otherwise. Right in the guts for spouting out complete, nonsensical bullshit, alright?

Or is it time to reluctantly admit it with a bashful blush apparent upon his contorted features— accompanied by gritting teeth stubbornly grinding together in a futile refusal of his shoddy, unwanted sentiments burrowed deep within his stuttering heart? As if he’d ever would in your presence, which he possibly can’t help himself, to childishly imitate your gestures in the withering hopes that’d you scarcely notice his thinly veiled efforts, acts filled with meaning.

Well, well.. Whitney, the supposedly cold and untouchable bully here isn’t so unique nor different from those idiotic dumbasses he’d routinely poke fun at, huh? Time to face the embarrassingly evident reality set before him, whether his gaze dares to instinctively stray away or not from the unsettling truth— ah, good thing you’re here to seamlessly guide him on the right path, ain’t that right?

As for the so-called, morally ethical path he’s hopelessly talking about.. Perhaps, that’s a plain, ol’ lie he’ll repeatedly tell himself of so considering your shared reputations at hand. More likely than not, often referred to — as much as the nickname itself has the tip of his ears prickling scarlet, noisily yelling at the fuckers who cheekily name him that — your little, dumb puppy. Fuck, he’s not! The day he, himself, Whitney of all people, wordlessly bows down to the height of someone’s heel frustratingly grinding atop of his head, is the day one can loudly claim with unbridled conviction, that he’s officially lost his goddammit mind, that’s what.

Listen, you’re the one who faithfully promised and guaranteed your unwavering protection if he stuck to your sides like some fuzzy pet, so he did the obvious choice. Specially when met with the shitty conditions this rundown town, definitely shady for that matter, is. Rather be silently stamped as the ‘sly follower’ who went along with the smartest choice presented to ‘em— your offer, by the way — than some nobody seamlessly forgotten on the dirtied streets. Least, that’s what likely replays on and on in his mind like some cheap, broken record to dumbly convince his unmoving mind of what this annoyingly persistent feeling is deep within the pit of his quivering tummy. Annoying, ain’t it?

Speakin’ of tummy, you sure are touchy-feeling with him, aren’t ya? Not that he necessarily minds nor will outwardly admit the slightest shivers that comes to grace the entirety of his figure when met with the briefest grazes of your fingertips flush against his bare skin. Likes the physical contact intimately shared between you two? Fuck no— just keeping himself on your good side in case you were to suddenly discard him like you habitually do with your other.. nameless toys, which he doesn’t possess enough fucks to bother learning their names. As long as your flickering gaze doesn’t happen to stray too far from his, he’s actually, pretty content.

‘Course, it did progressively start off with the sorta things you’d absentmindedly do with your numerous friends. Brush of his golden strands glimmering against the gleaming sunlight— shit, even acted out like some cheesy rom-com at the way his face instantly heated up, glimpse of vulnerability you seem to so easily catch on with him and fuck, does he detests it— truly does like no other. Still, lets y’a carelessly stroke your fingers throughout the mess of a hairstyle the delinquent wears, even fucking.. tenderly pushed a single, stray strand of hair behind his burning ear. Shoulders instinctively drawn up in sheer defence at the tension residing within him because, really, how do y’a expect him to relax and ease up when it’s with you?

“What? What is it? Do I have shit in my hair or somethin’?” Oh yeah, nice goin’ on that fuckin’ stupid question of his, huh? Flush adorning the length of his face— god, even down towards his neck too— immediately deepening at the crude choice of words. Might casually speak so with anyone, but when it comes to you, he’s got this instinctual urge to not come off as some try-hard desperately trying to butter you up in hopes of your returned approval of him.

“Hm? It’s nothing, I just think you’d look cute if you grew out your hair a little bit. Don’t you think?” Ah, and there you go— with your surprising compliments spoken out of the blue like that.

“Cute?? Are you seriously tryna fuck with me right now?” Defensive mechanism or whatever to draw up that blank conclusion since this is just about the first time any sort of adjective resembling that of ‘adorable’ by the way, could’ve been made to plainly describe a rowdy, unrelenting boy such as Whitney.

“What? You don’t think so? I think you’re cute as shit, Ney-ney.” That fuckin’ nickname again, god. Quit it, will ya? And, don’t try to tentatively lean closer in his personal space when calmly making that stupid remark too! Your goddamn— ah, hot breath effortlessly heating up the shell of his ear, curled lips almost, insistently pressed against his cheek. “Real fucking cute, actually. Definitely cuter than the average boy that’s for sure— prettier too, but you’ve got too much of a stick up your ass to admit that, don’t you?”

At this point, you’re practically taunting him, and he would’ve unabashedly swung his fist if it weren’t for that said person being you. Grin cracking upon your lips at the doe, wide-eyed look he’s greeting you with, seemingly unable to utter so much as a word to that uncharacteristically depraved statement, or is that your idea of a damn compliment to another guy? Shit, that’s right! Both guys is what you two are— so, his cock hidden underneath the fabric of his ripped jeans, languish legs lazily stretched out along the creaking, wooden bench, shouldn’t be stirring up with peeked interest at the mind numbing prospect of endlessly being called ‘pretty’ by you. Nor profusely encouraging the alarming amount of translucent pre-cum dizzyingly forming at the swollen tip of his cock head, crudely staining the material sheer. Give the blonde a supportive head pat while you’re at it, too. Ah.. should be saying somethin’ right about now lest he wants to appear as some bashful fool.

“I don’t—“

“Yeah, yeah. You don’t swing that way, I know. I’m not hitting on you, I’m just telling the truth as it is. Got any idea how many guys would line up just to fuck your dirty mouth? Maybe your tits too, if they’re into that sorta stuff— shit, I think they’d go for the ass too, definitely. I could make a goddamn fortune just whoring out your pretty, slutty body to the old fucks at the pub, y’know that, Whit?” Endless chattering on and on, explicit details of how some grubby old men could be here, disgustingly groping his flesh instead. Yet, that lingering glimmer within your gaze, noticeably darkening in return at the mere idea of it as your thumb comes forth to idly tap at his blazing cheek.

“But, you know.. I don’t. I won’t. Not cuz’ I’m a nice guy or anything— hah, truthfully, I’m no better than them for wanting to ruin a pretty face like yours.” You’re.. god, he can’t keep up with whatever shit you’re nonchalantly spouting, gracing solely his ears to be the one to silently listen to this.. crap, can’t really say it— fluttering in his tensed stomach from your bold admission, depraved wants just as much as he does late at nights— wanting to fuck him too.

“Honestly, do you know why I don’t use your sorry fuckin’ ass, Whitney?”

If he’s meant to attentively keep up with your words by now, then his brain has happily shut off due to the dizzying amount of semi-insults, degration and somewhat praise shot in his way. Like he’d fucking know, shit!

“See, it’s cuz’ it’s real funny to watch you trotting ‘round my side like some dumb, fucking puppy begging for its owner’s attention. I give you just a bit of praise, and your doggy tail would start wagging if you even had one. You look so goddamn stupid that it’d hurt my conscience to sell you out like this. And, I don’t like it when other fucks touch what’s mine either. I’m not running some gracious charity, am I?” To be truthful, if you tirelessly keep up with that incessant spouting, he’s bound to boil over like some screeching, burning kettle considering.. the obscene amount of scorching heat riddled across his features currently, adorning his cheeks so stupidly — and prettily too, huh— crimson red for your unwavering gaze solely. Seems like you’re liking the rare show in front of you quite a bit, aren’t you?

Stunned would’ve been one of the few lacking words remaining in the thick, daunting dictionary to scarcely describe the absolutely idiotic expression he’s nicely sporting right about now.

“Shut up.. I’m not—“ Fuck, fuck, fuck!! And, how the simple concept of verbal speech dutifully fails the bully at a time like this. Great going there, fuckin’ dumbass! Visibly seething would’ve been the most reasonable reaction in face of this, but— but— fuck! Entirety of this crap is all too quick for his sluggish mind to steadily keep up with your unpredictable actions, pathetically keening with a drawled out curse— no, more like a high-pitched whine is what it truly sounds like, once your calloused palm gingerly strips him free from his relatively loose jeans in one fell swoop.

“What the fuck’re you doin’—?? Mmph, fuck.. don’t—“ Dumb question to be asking when the self-evident answer is plainly in front of him.

Weeping cock, flushed in the cooling, outside air, naturally springing forth out of its constricting confines to audibly slap against his bare rigid tummy. Aw, now ain’t that real pretty to witness? Timid, twitching cock profusely leaking out sticky pre to messily smear along the curve of the blonde’s stomach, which you promptly do the honours for him, unabashedly too.

Always been pretty confident in your audacity to joyfully serve people, haven’t you? By god, he’s half-hated ya for meddling with others private businesses to begin with, although his throbbing cock being so smoothly tended to can say otherwise, idly disagree with his withering logic. Shakily sighing, puffing out heated huffs of air as your so— fuck.. annoyingly warm and soft hand loosely tucks ‘round his fat cock, teasingly squeezes him down at the base. Meanly drawing out more pearly globs of his dribbling pre-cum with a resounding, wet squelch!, undeniable proof of his shared arousal at the newfound situation he’s unfortunately finding himself in.

‘Unfortunately’— one says, funny that you see right through that by the mocking nature of your barking laughter, sharply ringing within his ears.

“My, who’s the exact fucking pervert here, Whit? Y’seem pretty hard to me. Actually, you’re dripping wet down there, y’know that?” No fucking shit. Ready to single-handily cum from a single, measly stroke of your fist snugly wrapped around the veiny girth of his quivering length— fucking hell. Head instinctively thrown back to which you soon wistfully take advantage of, ‘course you would, wouldn’t you? Lazily pressing hot, heated kisses along the sharp edges of his jawline that soon has the same bully, known to be so very resistant, stifling wanton moans, firmly clasping a palm over his gaping mouth in a heedless effort to remain discreet as possible. Slithering, pink tongue laving and tracing over the heated shell of his ear, ushered snickering coupled by bouts of utter filth being so brazenly whispered towards him. And your canines— ah, are not helping at all either. Grazing the bobbing curve of his throat, delicately sucking a bruising mark upon the tanned skin to pridefully admire over later. “Nnh— no, fu— ah, uuckk! N-Not there, you bastard!!”

“Not here? What’s the matter, Ney-Ney? Can’t fucking speak properly when your pretty, pink cock is being stroked off like this?” Would’ve scornfully refuted you, barked out the meanest curses that would’ve had an elderly woman shockingly clutch her pearls if given the chance, but stealing a discreet glance down to humiliatingly witness how sticky and wet his tip has gotten, messily stained your palm in a string of creamy, white pre is not.. Possessing way too much pride to do so. “Y’see, you like this— hah, fuck— you like it when I actually take what I fucking want from you and ruin you down to this cute, little, slutty mess, yeah?”

“I-It’s not like that—“ Uncharacteristically meek protest on his part. Cat got his tongue, ‘s that it?

“No? Pretty boy. Use your words, will you?” Oh, fuuuuckkin’ god. Seeing sheer darkness as his eyes reflexively roll backwards to his skull from casually being called ‘pretty’ by your lulling voice.

Have any idea the way your hushed words dizzyingly affects his fuzzy brain? Renders him alarmingly stiff like a stoned statue, wobbling knees surely bound to buckle beneath the weight of your relentless taunting, all the while being boldly jerked off in broad, fucking daylight — hidden amongst the rustling bushes of the park, mind you — still, very much in an open space where one can be so easily seen by oncoming passerbys. And even then, the absolute control you possess over him, sneakily snaking your arm ‘round his middle, relishing in the little, heated gasps hurriedly rushed out of this dirty, fucking perverted bitch of a blonde’s mouth is too way goddamn much for him to precariously withstand another tortuously long second of this shit.

Yeah, one more minute? He’s fucking busting by then.

“What’s the matter? Can’t keep up? Gon’ shoot your filthy load soon, ‘s that it?” Mild disinterest lacing your very tone with a slight hint of, what’s that..? Actual anticipation? Hah, as if he can barely discern between the mind buzzing layer of reality set upon him when coupled by your soft— so fucking warm, shit.. hand relentlessly fisting him dry, milking every thick droplet steadily trickling forth. Uncaring for the accumulated mess below you both as his hips instinctually roll forward against the rewarding palm of your curled fist, sickeningly jolts at a noticeably harsh press of your padded thumb atop his oozing tip. “Well, then.. Go ahead, I’m not stopping you, am I?”

“Cmon, pretty. Paint my hand all sticky and nice for me, yeah?”

Predictably so, as the uttered rumours had notably confirmed— how downright desperate Whitney’s always apparently been for you to the damn point that he’s automatically cumming on command like a dog patiently withholding for its owner’s words and oh, was it fucking worth the extensive wait. Stifled whimper weakly slipping out, fingers immediately latching onto the comforting feel of your forearm lazily slung around his quivering figure for proper support. No use in making a fool out of himself by clumsily buckling down to his slacked knees— not that he hasn’t already, though too late to be thinking about it twice, huh? Thick, sticky strings of his hot seed directly shot out of his pulsing cock and into the air to, as expected, pervertedly dirty your open hand in a mess of his load which is kinda.. hot, no? Fuckin’ get ahold of yourself, shit! Minus the rest having uncontrollably splattered downwards onto the ground, pitifully traced in a puddled mess of droplets.

And somehow, the barely discernible hint of a relieved breath tumbling from between his parted lips. The natural conclusion that this is it, oncoming closure bound to take its place yet still— still, damn it; Always managed to keep the dirtied blonde on the edge of his toes, haven’t you?

So, truly, it shouldn’t have came off as an unexpected shock then, how you so brazenly mumble a stuttered curse beneath your puffed sighs at the melting sight. “Ah, fuck.” Swiftly freeing your fat— well, admittedly hefty cock for his following eyes to shamelessly gawk at in turn because, y’know.. fuck, he won’t outright voice it, but the sinful glimmer in his wide gaze says it all. Innate itch, unadulterated need— god, to merely sling down to his knees, sloppily drool all over your tasty-looking cock and coat it all shiny and wet with his spit. Although, too busy admiring the rare glimpse of your contorted features strained with pure, unrestrained concentration to bother paying much attention to the repeated, distinct fapping! noises of your cock being so hurriedly stroked raw, as if in a hurry, almost.

Furrowed brows deepening, lashes fluttering in their wake as your rosy lips that he’s known time and time again to be nonchalantly formed into a grin— now, so prettily stained crimson by the harsh press of your teeth against your puffy, bottom lip. “Don’t— ugh, fucking look at me like that.” You audibly groan out in the mix of a huffed chuckle. Slightest flush delicately dusting your cheeks a pink hue, so damn pretty too. “Hah, it makes things kinda awkward, y’know?” Ah, takes less than a stretched minute for his brain to acutely process what’s hit him before given the proper chance.

Something hot— and sticky too, actually it’s pretty evident what it should’ve been if he wasn’t so goddamn brain dead within this bleary moment. Splattering amongst the already present mess you’ve both collectively made of yourself, thick ropes of sweet cum landing right upon his rumpled uniform you’ve taken a gleeful joy of permanently ruining. Judging by the cackling laughter soon drawing forth outta ya thanks to the sheer, dizzying sight of the cum-stained mess he’s forced to pitifully endure for the time being.

Look what you’ve done, god— even if you manage to be one step ahead of him, as always, in such a predicament as the delinquent merely receives a thrown jacket straight in the face. “Sorry for ruining your nice shirt of yours, I couldn’t really help myself when you looked so dumb like that. Take it as an apology, alright?” Exhaling out shakily in the chilling air suddenly alarmingly cold without your warm weight shifted against his own, too deliriously fucked out of his mind to muster up a rightful remark to your cheaply made one. Dumb, little ol’ puppy is what he is to you, no?

And perhaps then, it’s the idiotic absurdity of your actions, swiftly turning away like the encounter itself hadn’t even taken place right at this very spot. Footsteps progressively fading amongst the rhythmic crunches of fallen leaves fluttering down from the withering trees, gaze tentatively flicking downwards to where your stupidly soft, discarded jacket rests within his arms. Meaningless gesture is what it should’ve been notably perceived as, though that doesn’t really help the gradual thump! of his swaying heart noisily beating against his chest nonetheless.

That’s not— oh.

Oh.

“..Fuck.”

Yeah, being wholly swallowed by the ground beneath his feet doesn’t sound so bad now, does it?

#sorry just had to get this out of my system after not writing for around 2 weeks straight #so if this is utter dog shit I’m sorry for having forgotten how to properly write #but yknow nothing beats a whimpering whiny bitch of a mess Whitney #although this was meant to be a short drabble and not a full on lengthy one #not to say 3.5k is all that much in comparison to some but 2k+ isn’t a drabble to me anymore #we’re back to our regular schedule — balls deep in boypussy #had lotsa fun doing this as a warm up and god I cannot wait to expand upon upperclassman reader #dol #degrees of lewdity #whitney the bully #whitney dol #dol whitney #whitney degrees of lewdity #degrees of lewdity whitney #x male reader #top male reader #dom male reader #male reader #character x male reader #— ☆ burnt ashes.

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emphistic · 25 days ago

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𝐁𝐄𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐂𝐇𝐄𝐃, 𝐁𝐎𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐄𝐃, 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐁𝐄𝐖𝐈𝐋𝐃𝐄𝐑𝐄𝐃 .𖥔 ݁ ˖ ‧

𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐒. fem!Reader, bastard!Sukuna, historial AU - regency era, somewhat enemies to lovers, banter, ballroom dancing, eventual smut [MDNI], table séx, exhibitiönism, semi-public séx, nīpple play, fīngering, loss of vīrginity, jealousy, carriage séx, riding, pörn w/ plot

𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓. nearly 16k (yikes)

𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐑'𝐒 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄. sighhhhhh, this took way too long, but im a nerd for jane austen novels and the regency period, so im going to make you a nerd for it, too. available on ao3

“It is a truth universally acknowledged that a single man in possession of a good fortune must be in want of a wife.” — Pride & Prejudice

Whether you liked it or not—or, well, that didn’t matter, really; you had no choice—you had connections. Plenty of them.

You were the firstborn and only child to a renowned lawyer and his wife—whom you called your parents. Your birth was one of necessity, not out of love and want. Most of your mother and father’s siblings constantly pressured them into conceiving—in order to extend the bloodline, they explained—and so they were coerced into a sense of rushing and urgency. This, however, didn’t diminish any of their affection towards you; you were, after all, their only child, their eldest child, and their most beloved child.

“Wealthy” was quite the understatement when it came to describing your family tree. You were rich in prosperity and success, physically and mentally. Your parents cherished you as their only offspring, gave you only the finest governess, and treated you as more of an equal than a baby. That proved not a problem—seeing as how vast your then and current knowledge was compared to those of average salary.

Being an only child may have been quite out of the ordinary in the present times, but the number of relatives you had was abundant enough that you often felt it was really the opposite.

Your grandparents seemed to have a lot of fun back then, because, each of your parents had at least five siblings, which resulted in a little more than ten aunts and uncles when grouped together. This was, however, not as jolly as it may seem. Your aunts and uncles were all old, had even more children than your grandparents, and loved, loved, loved, critiquing others. They tipped their hats at you when greeting, kissed your cheeks and the backs of your hands, but, regardless, they never failed to mention at least one of your faults and flaws.

In addition to this, you had cousins galore. On your mother’s side was a bit fewer than thirty, while your father’s side consisted of two and twenty. It may be a given, it may be not, but you weren’t as close with your cousins as most would normally be. Sending and receiving letters was seldom exchanged, and meeting at balls and dinners was probably the only times you ever conversed with a cousin or two. Well, except for Charlotte and Helena.

Where could you even begin when describing those two? you often laughed.

They were twins, and would look exactly the same if it wasn’t for the fact that Charlotte had blonde curls that she frequently let down, while Helena often wore a brunette updo atop her head. Since birth, they had been inseparable, and most people usually referred to them as a pair, saying things such as Where are the girls? or Are the girls attending? It was great, really. In truth—concise, and full truth—you loved the girls just as if they were your own sisters; and, sometimes it seemed that way.

You three always read together when the men went shooting birds, gossiped about the townspeople, and often matched your dresses, ribbons, and gloves to each other at balls and other gatherings of the like. Maybe it was due to your compatibility, but if you had to call anyone your best friend, it would have to be the girls.

They were both two years your juniors, but it was a commonly known fact that Charlotte was as intelligent as someone ten years your senior. She pored over literature all day, bent over desks examining records, and was always the one to come to when in need of rational advice. Helena, on the other hand, was a bright girl, but she certainly wasn’t a scholar; her strong suit was her humor and charm. She made acquaintances like no other, and had an almost endless amount of suitors and beaus asking for her hand.

But, if that wasn’t the case, she would definitely still have an equal amount of friends. Maybe even the whole population of Wadsworth, if Helena wanted. But, really, that would not be much wanted.

The men and women of Wadsworth were numerous, but they were all prickly in their own ways. You often liked to joke that the countryside of Wadsworth was really just one big rose bush; most people were thorns in the sides, while, if you looked deep, there were plenty of roses, as well. Now, you didn’t hate attending balls, per se, but, the main reason keeping you away was that the men knew not how to dance at all, tripped over others’ feet and shoes, and their vocabulary—oh, lord, their vocabulary. It would be much pleasanter if you didn’t even begin on that topic.

Wadsworth was not small—big enough to fit everyone without being too congested—and it laid up north, where the weather was nice all of twelve-month. The grass was always green, and healthy, and the hefty trees provided shade that was more than needed. It was beautiful, absolutely beautiful, and if it wasn’t the people that lured in tourists, it would have to be the scenery and landscaping.

Aside from the actual land, the properties, the estates, and the manors were all also a sight to behold. Wealthy were your neighbors, and your aunts, and your uncles, and the other ladies and the other sirs. Abodes were more grand than not—all at least two stories—had beautiful shrubbery and quite talented gardeners, large windows, and ornate carriages.

The people who filled these properties all had a profuse liking to dancing, and balls were held most frequently. Sometimes at Stratford House—where the girls resided, sometimes at Grantley Hall—the home of another aunt you had, and sometimes somewhere else. You, however, resided in Blackwood Park with your mother and father. It was a luxurious abode; your governess was as knowledgeable as can be, and the staff were all as kind-hearted as to be expected. You had bookshelves all to yourself, and read to your heart’s content whenever you felt the need to decline an invitation to a social gathering.

Prosperous—was your life.

In the middle of drinking tea—another activity you took up with your cousins—a commotion started up in the streets outside.

All ladies of the town were absolutely, or, at least, nearly under a spell, as they all scrambled to their windows at the sound of hooves and neighing; they went to great lengths such as even peeking behind shutters and curtains, just to attempt even merely a glimpse at the two wealthy—and, if you did say yourself, dashingly dressed—gentlemen that had arrived on their grand steeds; of all their grandeur were individual breeds of andalusian and shire.

It was, without a doubt, quite the sight to behold on a previously seemingly ordinary Tuesday morning. And, you weren’t at all surprised at the idea of any of your family screaming at the chance of possible suitors for either you or their children.

“Oh my!” gasped Helena, as she set down her tea cup, and hurried to look through the windows of Blackwood. “Pray, do you think the gentlemen are married?”

“I would think so,” sighed Charlotte; “any person who looks like that ought to have ladies lining up at his door, wouldn’t you agree it is so?”

The blonde turned to you with an expectant look on her face, and you hesitated for an answer. “If they are as handsome as they are dressed, then, maybe. I have not a good look at their faces from this angle.”

“Oh, dear cousin!” cried the girls simultaneously. They were—if you could even call it that way—heavily dejected at the sound of your declaration. It was rational, though, and that’s why they were so clearly affected; if the men were both handsome and wealthy, it was highly plausible that they were with wives, and any possibility of either of the girls being able to flirt with the gentlemen was thus thrown out of the window.

Laughing, you tried your best to console the girls, and patted each of them on the head, before making your way towards the nearest window. This change gave you a way better opportunity to see the men than you had previously thought. Yes, there were two of them, and yes, they were both as handsome as they were dressed—though you would never admit such a thing aloud.

Because they were both on their horses, you could not see who was taller, but you knew that the distinction between them both was crystal clear; their heads were both full of unnaturally colored hair.

There was one gentleman with hair white as snow, and eyes blue as the vast sea; he wore expensive, lavish clothing, and held himself up with confident poise—much like a prince would. The other gentleman had pink, rosy hair, that was of a ruly style—maybe it was unbrushed, you thought. But the first thing you noticed about him was the evident scowl on his face; he looked like the embodiment of a thunderstorm. Beautiful, but formidable.

Subconsciously, throughout your admiring of the wealthy men, you had been pushing the curtains back inch by inch, until, the white-haired man had seemingly taken notice of your observing, and looked up at your figure with an amused expression, before turning to his friend and pointing at you. With a surprised squeak, you pulled back the curtains and hid yourself before the gentlemen could get another look at you (or so you hoped).

“Why on earth did you close the curtains?” the girls cried, again, after noticing—through their misery—that the sight of the men was gone. “Just because they may be possibly married does not mean we cannot admire them all the same.”

“You think so?” you laughed.

“Well, certainly!” nodded Helena, profusely. “We could always just stand in corners of rooms, silently admiring their countenances. Aren’t I correct, sister?”

Charlotte turned to you with an optimistic smile. “Why, yes, you are! You must know, cousin, we are perfectly capable of keeping our mouths shut of flirtatious compliments when we are near married men. You must know.”

“What a nice thing to know, Lottie. But, we have yet to confirm whether the gentlemen are married or not—”

“Oh! bless me! I truly must’ve forgotten that part,” Helena said, as she squealed and kicked her legs back and forth. She was over the moon at hearing the—still unconfirmed—possibility that the men might be single. “Charlotte, sister, can you believe it? Either one or the both of us may be married by next spring!”

“Oh, cousin,” cried Charlotte, as she took your hands into her own, “this is such a wonderful Tuesday morning—”

In the middle of her exclamations of joy, Charlotte was interrupted by the calling of your maid-servant, who announced there was company at the door. Now, you were just seconds away from being informed of who it was, but the girls just couldn’t contain their anticipation, and before your maid-servant could get but another word out, the twins were flying down the stairs with high and hopeful spirits—the tea party completely forgotten.

“Who, in heaven’s name, could it be?” wondered Helena, as she took you by the arm and dragged the both of you downstairs.

“It must, indubitably, be the fine gentlemen,” declared Charlotte. “How could it not?”

But, upon opening the doors, it was indubitably not the fine gentlemen.

Your aunt—Lady Annesley; not to be mistaken as the mother of the girls—was standing outside Blackwood Park. She was widowed six or seven years ago, you couldn’t exactly recall the date; and she resided in a quite grand abode, called the Grantley Hall. She appeared with an anxious look on her face; but after seeing you open the doors, she hurried herself inside with a jolly, merry laugh.

“Oh, girls! All three of you! I have such wonderful news, such wonderful news, indeed.” She kissed each and every one of you on the cheek, and gathered you all into a tight hug; because she was a touchy person like that, but also because she had not seen one of your faces since her temporary departure to Brighton.

“Oh, Lady Annesley!” exclaimed Helena. “Do tell us about your vacation and trip. Did you see any officers and soldiers there?”

“How about the views? Were the waters and beaches pristine?” Charlotte chipped in.

“Oh, yes!” Lady Annesley simultaneously laughed and nodded like a mad woman. “Yes, yes, yes! My word, it was absolutely lovely, and the weather was just extraordinary; I shall certainly take you all there one day, but . . . that is not important in the present time. You know, Helena, I did make some rather pleasant acquaintances with some Admirals and Lieutenants while at the seashore, and I’ve come with some extra company.”

You raised a brow, intrigued. “Are you to remarry?”

Gasps erupted from the lady and the blonde.

“Nonsense. Why, in heaven’s name, would I do that? No, no, the company is not that. You see, girls, the soldiers and officers that I had such a miraculous opportunity to befriend in Brighton have come back with me. Their military regiment is temporarily stationed here in Wadsworth! Can you believe that? When I was informed by Admiral Dawson, I was rendered speechless for a few minutes, you must know. But, ah, that is long forgotten now.

“There must be a ball hosted soon. It shall be at Grantley, I suppose, but a few arrangements will have to be taken care of before then.” Lady Annesley began to quietly murmur to herself afterwards, droning on about plans required to host a proper ball for so many residents of Wadsworth in addition to the many officers and soldiers.

The girls turned to face you with ecstatic expressions as your aunt fell into a subconscious silence.

“Isn’t this just a wonderful Tuesday morning?” asked Helena. “So many possibly unmarried men to gawk at and admire. How do you reckon, cousin, do you think men hardened by weather and work will be more handsome than gentlemen? I am quite curious, I must say.”

Charlotte answered for you. “I’m not even sure we would know. Here in Wadsworth, we’ve never seen any men of rank and occupation as of theirs, have we?”

The three of you shook your heads, shrugged, and wondered—any thought of the wealthy gentlemen was gone, and forgotten about, as Helena walked off to prepare a dress and fan for the ball, Charlotte stayed behind with Lady Annesley to speak about the scenery during her vacation, and you strode off to drink from your previously abandoned tea cup and continue eating the little French biscuits that the girls had brought along.

It was a pleasantly spent Tuesday morning, indeed. However, not much of the same could be said about the next.

You had not been an hour awake until your cousins had barged into your bedroom, and squealed and giggled as they jumped and danced around your room, exclaiming words and nonsense that your morning fog prevented understanding of.

“Oh, cousin! Do you not know? Today will perhaps be the most amazing night of our lives! Just picture it,” Helena began, pulling you out of bed and forcing you to dance with her, “a whole regiment of soldiers and officers will soon be filling Grantley Hall. The chances of any one of us being able to dance with them is highly likely, is it not? Oh! this is wonderful, wonderful, wonderful!”

“Helena, just—just wait a minute,” you said, pausing before Helena could waltz with you any more, “I have not even gotten dressed for breakfast. And the ball isn’t until evening. What are you and Charlotte so excited for? Many hours to come before the ‘most amazing night’ of our lives, you know.”

“Sister,” sighed Helena, as she turned to Charlotte, “you must certainly explain to our dearest cousin.”

Charlotte nodded. “Many hours to come are many hours to prepare. We must prepare our gowns, fans, bonnets, gloves. And, Helena, before I forget, what are we here for in the first place? to practice dancing, of course. Cousin, I’ll have you know, there is absolutely no chance I am letting you stay huddled at the pianoforte the whole night.

“Although your playing is much beloved, and appreciated, I am almost certain there will be others providing their services at the instrument. Whether you like it or not, I am forcing you to dance. If you do not waltz with any men, you will waltz with me or Helena or Lady Annesley.

“At your age of six and twenty, people worry you will end up celibate, you know.”

You hid a faint smile behind your hand. “Is this your way of looking out for me, then?”

The girls laughed, full of cheer.

Fortunately for the twins—who did not leave your side once throughout—both the morning and the afternoon had passed by with a considerable amount of speed. You three had acquired sufficient gowns for the coming evening, and had spent some time finishing up hair and obtaining jewelry and other essential cosmetics.

It had taken the strength and power of both the girls—with the additional help of Lady Annesley—to be able to force you out the doors of Blackwood Park, and consequently, shove you into the carriage parked outside.

In all honesty, you weren’t in the particular mood to go to a ball, but when your aunt has her mind set on making acquaintances, she will not let go. She often said, Oh, dear niece, think of the men you can meet! or, So many handsome men of great fortunes, or, Rough, calloused, tall; is there anything better? and other similar sayings. It certainly did not help, at all, that Charlotte and Helena only encouraged your aunt.

A husband was never one of your top priorities; dying a single woman was not as unfortunate for you as it would be for other women. You had money, you had wealth, you had prosperity. Some people wed simply for gaining rank and title, carriages and clothes, and estates and property. But you had absolutely no need for any of that. And that’s why, as you walked into Grantley Hall—after what was perhaps the longest, most boring carriage ride of your life—you did not look to see who was handsome, or agreeable, or most rich.

Instead, you looked for a chance to sit down, or, even, scurry away—from your companions, before they could force you to converse with some puny men, or rekindle your relationships with your many, many aunts and uncles.

Despite yourself, you couldn’t help your eye wandering about the property; and only then, did you notice just how many new people were in Wadsworth at this time of year. Just as your aunt had said; there were officers, soldiers, other members of militia, captains, and men of ranks you could not and did not care to recognize.

Although you weren’t as crazy as Helena and Charlotte—whom you assumed were probably in some corner, certainly already flirting with the single men they managed to find, and blushing and obsessing as wildly as lunatics—you also weren’t as prejudiced to say everyone was of absolutely terrible breeding. You saw some handsome faces, you saw some . . . not handsome faces, but, even with all this, you weren’t intrigued. No, not even in the slightest bit.

In an act of rebellion against your “kidnappers,” you were en route to the pianoforte, when you heard a voice call for you, and saw a figure stop in the middle of your way.

“Good evening, miss,” came the call—from an officer, you assumed. “Pardon my intrusion, for I am simply tempted to make an acquaintance with someone of such great countenance as yours. I almost mistook you for a princess, you know.”

He was tall, had long legs, and a fit figure. His hair was dark, and so were his eyes, which were sharp, and stared back at you with emotion you could not read. Of all men you had noticed, he was, as of late, the most handsome, and by far.

A hand was given; a kiss was placed on the back of the palm; and names were exchanged. You referred to him as Mr. Wright, and, after a few minutes spent in conversation, you deemed him a quite agreeable man, whose good breeding had gone not only into physical appearance, but also into his heart. Mr. Adam Wright had opinions similar to your own, was interested in writings you read, and preferred the entertainment of pianoforte, which you played quite often.

“How have you been liking Wadsworth, sir?” you asked, as the two of you began to make your ways to the instrument in the corner of the hall; Wright had requested to hear you play.

“Very much. Very much so, indeed. It is even more lovely than your aunt (remind me her name again, was it Lady Anne?) had previously said. I’m quite fond of the scenery, actually.”

“Oh, are you? You know, there are many paths to walk where you’ll be able to see breathtaking views, I must say. But, if you dislike walking, it’s safe to say that passing by the gardens and shrubbery of most homes is quite adequate enough.”

“No, no, there will be no need,” Wright said, shaking his head. “I find walking very enjoyable.”

You laughed. “What a coincidence; so do I!”

It was, about a second’s distance away, just before you were beginning to seat yourself at the pianoforte, that you felt another presence behind you. Thinking it was just a friend of Mr. Wright that was only planning on making conversation, you turned around with a smile already on your face, but you were met with the sight of none other than your aunt, Lady Annesley, who appeared buzzy, and a bit gone. Had people already begun to drink? you wondered.

“Dearest niece,” she started, placing a hand on your shoulder, “there are two very fine gentlemen I would like for you to meet. Come along now, child,” your aunt beckoned, but as she noticed the man standing to your right, she paused for a minute, laughed, and then continued, “you do not mind, sir? if I steal my niece away for just a moment? I assure you, there are many nice ladies in here that you can help yourself to.”

Lady Annesley waited not even a second to hear Mr. Wright’s response before she dragged you away to another part of Grantley Hall. You occasionally stumbled over your shoes due to your aunt’s unbalanced speed, and watched as the faces around you came and went in a blur whilst you traveled. Obviously, you knew prior, but you only fully realized how many people were in attendance when you caught the eyes of an old teacher—who, to be completely honest, you had not seen since last Michaelmas.

“Right this way, my dear,” your aunt said, in a sing-song tone. “I am very eager, you know, for my darling niece to make such very acceptable acquaintances tonight. Not a chance nor a second shall be missed, and, if the gentlemen have not left and juked me, they should still be right . . . here.”

Lady Annesley had stopped so abruptly in her tracks at a corner of the room that you nearly collided with her back, but, fortunately, you did not. Your eyes lifted, and met the view of two very dashingly dressed gentlemen. Brothers, you assumed, who both had equally pink hair, and wore a pair of nearly complete opposite expressions on their faces.

The taller one—who you thought was the brother—had a fine countenance, a very fine countenance, indeed. His lips were pressed in a thin line, and truly brought out the essence of his character. He had sharp features, similarly to Mr. Adam Wright; his eyes were red as the rubies on his brooch, and he looked like the epitome of wealthy and expensive and elegant. His posture was composed, confident, and totally sure of himself; his hands were folded behind his back, and his eyebrows had a slight quirk in them as he, too, looked you over as you approached.

Your eyes then wandered over to the shorter brother, who stood to the right of the taller one. His face was a near replica of the prior, but his features were softened down, a little more dull, if you could even put it that way, and his smile was perhaps the most prominent feature on his face. The youthful countenance of his was on display, and you had no doubt that either Charlotte or Helena had already set their eyes on him. On the other hand, he looked young, very young—younger than you, perchance; an air of innocence was about his figure, and his eyes shone bright as day.

Sunshine, and thunder.

Oh! that is right; you knew these men, or, at least, you knew the taller one.

A corner of your lips tugged upwards as you made the remembrance. This—this man, this great, wealthy man; you had seen him last week! Certainly! He was one of the two gentlemen who rode on their steeds into town, and as of late, you had received no additional information about them except for the fact that they were of extraordinarily good breeding and admirable poise.

Your hand was offered, received and accepted, and was kissed in greeting. Introductions were quickly exchanged, and you happened to learn that the taller gentleman was called Sukuna Ryomen, whilst his (confirmed to be) brother was named Yuuji. To your great surprise, and due to your aunt’s nosiness, you found that the both of them were unmarried, single, and unengaged.

Originally, you had hoped that that would be the end of it, and your aunt would let you be. But, of course, the universe was not on your side this evening, and you were without the ability to leave and peacefully sit at your beloved pianoforte. Instead, you stood, in a corner of Grantley Hall—under numerous chandeliers—as you were forced to exert yourself for the sake of ‘acquainting’ your being with the two brothers, who, too, looked a bit unsettled by your aunt’s coercing to continue conversation.

“Pray,” you began, “is your current companion the same gentleman from when you first arrived?”

“My brother has hair similar to what is on my own head; my previous companion—a friend—has hair white as snow,” stated Mr. Ryomen, his tone declarative. “Have you no eyes, miss? I am quite sure you are capable of answering your own question.”

You could, obviously, make out that Yuuji was, in fact, not the same man from when Mr. Ryomen first arrived at the countryside; but, you were just simply making small talk. Was the country where the brothers came from so unaccustomed to that? you wondered.

“Have you no sociability, sir? I was not informed prior that simply making small conversation was so . . . unwanted by men like you.”

“What, in heaven’s name, is the meaning for this lack of cordiality, I dare ask? Bless me!” exclaimed your aunt, a look of astonishment on her face as she scolded the three of you. “We are all here to make acquaintances, are we not? Let’s shift to another topic. Pray tell, you are here for . . . ?”

“Vacation, miss,” the younger brother smiled. “We have some friends and family living in Wadsworth, but aside from that, Sukuna is also a landowner here—in addition to his other estates (he likes a change of scenery, every once in a while, I must add). I’ve heard how nice the weather is, and decided to visit, as well.”

“Oh, yes! Most certainly!” nodded Lady Annesley. “Wadsworth is a very common tourist countryside, you must know.”

“Is it?” asked the elder brother.

“Have you no ears, sir? That is what was just said; I am quite sure you are capable of answering your own question.”

“My, is that how the ladies around here speak?” quipped Sukuna, his voice velvety, and dripping with honey as he spoke. “—To gentlemen, as well? I may have overestimated your hospitality to newcomers, or, well, vacationers.”

“Excuse her,” your aunt interjected, nervously laughing, “she’s. . . She caught a cold from the recent rain, I’m afraid. Yes, of course, the rain. Isn’t that right?” Lady Annesley nudged you by the elbow. “It’s the rain, isn’t it?”

“. . .Indeed.”

Though your aunt occasionally gave you rebuking looks for your behavior, you had paid no effort in pretending to be engaged in conversation with the brothers. She had, with all her might, tried to erect as many topics and subjects worth speaking of as possible, but to no avail. Her spirits were deflated, and Lady Annesley had concluded that if you were going to marry one day, the chances of it being with Mr. Sukuna Ryomen were close to zero.

You two sent jeering comments and jokes towards each other as if your lives depended on it, and, in truth, you couldn’t count on either of your hands how many times you rolled your eyes. You found Mr. Ryomen to be a highly disagreeable man, and, if it weren’t for his indubitably large fortune and handsome countenance, you would probably call your aunt deranged for even suggesting you mingle with him. Yuuji, his brother, on the other hand, was much agreeable, and his views and prejudices were very reasonable. Of course, the same could not be said about Sukuna.

His interests were in going a-shooting, riding on his stallions, or taking vacations to his various abodes. Yes, he had multiple, and he had no humility to hide that fact; Sukuna’s pride would take up the whole of Wadsworth and more, if it had a physical form. Of course, he had reason to be full of pride: born rich, and would, eventually, die rich. Still, does it hurt so bad to be humble? You didn’t waste your breath asking that question; you knew, after all, that Sukuna had no experience in that department.

“Are you staying long—in Wadsworth?” you asked, looking only at the younger brother. Ignorance was a petty way of spiting someone, you had to admit, but it was childish, and Sukuna was as childish as a child could possibly be.

“Ah, that is the hope,” smiled Yuuji. “I may think of purchasing land here, you know.”

“Isn’t that just wonderful to hear? I would be delighted to have someone as agreeable as you for a neighbor,” you said. “Pray, does your brother live anywhere near Blackwood Park? I heard you mention him having property here, in Wadsworth.”

“I live five miles away from Blackwood,” Sukuna answered, instead, for Yuuji.

Your eyes shifted to meet red ones, and you moved your weight onto a different leg, whilst fanning yourself with your fan. “I do not recall asking you, sir.”

Sukuna scoffed. “Is it not sensible to answer on my own behalf?”

“Perhaps so. But, I find that nothing you do is sensible,” you laughed. “So, either way, there is really no difference.”

It would be a highly plausible assumption to make by saying that Mr. Ryomen Sukuna was pampered to no end as a child, and never denied any fundamentals or trivials. If that was truly the case, then, you could have sworn you saw an unrecognizable glint flash in his ruby eyes at the sound of your constant discourtesy. Unbeknownst to you, Sukuna had, in fact, been coddled as much as you had assumed. And, just hearing his name being so mercilessly abused was already enough to intrigue him. There was, in a sense, something so alluring and bewitching about your recklessness in conversation, that Sukuna couldn’t help but long for more of the hearing your insults.

Lady Annesley, on the other hand, was extremely disappointed at your behavior, and couldn’t find any reason—no matter searching—for your incredible disdain towards the eldest of the two gentlemen. Your ridiculous bickering and bantering would only serve in embarrassing your aunt’s reputation in Wadsworth, and that was far from what Lady Annesley dreamed of. The only thing she could thank God for was that you weren’t nearly as prejudiced towards Yuuji as you were to his brother.

“Pray, how about we all dance, yes?” your aunt proposed, in faux cheerful spirits. “Shall my niece partner with the younger gentleman?”

“Oh, I’m quite afraid that could not be made possible, miss,” said Yuuji, as he offered an apologetic expression. “My leg is in incredible pain, and I must—with much embarrassment—admit to my having fallen once while riding here. I may have chosen to travel on quite a rowdy stallion, but it is only myself that I have to blame.”

With a politeness you could never aim towards Sukuna, you offered up your condolences, and, with a smile, proposed that the two of you sat down whilst the other attendees danced to their heart’s content. (If it wasn’t obvious before, you were very desperate for any excuse to avoid dancing.) But, to your dismay, Yuuji had declined sitting down, and explained that he had a few other people he was interested in speaking with before the end of the night, and, with a well mannered farewell, bid the three of you adieu.

“Well, upon my word, your parents have done a good job raising that fellow,” added Lady Annesley, a sorry expression on her face as she watched the only other pacifist in your party walk away with an uneven gait, which further proved his excuse.

“Whether that was by the work of my parents, or a governess, or something unspoken, is debatable,” the pink-haired man remarked.

“Or, perhaps, he was merely born with the admirably civil heart he has now. That is quite rare, I must say, in this time, and among these people.” You directed that last bit towards Sukuna, and it was probably pretty clear—seeing as red eyes met yours with just as much animosity soon after your little witty comment.

At first, you were merely treating Sukuna with the same omitted amount of respect he was giving you, but now, you found yourself starting to rather enjoy bullying him. It was pointless banter, after all, and you were almost certain Sukuna felt the same way. Although you felt a sense of dislike towards the man, you couldn’t help but be fond of the way he was, probably, the only other man you could banter with so lightly.

Your unconventional views and dislikes and interests often provoked strong emotion and irritation in most gentlemen, and you weren’t thought to be very agreeable. But, as for the pink-haired gentleman, he took your abusing words with little to no offense. There was the occasional annoyance displayed on his features: like a little furrow of the brow, or crinkle of the nose; but it was almost humorous—seeing as a small smile usually appeared soon after—as if he found your insults to be jokes.

After a pregnant pause, Sukuna broke the silence by saying, “Do you dance, madam?”

“Will you force me?”

“If it cannot be helped.”

You hadn’t actually thought to dance with a man like Sukuna, but upon hearing this concise exchange between her niece and hopefully future nephew-in-law, your aunt thought there was nothing better in the world than to usher the both of you to the center of Grantley Hall herself, and force you two to dance among the rest of the attendees. The orchestrated music was loud—loud enough so that little to no one could hear your protesting complaints, and Lady Annesley, smiling to herself at finally having succeeded in getting you to properly socialize, walked away in the direction of the drinks.

Looking at your aunt’s back as she walked away, you sighed; all your attempts at escaping had been fruitless, futile, and done in vain. For, whilst a pianoforte played in a ¾ time signature, you turned to face Sukuna with a sorrowful expression, but you were instead met with a contrasting smile.

“I have never danced with a lady like you before, miss,” he said, in a condescending tone, as he took your hesitant hands into his, and readied himself for a slow, smooth, elegant waltz.

Sukuna’s hands were calloused, rough, and large compared to your own; he was, certainly, a man.

A warmth spread throughout your body as you made contact with his skin, and it was almost electrifying, like nothing you had ever felt before. It’s safe to say you were expecting something else, but you couldn’t quite put your finger on it.

“You must not dance very often, then. I can assure you, with no doubt, that there is not much to put me aside from others.”

The two of you began to move at a languid speed, and soon caught up to the velocity of most other dancers, though, even in such a large and crowded space, you couldn’t help but feel as if it was just the two of you. The two of you dancing, the two of you talking; the two of you.

“I can name plenty of distinguishing aspects you have.”

“Is that so?” you asked.

“Indeed.”

“My, my, my, do enlighten me, Mr. Ryomen.”

“Do you mean it is not obvious?” he asked, looking into your eyes with intent.

You responded with the shaking of your head.

“Your eyes—somehow brighter than most. Your smile—infectious, even to someone such as I.” Sukuna’s words were spoken with the utmost sincerity, and you could tell, from his tone, that he meant every word he said; although it surprised you to be complimented by him, you couldn’t help the warmth that rose to your cheeks. “Your laughter—melodious to even the deaf. And you, yourself—I find you alluring.”

“. . .”

“Is your silence a sign of disbelief?”

In truth, you weren’t exactly familiar with hearing such a plethora of compliments, and, since it came from someone you could never expect it from, it made you all the more embarrassed.

“I beg your pardon, sir. You find me . . . alluring?”

“It shall be known, soon enough, that I am a man who thinks what he says. I do not say what I do not mean, miss.”

Through keeping your head down, you avoided meeting Sukuna’s eyes with all your might, but still, you could feel his penetrating gaze piercing holes through your face. Listening to the music in the background was a method you used in an attempt to calm your nerves, but all was fruitless in the end. If Sukuna had not the way of words he did now, his voice would certainly make up for it. Thick, sultry, velvety; it was absolutely ludicrous how bothered it made you, and you had to occasionally let out a cough to cover up the way you swallowed the frequent lumps in your throat.

After having settled in silence for a few counts of three, Sukuna smiled, laughing at your sudden shyness. “I have heard lots of great things about you, you must know.”

“Is—Is that so?”

“So it is,” he nodded, before continuing; “your aunt—Lady Annesley, was it?—had briefly spoken about you, in addition to her other nieces and nephews, when she first approached me and my brother.”

At this, you laughed, finally having built up the courage to meet Sukuna in the eyes. “I am concerned about what she might have had to say.”

“All good things, I assure you.”

You breathed out a sigh of relief you didn’t know you were holding, before continuing on in casual conversation. Your banter from earlier had grown severely scarce, and was evidently replaced with subtly flirtatious comments. All the while, you found yourself growing embarrassed more than ever, but over time, you had gradually worked up a familiarity towards the compliments, and felt rather at ease whilst simultaneously talking and dancing with Mr. Ryomen Sukuna—who appeared as cool and composed as per usual.

It was after the pianoforte’s playing had ended, that the crowd had disconnected from the partners, curtseyed and bowed to one another, and burst into applauds of plaudits. The room was lively, with its guests chatting and talking with delight at such a wonderful dance they had danced just moments prior. People took seconds to recollect themselves, by either grabbing glasses of water, or fanning themselves before the next waltz. You, on the other hand, had begun to make your way to the pianoforte, before you were stopped again (yes, again; why on earth was everyone so opposed to letting you play music nowadays?).

There was a nudge against the back of your elbow, and you turned around with much grace, just to be met with the same face from before.

“Could I trouble you for another round, miss?” came that velvety voice you loved so much.

It was Mr. Ryomen Sukuna, and he was with the objective of claiming yet another spot on your dance card this evening. How wonderful, just so, so very wonderful. . .

“. . .And just what type of round are we speaking of, sir?”

Sukuna’s countenance held the expression of mischief, and playful doing, as he leaned his face down closer to yours, till you couldn’t distinguish the line between your and his breath. “Whatever you’d prefer, my fair lady.”

As a smile made its way onto your face, Sukuna did just as he had done before: gathering your warm hands into his cold ones, and bringing the both of you into another waltz just as the euphonious music began again for a second time that evening. While you could never admit it aloud, as the hours passed by, you soon found yourself forgetting all about your beloved pianoforte—that could, as of late, be put off for maybe just a little longer.

***

“All we did was waltz—just like everybody else! What, in heaven’s name, is so unusual about that?”

Your cousins had called on you the next morning after the ball at Grantley, and waited not a second before asking—no, demanding—you to tell them about all that had happened whilst they were away and mingling. (Yes, you were, in fact, correct in assuming that the girls had been acquainting themselves with officers galore and other various gentlemen that same evening.) But, despite them having a most eventful evening themselves, they were, by far, more curious as to hearing about your experience.

“Yes, you waltzed,” Charlotte replied, exasperated, “we know that; we saw it! after all. But, but, but, not only did you waltz together, you waltzed together twice! Can you believe that, Helena? A wealthy—and, if I must say, handsome—gentleman claimed not one, but two spots on our very dear cousin’s dance card last evening!”

“It is oh-so wonderful!” cried Helena, absolutely overjoyed at the fact you were finally socializing for once. “But, do not forget, sister, that Mr. Ryomen Sukuna, the very man our dearest cousin danced with, also held her hands without gloves! Without gloves! Bless me! I find I shall faint if not cautious, you know.”

The girls gossiped and confabulated over yesterday’s events with much interest and engagement. They teased you, giggled at the way you waltzed with a man right after verbally abusing him, and accepted his hand twice. It seemed that they could not and would not let it go that you had danced with such a man last evening, and it seemed the only way you could get them to leave their current attentions was to mention their events and who they danced with—to which, they were most delighted to answer you.

“Shall we tell her, Lottie?” exclaimed Helena, eager to reminisce about the ball she had. “Shall we tell her?”

“Of course, of course!”

And so, with that, the minds of the girls had been successfully veered over to the subject of other men. Helena recalled chatting with several young officers, all who were, as she said, “charming, and effectively handsome, but they were, unfortunately, as taciturn as to make people assume them mute.” Helena complained about how she could only get acquainted with most officers if she was the one who spoke up first; which, in her eyes, was terribly unacceptable.

Charlotte, on the other hand, was not as extroverted as her twin sister, though, she was pretty enough so that people approached her before she had to open her mouth to anyone. She had made acquaintances with “very fine gentlemen, very fine and intellectual gentlemen, indeed,” and laughed and chatted about poetry and philosophy almost all night long. She geeked out on her favorite authors and thinkers, and her interlocutors reciprocated with their own. It was a most enjoyable night for her—seeing as most people of Wadsworth did not find such topics in conversations as pleasant as Charlotte did.

“Did you know, cousin,” began the blonde, “that such an abundance of officers read poetry?”

“Nay, I did not, but go on.”

And go on, she did. Whenever Charlotte spoke of writing and literature, she rarely even took a breath to breathe. She was like that: always very passionate about her favorite subjects, and she was rarely able to notice if the people around her had started to bore or not—but, it mattered not; Charlotte wouldn’t have stopped talking anyway, unless, by a chance, she found herself getting thirsty. Yes, she got thirsty quite often, and you often joked (all in good nature, of course) that it was due to how much she talked.

The three of you had spent the entire morning gossiping over tea and biscuits, until a maid-servant had called you all for lunch, and you all burst into quite a harmoniously-sounding fit of laughter at the realization that, throughout your chitter chatter, you had finished neither one cup of tea, nor one plate of pastries. It was a pleasantly spent morning, indeed.

That week passed by with much ease, and the next one passed by similarly. There was even one day, where, you had been met with the fortunate coincidence of crossing paths with none other than Mr. Adam Wright whilst on your daily walk outside of Blackwood Park.

“Good day, miss,” he began, in a smooth voice, “how do you do?”

“Oh! bless me; you had me startled there—for a minute, Mr. Wright. But, I am very well; I thank you.”

“I beg your finest pardon, madam,” replied he, before bowing his head ever so slightly. “I did not mean to alarm you.”

You waved your hand around in a dismissing manner. “And, to what do I owe the honor of running into you today, sir?”

“Ah, I was just admiring the views you were telling me about. You know, when we were chatting about nature and shrubbery? Yes, well, I find your suggestions to be very credible, for this is quite the place you have here, miss.”

“Thank you, Mr. Wright, very generous of you to say so.” You smiled.

“No need to thank me, I am sure you receive compliments on your home thousands upon thousands of times each day. Pray, how many acres is Blackwood Park?”

“I would assume a little above three thousand.”

“Is that so?”

“So it is,” you said, smiling. “Why the face? Do not you believe me?” you joked, seemingly in a playful mood this morning.

“I ought to walk with you around the park in order to further prove your answer.”

As you two linked arms, and began to walk around the park, surrounded by bushes and trimmed shrubbery under the shade-providing trees, you wondered if this was Mr. Wright’s attempt at flirting, or getting to know you. But, either way, you kept a smile on your face and walked, explaining the paths and routes and terrain as you did so.

“Do you walk often, miss?”

“I believe I told you that I did—at Grantley. Or have you already forgotten? I didn’t know you paid so little to a supposed princess’s words, sir.”

Mr. Wright laughed. “It was an assumption, I explained. If you shall continue to tease me on that subject, I may become humiliated, you know.”

“What if that’s my goal?”

“Then, I suppose, the ladies here in Wadsworth must be very cruel.”

The both of you turned a corner, walking a new veered path as the sun bathed you in light. You were just about to reposition your parasol to shield yourself from the blinding radiance, when, out of the blue, a hand came up to cover your eyes from above; it was discovered to be Mr. Adam Wright’s.

“Oh!” you exclaimed, heat rising to your cheeks. “I thank you, sir.”

“It is not a problem,” began the officer; “you repay me by showing me the very nice landscaping here, after all.”

“. . .Ah, I see.”

In truth, you had not been in hopes of being joined in your walk this autumn morning, and you usually preferred solitude in times like these, but, alas, you had been joined by an officer, and were now to show him the ways around Blackwood Park and the rest of Wadsworth. You would be lying if you said it didn’t bother you in the slightest. . .

The both of you walked and talked: admiring the beautiful river of Northwick, crossing the bridge above said river, speaking of the chestnuts that had fallen from deciduous trees, and laughing about the squirrels above; all of this up until lunchtime, when you two departed—you, who had arrived at Stratford House to exchange your calling card with Charlotte and Helena, and Mr. Adam Wright, who had the objective of going forth to the shops.

Upon entering Stratford, you were greeted by the sight of two very excited twins.

“Oh, cousin! You’re here!” cried Helena. “We were waiting for your call, you know.”

“Hm, well, isn’t that lovely? What were you waiting for, exactly?”

“I’m not surprised you weren’t informed as of late; it was very last minute,” began Charlotte, “but, we were invited to Kendall Manor, actually. All three of us!” The blonde gestured to you, herself, and her sister.

“Kendall?” you repeated, raising your eyebrows. “Well, color me intrigued, then.”

Kendall Manor was a very envied spot in Wadsworth. With many beautiful arts there, it was a very famous spot for tourists to visit; you had even been there once or twice, whilst paying respects to its multitude of pianofortes and large collection of literature. Outside, it had high walls, lakes, an abundance of land, and various fountains throughout. The estate was known, but, in contrast, its owner was not.

For as long as you had lived, the possessor of Kendall Manor had never been present in Wadsworth. Not much information was of him, whoever he was, but the one piece of knowledge regarding him, was that he was alive and well. Maybe in a neighboring country, maybe somewhere else, no one knew where, but everyone knew he was there. It worked out, though; if so many people were visiting and entering Kendall Manor each day, surely the owner would be bothered, but in this case, that didn’t matter; the owner wasn’t even there!

“Come, lovie,” began Charlotte, as she ushered you upstairs to a changing room; “we must make haste! The chaise and four have already been called for, and not a second can be of waste.”

You had been dressed, your hair done, and your face painted, before you were, again, shoved into a carriage and driven off to Kendall Manor. It happened incredibly quickly, and gave you whiplash all the while.

“Do you two happen to know who specifically invited us lot?” you asked. “I wasn’t familiar with the fact that the owner of Kendall Manor was in the country; was it the doing of a servant? Or was the manor let?”

“Dear cousin, you worry too much,” laughed Helena. “We should instead rejoice at the opportunity of another party; we are bound to have a ball, after all. Why does the host matter?”

You grumbled, and sat silent for the rest of the ride. It was strange; why now? Why did the owner of Kendall decide to come home now? And, why on earth did he invite you and the girls? As far as you were concerned, you had no acquaintance with him, whoever he was, and neither did your family or any other relations you had.

Whilst basking in your confusion and wonder, the horses had come to a stop outside of a quite magnificent abode, and you instantly knew that this was Kendall Manor. Four or five thousand acres of land, under the blazing sun. Beautiful, vast, and plagued with mystery.

The three of you were taken up the stairs, and led inside by a valet, where you were greeted with the even more surprising sight of the rest of your family: some aunts and uncles, Lady Annesley, and others you did not care to name. If that wasn’t enough to make your jaw drop, you noticed half (if not all) of Wadsworth residents and even a few familiar faces of officers from the regiment temporarily stationed in the countryside; but, try as you might, your eyes could not set upon the countenance of Mr. Adam Wright—who was, probably, out at the shops, and alone.

What was this? Why was everyone here?

“Forgive my lack of planning prior,” began a velvety voice you knew well; and when you turned to the sound of that voice, you were met with the face of Mr. Ryomen Sukuna, standing next to his brother. “Welcome, all, to Kendall Manor.”

It was quickly explained that this was a party, in celebration of Mr. Ryomen, who had finally returned to his home country of Wadsworth, and was planning on staying for longer than he had been gone. He wanted to make acquaintances with all the people he would’ve known had he been here instead of at all his other estates and properties.

The guests were introduced to a large variety of pastries and biscuits and drinks and other desserts from the other counties Sukuna had been staying at previously. People asked him about what his other homes were like: if they were much different from Kendall of Wadsworth, and he—with his usual disagreeableness—did not even try to act humble as he described his very prosperous and fortunate self.

There were many ladies of Wadsworth that were single, and none of them wasted any chance in practically throwing themselves at the owner of the manor. In addition, Charlotte and Helena, once standing beside you, were now off and talking with a number of officers, having a very pleasant afternoon themselves.

You, on the other hand, were not much interested in speaking about subjects such as these, and, accompanied by very few people, walked into a nearby drawing room. Though you were not much of a card-player yourself, it was, perhaps, the only source of entertainment you could find within the walls of Kendall (except for playing pianoforte, which the girls forbade you). A table for Whist was set up, and a party of four, including yourself, began to play.

For a few rounds, you thought you had found peace, but no, a thunderstorm had soon followed you all the way into the drawing room. Mr. Ryomen had come, and was accompanied by the other guests, who were all flocking to him like birds.

“Shall we all play a game for more of us?” began the pink-haired gentleman. He was clearly doing this on purpose; his face told you all you needed to know: he was disturbing your peace and quiet for the simple motive of being a bother.

Of course, no one could refuse the host of such a grand party, and a much larger game table was soon set up, so that many could sit down and gamble. You had the unfortunate fate of being seated between the host, and Lady Annesley; and, although you were near at least one good relative, your aunt paid minimal attention to you, for she was seated beside Admiral Dawson, whom she was grossly engaged in conversation with.

Throughout the betting game, either your or Sukuna’s seat had been gradually inching closer to the other’s, to the point your shoulders were practically touching, and so were your elbows, which occasionally bumped together, causing the both of you to mutter curses or complaints.

“Why don’t you move nearer to your brother, sir? I am sure it would be much appreciated,” you jeered, obviously fed up with the amount of hits you were receiving.

“Careful there, miss. Lying too much can be detrimental.”

“‘Lying’? Oh, please. There is no truth in my saying ‘I enjoy sitting beside you’.”

“Of course,” laughed Sukuna, in a mocking tone. “Of course, Miss Untouchable. How could I forget? you just have a problem with everyone these days.”

“. . .”

“I wasn’t at all aware, you know, that such a disagreeable woman like you existed. Though, I can’t say it was unexpected; your countenance gives quite a fair hint to everyone when looking at you.”

You rolled your eyes. “I am sure the absolute same could be said about you, sir.”

“What a coincidence!” teased Sukuna. “I was beginning to think we had nothing in common.”

Narrowing your eyes, you stabbed the heel of your shoe onto Sukuna’s, but he let out neither a curse nor a groan of pain.

Instead, Sukuna rested his arm on the back of your chair with an overwhelming grip as he leaned his face closer to yours; and you could’ve sworn you could see the red of his eyes swirling together in a mix, as if a tornado. The tips of your noses were only centimeters apart, and you couldn’t draw a line between where your breath ended and where his started even if you had to.

Your eyes met with equal resentment and agitation, as if there was a mutual message being sent from merely your locked gazes alone, but then, to your surprise, his stare drifted up to your hat.

“Various shades of blue and green, with gold as an accent,” he noted, in a slurred tone, almost as if he was drunk.

“Well, yes. Have you never seen a peacock feather?”

“Two of which are both colors on the cooler side of the color spectrum,” he continued, paying no mind to your words; “but, I must say, red would suit you much better, my darling.”

Your eyes widened at the sound of this, and your gaze fell to your fidgety hands in your laps. Still, you wasted no time in quipping, “I have no doubt I would wear the color much better than you, Mr. Ryomen Sukuna.”

“I can imagine that, but I would rather see it with my own eyes,” he said, eyes trailing back down to your lips.

“. . .”

The hand that was previously draped over the back of your chair slowly but surely made its way down, until it was draped over your hip, gripping and kneading the flesh there. Your breath caught in your throat, and you turned to face Sukuna with an incredulous expression. You mouthed the words What on earth are you doing? To which, the pink-haired man only responded with Nothing you wouldn’t want, my lady.

In order for the hand on your hip to not be visible, you had to scoot your chair as far away from Lady Annesley as you could, and press your body as close to Sukuna’s as you could possibly venture. The rest of the drawing room remained boisterous, and completely oblivious to the scandalous act you had going on with the party’s host.

As his hand lowered down to the ends of your dress, and his fingers crept up your skirt, your cheeks warmed to an extreme extent, and you tugged on Sukuna’s sleeve, desperate for something you couldn’t quite put your finger on. This was utterly humiliating! you thought. What was the meaning for this? And in the middle of a party?

His hands felt cold, and you frequently shivered as they moved at a dreadfully slow speed up your legs, before settling in between your thighs. If your face wasn’t as red as a tomato before, it surely was now. For, you had originally thought that clamping your thighs together would be the perfect plan to get Sukuna to stop his movements, but no, it made everything altogether worse. By a thousand degrees.

His hand was stuck between your thighs, and, like the bastard he was, Mr. Ryomen Sukuna thought it would be such a fun thing to move your panties aside, and put pressure on your clit, which, consequently, resulted in you having to cover your mouth with your fan, to hide and shield the whimpers that came soon after.

“Nnghh.”

His fingers then removed themselves, to which you gasped in relief, but before you could utter another word, you were interrupted by his fingers entering you once more, in a quite diligent fashion. They curled and twisted, and reached deep inside of you, but alas, you could do nothing but writhe; you couldn’t bear this predicament you had gotten yourself into being exposed to the rest of the party guests, and you couldn’t—without feeling shame—let it be known that the feeling of Sukuna’s fingers was rather pleasurable.

Your whole body’s temperature rose, and you couldn’t help the moans that left your lips. This feeling was so . . . strange; you had never felt anything like this before. So overwhelming with both pain and pleasure, and incredibly scandalous. If anyone were to find out what you were doing—never mind, you need not know.

Sukuna’s lips ghosted the shell of your ear, before whispering, “Don’t fight it.”

One finger, then two, and now three.

“F-Fight what?” you managed, between whimpers. “What are you doing?”

With your thighs still clamped together and squeezing around his hand, the pleasure of Sukuna’s fingers moving within you was highly intensified, and your expression twisted into one of embarrassing lewdness. The suddenly appeared knot in your stomach had tightened, and you had soon reached your peak only moments later, your release clinging to Sukuna’s fingers, which were still deep inside of you.

“Hahh, Sukunngh,” you moaned, eyes squeezing shut as you hid your face from other guests behind your fan.

Just as you were recovering from your body’s physical reaction and occasional jolts, Sukuna’s voice suddenly sounded in the room, and everyone and their mother turned to face him, completely unbeknownst to the fact that his hand was still in between your legs.

You didn’t hear much of what he said—your head still swimming, and your self dazed—but you managed to make out a few words, where Sukuna had explained that there were numerous hallways in Kendall that were filled from top to bottom with many famous and beautiful paintings and other art works. The guests were unsurprised by this knowledge, but nonetheless, they were greatly intrigued, and as a valet of Sukuna’s led the party out of the drawing room, Sukuna sat back down (after making sure everyone had exited) and turned to you with a smug expression—never once removing his fingers from deep within you.

“Sukuna,” you mewled, nearly going crazy at the realization that the man would probably never run out of stamina to finger you, “what are you doing?”

Whilst grinning like a mad man, Sukuna pulled you onto his lap within the blink of an eye, which resulted in your back being flush with his hard chest. Beyond shocked, you gasped, but before you could get out another word, you felt the tickling sensation of lips dragging down your clavicle and shoulders, peppering kisses on several moles and freckles you had there.

There was a growing warmth in your core, and though you writhed and wriggled in his grasps, you couldn’t help but (after a few moments) finally succumb to his touches and caresses. A sigh left your lips, and you leaned back against the body behind you.

“Sukuna, I—ahh, w-why?”

Just as you were beginning to relax, Sukuna removed his hand from between your legs and, with the assistance of his other hand, pulled the top of your dress down, leaving the bare skin of your chest revealed to the empty drawing room and cool air.

“You’re so beautiful, my lady,” he slurred, eyes glued to your exposed tits.

Without wasting a moment, Sukuna began to pull and twist and press at your nipples, which were beginning to harden at his assaults. Your back arched, and you let out an embarrassingly loud moan at the unfamiliar feeling of pleasure. This was totally erotic! you thought, though you did nothing to stop it. As your nipples were carelessly toyed with to Sukuna’s content, your body twisted and squirmed all the while, but to no avail.

As if a child playing with a new toy for the first time, Sukuna squeezed and squeezed at the wholes of your tits, admiring the way your buds pebbled at the attention they were receiving. Your legs kicked at nothing, and you thrashed around wildly; and, if things couldn’t get more lewd, you felt the sensation of a warm, wet tongue lick a stripe up your neck.

Pornographic moans, whimpers, and cries filled the empty drawing room, and you couldn’t even imagine the looks on people’s faces if they returned from the gallery early.

“Nnghh! Ah—ah—ahh! Sukuna!” You panted, delirious.

“Mmm, that’s it, sweetheart,” said Sukuna, as he kissed and nipped at your throat. “Don’t hold back; just let out all your cute little noises for me.”

The hands which groped at your breast soon paused in their assaults, and as you began to catch your breath, you felt them gradually slide down the curves of your body, all the way to your thighs, where they hiked up the material of your skirt, pulling it up to your stomach, which left your panties and dignity exposed.

“. . .Sukuna?” You blinked.

“Ha! You’ve become so wet just from my hands alone, that I think it would be no trouble at all for you to take my cock right about . . . now.”

“What—oh! Mmph!”

Apparently, Mr. Ryomen Sukuna had a major problem with cutting people off, because, just as you were about to ask what he very well meant by that, your hips were tightly gripped onto, your body was raised, and you cried out as you were soon slammed back down onto Sukuna’s cock. All the words in your throat had been swallowed, and your brain turned to mush as you felt so utterly full from his girth and length alone; it was so . . . big. You had never done anything as insane as this, and as moans and cries left your lips left and right, you couldn’t distinguish whether you felt more pain or pleasure.

Your eyes fluttered shut, and your face twisted into that of incredible lewdness; your hands gripped onto Sukuna’s biceps, and your nails dug into his muscles, surely leaving crescent-shaped marks in the way.

“Shit, gorgeous,” he groaned. “You’re so tight. Ever been fucked before?”

“Nnghh, n-no. . . No!”

“That’s. . . Fuck. You mean I’m the first one to touch you like this?”

Sukuna gripped and groped onto your tits as he spoke, before raising up your hips and slamming them back down just like before. One second, you were empty, the next, you were so impossibly full, and then so on and so forth. As Sukuna repeated this for God knows how long, you nearly passed out from the overwhelming pleasure you felt everywhere. From the calloused hands on your hips, to the length of his cock sliding in and out and up and down your walls, to the warm breath fanning your ear. It was all so much.

You had never known pleasure like this before, and you wondered if this was but a dream.

As you rolled your hips, trying desperately for more friction, you were stopped by the feeling of two hands gripping onto the meat of your hips with a strength that was sure to result in bruising the next morrow.

“Why do you move, darling?” Sukuna leaned down to whisper in your ear, and a shiver ran down your spine. “I’ve got you right where I want you.”

Whilst you bounced sensuously on his lap, Sukuna didn’t show an ounce of shame as he stared with incredible lust at the sight of your tits bouncing up and down. The tip of his cock penetrated you in places you didn’t even know existed until now, and you couldn’t help the plethora of moans that left your lips.

Just as before, the knot in your stomach tightened to an unbearable height, and with one last rough thrust, you came right on Sukuna’s cock; your bodily fluids dripping down his shaft and leaving a sticky feeling between your thighs as they dried.

“So?” began Sukuna, bringing you out of your dazed state.

In confusion, your brows knitted together. “I—I beg your pardon?”

“How was it?”

“How was . . . what?”

You could hear Sukuna scoff from behind you. “Are you that dense, my dear lady? Or have you already forgotten what we have—mind you—just done?”

“. . .I’m afraid my memory is not as sufficient as one’s might be,” you teased, despite yourself.

The corner of Sukuna’s lip quirked upwards, into a grin, as a mischievous expression made its way onto his face. “Shall we refresh your memory, then?”

“How so?”

With his cock still buried deep inside of you to the hilt, Sukuna stood up and moved your bodies in tandem until he was able to lay the top half of your body on the drawing room’s table. Your bare tits pressed up against the rough wood, and you groaned in relief as you laid the side of your face down.

Unfortunately (or fortunately) for you, Sukuna had no even the slightest idea of relaxing on his mind, and as the lids of your eyes began to droop, Sukuna woke you straight up with a hard thrust inside your cunt, which slightly shook the table and resulted in a rather unpleasant sound reverberating throughout the living space.

This, completely, caught you off guard, and the scream that left your throat was to be expected. “Ahh! I—hahh.”

Your back arched, your hair was pulled towards Sukuna, your neck soon began to ache; you saw stars as Sukuna continued his thrusts from before with more (if not the same amount of) force, and you wondered if the walls were thin enough for servants or party guests to hear you from all the way down the hall.

Maybe it was ridiculous, maybe it was not, but as Sukuna’s cock continued to fill you to the hilt, you could’ve sworn you felt him in your guts. Callings of his name, moans of gibberish, and et cetera, left your lips as if in a prayer to God. You panted, you gasped, and your breath got caught in your throat as the table rocked beneath your and Sukuna’s weight.

If not for his stable grip on your hips, you would’ve fallen and crashed to the floor from how your knees buckled and turned to seemingly nothingness.

“Has your memory been refreshed, my lady?” began Sukuna, in a jeering tone.

“I—nnghh, not . . . not quite.” Though you were barley conscious at this point, and pleasure nearly consumed your whole being, you couldn’t help but joke. However, as the speed and force of Sukuna’s thrusts began to increase, you soon found yourself thinking how foolish it was to joke in such a predicament.

“Yeah? How about now?”

Both hands on your hips had left, and instead found their way to your tits, where they groped and squeezed to Sukuna’s liking.

This may have been your breaking point; and as your back arched and the volume of your lewd cries increased, you found yourself grinding your ass back against Sukuna’s crotch. The extra friction brought you over the edge, and you moaned and moaned like a bitch in heat as you came once more.

You didn’t remember much of what came after that (A/N: pun intended), but you knew you had somehow managed to dress yourself and fix your disheveled appearance right as soon as half of the party returned to the drawing room. Whilst the guests drank in the sight of you, Sukuna, on the other hand, had fixed his pants, and casually seated himself on his chair.

“Oh, my niece,” exclaimed a bewildered Lady Annesley, “you are already here.”

You stopped like a deer in front of a carriage driver’s torch, and stuttered as you struggled for an answer. “Yes, I—I quickly lost interest while looking at the artwork, and decided to return here to play another game of cards.”

“So you say? Well, upon my word, what card game did you play that resulted in your countenance to glow so pleasantly as it does now?”

For a second, you had thought your aunt had somehow discovered what you and Mr. Ryomen Sukuna were getting up to whilst alone in the drawing room, but after a moment’s silence, you quickly realized she was being genuine, and, like her usual chaotic-self, was simply wondering about a possible new skincare routine. At this newfound conclusion, you let out a sigh of relief, and continued in conversation for the remaining duration of the party at Kendall.

However, at the back of your mind remained the still recent memory of what it was like to have your brains fucked out by none other than Mr. Ryomen Sukuna, who, whilst he pretended to linger around your being while you chatted with relatives, occasionally trailed a playful finger up your spine, which always resulted in your breath being caught in your throat, as you feared he would do something similar to what he did before the guests had left.

***

It was late—well into the evening, really—when a messenger on his horse had come by with mail in his inventory.

A fortnight had passed since that . . . incident in Kendall Manor’s drawing room, and you had been avoiding Sukuna ever since. You feared that if you did otherwise, you would begin to develop an unhealthy relationship with his cock, which, even after fourteen days, you had not forgotten the feeling of. It was strange, to say the least. At first, you had thought Sukuna to be a very disagreeable man, a very disagreeable man, indeed; but now, he was . . . well, no, he was the same, but his dick, on the other hand, was much more agreeable.

You had never thought yourself to be one to have sexual intercourse before marriage, but maybe there could be an exception for someone like Mr. Ryomen Sukuna.

Sometimes, you laid awake at night, at times past the Devil’s hour, you assumed, and tossed and turned and tried to replicate how Sukuna’s fingers felt, how his mouth made you feel, how full his cock made you, but to no avail. You would, eventually, scream into your pillow out of frustration, and pass out from exhaustion.

Damn him. Damn him and his whole entire lineage.

Who was he to make you feel this way, huh? Who was he to come waltzing into Wadsworth with his expensive little steed and expensive fucking clothes, and leave you high and dry? Who was he to spoil you for your future spouse? He had no right, absolutely none.

And so, when a messenger and his horse came to the doors of Blackwood Park, you could probably imagine the distress and anxiety you had suffered. All the color had been drained from your face, for you wondered if a letter had come from Mr. Ryomen Sukuna himself; your mother and your father had even noticed how pale you had gotten, and, in their worry, asked you how you felt, to which you replied with a short answer, but it contained everything but the truth.

Upon reading the label, you found the manilla paper to be addressed to none other than you. Even more horrified, you searched frantically for a name, and after reading the words Mr. Adam Wright, you seemed to calm down by a few degrees.

“Open it, cousin! Open it!” cried Helena; for the girls had been at Blackwood since sundown, and were planning on sleeping over, which was, actually, pretty common between the three of you.

“Shall I have no privacy even in my own home?” you joked.

The girls laughed, before exiting your room and running downstairs.

With a sigh, and a tired groan, you began to unravel the letter.

To your astonishment, it was almost four pages! Four pages, filled from top to bottom with a confession of . . . love‽ Love—from Mr. Adam Wright? What, in heaven’s name, could’ve produced such a feeling as this? you wondered. Sure, maybe you had flirted with the officer a few times, but it was only minor incidents, and you had done them with the imagination that nothing could come of it. But no, you couldn’t have been more wrong.

Mr. Adam Wright was in love with you.

In his letter, he frequently quoted phrases from your favorite books and epics, but none of them seemed to affect you more than with distraught and horror. He confessed he was too much of a coward to profess his love in person, and, in addition, claimed he could not say all that he felt for you, for he felt too much to say, and writing it down was as close as he could get to letting everything out.

He was in love with your laugh, your smile, your mind, and your soul.

“I have never conversed with a lady quite as charming as you, miss. Your character is incredibly suitable to my likes and my dislikes, and I find, if I had never met you, I would have never met the love of my life. You bewitch me, physically and mentally.”

You had to admit, he was quite poetic when it came to writing a confession of love and admiration, but it pained you more than it flattered you, for, you did not feel even an ounce of the same feeling. Guilt and regret plagued your mind as you read through the seemingly never-ending paragraphs, and yet, you could not and would not accept that someone such as Mr. Adam Wright was in love with you.

It seemed . . . preposterous.

You had never thought of him in that way whatsoever. Well, he was handsome, and he was smart and quite the agreeable man, but he wasn’t what you wanted. There had to be someone out there that would reciprocate his feelings, but it wouldn’t be you. Not today, not tomorrow, not ever.

After reading the letter maybe three times (just to make sure your eyes weren’t deceiving you), you sat down for a moment of silence, before opening your door and calling for the girls. Upon their entering, you immediately explained the contents of the letter, and, with a very desperate tone of voice, pleaded for any advice they could give.

“Well, this is. . . I’m quite appalled, dear cousin,” began Charlotte; “but, just to be clear, you do not feel the same way?”

“I’m not sure I would be asking for advice if I did.” You laughed, trying to cope with humor.

“I, for one, think you should send a letter back,” suggested Helena.

“. . .You know, I would do that, actually, but, the thing is, Wright wants to see me.”

Both of the sisters asked what you meant by that.

“In his letter, towards the end of it, I am sure, he asks to see me, near Northwick. I assume he means he wants to propose on the bridge; we walked there once, you see.”

“And you did not think to tell us until now?” cried Helena.

You raised your hands in defense. “Hey, I didn’t think much of it.”

“This is quite the predicament you’ve gotten yourself into,” declared Charlotte.

And this was quite the predicament, indeed. The next morning, a little after breakfast, you had begun to walk to Northwick. And, upon reaching sight of the bridge, you had found that Mr. Adam Wright was already there. He looked confident, he looked sure, he looked sharp; which just made you twice as guilty.

Before arriving, you had assured yourself everything was going to be just dandy; you would get it over with as quick as possible, and then attend the play you had been invited to by a couple of friends. The proposal of Mr. Adam Wright would be soon forgotten about, and you would sing and dance and be merry for the rest of the day.

“My lady, how do you do?” Wright was always quick when it came to greeting you. “I assume you’ve received my letter?”

“I am quite fine this morning, sir; and yes.”

“Have you any response?”

You nodded, before saying, “I am . . . rather flattered to receive a proposal from such a man as you, Mr. Adam Wright, but I am afraid I cannot give you my hand in marriage.”

You had consequently explained your reasoning, and how you did not reciprocate any romantic feelings such as love towards Mr. Wright, who accepted your words with a very solemn expression. That was a nice quality of his: to be able to accept rejection, and you even noted how you thought he was a very agreeable man, who was sure to find a wife sooner or later.

“There are many balls that occur in Wadsworth, with many women who attend, but, if that fails, an itinerant profession such as yours indubitably has the aspects to acquire a spouse within a lifetime—yes, I am sure.”

“I see you do not accept my proposal, then; very well. Good morning, miss.”

With the tipping of his hat, and a very quick farewell, the two of you parted ways.

A few hours had come by after your declination, and you soon found yourself standing outside of Grantley Hall with Charlotte and Helena, Lady Annesley, a few other relatives and friends, and Mr. Ryomen Sukuna and his brother. You hadn’t expected to see either of them any time soon, but maybe your aunt was just very sociable, and considered them to be friends.

Upon noticing Sukuna’s face amongst the crowd, you immediately ducked away, and subtly hid yourself behind your aunt, who was taller and broader than you, and could serve as a pseudo-shield, but of course, your efforts were noticed and fruitless, in the end.

Sukuna had caught sight of your figure, and made eye contact with you for a relatively long time, before turning back to a conversation with his brother.

“Everyone seems to be here,” began your aunt, double-checking the party; “how about we begin our journey? The theater is quite far, I heard.”

And so, everyone had started to pile into a multitude of carriages and vehicles. Unfortunately, with such a large party as you were in, you obviously had the luck of being stuck with none other than the Devil himself—Mr. Ryomen Sukuna. There was no other room for you with anyone else you knew; you had received offers to switch seats, but due to your having taken a liking to rejecting people (A/N: this is a joke; please laugh), you had declined them all.

In consequence, you and Sukuna were forced to ride in a carriage—alone.

The cushions were small, and you were forced to acquire a seat right beside Sukuna. Your shoulders bumped occasionally, due to the jolts of the carriage and the bumpy road, but that was about it. You were neither squished nor totally uncomfortable. And, at first, it was quite pleasant, actually. Neither you nor Sukuna spoke much, due to your embarrassment, and his . . . indifference? so you had no reason to stutter or stumble over words. Well, that was, until Sukuna decided to bring up a certain someone into the conversation.

“It seems you have taken quite the partiality towards Wright,” he began; and you could practically feel his piercing stare burning holes through your head, but alas, you kept your eyes on the road, and avoided eye contact—which was beginning to prove to be quite the challenge.

“We are acquaintances.”

“Just acquaintances?”

You sighed. “It depends on how you define the word ‘acquaintance,’ I suppose.”

“You know, my lady, I have heard quite a rumor this morning—regarding you and that officer.”

You froze, an infinite amount of ideas popping into your head, before snapping your neck to meet Sukuna’s much amused ones. “Pray, have you any idea how rude it is to bring up a subject without elaborating,? You, sir, ought to explain further.”

Sukuna, ignoring your words, cast his eyes downward, saying, “Show me your hand,” with as less emotion and as much authority as humanly possible.

Perhaps in an act of childish rebellion, you covered your gloved hands, and put them aside. “I do not see how that is of any relevance.”

“What a coincidence; I do.” Scoffing, Sukuna took your left hand into his, and held it up to his face, completely disregarding your protests and fruitless attempts at flailing around.

When he found what he wanted, he placed your hand down, and looked at your pout with a smug expression. “I take it you are not engaged, then?”

“I’ve no ring,” came your curt reply, before crossing your arms over your chest. You had initially hoped to fool him for even a bit longer, but Sukuna was more resourceful (forceful) than you could admit.

Sukuna laughed. “Miss Untouchable refused Mr. Adam Wright? What a spectacle that surely was. Say, the next time you reject a proposal, let me know prior so I can sit and watch.”

“When Hell freezes over, I will.”

Leaning over to peer into your eyes, Sukuna offered a shit-eating grin. “You can be so rude, my fair lady.”

Finally meeting his eyes at last, you couldn’t help the abusing words that soon left your lips. “You call me ‘rude,’ I hear? That is how you think of me? What about yourself, then, sir? Is the way you treat a lady such as I any different than ‘rude,’ I wonder?”

Sukuna grabbed your hips and dragged you onto his lap as you continued to berate and rip at him whilst he remained totally unfazed. He had become used to your character at this point, and your insults and scolding merely droned on in the background as his mind was set on other things.

“How else am I rude, madam?”

“When you—When you. . .” You paused, averting eye contact. “When you make me feel . . . this way.”

“And, pray tell,” began Sukuna, as he grabbed your chin and forced you to look in his eye, “what way do I make you feel?”

You chewed at your bottom lip, and out of frustration, could not form much to say.

When Sukuna noticed your hesitance, and your embarrassment, he decided to take matters into his own hands, and as a smile began to etch on his face, he lifted the ends of your dress, piling it at your waist, before beginning to trail his hands up your bare thighs at a teasingly unbearable speed.

At the familiar act, your breath caught in your throat, and you clawed at the lapels of Sukuna’s coat jacket.

Without stopping for even a beat, Sukuna’s cold, slender fingers made their way up your thighs, and began to ghost over the wetness that had formed at your entrance.

“My, my, my, don’t tell me, was it your anger at me that got you so wet, or was it my mere showing up today?”

“Neither, you bastard.”

As if possessed by an entity, (or maybe it was because you just couldn’t take it anymore), you grabbed Sukuna by the collar, and roughly—and clumsily—smashed his lips against yours. Almost immediately, his hands squeezed and groped at your ass, as he met your lips with an almost equally fervent kiss.

You had never done something so deliberately and scandalous before (except for that evening at Kendall, but that doesn’t count), and you almost wondered if you were doing everything wrong. But, seeing as you could feel a growing hardness beneath your bottom, you were soon assured of your quite capable abilities.

“Fuck, darling. Have you been waiting to do this?” he murmured, between kisses.

“Mm, yeah—in your dreams.”

Your bodies moved in sync, as if two puzzle pieces designed just for each other, and sounds of sensuous and sensual activity soon began to fill the carriage. Sukuna’s hands trailed down your ass as you kissed, and he didn’t waste any time before shoving your panties aside, and pushing one, then two, fingers in.

The unexpected action elicited a moan from your lips, and you tugged and pulled at Sukuna’s hair as if searching for leverage against the assault between your legs.

His fingers curled within you and moved at a speed that accelerated every second; the painful realization had soon hit you, that, God, you had truly missed this feeling. Slick dripped down your legs, and was, probably, staining the material of Sukuna’s pants, but it wasn’t like either one of you cared.

One of Sukuna’s hands gripped onto the flesh of your ass, while the other toyed with and fingered your dripping cunt; his lips moved against yours like an animal in heat, whilst your arms had been thrown and looped around his neck. The carriage shook and wobbled as it traversed the uneven roads, and that pushed you even closer to Sukuna, leaving you in quite the scandalous position—with your tits pressed up against his chest, your hands tangled in his unruly hair, and his mouth on yours.

It was a missed feeling—the salty taste of his lips—and when the both of you parted, for the inconvenient sake of catching your breaths, Sukuna moved the hand on your ass to shove the top of your dress down to your waist, leaving you nearly bare: in all your glory—just for him.

His eyes roamed your body like a predator admiring prey, and while you leaned your front against him, Sukuna leaned his head down, to your shoulders, to kiss at and suck at all the exposed skin he could reach.

It was incredibly lewd—the sounds you released, and you couldn’t even fathom how the others would react if they saw you: you and Sukuna, doing whatever the hell it was that you two were doing at the moment.

As your volume increased, so did the speed and velocity of his fingers. There was a warm feeling at your core, and you soon found yourself releasing all over his hand—still deep within your cunt—as pornographic moans and cries and mewls escaped your throat.

“Nnghh! Hah, mphh, Sukuna . . . Sukuna—Sukuna!” His name left your lips like a prayer, and you could only hope that the pearly gates would still open for you after this hell of a carriage ride.

“You are . . . inimitable, my love,” he purred, “and extremely, inhumanly bewitching. Fuck, do you think you’re wet enough to take it? I am afraid I cannot loiter any longer.”

It didn’t matter what you thought; you knew you were, and as Sukuna lifted your hips, before bringing them down right onto his cock—which filled you to the brim, and impossibly more than last time—you knew this carriage ride would probably be your last. At least, it would be your last carriage ride with him.

Your hips were raised, before they were repeatedly slammed back down with enough force to bring the both of you crashing down onto the seats; your tits bounced, whimpers left your parched throat, and you could barely hold onto Sukuna’s shoulders for balance and support as the carriage began to jolt and jerk uncontrollably, causing unbearably pleasurable friction.

Heaven’s sake, how bumpy was this road?—goddamnit.

In addition to the bouncing of the carriage, the hands and claws digging into your ass, the marks and bites being left on your chest, there was also the rough thrusts from Sukuna, which brought you nearly over the edge. Your eyes rolled back into your head as the tip of Sukuna’s cock could be felt penetrating all the way in your guts, and to add on to the smell of sex wafting through the humid air, the discordant melody of your moans certainly added a little bit pizzazz.

You wanted more, you needed more, you craved more.

Sukuna’s length and girth slid up the walls of your cunt, and you swore you could feel every pulsing vein of his cock as it moved and twitched. You were so unbearably full; you struggled to form full words, and most of them only contributed to unintelligible sentences meaning nothing.

“Ahh, nnghh, hahh, mmph.”

“What, don’t tell me little Miss Untouchable over here is suddenly feeling pleasure from some low-life bastard such as I,” laughed Sukuna, who, for some reason unbeknownst to you, still had some humor left in him even whilst he had fucked you into putty in his hands.

“I . . . nnghh, do you ever stop talking?”

Sukuna laughed, a husky, dark laugh, before bringing you in for the most zealous kiss you had ever kissed. Your lips collided, smacking against each other’s, and your hands clumsily roamed each other’s bodies, before one last jolt of the carriage had you feeling every inch of Sukuna’s length in the absolute right-est spot you could ever imagine, and as you moaned into the kiss, the knot in your stomach tightened just as before, and you almost felt like you were under drugs as you came.

Sticky, hot, and warm.

Unbearable, highly bothersome, and completely insane.

You were filled to the brim with Sukuna’s seed just a moment later, and a string of saliva from your lips connected you and Sukuna for a few seconds more as the both of you pulled away to catch your breaths.

“Now, before I go and do something foolish,” began Sukuna, still partially panting, “tell me, dear, do you feel like rejecting another man’s proposal today?”

#i would love to hear your guys' feedback <3 #im a bit hesitant about writing such a lengthy fic #sukuna x reader #ryomen x reader #sukuna x you #jjk x reader #jjk x you #sukuna smut #sukuna ryomen smut #jjk smut #jjk x reader smut #sukuna x y/n #em writes ˎˊ˗

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qifreyplushie · 1 month ago

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waiter waiter more hualian doodle pages please

#i just realized how long it had been since i posted here and i went UH OH #so here's my creatures #i have a lengthy break from school for a bit so hopefully i can get some of my wips out soon!!!! :-)#heaven official's blessing #tgcf #xie lian #hua cheng #hualian

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sparrowlucero · 2 months ago

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this is the iconic dinosaur horror jurassic park wishes it was

#so there's this person on twitter who is like an infamous drama starter and got a whole forum shut down once #and they wrote this (different) book that's one of the greatest so bad it's good things i've ever read #a few great things that happen in that:#characters get in a car crash and flee on foot. later it's casually mentioned one character had both her legs amputated 'due to fractures'#the character pretending to be american by wearing maga hats that have spy gear built into them #the spy gear in question is an alarm that blares if someone lies in their vicinity #'stuff protocol ' said the queen. 'i'm getting hammered tonight'#the chapter where the prime minister is trying to watch the news so she keeps wandering into bars and tv shops and getting kicked out #the dragon that's casually described as 'about the size of 1000 elephants'#the dragon that's a 'dog dragon hybrid with a chihuahua body and a giant dragon head'#the dragon that's owner punched it in the face and only lets people approach if they 'do the iconic royal wave'#the characters being described as 'the short one' 'the guy with the beard' etc #but there being a lengthy detailed description of the characters in harry potter #'apparently a dragon had burnt essex to cinders in a matter of minutes'#anyways i found out they also wrote (a political parody of indiana jones???) for this book of kids short stories years ago #and you know. we needed to know #so it took me like 4 months to track this precious lost media down #which was very worth it because it turns out it's full of many other iconic gems like CELLAR HELL by Elizabeth Elgie (12)

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neighbourscat · 2 months ago

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𝐓𝐀𝐊𝐄 𝐌𝐄 𝐇𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐄𝐑 , father charlie mayhew

MAKING A WOMAN OUTTA YOU.

𓈒 ˙ ꪆৎ ꣹ ۫ 𖨂 𝐏𝐑𝐄𝐒𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐆 . .. . priest!charlie m. X non-believer!black!fem!reader || second person ( you, yours, you’re ) + lowercase intended.

+ synopsis. for such are false apostles, deceitful workers, transforming themselves into the apostles of christ: and no marvel, for the devil himself is transformed into an angel of light: therefore it is no great thing if his ministers also be transformed as the ministers of righteousness, whose end shall be according to their works. - 2 corinthians 11:13-15

+ cw. grandma thinks reader is troubled and sexually active :: ‘G’ in ‘God’ is lowercased. use of ‘y/n’, brief mention of pregnancy and abortion, sacrilege / taboo, blasphemy, abuse of authority, feeding that fantasy / giving into obsession / scratching that itch , religious shame / guilt || pússy drunk father charlie, he’s so vocal — dirty talk, overstim, “angel” petname, choking, unprotected sex / charlie rejecting two condoms, multiple creampies, charlie & his standing positions.

+ nali’s notes; charlie mayhew & those blood red cowboy boots. writing gratuitous smut to breathe / did not expect to write this much. wordcount :: 6.2k+

+ to be played: family tree, ethel cain. || alternative: church, chase atlantic + numb, rihanna & eminem.

MAKING A WOMAN OUTTA YOU.

in two swift motions, you refolded the pamphlet and shoved it into the large pocket of your purse — letting the sleek paper crumble and tear. your grandmother norrice sat beside you, scanning through her copy of the same pamphlet and grinning softly. “you new adults are lucky,” the elder had said, removing her thin-wire, rectangular framed reading glasses, “it’s so good for young women to attend these type of things; to keep their hearts and minds pure. if i had such opportunity at your age, i would certainly have my life together.”

your relationship with the church had always been strained, and belief in god, at least the way your grandmother spoke about him, never came naturally to you.

annoyedly, “grandma . .. your life is fine.” norrice gave a small shake of her head and pushed her grandma-glasses back into place. “my life could be better. i would have done more,” she said in a wobbly voice. grandma norrice had fallen pregnant with your father at the young age of sixteen, and since her parents ( your greats ) were opposed to abortion, considering such action immoral, grandma norrice was forced to adult much quicker. “look. look. come look at this,” showing off the pamphlet, pointing a wrinkly finger over a bolded textbook — “start over. rededicate yourself as a virgin,” she read.

grandma norrice lowered the pamphlet into her lap. “isn’t that amazing?” you sighed deeply, swallowing down the hysterical laugh that almost left your throat. grandma norrice could feel the aggravation that seamed off of your body. “hey . ..” again, she pulled those thin-glasses off the bridge of her nose. she placed a cold hand onto your forearm and squeezed lovingly, “i’m only asking you for one. one session, hmm?”

and on: “you go in there and you listen. you show up for yourself, right?” grandma norrice reached and hooked a finger under your chin, tilting your head toward her. “you go in there and confess your defiance. you go in there and pledge yourself to be pure again in the eyes of the lord-“ there had been a misunderstanding between you and your grandmother norrice.

backstory: grandma norrice likes to keep her receipts. all of them. every last one. she had folders upon folders that divided her receipts by year and frequently shopped stores. she considers her an organizer, but she’s a hoarder . .. of paper. anyways, one day, way back when, she had read an advertisement in the town’s newspaper, that pretty much said: ‘good-day people of mississippi! make money off your receipts! one receipt for one penny!‘ the company had been active many years later, sending grandma norrice rolls and rolls of pretty brown pennies, but as the world aged and technology progressed — the company died.

and for some reason, even though she’s been told time and time again that that company had no longer been operating, she still collects and saves — waiting to reach her goal amount and cash in her receipts. she’s nearing a thousand receipts; it was like playing bingo and scratching lottery tickets for her. separating those receipts into their categories gave her joy.

and the short version of why you are here: as she was cleaning out a reusable shopping bag, she had seen a receipt. excited to store it where it belonged, her misty eyes scanned the slip of paper for a date. and though she found the date, she had also seen: CRYSTAL CONDOMS EXTRA VALUE , 4.99. a box of condoms was bought.

no, you weren’t sexually active . .. . but you were planning to be with this guy. and no, he wasn’t just any guy. you’ve been talking to him for a while now and he, surprisingly, has checked off every box in your ‘my type’ list. for the last four months it’s been cute dates and sweet hangouts, and after that makeout session last weekend, you were sure you were ready for it. you wanted to do it with him, badly. so bad that you started carrying two condoms in your purse, like a highschool kid, anticipating the next meet-up.

“-you must desire to re-purity.” you have not had sex yet. “you must desire to be clean.” hearing the low clacks of flat-heels, you turned from your grandmother with a low groan — the quick distraction needed. a woman, looking around your age, had been coming down the hall, giddy and with a greedy look in her blue eyes. her blonde hair, seeming freshly curled, had bounced up and down on her shoulders.

you let your eyes stroll downward; seeing the pamphlet. her copy a nice, pastel green color. a more recent edition. and then came another young woman, she too hurried down the hall with a copy of the pamphlet. “-you need guidance,” your grandmother norrice had still been speaking ( to herself ). “do not let your desires lead you astray.” and as more young women came filing down the hallway, she silenced herself.

“i believe that your time has come for a cleanse,” grandma norrice said, watching as the duos and trios of giggling, beautifully polished young women gathered at the large, double dark-oak doors. she patted your knee twice, telling you to hurry up and along. “i will be right here waiting for you, okay? right here. go on now, hurry in.”

the basement of the church was cold, even in the middle of summer. the pearly fluorescent lights gave the room an almost sterile feel, a stark contrast to the warmth of the sunday service that was held upstairs much earlier. the chairs were arranged in a tight circle, creating an intimacy that felt more like confinement. you made your way down the creaky staircase, stopping at the bottom landing and staring at the misguided women.

the air smelled like old books and faint incense, but none of it brought the comfort your grandmother said that the church would. if you turn back now, you could hide in the bathroom — since whoever was leading this thing wasn’t in yet . .. . but you would have to pass your grandmother to camp out in the bathroom.

you dropped your shoulders with a deep sigh.

you clutched the strap of your purse and eased into the light — careful and observant. you settled down in between two white women who were holding hand-held flip mirrors and fluffing their shiny hair. honey blonde and deep brunette. your gaze shifted then and your curious eyes landed on two other women; spanish women who were re-applying their gloss. the air was heavy, thick with an uncomfortable silence.

one session, your grandmother’s words echoed in your mind: “you need guidance. do not let your desires lead you astray.” maybe if you had had sex, this could be useful. if only she were here to see all of these women in their makeup and neat hairstyles and sitting so proper to show off what they have in the front — and as a slam sounded, the women jumped startled and readied themselves . .. . their heads bowed low in what looked like guilt or shame. fake guilt and fake shame.

“welcome back ladies . .. .” the priest, father charlie maydew, now stood in the center of the circle, his hands clasped in front of him like he was leading a sermon, but there was an edge to his presence that made your skin prickle. eerie, he was. “i applaud each of you for returning this afternoon. i applaud you for wanting better for yourself, and for trusting me to guide you through this process.” he was a tall man, with a face that was just on the edge of a smile, but never quite reaching for warmth.

his collar seemed to cling too tightly around his neck, and his eyes darted around the room, landing on each young woman, one by one; hungrily, before lingering on you for a beat longer than comfortable — his expression unreadable. but then, one corner of his lips tipped upward. the honey blonde at one side of you noticed and for a second, she considered tackling you. but she took a deep breath in and out. in and out.

“thank you for joining us this afternoon,” he said, his voice deep and smooth, his attention making you shrink slightly in your seat — wanting to disappear. father charlie fashioned a calming, slightly condescending grin on his face.

the other women turned to look at you, some with curiosity, some with attitude, but all with fake sympathy. “why don’t you introduce yourself?” his tone was warm, but something about it felt performative, rehearsed. the tall priest took two big steps back and gestured toward the center of the center.

you remained seated — shaking your head no. “i don’t plan on comin’ back, so . .. .” your fingers twisting in your lap, “i don’t think there’s a need to, y’know . .. . know me. know my name. why i’m here.” you finished with a shy chuckle. no one laughed with you. no one cracked a smile.

a bushy brow of his lifted a bit. he noted how sure of yourself you seemed after that statement. father charlie decided to try again: “please, come. introduce yourself.” all eyes were on you . .. . and you felt like a teenager again about to give a solo-project presentation. “i don’t . .. .” a scoff and another nervous chuckle. “there’s no reason for that. like i said, this is an in and out kind of thing for me.”

father charlie never had to ask twice. young women, such as those around him, moved whenever he needed something done. they moved as quick as possible, they never wanted him to lift a finger. any and every favor was complete without complaint or hesitation. though he never had to ask twice, for you, he’d give it a third go. “this is a safe environment. what is shared here will stay here. right in this circle. our small community.” as father charlie spoke, he stepped along said circle. the women smiled up at him as he passed, their hearts fluttering and their stomachs knotting.

when he landed, standing right before you, he held out his hand. “grab onto me . .. . and come forth.” his voice smooth, almost hypnotic. you felt the weight of the gazes from the other women — some surprised, their faces drawn in confusion and puzzlement. no one had ever hesitated to take father charlie’s hand. you could see the tension in their bodies, the way they sat stiffly, chests and shoulders leaned in, they were practically on the edge of their seats . .. . wondering if you’d keep denying the man or finally give into him.

but, they all swore that they’d rather be you right now; looking up at father charlie as he offered his beautiful hand.

“grab . .. . onto me.” fifth time.

you took a dekko at his hand — thinking.

and when your hand fell onto his, a collective sigh had gone up. father charlie clasped his other hand on top of yours and gave a pat; a pat that said: thank you, gorgeous.

you kept your hand in his as you took to your feet. father charlie’s palm felt nice in yours; surprisingly soft — he walked you to the circle’s center and released your hand, his fingers dragging against yours as he parted. “there is no need to be shy.”

you were annoyed.

“my name’s y/n, ‘nd, well . .. . i’m here ‘cause of my,” you cleared your throat, then trailed off abruptly, “my grandma.” the women stared amongst themselves for a second and then looked up at you again. you raised your chin softly, catching a glimpse of father charlie beyond you. not hovering, but towering perfectly. “it’s silly, really,” you had told the group, folding your arms over your chest protectively, “she does this thing . .. a-this weird thing, where she .. . like, keeps all of her receipts?”

you heard a soft hum come from behind your back. you wanted to look around, to look at father charlie, but you kept yourself from doing so. “it’s a long story . .. well, not exactly, no. it’s actually the shortest story in history, really-“ fast paced babbling. purely from the anxious energy that coursed and spun throughout your body. for some people, their brains lock up and they have trouble thinking of things to say. for you, being jittery filled your mind with thoughts, along with an urge to say them all. right now. as fast as you can. “-when she was much much younger and livin’ in mississippi, she was reading a newspaper . .. .”

and you rambled. and you rambled. and you rambled.

“‘nd she thinks that i’m having sex, which-“ you laughed at the thought, “-which i am not. i’m not.” directed to the women. “seriously, i’m not.” was directed to father charlie. “i’m here for no reason, honestly. i’ve been forced here on an assumption. a silly assumption. i’ve been carryin’ ‘round condoms, but that’s all-“ the embarrassing statement caught you off-guard.

with a hand, father charlie gestured toward your chair — clearly telling you to sit the fuck down. you hurried back. you dropped down and quickly kicked your purse underneath the seat; as if to hide the condoms that were already tucked in a zipper pocket.

“at least you’re having protective sex,” the brunette whispered over, not even facing you. you almost choked on nothing: “no, i’m not,” you answered too quickly. that didn’t sound right. “i-fuck. no, i’m not havin’ sex. but if i was, i would be protected,” you corrected. “that’s what makes this whole thing hilarious. i’m still a virgin.” the brunette looked at you. “then why are you here?” your shoulders slumped, “did . .. . did you not hear me?” you asked, pointing to the circle’s center. the brunette said no, “would you listen to yourself talk about your grandma collecting receipts? we all were falling asleep, sweetie. i was so tuned out, which never happens here.”

you shifted your weight a bit, turning your body toward her.

“wait, so why are you here, seriously?” she tilted her head.

you opened your mouth to speak and heard a finger-snap. “ladies . .. .” father charlie urged. he clasped his hands in front of him and continued, “you are here because of your struggle. each of you struggle. struggle with the desires of the flesh. desires that pull you away from god.“ he lifted a hand toward you, “she travels with condoms. can anyone tell me what that says about her?”

two arms had gone up and you so desperately wanted to leave.

father charlie called on tabitha, her loose waves pulled up into a high ponytail. her eyes sparkled. “it is clear that she is eager to engage in sexual intercourse with a man. it is on her mind and she is desperate for it. but if such dangerous thought continues to linger, she will eventually take action.”

you scoffed, “i am not ‘eager’ or ‘desperate’. i jus’ wan’a-“ father charlie raised a hand, shushing you from going any further. your lips shut, disappointedly. “that is correct, thank you, tabitha.” and she felt her bones rattled.

father charlie’s eyes slid back to you, his voice dropping into something softer, more personal. “these desires . .. these thoughts, like tabitha had stated, they are dangerous. but luckily, they can be controlled. with the right guidance.”

you felt the heat of his attention again, the way his words seemed to be directed specifically at you, though there were ten other women sitting in this circle. you lowered your gaze, trying to find comfort in your lap, but the room seemed to close in around you.

“lust,” he continued, stepping closer to where you sat, “is the most powerful weapon the devil has. it twists the human mind, makes you believe that these urges are natural.” father charlie had left the circle for a moment, their eyes following except yours. he had never left the circle before — he stuck there for every session. his hand rested on the back of your chair, and you froze. “but they are not. not one bit. they are sins. and we are here to free you from that temptation.”

“desires,” he said then, his voice dropping into a low murmur, “can be dangerous if left unchecked. they can consume you.“

a few of the women murmured, their voices barely audible. you remained silent, your heart thudding painfully in your chest. his fingers brushed against your shoulder, lightly, almost as if by accident, but you knew it wasn’t. the touch was deliberate, testing. father charlie leaned in more, pressing himself into the chair fully now. “god forgives,” his voice velvety, his hand lingering on your shoulder for a moment too long. “but only if you are truly willing to repent. to give yourself fully to him . .. .”

you stiffened, not sure if you were reacting to the feel of him or the fact that he was singling you out again.

you wanted to stand, to leave, but something kept you anchored to the chair. a combination of guilt, fear, and an unshakable sense that you should’ve never came.

father charlie moved away, continuing his slow pace around the group of beautiful women. he spoke about discipline, about submission to god’s will, about sin and repentance, but each word felt laced with something darker. something unspoken.

you glanced around the room, noticing the way the other women seemed to hang onto his every word, their eyes ogling and admiring how he carried himself. you weren’t sure what you expected from this session, but the way he spoke about desire — like it was something to be ashamed of — made you uncomfortable. sure, you had your own struggles, but was that really something that needed to be controlled like a disease?

this was something else entirely . .. . and it was confusing.

as the session dragged on, you realized that the shame you felt was from being here, in this room, where father charlie wielded his authority like a blade, cutting away at the parts of you that made you human.

at the end of the session, as the other women began to gather their things and shuffle toward the door, father charlie gestured for you to stay behind. you hesitated, but the weight of expectation pressed down on you, making it impossible to refuse.

you slung the strap over your shoulder and held the leather close, as if to comfort yourself.

and once the room was empty, he stepped to you, a smile creeping back onto his face. “thank you for sharing this afternoon. that was quite the story,” he said, his tone sickeningly sweet. “i know you said that this was a . .. . ‘one and done’, type of thing-“

you wanted to speak but nothing came out.

“but, i think we need to have a private conversation. just you and me. i can help you further. i would like to help you further, y/n.”

the bile rose in your throat, but all you could manage was a nod, the fear of what would happen if you said no silencing you. you quickly turned your back and left for the double doors.

you entered quietly, hoping not to draw attention, but the oak door creaked louder than you expected, making a few heads turn. you weren’t that late, just a few minutes, but it was enough to feel the shift in the room’s energy as you found an empty chair in the circle. the same chair you had been seated in last weekend. father charlie had made sure to leave it out.

“punctuality is important,” father charlie said smoothly, his voice breaking through the murmurs as he watched you take your seat. his smile was there, but it didn’t reach his eyes. you gave a quick nod of apology, shifting uncomfortably as you settled in, trying to brush off the feeling that all eyes were on you.

this time . .. . you were here by choice — you hadn’t told your grandmother norrice that father charlie had asked you to return. you knew that if you did, she’d throw a fit. she’d throw a damn superbowl party — it unsettled you, but at the same time, something pulled at you. maybe it was curiosity, or maybe it was the fact that you couldn’t stop thinking about how he had made you feel just by looking at you, as if he could see something in you that no one else could. whatever it was, it brought you back.

there was a distance between you and the women, a sense that you weren’t part of their world just yet. a sense that you were special, and far more important to father charlie.

“but, i am glad that you’ve decided to return.” you gave a small nod, your fingers tightening around the strap of your bag. “yeah, i . .. . i figured i’d give it another try,” you had said.

he nodded, as if he had expected nothing less. “good. very good.” father charlie smiled at you, but it wasn’t comforting. there was something behind it — something almost predatory in the way he seemed to hold his gaze on you, like he was sizing you up. then, he turned to address the group, but his words felt distant, again like they were just for show. you couldn’t focus on the session. your thoughts were too tangled, your mind too occupied with what he had said last time.

i think we need to have a private conversation.

“even if-when you don’t believe,” father charlie said, closing in behind your chair, his voice low enough that only you could hear, “god has a plan for you. you just have to let him in.”

you swallowed hard, fingers swiping along the smooth paint of your nails, unsure of what else to do. his hand found your shoulder for a second or three before he moved on, continuing his speech. the other women nodded along, their heads still bowed in what looked like submission.

as the session dragged on, you found yourself drifting in and out of the conversation, only half-listening. you weren’t here for the church, you weren’t here for god, you weren’t here for your grandmother, you weren’t here to be lectured about how your desires were dangerous if not properly controlled . .. . you were here for father charlie.

as the session wound down, the other women began to gather their things, exchanging quiet goodbyes. father charlie’s eyes followed them out, but he didn’t speak. he was waiting — waiting for them to leave, waiting for you. he caught your eye, giving you a knowing look. “stay . .. ?” he mouthed, the request felt more like a command.

tension.

when the last of the women finally left, the door closing softly behind her, the room seemed to shrink. the room felt different — charged. father charlie slowly walked over to where you sat, his presence looming larger now that it was just the two of you. his smile was still there, but it was different in this quiet space, more intense, more focused.

father charlie sat down in the chair right next to you. he scooted closer to you, grunting as he moved the chair with him — scraping it against the stone floor. his voice was soft, intimate. “i’m really glad you gave this another chance.” his dark eyes locked on yours with a strange intensity. “you know, sometimes the answers we are looking for are . .. . in places we wouldn’t expect.”

“like the basement of my grandmother’s church,” you had said mindlessly. father charlie gave you a gentle grin, showing you that he had been amused. barely. “yeah. exactly that. the basement of your grandmother’s church. but . .. . like i was saying-“ his hand brushed lightly against your arm, “-i think that you’re searching,” his voice a bit lower, like a secret was being shared. “-searching for something deeper, something that no one else can give you. i see it in you, the desire for connection.”

connection.

“i want to help you work through . .. . your urges.”

there was no mistaking it now — the way he said urges, the way his voice dipped, made it clear he wasn’t talking about faith or repentance anymore. “we all have them,” he murmured, his eyes scanning your face like he was looking for something, some sign of compliance or curiosity. “it happens.” his hand slid downward. just a little closer they went . .. . fingers grazing the back of your hand, subtle but deliberate. “i can guide you through it,” he whispered. “let me help you.”

your pulse quickened, a sense of alarm flooding through you, but there was also a need.

“you have to trust me. you have to let me in.”

“i don’t . .. know. i don’t think-“

father charlie’s smile deepened, his hand gently squeezing your forearm. “sometimes, we don’t know what we need until we find it. trust me. you’re here for a reason. god brought you back for a reason, right?”

his words hung in the air, heavy with a meaning that wasn’t lost on you.

“i don’t know,” you repeated yourself.

you tried to look away, but his hand reached out, his fingers lightly gripping your chin, forcing your gaze back to him — like he was trying to hold you in place, make you stay in this moment with him. “i know what you’ve been feeling. i know what’s pulling at you. you want to give in, yeah? to feel something . .. .”

“sometimes . .. . we’re not meant to fight it. sometimes, we’re meant to feed it.” he dropped his hand from your chin.

“but yesterday, you said . .. .”

he chuckled softly, but there was no humor in it, only a dark edge. “i know what you want. i know what your body wants, what it’s demanding from the world.” his hand moved, not to your arm this time, but to the small space between your shoulder blades. “and there’s nothing wrong with wanting and needing to feel pleasure. most times, we need personal attention to overcome and strive.

“i didn’t tell the others; but sometimes . .. . we have to allow ourselves to feel these things in order to rise above it. that’s how we control it.” his fingers slid down your back slowly. “desire can a gift — one that can bring two closer to the truth of who we are. allow me to help you feed it.”

. .. .

“are you going to let me help you now?”

. .. .

“yes.”

and he wasted no time bringing a hand up to grab the zip of your short-sleeved hoodie. he pulled down carefully, the plump cleavage of your breasts peeking. his other hand smoothed along your curly slicked back hair, “thank you,” he whispered.

and though you were prepared for something like this, the contraceptives in your purse went unused. when charlie had seen you flick it out — showing off the metallic dark green wrapper, the imprint of the condom bold — he refused, immediately: “no.” simple. flat and cold.

charlie plucked the packet from your perfectly-manicured fingers and tossed it across the floor, dark eyes boring into you. you looked at him as if he had lost his mind. just as you were about dig into the pocket for the other condom, charlie gripped your wrist; the pressure gentle but firm. “what do you mean ‘no’?” you asked — though you knew exactly what he meant.

“i have something real to give.” in other words, he would not be spilling his seed into some rubbery latex. there was no blocking him out. “i need you to feel everything. okay? you need to.” you couldn’t oppose him.

and here you were: holding onto his forearms. his arms had prodding veins for days. from his wrists to the tops of his large shoulders. he was so built, you weren’t at all expecting it. “. .. ready, angel?” you nodded down at him sweetly, hands sliding up to his flexed biceps. “wan’a be yours already. please ..” charlie had you right where he wanted you. there was something so nasty about the smirk that grew across his face, “god saved you for me . .. . wanted me to have you.”

“mm, think so?” came quiet and soft.

“know so,” charlie muttered, stroking himself messily. “i know so.” he reached down for you, carefully lining himself up with your heavenly entrance. “taste me.” his words are sweet, poison laced sugar. you kissed him, letting your eyes close as you did so.

and when he slipped inside, spongy and slimy, it was like his own personal hell. you were so much better than he could’ve imagined. charlie had gone completely silent, choking on air — like he was just punched in the gut. there’s no comparison, no feeling in the world . .. . he couldn’t form a single, coherent thought. you were gripping him just right, massaging his cock like you really were made to have him as your first. like he was made to stretch your hymen.

“fucking shhit,” charlie’s head gradually tossed itself back. he couldn’t keep his mouth shut, couldn’t keep the surprise out of his voice, couldn’t keep himself from hiccuping and mumbling your name and calling you ‘angel’. “f-fuck. fuck, fuck, hang’on, f-please . .. hang on.” charlie had to pause halfway, huffing out an overwhelmed breath. he’s drooling — he couldn’t quite fathom how amazing you felt on the inside.

you sighed, and sighed again as his nose brushed your throat, as he guided your hips — slowly and tediously, pulling you up and down. your jaw hung open desperately, toes curling with each vein he gradually dragged so rigidly along your walls. “i’ve got y-you . .. . i promise, angel. i’ve got’cha,” you were taking him so well despite the pain, making it harder to resist the urge to pound into you.

your cunt readily accepting the priest’s dick as it oozed against your insides and spreads the flame of desire.

he’s making your pussy his own; shaping your cunt, molding you into the perfect cocksleeve. pretty much carving his name into it. and he was trying his best. trying so hard to be as gentle and as slow as he could possibly be, fighting every bad thought that so tightly pulled and demanded he go deeper. charlie did well, swallowing those thoughts down . .. but it was tiring.

it was exhausting. so fucking exhausting, especially when your desperate cunt keeps sucking and swallowing him in deeper after each and every pass. charlie kissed and licked at your neck, blankly trying to distract himself — which gave nothing. your cunt would not let up. nothing would give. not like this. there was no way. there was nothing in this world strong enough to pull him away from you and your warm cunt.

charlie’s guiding your hips so slow that it was painful. he’s trying to make every thrust connect — he’s groaning and struggling to keep his dark eyes open. you're smothering his entire cock with nothing but your slippery slick, hearing the filthy clicks ring from in between your sweaty thighs — he’s so lost in the sounds of you.

you are secured to him; fingers tangled into his brunette hair, gripping strands and raking your nails along his scalp, eliciting a satisfying moan to slip past his pretty lips. you blinked away, only for a moment, and stared down at his glossy lips. covered in his spit, your toes are curling. your tummy is doing cartwheels — butterflies no longer butterflies but pterodactyls.

“y-you’re .. . .. ‘t’s so deep ..” charlie gave a gentle smile, one hand slipping up and caressing the curve of your back. “i know i am. i know. i can feel it too, angel.” your sleepy gaze remained on his smiling lips. you licked at your own, almost leaning in to capture his. “i can feel everything . .. .” and you felt fan-fucking-tastic. “everything.”

you bit back a smile.

charlie winced lowly, his thighs starting to rattle. “hurts to .. to keep goin’ this slow ..”

it felt like he was worshipping you — that you are the sacred body here, two bright candles flickering in the corner — he’s worshipping you, you’re sure of it, with tongue and teeth and cock. it’s messy, and he’s not shy, those lips that could stir a congregation with their sweetness, his golden tongue .. . “nngh-wait,” you pleaded softly. “w-wha’?”

clenching around him so tight you could feel the outline of his prominent veins, the sensitive spots along his shaft. charlie’s brows furrow in clean focus, letting out a sultry string of words, “i .. i can’t.” he's buried nose deep near the crook of your neck. “i’m sorry, angel. i can’t .. fuck, i can’t.” he softly rasped as deep brown locks of hair stick against his shiny skin. “takin’ everything in me . .. i’m tryin’, fuckk, i’m tryin’ for you-don’t wan’ it to hurt . .. .” you felt his throaty pants trail against your skin, “but i’ve gotta go harder.”

with a sheepish smile, you met his chocolate-eyed gaze, moaning a soft: “okay ..”

“y-yeah?”

your weak arms wrapped around his broad shoulders, the pads of your fingers almost rubbing against a fresh scar, “mhmm .. . do it, please.” the ghost of a smirk. charlie’s thick fingers clasped at your waist; the decorative beads printing mini dents into your brown skin. effortless, he lifted your hips and fixed himself — the feet of the chair loudly scratching the cold, stone floor. “you’re the best i’ve ever felt, angel .. . s’hot inside. s’soft.” that deep, silky whisper has your cunt quivering disgustingly. and he’s driving his hips up, fast, drilling himself into your body.

“so fuckin’ wet-“ one hand cupped the side of your face, bringing you in. you’re both panting, quick and short, breathing hot and heavy air into each other’s mouths. “pretty hole sucking me in so good . .. .” your teeth nipped at your plump lower lip, drinking him in. charlie’s hot fingers slipped underneath your waistbeads, toying with the jewellery. “so good, angel . ..”

the gel slicking back your naturally thick hair put up zero match against the heat of this basement. edges once neatly laid, were puffing up — stretched curls lifting out of place and shrinking.

“fuck-never wanna leave.” your heart continued to race at his obscene words. and you caressed his face, whispering about how good he was making you feel. he mewled at your validation, wanting to please, needing to be the best for you.

and he’s so loud, so hungry for more. with the way charlie’s long lashes flutter and his hooded eyes droop, he was so visibly pussy drunk. already nearing the edge and trying his best not to tip over. balancing on a uni-cycle on a string of the cheapest of cheap dental floss.

he could practically taste the pleasure on his tongue — release is coming quick and there was no preparing himself for it. not enough preparation in the world. the pointed tips of his ears burn with intense, searing heat.

“oh my-! oh god!”

“no-“ charlie cursed under his breath and snapped a hand over your throat, all five fingers digging into your brown skin — “-no. fuck no. you don’t call on god. you-you don’t call on him. don’t. he’s not makin’ you feel good. i am. you call on me,” he ordered, harshly. and all you can is nod and follow his direction. “call for me . .. . do it.” you’re practically speechless, nothing left from your lips yet, all that could be heard was the constant slap slap slap of slippery skin.

and his hand tightened around your neck. “come on, angel . .. say my name.” charlie’s muscled chest heaved up and down, hard. “fucking call on me.”

your hands latched onto his wrist — this new feeling, you couldn't quite describe it. it was tasty and he was peeling you apart, layer by layer. “do it. who’s makin’ you feel good? huh? who’s breakin’ you in half? .. . who’s splittin’ you the fuck open?”

“charlie!” all you can do is choke out a shrill. “you are!”

what happens next takes you by surprise — charlie locked his big burly arms under your thighs and stood up, keeping himself plugged in; nice and snug. the new position, standing, had charlie’s head spinning. he grunted loudly, and it’s a sexy guttural noise. your legs kicking and dangling in the air as he feeds your cunt inch by greedy inch, again and again. “charlie .. .” you whined, pulling at his hair.

“shiit,” and as if a switch had been flipped, hot sticky ribbons shoot right into you, spilling way into your sweet welcoming womb. you gasped, nails scratching into his large shoulders — and the feel of him letting go inside of you has you cumming as well. his panting is deep and animalistic. he held onto your shivering body tighter, his hips never faltering.

beefy arms lifting your sticky body up again, he’s back at it — pushing and eager to reach another one. “a-angel .. .” his entire body hot and heavy. “gonna fill you up again-i’ve gotta.” his brown eyes continued to grow hooded and low.

you were still trying to recover. still coming down from your first orgasm and just barely adjusting to the feel of having his previous load fucked even deeper. “‘m gonna cum again,” he warned softly — cream tearing down his trembly thighs. he’s silently babbling out more whispers and moans of your name. “givin’ you all of me .. .”

you’re flustered right away and wanting to kiss him, hungry to. but as your leaning in, the heels of your feet knocking into the back of his thighs hard, he hoists your legs over his shoulders without so much as a warning. you’re scared to fall, but he won’t let you. he promised you through shaky moans, rocking you up and down.

and you’re gonna pass out, eyes knocking in the back of your skull. your legs bobbing from the movement, you’re trapped against him — and it’s even hotter. even messier and you can’t squirm at all. charlie’s watching your face contort and scrunch and there goes his ego; shooting through the church’s roof and into space. you’re barely hanging onto his big arms and he’s feeling so good about himself. “i can’t-can’t anymore,” you cried to him.

“but you can, angel . .. .” charlie snapped. “keep takin’ it .. and let’s finish together, ‘kay?” and every time you touched down on him, you squeal —

— “charlie . ..” you cooed, voice cracking cutely. your voice made his cock twitch and from the inside, you felt it all . .. . and it felt so nice. so sweet and so insanely intimate. “ch-charlie, pleaseee.” sickly, your voice bounces along the holy walls of the church’s basement.

lips parting as he tried to find his voice: “cum with me, angel-do it,” he pleaded. charlie felt every little reaction and spasm. every cute gasp and cry and moan sent a thick rush through his aching body. and you’re cumming again, holding onto him as tight as you can, clawing at his biceps.

and that’s when he lets go. pumping in yet another hot, thick load of his cum — you almost gag at the re-fill. his grip weakened, but charlie doesn’t let you fall. he told you that he won’t, so he won’t. he’s shivering, feeling a wave crash down onto him as he’s caving into his high . .. .

if this is sin — this beautiful, divine feeling — then what is the point of it all?

#nali’s ᡣ𐭩 #black reader #black writers #nicholas chavez x blackreader smut #grotesquerie #father charlie mayhew #charlie mayhew smut #charlie mayhew x blackreader smut #short story #lengthy #black women #nicholas chavez #nicholas chavez smut

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tojisun · 10 months ago

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a short snapshot of what being with simon riley looks like (in my eyes) 🥹🫶🏼

#simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost riley #suns #do ignore the fact that the other pic w arms are tattoo-less #i need him sm i love him sm i miss him sm too????#idk i need to read lengthy fics to shut my mind up

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bioluminesced · 1 year ago

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sunset over minas tirith

#lord of the rings #the return of the king #lotr #lotr rotk #return of the king #peregrin took #pippin took #gondor #tolkien #my art #artists on tumblr #based upon a lengthy but beautiful paragraph in the book. havent seen the movie yet #pippins little arc in the book is really touching to me… to me…#pose and armor based off a david grove painting #i love lotr so dearly

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nocreativityfornames · 7 months ago

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Man, single parenting is hard

A single night

These two can't be away from home for a SINGLE NIGHT

#petition to give lucifer and barbatos a break #“lengthy stretch of time” barb please #obey me #omswd card: “cold snap record” (barbatos & lucifer)#omswd #obey me lucifer #obey me shall we date #obey me barbatos #obey me diavolo #obey me devilgram #obey me event #om barb #om lou #om brothers #om demon lord's castle #☙ no creativity for names ✾

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angelicblondie · 4 months ago

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high infidelity ೀ⋆⑅˚

luke x princess!reader

cw: cheating (totally not ok in real life pls dont cheat!), sexual content, a tad toxic (MDNI)

luke hated your boyfriend, and you hated luke.

so it was a pretty simple dynamic.

you and luke had never really gotten along. you werent sure why, at first, but it was the way things were - you hated luke, and luke hated you.

it didnt matter, anyways. luke was nice to everyone but you, so you couldn't even talk to anyone about it, because everyone loved him!

it was unfortunate, but it was reality - nothing could be done about your distaste for each other. it is what it is.

you could admit though, that it was highly unhelpful - your rivalry, that is. as being two of the oldest campers, you tended to be paired up quite often. whether it was co-taught classes, demonstrations, cabin duties - somehow, someway, you were always together.

luckily at this point, you two had matured (at least a little) since your arrival at camp half-blood. when the two of you were younger, it was hard to act professional. you would get in fights very often, needing an older camper or even chiron to break it up. it was too easy for the two of you to dissagree - you were just too different from eachother, you were never going to get along.

as you got older, you were able to learn how to bite you tongue, and pick your battles. even if he made a sly comment, or gave you mocking look, you tried your very best (most of the time) not to engage. he wanted a reaction, and you had learned not to give him one (once again, most of the time).

however, recently, its been harder.

a couple months ago, you started dating alex from demeter cabin. he was sweet, and caring, and easy to get along with.

but...also a bit boring.

you wouldnt mention it to anyone of course, not even your closest friends. you tried to convince yourself that boring wasnt bad, in fact, it was what you needed. boring was good for you!

how come it didnt feel like that though?

anyways, the point is, ever since you and alex started dating, luke has been flaring up the teasing again. making little comments, trying to embarrass alex whenever their in the same group of people - it was relentless.

it became harder and harder for you to not get mad at him. he knew just how to get under your skin, better than anyone. why was he bothering you so much? why couldn't you shake him? the hate for him and his stupid comments, and stupid pretty eyes festered deep in your chest, waiting to be released in the form of curses and harsh words you knew you couldn't take back.

you decided not to stoop to his level, though. you figured that was the best form of revenge - no reaction.

but, like stated - he was relentless.

it admittedly got out of hands this morning though, when you had overheard luke talking to his siblings at breakfast. you were simply minding your business, drinking your iced coffee and eating your breakfast as you unintentionally picked up on their conversation.

"...i mean, we all know she's gonna drop him in...what? a week?" you heard the smug, annoying voice of luke and the laugher from his siblings. you paused you actions, discreetly leaning on your elbow to listen closer.

luke laughed before continuing. "not even to be a dick, but that guys is so boring, gods. what does she even see in him?" hermes cabin was called up to the fire, and you seethed in your seat.

that was it. you had taken lukes snide comments and rude words for too long. you felt the anger you had been haboring rise into your throat, and before you know it, you grab your cup, and walked right up to him.

he turned too late, barely registering you were there as your threw your drink right in his face. gasps were heard around the pavilion as confused and speculated murmurs started to circulate.

his mouth was wide open in shock and his eyes were shut as the coffee driped down his face. your voice was stern as you spoke, your lips formed a pout, and your eyebrows were scrunched up. "next time, say it to my face, castellan."

chiron stood up, appalled, calling out both your names. "this is disgraceful! never would i think that two of the brightest and most gifted half-bloods in todays day and age would show such childish behavior!" he lectured, and you look down at the floor, suddenly embarrassed and ashamed. what were you thinking? "the two of you will spend the day cleaning the camp, and i will not hear a single complaint from either of you! understood?"

luke looked like he wanted to argue but he zipped his mouth shut, clenching his jaw tight as he look at you.

supprisingly, he didnt look like his usual mad. instead, he was...amused? he was almost impressed by your boldness - he didnt think you had it in you. but you had bottled it up for so long, it was bound to happen eventually.

you look away from him and up to chiron. you mouth was drawn in a line, and you nodded, almost robotically. "understood." you stated, voice firm. luke did the same and you both walked back to your tables, not giving the other another look. your siblings immidiately bombarded you with questions, so you briefly explain, not really wanting to talk much longer.

you sent an apologetic look to alex as you went to sit back down, and he gave you a strained smile, before looking away. you sigh softly and bite your lip, playing with your food before undeniable hell started - spending the whole day with luke.

.·。.·゜✭·❤·✫·゜·。..·。.·゜✭·❤·✫·゜·。..·。.·゜✭·❤·✫·゜·。..·。.·゜✭·❤

after breakfast, you met luke at the stables, where you started your day of torture. the whole hour it was silent, the only time the two of you spoke was relating to the job.

you were mostly joking before, but truly, if someone had asked you what your personal hell was, this was about as close to it as it could get - cleaning up pegasus manure with only the company of luke castellan.

it totally wasnt fair. your hair kept falling out of your ponytail, pretty much all your polished nails were chipped, and you got shit on your sneakers. and of course, nothing of the sort happened to luke. the sweat on his head didnt look like sweat, it just made him shiny, and if possible, better. his eyes scrunching up in focus only made him look more attractive.

you shook the thought away, reasoning that it was totally ok for you to notice beauty, it was practically your job as a child of aphrodite! as long as you didn't dwell on it too much, you should be good.

but, of course, that wasn't the case.

it became a reoccurring theme to notice how effortless luke was at everything. cleaning the dining pavilion, he looked good. cleaning up after the archery class, he looked good. even sweeping the floor he looked hot! it was totally unfair, and all it did was make you angrier. since when was he allowed to be hot???

as it finally reached the later hours in the day, you two had made it to your last task - picking up trash out of the beach. you sighed, finally breaking the silence.

"ok, are we ever gonna talk, or no?"

luke looks up at you from picking an empty bottel from the sand and smiles mischeviously.

"'bout what?" he teases and you purse your lips.

"seriously?" you ask, hands on your hip and an angry pout. "you know what."

he takes a step closer, looking down at you with amusement. this was funny to him? "nah, princess, think y'need to tell me."

you clench your jaw and cross your arms. "your problem with me. look, im not a fan of you either, but at least im mature enough to try and act civil!" you exclaim.

luke chuckles, stepping away to continue to clean the beach. "yeah, civil. it was real civil when you threw you coffee all over me at breakfast." he quips, voice full of amused sarcasm.

you scoff. "yeah, it was only 'cause you were talking shit, though." you mumble. "sure, it wasnt the best idea, but at least it got the point across."

you move away as well, continuing the task, hoping it would be over soon. "tell me, princess. just outta' pure curiosity, how does your little boyfriend feel 'bout me?" he asks, his voice smug and condecending.

you purse your lips as you turn to me. "ok, seriously, whats your problem?" you drop the trash bag to the sand.

luke shrugs. "no problem, just think you could do better, s'all."

you blink, eyes furrowing in confusion. huh?

its silent for a few moments as you process his words. "you....what?"

luke chuckles, dropping his bag and walking a few steps closer to you. "i think you could do better than whats-his-name. i mean, everyone thinks your only using him for the rite of passage, because why else would you date a guy like that?"

your defensively cross you arms. "like what?"

luke scoffs, as if the answer is obvious. "boring."

you fold your lips inwards. got me there, you think to yourself, and he looks at you like he knows what your thinking.

your narrow your eyes. "hes not boring. and im not using him for the rite of passage. hes nice, he cute, and he doesnt make me want to rip my hair out - all things you cannot say about yourself. besides, its really none of your business."

luke holds up his hands in mock surrender, taking a step back. "woah, dont get all fiery on me, princess. just statin' my opinion, which you asked for," he defends, chuckling at your outburst. "y'know, somethings telling me that your only dating this guys 'cause hes the opposite of me."

your lips twist in a sickeningly sweet smile. "i mean, it certainly doesnt hurt."

luke bite his lip, holding back his amusement and stepping closer. "im startin' to think your obsessed w'me, princess." his voice was lower than before, and his eyes twinkled with michief and...something else?

you swallow, trying to maintain eye contact but the intensity was overwhelming. "i think its the other way around." you say, trying to sound strong, but your voice was quiet.

why all of the sudden was he having this effect on you? why were goosebump trailing up your skin, why was your head foggy, and why on earth did you want him to come closer? not only was it out of character, but it wasn't right! no matter how much you weren't into you boyfriend, you couldn't cheat on him, you knew that was wrong. but luke looked far too good right now, and you were feeling things you never felt before.

before you could come to a conclusion on your emotions, luke took a teasing step back, peeling off his shirt.

"i think im done cleaning," he states, tossing his shirt to the sand and unbuttoning his shorts. you turn to look away, fearing a blush would coat your cheeks at seeing his near-naked form.

you can hear the smirk in lukes voice as he talks, and you turn back to see him just in boxers, walking backwards towards the water.

"gonna take a dip, if you wanna join."

his words were enticing, and you still couldn't figure out why. despite yourself, you slowly peel of you clothes, curious as to where this was going. with a new found sense of confidence, you walk towards the water, locking eyes with luke, who was eyeing your body, and the thin, lacy garments covering you privates.

as you decent down into the water, you stand in front of him, water reaching the middle of your ribcage whilst it almost reaches lukes shoulders, since he's further below. if you were honest, it was quite a beautiful scene, the sun was setting below the horizon, the water was calm and still, and the occasional sound of the waves hitting the shore and crickets beginning to chirp was the only thing that could be heard.

you tilt your head, eyeing him curiously. "why do you hate me, castellan?" you ask, your voice devoid of any malice, just pure curiosity.

luke looked a little suprised by your question, and looked back at you with a bit of amusement. "i dont hate you, princess, thats a bit intense," he chuckles.

you scoff a bit. "well you obviously dont like me. so, what is it?"

you werent sure when it happened, but you and luke had waded out further, making the two of you level, only your shoulders up being visible.

it was silent for a moment as luke thought up his answer, and weirdly the void of conversation was comfortable. the sunset illuminated one side of his face, making him look oddly ethereal. you couldn't look away.

"i dont hate you, princess," he says finally, looking into your eyes with a serious expression (one of the few times you had ever seen one on him).

he doesnt hate you? then why is he always such a dick? you think about asking your plethora of questions, but decide against it, being unable to form any coherent words.

he looked really pretty. you couldn't stop noticing how pretty he was.

for once, your head was devoid of any rational thoughts - you weren't telling yourself how bad of an idea this way, how wrong it is - because it felt so right. and things rarely felt right for you.

you weren't sure who did it first, but somehow your lips met, and it felt like nothing else would ever be the same.

you had been kissed before, but gods, never like this. it was like every emotion you had ever made each other feel was being poured into yours lips, being felt again all at once. your hands were all over each other, trailing below and above surface to claw at the others skin. your lips danced so passionately, everything about it felt raw and exhilarating. and as much as you wished you could say they were, your thoughts weren't on alex, or the consequences of your actions - your head was foggy and consumed by him. by luke.

your tongues clashed every now and then, deepening the kiss and you tried every way to feel closer to him - grabbing his skin, pressing your front flush against his - you needed to feel him everywhere. he wasn't far off from your state, in fact, he was just as bad. he panted into your mouth, his rough, calloused hands from all that training gripping at the skin of your waist, your hips, your ass - anywhere he could find, his hands had been there. you had never felt so deliciously exposed before, and you had never expected to like it.

your legs were wrapped around his waist, and your hands were in his semi-wet hair, gripping and pulling, urging him closer, trying to take control of the kiss. no matter how hard you tried though, you couldn't - luke had full control, and you weren't sure you were mad about that.

you suddenly broke away, the both of you breathless and panting hard, not looking away from each others eyes. your eyes raked over his features, and he looked so perfectly ruined. his hair was a tangled mess , his pupils were engorged, his lips were red, and his cheeks were flushed. you were sure you looked the same, feeling the own heat in your cheeks and thunder in your heart, wondering if he could hear it as well. you couldn't stop thinking about how much you wanted to ruin him all day - do something to make him stop looking so perfect all the time. looking at him now, you decided that it didn't matter, that no matter what you did to rough him up, he would still look angelic.

your lips were still inches apart as you observed each other, catching your breaths. you look back up into his eyes, and let out the only words you could manage.

"take me somewhere else."

.·。.·゜✭·❤·✫·゜·。..·。.·゜✭·❤·✫·゜·。..·。.·゜✭·❤·✫·゜·。..·。.·゜✭·❤

as luke opened the door to an empty cabin one, he quickly pulled you in, caging you against the entrance as he slammed it shut. his lips were instantly back on yours, one hand resting above your head and the other on your bare waist. the kiss was just as soul draining as the other, but a bit more slow and sensual. this one wasn't as desperate - it was like you were exploring each other, trying to figure the other out. your hands trailed down his toned chest and his abs, snaking around to grab his waist to pull him closer. you could feel the water dripping down your skin and onto the floor, and as luke removed his lips to attach onto the skin of your neck, you felt droplets from his raven hair run down your back. you shivered, your senses heightened, feeling hyperaware of every small sounds luke made, of every touch his hands left behind, of every noise you could hear - you could feel it all. it was electric.

lukes left little love bites around you neck and chest, pecking them with a surprising softness after he sucked to hard, almost as if he was apologizing for his roughness. his lips started to trail down past your bra, and his knees began to lower to the floor, his head tilted up to look directly into your eyes. your breath hitched, watching in awe and a sense of impatience as you waited for him to make his next move

kneeled in front of you, lukes hands had slid down from you hips to your waist, his fingers teasingly slipping under the hem of your panties, each time causing you to release a shaky breath. his lips hovered over you clothed core, breathing directly onto your clit as you shivered, throwing you head back against the door.

"please," you ask, your so voice quiet, it was almost a whisper.

you look back down to see lukes response, and the intensity in his gaze made your breaths even more harbored than they already were.

"please?" luke repeated, his voice a low murmur, holding the smallest amount of teasing and mockery, pretending as if he didn't know what you were pleading for.

you nod eagerly. "please, luke. want it," you whine, your voice still quiet, almost as if you were a little ashamed at how easy you had given yourself to him.

luke let out a small, pleased smile. "well, since y'asked so nicely..." he remarks, as his finger loop under the sides of you panties and slide them down to your ankles.

you feel the cold air hit you at the wet bottoms were discarded, and you shivered, sliding them to the side. lukes eyes were no longer on yours, instead, they were on your pussy. it was shocking to see how hunger-filled his eyes were, looking like it took everything in him not to suck you dry, and curb his craving.

he looked back up at you, a small, teasing smile making its way onto his lips as he attached them onto your pussy. you let out a breathy gasp, throwing your head back as your hands instantaneously imbedded themselves into his hair. he threw one of your legs over his shoulder to get a deeper angle, and you could've sworn you saw stars. his lips sucked and licked your clit, inhaling up your juices whilst his fingers moved in and out of you hole, curling up into your sweet spot causing you to arch you back off the door and closer to his mouth. you had some idea that he was good (word got around easily at camp), but you had no idea he was this good, or that head could even be this good.

"luke," you whimpered, feeling yourself getting closer as you gripped his hair, pulling him off your pussy. "stop, s'too much." you voice, your tone needy and breathless.

he himself was breathless, panting hard with your juices dripping down his chin, his hair a tangled mess from your greedy fingers.

"want me t'stop?" he asks, his voice serious as a funeral.

you quickly shook your head. "n-no, no, just..." you bite your lip thinking up something, and your next solution was to pull him back in for a kiss, grabbing him by his shoulders. he seemed a bit surprised, but he certainly wasn't mad, cupping your cheeks as he returned the notion. you started to push him forward, leading him to the nearest bed and he got the memo, backing up against it until he sat down, you moving to straddle his waist.

you continued to kiss, everything about it feeling intoxicating. the feeling of your bare center against his clothed cock sent shockwaves into your core every time you moved against him. luke smirked against your lips, mumbling against them. "not too proud now, huh?" despite yourself, you smile, letting out a small laugh. "shut up," your murmur, pressing your self against him as he lowered his back against the mattress, you laying on top of him.

soon enough, his boxers and your bra were discarded, and luke had you on your back, one hand on your waist and another on his shaft, lining himself up against your entrance.

luckily, he keeps a condom in his pocket (bit of a red flag that he always had one on him, but you guessed it was better safe than sorry) and had slid it on, which you were grateful for. mainly because in your current state, you weren't sure if you would be able to say no if he didn't have one, and you'd let him fuck you raw, which would definitely be bad.

you look down, watching as his tip was right about to enter, and then you hear lukes voice, snapping you out of your trance.

"hey," his firm tone voices, "want you lookin' at me when i fuck you, understand?" he directs, and normally you wouldnt stand for being told what to do, especially by a man, but you were too desperate for him to fuck you, so you nodded eagerly, following his instructions.

when he finaly entered you, your eyes widen, lips opeening in pure euphoria. his own lips parted, leting out a small groan, and a string of curses. "fuck, your tight." he marvels, slowing moving further into you.

once his hips meet yours, he pulls all the way back out, and then back in, pulling a sharp moan out of you lips as your fingers grip the sheets below you.

he continues this process a few times, easing the both of you into adjusting to his sheer mass. eventually, luke begins to speed up, finding a steady and pleasurable pace for the both of you. your walls gripped his dick, and luke would swear he had never felt such pleasure. he could feel each clench, hear every crude squelch, and even still taste your wetness from before on his tongue. he never would've thought he'd be lucky enough to see you in this position, but he assumed he must've won the lottery today or been blessed by one of the gods, because in no world would you letting him do this would be reality.

luke grunted as he looked down to see your connection - your wetness on the silicone, the veins on his dick visible underneath, your pussy swallowing up his inches every time he pushed himself in - it was a sight to see.

he let out a breathy, disbelieving chuckle. "god, princess, what do you think your lil'boyfriend would have to say about this, huh?" he looks back to your face, to see your eyes scrunched up in pleasure and your lips dropped in awe, and it only spurred him on further.

"huh? bet he'd understand. even he knows hes not good enough for you," he chuckles darkly, quickening the pace of his thrust, the sound of your skin slapping together audible. "bet he could never make you feel this good, could he?"

you repeatedly shake your head, your words coming out all jumbled together. "no, never, only you, luke," you cry, moaning out as each thrust brings you closer to your high, your hands moving to scratch against his back, nails digging into his skin as pleasure overcomes you.

he didn't seem to mind the mild pain, in fact, it seemed to spur him on further. "s'that right, princess? only me?" you almost regretted your words, seeing how much it seemed to have grown his ego, but you couldn't find it in yourself to care all that much when he was making you feel so good.

you nod, whimpering as your cunt clenched around him, biting your lip to hold back any more sounds.

luke cursed under his breath, speeding up even more. "fuck, 'mclose, baby."

the use of the new nicknames brings you closer, more and more little whines leaving your lips. "same. please, luke."

"yeah? wanna cum all over my dick? gods, go ahead, babe, you can do it." he spurs you on, watching as your face twists with pleasure and your hips splutter, your eyes locked on his as your run over the edged.

you irises are glazed over with pleasure as you release around him, his hips continuing their assault as he chases his own high. your transfixed by the sight of him, not able to look away once he reaches his own high, releasing a low, guttural groan. he throws his head back as his movements slow, a lazy and satisfied smile taking over his features. you mimic his expression, quite pleased yourself with what just transpired.

"fuck me, princess" he lets out a breathy chuckle, pulling himself out of you as you giggle as well. he pulls of the condom and stands up, placing a surprisingly gentle kiss on your forehead.

you lay flat on the bed, eyes on the ceiling as your process what just happened. you just fucked luke, you worst enemy and...really enjoyed it, to say the least. and you also cheated on your boyfriend. you winced at the thought, deciding to deal with that factor later, and instead, try to figure how you now feel about luke. not surprisingly, your opinions on luke had changed drastically in the last hour. you had gotten to see a different side to him, one you hope you'd get to continue to see. but you were weirdly filled with insecurity, wondering if this was just a one and done for him. and then you were filled with even more confusion, wondering why that thought upset you.

your pulled from your spiraling when luke returns from the bathroom, a wet hand towel in his hands as he crawled onto the bed, wiping your fluids off your skin. the gentleness in which he approached it with was shocking, yet filled your stomach with a heavy fluttering. he tossed the rag to the side and looked up at you, a slight, mischievous smile on his face.

"that was fun, huh?"

#xoxo #love u angels #luke castellan #luke x reader #luke castellan fic #luke castellan x reader #luke castellan fanfic #pjo #percy jackson x reader #charlie bushnell #charlie bushnell x reader #x reader #ೀ⋆⑅˚#lengthy fic but hope up enjoyed

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