#like that in and of itself sounds intriguing

[hellinistical]

in which you're the nude model for an art-collecting Sylus, who is curious about the artistic process, frustrated no one caputures how he sees you, fem.reader, mdni.

tw: pet names. masturbation. sylus watches. wc: 5.74k

A crystal chandelier hung from above, its intricate tiers casting soft, fractured glints over the room’s contents. The furniture was lavish yet somber, every piece carved from dark wood, polished to a gleam, and upholstered in deep hues of midnight blue and black. Ornate gold accents curled in ivy-like patterns along the edges of tables and chairs, catching the faint light.

In one corner, a large canvas rested on an easel, its stark white surface starkly contrasting the shadows around it. The strokes of a paintbrush whispered through the room like secrets being shared.

The artisan Sylus had hired was a picture of silent concentration, his movements precise yet fluid, as though the canvas itself whispered instructions only he could hear. His dark eyes flicked between you and the image taking shape before him, studying every curve, every shadow, with an intensity that made the air feel heavier. The soft strokes of his paintbrush filled the room, each sound deliberate, carrying a sense of reverence for the craft.

Sitting on the edge of a chaise draped in black velvet, the luxurious material soft against your bare skin. A sheet—thin, white, and nearly translucent under the moonlight—was your only covering, clinging to your form in a way that felt both tantalizing and vulnerable. The pose Sylus had requested was anything but modest, and though it made your cheeks flush faintly, the artist’s detached professionalism helped temper the awkwardness.

The moonlight streaming in through the towering windows kissed your skin, making it glow against the deep shadows of the room. Every subtle movement—your breathing, the occasional adjustment of the sheet, the shift of your gaze—seemed amplified in the stillness. The air itself felt charged, as if time held its breath for this moment to unfold.

Sylus reclined in a grand armchair near the far side of the room, his long legs crossed, his sharp features softened only by the faint smirk that played at his lips. A crystal wine glass dangled between his fingers, catching the light like a jewel, its contents dark and rich. His gaze was fixed on you—not with the detached curiosity of the artisan but with something more proprietary, more intrigued. His presence was magnetic, commanding without words, and his silence held the weight of unspoken thoughts.

"Your left arm, miss. Lift it a bit," the artist murmured, his voice low and even, breaking the almost sacred silence. His eyes flicked toward you briefly, assessing, before returning to the canvas with the same calm precision he had exhibited throughout the night.

The simple request made you shift slightly on the chaise, the sheet slipping just enough to expose more of your breast as you adjusted. The movement felt deliberate, every inch of skin bared under the artist’s scrutiny becoming part of his composition. The room seemed to hold its breath as you raised your arm, draping it over the back of the chaise as instructed.

Sylus turned his head toward you, his movements deliberate and unhurried, the sharp angles of his face softened by the faint smile that graced his lips. It was a smile that held both mischief and intrigue, a look that made it impossible to discern where admiration ended and amusement began. The light from the windows gleamed in his eyes, giving them an almost predatory glint.

"A striking composition," he murmured, his voice a rich, low timbre that resonated through the still air. It was a sound that could easily command attention, yet here it felt intimate, as though meant only for you. "Don’t you agree, kitten?"

The question hung in the air, weighted with layers of meaning. His gaze flickered, lingering on the line of your nearly bare breast where the sheet had slipped, the moonlight carving out every subtle curve, the peaks of your nipples. There was something disarming about the way he spoke, his tone both playful and serious, as though he were inviting you into some secret he had yet to share.

The artist didn’t pause in his work, though you caught the faintest twitch at the corner of his mouth, betraying that even he wasn’t entirely immune to Sylus’s presence. His brush continued its soft strokes, the sound rhythmic and soothing, blending into the charged atmosphere.

You shifted slightly, the faint rustle of the sheet breaking the silence, and met Sylus’s gaze. There was a heat to his expression, tempered by a calculating coolness that left you uncertain of his true intentions. The tension between the three of you felt almost tangible now, the room alive with an energy that seemed to thrum beneath the surface.

"Perhaps," you replied softly, your voice steady despite the flutter in your chest. "Though I think the artist deserves the credit for that, not me."

Sylus’s smile deepened, his head tilting ever so slightly, as though your response amused him. "Oh, but the canvas is nothing without its muse," he said, lifting his glass in a quiet salute before taking a slow sip. "And you, my dear, are truly one worth painting."

It's quiet again, for just a moment. 

Sylus clicked his tongue softly, a sound of contemplation rather than impatience, his gaze flicking back to the canvas. He swirled the wine in his glass absentmindedly, the deep red liquid catching the moonlight like liquid garnet. After a beat, his eyes shifted toward the artist, his expression one of casual command.

"The drape," he said, his voice a low purr that carried easily through the quiet room. He gestured faintly toward the sheet wrapped around you, his fingers barely moving as he spoke. "Perhaps you can take it down?"

The artist paused, his brush hovering above the canvas. His dark eyes darted toward Sylus, then to you, before returning to his work. "If the subject is comfortable," he said cautiously, his tone neutral but his gaze flickering with unspoken questions.

“All the way?” It came out with a foreign nervousness, but you got a nod. All the way. 

So with a slow exhale, you nodded back, the movement subtle but enough to signal your consent. The artist, recognizing the shift, approached with a soft swish of his robes. His hands were gentle but deliberate as he reached for the drape, his fingers brushing across your skin as he slowly slid it off. The fabric unfurled, slipping away with a soft rustle, leaving you exposed to the cold touch of the night air and the more unrelenting gaze of Sylus.

There was a subtle shift in the room as the sheet was discarded, the air colder now as it kissed the bare skin of your shoulders, your breasts, your thighs. The artist returned to his easel, his brush resuming its careful strokes, capturing each detail of your form.

Sylus, however, didn’t immediately speak. His eyes, still fixed on you, glistened with something unspoken, something deeper than just admiration for the composition of the moment. He took another sip of wine, the glass held loosely in his hand, his lips curving into a small, satisfied smile.

It wasn’t the first time he had seen you naked—far from it. You had been the subject of the paintings he’d bought countless times before, the air between you thick with desires spoken and unspoken. Those moments had been different—more familiar, more intimate, without the looming weight of expectation. But this… this felt different.

The room, with its heavy shadows and cold moonlight, felt charged in a way it hadn’t before. Sylus’s gaze lingered longer, sharper, as if he were studying you, not just admiring the curve of your body, but absorbing something deeper—something that seemed to pull at the very core of you. The way he watched you now was colder, more assessing, yet still wrapped in that same underlying intrigue.

You could feel the shift in the air, feel the way his eyes didn’t just glance over your skin as before, but carved into it, tracing every inch with the intensity of someone who wasn’t simply enjoying the view—but claiming it, as if you were a work of art he had yet to fully possess. His smile, that quiet, satisfied curve of his lips, held a kind of knowing that unsettled you, despite the familiarity of it all.

There was an unsettling calmness to the way he drank from his glass, every movement deliberate, as though he knew exactly how long he could hold you in this moment, how long he could make you feel exposed, vulnerable, and still expect you to remain calm. There was no rush, no desire to touch you right away. His silence, his steady gaze, was more intimate in a way that made the air heavier, more suffocating.

bared before him, this felt different. This felt like you weren’t just a willing partner, but a subject—a canvas for his deeper curiosity, a part of his game, and you were unsure whether you were winning or losing.

Goosebumps rose on your skin, the sudden chill of the room making every inch of your exposed body feel more vulnerable, more aware. The warmth the drape had provided was gone, and the cool air kissed your skin, making your nipples harden in response. The sensation wasn’t lost on Sylus. You could feel his gaze moving over you, absorbing every detail, and something in the air thickened, carrying the weight of his unspoken thoughts.

He took a slow sip of his wine, his lips curling into a faint, almost predatory smile as he watched you react to the cold. Then, without breaking his gaze, he shifted his attention to the artist.

"I've changed my mind," Sylus said, his voice a smooth drawl, casual yet laced with a subtle command. "Start over."

The artist, still bent over his work, hesitated, his brush pausing mid-air. He glanced up, a brow lifting in silent query as he regarded Sylus. "But sir, we’ve already begun—"

Sylus didn’t even let him finish. "I’ll pay double—no, triple," he said, his voice low and insistent, the words dropping like heavy coins into the silence. "Just do it."

The artist’s hesitation melted away, the promise of such an offer too tempting to ignore. He glanced back at you, his expression unreadable, before setting down his brush. His movements were careful, deliberate, as he began to adjust the canvas slightly, giving you space to move.

You adjusted yourself carefully, the movement slow and deliberate as you turned to face Sylus, your body fully exposed to his gaze. There was a quiet tension in the room, and as you caught his eyes, you let him feast on the sight of you, the weight of his stare making every nerve in your body aware of the vulnerability in the moment.

A playful, teasing smile tugged at the corner of your lips, as you broke the heavy silence with your words. "You have a pose in mind?" you asked, the tone light and joking, an attempt to mask the deeper undercurrent of discomfort that flickered beneath your playful facade.

But Sylus’s smile didn’t falter. There was no humor in his eyes, only a quiet certainty. He leaned forward slightly, setting his wine glass down with an almost imperceptible clink, his gaze flickering over your form once more, taking in the details with the precision of someone who knew exactly what he wanted.

Sylus’s gaze flickered briefly to the artist, and then returned to you, his expression unreadable for a moment. When he spoke, his voice was smooth, calculated, as though he were savoring every word.

"Yes," he replied, the single word carrying an unspoken command. "I want her standing, one foot forward, a slight arch to her back. Her left hand should rest on her hip, just like that—" He gestured with a flick of his fingers, guiding you into the position, his eyes tracing the lines of your body. "And the right arm raised, but not too high. Let the hand hang loosely, fingers extended like you’re reaching for something, but not quite grasping it. Your head tilted just slightly, eyes meeting the artist’s—no, mine. I want the focus on you."

He paused for a moment, taking in the effect of his words, before his lips curled into a half-smile.

"And don’t move," he added, his voice commanding now, an undertone of dark satisfaction threading through his tone. "I want the tension in your body to be alive."

The artist’s brow furrowed briefly, but the offer of triple pay quickly silenced any objections. He nodded, refocusing on his canvas, preparing for the shift in the scene. Sylus remained seated, watching you with that same sharp, patient gaze, every inch of him fully aware of the game he was playing.

You felt the weight of the pose, the challenge of holding it just right, the pressure of both Sylus’s and the artist’s eyes on you. 

***

It was some time before the artist finally set his brush down, the silence in the room thick with concentration. Finally, when the last stroke was added and the artist stepped back with a deep exhale, you were free to move. The tension in your body snapped as you lowered your arm, the muscles protesting the sudden shift. You stood, stretching, the relief palpable as you reached above your head, feeling the pull in your shoulders and spine.

Yet Sylus himself seemed completely at ease. As a matter of face, he seemed unfazed by the passage of time. He was calm, almost serene, his attention fixated on the painting leaning against the wall as it dried. His expression was one of quiet satisfaction, but there was something deeper in his eyes, a kind of quiet hunger that lingered as he took in the image before him.

There, captured in oils on stretched animal skin, was you—your body immortalized in vivid detail. Every curve, every line, every inch of your exposed form was perfectly rendered, the colors rich and deep, almost alive under the low light of the room. The moonlight slanted across the canvas, highlighting your body in a way that made the image seem as though it were still in motion, as if the moment Sylus had captured would never truly end.

Your body, perfectly nude, stared back at you from the canvas—more than just a reflection, more than just a piece of art. It was an interpretation of you, crafted by Sylus’s intent, the artist’s skill, and the silence of the room.

You could feel the weight of the gaze upon you—his eyes not just on the painting, but on you, seeing the connection between the two. The moment stretched on, thick with a kind of power. He didn’t speak immediately, but there was a slight, knowing smile tugging at his lips. His fingers toyed with the wine glass in his hand, almost absently.

"You look... perfect," he murmured, his voice still smooth, but with an edge of something darker, something more satisfied. "Captured perfectly. What do you think?"

His eyes flickered back to you, measuring your reaction as if he expected something more, something to acknowledge the work of art that now existed between the two of you.

You stood there, staring at the painting, but in truth, you didn’t know what to think. It felt surreal, this image of you—perfectly captured, immortalized in oils. The canvas seemed to breathe in the dim light, the shadows and highlights playing across it like a mirror of the tension that still lingered in the room. You could still feel Sylus’s eyes on you, but your mind couldn’t settle on any one thought about the painting itself.

Instead, you turned your gaze back to him, meeting his eyes with a question in your heart that had been swirling for some time now. "Why was this important to you?" you asked, curiosity lacing your voice, though there was an undercurrent of something more: a quiet need to understand what had driven him to orchestrate such a scene.

Sylus didn’t immediately respond, his fingers pausing on the glass of wine as he studied you, his gaze unwavering. For a long moment, it felt like the room itself held its breath. His lips curved into that familiar, enigmatic smile, but this time, there was a softness to it, a kind of distance that had always been absent before.

He glanced at the painting, then back at you, his eyes glinting with something unreadable. "Why?" he echoed, as if testing the question on his tongue. "Isn’t it obvious?"

You waited for him to elaborate, but instead, he took another sip of his wine, his eyes never leaving you. The silence between you stretched, thick with an unspoken weight, and you couldn’t help but feel that you weren’t just asking about the painting. You were asking about everything—the game he played, the tension that existed between the two of you, the fascination he seemed to hold.

Finally, he set his glass down, his voice lower, almost contemplative. "Because you’re more than just a person to me," he said, his gaze softening slightly, though there was still a sharp edge to it. "You’re a... presence. Something I want to understand, to capture, in every way." He took a slow step closer, his eyes lingering on you for a moment before he added, almost too casually, "And because one should preserve what they cherish, shouldn't they?"

Sylus’s voice, low and deliberate, seemed to echo around the room, weaving itself into the very fabric of the space.

You paused, the implications of his statement sinking in slowly. The way he looked at you—like something to be preserved, something he had every intention of holding onto—sent a shiver down your spine. It wasn’t the first time he’d made it clear he valued you, but this was different. There was a possessiveness in his tone, a quiet claim, one that made the hairs on the back of your neck stand on end.

"Preserve what you cherish," you repeated softly, the words tasting strange in your mouth. You couldn’t help but wonder what exactly he saw when he looked at you—what he truly valued, and if it was you, or the version of you he’d crafted in his mind, captured forever in oil and paint.

You met his gaze again, studying him, trying to discern if he meant the words as something more than just the artist’s admiration. There was a subtle shift in his posture as he watched you, something more predatory, more certain, as if he was waiting for a reaction, for you to acknowledge this deeper layer of his affection, his obsession.

The silence stretched between you, but it was charged, full of unspoken promises and unanswered questions. He hadn't said it outright, but you knew the implication, the undercurrent of possession that ran through his words. Sylus wasn't just capturing your form on canvas—he was capturing you, and perhaps, in a way, he always had been.

“Mr. Sylus?” “I don’t think cherish is the right word.”

Before you could fully process the weight of his words, Sylus was in front of you, closing the distance in two long strides. His movements were swift yet deliberate, as though he had been holding back until this very moment.

His hands came up to cup your face, warm and firm against your skin, tilting your head just so. And then his lips met yours—demanding, yet tender, with a fervor that left no room for doubt. The kiss wasn’t just a meeting of lips; it was an unspoken declaration, a culmination of everything unsaid between you.

The room seemed to shrink around you, the world outside fading into irrelevance as the cold air and ache in your body melted away under his touch. His thumbs brushed against your cheeks, a contrast to the intensity of the kiss, grounding you in a moment that felt both overwhelming and inevitable.

Sylus kissed you like he was sealing something—his claim, his admiration, his need—all of it poured into the way his lips moved against yours. And despite the whirlwind of emotions coursing through you, you found yourself unable to resist, your body responding instinctively to the fire he ignited within you.

When he finally pulled back, it was only slightly, his face still close enough that you could feel the warmth of his breath against your skin. His eyes, now softer but still burning with intensity, searched yours, as if daring you to question what had just transpired.

"Tell me," he murmured, his voice low and rough, "that you didn’t feel that, too."

"Mr. Sylus—" you began, your voice hesitant, unsure of where this sudden shift was leading.

"Just a moment," he interrupted, his tone calm but firm, cutting through the air like a blade.

He stepped back, his hands leaving your face, though the warmth of his touch lingered on your skin. His eyes moved over you, deliberate and unhurried, as if committing every detail of you to memory all over again. Then, just as quickly, his gaze flicked to the portrait leaning against the wall before returning to you.

"The bed," he said simply, his voice carrying the same commanding edge as before.

You blinked, caught off guard. "Pardon?"

"Get on the bed, please," he repeated, his tone soft but leaving no room for argument. There was no malice in his words, no urgency, only a quiet determination that made it clear he wasn’t asking out of whimsy.

The way he stood, the way he watched you, made your breath catch. You weren’t sure if it was the lingering tension from the kiss or the intensity of his gaze, but something about the moment made your heart race. He wasn’t just commanding your presence; he was asking for your trust, for your surrender to whatever vision he had in his mind.

And despite everything—your hesitation, the ache in your muscles, the chill in the air—you found yourself moving toward the bed, drawn by the magnetic pull of his words, of him.

"Have you any idea how many paintings I've collected at this point?" Sylus asked, his voice calm yet layered with something deeper, something sharper.

You opened your mouth to respond, but he didn’t give you the chance. As his hands moved to loosen his tie, slipping it free in one smooth motion, he answered his own question.

"Hundreds," he said, his tone carrying an almost casual air, though his gaze never left you. "Hundreds of models, hundreds of hours. Each one a study in beauty, in form, in fleeting perfection." He let the tie drop onto a nearby chair, his attention entirely on you now.

"But you," he continued, stepping closer, his voice softening in a way that made the words feel intimate, confessional. "I've had dozens made of you—every detail, every angle, every nuance of your being."

You felt your breath hitch as his words washed over you, the weight of them settling heavily in the pit of your stomach.

"And yet," he said, his lips curving into a faint, almost rueful smile, "no one has gotten it right."

The room seemed to close in as he spoke, the air charged with the tension of his admission. He reached out, his fingers brushing a strand of hair from your face, his touch light but electric.

"You’re simply perfect," he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper now. "And I will not stop until it’s captured, until it’s immortalized exactly as it should be."

"And I would be a fool," Sylus continued, his voice low and deliberate, "to think that perhaps you do it on purpose, but no..."

His movements were slow, calculated, as he climbed onto the bed, his presence suddenly overwhelming. He loomed over you, his dark eyes searching yours before they dropped to your hand, which he took gently but firmly in his own.

Sylus turned your wrist over, inspecting the delicate lines and curves of your skin with the same intensity he had given the canvas earlier. His thumb brushed over the inside of your wrist, where your pulse beat steadily beneath the surface, and his lips quirked into a faint, knowing smile.

"They miss the finer details," he murmured, almost to himself. His eyes flicked up to meet yours, holding your gaze for a moment before he leaned down.

The warmth of his breath brushed against your skin as his lips ghosted over your wrist, a touch so light it sent shivers down your spine. The sensation was maddening, a deliberate tease that left you frozen in place, caught between anticipation and uncertainty.

"They capture the shape," he whispered, his lips hovering close, "but never the soul. Never this." His words were reverent, his tone almost worshipful, as though he were addressing something sacred.

"Never what?" The words escaped your lips, soft as a baby's breath, barely more than a whisper.

Sylus’s gaze flicked up to meet yours, dark and smoldering, as though your question had stirred something within him. For a moment, he didn’t answer, his thumb still idly tracing patterns along the inside of your wrist, his lips hovering so close to your skin that you could feel their warmth.

"Never you," he finally murmured, his voice low and velvety, thick with conviction. "They capture an imitation, a shadow, a shell of what you are. But the essence of you, the way your light bends in the darkness, the way your skin warms to my touch, the way your soul fills a room without saying a word..."

He paused, as if searching for words worthy of what he wanted to convey, his grip on your wrist tightening ever so slightly.

"They’ll never get that," he continued, his lips brushing against your skin as he spoke, sending a shiver racing through you.

"They try," he continues, his lips brushing faintly against your skin as he speaks, "to recreate you. To distill everything that you are into paint and canvas. But how can they? They don’t know the way your pulse quickens." His thumb presses lightly against your wrist, as if to prove his point.

"They don’t know the curve of your lips when you smile, the way your eyes light up when you're defiant, or the softness of your breath when you're still." His other hand comes up, brushing a strand of hair away from your face.

"They don’t know this," he repeats, his lips finally pressing a soft, lingering kiss to your wrist, as though sealing the moment in time. 

"I adore you. I don't think you understand." Sylus's voice is low, the words slipping out with a quiet intensity that sends a shiver through your spine. His red eyes lock onto yours, unblinking, as if trying to pull something from within you—something deeper, something that perhaps even you haven’t fully realized yet.

There’s a sharpness to his gaze now, a hunger that flickers beneath the surface, but it's tempered with something else—something softer, almost tender, as though he’s offering you a truth he’s kept hidden for far too long.

His hand stays on your wrist, his touch gentle yet possessive, as if he’s anchoring you to the moment, to the declaration he’s just made.

"You don’t understand," he repeats, his voice laced with both frustration and affection. "You don’t see how you consume me."

He leans in closer, his lips brushing against your ear, his breath hot against your skin. "Every inch of you, every movement, every breath—it's all mine, in a way no one else could ever claim." His words are heady, thick with desire and something deeper—something that feels like it could swallow you whole.

His gaze flickers back to your face, his eyes drinking in every detail. "I adore you," he says again, this time with an almost reverent finality. "You are everything."

His hand moves slowly, almost tentatively, to your throat, wrapping around it lightly. The contact sends a shiver down your spine, a mix of tension and vulnerability that courses through you. For a moment, it feels almost like a threat—powerful, electrifying, and yet, strangely intimate.

The grip is not harsh, not suffocating, but it carries an undeniable presence—like a whisper of danger beneath the surface. And then, just as quickly, he lets it go, releasing the hold with a slow, deliberate motion.

Sylus's eyes search yours, as though he’s looking for something deeper, something that can explain the inexplicable pull between you. His gaze softens slightly, a subtle shift that hints at something beyond the intensity of the moment—perhaps a need to connect in a way that’s almost impossible to articulate.

"I can make you understand," he says, his voice tinged with a mix of challenge and vulnerability, "in ways you’ve never felt before."

"I just don’t understand how they never see this," Sylus murmurs, his lips grazing your wrist as he speaks, the soft touch sending a wave of heat through your body. His voice holds a mix of frustration and admiration, as if the rest of the world has missed something so painfully obvious to him.

The sensation of his lips against your skin lingers for a moment longer than it should, a whisper of warmth that contrasts sharply with the coldness of the room.

Then, slowly, almost reluctantly, he lets go of your arm, letting it fall gently to your thighs. The space between you feels heavier now, filled with the unspoken words hanging in the air, but his gaze never wavers, still locked onto you with an intensity that is both unsettling and magnetic.

You can feel the weight of his attention as he waits, as if he’s daring you to make the next move, to acknowledge the depth of what he’s said and what’s between you. His lips part slightly, as if he’s about to speak again, but for a moment, the silence stretches, thick and taut.

Your mouth goes dry at his confession, your heart pounding in your chest as the weight of his words settles in. Your face flushes, warmth creeping across your skin, and the tips of your fingers tingle with nervous energy. The air between you seems to thicken, charged with a silent tension as his words echo in your mind.

“Adore me, huh?” you ask, your voice slightly unsteady, but a trace of defiance running through it.

“Of course,” he replies, his tone firm yet tinged with something like amusement.

A daring idea blossoms in your mind, and without a second thought, you push yourself up, leaning back on your arms, feeling the strain of your muscles as you shift your position. You bring your foot to Sylus’s chin, gently but firmly tilting his head up, forcing him to meet your gaze.

"Why don’t you paint me then?" you challenge, your voice barely a whisper, but the words are thick with intent. "Paint me how you see me."

Your eyes lock onto his, daring him to follow through, to capture you in a way he’s never been able to before. The room seems to hold its breath, waiting for his next move, for the tension to either break or build to something more.

You hold his gaze, unwavering, knowing that this moment is different—there’s something in the air, in his expression, in the silence, that makes this more than just a game.

Sylus's gaze darkens as he locks eyes with you, his lips curling into a slow, wicked smile. The words that follow are laced with heat and something possessive, a raw honesty that sends a shiver down your spine.

“Show me how.”

Show him how?

He answers before you even thought to ask. 

“Touch yourself,”

“Touch myself?” “Yes.”

He sits up, giving you the space to do so. You look at him, incredulous. 

“Go on, sweetheart.”

You don’t know how, but you find yourself leaning back against the headboard of the bed. 

Touch yourself.

Okay, yeah.

You could do that.

You open your legs, bringing a hand down to your cunt. 

His eyes don’t leave your hand, not as you bring it up to your lips, sucking on them, and not as you bring your wet fingers back to your cunt, moving in slow circles. 

The cold air was still cold, and you didn’t know where else to look. Not as you dipped your fingers between your lips, not as your head tilted back.

Your free hand went to your breast, rolling the nipple between your fingers. Your cheeks burned, knowing he wouldn’t look away. You close your legs around your wrist, but he clears his throat. 

Open them back up. 

So you do. 

Your clit is sensitve as you play with it, soft breaths turning into quiet pants. Feeling yourself getting wetter, you added a third finger to the mix, beginning to pump them in and out. 

This wouldn’t do. You wouldn't be able to get yourself off like this, with him watching. 

So you shut your eyes, trying to pretend he wasn’t there. Pinching your clit, you sucked in a breath. Oh, fuck. 

Sylus, however, wasn’t doing much better. His pants were tight, cock strained against his underwear. But he wouldn’t do anything. This was all for you. 

“Sylus,” it comes out airy, and your fingers just arent enough, “Can’t you help me?” “Help you? Darling, you’re supposed to show me how to paint, not the other way around.”

Damn him.

“I can’t,” “You can. Get on with it.”

You curl your fingers, and oh, your eyes flutter. The hand that was on your tit goes to help the other, your cunt greedy for the attention as your hips start to buck. Pulling your hand out for a brienf moment, you wipe the wetness off on your thighs, feeling your clit throb as you slow the pace down once again. 

Your stomach had butterflies. The fact that this man had wanted you in such a way…

It was nice to have a loyal patron. 

His red eyes on you, that smooth voice always appreciative, and lord, those hands- that nose- that stupid smirk.. 

Your toes curl, and you say his name. 

So close, so close, so close-

His hand is on your wrist, pulling it up, your high stolen. 

“Marvelous.”

Eyes opening, you look at him, chest heaving. 

“I, haa, I wasn’t done.” The corners of his lips turn upwards. He brings your fingers to his lips, tasting them. He hums in approval. 

“I’ve seen enough. I’ve learned.”

Oh, damn him. 

[razorblade180-heated]

A Naughty Gift

[Warning:Smut. It’s like 90% smut]

There’s no season like the Christmas season. Grimm missions were on the low and the only trouble to be found was lack of ham. That and traffic; man did Jaune have enough of traffic. Five hours of guiding civilians across roads may sound like an easy mission, but doing it in cold snow was a special layer of pain. Boy was he glad to be off.

As he walked into his shared apartment, the wonderful smell of gingerbread and hot chocolate warmed his soul. “Ah~ the smell of joy. Man, I love the holidays.”

He looked around the baker of such treats, but did not find the chef or her assistant. “Ruby? Weiss?” Not a single response. Maybe they stepped out.

Jaune moseyed his way into the kitchen to grab a cookie, but was halted by a note on the dish that said, “Focus on your gift.” A gift? Had they hidden one for him. It was Christmas Eve and Weiss had been super strict about touching absolutely nothing under the tree.

“I doubt it’s there.” He thought, fearing the consequences of unwrapping a present. He knew what they got him, but still had to play by holiday rules. Next likely place would be his room. But first, he wanted to see if anything was strange about theirs.

Jaune walked down the hall and went to Weiss’s room, the first door on the right. He carefully peeked inside to see a pristinely made bed and light blue mood lighting that put snowflakes on the wall. Nothing out of place here.

He then went deeper into the hall to the first room on the left; Ruby’s room. Jaune was way more comfortable opening up the door wider than Weiss’s. Once again, nobody was in there. The strange thing however was Ruby’s bed was also made!

“That’s slightly concerning.” He thought to himself. Now they were definitely planning something. Everything is only spick and span at the same time when thought of doing it later would be incredibly bothersome. Guess his room left. Unless they were both hiding in the bathroom, which he highly doubted.

There was still also the possibility they simply weren’t home. They had finished their missions ahead of him but they could’ve stepped out. Jaune twisted the knob to his room and opened the door. Immediately his face went red and his eyes became bigger than the cookies Ruby baked.

“Well hello. I guess you are home.”

On his bed with a proud grin and red cheeks was Ruby. She waved as best she could with hands bound together by a red ribbon that wrapped around her figure, covering only her chest and restraining her legs a little as well. The only thing stopping her from being completely naked was a Santa hat. Much like her partner, who was a thousand times more embarrassed.

Weiss laid right beside Ruby in blue ribbon that had her wrists tied behind her back. The girl looked a little pouty to be put in such a situation. It was clear who’s idea this was.

“How the heck did she talk you into this?” Jaune said, more intrigued than aroused.

“She insisted this was a Christmas idea she wanted to try at least once. I caved.”

Ruby giggled. “Oh don’t act like you weren’t interested at all.”

“Maybe one on one! This is a lot…” She looked at Jaune anxiously. “I hope you know this took a lot of effort! I can’t tell you how infuriating it was to get the Arma Gigas to tie us.”

“I didn’t even know that was possible.”

“Neither did I! My sister would kill me if she knew this is how I made use of my training.” Weiss lamented.

Ruby kissed her cheek and nudged the girl. “Cheer up! I’m very proud of you for humoring me, and I’m sure someone else is.”

It was true, although he didn’t need to tell them that. Both pairs of eyes watched a tent try to pitch itself under jeans in real time. Jaune couldn’t help but chuckle and sigh.

“Never a dull moment in this apartment.”

“Happy early Christmas!” Ruby cheered. “Though this is technically a gift to me, I’m sure we’ll all cherish it.”

Jaune began taking off his armor at a normal pace as much as possible. “I guess now is as good a time as any to give you both a present each.”

“Oh?” Weiss raised a brow. “An actual gift, or was that your way of being cheeky?”

“Haha, cut me some slack.” Jaune walked over to his nightstand and pulled out two small wrapped boxes. “I wasn’t going to put these under the tree considering it was pretty tongue and cheek. Not to mention sorta a joke. Since we’re here though…”

The girls watched him open the red gift that was clearly meant for Ruby. Her curiosity grew more and more until it turned into flustered shock as Jaune pulled out a red collar with her symbol on it. Words failed her. She tried her damndest not to look at Weiss, whose jaw was trying to hit the bed.

“So…that’s what you two get up to?”

“N-Not all the time! It’s just that…ever since I saw how assertive he was with you, I’ve asked him to try a few times on me.” Ruby muttered.

“Don’t pin your awakenings on me!” Weiss heard more wrapper tearing and looked at Jaune with immediate concern. “Hold on-”

“Relax, it’s not what you’re thinking.”

“Are you certain?” Weiss watched anxiously as Jaune opened the box and pulled out fuzzy light blue handcuffs. An immediate sigh of relief left her lungs and made Ruby squint.

“That’s an interesting reaction. What had you freaking out, hmmm?”

“Listen, some kinks don’t need to be shared.” Weiss blushed deeply. “Leave me with a shred of dignity.”

“We’re naked and wrapped right now but sure, keep your shred. It’s not like I’m in any position to judge right now.” Ruby said lovingly. Right as she finished, Jaune, who was now only in boxers, tilted her head up gently and put the collar on; her face matched the hat on her head immediately. “See? I’m going through it right now.”

“Wasn’t this your idea?” Jaune reminded

“Not the collar! At least not in this situation! I-” Her mind was utterly derailed as he tugged on her gift gently with his right middle finger, pulling her forward until she was on her knees. Ruby’s hands fell against Jaune’s waistband. His right hand moved from the collar to the side of her face. Ruby looked up into deep blue eyes that waited firmly, yet patiently.

“Well? Don’t you want your present?” He said in the voice she loved so dearly.

Ruby didn’t speak. There was nothing really to say honestly. Her fingers tugged the boxer down, freeing the girthy cock underneath. The scent was dizzying to her senses. She had forgotten Jaune had come from work, and yet that only served to lower her head impatiently. In one motion, Ruby swallowed Jaune, working her way to the base of his shaft as the hand on her left began gently rubbing it. Her ears were burning, waiting to hear what always came next when she listened.

“That’s my girl.”

Weiss’s own face became pink as she watched her girlfriend’s head bob up and down slowly. Her gaze turned to Jaune who’s attention was locked onto her. Weiss could feel her heart flutter. He didn’t even put the cuffs on. Although he really didn’t need to in this situation.

“Can you walk?” He asked.

“Y-Yes.” Why was she stuttering now of all times!? Weiss got up from the bed and slowly made her way over to his left side. Her curiosity got the better of her and she looked down at Ruby again. The redhead was trying her best to keep Jaune deep in her throat but clearly struggled, occasionally stopping before the base and attempting to compose herself before trying again. If it was her down there, Jaune would’ve bucked his hips the instant she stopped. Weiss bit her lip at the thought.

“Jealous?” Jaune said, teasing the snow angel mildly.

“As if.” Weiss turned her nose up at the accusation. Her act of pride all but melted through as she felt Jaune’s left hand run up her body. The weight of fingers around her throat made her sigh shakily in yearning as he continued a little further up. Weiss felt him take control of her lower jaw, coaxing her body to stand up on their toes and accept a kiss that robbed her tongue with no intention of returning it. Jaune’s arms moved around her lower back to keep her steady. Weiss appreciated that.

Just like that, the room became an echo chamber of deep yearning. Moans from the trio slipped out alongside the sound of lustful slurps and smacks. Jaune couldn’t help but squeeze Weiss’s soft, plump rear as he tried to control his pleasure. Ruby’s mouth was like a furnace that threatened to melt him as her tongue lathered his cock. In truth, Jaune wasn’t much for aggression in the bedroom often, but they really knew how to rile him up.

Ruby had to remove herself briefly to breathe, coughing as she gasped. Her rest was short lived however as Jaune’s hand ran through her hair and pressed her face against his dick. Not one to keep him waiting, she began sucking and licking along the shaft, causing him to flinch. If only her hands weren’t tied. Her own core was beginning to ache and it looked like she wasn’t alone. Despite her earlier behavior, Weiss was now drowning in a kiss that had her legs trembling.

“Can you please untie us?” Ruby cooed, trying to sway the man.

Jaune broke his kiss with Weiss and let the girl catch her breath. “Mmm I don’t know.” He said, looking down at the flushed reaper. “You both look really cute like this.”

His teasing only made Ruby lose more strength. Her lips continued to play along his shaft. “I…I can’t touch myself like this.”

“Aw, is that what you want?”

Ruby felt his hand slide to her nape. Jaune slowly leaned forward, dragging his fingers down her spine and causing Ruby to raise her hips further until she felt his middle and index slide into her. “Nnngh~” her entire body trembled. Ruby wrapped her lips back around Jaune’s cock as she felt him dig into her. Damn the ribbons. She couldn’t spread her legs wider. To make things worse, the relief turned to dismay as his fingers left her. Ruby tried to groan in frustration, but they merely turned to whimpering.

“I can take care of her.” Weiss said, still a little shaky. No way could she survive another kiss like that.

Jaune had other ideas however. “Or… you both could swap?” He could see the flicker in their eyes. It was surprising they lasted this long doing what the other preferred.

“That could work.” They said in unison.

Jaune removed his boxers completely and laid down in the middle of the bed. It didn't take long at all for to crawl up his right side and get pulled into a mouthwatering kiss that led to their tongues fighting for dominance. The battle wasn’t in her favor unfortunately. With her so close to him, his hand had no problem sliding down her finger and reaching her pussy again. She wasn’t spared this time. Two fingers returned to ruin her, curling their way inside as they pushed in.

“AAAAGHHN~” Her tongue submitted control; Ruby quickly lost so much strength as her hips quivered from assault. Jaune’s left hand returned to the back of her head, keeping her nice and close. She was not escaping this kiss.

On the left side of the bed, Weiss found herself in an equally favorable position. She always did her best work away from prying eyes no matter the circumstances. As deeply as she loved Ruby, there was a thrill in throwing away her inhibitions so while the redhead was none the wiser. Jaune was aware of this, which made seeing his cock pointing to the ceiling all the more exciting. Weiss laid right next to it, dragging her tongue all the way up to the tip before swallowing him whole without issue. She had lost track how many times she’s done this little trick. Each time, it got the results she wanted.

Weiss felt Jaune pulse in her throat, his hips immediately raising up to fill her mouth repeatedly. Her cheeks burned red. Gods, why was she like this? Weiss swirled her tongue around his uncompromising erection, getting a full taste of the precum leaking out while he slowly fucked her throat. Weiss was now torn by Ruby’s early request. She really didn’t need her hands, but it was impossible to ignore how quickly her thighs were getting damp. No one was touching her at all and yet she could feel her walls squeez down on what wasn’t there.

“Mmph~” she moaned, anticipating not only her future pleasure, but the load she’d soon taste. Weiss sucked harder.

Jaune groaned as he put up their best fight. “Thank goodness my mission wasn’t intense today!” He did his best to focus on Ruby but Weiss wasn’t making that easy. Thankfully he knew their weaknesses as well as they knew his.

Ruby felt like she was in a pure trance. Her body steadily found balance in their make out session and she tried her best to hold out. That was…until Jaune had to go and break her concentration. His left hand finally moved from her head but fell down towards chests. Ruby broke the kiss. “N-No! Wait!” She gasped, but her plea was ignored.

Nimble fingers slipped through the wrapping paper and captured her right nipple, latching onto it like a clamp.

“AAANGNH!!!” She cried out without restraint. Ruby’s breath became nothing more than ragged panting

“You always were sensitive here.” Jaune teased, pulling lightly while biting her earlobe. He will give her no room for escape. Jaune pumped his fingers harder until she was sopping wet.

Ruby’s vision blurred. “I…I’M….!” Everything went white. Her voice let out a dry, strained wail that made Weiss blush deeply. Ruby felt her orgasm flow down her trembling legs as Jaune continued to rub her walls. “MERCY!! JAUNE! I CAN’T…” She whined, tears welling up.

“Yes you can.” He whispered, reducing her to a puddle. “You’re doing so well cumming everywhere.”

Her orgasm felt never ending. Jaune had taken it and demanded more of her lust with each passing second, until another wave hit. “AAAGNH!”

“Gooood girl~” He finally slowed his pace. “I knew you could do it.” He let her tit go and rubbed her head again as he gradually brought her down from her high.

Ruby was in no state to respond. All she could manage was whimpering while her body flinched randomly. Jaune’s fingers finally left her as she remained faced down on the bed.

With Ruby needing a moment, Jaune finally locked eyes with his blushing blue eyed girlfriend who diligently played with his cock. Time her weakness.

Weiss watched as he sat up, gaining the leverage he needed to grind his hips in earnest against the back of her throat. His left hand rubbed the side of her face slowly as he got rough.

“Is this what you wanted?” He asked, knowing what was in her heart. A chill ran up his spine as Weiss stuck her tongue out more. He couldn’t hold it in any longer. “Don’t waste a drop.”

He came directly in the mouth. Weiss felt her eyes water as she put her face comfortably in his lap, allowing him cum to coat her throat. The taste flooded her senses and clenched her thighs together as she felt her body succumb to the shameful desire. Weiss slowly removed herself from the beastly appendage and began coughing as she took her first breath or real air. Before she could even say a word, Jaune gave her a quick, chaste kiss.

“Good job.” He smiled genuinely.

It was insane how quickly he switched gears from treating her like a hole to pampering her. To make matters worse, he brought his thumb up to wipe her mouth sense she was unable to. Weiss could only avert her gaze.

“Last time I checked, you were supposed to unwrap your gifts before playing with them.” She huffed.

“Technically it’s not mine to unwrap.” He quipped. “Even if I did, in your case, I’m putting the cuffs on you.”

Weiss tried to hold a definite stare but not even she could believe her own false anger. Not when she still felt her core aching. Her eyes looked down at his lap to find his erection persisting.

“Do as you please then. Just…keep touching me a little longer.” She confessed, looking into his eyes again. “I want to feel like Ruby did.”

“Even if that means-”

“Yes.” She said immediately, embarrassing both of them. “I…prepared beforehand.”

Finally lucid, Ruby turned her body over to see her two lovers near the foot of the bed. “You two having fun without me?” She teased.

Weiss playfully rolled her eyes. “Oh hey, you’re alive.”

“That’s my line. You sounded like you were drowning.”

“You were screaming bloody murder.”

“Hehe, yeah...” Ruby sunk into the bed. “I might be down for the count still.”

“Nope.” Jaune said, getting up and walking over to Ruby to loosen some of the ribbon around her legs. Before pulling her more to the center of the bed. “Show Weiss just how good you felt.”

There goes that voice again, playing tricks on Ruby’s heart. The girl blushed again as she followed the order. Slowly, her legs parted to reveal strands of her arousal clingy to her thighs over pink convulsing lips. Seeing Weiss stare directly at it was more dangerous to Ruby’s mental fortitude than she realized.

Jaune looked at Weiss. “Still want your ribbons undone?”

“I’m alright.” Weiss said softly. Her legs weren’t inhibited much to begin with, and it’s not like her hands weren’t going to immediately be taken away again. She instead focused on the young woman presented in front of her. Weiss lowered her body between Ruby’s legs and trailed her tongue right up her slit.

“Please be gentle.”

“I can try, but I like your screams.” Weiss continued lapping up the mess, feeling Ruby flinch with every tongue flick.

Jaune rested Ruby’s head back onto a pillow. “Stay right here and relax. Try not to cum too soon.”

Easier said than done! Even with slow movements, Weiss’s tongue ran down every groove and remembered to show Ruby’s clit some personal attention. The reaper’s bound hands reached for Weiss’s hair and held it firmly. She needed anything to latch onto if she was going to survive.

Jaune made his way back behind Weiss after grabbing a bit of lube “Hips.” She raised them instantly, arching her back and giving him a wonderful view. Man he loved the holidays.

Weiss could feel his tip rub against her entrance repeatedly. Not as if either of them needed more preparations. That being said, Weiss had given him free reign to make a mess out of her, and with Ruby occupied, she knew he’d take advantage of it. Weiss felt her face burn up as cool lube was applied around her ass. A thumb gently rubbed it in, circling around the entrance before pressing in.

“Nngh.” Weiss focused harder on Ruby, trying to act normal as Jaune played with her butt.

Thank goodness his present was cuffs and not a plug. Weiss was still working up the nerve to express this particular interest to Ruby. She didn’t even express it to Jaune. Damn dolt messed around and stumbled upon it! Honestly it was for the best. She doubts she would’ve come clean about it otherwise. His thumb left and was replaced with the same two fingers that brought Ruby to tears.

“Uungh!” Weiss felt her hips float.

Ruby didn’t know what Weiss was going through, but it made her damn good at her job. Her tongue finally slipped in and began eating her out in earnest. “Yes! Just like that!” She could feel herself close around the girl’s tongue.

Weiss didn’t know if she had the best job or the worst. Either way, leaving was the last thing in her mind. Her body grew more impatient as Jaune continued his teasing. She was practically dripping down his cock. She had to speak for a second.

“Jaune, please!” She begged, not caring at all how she sounded. “I want it!”

“How do you want it?” He watched her ears turn red.

“Y-You know how.” She whined, her hips moving on their own. Ruby’s hands pulled her back into her warmth while Jaune’s fingers slid out. Weiss felt her body shudder when his tip slowly pressed halfway into her pussy before leaving it neglected. A firm hand gripped her ass and spread it apart, carefully opening it up with Jaune’s slick cock. Weiss could only clench her hands together as the man finally fucked her. Weiss let her thoughts fade away, focusing on devouring Ruby as her ass was used. She could feel him take it down to the base, bottoming her out like it was made to take him. Even now, her pussy squeezed for something that wasn’t there, and she couldn’t get enough.

Jaune brought both his hands to her waist. The way her ass clung to him made it impossible to keep his cool. To think she prepared herself for this only drove him wilder. If this was the gift she wanted, he was gonna give it to her. Jaune couldn’t help himself from fucking her with deep strokes that drove him crazy.

“You two are so perfect.” He gasped, getting lost in the bliss with them.

Ruby was dire straits, trapped in her own bliss thanks to Weiss’s hungry slurping. Ruby couldn’t help but feel a little jealous of how good Weiss was at oral. Just like with Jaune, she was completely at Weiss’s mercy.

Not another word was shared between the three. Only a need to satisfy their urges and express their fulfillment through countless moans. There wasn’t a stroke that didn’t make Weiss squeal, or an instant Jaune wasn’t breathlessly trying to keep himself together. Ruby could feel her toes curling the sheets in a desperate attempt to hold on just a little longer. This moment felt too brief and yet like eternity itself. Despite her best attempt, Ruby couldn’t stave off the inevitable any longer. One more trail around her clit broke her down. Ruby’s hips lifted off the bed and pushed against Weiss’s lips, giving a good taste of her handy work as another strong orgasm hit like a crashing wave.

Ruby felt her body turn rigid as stone before becoming as feeble as puddy once her body hit the mattress. Her strength was absolutely spent. Her eyes flickered rapidly as she tried to calm herself. Jaune must’ve noticed her orgasm. She could feel Weiss’s tongue pull away and hear muffled cries of delight. Blurred figures slowly became clear again and brought new speechless clarity to Ruby’s eyes.

Weiss was in utter disarray, completely lost in pleasure. Jaune had torn away the ribbons, along the girl to reach up and lock her hands behind his neck as his arms wrapped around her body. A stern hand had once again returned to her neck while the other wrapped around her torso to keep the girl on her knees as he fucked her without restraint.

“Oh wow…” Ruby couldn’t help but blush. She could see exactly how Jaune made such a mess out of their prideful Ice Queen. She was in another world, falling endlessly into euphoria as her body writhed. Ruby watched as Jaune filled her up, his cock pulsing rope after rope until it leaked down his shaft from the overflow. “Maybe I’m the vanilla in this relationship?”

Unable to stand any longer, Weiss fell forward. Ruby found it in herself to move quickly enough to lean forward and catch the girl, slowly leaning back and allowing Weiss to lay on her. Out of breath didn’t describe the state she was in. Weiss simply wasn’t here right now. Just a woman doing her best to breathe as her eyes grew heavy before shutting altogether. Ruby glanced up to see the man responsible utterly exhausted. Their gaze finally met again and she could tell by the slow internal panic in his eyes that his wits had returned.

“Ummm.” He had absolutely nothing to say. Not really much to say to get out of this situation.

Ruby pinched two fingers together and ran them over her lips like a zipper before flicking an imaginary key away.

Jaune chuckled in relief. “Merry Christmas.”

“Yeah I’m pretty sure we’re on the naughty list.” Ruby raised her hands up. “Please release me.”

Jaune looked at a dangling end and tugged it, effortlessly undoing the knot before looking at Ruby in slight judgment.

“Hey, not everyone gets post-nut clarity. I’m too tired to think.”

“I didn’t say anything.” He finally allowed himself to fall onto the bed beside them.

“You didn’t have to.” Ruby followed his lead and laid back.

“Rubes, please tell me you're too tired for sex.”

“I’m too tired for everything. Don’t worry, I am beyond satisfied.” Ruby aimlessly reached at his nightstand before finally grabbing a pack of wipes. “I see why you have these in your room now.” She tossed them his way.”

“Thank you.” He groaned.

“And she had the nerve to look at me crazily for wanting to gift wrap ourselves? You two are freakier than me.”

“Hehe, so is this new information going on the list of things you want to try?”

Ruby blushed. She didn’t know if she was ready for all that. “At least let me get used to the color first.” She covered her face. “I’ve really opened Pandora’s box, haven’t I?”

“Not really. Weiss didn’t notice you watching and I’m not about to start randomly messing your butt. I’m still doing what I always do, matching the tone.”

Ruby turned to him. “Okay, but if you were the one to set it?” She watched his face slowly turn a little pink as he pondered the question.

“Well…if you ever did get a little curious, I wouldn’t mind seeing a tail with the collar one day. You know, just every now and then.”

Even the most polite people have their fantasies. Ruby couldn’t tell if she had turned these into freaks or if it was the other way around. Regardless of the answer, she was the one who wanted assertiveness and the collar. The girl sighed at her own disappointment, feeling the same bashfulness and shame her dear girlfriend displayed in the beginning.

“Give me till Valentine’s Day.”

[ikkyfics]

Distraction

Remus Lupin x reader

Summary: But most of all, you wanted him to know. You wanted to tell him how important he was, how he was more than just a friend to you, even if that meant risking everything. And yet, you couldn’t. Not when he seemed so calm, so oblivious to any feelings you might be silently holding.

Warnings: a little jealousy

Masterlist

The Hogwarts library seemed almost magical at that time of afternoon. Not that it wasn’t magical in itself, but it was in moments like these – when the silence seemed absolute, interrupted only by the rustling of pages and the soft scratch of quills on parchment – that you felt the space had a special charm. The imposing shelves, filled with old books, gave off a sense of vastness and tranquility that you had always adored. It was the perfect place to escape the bustle of the Common Room and lose yourself in your studies.

With your bag hanging from your shoulder, you looked around, trying to decide where to sit. Your gaze landed on a table in the center of the library, where a very familiar figure sat. Remus Lupin. Your heart gave a little jump, something so automatic that it didn’t surprise you anymore. It was always like this when he was near.

He was leaning over a large, worn book, his elbows resting on the table, hands gently holding his head as if the weight of the words required his full attention. His messy brown hair fell over his forehead, framing his face with soft yet marked features. The dim light from the windows made the golden hues in his hair shine, and you noticed how his brown eyes seemed almost honeyed as they slid over the pages. The thin scars crisscrossing his skin were almost invisible from a distance, but to you, who knew them well, they were impossible to ignore – and only made him even more... fascinating.

You were about to approach him and maybe ask what he was working on, but you stopped when you noticed he wasn’t alone. A Ravenclaw girl was sitting next to him. Tall, beautiful, with perfectly styled black hair and a warm smile, she seemed completely at ease. They were sharing the same book, their shoulders nearly touching as they examined the text. At one point, she said something that made him laugh – that low, soft laugh that always made your heart feel lighter and heavier at the same time.

You forced yourself to look away, feeling an odd warmth rise to your face. There was no reason to feel that way, you knew. Remus was your friend. A kind, funny friend, who always made you feel like the world was a safer place just because he was in it. And yet, that sight... bothered you. Much more than you wanted to admit.

With a sigh, you chose a table nearby, but far enough to not seem like you were spying. Opening your own books, you tried to focus on what you had planned to study – Herbology, your least favorite subject, but one that required attention. However, the words on the parchment seemed jumbled, as if your mind refused to absorb any information that wasn’t the sound of his laugh or the way he tilted his head when listening to what the girl was saying.

Unintentionally, you found yourself sneaking glances in their direction. It was impossible not to notice the way he moved – the restrained, smooth gestures, as if even the smallest movement was deliberate. The way he furrowed his brows when something in the text seemed intriguing, or how he would lightly bite the corner of his mouth when he laughed. Every detail seemed made to keep you mesmerized.

And the worst part was that you knew he had no idea of the effect he had on you. To him, you were just another friend. Maybe a confidante, someone he could share a book with or have an easy conversation in the Common Room. And that should be enough. But it wasn’t. Not when you knew, deep down, that you wanted more. That you wanted to be the one sitting next to him, not that Ravenclaw girl. You wanted to be the one who made him smile like that.

The thought was whispering, almost painful in its honesty. You wanted him to look at you the way he looked at that book – with attention, interest, and maybe even a hint of admiration. You wanted him to choose to sit next to you, not someone else. You wanted him to share that soft laugh with you, and only you.

But most of all, you wanted him to know. You wanted to tell him how important he was, how he was more than just a friend to you, even if that meant risking everything. And yet, you couldn’t. Not when he seemed so calm, so oblivious to any feelings you might be silently holding.

You snapped the book in front of you shut with a soft thud, frustrated with yourself. This was ridiculous. You shouldn’t be sitting here, wasting time with thoughts that only left you more confused and unsure. But still, you couldn’t help sneaking one more glance in his direction. Just one more. As if you could keep that image – the smile, the ease, the way he seemed so charming even when he wasn’t trying – and carry it with you, like a secret that was only yours.

That’s when he looked at you.

Your heart skipped a beat so violently that you almost dropped the inkpot. Remus lifted his gaze from the book, his soft brown eyes meeting yours. He smiled, that small, lopsided smile, which was more of a silent invitation than a pure gesture of joy. For a second, you thought he would turn his attention back to the girl beside him – but instead, he stood up.

You froze. He was coming towards you. Each step seemed louder than the whispers of the library, and you couldn’t do anything but pretend you were rearranging your things. Maybe, if you seemed busy enough, he wouldn’t notice the flush on your face or the hesitant clenching of your hands.

"Hi," he said when he stopped next to your table. His voice was low, soft, as if it were a secret just for the two of you. "Is it okay if I sit here? I promise I won’t disturb you."

You looked at him, trying to keep your expression neutral, but you were sure the blush had already spread across your face. "Sure. It's... it's fine." You gestured to the seat next to you, and he sat down with the ease of someone who had been doing this for years.

Now that he was closer, it was impossible not to notice how his brown hair was messily tousled in a way that seemed... deliberate. Like every strand was exactly where it needed to be to make him even more adorable. And his eyes—intense and warm, like amber on a sunny day—were fixed on you, as if he were waiting for something.

"Herbology?" He asked, pointing to the parchment in front of you.

"Yeah," you replied, trying to seem uninterested. But it was hard when he was right there, so close, with that half-smile that seemed to read all your thoughts. "I have an essay on poisonous plants to turn in next week."

He nodded, but didn't really seem interested in the subject. His eyes stayed on you, watching, assessing. After a moment of silence, he tilted his head slightly, a gesture so characteristic of him that you almost smiled. "Are you okay? Want help?"

"I... I'm fine," you said quickly, even though it was obvious you were far from fine. Your mind was still stuck on the image of him with the Ravenclaw girl, and before you could stop yourself, the words slipped out: "You seemed busy."

Remus blinked, surprised. "Busy?"

"With the Ravenclaw girl," you explained, trying to sound casual, but failing miserably. Your gaze was fixed on the table now, your hands restless on the parchment. "She seemed... nice."

"Oh," he said, and there was something in his tone you couldn't quite decipher. "She was asking for help with a Charms assignment. It's nothing too interesting."

You shook your head, trying to push away the knot of frustration forming in your chest.

"Is everything okay?" The question was casual, but the gentle tone almost unraveled you.

"Why wouldn't it be?" You answered too quickly, realizing your mistake as soon as the words came out. He raised an eyebrow, clearly not convinced.

"You seem... distracted," he hesitated, as if choosing his words carefully. "Or upset."

Your heart skipped a beat, but you tried to cover it, lowering your eyes to the parchment.

"It's nothing," you murmured, as your fingers played with the quill on the table.

He didn't respond immediately, but you felt the weight of his gaze. It was as if he was waiting for you to say more, and the tension in the silence was almost tangible. Finally, you forced yourself to look up.

"What is it?" you asked, trying to sound casual.

The corner of his mouth curled into a small smile, but his eyes remained serious.

"Nothing. I’m just trying to figure out why you’re looking at me like you want to bite me."

Your face heated up instantly, and you almost dropped the quill you were holding.

"I... I wasn't looking at you like that!" You protested, feeling your voice rise higher than you'd like.

He laughed—that low, contained laugh, but full of amusement.

"Really? Because it looked like it," He tilted his head to the side, as if genuinely curious.

You huffed, crossing your arms and looking away. "Maybe I was... distracted."

His smile faded slightly, replaced by something softer, more serious.

"By me?" He asked, quietly.

You hesitated, feeling your heart race again. He seemed so... genuine, as if he really wanted to know. But you couldn’t just tell the truth. You couldn’t admit that jealousy was eating you up inside, that the sound of that girl’s laughter still echoed in your mind, that all you wanted was for him to be laughing with you.

"Maybe," you finally responded, your voice barely a whisper.

A silence settled between you two, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. It was as if something invisible was being shared there, something that didn’t need to be said, but that, somehow, you both understood. You risked looking at him again, and found a smile so sweet, so genuine, that it almost made your heart stop.

"I like this," he said softly, as if confessing a secret. "Knowing I can distract you."

Those words lingered in the air, so light and yet so full of meaning that you felt as if the whole world had stopped for a moment. He wasn’t looking at you now, focused on the book he had just opened, but the gentle curve of his smile was still there, visible enough to make your heart stumble again.

You didn’t know how to respond. What do you say when the person who occupies all your thoughts—your dreams, your daydreams, and even your frustrations—admits something like that, so casually and charmingly?

Trying to seem less affected than you actually were, you opened another book. But your fingers trembled slightly as you turned the pages, and the printed words seemed like meaningless smudges. It didn’t matter. Your mind was somewhere else, caught in the soft sound of his voice, the way he said it as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

"You’re very quiet." His voice cut through the silence again, low but with a hint of curiosity. You looked at him, realizing that he had already closed the book and was now truly watching you, his brown eyes catching every nuance of your expression.

"I just..." you began, but the sentence died before it could finish. How to explain? How to put into words the whirlwind he caused inside you without even trying?

He tilted his head slightly, his eyebrows furrowing in a nearly imperceptible expression of concern. "Are you okay?" he asked, genuinely interested, as if your answer was the most important thing in the world at that moment.

You looked away, trying to buy yourself some time. "Yeah, I’m fine. I just... got surprised."

"Surprised?" His tone was slightly curious, but there was something more there, something you couldn’t quite pinpoint.

"By what you said," you admitted, your voice a bit lower than you intended. Your fingers drummed against the side of the book, a futile attempt to mask the nervousness.

Remus smiled again, but this time there was something more shy in his expression. As if, for the first time, he was as vulnerable as you felt. "Shouldn’t I have said it?" he asked, his voice hesitant.

You quickly lifted your gaze, surprised by the question. "No!" The response came faster than you intended, but it was sincere. "I just... didn’t expect it."

He seemed to relax a little, though the shy smile was still there. "Good," he said, glancing briefly at his hands resting on the table. The scars marking his skin were visible, a silent reminder of everything he carried with him. But there was a tenderness in the way he looked at you again, as if, in that moment, he was trying to decipher something he wasn’t sure he should ask about.

"Do I distract you too?" The question slipped from his lips like a whisper, but it sounded like a storm in your ears.

You blinked, feeling your face heat up immediately. Everything inside you seemed to twist—nervousness, anticipation, something you still couldn’t fully name.

"Distraction might not be the right word," he replied, a small smile curling at his lips.

"Oh, no?" Your voice had a slightly worried tone now, no matter how much you tried to hide it.

He didn’t look away, seeming to search for the right words. "No. It’s more... complicated than that."

Remus didn’t say anything for a moment, but the way he looked at you made it seem like he was seeing far more than you were willing to admit. Finally, he tilted his head, a smile as soft as a spring breeze appearing at the corner of his lips. "Complicated can be good," he said, his voice low but full of something that made your throat tighten. "I mean... sometimes."

You didn’t know what to respond, and maybe you didn’t need to. The silence that followed wasn’t uncomfortable, but full of something that felt tangible, as if you both knew that this—this conversation, these glances—was the beginning of something neither of you were ready to name yet.

And then, he did something so simple, yet it seemed to take the air out of your lungs: he extended his hand across the table and lightly touched the tips of your fingers, as if he wanted to make sure you were there, that it was real.

"Complicated," he repeated, the smile now bigger, more certain. "But good."

You couldn’t stop the smile that appeared on your face, nor the way your heart seemed to beat out of rhythm. Because, in that moment, even if nothing had been said explicitly, you knew he was talking about the two of you.

[joemama-2]

the sound of you | ch. 2 just a stranger

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ pairing : gojo x fem reader

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ synopsis: what happens when a man who uses intimacy to numb his pain collides with a woman who sees vulnerability as her greatest weakness? a storm of desire, denial, and shattered hearts. you never imagined someone like him—magnetic, self-assured, and emotionally closed off—would enter your life. worse, you never expected to crave him in return. but fate has a cruel way of stitching together souls that should never meet, dragging you both into a spiral of unspoken truths, unresolved wounds, and a connection that feels more like a curse than a blessing.

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ tags/warnings: slowburn, angst, fluff, sexual content, mentions of trauma, depression, unhealthy coping mechanisms, blood, miscommunication, alcohol, drugs, opposites attract, manipulation, mentions of bullying, death, smut, insecurity galore, selective mutism, mentions of anxiety and panic attacks, modern au

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ wc: 9.3k

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ status: ongoing

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ series masterlist < previous chapter < next chapter

Satoru can’t remember the last time he’s a good night’s sleep. Not the kind of sleep that makes you wake up periodically throughout the night—either in tremors or his own state of insomnia. The kind of sleep where you can feel cold even after wrapping yourself in multiple fluffy blankets, holding a warm body to your chest. The kind of sleep that makes it still feel like your body and mind are awake. In short, he doesn’t sleep. Going to bed late and waking up early, amounting to an average total of maybe three-ish to four-ish hours. 

But, Satoru can’t remember the last time he went to bed thinking of a woman he’s barely spoken to. And he also can’t remember the last time he went to bed alone. 

That in itself is questionable—maybe even a horrible thing. Who doesn’t remember the last time they slept without a stranger in their bed? Him, apparently. He’ll address that issue when the time comes. 

Now, he’s more so getting annoyed with himself. It’s been two whole days, two whole nights of the same question bouncing around

In his brain. He quite literally only knows your name and the fact that you seem like a shy little thing. Maybe that’s what’s drawing him in? So used to women flocking him, flirting shamelessly, not afraid to get a little handsy with him. But you didn’t do any of that. You seemed like you were scared to even look in his direction. Perhaps you’re just waiting for him to make the first move. 

Or you have more self respect than most women he comes across. 

Either way, it’s not enough to validate his reasoning for thinking about you. Like stated before, he’s getting annoyed with himself. The fact that he can’t stop his brain from shutting off the image of you—the smell of you. But it’s also so enticing. So inviting. So tempting. How easy that was of you to intrigue him. Easier than it was for her. 

Don’t, he mentally chastises himself, shutting off that brutal reminder before all else. 

However at the end of the day, you’re no different than any other women he’s met and fucked. It’s just taking a little longer to get you in his grasp this time. That’s fine. Satoru has tons of patience, he knows what women like—how they work. You’re the same, practically. He can play this game, that’s completely okay. 

“Not quite right,” Satoru hums, his arms crossed lazily over his chest, the sleeves of his crisp white shirt rolled up to his elbows. He’s leaning back slightly against the desk at the front of the lecture hall, a picture of casual authority. His sunglasses, as unnecessary indoors as they are iconic to him, perch on the bridge of his nose, partially hiding the faint circles under his eyes.  

The student standing at the board hesitates, chalk hovering mid-air, glancing nervously back at him. The equation sprawled across the board is nearly correct, but there’s a glaring mistake in the third line—something Satoru noticed immediately.  

“It’s a good effort,” he continues, his tone light yet tinged with amusement. “But you forgot to account for the boundary conditions. Physics doesn’t like to be neglected, you know. She’s picky like that.” A ripple of laughter moves through the room. Satoru smirks, enjoying the way he can command the energy of the space with just a few words. He gestures toward the error with a flick of his hand. “Go ahead, fix it.”  

The student nods quickly and adjusts the equation, his face pink with concentration. Satoru lets his gaze drift across the rows of students as he waits, casually scanning for signs of engagement—or boredom.  

His mind, however, refuses to stay present.  

Two days. Two damn days, and the image of you hasn’t left him alone. He doesn’t even know why. You weren’t doing anything special when he saw you—just standing there, shy and quiet, holding onto your glass like it was the only thing tethering you to reality. You weren’t fawning over him like most people do, weren’t trying to catch his eye. If anything, you seemed like you wanted to disappear.  

And yet, here he is, still thinking about you. In the middle of his lecture at that. 

He shifts his weight, adjusting his stance against the desk. Maybe it’s the challenge that intrigues him. Okay, so maybe you’re a bit different, yes. But not so different that you’re untouchable. He’s truly convinced that all it’ll take is time. And patience, of course. 

But why is he even bothering?  

The student finally steps back, looking at him expectantly. Satoru blinks, snapping back into the moment. He pushes off the desk and steps toward the board, glancing over the corrected equation. “Now that’s more like it,” he says, tapping the chalk against the boundary term they added. “See? Physics isn’t so scary when you remember the rules.”  

The student exhales in relief, and Satoru gives them a small nod before turning back to the class. “Alright, who’s next? Don’t be shy—I promise I won’t bite."  

Another wave of laughter follows his comment, and he grins, basking in the attention. But even as he moves on with the lesson, his mind keeps circling back to you. Your face. Your voice. That sweet, addictive scent that seemed to cling to the air around you.  Satoru can’t decide whether it’s infuriating or thrilling. Either way, he knows one thing for certain: this little game isn’t over yet.

“Megumi,” Satoru calls, spinning the piece of chalk between his fingers before tossing it lightly in the boy’s direction. His voice cuts through the low murmur of the lecture hall. “You’re up. Derive the time-dependent Schrödinger equation for me.”  

Megumi looks up from his notebook, his dark eyes narrowing as he catches the chalk with minimal effort. He sighs deeply, the kind of sigh that suggests he’s been called on far too many times to protest anymore. “Why me?” he mutters under his breath, earning a chuckle from a few of his peers.  

“Because,” Satoru says, flashing his signature grin, “you’re my favorite. And I know you secretly love being in the spotlight.”  

The class murmurs, but Megumi only stands, dragging his feet to the front of the room. He eyes the equation Satoru has half-written on the board—a basic starting point for the derivation—and sets his notebook down on the desk nearby.  

“You’ve got this,” Satoru says, leaning casually against the podium. “Just start from the time-independent version and use the separation of variables. Easy, right?”  

“Sure,” Megumi replies dryly, stepping up to the board.  

He picks up the chalk and begins writing. After a few seconds of writing and silence from the classroom as they all observe him work it out, Megumi pauses, glancing at Satoru, who nods encouragingly. With that, he continues on, satisfied with his progress, 

After another while, he finally underlines the solution and steps back, dropping the chalk onto the ledge.  

Satoru claps once, the sound echoing through the room. “Beautiful work, Megumi. See, everyone? Physics isn’t scary when you’ve got a brain like his.”  

Megumi mutters, “It’s scary when you’re the professor.”  

Satoru grins. “Aw, don’t be like that. You love me.” He turns back to the class. “Alright, who wants to explain why this solution works? Bonus points if you don’t repeat what’s in the textbook.”

Megumi makes his way back to his seat, shaking his head as he settles into the chair. He tries to block out the rest of Satoru’s antics, which are just as relentless as usual. Satoru’s eyes are always scanning the class, searching for the next victim, his grin never fading as he playfully calls on more students. “Yumi! You’re up!” Satoru sings, completely oblivious to the fact that the student has already raised her hand, having answered a question earlier in the lecture.  

Yumi hesitates but stands anyway, walking to the front of the room. She starts to talk, clearly struggling with the concepts, and Satoru can’t resist teasing her. He leans over the desk in front of him, chin resting on his hand.  

“No, no, Yumi, think about it like this,” Satoru says dramatically, throwing his hand up as if he’s revealing the answer to a grand mystery. “This is just like the time you—” He stops, eyeing her with a mischievous glint in his eyes. “You don’t want me to tell everyone about that time you tried to solve for a non-existent eigenvalue in your last exam, do you?”  

The class laughs, Yumi’s face flushes red. “I wasn’t—”  

“Don’t worry, I’ll spare you. But just remember, eigenvalues and eigenvectors don’t have to be that hard. Right, guys?”  

The room erupts into snickers, and Satoru turns back to the board, clearly satisfied with his little jab. Megumi rolls his eyes, sinking lower in his seat. This is just another day in the life of Satoru Gojo.  As the lecture drones on, Satoru finally gets around to the more challenging topics—perturbation theory and quantum tunneling—but even then, he’s effortlessly weaving in jokes, keeping the atmosphere light. To anyone else, it might seem like a circus, but to some, it’s just Satoru being Satoru: charming, unfiltered, and somehow always entertaining. Satoru finishes the lesson, clapping his hands together to signal the end of class.  

“All right, that’s all for today. Don’t forget to read up on the next chapter—expect a quiz next week!” Satoru’s voice is loud and enthusiastic, as always. “And Yumi, remember what I said. Eigenvalues, my dear. Eigenvalues.”  

The class starts to pack up, and soon Satoru is left alone in the lecture hall. Walking over to take a seat at his desk, mindlessly swiveling in his chair. Head tilted up as he focuses on the high ceiling, blowing a small raspberry of boredom. 

Quantum mechanics. Abstract algebra. God, how boring. Lecturing everyday about those two really makes his days feel short and fast at the same time. Sometimes, he wonders how it would’ve been if he took up a more artistic degree instead of something STEM related. Maybe he would be a music professor or a film professor. He almost laughs at the thought, yeah right. 

As much as he hates boring things, Satoru is a big time nerd. 

After some more swiveling around, legs kicking out in a childish manner, the sound of a text message brings him back to life. Grabbing his device from his desk, he sees the name Asahi. When he clicks on the message, he’s met with a question. 

Asahi:

Hey, you busy tomorrow?

With a small tilt of his head, he types back a response. 

Satoru: 

What time?

Asahi:

2pm

Satoru:

Should be, why?

Asahi:

Can you pick up Haruto from school for me? I have an interview 

Satoru sighs, pausing for a moment. Haruto, his nephew who’s only five years old. He loves the little boy as if he were his own, and he looks like a complete replica of him. Of his mother. 

Satoru leans back in his chair, his fingers drumming lightly on the desk as he thinks for a moment. He can already picture Haruto’s wide, curious eyes, the way he lights up when she sees him. It’s impossible to say no to him, even when he’s deep in his own thoughts or wrapped up in his usual chaos. 

Satoru:  

Sure, I can do that. 

He sets his phone down, a small smile forming on his lips as he thinks about the little boy. It’s strange how easy it is for him to care about him, to feel something genuine amidst his often careless demeanor. He never thought he’d get attached to someone so young, but Haruto somehow made it happen, just by existing. Maybe it’s because he’s his nephew. Or maybe it’s because he sees his mother whenever he looks at him. 

“Ugh,” Satoru shakes his head, willing away the bitter, burning sensation he feels slowly crawl up his esophagus. He stretches his arms over his head, glancing at the clock on the wall. Tomorrow at 2pm, he’ll be out the door, picking up the child who shares his mischievous smile and contagious energy. The Gojo genes run strong, and not just by physical appearances. 

But then, the weight of his earlier thoughts presses in on him again. It’s like an annoying friend constantly trying to hang out with you even after you’ve made it clear you don’t want to. For a second, he wonders how it is you’ve invaded his subconscious without even trying. He rubs his temples, trying to push the thought away. Nope, she’s not special. 

But he’s got time, right? Time for what? To figure out why you’re still on his mind? To somehow make sense of why he’s so intrigued by someone he barely knows?

With a final sigh, Satoru grabs his coat and heads out of the lecture hall to grab some lunch in between his next class. The faintest sense of anticipation buzzing in his chest. Tomorrow might be a distraction—a break from the usual. He’ll see his nephew, the only family he has, and he’ll have a good day. However, with everything else going on in his mind, it feels like anything but.

“Why don’t you get on any dating apps, hm?”

Your lips thin into a grimace, brows knitting together. You shove your hands into the pockets of your cardigan, head shaking. “That’s not real at all,” you mutter. 

Shoko sighs through her nostrils, leaning back in the booth. “I mean, it could be. People meet their husbands and wives on there sometimes. You just never know.”

“Exactly.”

Her eyebrow raises at you, bringing up what must be her fourth coffee of the day to her lips. You two have decided to spend some small time together at a nearby cafe before you have to go back to your respective jobs. She seems more adamant about dating than you do yourself. “Look, I just think it would be nice, you know? You’re a hopeless romantic.”

You frown. 

“In a good way,” she quickly adds. “Any guy would like that. And I want to see you get treated nice and cute. You’re just not into dating right now or something?”

You exhale, fingers tapping along the cup of your iced coffee. The condensation begins to dampen the tips of your fingers. In a way, you’re not just not into it, but you feel like you’re also not ready. Sure, you’re a hopeless romantic. You love cheesy movies and novels, you enjoy the thought of being in love with someone and having that beautiful form of intimacy, but you also can’t help that nagging feeling in your soul that it’ll end the same way it did last time. 

Your own hesitation and fear is what keeps you at bay. 

Shoko watches you with a quiet intensity, her coffee cup still hovering near her lips after some sips. She doesn’t push further right away, letting the lull in the conversation settle as you trace absent patterns on the side of your cup. The clinking of mugs and soft hum of chatter from the surrounding tables fills the space between you. “I don’t know,” you finally admit, voice low but steady. “It’s not just about not being into dating. It’s more... I don’t think I’m ready to open myself up like that again.”

Her brows furrow slightly, and she sets her coffee down with a soft clink. “You mean because of your ex?”

You wince. She doesn’t have to say the name for the memories to start creeping in. The late nights spent crying, the way you questioned everything about yourself, the hollow ache that came after it all fell apart. You didn’t think you were still carrying that weight, but maybe you were. Obviously you were. 

“Partly,” you admit. “But it’s not just him. It’s the whole thing—the vulnerability, the risk. Letting someone in and having them... leave. Or worse, break me again. And I’m already so used to doing things alone, just being alone. I don’t need someone to come in and ruin what I’ve built.”

Shoko’s expression softens, and for once, she doesn’t try to mask her concern with sarcasm or a flat, teasing comment. “Not every guy is like that, Y/N. You know that, right? There are good ones out there.”

“Maybe,” you murmur, your gaze dropping to your drink. “But how do you tell the good ones apart from the bad ones? Before it’s too late? I don’t want to take any risks…”

Her lips press into a thin line as she considers your question. “You can’t always,” she admits after a moment. “But that’s the point of trying, isn’t it? You take a chance because the reward could be worth the risk. And honestly? You deserve someone who sees you for the amazing person you are. You’ve got to give yourself that chance, too. Don’t let some douchebag from your past hold you back from finding someone in your present. You don’t deserve that. ”

You sigh, the words hitting a little too close to the part of you that still dares to hope. You know you shouldn’t let things mull over and predict how your future will look, but it’s so hard when every time a man even attempts to flirt with you, you’re hit with bursts of horrible nostalgia. You didn’t even think nostalgia could be horrible. Saturday proved it could. You feel bad for comparing strangers to a man you regret meeting, but it’s just the way your mind works. It’s almost like a defense mechanism. “I don’t know, Shoko. Maybe someday. But right now, it just feels easier to be on my own. I’m not too unhappy.”

She nods slowly, sipping her coffee again. Setting the cup down before speaking. “Fair enough. But just know... you can’t hide behind those walls forever. Love doesn’t work like that. I know you’re not unhappy, but even the littlest amount, I don’t like. I want you to have that extra support, besides your family, besides me.”

Her words linger long after your coffee is gone and you’ve both parted ways. You tell yourself she’s wrong—that you’re fine as you are. But deep down, there’s a tiny flicker of doubt. A part of you that wonders if maybe, just maybe, she’s right. Is it wishful thinking? Probably. Shoko’s heart is in the right place—you know that. She’s the kind of friend who wants you to have the kind of love story people dream about, the kind that could make your life feel like one of those movies where everything falls perfectly into place.

It seems like Shoko just wants the best for you, she wants you to live out your own cheesy romance novel. You’re grateful for her optimism, for the way she believes in you even when you can’t quite believe in yourself. You thank her for that, but at the end of the day, you don’t think you could handle heartbreak anytime soon. 

While you may seem put together on a surface level, your emotions still feel incredibly weak. She, or anyone for that matter, doesn’t know how fragile you really are. Sure, you come off as put together—calm, composed, of course, very reserved—but beneath that, you’re still piecing yourself back together. Every crack, every bruise left behind from past heartaches feels like it could split wide open again if you’re not careful. You’re sensitive—that much is true. And you don’t try to be, but it’s just you. 

So, the truth is, you’re not sure if you could handle that. Not again. Not anytime soon.

You sigh, absently brushing away a piece of hair from your face. Thinking back to it—Sensitive. It’s a word you’ve heard all your life, always said with a tinge of judgment, as if being soft-hearted is a weakness instead of simply you. You don’t try to be this way—it’s not like you wake up every day deciding to let the world’s weight sink into your chest. It just happens.

You wish you were stronger, had more thick skin to take what the world and people have to offer you with a straight face—moving on. You’re envious of people that can do that. Even envious of people who have other ways of coping than work and your cats. But again, that’s what Shoko doesn’t quite understand. Love might be worth the risk, but risks don’t come without consequences. For someone like you, even the smallest breach feels like it could shatter your whole infrastructure. So maybe—hopefully you’ll take that leap someday. But for now, it’s safer to stay where you are, no matter how wistful Shoko’s dreams for you might be.

You remind yourself you’ve made it this far on your own. Still cleaning up past wounds, but that’s okay. Of course, you would prefer if the process was a little faster than this—if you could snap your fingers and be ready to dive headfirst into something new without the hesitation or fear. But forcing yourself to be content with something again is not on your agenda. Healing takes time. 

 You’ve moved to Tokyo for that sole reason. The bustling city, with its endless noise and neon lights, offered you a chance to hit reset. A complete contrast from your life in the small, quiet countryside. Tokyo’s a fresh start for you—mentally, physically, environmentally, in every way possible. It was your way of shedding the weight of the past, of stepping into a world so big and overwhelming that maybe, just maybe, you could lose the parts of yourself still tethered to old hurts.

Tokyo feels like a city of possibility, a place where no one knows your name or your story unless you tell them. Here, you can decide who you want to be. And even if you haven’t figured that out yet, there’s comfort in knowing you’re no longer stuck in the same place, walking the same streets haunted by the same memories. You’re here to start over. And as of now, that’s enough.

Sometimes, the thought of a fresh start is comforting. Other times, it’s terrifying. Starting over doesn’t erase the person you used to be or the things that happened to you—it just gives you a chance to approach it all from a different angle. And while Tokyo might seem like the perfect backdrop for reinvention, it also magnifies how small and unmoored you feel in a city so alive with movement.

You’ve noticed that your routines are slowly forming, though. The visits with Shoko, the quiet walks through the nearby park, the little bookstore you stumbled across last week that now feels like your personal haven—these things ground you in a city that never sleeps. You like the way the city hums, its energy pressing against your skin and making you feel part of something bigger, even on the days when you’re not sure where you fit in it all.

Sometimes, there’s a part of you that wonders if moving was just an escape. Did you come here to heal or to run away? Did you believe a change of scenery would make you forget everything you’ve been trying not to dwell on? Some nights, when the silence in your apartment grows too loud, those questions creep in, but you try to push them away. You remind yourself that running is sometimes necessary. It’s not weakness—it’s survival. Entering the grounds of the kindergarten again, you erase your inner turmoil and ready yourself for the job again. 

Practice, not perfection.

 

“I thought I invited Suguru.”

“Suguru invited me.”

“It’s called boy’s night for a reason, Ieiri.”

“What, and miss you two fondling each other all night? Can’t do that.”

Satoru huffs childishly as Shoko enters his place. A straight faced Suguru beside her who only offers his friend a shrug when he sends a glare his way. He locks the door behind the two, following them as they make their way into his kitchen. “Please, make yourselves at home,” he says, sarcasm in his voice. 

“Already planning on it,” Suguru and Shoko say in unison. 

Leaning against the kitchen island, Shoko is already reaching for a glass of wine, Suguru some snacks. “Anywho,” Satoru begins, arms crossing. “Don’t you have work, Shoko?”

Shoko shakes her head, looking over at her white-haired friend. “Early night tonight. Plus, I’ve been having a major headache since Saturday.”

“That was two days ago,” Suguru flatly responds. 

"Exactly," Shoko replies, deadpan, as she pours herself a generous glass of wine. "Two days too long." She leans against the counter, taking a sip, while Satoru narrows his eyes at her.

"You’re unbelievable," he mutters, before glancing at Suguru. "And you—what happened to our night? You were supposed to bring beer, not her."

Suguru shrugs, completely unbothered. "You know how this works, Satoru. She invites herself, I don’t argue. Besides, she’s more entertaining than you."

Shoko smirks into her glass. "See? I’m the life of the party."

Satoru groans, rubbing the back of his neck as he looks between his two friends. "I swear, you guys are impossible. I had plans, you know. Important plans."

"Yeah?" Shoko raises a brow. "What, binge-watching rom-coms and crying into your popcorn?"

Suguru chuckles under his breath, popping open a bag of chips and tossing one into his mouth. "Sounds accurate."

"First of all," Satoru says, pointing at them both, "I don’t cry during rom-coms. Second, I had a new board game I wanted to try, but I guess some people don’t appreciate culture."

"Board game?" Shoko asks, blinking. "Who plays board games anymore?"

"Me!" Satoru retorts. "And if you two weren’t heathens, you’d understand the strategic brilliance of Life."

Shoko and Suguru exchange a look before bursting into laughter, leaving Satoru to pout dramatically. "You’re lucky I tolerate you guys," he grumbles, stalking off toward the living room. "But you’re playing, whether you like it or not."

“That game is old and long.” Shoko walks over, plopping herself onto Satoru’s couch. 

“You’re old and long.” Satoru swiftly remarks, getting met with a pillow straight to the face. He grumpily peers over at Shoko, hitting her back with the pillow on her arm. 

Suguru, the pacifist in this situation, settled between his two companions. Leaned back with the ankle of his right foot over his left lap. His elbow atop the back of the couch in a lazy manner. "Satoru, stop instigating," Suguru says, his tone exasperated but laced with amusement. "You’re going to end up with wine spilled all over your couch if you keep this up." 

Shoko scoffs, lifting her glass in mock threat. "Maybe I should spill it. Wouldn’t that teach him some manners?"

Satoru gasps, clutching his chest as if wounded. "You wouldn’t dare! This couch is imported Italian leather. Do you know how much it costs?"

"Knowing you," Suguru interjects, "probably too much for something you’re going to ruin within a year anyway." 

"Rude," Satoru huffs, flopping his back onto the couch, snatching a chip from Suguru’s bowl. He pops it into his mouth, chewing dramatically. "You two come into my home, drink my wine, eat my snacks, insult my lifestyle—"

"And yet," Shoko cuts him off, "you’d be bored to death without us." 

Satoru pouts but doesn’t deny it. Instead, he sighs and grabs the board game box from the coffee table and tosses it onto Suguru’s lap. "Set it up, then, oh wise peacemaker. If we’re doing this, we’re doing it right."

Suguru sighs, opening the box with practiced ease. "Fine. But if this drags on for hours and you start crying when Shoko beats you, I’m leaving early."

Shoko chuckles, raising her glass. "Cheers to that." 

Satoru narrows his eyes at them both. "Just for that, I’m going to crush you guys. Prepare to witness strategic genius."

"Uh-huh," Shoko says, kicking her feet up on the coffee table. "Sure you are." 

Suguru shakes his head, suppressing a laugh as he begins to sort the game pieces. It’s just another typical night with the trio—bickering, banter, and an overinflated sense of competition.

The night drowns on, with a couple glasses of wine being consumed, chips, and of course a small breakdown of distress after Satoru is forced to give Shoko some money from his earnings. Eventually, the three have winded down. Some comfortable silence here and there with a few mingling conversations. Suguru stands up from the couch, dusting his clothes off as he makes his way over to the bathroom. Presumably to splash some cold water over his face to sober himself up before he heads back home. 

Leaving Shoko and Satoru alone, she’s busy doing who knows what on her phone. Bored, Satoru is mindlessly eating some of the popcorn they made about an hour ago, lips pursing in thought. He’s debating something. Maybe now that Shoko’s a little tipsy, she’ll be more loose-lipped. “So…” he starts calmly, obnoxiously chewing loudly. 

“Hm?” Shoko hums back in obvious disinterest, scrolling her timeline. 

For a second, Satoru weighs out the options of what kind of reaction this question will cause. Can’t be too bad, right? Shoko’s his friend, and friends are there for each other. “What’s up with your friend?” Real smooth, Satoru. 

Shoko’s thumb halts mid-scroll, her eyes narrowing slightly at the screen as if it holds the answer to his question. She doesn’t look up immediately, making Satoru shift uncomfortably on the couch. “My friend, huh?” She repeats slowly, her voice carrying a skeptical edge but her expression giving nothing away. “Which one are you talking about, Satoru? I’ve got lots of friends.”

Satoru scoffs, leaning back dramatically against the couch and tossing a kernel of popcorn into his mouth. “You know who I’m talking about,” he says through his chewing. “Y/N. The cute, shy one.”

At this, Shoko finally looks up from her phone, her brow arching high. “No.”

Now Satoru looks over at her, lip quirking upwards. “What? No what?”

Shoko locks her phone and sets it on the coffee table, crossing her arms as she gives Satoru a pointed look. “No, you’re not going there,” she says plainly. 

“Going where?” he asks innocently, though the smirk tugging at his lips betrays him. 

“With Y/N,” Shoko says, her voice firm. “She’s not your type, and you’re definitely not hers.” 

“Not my type?” Satoru repeats, placing a hand dramatically over his chest like she’d just wounded him. “Shoko, I don’t have a type. I’m an equal opportunity kind of guy.”

“Right,” Shoko snorts, rolling her eyes. “Your ‘opportunity’ usually starts and ends at a one-night stand.” 

“Ouch,” he says, feigning offense. “You make me sound like some kind of—”

“Player?” she interrupts, raising an eyebrow. “That’s because you are one. And I’m not letting you mess with Y/N. She’s fragile.” 

Satoru scoffs. “Fragile? She doesn’t seem fragile to me. Shy, yeah. But fragile? Come on, Shoko, give me some credit. I’m not gonna break her.”

“No, but you might hurt her,” Shoko shoots back. “And trust me, she doesn’t need that. Y/N’s been through enough already. She doesn’t need someone like you swooping in, flashing your pretty-boy smile, and leaving her worse off than before.” 

Satoru frowns, sitting up straighter. “You act like I’m some kind of villain. I’m not that bad, you know.” 

Shoko exhales deeply, shaking her head. “First of all, Satoru, I already told you—don’t mess with my friends. Especially her. She’s off-limits, remember?”

“Off-limits?” he repeats, brows furrowing together with annoyance. “Come on, Shoko. I’m not trying to ‘mess’ with her. I’m just… curious.”

“Uh-huh,” she deadpans, tilting her head. “Look, Y/N’s been through a lot. She’s not like the women you’re used to. She doesn’t need someone waltzing into her life and turning it upside down just because you’re ‘curious.’” She leans forward, narrowing her eyes at him. “Satoru, you’re my friend, so I’m saying this with love: don’t even think about it. Y/N is off-limits. Got it?” 

Her tone leaves no room for argument. Satoru opens his mouth to protest, but Shoko raises a hand to stop him. “And before you say something dumb like ‘I’m different,’ save it. I know you, Satoru. You’re my friend, and I care about you, but you’re not exactly… boyfriend material for someone like her. No offense.”

“None taken,” he lies, his ego slightly bruised. “But, hypothetically, if I were serious—”

“You’re not,” Shoko cuts in firmly, sighing with exasperation. “I know you’re not, you know you’re not.”

Satoru blinks at her, caught off guard by her unyielding tone.

“Let it go,” she says, picking up her phone again. “Y/N deserves someone who’s going to treat her right. Someone stable, patient, and not…you. And that’s okay.”

For once, Satoru doesn’t have a quick retort. Instead, he sits quietly, tossing another piece of popcorn into his mouth as he mulls over her words. Silently brewing with frustration at his friend for thinking so little of him, annoyance for her assumptions, and confusion at why she’s acting like she’s the gatekeeper of you or something. Who even are you to Shoko? If you two were as close as she’s making it seem, why hasn’t he met you sooner? 

Unless, she’s been trying to keep him from coming across you. 

Shoko’s low expectations of him are almost laughable. Almost. That thought really makes him want to scoff outwardly. He feels oddly defensive, like he should clear his name with Shoko who obviously has little standards in him. It’s a strange, unfamiliar defensiveness bubbling up—a rare urge to protect his honor, his character, his intentions. But is that so wrong of him to be curious about a girl who’s cute? That’s normal. Shoko is really taking this out of hand, acting as if he’ll stomp on your heart and dignity. 

And while he’s not entirely sure how he would treat you, he’s not a horrible man. Sure, he’s flirted, dated, and yes, he’s left a string of fleeting romances in his wake. But does that mean he’s incapable of something more? Of curiosity that isn’t purely self-serving? Of wanting to get to know someone because they’re different? Because they seem… real?

The more Shoko’s words replay in his mind, the more absurd they feel. But the more he’s feeling the need to prove her wrong. Was it so wrong of him to be intrigued by a girl who’s cute? Who’s shy in a way that feels endearing, but not performative? That’s normal. He’s human, after all.

Shoko, though—she’s blowing this way out of proportion. Acting like he’s some sort of emotional wrecking ball set to demolish your strength and your own well-being in one fell swoop. He rolls his eyes. Still, as much as her words prick at his pride, they also plant something else: doubt. It lingers at the edges of his mind, gnawing at his confidence. He’s never been particularly introspective about his relationships—at least, not the short-lived ones. But now he’s wondering: What would I do? How would I treat her if I got close to her?

He doesn’t have a concrete answer, and that’s… unsettling. 

Maybe like a fuck-buddy. Casual, simple, no strings attached—that’s how Satoru’s relationships usually go. It’s easier that way. No expectations, no messy emotions, no one clinging to him for something he’s not willing to give. It works for him.

Because while he’s confident he’s not the villain Shoko paints him to be, he’s also not entirely sure if he’s the hero in this narrative either. And that, more than anything, stirs something foreign in his chest. Something that feels uncomfortably like self-awareness. And Satoru does not need that right now. So, he does what he always does. Forget. Forget the curiosity gnawing at him. Forget the way your quiet demeanor intrigued him more than the loud, shameless advances of countless others. It wouldn’t be hard to forget you, he only has your name. No sort of connection to you besides Shoko. No number, no anything beyond Shoko, who’s already made it abundantly clear that you’re off-limits. He doesn’t know where you live, your hobbies, or even your favorite coffee order. You’re practically a stranger. Forgetting you should be effortless.

He doesn’t know anything about you other than the fact that you smell like sweet honey drizzled on the prettiest flower, a scent that lingered in his mind longer than he’d care to admit because he doesn’t think he’s ever met someone who’s own smell pulled him in like that. 

It’s probably for the best. Shoko’s making it seem like you’re the type of woman who’d want something more and meaningful. Something he can’t—won’t—give. In a sense, Shoko’s saving him from the dread of dealing with a girl who will complain to him all the time. Saving him from the inevitable headache of a girl who’d demand too much. The complaints, the misunderstandings, the emotions. He can picture it already, and it feels stifling.

Yeah, it’s better this way. Satoru Gojo can be very good at forgetting.

Shoko heads home that night before Suguru. When Satoru is walking him to his car, Suguru is dead sober. Shivering from the cold night wind outside, unlocking his car. “Are we still going to the movies this weekend?” Satoru asks.

Suguru shakes his head. “Nah, I have a lot of errands to run and Shoko said she’s busy helping her friend with some community event.”

Satoru huffs, a white puff of air forming. “Since when do her friends do community events?”

Suguru chuckles lightly, opening the car door but pausing to lean against the frame. “Since her friend’s actually a decent person, unlike the two of us.”  

Satoru rolls his eyes, shoving his hands deep into the pockets of his hoodie as the cold bites at his fingertips. “I didn’t ask for a lecture on morality. Who even is this friend anyway?”

“I think she said her name was Y/N…or something like that.”

“She’s been mentioning her a lot lately.”  

Suguru glances up at him, a knowing smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “Oh, yeah? Really? You’ve been hearing of her?”  

Satoru doesn’t immediately respond, his expression remaining neutral despite the flicker of recognition in his eyes. “Maybe,” he says nonchalantly. “What’s the deal with her? Shoko’s been acting all protective and weird about it.”  

“If it’s because you’re trying to get at her, Satoru, it’s also because Shoko knows you, Satoru.”  

“Knows me?” Satoru scoffs, frowning in offense. “What’s that supposed to mean?”  

Suguru raises a brow, his head shaking in disapproval. “It means Shoko doesn’t want you pulling your usual crap and scaring off her nice, sweet friend. And honestly? I don’t blame her.”  

“I am nice and sweet,” Satoru shoots back indignantly. “When have I ever—”  

“Do you really want me to start listing examples?” Suguru cuts him off, seriousness now dancing in his eyes.  

Satoru clicks his tongue, looking away as a faint blush creeps up his neck. “Whatever,” he mutters, kicking at a stray pebble on the driveway.  

Suguru sigh this time. “Look, her friend’s not like the girls you’re used to. She’s been through a lot, from what Shoko’s vaguely told me. So maybe—”  

“Don’t,” Satoru interrupts sharply, turning back to face him. “Don’t start with the ‘be careful’ bullshit speech. I’m not planning anything, alright?”  

Suguru studies him for a moment, his expression unreadable. Then he shrugs, stepping into his car. “Good. Keep it that way. Don’t start shit with her friends anymore.”

Satoru watches as Suguru starts the engine, his friend’s words lingering in the chilly night air long after the car disappears down the street. He huffs, shoving his hands deeper into his pockets as he heads back inside. 

Nice and sweet, huh? Maybe he should be offended. Or maybe—just maybe—he should prove them wrong. He entertains that idea before sliding into his warm shower.

Nope, just forget. 

As if to further set his mantra into place, he reaches for his phone from behind the shower curtain. Clicking on a random woman’s name, and typing out a small phrase. 

Satoru:

Come over

“Clean up! Clean up! Everybody clean up!” Mrs. Inoue’s voice sounds throughout the classroom, followed by her and your claps to emphasize the beats of the small song. The classroom is alive with the chatter and movement of little hands tidying up toys and art supplies. Mrs. Inoue’s cheerful voice leads the way, her clapping rhythmically keeping the children in sync. “Clean up! Clean up! Everybody clean up!” she sings again, glancing over at you with a warm smile that you return instinctively.

Clapping along to the beat as you walk between the miniature tables and chairs, gently guiding the kids who seem more interested in playing than cleaning. “That’s right, Kenta, put the blocks back in the bin. Good job, Aiko! You’re such a great helper,” you encourage, your tone soft but enthusiastic.

The kids respond eagerly to your praise, their small faces lighting up as they scramble to finish their tasks. You crouch beside one of the younger ones, helping her gather stray crayons from the floor. “You’re doing so well, Mika,” you say, giving her a little nod of approval.

Mrs. Inoue claps her hands together once more, signaling the end of the song. “Great job, everyone! Look how clean our classroom is now,” she exclaims, her eyes sparkling with pride as the children beam at the acknowledgment.

You straighten up, smoothing down your cardigan as you share a quick glance with Mrs. Inoue. There’s a quiet satisfaction in seeing the children thrive in this structured chaos, and for a moment, you let yourself bask in the warmth of the lively little classroom. There’s a small tug at your clothing, looking down to see a little boy holding a broken car to you. “Oh no, what happened here?” You ask, crouching down to better face the toy. 

“I…I was playing and I broke it….’m sorry, Teacher Y/N.” Haruto, an honest but lovingly obedient young boy, admits shamefully. Looking into your eyes with his own pair of clear sapphire ones.  A small pout to his lips that shows just how apologetic he is. 

So adorable. 

Your heart melts at the sight of Haruto’s pout, his little hands clutching the broken toy as though it’s the most important thing in the world. You reach out and gently place a reassuring hand on his shoulder. “It’s okay, Haruto,” you say softly, your voice kind and soothing. “Toys sometimes break when we play with them. It’s not your fault.”

He looks up at you with wide, watery eyes, still unsure. “Really?” he asks timidly, his voice small.  

“Really,” you confirm with a warm smile. “And you know what? We can try to fix it together.” You take the car from his hands, inspecting the damage. The wheel has popped off, and the axle looks a little bent, but it’s nothing that can’t be mended. “This looks like an easy fix. I think we just need some glue and maybe a little bit of patience. Do you remember what patience means?

Haruto’s face brightens, his pout quickly replaced with a hopeful smile and a frantic nod. “Really? You can fix it, Teacher Y/N?”

“Of course,” you say, giving him a playful wink. “I’m a toy doctor.”  

He giggles at that, the shame from moments before entirely forgotten. You stand up, holding the car carefully. “Why don’t you go wash your hands for snack time while I take this to the repair shop?” you suggest, gesturing toward the sink where a small line of children is already forming.  

“Okay!” Haruto chirps. “Can I help after I wash my hands?” You nod and he runs off with newfound energy.

Glancing at the broken car in your hands, your smile lingering as you head toward the supply closet. Moments like this remind you why you love working with children—their honesty, their resilience, and the way their little smiles can brighten even the cloudiest days.

When Haruto is done with washing and drying his hands, he skips back over to you. Watching meticulously as you describe what needs to be fixed and hot to fix it. He stands beside you, peering over your arm as you carefully lay the broken car on the table. His small hands rest on the edge of the table, and his eyes are wide with interest.

“Okay, Haruto,” you say, kneeling to his level so he can see better. “Here’s what we need to do. First, we have to figure out where this wheel was attached. See this little piece here?” You point to the broken axle, which has a slight bend. “That’s where the wheel used to be. We’ll need to straighten this out first.”

Haruto nods, his lips pressed together in concentration. “And then we glue it?”

“Exactly,” You smile, appreciating how seriously he’s taking the repair. “We’ll need to use just a tiny bit of glue so it doesn’t get messy. But we also have to hold it in place for a few seconds so it sticks really well.”

Haruto watches closely as you demonstrate, gently pressing the wheel back into place after straightening the axle with a small tool from the supply closet. “Can I try?” he asks eagerly, bouncing on his toes.

“Of course.” You pass the toy to him, guiding his small hands as he carefully applies the glue. Together, you hold the wheel in place, counting aloud to ten to let the adhesive set.

When you release it, the wheel stays attached, and Haruto gasps in delight. “It’s fixed!”

“It sure is,” you confirm, giving him a proud smile. “And you helped fix it, Haruto. You’re officially a toy repair expert now.”

Haruto beams, clutching the car to his chest like it’s brand new. “Thank you, Teacher Y/N!” he chirps, his excitement contagious.

Haruto beams, clutching the car to his chest like it’s brand new. “Thank you, Teacher Y/N!” he chirps, his excitement contagious.

You chuckle, giving his hair a gentle tousle. “You’re welcome. Just be gentle with it next time, okay?”

“I will!” he promises, running off to show his friends the newly repaired car.

As you watch him join his classmates with a wide grin, a sense of fulfillment washes over you. “Okay, friends!” Mrs. Inoue exclaims, standing in front of the room. “There are five more minutes until pick up time. Why don’t we go around in a circle and share one thing we learned today?”

The children quickly begin gathering on the colorful carpet, their giggles and chatter settling into a low murmur as they find their spots. You help guide a few stragglers into the circle, gently nudging them forward with an encouraging smile. Mrs. Inoue sits cross-legged at the front, hands folded in her lap. “Alright, who wants to start?” she asks, her gaze scanning the eager little faces.

“I will!” Haruto raises his hand, his repaired car clutched tightly in the other. He looks at you briefly before speaking, his voice loud and proud. “I learned how to fix my car! Teacher Y/N showed me how to glue it back together.”

A few kids gasp, their attention drawn to the toy in his hands. “Cool!” one of his classmates says, their eyes wide with admiration. You feel a small warmth in your chest as Haruto beams, his pride contagious.

 “Great job, Haruto!” Mrs. Inoue says with a smile. “That’s an excellent thing to learn.”

Another hand shoots up. “I learned how to count to fifty!” Akiko says, puffing up her chest with pride. “I didn’t even need help!”

The circle continues, each child eagerly sharing their new knowledge. Some learned to write their names, others discovered how to share during playtime, and a few even shared lessons about kindness or patience. When the last child finishes, Mrs. Inoue claps her hands together. “What a wonderful day of learning, everyone! You should all feel very proud of yourselves.” She looks up toward you, nodding slightly, a silent acknowledgment of how much effort you’ve put into the day.

You smile softly, giving her a small nod in return. The atmosphere is filled with innocence and growth, it reminds you of why you’re here. As the children begin scampering up and walking over to their cubbies to grab their belongings and prepare for their parents, you and Mrs. Inoue are helping a few. 

Soon, the parents start trickling in to receive their children. Some even run up to their parent’s legs with excitement, calling out either “Mommy!” or “Daddy!”

Mrs. Inoue and you wave goodbye to the children, offering exchanged brief interactions with the parents in politeness. As the classroom slowly starts to empty, you notice one child hovering in the back. 

“Haruto?” You ask, coming over. “What’s wrong? Is Daddy coming to pick you up?”

Haruto shakes his head. “No, Daddy’s not coming. Uncle is coming!”

“Oh,” you respond, head tilting. You give Mrs. Inoue a look that tells her you’re a little concerned about the safety of Haruto going home with a man you’ve never met. 

Instead, she shakes you off with a smile. “No worries, his uncle’s a listed emergency contact. He’s come a few times before you started working here.” 

Relieved but still cautious, you nod, squatting down to Haruto’s level. “That’s exciting. Do you like when your uncle picks you up?”  

Haruto’s face lights up with a wide grin, his sapphire eyes sparkling. “Yes! Uncle is so funny, and he always gives me candy!”  

“Candy, huh? That sounds fun, but don’t eat too much, okay?” you tease, tapping the tip of his nose lightly.  

Haruto giggles, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. “Okay, Teacher Y/N. I won’t, I’m a healthy boy.”  

You chuckle, head tilting in tenderness. But it’s suddenly ruined when a god awful familiar voice reaches your ears, causing you to momentarily falter. You freeze for a second, the warmth of the interaction with Haruto quickly evaporating as the voice cuts through the air, unmistakably familiar.

“Haruto! Come on, kid, we’re gonna be late,” the voice calls out. You don’t have to turn around to know who it is. You recognize the drawl almost instantly, the smoothness of his tone, the way it rolls off his tongue.

Him. 

You shift, standing up and turning slowly. There he is, standing in the doorway of the classroom, leaning casually against the frame with his hands stuffed into the pockets of his jacket. He’s looking directly at Haruto, but you can see his eyes flicker to you for just a split second. Surprise takes over as his eyebrows lift, lips parting for a fraction of a second but it's laced with a hint of something you can’t quite place. “Oh, Y/N, right?”

“Teacher Y/N!” Haruto corrects his uncle, to which the latter just playful shushes him, picking him up in his arms. 

Your lips purse awkwardly, hands held behind your back in a rigid fashion. Just how small is this world? You never thought you’d see the same guy from this weekend in a place you now consider one of your safe havens. It feels wrong and he looks out of place. But the child clinging to his neck says otherwise.

 In order to not make this situation any more unpleasant as it is, you should probably say something instead of staring at him like an idiot still. “Y—” you clear your throat, feeling the unsavory, but familiar scratchiness come back. You can only hum back in response, peering away. 

He subtly scans you head to toe, appearing as if he is about to say something back until Mrs. Inoue thankful interrupts. “Oh, Satoru. How have you been? I haven’t seen you in a while.”

Her voice is filled with curiosity but also a warmth that teeters the line of worry. And from the flashing look in Satoru’s eyes that only lasts a second, you’re immediately alert. Brows furrowing slightly in wonder as to why Mrs. Inoue is talking with him in a way a concerned friend would. “Oh well, please take care of yourself. And Haruto did a great job today.” Mrs. Inoue smiles, waving at Haruto. 

Satoru, still holding Haruto in his arms, smiles warmly at Mrs. Inoue, though there's a subtle tightness in his expression, as if her concern hits a little too close to home. He shifts the boy slightly, setting him down to stand beside him, before giving a half-hearted chuckle. "I’m good, Mrs. Inoue. Don’t worry about me," he says, though his eyes shift for a brief moment, betraying a hint of discomfort. "And thanks. Haruto's always good at keeping busy, right, buddy?" he says, ruffling the boy’s hair, though Haruto just beams up at him, oblivious to the undercurrent of tension.

Mrs. Inoue doesn't seem convinced, her gaze lingering a moment longer before she nods in understanding. “Alright then, Satoru. Take care of yourself and Haruto. You know where to find me if you need anything.” Her tone softens, and the unspoken message seems to settle between them for a moment. She turns around to head deeper into the room, picking up a few stray toys that missed the children. Satoru watches her leave with a small nod, the atmosphere between the two of you is thick with something unspoken, but as Haruto tugs at his uncle’s sleeve, the moment is broken.

"Uncle Satoru, I want to show you my toy!" Haruto says eagerly, pulling at his uncle's jacket. 

Satoru’s smile shifts into something a bit warmer, his earlier discomfort melting away as he focuses on the child in front of him. "Alright, alright, let’s see this toy," he chuckles, his hand resting gently on Haruto’s head.

You take a small step back, still feeling the weight of the strange coincidence. Trying to keep things neutral, but words feel awkward on your tongue. “Bye, Teacher Y/N!” Haruto grins brightly, waving with one hand as he’s already walking out the door while the other hand is held firmly in his uncle’s grip. You give the boy a wave, lip peeking up halfway. 

Satoru glances back at you over his shoulder as he adjusts Haruto, a faint glint of amusement in his eyes, smiling in a way that shows off his pearly whites, giving you a small nod. "Take care, see you around."

And with that, the two of them leave, the door clicking softly behind them. You stand there for a moment longer than you should, trying to shake the unease creeping in, but all you can think about is how unexpectedly small the world has become. The feelings from Saturday rise up in your bones, the stiffness and uncertainty. 

It’s uncomfortable seeing the guy who tried to hit on you that past weekend in a place so wholesome, picking up his nephew nonetheless. But you’re just glad he didn’t make things worse. Not that he should have with a kid in his arms. And you’re also proud of yourself for keeping things cordial enough, despite the fact that you just wanted to hide in embarrassment the moment you made eye contact with him. It’s almost like when you were in high school and you’d see one of your classmates at a random time in the grocery store. 

It’s fine, you tell yourself, going over to wash your hands. Despite the fact that this man knows where you work, nothing will happen. If the time comes where you need to state your disinterest, you’ll do so. It’ll be hard, of course. But you can do it. 

If only you could get the words out. 

a/n: hi! i'm not entirely happy with my work in this chapter, but I'm still going to try and show it as much love as vl

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[hisfavegirl]

Between Two Hearts

Pairing : Modern!Aegon Targaryen x Female!Tutor x Modern!Aemond Targaryen.

Chapter Summary : You are the best student in your class, your life is going smoothly until finally your teacher asks you to tutor two siblings who seem to need your help. And after that your world turns 180 degrees.

You were the brightest student in your class, the one everyone knew by name. Professors admired your dedication, and your classmates either envied or respected you. Life at university felt predictable, smooth, and devoid of complications. You thrived in your academic bubble, surrounded by books and an unshakable routine.

That morning started like any other. You were in the library, poring over a thick volume on advanced mathematics, when the campus intercom crackled to life. You've been called to the dean's office.

Heads turned in your direction, and a hush fell over the room. You felt a mix of confusion and anxiety. Being summoned to the dean’s office was never casual, especially not over the loudspeaker.

Clutching your bag, you made your way through the sprawling campus, your mind racing with possibilities. Had you done something wrong? Was it about a scholarship? Or worse, a mistake in your records?

The secretary outside the dean’s office greeted you with a polite smile. “Go right in. The dean is waiting for you.”

You pushed open the heavy oak door, stepping into the spacious office. Otto sat behind his desk, a man of imposing stature with an air of authority. He looked up as you entered, his sharp eyes glinting in the sunlight streaming through the windows.

“Ah, Please, take a seat,” he said, gesturing to the chair across from him.

You sat down cautiously, folding your hands in your lap. “Dean Otto, is something the matter?”

He smiled, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Not at all. In fact, this is about an opportunity—one I believe you are uniquely suited for.”

You tilted your head, intrigued but wary. “An opportunity?”

He leaned back in his chair, steepling his fingers. “My grandsons, Aegon and Aemond, have recently transferred to this city and will be attending the preparatory academy nearby. However, their transition has been…challenging. They require a tutor, someone exceptional, to help them catch up and excel in their studies.”

You blinked, caught off guard. “You’re asking me to tutor them?”

“Precisely,” he said with a nod. “Your academic record speaks for itself, and your professors have spoken highly of your discipline and intelligence. I believe you are the perfect candidate for this role.”

You hesitated. It was an unexpected request, and you weren’t sure how to respond. “Dean, I’m honored, but I already have a full schedule. Between my coursework, research, and other commitments, I’m not sure I have the time to—”

“I understand your reservations,” he interrupted smoothly, “but I assure you, this arrangement would come with substantial benefits. A generous stipend, full access to the resources at our institution, and, of course, my personal recommendation for any future endeavors.”

The offer was tempting, almost too good to be true. But something about the situation felt…complicated. “May I ask why you’re looking for a tutor outside the academy itself? Surely they have resources available?”

Otto’s expression darkened slightly. “My grandsons are…unique. Aegon is bright but unfocused, prone to distraction. Aemond, on the other hand, is exceptionally driven but struggles with interpersonal relationships. They require someone patient, adaptable, and skilled enough to challenge them intellectually.”

You nodded slowly, considering his words. “What subjects would I be tutoring them in?”

“Primarily history, literature, and mathematics,” he replied. “But there may be moments when they need guidance beyond academics. I trust that you’ll be able to handle that.”

You hesitated again, weighing your options. It was a significant responsibility, but it also sounded like a challenge worthy of your skills. “I’d like to meet them first, if that’s possible.”

Otto’s lips curved into a faint smile. “Of course. They’re waiting outside.”

He pressed a button on his desk, and the door opened moments later. Two young men walked in, their presence commanding the room immediately.

The first, Aegon, had a disheveled charm about him. His silver-blonde hair was slightly messy, and his easy smile hinted at a playful, carefree attitude. He leaned casually against the doorframe, his bright eyes scanning you with curiosity.

The second, Aemond, was the exact opposite. His posture was rigid, his expression serious, and his sharp gaze locked onto you with an intensity that made you straighten in your chair.

“So, you’re the genius they’ve been talking about,” Aegon said, his tone teasing. “You don’t look so scary.”

You raised an eyebrow, meeting his smirk with a calm expression. “And you don’t look like you need a tutor. But appearances can be deceiving.”

Aegon chuckled, clearly amused, while Aemond’s lips twitched in what might have been approval.

Otto cleared his throat. “Miss, these are my grandsons. Boys, this is the young lady who may be taking on the monumental task of educating you.”

“It’s not monumental if she knows what she’s doing,” Aemond said curtly, his voice cool and precise.

Your eyes met his, and for a moment, the room felt charged. “I assure you, I do.”

Otto clapped his hands together, breaking the tension. “Excellent. I’ll leave the three of you to get acquainted. Let me know your decision by tomorrow, Miss”

As the dean left the room, you turned to face Aegon and Aemond fully. This wasn’t going to be easy, but something about the challenge intrigued you.

“Alright,” you said, your voice firm. “If I take this on, we’re going to set some ground rules. First, I’m here to help you succeed, not to babysit. Agreed?”

Aegon grinned, clearly entertained. “Agreed.”

Aemond gave a small nod, his gaze unwavering. “Agreed.”

You took a deep breath. This was the beginning of something entirely new—something that might change your life in ways you couldn’t yet imagine.

You looked at the two men standing before you, ensuring your tone was calm yet authoritative as you began to lay down the rules.

“Alright,” you said firmly. “If I take this position, I will tutor you every day starting tomorrow from six in the evening until nine at night. That means you must be prepared and on time—no excuses for being late.”

Aegon, who had been leaning casually against the wall, raised an eyebrow. “Three hours every day? Are you trying to torture us or something?”

You met his comment with a blank stare, letting the silence speak for itself. He chuckled under his breath and folded his arms, clearly amused.

Aemond, on the other hand, gave a small nod, his sharp gaze steady. “That sounds reasonable. What about the weekends?”

“On weekends,” you continued, “I will conduct tests to evaluate your progress. These won’t just be written exams; they’ll include presentations, discussions, or any form of assessment relevant to what we’ve covered during the week. So, I expect both of you to come prepared.”

Aegon frowned. “Tests? Every weekend? What is this, a military academy?”

You turned your sharp gaze to him, your tone unwavering. “My goal is to help you master the material as thoroughly as possible. If you want to succeed, you’ll need discipline and effort. If that’s too much for you, let me know now, and I’ll gladly walk away.”

Aegon’s playful smirk faltered slightly, and he muttered under his breath, “Fine, fine. I get it.”

Aemond, meanwhile, looked at you with something that almost resembled respect. “Understood. We’ll be ready.”

You gave them both a curt nod. “Good. Then I’ll see you both tomorrow at six sharp. Don’t waste my time, and I won’t waste yours.”

With that, you gathered your things and left the room, your confidence unwavering. As you walked away, you couldn’t help but wonder what challenges the two brothers would bring—and how you would overcome them.

Before you could step out of the room, Aegon’s voice stopped you.

“Wait,” he called out, his tone unusually serious. You turned around, raising an eyebrow as he continued. “If you’re going to teach us, it might be better if you do it at our house. Less noise, fewer distractions.”

You hesitated, considering his suggestion. Teaching them in their home might indeed provide a more focused environment, but it also meant stepping into unfamiliar territory. Before you could respond, Aemond chimed in, his voice steady and composed.

“It’s practical,” he said, stepping closer. “You won’t have to worry about transportation. Our driver will pick you up and take you home every day, as long as you agree.”

You studied Aemond’s expression. His tone wasn’t demanding, but there was an air of expectation in his words. Aegon, standing behind him, smirked as if he already assumed you’d say yes.

“It’s… an interesting idea,” you admitted, crossing your arms. “But teaching at your home would mean I’d need a proper setup. A quiet space, the right materials, and absolutely no interruptions.”

“Done,” Aegon said with a wave of his hand. “You’ll have everything you need. We’ll make sure of it.”

You narrowed your eyes slightly, still uncertain. “And I’ll need your full cooperation. That means no skipping sessions, no distractions, and no excuses.”

Aemond nodded firmly. “You’ll have it.”

After a moment’s thought, you sighed. “Alright. If this arrangement helps you focus better, I’ll do it. But the moment it becomes a problem, we’re switching back to campus sessions.”

“Fair enough,” Aegon said with a grin. “See you tomorrow, then.”

You nodded and turned to leave, this time without interruption. As you walked down the hall, you couldn’t help but feel that this decision would change the dynamic between you and the two brothers in ways you hadn’t yet anticipated.

The next day, after finishing your last class, you packed your things and headed toward the front of the campus. The sky was painted in hues of orange and pink, and the cool evening air felt refreshing. As you walked, a sudden thought hit you, and you lightly smacked your forehead.

How could you have forgotten to ask for Aegon or Aemond’s number? You had no idea how they planned to coordinate your ride, and now you were left wondering if the arrangement was even real.

Just as you were debating whether to go back to your dorm or wait a little longer, a sleek black car pulled up in front of you. The windows were tinted, but as the passenger-side window rolled down, you were greeted by Aegon’s familiar smirk.

“Well, don’t just stand there,” he said, leaning slightly out of the window. “Get in.”

You hesitated for a split second, scanning the car. Aemond was seated on the other side of the back seat, his usual composed expression fixed firmly on you. He gave you a slight nod, his sharp features illuminated by the glow of the streetlights.

Realizing this was the ride they’d promised, you exhaled and stepped forward, opening the car door. Sliding into the seat next to Aemond, you carefully adjusted your bag on your lap and glanced between the two brothers.

“Didn’t think to text me or call,” you said, a hint of teasing in your voice as you looked at Aegon.

“You didn’t ask for our numbers,” Aegon replied smoothly, grinning. “Figured I’d save you the trouble and just show up.”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t suppress a small smile. “Well, thanks for not leaving me stranded.”

Aemond, sitting silently beside you, finally spoke. “We’re punctual. You’ll find that we’re serious about this arrangement.”

His tone was measured, but you couldn’t help but sense an undertone of challenge. You nodded, meeting his gaze. “Good. I’d hate to waste my time if you weren’t.”

The car fell into a comfortable silence as it pulled away from the campus, the hum of the engine filling the space. Aegon leaned back in his seat, casually scrolling through his phone, while Aemond sat upright, his attention shifting occasionally toward the passing scenery.

It wasn’t long before the car turned onto a wide, gated driveway, leading to an imposing mansion that seemed to blend old-world charm with modern luxury. You swallowed hard, realizing that this tutoring arrangement might be more than you’d anticipated—not just academically but socially as well.

As the car came to a stop, Aegon turned to you with his signature grin. “Welcome to our humble home, professor. Let’s see if you’re ready for the challenge.”

You smirked back, unbuckling your seatbelt. “The real question is, are you?”

Aemond opened the door and stepped out first, gesturing for you to follow. “Let’s get started,” he said simply, his tone leaving no room for argument.

This was going to be an interesting evening, and you couldn’t shake the feeling that this was only the beginning.

As you began your first lesson on history, you could already feel the difference in how Aegon and Aemond were approaching the material. Aemond, with his sharp focus and intensity, absorbed the information quickly, nodding in understanding as you explained key historical events. He made occasional notes, and you could see his mind working as he processed each fact.

Aegon, however, was a different story. He lounged lazily in his chair, barely looking at the textbook in front of him. Instead, he seemed to be more interested in tapping his pen against the desk, glancing out the window, and occasionally smirking at Aemond’s serious demeanor.

You tried to remain calm, but as the minutes passed and Aegon’s lack of attention became more apparent, your patience began to wear thin. You paused mid-sentence, turning to face him directly.

“Aegon,” you said, your voice firm, “can you please focus? This isn’t a joke. We’re here to learn, not play around.”

Aegon finally looked at you, a playful grin still tugging at his lips. “Oh, come on. History’s boring. It’s just a bunch of dates and old battles. Not my thing.”

You took a deep breath, trying to keep your composure. “Well, whether you like it or not, this is part of your education. I won’t tolerate distractions. If you can’t focus, you might as well leave now.”

His grin faded slightly, and Aegon leaned forward, resting his elbows on the desk. “Alright, alright. I’ll focus.” He picked up his pen, though his lack of enthusiasm was evident.

Aemond, who had been silently observing, spoke up in his usual calm tone. “You should listen to her. If you want to pass, you’ll need to take this seriously.”

You nodded in agreement, turning back to Aegon. “I don’t expect you to be thrilled about history, but I do expect you to give it your full attention. We’re only going to move forward if both of you are engaged in the lesson. Got it?”

Aegon sighed dramatically but finally nodded. “Fine. I’m in. History it is.”

With that, you resumed the lesson, feeling a little more confident that Aegon had finally committed to paying attention. However, you knew this was only the beginning, and you were determined to make sure both of them took this tutoring seriously.

You glanced at your watch, noticing the time. “Alright,” you said, letting out a small sigh. “We’ll take a short break. Let’s reconvene in ten minutes.”

Aegon stretched in his chair, clearly relieved to have a moment to relax. He leaned back, casually crossing his arms behind his head, and turned to Aemond. Without missing a beat, Aegon began speaking in Valyrian, his voice low and almost teasing. You had learned Valyrian during your studies, and although you weren’t fluent, you could understand enough to catch their conversation.

“Do you think she’ll actually be able to keep us in line?” Aegon asked, his voice dripping with amusement. “She seems so… serious. A little too serious for my liking.”

Aemond’s response was calm and deliberate, his tone far more measured than Aegon’s. “She has to be serious. This is no game, Aegon. If she wants to teach us, she’ll make us work for it. We might as well take it seriously if we want to get anything out of this.”

Aegon chuckled, clearly unconcerned. “Work? Maybe. But I don’t think she’ll last long. I mean, she’s already a bit… intense. I can see her breaking eventually.”

Aemond didn’t respond immediately, his gaze fixed on the pages of the history book in front of him. “I wouldn’t be so quick to judge. She’s sharp. She knows what she’s doing. Besides, if she leaves, we’ll just have to find someone else to replace her.”

Aegon made a playful noise, but you could sense his doubt in his voice. “Well, I guess we’ll see. But I still don’t think she’s the right fit for this.”

You couldn’t help but feel a small knot of irritation form in your stomach as you overheard their conversation. Aegon’s dismissive attitude and Aemond’s cool detachment only fueled the fire in you to prove them wrong. They might think you were just another tutor who’d give up, but you weren’t about to let them get away with underestimating you.

You took a deep breath, preparing to stand up from your seat. You’d show them that you were serious about this, no matter how much they doubted you. The break was almost over, and you weren’t going to let their dismissive words affect you.

“You know,” you said, cutting through their conversation in Valyrian, “If you’re done making assumptions, we can continue with the lesson. I’d rather not waste time.”

Both brothers turned to you, their expressions momentarily frozen. Aegon blinked, surprised that you understood, while Aemond looked at you with an unreadable expression.

“You understood all of that?” Aegon asked, a bit taken aback.

You gave them a small, confident smile. “I understand enough.”

Aemond raised an eyebrow, though he didn’t say anything. Instead, he simply nodded and returned to the task at hand.

“You’re right,” he said quietly. “Let’s get back to it.”

Aegon shifted uncomfortably in his seat, no longer daring to speak so casually. “Yeah, sure. No more distractions.”

You stood up, gathering the materials and setting the tone for the rest of the session. It was clear to you now that the challenge ahead wasn’t just about their education—it was about earning their respect, something you were more than willing to fight for.

The next lesson you introduced was literature, and this time, the atmosphere in the room felt noticeably different. Aegon and Aemond both seemed more focused, their earlier antics set aside. You began by discussing a classic text, carefully breaking down its themes, symbolism, and historical context.

To your surprise, they paid attention, their expressions indicating genuine interest. Occasionally, Aegon leaned forward, scribbling notes in the margins of his notebook, while Aemond’s sharp eyes stayed fixed on you, as if he were analyzing not just the lesson but the way you presented it.

“You mentioned that the protagonist’s internal struggle mirrors the political turmoil of their time,” Aemond said, breaking the silence. “But wouldn’t you say that their personal flaws play a greater role in their downfall?”

You paused, slightly impressed by the depth of his observation. “That’s an excellent point, Aemond,” you said with a small smile. “The protagonist’s flaws do contribute significantly to their downfall. However, the external pressures of their environment can’t be ignored. It’s the interplay between their personal weaknesses and external forces that makes their story so compelling.”

Aegon, who had been silent for a while, suddenly chimed in. “But doesn’t that make the story predictable? I mean, if we know they’re doomed from the start, why bother?”

You turned to him, appreciating the question. “It’s not about the ending, Aegon. It’s about the journey. Even if we know the character is doomed, we learn something from the choices they make along the way. That’s what great literature does—it holds a mirror to our own lives and forces us to reflect on our decisions.”

Aegon leaned back in his chair, nodding slowly. “I guess that makes sense. So, it’s not just about what happens to them, but why it happens.”

“Exactly,” you said, glad to see him engaged.

The session continued with both brothers actively participating. Aegon asked questions that often veered into broader, more philosophical territory, while Aemond’s inquiries were precise and rooted in the text. Their dynamic created a lively discussion that kept the lesson flowing smoothly.

By the time you wrapped up, you felt a sense of accomplishment. They had not only paid attention but had also engaged with the material on a deeper level.

“Well,” Aegon said, closing his notebook with a satisfied sigh. “I never thought literature could be… interesting. You might actually be good at this, professor.”

Aemond gave a small nod of agreement, though his expression remained neutral. “You explain things well. I can see why our grandfather recommended you.”

“Thank you,” you said, genuinely pleased. “I’m glad to see you both getting into it. Let’s keep this momentum going for the next session.”

As they walked you out of the study, Aegon turned to you with a smirk. “So, what’s next on the syllabus? Something as exciting as this?”

You chuckled. “We’ll see. But I’m warning you now—if I catch you slacking again, you’re getting extra assignments.”

Aegon groaned dramatically, while Aemond allowed himself the faintest of smirks. You couldn’t help but smile to yourself as you headed back home, feeling more confident that this arrangement might just work out after all.

As the sleek black car came to a stop in front of your home, you gathered your belongings and prepared to step out. The evening had gone better than you expected, and you felt a sense of accomplishment from the progress you’d made with Aegon and Aemond.

Just as you reached for the door handle, Aegon leaned forward from his seat, his smirk as ever present. “Hey, before you go, we’re going to need your number.”

You turned to look at him, slightly surprised. “My number?”

Aemond, sitting beside him with his usual calm demeanor, nodded. “It’s practical. In case there are any changes to the schedule or we need clarification on something before a session.”

Aegon grinned. “Or, you know, if I need to ask for help on some extra assignments you might be planning to throw at me.”

You rolled your eyes but smiled. “Alright, fair enough.” You quickly recited your number, and both of them entered it into their phones.

“Great,” Aegon said, holding up his phone triumphantly. “Now you can’t ignore us if we need you.”

“I could,” you teased, stepping out of the car. “But I won’t. Just don’t abuse it, alright?”

Aegon gave you a mock salute. “No promises.”

Aemond, on the other hand, simply nodded. “We’ll see you tomorrow. Don’t be late.”

You raised an eyebrow at his tone. “I could say the same to you two.”

As the car pulled away, you stood there for a moment, watching it disappear down the street. With a small smile, you turned and headed inside your home, ready to prepare for the next day’s challenges.

The next morning, you let out a low growl of frustration as you rummaged around your bedside table. You could have sworn you’d left your glasses there the previous night, but now they were nowhere to be found. You checked under the bed, on your desk, and even the floor, but they had seemingly vanished.

“Where could they possibly be?” you muttered to yourself, glancing at the clock. Panic crept in as you realized you were already running late for your first class

With no time to keep searching, you grabbed your contact lenses instead. You rarely wore them—they were always a hassle—but today, they would have to do. After a few frustrating minutes of struggling to get them in, you finally managed and hurriedly grabbed your bag.

Rushing out the door, you mentally kicked yourself for not being more organized. By the time you reached campus, your class had already started. You slipped into the lecture hall as quietly as possible, praying no one noticed your tardiness.

The day moved along in a blur as you tried to shake off the rocky start. By the time the afternoon rolled around, you were finally starting to feel like yourself again. Then your phone buzzed.

Aegon: “Are you always this disorganized, professor? Forgot your glasses?”

Your eyes widened in surprise. How did he know? You quickly typed back a reply.

You: “How do you even know about that?”

A few moments later, another text came in.

Aegon: “Lucky guess. Or maybe someone told me. 😉 See you at 6.”

Shaking your head, you couldn’t decide if you were more annoyed or amused. Typical Aegon. At least tonight’s lesson would give you a chance to focus on something other than your hectic morning.

You stood by the campus gate, checking your phone for the time. You had already messaged Aegon and Aemond, letting them know you were waiting. The plan was simple: they’d pick you up in their usual sleek car. But as you glanced up, the distant roar of a motorcycle engine caught your attention.

The black motorcycle came to a smooth stop right in front of you. You froze, confused, until the rider took off their helmet.

“Aegon?” you asked, stunned. His silver-blond hair was slightly messy from the helmet, and he wore a smug grin.

“Surprise,” he said, casually hanging the helmet on the handlebars. “The driver took the day off, so I decided to pick you up myself. Cool, right?”

You crossed your arms, raising an eyebrow. “This wasn’t exactly the plan. Where’s Aemond?”

Aegon shrugged, completely unbothered. “He’s at home, probably buried in a book or something. He didn’t feel like coming along, so you’re stuck with me today.”

You glanced at the motorcycle and then back at him. “I don’t know, Aegon. This feels… unsafe.”

He rolled his eyes and gestured to the spare helmet strapped to the back of the bike. “Relax, professor. I’m a great rider. Plus, I brought a helmet for you. Come on, it’ll be fun.”

You hesitated, looking at your phone as if it would magically offer a better option. But you were running out of time, and standing there debating wouldn’t help. Finally, you sighed and grabbed the spare helmet.

“Fine,” you muttered. “But if anything happens, it’s on you.”

Aegon smirked as you climbed onto the bike behind him. “Don’t worry. I’ll get you there in one piece. Just hold on tight.”

You wrapped your arms around his waist reluctantly, trying not to think about how awkward this felt. As the engine roared to life, Aegon turned his head slightly.

“Ready?” he called over the noise.

“Not really,” you replied, but he took off before you could say anything else.

The wind whipped past your face as Aegon expertly navigated through the streets. Despite your initial reluctance, you couldn’t deny that the ride was exhilarating. For a moment, you even forgot about your hectic morning.

When you finally arrived at their house, Aegon stopped the bike and turned to you with a grin. “See? Told you it’d be fine.”

You pulled off the helmet, trying to smooth your hair back into place. “Next time, let me know in advance,” you said, your tone half-serious, half-teasing.

“Where’s the fun in that?” he replied, winking before leading you toward the house.

Aemond was waiting at the door when you entered, raising an eyebrow at the sight of you holding a motorcycle helmet. “I assume Aegon picked you up,” he said dryly.

“You assume correctly,” you replied, handing the helmet back to Aegon.

“Well,” Aegon said with a laugh, “now we’re all here. Let’s get started, professor.”

As you walked toward the study room, you couldn’t help but think that this tutoring job was turning out to be far more unpredictable than you had anticipated.

You walked ahead of Aegon and Aemond, stepping into the study room with your lesson plan in hand. But as you entered, you froze. Sitting elegantly on the sofa at the far end of the room was a woman, her posture straight and her demeanor commanding. Her midnight-brown hair and striking features immediately gave her away.

You hadn’t expected an audience.

Before you could react, Aegon and Aemond entered behind you. The moment they saw her, they both stopped, their expressions shifting to confusion.

“Mother?” Aemond said, his tone a mixture of curiosity and mild irritation. “What are you doing here?”

Aegon, on the other hand, crossed his arms with a groan. “You never come to this side of the house. What’s the occasion?”

The woman—clearly their mother—didn’t seem fazed by their reactions. Instead, her piercing gaze shifted from her sons to you.

“I wanted to see for myself the person entrusted with educating my sons,” she said, her tone calm but undeniably sharp. “You’re young. Perhaps too young to be trusted with something so important.”

Your heart skipped a beat, but you forced yourself to stay composed. You had faced scrutiny before, and this wouldn’t be the first time someone questioned your abilities based on your age.

“Mother,” Aemond interjected, stepping forward, his voice firmer now. “She’s doing her job well. You don’t need to question her.”

Alicent raised an eyebrow at him but didn’t respond immediately. Instead, she looked back at you, her expression unreadable. “You may have impressed my father, but this is different. My sons require not just instruction but discipline, guidance, and maturity. Are you truly capable of that?”

You straightened your posture, meeting her gaze with quiet confidence. “I understand your concern, maam. I may be young, but I take my responsibilities seriously. My goal is to ensure your sons succeed, and I’m fully committed to that.”

Aegon chuckled softly from behind you. “She’s got guts, I’ll give her that,” he muttered.

Alicent’s eyes flicked to him, narrowing slightly. “And you would do well to respect her time and efforts. If she’s here to help you, don’t waste it.”

Aegon held up his hands in mock surrender. “Alright, alright. Message received.”

Turning her attention back to you, Alicent rose gracefully from the sofa. “Very well,” she said. “I will observe today’s session. Prove to me that you’re as capable as you claim to be.”

You hesitated briefly but then nodded. “Of course, maam. Please, feel free to stay.”

As you began the lesson, you were acutely aware of Alicent’s eyes on you. She sat silently, her presence adding a layer of tension to the room. Aemond followed along diligently, as he always did, while Aegon seemed to be on his best behavior for once—likely because of his mother’s watchful gaze.

You stayed composed, answering their questions with precision and adapting to their differing learning styles. As the session progressed, even Alicent seemed to soften slightly, her expression less critical and more thoughtful.

When you finally wrapped up, Alicent stood, smoothing her dress. “You did well,” she said, her tone still formal but less cutting. “I’ll allow this arrangement to continue—for now.”

Aegon let out a dramatic sigh of relief. “Thank the gods.”

Aemond shot him a warning look before turning to his mother. “Is that all, Mother? We’d like to continue without interruptions.”

Alicent gave him a sharp look but said nothing further. She turned to leave but paused at the doorway. “Don’t disappoint me,” she said to both her sons—and perhaps to you as well—before walking out.

Once she was gone, the tension in the room seemed to lift.

“Well, that was fun,” Aegon said, stretching lazily. “I think she likes you. Or at least, she doesn’t hate you.”

You exhaled deeply, finally allowing yourself to relax. “That’s… progress, I suppose.”

Aemond nodded approvingly. “You handled her well. Let’s get back to work.”

With the drama behind you, you dove back into the lesson, determined to keep proving yourself—not just to Alicent, but to everyone else who doubted you.

The lesson resumed, and this time, the focus shifted to mathematics. You were a little surprised to see Aegon perk up as soon as you began explaining the basics of today’s topic. He leaned forward in his chair, actually paying attention, which was a stark contrast to his usual distracted demeanor.

“This is way better than history or literature,” Aegon muttered, scribbling down notes as you worked through a few problems on the whiteboard. “At least numbers make sense.”

You glanced at him, raising an eyebrow. “I didn’t think you’d enjoy math this much. Usually, students find it… less appealing.”

Aegon shrugged, a small grin tugging at his lips. “It’s straightforward. You solve the problem, and you get an answer. No overthinking or guessing. Just logic.”

Aemond, who was already solving a more advanced equation in his notebook, glanced at his brother. “I never thought I’d see the day when you’d willingly engage with something academic.”

“Don’t ruin it, Aemond,” Aegon shot back, smirking. “Maybe I’m just smarter than you give me credit for.”

You couldn’t help but laugh softly. “Alright, let’s see how smart you are, Aegon. Try solving this one.” You quickly wrote a moderately challenging equation on the board and stepped aside.

Aegon squinted at it, his tongue poking out slightly in concentration as he worked through the problem. Aemond looked over his shoulder, clearly tempted to comment, but he held back.

“Done,” Aegon announced a few moments later, leaning back with a smug expression.

You walked over to check his work, nodding in approval. “That’s correct. Well done, Aegon.”

“See?” he said, throwing a glance at Aemond. “I’m a natural.”

“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves,” Aemond replied dryly.

You decided to press on, giving them both a set of practice problems. While Aemond breezed through his work with his usual efficiency, Aegon surprised you again by staying focused and asking thoughtful questions when he got stuck.

“You’re actually good at this,” you said to Aegon as he finished another problem.

He shrugged, a rare hint of modesty in his expression. “I guess I just needed the right teacher.”

The unexpected compliment caught you off guard, and you felt a slight warmth creep up your cheeks. Clearing your throat, you redirected the conversation. “Well, if you keep this up, math might just become your strongest subject.”

“Don’t jinx it,” he replied with a laugh.

By the end of the session, both brothers had made noticeable progress. Aemond, as always, maintained his quiet focus, while Aegon’s newfound enthusiasm for the subject added an unexpected energy to the room.

As you packed up your notes, Aegon leaned back in his chair with a grin. “Math isn’t so bad when you’re not teaching it like a boring old professor.”

You couldn’t help but smile. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

Aemond shook his head but said nothing, his lips twitching into a faint smile as he gathered his materials. Despite their differences, it was clear both brothers were growing more comfortable with you as their tutor—and you were determined to keep building on that progress.

As you made your way toward the door, ready to leave for the evening, Alicent’s voice stopped you in your tracks.

“Wait,” she called, her tone firm yet inviting. “Before you go, would you join us for dinner with us?”

You turned around, surprised by the sudden offer. The last thing you had expected was an invitation to dine with their family. You hesitated, unsure. “I appreciate the invitation, Maam, but I should really get going…”

Alicent, ever composed, gave a small wave of her hand. “Please, there’s no need to be so formal. Just call me Alicent. I would like for you to join us.”

Before you could respond, Aegon and Aemond, who had been standing nearby, exchanged a look before Aegon suddenly grabbed your arm, pulling you toward the dining area with a grin.

“Come on,” he said, his tone more playful than persuasive. “It’ll be fine. You’ve been working so hard with us. The least we can do is treat you to dinner.”

Aemond, though quieter than his brother, placed a hand on your other arm, gently guiding you forward. “Mother insists,” he said, his voice calm but steady. “It’s the least you could do.”

Caught between their insistence and Alicent’s soft smile, you found yourself being gently pulled along. Despite the surprise of the invitation, you agreed. “Alright, alright. I’ll stay for dinner.”

Aegon gave a satisfied nod, practically dragging you along. “Great! I promise it won’t be as boring as you think.”

You looked over your shoulder at Alicent, who watched you with a knowing look. “I’ll be sure to join you, Alicent. Thank you for the offer.”

She gave you a brief nod. “Good. Let’s have a pleasant meal.”

As you walked with Aegon and Aemond toward the dining room, you couldn’t help but wonder about the dynamics of this family. Would dinner be more relaxed, or was it another form of subtle observation?

When you entered the dining area, it was grand, yet the atmosphere wasn’t as stiff as you had anticipated. Aegon flopped down at one end of the long table, Aemond taking his usual seat, and you were invited to sit across from Alicent.

Throughout the meal, the conversation was surprisingly lighthearted. Aegon cracked jokes, Aemond contributed when necessary, and Alicent occasionally added her thoughts, though her gaze would flicker to you from time to time.

Despite the formality, there was a sense of ease you hadn’t expected, and you began to feel more at home than you anticipated. Perhaps this wasn’t as intimidating as you had once thought.

As dessert was served, Alicent turned to you with a smile, her demeanor less rigid than when you first met her. “I hope you’ve found this meal enjoyable. It’s rare that we get to spend time together like this without a lot of distractions.”

You smiled back, feeling the warmth of the invitation. “It’s been lovely. Thank you again for having me.”

Aegon grinned. “See? I told you dinner wouldn’t be so bad.”

You chuckled, glancing at Aemond, who gave you a small, approving nod. As the evening wound down, you couldn’t help but feel that this family—despite their quirks and complexities—was beginning to show you a side of themselves that wasn’t all about expectations and pressure.

As you stepped outside, the sound of heavy rain and thunder crashing echoed through the night. You frowned as you looked up at the dark sky, realizing that the storm was no ordinary shower—it was a full-blown storm, and it showed no sign of letting up anytime soon. You sighed softly, glancing at your watch, which read eleven o’clock at night.

It wasn’t safe to leave in such weather, and you had no intention of getting soaked and possibly caught in an accident. Just as you were about to turn back inside, a voice called out to you.

“Is something wrong?” Alicent’s voice rang through the air. She had followed you out to the foyer, and she noticed the conflicted look on your face.

You turned to her, slightly embarrassed. “It’s just… the storm. I didn’t expect it to get this bad. I’m not sure how I’ll make it home in this weather.”

Alicent gave you a measured look, then smiled warmly. “You don’t have to worry about that.” She walked toward you, her tone soft and commanding, as always. “It’s far too dangerous for you to be out there at this hour. Why don’t you stay here for the night? We can have a room prepared for you, and some clothes, too.”

You hesitated for a moment, the thought of staying still new and strange to you. “I don’t want to impose…”

Alicent waved away your concerns. “You won’t be. It’s no trouble at all. I insist. Let my staff prepare a room for you. You’re more than welcome to stay here. I wouldn’t want you out in that storm.”

You looked out the window, the rain slashing against the glass in a relentless wave. It seemed foolish to even consider leaving now.

“Well… if you insist,” you said, giving a small, hesitant smile.

Alicent nodded, satisfied with your response. “Good. I’ll make sure everything is arranged. Please, make yourself comfortable.”

She motioned for one of the servants to prepare a guest room for you. As they went off to carry out her request, she turned back to you. “It’s rare that we have guests stay overnight, but I’m glad it’s you. You’ve been an asset to Aegon and Aemond’s education, and I want to make sure you’re well taken care of.”

You were taken aback by her genuine kindness. “Thank you, Alicent. I didn’t expect… well, I didn’t expect this.”

Alicent smiled, her eyes softening for a moment. “It’s only right. You’ve been working hard with them, and we value that. I also believe a little rest and comfort is just what you need.”

As you followed her into the guest wing of the house, you felt a mixture of gratitude and curiosity. You had never expected your relationship with this family to evolve into something so unexpectedly warm.

The room was prepared quickly, and soon you were handed a set of clothes—comfortable, yet elegant enough for their home. Alicent made sure you had everything you needed, including a warm drink and a tray of snacks.

“Rest well,” she said with a smile, before giving you a polite nod. “We’ll talk more in the morning.”

You settled into the room, taking a deep breath as you prepared for a quiet night, still processing the events of the evening. The storm raged outside, but inside, you felt an unexpected sense of peace. For the first time, you allowed yourself to relax, grateful for the hospitality and the chance to experience a different side of the family you’d been tutoring.

Tomorrow, there would be more lessons, but for tonight, you could enjoy the calm.

You woke up to the sound of heavy rain beating against the windows, the storm still raging outside. The room was quiet and warm, and for a moment, you allowed yourself to just enjoy the calm after last night’s chaos. As you stretched, you heard a soft knock on the door.

“Come in,” you called, your voice still tinged with sleep.

A servant entered, carrying a fresh set of clothes in their arms. “Good morning, Miss. Madam has requested you join her for breakfast downstairs whenever you are ready,” the servant informed you politely.

You smiled, nodding in acknowledgment. “Thank you.”

The servant placed the clothes on the chair beside the bed, then left you to change. After freshening up, you took a moment to look out the window again. The storm was as fierce as it had been the night before, with no signs of slowing down. It made you thankful that Alicent had insisted on you staying the night.

Once you were dressed, you made your way downstairs, finding the dining room bathed in soft, warm light. Alicent was already seated at the table, a delicate smile on her face as she looked up at you.

“Good morning,” she greeted, her tone calm and welcoming. “I hope you slept well.”

“I did, thank you,” you replied, offering a smile as you took a seat opposite her.

The breakfast spread before you was extravagant, with various dishes and pastries arranged neatly on the table. The smell of freshly brewed coffee filled the air, and you couldn’t help but feel a little in awe of the luxury surrounding you.

“I trust the room was comfortable?” Alicent asked as she gestured for you to help yourself to the food.

“Yes, it was lovely. Thank you for your hospitality,” you said, picking up a plate and serving yourself some fruit and eggs.

Alicent nodded, her gaze thoughtful. “It’s the least I can do. You’ve been very dedicated to Aegon and Aemond’s studies, and I appreciate your efforts.”

You looked up at her, a bit surprised by the sincerity in her voice. “It’s been a pleasure. They both have potential, and I’m happy to help them.”

She smiled, clearly pleased by your response. “I’ve noticed. But I also know it’s not always easy with them. Aegon can be a handful, and Aemond… well, he’s not always the most forthcoming.”

You chuckled lightly, not wanting to give too much away. “They both have their strengths and weaknesses, but that’s what makes them interesting to teach.”

Alicent’s eyes softened as she watched you. “I’m glad to hear that. It’s important to me that they not only learn from books but also from life. That’s why I want you to be more than just a tutor to them.”

You blinked, taken aback by her words. “More than just a tutor?”

She nodded, her expression thoughtful. “I want you to be a mentor, a friend for them. Guide them, not just in academics, but in how they approach the world. Aegon… he needs someone to challenge him, and Aemond needs someone to help him open up.”

You felt a weight settle on your shoulders at her request. It wasn’t just about teaching anymore; it was about shaping their lives in a way that went beyond the classroom. You weren’t sure if you were ready for that, but you knew Alicent was sincere.

“I’ll do my best,” you said after a moment, your voice steady.

Alicent smiled, clearly pleased with your response. “I know you will. And for now, enjoy your breakfast. The storm is still strong, so you can stay here as long as needed. When it clears, we can discuss more about your role here.”

You nodded, taking a bite of your breakfast. As you ate, you couldn’t help but wonder what the future would hold for you, now that you had been pulled deeper into this family’s life. It was clear Alicent had a vision for you—one that went far beyond tutoring.

You heard the sound of footsteps descending the stairs, and moments later, Aegon appeared in the doorway, looking slightly disheveled, his hair messy as though he had just woken up. Behind him, Aemond stood with his usual composed demeanor, already dressed neatly, his expression neutral as he glanced in your direction.

Both of them stopped in their tracks when they saw you sitting at the table with Alicent. It was clear they hadn’t expected you to still be here. Aegon raised an eyebrow in surprise.

“You’re still here?” Aegon asked, his voice still heavy with sleep. His tone was casual, though there was a hint of curiosity in his eyes.

Aemond, ever more reserved, narrowed his gaze slightly, his expression unreadable. “I didn’t know you were staying the night.” His voice was calm, but there was an edge to it, as though the unexpected sight of you here had caught him off guard.

You smiled politely, feeling a little awkward now that both of them were looking at you so intently. “Yes, the storm last night was so bad, Alicent offered for me to stay here. It seemed safer than trying to make my way home in that weather.”

Aegon nodded, though his lips curled into a slight, teasing grin. “So, you ended up stuck here with us then, huh?”

You couldn’t help but chuckle, the tension easing a little. “I guess so. It wasn’t planned, but I’m glad I was able to stay safely.”

Alicent, noticing the exchange, chimed in before the moment could grow uncomfortable. “It’s no trouble at all. We were happy to have you stay, especially considering the weather. Aegon, Aemond, come sit down and join us for breakfast.”

Aegon shrugged, still half-smiling, and made his way to the table, taking a seat beside you. Aemond followed suit, though his movements were more deliberate, his eyes lingering on you for a moment before he, too, sat down.

For a moment, the three of you fell into a comfortable silence as breakfast continued. Aegon, now fully awake, dug into his food with enthusiasm, while Aemond ate more slowly, his gaze occasionally flicking to you.

Aegon broke the silence first, his voice casual but laced with curiosity. “So, what’s the plan for today? I’m assuming we’re still doing our lessons, even with the storm?”

You glanced over at Alicent, who nodded in agreement. “Yes, the lessons will go on as planned. But perhaps we can take a break later, depending on how the weather is. We’ll adjust as needed.”

Aemond, not usually one to voice his thoughts so easily, glanced at you before speaking. “Are you… comfortable here? I didn’t expect you to have stayed overnight.”

You caught the subtle hint of concern in his voice, though his face remained calm. You smiled gently, wanting to put him at ease. “I’m fine, really. It’s been… a nice change of pace.”

Aegon gave you a sly look, clearly amused. “Well, I hope we’re not too much of a shock. It’s not every day we have a guest staying the night.”

You chuckled again, your nerves slowly easing. “It’s fine. You all have been very welcoming. I’m just grateful to be here.”

Aemond and Aegon exchanged a glance, the atmosphere lighter now. For a brief moment, you felt like you weren’t just a tutor in this house, but a part of something that had the potential to become more meaningful.

As breakfast continued, the storm outside began to subside, and with it, the uncertainty of the situation seemed to melt away.

You walked back to the guest room, your mind focused on the lessons you had planned for the day. The quiet of the house made it easier to think, but as you gathered your books and notes, you couldn’t shake the feeling that there was something more happening around you. The storm had passed, leaving the house calm, almost too calm.

With your materials in hand, you made your way toward the study, the room where you normally taught Aegon and Aemond. As you stepped inside, you began to organize your notes, flipping through the pages of the history book and jotting down key points for the lesson. You were so absorbed in preparing that you didn’t immediately notice the sound of footsteps approaching.

When you heard a slight sound behind you, you turned to see Aemond standing in the doorway. His posture was straight, but there was something different in his expression today—his gaze was intense, deeper than usual. He was watching you with an unreadable look, his eyes studying you in a way that made you pause.

For a moment, the air between you felt charged, as though he had something to say but was deciding whether or not to speak.

“Aemond?” you asked softly, wondering if you had missed something or if he was simply waiting for you to acknowledge him.

He didn’t immediately respond, his eyes lingering on you for a few seconds longer before he stepped into the room, closing the door gently behind him.

“I wanted to talk to you,” he said quietly, his voice low and deliberate.

You nodded, setting your notebook down on the desk and meeting his gaze. “Of course, what’s on your mind?”

Aemond hesitated for a moment, his usual calm demeanor flickering with a hint of uncertainty. “You’ve been teaching us for a while now… and I’ve noticed you’ve been spending a lot of time with us, outside of just the lessons.”

You raised an eyebrow slightly, curious where this conversation was heading. “I’m just doing my job. You both have potential, and I’m here to help you reach it.”

Aemond’s gaze softened for just a moment before his expression returned to its usual intensity. “That’s not what I meant.”

You waited for him to continue, feeling a little more nervous now.

“I… I’ve been thinking about how you’ve been with us, how you’ve been so patient, even when we don’t always make things easy,” Aemond said, his voice steady but carrying an unusual sincerity. “I appreciate it, more than you might realize.”

His words took you by surprise. You weren’t used to hearing this kind of openness from him, especially not in the middle of your lessons.

“Aemond…” you started, unsure of how to respond.

He held up a hand, stopping you before you could say more. “I just want you to know that I’m grateful. For your time, for your effort.”

You nodded, unsure of how to express the gratitude you felt for his honesty. “It’s nothing. You both are worth the effort.”

Aemond studied you for a moment longer, his eyes lingering in a way that made your heart race, and for the briefest of moments, you wondered if there was more he wanted to say, but he simply nodded and stepped back toward the door.

“I should let you get back to your work,” he said, though his tone was quieter than usual.

Before you could respond, he turned and left the room, leaving you alone with your thoughts. His words lingered in your mind, and you couldn’t help but wonder what exactly was behind that look in his eyes. Was he simply showing appreciation, or was there something more to it?

Shaking the thoughts from your head, you focused back on the lesson plans, though now your heart felt a little heavier. You had a feeling this wasn’t the last time Aemond would catch you off guard.

You tried to focus, continuing to write and prepare the lesson for the day. The sound of Aemond’s unexpected visit still lingered in your mind, but you pushed it aside, needing to concentrate on the task at hand. As you scribbled a few more notes, you suddenly heard footsteps approaching again, this time more relaxed and deliberate.

You turned your head to find Aegon standing in the doorway, looking much more put together than before. His hair was neatly styled, and his clothes were far more polished than the previous day. He leaned casually against the chalkboard, an amused smile tugging at the corners of his lips as he studied you.

“Still working hard, huh?” Aegon said, his voice playful, almost teasing. He pushed himself off the board, walking toward you with a confident stride. “I thought maybe you’d need a break from all that studying. You know, a bit of company might help.”

His words carried a hint of flirtation, a soft edge to them that made you pause for a moment. You tried to keep your focus, glancing up at him briefly before returning your attention to the notes on the desk. “I’m fine, Aegon. I have a lot to prepare for today.”

He grinned, clearly enjoying the fact that you were trying to keep things professional. He moved closer, now standing beside you, his presence almost overwhelming. “Come on, a little break won’t hurt. You’ve been at this for hours. You deserve some fun too, don’t you think?”

You felt a flush of warmth on your cheeks at his proximity, trying your best to maintain your composure. “I’m here to teach you two, not to have fun,” you replied, a small smile tugging at your lips despite yourself.

Aegon raised an eyebrow, clearly not satisfied with that response. “Teaching is fun, right? I mean, we’re not exactly the most difficult students, are we?” His tone was light, almost playful, but there was a glint of something more in his eyes.

You sighed, trying to ignore the way his words seemed to make the room feel smaller, more intimate. “I’m just doing my job,” you said, your voice steady even though your heart was beginning to race a little.

He didn’t seem to take that as an answer, though. “Maybe,” he mused, leaning down so his face was closer to yours, his presence more intense. “But I think you deserve more than just work. And I think you’ve earned a little break… with me.”

The way Aegon said it, with that mischievous grin on his face, made it clear that he wasn’t simply referring to a break from your work. For a moment, the tension in the air was thick, and you weren’t sure if he was teasing, flirting, or being serious. His eyes met yours, waiting for a response.

You swallowed, trying to maintain your professional composure despite the situation. “Aegon, you should focus on your studies,” you said, attempting to shift the conversation back to the lesson.

Aegon chuckled, clearly enjoying the playful back-and-forth. “Alright, alright, I’ll leave you to your work. But just know, I’m always around if you need a break.” He straightened up and gave you a wink before stepping back toward the door.

As he left, the room seemed to return to normal, but your heart was still racing. His words and the way he had looked at you left you uncertain about what his intentions were. Was he just playing around, or was there something more to his behavior? You shook your head, trying to focus back on your lesson plans, but Aegon’s presence lingered in the back of your mind.

You glanced at your watch, noticing that it was already 4 PM. Realizing that you had a bit of extra time, you decided to start the lesson a bit earlier than usual. With a quick breath, you grabbed your phone and sent a message to Aegon and Aemond, informing them that you were ready to begin the lesson.

“I’m starting the lesson early today. You can come whenever you’re ready.”

After sending the message, you placed your phone down and began organizing your materials, setting up the room for the session. As you waited, your thoughts wandered briefly to the conversation with Aegon earlier. You pushed it aside, reminding yourself that you had a job to do.

You were halfway through setting up the desk when you heard footsteps approaching the door. You straightened up, feeling a bit of anticipation as the door swung open to reveal Aegon and Aemond walking in. Both looked ready for the lesson, and they gave you a brief nod as they entered.

Aegon flashed a mischievous grin. “You decided to start early today, huh? You must be really eager to teach us,” he said, his tone light and playful.

Aemond, however, didn’t say much. He simply walked past his brother and took his usual seat, his eyes scanning the room as he prepared for the lesson.

“Alright, let’s get started,” you said, giving them both a firm nod. “Today’s lesson will be on the rise and fall of the Valyrian Freehold. I want you both to pay close attention to the details, as this is key to understanding the history of the Targaryens and how we arrived at where we are now.”

Aegon, always the more carefree of the two, leaned back in his chair, clearly ready to listen but also not completely focused. Aemond, on the other hand, was already giving you his full attention, his eyes fixed on your every word.

As you began the lesson, you could tell that Aegon was a bit distracted, his gaze occasionally drifting toward the window. You paused for a moment, glancing at him. “Aegon, focus,” you said with a slight smile. “This is important. History shapes the future.”

He grinned lazily but straightened up. “I’m listening,” he said, though his attention was clearly divided.

You continued, speaking more passionately about the history of the Valyrian Freehold, the dragons, and the catastrophic event that led to the Doom. Aemond’s eyes remained sharp, absorbing the information, while Aegon was slowly getting more engaged, asking the occasional question.

As the lesson progressed, you felt a sense of accomplishment. Despite Aegon’s initial distractions, you could see that both of them were slowly beginning to take the material seriously. Aemond, with his usual intensity, was already diving deep into the complexities of the history, while Aegon was starting to ask more thoughtful questions.

By the time you finished the lesson, you could feel the weight of the day behind you, but a sense of satisfaction lingered as you looked at the two of them. You were making progress, even if the road ahead was filled with distractions and moments of tension.

“Good work today,” you said, closing your notebook. “Let’s review this more in the next session. Aemond, you seemed to grasp it well. Aegon, you made some good points toward the end.”

Aegon smirked, sitting back in his chair. “Well, I try,” he said. “But I think I deserve a little reward for my efforts.”

You raised an eyebrow, unable to hide a small smile. “Let’s see how well you do on the next test first, Aegon.”

Aemond gave you a small nod of approval, looking like he had already moved on to thinking about the next lesson. “Thanks for the lesson,” he said, standing up. “We’ll be ready for the next one.”

With that, the session ended, and as they left the room, you couldn’t help but feel a quiet sense of accomplishment.

You carefully packed up your books and notes, making sure everything was in order before heading to the guest room. The day had been long, and you could feel the weight of exhaustion settling in, but there was a small sense of satisfaction knowing you had managed to teach well despite the distractions.

As you walked toward the guest room, you couldn’t help but think about the lessons from today—especially Aegon’s playful nature and Aemond’s focused demeanor. It was clear they were both bright, but each had his own way of approaching things. Still, you had done your job, and that was all that mattered for now.

When you entered the guest room, you quickly gathered your things, tossing your bag over your shoulder. You paused for a moment to glance around the room, feeling a little strange about leaving this grand house. It had been a strange experience, but also one that gave you a glimpse into a different world.

As you turned to leave, you heard footsteps from the hallway. It was Aegon, walking toward you with a casual, easy smile on his face. “Leaving already?” he asked, his tone light. “We could have a little chat before you go. I mean, you’re always so serious about your lessons. Can’t we have a moment to relax?”

You smiled politely but shook your head. “I really need to get going, Aegon. My mother is probably waiting for me.”

Aegon chuckled, leaning against the doorframe. “You’re always in a rush, huh?” He gave a playful shrug. “Alright, if you have to go, I guess I won’t keep you. But remember, we’re always around if you want to talk or take a break from all that studying.”

You couldn’t help but let out a small laugh. “Thanks, Aegon. Maybe another time.”

With that, you finally made your way out of the room and toward the front door, your bag slung over your shoulder. As you stepped outside, the cool air hit your face, and you couldn’t help but feel the weight of the day begin to lift.

You made your way to the front gate, where you were once again greeted by the sound of a car pulling up. The driver who had been sent for you before was there again, and you got in, nodding a quick thanks as he started the engine.

The ride home was quiet, and as you neared your house, you found yourself looking forward to a peaceful evening with your mother. It had been a long day, and you knew she’d be happy to see you home.

When you arrived, your mother was waiting for you, as you had expected. She smiled warmly as you entered, and you couldn’t help but feel a wave of comfort wash over you. You had missed her, and now that you were back, the stress of the day seemed to melt away.

“How was your day, darling?” she asked, her voice soft and caring as she placed a hand on your shoulder.

You smiled back at her, feeling the weight of the day finally ease. “It was good, Mother. A bit tiring, but good.”

And for the rest of the evening, you allowed yourself to relax, knowing that you’d face another day with Aegon and Aemond tomorrow. But for now, you were happy to be home.

Tag list : @danytar @zaldritzosrose @julessworldd @hangmanscoming @yazzzmints @giirlinblack

[brownsugaboba]

title: “Christmas Special: Christmas With The Nanami's."

december 27th, 2024.

—————————————————————————————

nanami x reader.

black reader. (anyone can read, but emphasis on black.)

19+ (NO MINORS. only 19+)

—————————————————————————————

it was christmas morning, and you were excited to open gifts with nanami. the two of you sat on the couch, surrounded by crinkling wrapping paper and colorful bows, eagerly unwrapping your presents.

the soft glow of the tree lights twinkled behind you, casting a warm, cozy light over the room. with each gift, your laughter and excitement filled the air, with nanami watching with passionate eyes, making the moment feel even more special.

as you made your way through the pile of gifts, you came across a box with a tag that read "from gojo." the box itself was sleek and black, with a subtle sheen to it looked almost... luxurious.

you two exchanged a curious glance, and you carefully unwrapped the paper to reveal the box underneath. you raised an eyebrow, his eyes sparkling with intrigue, as you lifted the lid.

inside was a vibrator, but not just any vibrator. it was a high-tech device, designed to be inserted and enjoyed discreetly. the device itself was small and slender, with a smooth, rounded tip and a series of subtle ridges along its length.

it was made of a soft, silicone material that felt almost like skin to the touch. alongside the device was a small remote control, with a simple interface and a few discreet buttons.

nanami's eyes widened in surprise as he picked up the device, his fingers turning it over slowly, inspecting every curve and feature. a smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth, and a mischievous glint sparked in his gaze. "im not surprised nor am i disappointed," he murmured, his voice laced with playful amusement.

"looks like gojo knows how to give a memorable gift." his tone was a quiet acknowledgment that gojo’s unpredictability was as familiar as ever. you couldn’t help but let out a laugh, feeling a rush of excitement and curiosity as the implications of the gift began to settle in.

as you continued to examine the device, your curiosity deepened, and you two began brainstorming ways to put it to use. the excitement of the moment was palpable, and after a brief exchange of glances, you both agreed that the christmas party tonight would be the ideal setting for our little experiment.

it had been some time since we'd felt the thrill of shared excitement in the presence of others, and the idea of subtly weaving it into the evening’s festivities felt almost playful.

the mere thought of what your friends would think if they knew what you were up to—how they might react, what they might say—was enough to make you exchange amused, conspiratorial smiles. that thought alone had you two smirking quietly, a shared secret that made the day feel even more thrilling.

the hours passed in a haze of eager anticipation, your minds constantly drifting back to the device and the possibilities it held. you imagined all the ways you two could use it, each scenario more thrilling than the last.

as the evening drew near, you took your time getting ready for the party. the usual pre-party rush was replaced by an odd sense of careful excitement. you both dressed in our finest clothes, trying to look your best while hiding the secret excitement beneath.

the anticipation only heightened as you made our way to the venue, exchanging occasional glances, knowing what the night could hold.

as you two arrived at the party, you were greeted by the sound of laughter and music, and the smell of food and drinks wafting through the air. you mingled with the other guests, exchanging hugs and greetings, and making our way to the bar to grab a drink.

nanami took control of the remote, and at first, it was subtle, just a gentle humming sensation inside of you. you felt a slight tingling, a gentle buzzing that seemed to grow in intensity as the seconds passed.

"heyey, how's it going?" gojo asked, as he approached us with a smile. you tried to play it cool, but could feel your face heating up. "oh, it's going great," you replied, trying to sound casual. "just enjoying the party."

nanami, however, was getting a bit more adventurous. he turned up the intensity, and you felt a surge of pleasure run through you. you tried to maintain a straight face, but it was getting harder and harder.

"so, what do you think of the party so far?" geto asked, as he joined our conversation.

you tried to respond, but all that came out was a faint stutter. nanami was watching you, a sly grin spreading across his face. he knew exactly what he was doing, and he was enjoying every minute of it.

gojo raised an eyebrow, his eyes flicking between you two. "everything okay (y/n)?" he asked, his voice low and concerned.

you nodded, trying to play it off. "yeah, everything's fine. just a bit... overwhelmed by the music." gojo nodded, but you could tell he didn't believe you.

he leaned over to whisper something to geto, his eyes still on you. and you couldnt help but wondered what they were discussing. geto's eyes flicked over to me, and you quickly grow bashful, as you realize he might have an idea of what was going on.

as the night wore on, nanami continued to tease you. you were starting to lose control, your breathing getting shallower, your heart racing with excitement.

sometimes, the pressure would become too much, and you'd accidentally close your legs, just slightly. you could feel the eyes of the other sorcerers on me, but you just grinned and laughed, trying to play it cool.

nanami, however, was watching gojo's reaction, which seemed to drive him crazy. he kept glancing at you, his eyes sparkling with mischief, and you knew he was itching to take things to the next level.

he'd turn up the intensity, or change the pattern of the vibrations, and you'd feel a surge of pleasure run through your body. you were on the edge, and he knew it.

finally, nanami couldn't take it anymore. he grabbed your hand and pulled you towards the bathroom, his eyes locked on your own.

“you're so beautiful when you're like this," he said his voice husk and low, and barely above a whisper. "i love watching you lose control."

he slowly led you over to the bathroom counter and carefully placed you on top. he opens your legs wide and you pull him by his belt, closer to your body, with a small smirk on your lips.

“i love you being in control.” you responded, eyes gazing up into his.

he purposely kept his arms at his sides, one of his hands turn up the vibrator as he continued to stare down into your dark eyes. “like this sweetheart?” he asks with a small smirk, similar to yours.

you let out a few soft moans, and spread your legs apart more, finally being able to lose control. your eyes begin to squint just slightly as you try to keep yourself together.

nanami turns up the vibrator all of the way and places it beside your body. you glance down at it, but decide not to touch it; wanting to show him that you could handle it.

he continued to watch you with a smirk. watching as your hand slowly drifted down to your thighs, and your back arched. you were struggling and he knew it.

once you knew you couldn’t take it anymore, you lifted your legs onto the counter and allowed your dress to come up above your thighs completely, revealing your heat and the underwear that you did have on.

nanami’s eyes drifted down to the sight you were creating just for him. he knew that you were only going to get closer to your climax, and he wanted to be there with you every step of the way.

so he slowly unbuckled his pants and took out his boner that he was covering up throughout the party. he slowly rubbed at his tip and groaned as he continued to watch you.

you slowly brought your hands down to your pussy. you open your lips, revealing all of your wetness, and even allowing for some to spill out of you onto the counter. you then slowly began to rub against the surface, your head throwing back in the process.

nanami watched your hands carefully, as he involuntarily moans.. simply by imagining his fingers were there instead. he kept himself going by wrapping his hand around his dick and beginning to stroke his rather long length softly.

you tilt your head to the side as you rubbed your clot a bit faster, trying to go against the quickness of the vibration inside of you. you watch as nanami’s hand wraps around his length, imagining his fingers as you mouth around it instead.

you lick your lips as your mouth begins to water at the sight, wanting him inside of your pussy and mouth simultaneously.

“nanami, i need you in me.” you whisper, trying to speak above the moans and groans coming from you both.

“i need you in all of my me.” you cry out. "in every single part."

he watches your body as it buckles, your thighs involuntarily moving closer together as you grow closer to your climax.

nanami quickly lets go of his dick and separates your legs once again. he then quietly gets on his knees, his mouth now at eye level with your clit.

before you know it, you’re gripping on the edge of the bathroom counter and closing your eyes because of him.

because of his tongue inside of you.

he glides his tongue around your insides, before taking it out and rubbing it along your already deeply wet surface.

“nana… nanami baby..” you moan out, one of your hands going over to grip a nice amount of his blonde hair.

“the..” you let out a heavy breath. “the vibrator bay.. i’m gonna cum.”

he uses your reaction as motivation, as his determination quickly sets in.

you let out an even longer moan as you felt his tongue enter right back inside you. you feel his lips wrap around your own, and tightly suck the vibrator out of you and into his mouth.

“ken..ken…kento~” you let out, tears streaming down your face as you push his head deeper inside of you.

with the vibrator in his mouth now, nanami takes his tongue back and pulls away from your clit. he licks your substance off of the vibrator before taking it out of his mouth and placing it on the counter by the remote.

“do you still need me inside sweetheart? was that enough for you?” he asks softly, his eyes gentle but you knew he was just as hungry as you were.

you shake your head slowly and bring your hand down to your dark clit, where you pat it a few times.

“i need you nanami.. so badly.”

he smiles at your words and stands up again, his dick still hard and out like before. without any hesitation, he places his hands on either side of your waist. he then pulls you close, aligning his tip with your entrance. he then pulls you closer, slowly, allowing for your pussy to tightly wrap around him as he fills you up entirely.

you wrap your arms around his neck as he slowly pushes your body around his dick. though, his size was already melted inside of you, his length still caused a bit of pain and pleasure each time.

with his hands still around your waist, and his length fully inside of you, he slowly thrusted your body against his dick. causing him to groan softly as the feeling.

“oh.. fuck.” he lets out.

“you feel so good (y/n), i didn’t know i was this close.”

he speeds up the process, continuing to thrust your pussy around his dick. he couldn’t help himself from thrusting back as well, creating a sound that he loved so much; thanks to your body’s colliding.

you let out quick moans and breaths as he sped up his motions, more tears running down your face as you feel yourself growing closer to your climax.

“nanami… baby, darling..” you whine out, but he already knows; considering he was just as close as well.

“at the same time sweetheart.” he groans out, speeding up his movements before his body involuntarily comes to a stop; yours as well, exactly when his does.

you both let out a loud moan of each names as you cum together. the bathroom echo only bringing the moans back into your ears again.

with heavy breaths, you too pull away from each other just slightly to look into each others eyes finally. he smiles softly as he gazing into your brown orbs again, though they were wet and teary, he still stared with ease.

“you are so damn beautiful.” he says deeply full of breaths.

you smile back and let out a small gasp as you feel his dick slowly slide out of you, thanks to all of the warm substance you both created.

he lets out a small chuckle because of your gasp and looks down at the mess they made. he then bring you back into his arms, placing a kiss on your shoulder as he did so.

“you did so well sweetheart..” he whispered. “how about we go again?”

fin.

[wystiix]

'til the light leaves my eyes

❥ pairing: furina x fem-aligned!reader (because feminine french pet names) ❥ synopsis: You stargaze underneath the stars of Fontaine with the one you call your star. ❥ cw: post-archon quest spoilers (fontaine), light angst ❥ additional tags: second pov, reader is from Fontaine, pet names are used (in french), very very very VERY dialogue heavy, and overall mainly fluff :) ❥ word count: 3k ❥ taglist: @plebejus-argus / @laminaria-digitata psst! merry christmas, i was your secret santa!! ❥ notes: as mentioned this is a secret santa for an event in @/stellaronhvnters. i sincerely apologise that this is late i was crying trying to write this cuz writers block immediately swarmed me faster than a colony of bees. still, i hope i did well <33 enjoy. also, special thanks to @aviiarie / @strryskys for proofreading this ily veravee 🫶 /p

The stars were unreachable. They flicker in the night sky, winking at you, but they were too far, unattainable. Beautiful celestial bodies were only made to be admired and to provide light. You couldn’t touch them, couldn’t hold them, couldn’t bring them closer no matter how much you yearned to.

Though, one star seemed to be an exception.

It had with all the radiance of a typical star; A brilliant pearl, one that seemed to hug heaven’s eyes so sweetly. A star that comes to greet your eyes, turning heads to marvel at such a beauty.

This star, your star, seemed to descend to you. She wanted to be seen, to be known, to shine her light. Not for the heavens, but for you.

More importantly, this star burned brighter than the others.

“The stars,” Furina mused beside you, pulling you from your thoughts, “do you think they know how they captivate us?”

Her gaze locked onto the stars with a soft, rather melancholic expression. This had been a routine for the both of you—simply lying on the grass and admiring the vastness of space and the scattered moondust in the night sky. You turned to look at her, your star brought to Teyvat, and smiled.

“They’re lightyears away,” you replied, voice quiet. “I doubt they know. The stars do shine, but for themselves. They burn bright, fusing elements to keep from collapsing in on themselves.”

Furina tilted her head, an intrigued smile gracing her lips. “It’s strange. Something so far away, beyond our reach, can still hold our attention. How poetic.”

A chuckle could be heard from you. “Mhm. But did you know that stars don’t last forever?”

She stilled, turning her head towards you. “What do you mean?”

“They shine so brightly they run out of fuel.” You looked back at the stars as you explained. “The bigger the star, the faster it burns out. When it burns out, it either collapses in on itself or explodes into a supernova.”

A long pause then ensued. You could feel Furina’s gaze on you as you looked up at the sky, but she didn’t speak. You both didn’t for a moment, and just let the quiet atmosphere settle like a blanket. It was more peaceful than heavy.

“That makes me wonder,” she finally said, breaking the silence and looking away. “What happens to the stars that fade? Do they still hold their beauty even after their light is gone?”

Her tone sounded… unsure, which wasn’t exactly like her. Something about it tugged something deep inside you. “Even if their light fades, they still leave traces behind. Supernovas create the elements that make up everything—planets, life, us. So in a way, they don’t really disappear. They transform. They leave behind something… eternal.”

“Eternal,” she echoed. “Do you think there are stars who burn, not because they want to, but because they feel they must? To be seen, to matter?”

Her words took you by surprise and you blinked at her. “You’re asking me that?”

She locked eyes with you and simply smirked—though in her eyes, there was just a tiny speck of vulnerability. “Humour me, mon amour.”

You simply hummed, pretending to think. “Well, I believe that some stars burn because they need to be seen. They want to leave an imprint. But at the same time, they're burning because it's who they are. They can't stop, even if they want to.”

Furina averted her gaze slightly as she took in your words. A sigh could be heard from her lips and she fixed her gaze on the grass below her. It was subtle, but you could tell something shifted within her, even if it was slightly. “But one day, they'll burn too much, won’t they? They will fade eventually.”

“Even if they burn too much, even when they feel like they're fading, what they leave behind is still a part of them. Their light doesn't vanish; It changes, evolves. Their beauty still remains.” You glanced at a gleaming star that caught your eye and your hand reached out towards the sky as if it were close enough to touch before chuckling. “At least, factually, that’s true. I’m not one to theorise or dwell in soulful chatter.”

“And if it’s a star who’s afraid of burning out? Who’s afraid of fading and being forgotten?”

Her questions were getting more surprising. You turned your head to face her. “Furina?”

“Hm? I said what I said,” she answered back.

“Furina.”

“[Name].”

“I’m not firing on all cylinders at the moment,” you teased, which earned a small, exasperated sigh from her. Though, there was not a hint of real annoyance.

“Clearly,” she murmured, though the faintest smile could be seen on her lips. Her gaze flicked back to the stars for a moment. “But do you ever feel like that?”

You stared at her. “Feel like what?”

Furina hesitated, playing with the hem of her glove. “Like you’re burning too brightly. Every single day, you’re trying your hardest to shine, just to give light to other people. All that effort, just to fade and be forgotten.”

Her words hung so heavily in the air. She didn’t meet your eyes for a moment, and you were still trying to process her words.

Noticing the silence stretching longer than she expected, she stammered. “Yes, uhm, that’s a ridiculous question. I apologise. Ignore what I just said.”

You frowned, though you decided not to press on it further. Instead, you looked at her hat lying on the grass and asked, “May I borrow that for a second?”

She blinked, startled by the request. “My hat? Whatever for?”

You held out your hand. “Just for a moment.”

Reluctantly but silently, Furina passed her hat to you. As soon as you took it from her hands, you smoothed it down and looked around you. Your eyes landed on a rainbow rose just sitting beside you on the grass. With a gentle touch, you sat up and carefully plucked it off the ground and placed it into the hat, tucking it within the band.

Your lover merely looked at you with confusion etching her features. “What are you doing, ma chèrie?”

“Just adding a little something,” you smiled as you adjusted the flower. “You’re the star of Fontaine, are you not?”

She blinked. “Of course I am,” she huffed, crossing her arms. “But I fail to see how this relates.”

You gestured towards the flower you placed in her hat. “You’re like this rose. This rose is like the stars above.”

Her eyebrows furrowed as she sat up. “Enlighten me.”

“Both are beautiful and both illuminate with their own brilliance,” you began, brushing a thumb over the rose’s soft petals. “This rose blooms delicately, and its colours are vibrant and radiant. Much like stars, its beauty is hard to ignore. However, look closely.” 

You scooted closer to her and tilted the hat slightly, letting her see the faint browning edges of the rose. A few petals on the outside were sagging. “As vibrant and beautiful as it is, it’s close to wilting,” you said, glancing at her. “But does that make it any less beautiful?”

Her gaze lingered on the flower and she hesitated to speak.

“It doesn’t,” you continued for her. “As I’ve said before, the stars that shine so brilliantly and explode won’t just fade into nothingness. They leave traces of their existence in the form of supernovas and elements. The same can be said for this rose—it leaves traces in the form of seeds, so the seeds can take root in the soil and grow into something as beautiful. If not, more.”

Blue eyes traced over the form of the rainbow rose and then towards your own eyes. “And you think… I’m like that?”

“I know you are.” You delicately brushed a strand of her soft hair from her face. “Whether it’s being the Archon of Fontaine or just being Furina, you have already left a trail. A lasting impact, hm? You’ve already touched so many lives. Mine included. You’re pretty much unforgettable if that’s what you’re worried about.” 

Furina looked down trying to hide the blush that crept up on her cheeks. “I see…” she murmured. “But what does this have to do with my hat?”

“Ah, nothing really,” you grinned. “I just wanted to hold it.”

The priceless look on her face when her head perked up was of utter exasperation, but the corners of her lips twitched into a smile which indicated she was finding this amusing. “You’re unbelievable,” said Furina, dramatically rolling her eyes. “Give it back.”

You snorted at her reaction. “Let me put it on for you.”

Without another word, you gently set the hat on her head with the rose still in place. The moonlight bathed around her, illuminating the serenity of her face. The sight left you utterly captivated and, for a brief moment, you forgot how to breathe.

“I could have very well put it on myself,” she said.

“I shan’t let a lady like yourself fend for herself,” you quipped.

“Putting on a hat doesn’t require fending for oneself! Are you questioning an Archon’s capacity to perform a simple task?” Furina prodded your shoulder with her finger, earning a giggle from you and leading you to shove her hat downwards over her eyes in retaliation.

“Whoops!” You feigned a gasp and placed a hand over your mouth.

“[Name]!”

“My mistake, Lady Furina.” You inclined your head in a mock bow.

She plucked a handful of grass from the ground and tossed it at you, causing you to laugh even harder. “Do you know how long it takes me to have it perfectly angled?”

You brushed the grass off your clothes as you watched her adjust the hat properly. “I didn’t think putting on a hat requires such preciseness,” you said, to which your lover let out a scoff.

“You’d be surprised at how much care goes into it, ma c​​hère​​​,” Furina replied, a mischievous glint in her eye.

For a brief moment, your eyes trailed over to her, tracing her features.  It was the way the moonlight kissed her face and shone down to highlight her pretty eyes. Then, with a sudden impulse, you leaned in and wrapped your arms around her in a warm hug. One of the soft strands of her hair brushed against your cheek as you huddled closer.

“Hm? What’s this?” she asked, placing a hand on your arm and keeping you there.

“Just felt like you needed it. And I’m also a little cold.”

Furina huffed but she didn’t pull away—not when you were so warm against her. The two of you stayed like that for a while, the sound of rustling leaves and the distant trickle of a stream filling the comfortable silence.

But oh, how time flies.

The nights of laughter under the same stars you would sit to gaze at felt like a lifetime ago.

So much has changed since then.

Foçalors was dead. Furina was no longer the ‘Archon’ of Fontaine. Yet, despite this, she felt just as radiant to you. After all, why would it matter? In your eyes, she was still the same—perfect, just as she always is. Being 'normal' did not make you love her any less.

The two of you sat under the sky as twilight approached. The silence was heavy, but not uncomfortable. She was sitting cross-legged in front of you on the grass, her white curls falling loosely just above her shoulders.

As you sat behind her on a rock, your fingers brushed through her hair. You picked up one strand after another before interlacing them deftly into a neat braid.

Furina didn’t say a word. She hadn’t spoken much these days but being the understanding lover you are, you didn’t press her to. Her gaze remained fixed on her hands, twiddling her gloved thumbs while you worked on her hair.

“There,” you breathed, finishing the last touches. “Have a look.”

Gesturing towards the lake nearby, you invited her to see her reflection. She leaned closer, a gasp of wonder nearly escaped her lips at the sight. Her hair was intricately adorned with delicate petals from a lakelight lily with their soft hues contrasting against the vibrant blue streaks that wove through her locks. The rest of her hair cascaded down like a waterfall.

“Do you like it?” You asked almost nervously. “I’m not exactly good with working with your short hair now, but I hope I did it some justice.”

“How pretty,” she murmured, almost to herself. She ran a finger down the braid, delicately touching the petals.

A relieved sigh escaped you. “I’m glad you like it.”

Your eyes then moved downwards, settling on the hat next to her. The rose you had placed inside was still there, but it had faded to a dry brown. It had completely wilted since that day you tucked it in. You reached for the hat and grazed your fingers over the brittle petals.

It's interesting how something so delicate can carry so much significance.

Your lover seemed to notice you picking up the hat. “I, um,” she said sheepishly, “I haven’t really taken that off since. It was such a sweet gesture, so I’ve kept it there even when it died.”

You let out a hum of acknowledgment and set the hat down. Twilight seemed to arrive and your gaze drifted up to the sky as the last light of day was about to dip below the horizon.

Amidst the purples, you see it: a lone spark twinkling in the vast expanse above.

“Furina, look.” You gently nudged her on the shoulder, pointing to the sky. “The first star.”

Turning her head, she followed the direction of your pointing finger. A lone star greeted her eyes and shone so softly in the sky as if trying to gain her attention. After a few minutes, another star appeared which was later followed by many more, and the first star was no longer alone.

It wasn’t long before the moon came into full view that night.

You leaned closer, resting your chin gently on her shoulder. “Do you remember what I said about the stars, Furina?”

She pondered for a moment. “That they burn so brightly, they explode and leave behind pieces of themselves?”

“Precisely,” you nodded.

A faint smile stretched over her lips as her gaze remained on the stars. “You still believe that?”

“Of course I do, how could I not?” you responded earnestly.

Furina sighed, her smile dropping slightly. She stared at her hat, at the rose that shrivelled up. “You said they symbolised me… and the flower.”

“I did.”

She didn’t reply for a moment. Instead, she looked at her reflection in the lake once more. She noticed her short hair, a style she chose when she left the Palais, and the braid that you had done for her.

For the first time, she looked like her. Not Foçalors, not the Hydro Archon, but Furina—just Furina. The human she so deserved to be after five hundred years of suffering. Pretending.

“It’s strange, isn’t it?” she said, tilting her head to look back at you. “It’s wilted. Dead. And yet… I can’t bring myself to throw it away.”

You smiled. “Because it’s a part of you. Just like what you once carried as an Archon. You don’t need to shine for Fontaine anymore, but that doesn’t mean your light is gone.”

A thousand thoughts swirled in her mind at your comment. For five centuries, she’d defined herself by the role she played, by the image she projected. But now? Now she was just Furina. No mask. No Archon. No title. Just Furina, if she were to have a name tag stuck on her.

“Stars burn brilliantly,” you continued. “And when they die, their light lingers, leaving traces—beautiful, meaningful traces that last long even after they’re gone. That’s what this rose is to you. It's a reminder of who you were.”

Furina gazed at the rose once more, her fingers gliding over its fragile petals. “I feel as though my light has completely died out. There’s nothing left of me now that I am not an Archon anymore.”

You shook your head, placing a hand over hers. “It won’t. Your light isn’t just in the role you played or the mask you wore. It’s in the way you’ve touched the people in Fontaine’s lives. It’s in the way you’ve touched my life. You left such a lasting impression on all of us.”

Before she could protest further, you pulled her into a tight hug. “Archon or not, you're still the same Furina I know and fell for. I don't care who you are or what title you possess. As long as I'm with you, I'm content. You're a star with a presence so commanding and brilliant I could never look away.”

The quiet hum of the lake, the whisper of the wind in the grass, and the twinkling of the stars above seemed to pause for you both to just have your small moment. She stayed quiet in your embrace.

“I don’t know if I’ll ever feel as bright as I once did,” she whispered, her voice trembling.

You pulled back just enough to meet her gaze, brushing a loose curl from her face. “And that's okay. Stars don’t shine just for themselves; they shine because their light travels, touches, and changes others. And Furina, you’ve changed me. You’ve changed Fontaine."

She scoffed playfully. “You’re so insufferably poetic. You always know what to say, mon amour.”

The both of you shared a lighthearted giggle before a comfortable silence enveloped you once again. Furina nestled closer into your shoulder, her breath steadying as her hand slipped into yours.

“Do you think the stars can see us?” she asked.

You chuckled softly, intertwining your fingers with hers. “Maybe they do. Or maybe they’re just jealous.”

“Jealous?” she blinked, pulling away to look at you.

“Of course,” you replied, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “They’ll never know what it’s like to burn bright as someone as extraordinary as you.”

“You always find a chance to flatter me.”

“It’s hard not to when you’re sitting in front of me.”

The stars glowed, embedding the night sky alongside the silvery moon casting down rays of light towards you. This was a routine for you, and it always will be a routine for you both.

And you had the presence, the light of a star by your side.

[jayjxmaybank]

the silence that followed his venomous words hung heavily in the air, thick and suffocating. for a moment, he couldn’t tear his gaze away from her, his eyes searching hers for any sign of what she was thinking, hoping to decipher the unreadable expression etched across her face. but damn, when she was this quiet, she was impossible to read. her stillness only made it worse, fueling his unease. he couldn't tell if she was silently crafting a response even more biting than his own, or if she was simply stewing in the sting of his words. that uncertainty gnawed at him, making him hold his breath, as if any sound could shatter the fragile tension between them.

for a fleeting second, he wanted to take it all back—every harsh syllable, every cruel tone. but he didn’t. instead, he stood there, frozen, unable to understand why that impulse even existed. it didn’t make sense. she didn’t make sense. and yet, the way she seemed to defy every one of his attempts to push her away both frustrated and intrigued him. no matter how many walls he built, how many defenses he threw up, she always found a way to pull him back in. he couldn’t figure out if it was a weakness or something else entirely—a dangerous draw that kept him tethered to her, even when he wasn’t sure it was a good thing.

and now, here she was, asking him to drink with her.

okay, now he knew she was insane. he dropped his hands from her arms, shaking his head as he scratched the back of his neck. yeah. insane. he was a dick, and he knew it. for jj to recognize that—without her calling him out on his bullshit, without biting back—that was something. she didn’t fight him. she didn’t escalate. she just… surrendered. and for some reason, that didn’t sit right with him. it unsettled him, like he was waiting for the other shoe to drop. he kinda wished she did call him a dick, a prick—something. he deserved it.

"a drink?" he echoed her words, as if the idea itself was the most absurd thing he'd heard all night. did she hit her head? he narrowed his eyes, studying her intently. there was something strange about how they chose their words—how they could hurl fire with ease but then falter when it came to something more vulnerable. "you’re askin’ to drink? after that?" his laugh was more disbelieving than anything else, confusion lacing his voice as he searched her face. now he was confused. hell, maybe she was too.

jj had no idea what the hell was going on. this back-and-forth, this twisted game they were caught in, the constant tug between wanting to run and wanting to stay—it was all too much. almost maddening, really. he ran his fingers through his hair, tugging at the blonde strands near the root, his frustration palpable. with a sharp shake of his head, he tore his gaze away from her, if only for a moment. he couldn’t keep up with her. it was impossible.

muttering a curse under his breath, he let his hand fall to his side—no, it more like slapped down in a mix of snark and disbelief, a half-laugh slipping out along with a smile that was more of a grimace. when he finally decided to look back at her, she was a step closer—almost to close for comfort. “humor you?” he laughed. there was a squint in his eyes. she was pushing his buttons, pushing him to say things he knew he’d latter regret. she knew how much she was frustrating him, how she got under his skin more than anyone else ever had before and she liked it. damn kooky priss. yeah, that’s what it was. it was because she was a kook.

"sure," he said, voice dripping with disdain, "shall i present it to you on a silver platter, miss cameron?" he mocked her status. he locked gazes with her, knowing her well enough to know that she wasn’t going to back down. “jesus,” he muttered under his breath with a shake of his head, “you just have to keep goin’ don’t ya? that’s your problem—you love this shit. y’ practically feed off it,” he pull his lips into a thin line as if he were done talking. “hell, you’d probably stand here all night just to run that pretty mouth of yours, huh?”

he held his breath, closing the already narrow space between them. his stance was tall but controlled, his hands settling on either side of her arms as lowered his head towards her. “sorry, princess,” he said, voice low. “your flip-flop crew might be down for that, but not me.”

[misteria247]

You know what would be funny?

If Pacifica unintentionally became somewhat friends with Fiddleford.

Like at first he's just known as the hobo she had to hold hands with during the whole Bill fiasco. And then he becomes the guy who bought her parents house. And Pacifica not even thinking about would sometimes walk by her old house because it was her home originally for 12 years. And Fiddleford he'd notice her stopping by and looking at the home from time to time and then one day he's outside and he sees her walking towards the gate.

Fidds doesn't hesitate to call out to her, startling her and Pacifica sees him and she gives him a look that's supposed to be unwelcoming but it's hard to take her seriously when she's blushing from being embarrassed at having been startled. She'll huff and stick her nose up in the air and dramatically storm off in an effort to save face and as she's walking away Fiddleford calls out-

"Stop by again sometime Pacifica!"

And she stops, whirls around and snaps-

"As if old man!"

But despite her saying that, Fidds once again finds her coming back around. And he humors her, getting reactions out of her and finding her amusing instead of intolerable. This continues on and then before Pacifica and Fiddleford realize it, he's invited her inside and they continue their strange friendship. Fiddleford learns that Pacifica's pretty smart and kind despite her snarky and uppity attitude. She just hides it beneath a mask of "I'm better than everyone."

And Pacifica learns that Fiddleford isn't just the crazy town weirdo. Instead he's a genius and to her surprise, beneath his somewhat timid, polite, nature he's got a dry sense of humor and hidden snark under the surface. He's also incredibly sharp and keeps it up his sleeve as his ace.

They bond over the snark and jabs, and they teach each other things without realizing it and for awhile it's this tentative thing till one day Pacifica shows up on Fiddleford's doorstep. Looking miserable and red eyed and Fidds he doesn't hesitate to bring her inside, his dad alarms kicking in much like how they do with Tate. He doesn't say anything, and she doesn't explain it. But an unspoken barrier has been crossed and neither of them mind. They don't knowledge it, mainly for Pacifica and her refusing to do so.

But Fidds doesn't mind it. In a way she reminds him of his son, with the way she handles things. Pacifica would tell him in her own time, and Fiddleford was more than patient with her taking her time.

Afterwards they're basically in a strange mentor/mentee/paternal/unspoken adopted daughter kind of deal.

[crow-caller]

started playing fallen london cause of your blog and i absolutely love it! Thank u :)

Excellent!!! If I have any power, let it be used to get people to play fallen london and its related games (sunless seas, sunless skies = Survival exploration, mask of the rose = visual novel)

[theres-whump-in-that-nebula]

Why does “Dark Woods Circus” have to be so hard to sing

[solar-nightengale]

@lizardthelizard You wanted my thoughts, you're getting them 😏 Three and a half weeks later but you're still getting them ehehehe 😌😌😌 (Idk what to make of them so have fun with that word wall of mayhem)

August 2.18 | Zelena 3.16

[screampied]

#TRYNA FUCK ME I'M LIKE OKAY! g. suguru

☆ sum. suguru geto wasn’t used to losing a race, especially to a fucking rookie—but you’ve got him confused, intrigued, and… hard? long story short, ever since he hit it he’s never been the same.

wc. 6.8k

warnings. fem! reader, street racer! geto, pwp, unprotected, 2 fast 2 furious references, bratty reader, rivals to lovers ( ? ), geto has a dīck piercing, big size kink, riding, he fucks you on the hood of your car, cunnīlingus, sore loser geto gets humbled lel, overstim, squīrting, dirty talk, praise, petnames.

an. chase atlantic inspired me again </3 same au as this one.

second fucking place. he got second place and he lost to you, a newbie—the newest racer with the prettiest trendy wheels, flashy rims, and a hot pink 2001 honda s2000. stupid, stupid, the reality of losing left a sour taste in geto’s mouth. he can’t remember the last time he’s lost, ever. .

the moment he saw your car bolt in front of him at those last few milliseconds of the race with fiery pink smoke coughing from your steel pipes dusting near his front window, he just knew he lost to you. geto scoffs. “tch,” he’d mumble, slamming his car door shut, and releasing the straps of his custom-made helmet. you leaned against your slick hood, innocently fanning yourself with a pamphlet of the track’s course layout that was given to every racer before glancing at geto. he was quite tall and he looked down at you with a look of intrigue and bitter annoyance. “cheater.”

“excuse me?” you raise a brow. you knew damn well who he was, suguru geto—one of the if not the best street racer in tokyo. notorious for his wins and extremly cocky ego - except this time, your win against him bruised that little detail a bit. a small grin spreads across your glossed lips before your eyes rove up and down his dark leather ripped clothes. “you said somethin’?”

“you heard me, sweetheart,” he utters, bringing a gloved hand up to his face. doing so, geto tucks his sticky black tresses back inside his helmet. he’s so close, that he practically has you cornered against the hot hood of your car and his eyes stare at the medal that’s pinned near the left side of your chest. that gold medal that was supposed to be his. “besides,” and you nearly gasped once you felt your rear tap against the front of your vehicle. “your ‘riding’ could use a ‘lil work, rookie.”

you saw the look in his eyes. he’s challenging you, geto sees you as a potential threat and he wasn’t fond of losing.. ever.

it just wasn’t in his vocabulary.

you don’t know why but beating one of tokyo’s top street racers made cocky pride swell right up in your chest. the same kind of cocky pride that he was used to, and damn were you a force to be reckoned with. he just had to learn that the hard way.

“do i?” you reply, reaching an arm inside of your car to twist the keys out of the ignition. with a roaring sputtering growl, your engine gradually turns off and the sounds of whirring wind fill the air.

geto’s got his hands buried in his pockets as his tall lean body stands still. he’s checking you out.

his head slightly tilts to the side with his helmet cracked open and you can feel his eyes trailing up your entire physique.

he’s studying you - trying to figure out just who this pretty girl that just dusted him in a race.

you’d be lying through your teeth if you didn’t idolize him just a little bit. he was well known not just in tokyo but worldwide. the fangirls loved him, and the racers despised him with envy.

beating the suguru geto was a rare fever dream of itself.

“or are you just upset you’re not in the spotlight for once?” brat.. though your comment made him scoff with a sly smile curling against his thin lips.

“mm. for a new racer you sure have a smart mouth,” and his eyes quickly dash toward your car.

hot pink, it even looked freshly new and painted. and just to put the icing on the cake, it also has a pretty character design painted near the sides with the addition of a cheetah print wheel.

he lost to . . that?

geto’s quietly admiring your ride though—it looked like it was straight out of a movie. once he looks down at you again, he speaks in a gruff intimidated tone, finishing his sentence. “it’s only your first win, don’t be cocky.”

“i’ll be cocky if i want,” you murmur, and there’s a loud competitive tension between you both.

people started to leave the car meeting spot until it was just the two of you. your car’s parked near one of the garages where geto’s car was coincidentally parked also. you’re still leaning against the pink hood of your car before walking up to him. you close the awkward distance between you both, being just a few inches apart.

you’re bold, and he liked your spunk although he’d never flat-out admit it.

just . . . who were you?

geto didn’t like losing—that’s already been established. but now, he’s starting to realize he probably has to deal with you in future races, and oh- he knew you were gonna be a problem.

and he was right, because perhaps he’d finally met his match.

“besides, even if i did cheat,” you retaliate, your tone sounding more and more coy and foxy. playfully, your arms wrap around his shoulders and you tap against his sheer black helmet that had ‘s. geto’ autographed in bold purple near the other shell. vexed, mousy eyes glare at you through the protective gear and you lean up all the way close. “what are you gonna do about it, suguru?”

famous last words,

because one moment you’re being nothing but a mere brat and the next, you found yourself bent over the hood of your pretty blush-colored honda.

well, fuck.

suguru geto didn’t take disrespect lightly . . although, he liked the brat in you. a nice change of pace, even though it pissed him off a bit - a lot.

“s- shit,” you gasp, feeling your thighs squeeze together. geto’s domineering aura sends you chills, the kind of chills where it runs through your entire soul.

he’s so close that you could almost taste his loud cologne on your tongue. it’s a manly scent, you’d probably guess one of the main ingredients was oak moss. as you’re pondering deep in thought, still trying to get over his loud smell—a hand gingerly starts to brush down your skimpy lace-up chaps.

his touch felt good. . and sure, maybe you’ve fantasized about this exact moment once or twice while watching his races broadcasted on live television. geto’s pressed up against you as you’re idly hunched over, biting your lip. with a huff, you’re so close to your tinted window that you were practically having a staring contest with your rosy windshield wipers. “aw. you planned to spank me over my car?”

“not exactly, pretty girl,” he tsks with a clicked tongue, and that’s when you feel it. something poking against your rear — oh, he was hard.

it was something hard and you don’t quite think it was his helmet..

that couldn’t have been anything else other than a raging boner, and it makes you smugly hum. geto groans once he feels your ass wriggling against his skin-tight leather jeans. “think you’re funny, yeah girl?”

“a bit,” you utter in a breathy tone, feeling his fingers zig-zag down the exposed straps of clothing that reveal a bit of skin. you didn’t mind his touch - in fact, you only wanted more.

the inside of the garage was widely spacious—big enough to fit your car and geto’s iconic skyline gtr. it’s a gorgeous midnight dark purple that glimmers in the dead of night, akin to a raven’s wings.

with the garage lot being empty, it was just the two of you, the witching hour steadily approaching. all that could be heard was the occasional squawks and chirps of squaking birds and loud cars honking near the far distance by the freeway. as he’s still got you pinned over, you bite your pointer finger with a cheeky hum. “hilarious even.”

but, you don’t find anything funny moments later when the street racer’s tongue is shoved right between your splayed, plush thighs.

not at all, in fact- the only ‘words’ that came from your mouth were babbling inaudible whimpers, and he made sure you’d eat your sentences… just like he’s eating out your first place cunt like the starved man he was.

with widened eyes and a stretched jaw hanging open, you stare back with a hand on your ass, giving your skin a soft squeeze. geto grunts, on his knees as you’re hauled right over your pretty decorated hood.

hell! you figured he’d ask to rematch but this..

it seemed like all he wanted to do was take out his loss on your pussy… with his second-place tongue.

and that’s just what he does too.

not that you were even complaining—suguru geto was a nasty man to no one’s surprise. he’s nasty on the road and he’s even nastier with his tongue recklessly driving up and down your slobbering twitching cunt.

you feel a crooked nose sloooowly drag its way like a trail against your entrance. geto starts near the bottom and then makes his way up, making sure to have his button nose dripping with your mess. letting off a sweet whimper, it doesn’t take long before he’s starting sucking against your swollen clit.

“hng,” a needy whine dashes from your throat, and you can already feel a shaking judder spasm between your legs. geto’s unapologetically sloppy with his mouth too. as he’s repeatedly flicking the pointed pink tip of his tongue in crazed different directions, a throaty hiccup leaves from your glued lips. “fuuck, do you usually mhm--do this to your opponents who hah, beat you?”

“only the ones with the smart fuckin’ mouths,” he replies with a quickness, taking a moment to spit right on your sticky cunt. it’s a loud ‘ptui’ and it’s a filthy slimy trail that dribbles past his lips, polishing near the creasing crevices of his mouth.

a rubber-gloved hand snakes toward the crack of your pried open thighs and he spanks your pussy, causing a cute shrieking squeal to leave out your strained cords. “also, a reminder again. you didn’t beat me. i let you win. big difference.”

“s- sure,” you sheepishly moan, feeling vapid air circle around you both.

the night was eerily and silently dead—you swallowed thickly, praying no one would see you bent over your flashy pink hood getting eaten out by one of the most famous street racers in the world. although, the thought of getting caught made you throb in a way you didn’t think it would.

he’s mean with his tongue.

geto was competitive in everything he did, including with how he ate it.

your strapped pants were pulled down along with your panties lazily sticking toward the side of your feeble quaking thighs.

within minutes his jaw would angrily ache, growing slack and locking from how it was reaching soreness - but he didn’t care.

if he didn’t win his race, the least he could do was win by eating you out…right?

geto’s designer mauve-colored helmet probably costed thousands and rests near the side of him. he took it off before he started to feast himself between your sprawled legs.

through hazed doe-like peripherals, you stare at it and admire the designs that paint across his visor.

everywhere, there’s writing and designs—and again, you spot his famous autograph that’s nearly written near the side. typical, of course, he’d autograph his helmet.

he’s suguru fuckin’ geto.

regardless though, you’re still nothin’ but a whining mess though, and as he continues to eat you out, you let off a sweet ‘ooh!’ as soon as he bites near your pearly clit.

it’s soft and tender, but it still makes you babble out a sobbing moan. his teeth gently nibbled against your pussy . . . leisurely slithering his tongue between your flooding flaps.

so good, each time you hear the wet smacks from his lips, you can hear geto huskily groaning out satisfying ‘mmmh’ ‘s.

it’s a feeling that makes your legs stagger within the firm hold of his hands. geto’s still wearing his gloves and each time the stretchy rubber rubs onto your skin, you moan. “fuck, fuckk,” you whine, and he’s groaning right against your sobbing cunt. his hair’s pinned back into a high messy ponytail - a few ravened strands running down the sides of his face. pretty long lashes of his were closed as he was slurping you clean.

so damn sweet . . . he wonders why he’s never seen you on the track until now. well- you were new. maybe he has seen you, but geto’s never been one to pay attention.

either way, you were a meal he didn’t wanna stop tasting, ever.

and despite the bitter taste of defeat continuously lingering on his flat tongue even still . . your cunt sprinkled a bit of flavor to it, an aftertaste of vying rivalry . .

“mmph,” he grunts, feeling you push him further into your cunt with one hand. with a twist, you turn your torso just a bit to look down at him, bringing his face further. geto’s slick wet tongue slides across your nub before he’s sloppily thrusting it in and out of your weeping flowery entrance.

you whimper once he reaches that spot, feeling a sudden heave of a breath snatch its way out from your puffed lungs. geto’s dark brows amusingly knit together and he’s already nose deep—the hooking bridge that smears against your pussy makes you nearly wail out a needy weep.

he’s smearing his face everywhere, and wet splotches of your juices started to coat his clear face.

but he doesn’t mind - geto’s always been one to get a ‘lil dirty during a match.

two slack lips munch against your clit wholly before his lengthy tongue reaches toward your winking hole. “pff,” he clicks his tongue, letting off another husky groan once he feels the tint in his pants arises.

fuck, you made him hard—even more, now that he was eating you out.

the louder you were, the more his dick twitched underneath the rough fabric of his jeans. it’s almost painful- the way his hardened bulge prods its way against the leathery fabric makes him suck his teeth. he needs you.

geto’s lips remain glued against your cunt before he uses a gloved thumb to peel your pudgy sweltering folds apart just a biiiit more.

his tongue creates a downward slope that trickles its way below your clitoral hood that’s frantically throbbing right in his mouth.

ba dum, ba dum, ba dum. . .

pulse pulse pulse after fucking pulse,

a smoky chuckle echoed from his lips as his shoulders slightly shake and fuck- it vibrates against your pussy. “god, she’s a ‘lil crybaby isn’t she,” he breathlessly mumbles as his thumb peels your soaked flaps all the way down. he’s intently staring inside, studying all the pretty nerves and your twitching nub before spitting right inside yet again.

airy cold breath fans over your nude slit and you whimper, feeling his tongue douse itself back inside. “were you drivin’ around this wet the entire time, princess?” and you moan, feeling the rubber of his palm smear a few circles around your clit. “drivin’ around, tryin’ to beat me with a pretty pussy this fuckin’ soaked?”

with a shivering whimper ghosting past your splintered lips, you snivel out a soft mewl.

“sugu—fuuuck, ‘m gonna cum,” and as your breath gets caught in your throat, you feel him grab a nice chunk of your ass.

at his very grip, he gives your rear a rude spank and the recoil makes him hum in amusement. so soft, the way it bounced just from his palm alone.

oh, and spanking you became his favorite thing to do, especially since you were so fucking noisy.

as a shrilling whine prepares to race out your strained esophagus, you nearly yank his head forward again, hearing him groan against your clit. “d- did you hear me? ‘m close, gonna cu—”

“yeah yeah girl, i heard you,” he swats your hand away, and the low grit that rumbles from underneath his tone makes you throb for the nth time.

geto brings a few digits up toward your cunt to rub against your runny folds, and he starts making out with your pussy - with tongue.

sloppy smacks slosh out from your crying folds and you gasp, feeling him impishly nip your clit with his teeth once more. “mmf,” and his eyes start to become low and hooded.

he’s pussy drunk, very much so.

geto eats you out until you’re abruptly coming undone on his tongue, letting off a sweet euphoric battle cry with your toes curling in your knee-high boots. fuck, and even as he’s savoring the syrupy taste that pours on his flat flushed tongue, he’s still eating you out.

with brief circular maneuvers of his tongue, he’s got you whimpering from the sensitivity. as a staticky twinge pulses through your pussy, your hand grabs at his hair hard, tugging near his roots, having to literally pry him apart.

your cunt was so sensitive, throbbing a plethora of pulses as your mouth fatally goes dry. “f- fuck,” you moan, and you can feel your legs stick together once they instinctively close shut.

“tsk. drama queen,” he soils his lips together that were now perfectly glossed from top to bottom with your juices.

oh, his chiseled chin was just shimmering with such sparkling sap that it even poured a stream down the lower part of his face. his tongue slides near the cracked corner of his right lip, and he’s just luxuriating at the treacly taste of you. if you tasted this good, maybe the second place wasn’t so bad after all. .

as he’s still lapping up his lips with a wolffish grin, geto notices you openly gawking at his bulge and he snickers, patting his fly with a gloved hand. “it’s rude to stare, sweetheart.”

“it’s rude to walk around with a bulge that big.”

“oh yeah? how ‘bout you fix that problem for me then, rookie?”

a brat, almost as much of a brat as you.

geto gets silenced once you slam your lips onto his, not even batting an eyelash that you’re tasting yourself on his tongue that’s swirling around yours.

it’s intense, you could feel your heartbeat start to match the exact pulsing pace from between your legs. his lips were icy, and you moaned—tasting a bit of mint that resides on his tongue.

his breath is freezing cold, it’s an almost sweet candied taste and you whine in his mouth once his hands start to roam up and down your body.

geto’s feeling you up- feeling up the pretty girl who just beat him in a race.

rough protected hands drag down your frame, taking in your curves before toying with the leather straps that droop against your pink lace-up chaps.

it’s as if even the kiss was far more competitive than the actual street race.

both desperately fought to win, swerving through each tongue like swerving lanes.

geto grunts, lightly pushing your ass back against the hood of your car. as tongues twist and tango in lewd unison, he seductively sucks on your pointed tip.

as geto’s eyes open halfway, you open yours, and he’s just staring at you with a look of feral - a carnal smug grin tweaking on each side of his lips.

“turn around again, pretty. hands on y’r hood like…this,” and once he spreads you apart, you moan once he rubs his bulge against the middle fabric of your pants. “good hah- messy girl.” his bulge was so damn hard, it felt like a brick.

the more he rubbed himself against you, the more your body ached and yearned for more.

oh..

his hands, geto kept his racing gloves on the entire time. as the stretchy rubber sensually crawls down your waist, you hear the jangling of his studded skull belt. with a few shuffles, he leans up close, pinning your hands behind your back like you were under arrest.

“just for the record again, you didn’t ‘beat’ me, you cheated,” and you scoff, feeling frigid air waft between your inner thighs. oh- here he goes again. talk about a sore fuckin’ loser.

“sur— mmph,” and he cuts you off, placing a gloved palm over your mouth.

“quiiiiet, you’ll get your turn to talk,” he cuts you off, and you let off a moan once you feel his bulbous tip smack against your sopping cunt.

it’s loud..

dozens of paps and squelches leave it right away and he plants a wet kiss near your exposed neck.

the rubs from his blushing reddened cockhead make loud noises that constantly replay through your empty mind.

“see? let her talk,” and you swallow thickly, feeling him use an extra hand to pry your legs apart further. clammy, big hands glue against the pink hood of your car before your tongue tastes the metallic fibers of his glove. “so eager. poor baby,” he coos against your ear, feeling you trying to swallow and gulp him down right away. your twitching pussy’s aching, and you can’t help the pathetic whimpers that hiccup from your lips. you even try to wriggle your ass but he rubs a hand underneath your clit. “aw, impatient are we? what’s the sayin’, princess? slow ‘n steady wins the race?”

‘okay…but i beat you,’ was what you were saying in your head… but you sort of forgot his hand was covering your mouth. duh girl.

“mmph—” you let off a muffled moan against the palm of his hand, trying to wriggle your ass against him harder.

geto lowly groans and then you groan, feeling what was a piercing that attaches toward his pre-creamed dewy frenulum. geto strokes himself a bit, fisting his cock. with hooded, jaded eyes, he watches his loose skin peel back before arising up again and he hisses. the frenulum perfectly hooks itself over his tip, and oh- how you wished you could have seen it.

you couldn’t see but, fuck did you feel it.

you’re so wet, your swollen pussy lips resemble a blossoming flower as he spreads you apart with two scissoring rubber fingers.

his dick piercing almost tickles once it starts to rub against you some more. he swipes it all against your clit, teasing it near your opening before pulling it right back out. “fuck,” you whine once he finally removes his palm from your mouth, glossy strands of your saliva coating the entirety of your hand. “h.. hurry up, suguru. ‘m gonna fall asleep at this rate.”

geto rolls his eyes, and that’s when with a semi-loud thud, your chest lands against your hood.

“oh please..” he murmurs, a brow twisting upward in annoyance. one of his hands still has its grip on your wrists and you bite your lip in anticipation.

geto’s tip leaked with creamy coating pre, and you felt remnants of it sprinkle against your entrance. with a raspy grunt, he drags his angered pierced crownhead down your drooling folds before roughly smacking it against your cunt.

more sloppy wet splats! of squelches spurt out from your folds as if it’s saying its own kind of lewd language and he grunts.

geto makes sure you’re arched over the hood of your car before whistling at your presented frame. “so damn…pretty,” and within seconds, he’s easing his way inside.

immediately, your eyes widen with your jaw collapsing down like earlier—fuck, he’s big.

from the countless times, you stared at his bulge, you figured as much. geto’s vast head had a rosy-pink tint of vermillion with how close it mirrored to being a pinkish red.

sucking in a greedy breath, he watches as he’s gradually disappearing inside of your cunt. his pierced dick made things even more sensitive, and you moan once you feel the piercing softly graze its way inside of your fluttering orifice.

pasty gummy walls welcome him, and now it’s his turn to bite his lip.

“hng, f- fuckin’ big,” you try to inhale a single breath, and he raises your leg just a bit. it now sits over your hood- and damn it, the angle he has was just brutal.

you just knew you were gonna feel him everywhere.

geto’s obelisk-like girth was wide ‘n fuckin’ tall, you felt him fully and the shaft ring that’s on top of his top continues to kiss against your sensitive throbbing nub.

prince albert to be specific!

it decorates his tip perfectly, making sure to tickle inside of you as he’s feeling you clamp down. “shiiiit,” you slur out your words in a mere whiny syllable, gasping at the curved column of his fat dick search through your walls like a maze. he’s expanding through you and you can’t help but part your lips, squealing before letting off a cute, ‘ooohh!’

your hand prints stick against the pink-stained hood of your car due to the insane amounts of perspiration and you whine once he gives you one biiiig thrust.

just one- and ah!

it rocks your world - literally.

you let off a cute squealing shriek, your legs shimmying a bit from his pressed-up weight.

“atta girl, bare ‘round me, good girl—fuck,” and the warmth you envelop his dick with makes him groan. your pussy was clingy, already so eager to devour him whole.

within a few punctuated thrusts to start, geto’s finally fucking you and each vigorous piston of his honed snatched hips makes your crossed eyes roll back in needy rapture.

his hands now stick toward your sides and you’re just whimpering from his size over and over again.

weighty inches pound into you at full speed, giving you whiplash every time as he impales your sweet greedy cunt. “fuck, mhm,” you bawl a fist against your car, gritting your teeth. riiiight there, the moment his tip smooches its way against that pretty bullseye spot, it’s over. there, he locates a spongy texture with the mushroomy pierced crown of his cock and it earns out a sobbing whimper from you. “ahng! right there, fuck. faster, there sugu.”

“right there, fuuuuck. faster there, sugu,” he mocks your whiny babbles, fully exaggerating.

to hell with him, you didn’t even sound like that but oh, did he enjoy getting on your nerves. just like you did- cute.

geto’s hefty sack smacks back against you from each nudging thrust he creates with his hips. every time, it makes him groan at how your body cutely slams back against him. with how sharp your ass pounds on his dick, those pretty wet sounds singing straight from your cunt- a sound way better than screeching tire wheels. “god, so fuckin’ warm. hah, squeezin’ all around me,” and as his irregular breathing patterns pick up, he leans in to kiss a slope down your neck. “bend over just a bit more- hah. there we go, m- my good girl.”

as your chest continued to lie flat down against your car’s hood now—he’s got you at such an angle to where you feel his cock expand everywhere.

it reaches every depth and rummages through every open orifice or just about near it. “oh my god!” you whimper out, hearing the sloppy sounds of your cunt whistle through the silent night. geto’s hitting you deep, slamming his keen hips into you with such rhythm, and each time he does, your brain short circuits.

tiny invisible stars circle and float over your head as you’re completely dumbfounded, thinking about nothing but how big his cock is and the way his pierced tip just plummets its way in and out of your drooling cunt.

speaking of drooling—you were starting to drool from the slit cracks of your mouth. you couldn’t help it- his dick was out of this world, and maybe you were exaggerating but fuck, you didn’t want him to stop. ever.

geto’s hastily rearranging your insides with just a few inches and it felt oh so good.

it was so good that you forgot the two of you raced together. you forgot about street racing as a whole, and instead, he had you dumb from his dick. “biiiiig fuckin’ stretch baby,” he’d grunt, starting to witness viscid stringy strands glue against each slapping thighs. geto’s dick slips out for a minute and he groans, gradually sliding himself back in.

it’s a sloppy ‘pop’ that rings between your cunt and it’s cute. you were wringing him dry, and with how wet you were, it wasn’t exactly helping things.

geto’s hot breath brushes against the open part of your neck before he gives your ass another playful swat. “fuck, that’s it. fuck back against me, don’t get lazy, uh huh. work those hips baby, f- fuck.”

as you weakly try to sway your ass into him to coordinate in sync with his crazed hips, he holds you in place—pumping inch after inch into you.

his cock sheaths inside between your syrupy-coated pussy almost effortlessly, and you let off a melodic moan the second his tip starts making out with your g-spot.

the pierced bulbous head dared to french kiss against there—making you writhe around him, on the verge of losing composure. you don’t think you’ve felt more sensitive than ever.

geto’s silvery dick piercing probes up and down your pearly clit every few seconds and he grunts at the gripping friction. “suguru…..fuuuck!” and as your words start to get bouncy, more sweet whimpers rose out of your sore throat. “more, more.”

“ungh,” he purses his lips together as he feels your cunt hungrily swallow his cock from top to bottom. with a rough pound, your ass smacks against his base—right near his tender plump testes and he groans.

such power-

even geto’s stunned for a moment, and his head throws itself back. the air surrounding you both starts to feel thick as smoke, and his eyes glance at your exposed backside that’s oh-so-pretty while arched.

all for him, and him only.

geto’s hips were simply maddened, and even he didn’t care about the race anymore.

well actually, maybe he did a little..

your pussy was brimmed with cock — sooo full, and you felt yourself starting to pant quicker and quicker. it’s as if you were having a literal street race with your breathing. geto’s getting lost inside of you, and it’s only a matter of time before his hips turn wildly sloppy.

gloved hands still reel you back into him as he’s breaking sweats within each long millisecond that passes. “pheww,” he’d wipe a sheet of sweat off his forehead, veins bulging in his beefy tatted arms. the drenching grip you had on his dick had him craving more…more of you.

the stoutness of his shaft jackhammers inside of your walls repeatedly until you’re on the verge of breaking yet again. geto grunts, the loud quick snap of his hips bringing him back to reality every time he’s about to go into another fantasm.

“fuuuck, ‘m gonna cum,” his words come out in a quiet rasp, and he claws a hand near the back crown of your head. “god,” his jaw tightens, and geto leans right up close to your neck, panting heavily against the outer shell of your ear. as long tangled tresses of hair freely cascade past his shoulders - all ruffled and messy from his helmet, he groans. “where do ya want it, sweetheart. tell m—”

“insideee,” you whine, barely giving him time to finish his husky words. your legs slightly raise against your headlight as it’s still stretched up and over.

geto’s still hitting you deep - so deeply good, swollen tip massaging every part of your clit and all. dozens of your toes curl up in erotic excitement as your tongue lolls out. you probably looked a sight. “inside, sugu, in- fuckin’- side.”

sassily smacking his lips together, he spanks you. “tch, dumb girl,” and the racer brings a hand to wrap around your neck. with a firm safe grip, his gloved thumb caresses a trail up your neck before he drills into you much quicker.

each snap of his hips draws out harmonic whines from you, gargled moans following out of your throat shortly afterward. the burn that’s twinging near the undersides of his thighs grows more and more intense before he geto lets out a guttural growl.

so……damn….. wet..

your flooding cunt’s slathering all over him, dripping near his base and he can’t help but snicker. “hah, fine. better hold still though.”

“fuck,” you whimper in response, feeling his sharp hips pound into you at such a pace. his rhythm was insane and there was no way in hell you could match his pace.

when it came to geto’s speed- yeah, you’d always lose. sure, you may have won today but when it came to his cock- you were losing with the hasty speed of his hips drilling into you at such miles per fuckin’ hour. .

as his turgid fat tip gives its final thrusting pumps inside of your cunt, geto’s body starts to violently shudder.

oh.. you were about to wring him dry. with a mewling slosh sound leaving the front your folds, you gush out yet again.

but at the same time…. so does he.

geto’s head remained tossed back with his round adam’s apple bobbing out of his throat. gnawing in the inside of his squishy cheek, he lets off a low grunt. his abs cockily flex through the white tee that tucks underneath his half-on leather jacket.

geto pulls out though, and it’s quick like the flash. he doesn’t finish inside to your devastated surprise, and a downturned pout forms on your lips. he huffs, watching such creamy-white amounts gush ‘n goo out in ropes and he sprays it on the outside of your pussy.

“damn,” he murmurs, feeling the awkward needy fidget of your hips. cute. darkened eyes remain on you the entire time and he grabs ahold of his veiny cock, aligning hit pierced tip against your pearled throbbing clit. “heh.. ain’t that a pretty sight,” and he smears it all against your pasty-creamed entrance.

now . . it’s painted with his color, white.

and geto came a lot because it’s still trickling out in ribbony globs, filthily oozing from the thick girthy sides and all like an erupted volcano. his teeth get caught by his quivering bottom lip as he watches such immoderate ropes of cum leave out of him. “such a- hah, messy girl,” and as he’s still lathering his sloppy seed that’s pouring out, sticking wads of splotches between the heat of your thighs, geto squeezes your ass. “awww,” he huffs breathily, noticing a few ivory stains splattered near the pink bumper of your car. “oops. might wanna clean that, sweetheart.”

hours passed . . many hours, and to say that you got fucked stupid was merely an understatement.

suguru geto had the stamina equivalent to a toyota supra MK4. his horsepower was his hips- with the added addition of his cock driving in and out of you.

but oh- you knew he wouldn’t be running out of gas soon.

or would he?

so. . many rounds, geto had you questioning your insanity the entire time, all because of his dick. if it was one thing he knew how to do, it was to fuck.

whether it involved his tongue or not, he knew how to make you feel good. it was one of the many things he excelled at, truly.

the only thing that got in the way was his cocky smug ego. every few seconds, he’d boast and remind you for the umpteenth time that your win was an unruly cheat, a hoax, or that he just couldn’t see the finish line because of your pink fucking smoke.

of course, geto didn’t say that part, that would have been him admitting that he lost the race and his pride couldn’t let him admit that he lost fair in square—

but your pussy could.

“hngh,” he falls back against your front cottony plus seat. geto grunts with a scowl entrapped in his thoughts. you pushed him - the audacity.

both of you were still sensitive but you had a tiny trick up your sleeve. “got some.. nerve,” and with low-dropped eyes, he watches you align yourself on his swollen pierced tip yet again.

he’s soft-flaccid, and he was pretty ran down. maybe now, geto was finally starting to run out of gas. with sweltering reddened lips smearing together, he watches you pick back up his expensive helmet, putting it over your head. “oh, gonna ride me while wearing my helmet, yeah? do your wors— oh.. fuck.”

his priggish words come to a not-so comedic halt the moment your cunt slams down on his cock. geto was still sensitive and he slouches back against your programming warming seat, dark eyes rolling back.

“goddamnnn,” and as your hips swerve around in circles identical to 360 car donuts, he sees you touching yourself while wearing his helmet. “fuckin’ brat—god.”

“aw,” you mock the exact faux caring tone he did to you earlier, making him touch you by bringing his shaky rubber hands toward your chest. geto’s fingers feel against the cropped top you wore, squeezing at your jiggling neglected breasts. “c’mon, sugu. i gotta guide your hands now too?”

“tch, shut up,” he groans, his heavy-sunken base sticking near your skin. dried splotches of cum glue against your sheeny ass as your hips continue to whirl ‘n rotate. you were unpredictable—you moved and jerked while he sat there with the most pussy drunken expression. geto lowly grunts, already feeling his balls starting to tighten up. he was trying to stop a sleazy grin from forming and oh.. was your cunt just making it impossible. “shit, ‘m not gonna last. s- still fuckin’ sensitive…. fuuuckk.”

the pink honda’s loud grumbling engine resounds through the echoey walls of the isolated garage with only the sounds of sheer skin slapping and a mixture of grunts following afterward. without thinking, you lift his helmet off of you, leaning in to kiss him and he returns the gesture almost right away.

geto’s lips were a tad bit delayed once they pressed onto yours. its a small yet cute detail- how he’s so pussy drink that he could barely crash his lips onto yours. as he’s moaning from your hands feeling on his burly tatted arms, his tongue sloppily delves into your mouth with no rhythm whatsoever.

maybe you were crazy, but you think you heard a whimper leave from his lips as he tried to nibble on your tongue. geto grunts, feeling that same pressure from earlier build up and fuck.. you were about to make a mess out of him . . . again!

his dick stills itself inside of you and his hands continue to roam down your body, further and further away from your jostling bouncy tits. “fuck ‘m cumminggg,” he’d moan between sultry kisses as stringy strands of saliva entangle with one another.

wetly, they form a web of sheeny lustrous cobwebs. geto’s foot rests against your bedazzled hard brake pedal before within seconds, he cums again.

this time, inside.

but it’s different this time- so so different.

it feels tenderly warm..

such hot gooey amounts dribble inside of you, spraying further inside your precious womb and you hum at the feeling.

his pierced cock fitting real nice and snug inside and you moan into his mouth, cocking your head in different directions as you trap his lips with another steamy kiss. “mmph.” a muffled whimper gets caught against your lips and you can already start to feel the whiteish searing ropes of fresh cum trail down the insides of your thighs. geto feels you slowing down on his lap—still buried balls deep, and he grunts in defeat..

soon, embarrassment overtakes him once he realizes how early he finished.

it’s a lot, again.

a thick load splatters heavily inside and past the inner lining of your cunt and he’s shivering underneath you. once you finally break away from his lips, your eyes meet his.

geto’s staring back at you, and you don’t see that cocky sly look in his eyes that everyone else sees.

right now, he looks…needy, and you think you broke him.

“what . . ?” he grouses, his hands still attached to your waist. his grip- it was gentle and tender a rubber thumb softly caressing down your curve. geto wasn’t ready for you to leave the garage, at least not yet.

“say it, pretty boy,” you whisper, pressing a kiss near his chin. your touch - it drove him mad.

never in a million years would he, suguru geto- have thought he’d get humbled by a rookie . .

humbled by you.

geto’s shooting straight daggers at you, but you can tell how flustered he is because he breaks eye contact a second later. you’re making him nervous, the same feeling he was making you at first when you had your first encounter with him.

as geto’s still warmly buried inside, he grunts once you take it upon yourself to softly wrap a hand around his throat.

oh- you were a mere tease, mimicking his exact movements from earlier. slightly wide-eyed and all, geto stares at you. and as he does—there’s that familiar glimpse of brattiness glimmering in his irises again.

you fucking turned him on..

“heh, f- fine then,” he stammers, heaving every few seconds to catch his irregular breaths. his body felt like it was on empty. no more gas left in him and that same cunning grin that plastered on his lips slowly started to fade.

geto’s not so cocky now, and in fact— he lets off a soft quiet whimper once you start to grind against his lap.

shakily, his hand squeezes your ass before finishing his sentence in a shaky defeated rasp.

“you . . fuckin’ win, sweetheart,” and you let off a sweet gasp once a loud smack! interrupts the moment, his hand swatting against your ass. “mhm,” geto grunts, “didn’t s- say stop. finish ridin’ me, sweetheart,” and his gloved finger swirls itself inside of your stuffed full cunt before pulling it right back out.

again, he’s filthy.

and even while being in such a state, geto brings his fingers up to his lips, slowly poppin’ them into his mouth before tasting the concoction mixture of both bittersweet messes. your syrupy cum and his.

quickly, he presses the tips of his rubber fingers toward his uvula, before staring at you with a greedy smug expression. he’s panting harshly, still trying to get over how you just outrode him literally, and he laps up his fingers right in front of you.

geto reclines your seat back a bit as you still straddled him, and he gives your ass its final spank before tiredly huffing,

“best- two out of three, what do ya say, r- rookie?heh..”

[little-miss-dilf-lover]

more 18+ LOGAN HOWLETT thoughts bc clearly im a big fat fucking liar

fem!reader, 583 words

Early morning sex is one of Logan’s favourites. There’s no rush, no haste – nothing. The rest of the world quiet, as if it's only the two of you up. 

He’d often be cuddling into you from behind, arm like a dead, sleeping weight around your middle. His hand in a protective hold under one of your tits, keeping you there with your back to his burly chest. It’s rather comfortable.

And as his eyes begin to open, adjusting to the dawn sky through the gap of the curtain, he notices something between his legs causing him anguish. Thick, naked cock rock hard against the cheek of your ass, the little sleeping, unknowing motions of you only furthering that agony.

He nuzzles his face into you from behind, chin hooking on the nape of your neck as he presses soft, light kisses into your cheek – trying to ease you awake. And when you inhale, the sound prolonged and sleepy, he only tempts you further: running the scruff of his beard over your bare shoulder, lips pressing faintly into the side of your throat.

“Got something I want you to take care of, sugar,” he whispers, voice low and gruff beside your ear. His hand on your tit beginning it’s gentle kneading, again, like he was trying to coax you. Pushing it even further by saying your name in that deep, manly way he often does.

You nestle your head back into him, humming in a way as if to show your intrigue. Your half-asleep self silently asking him to elaborate. And when he takes the hint, his grasp around your breast loosens, instead moving down to your stomach – large fingers brushing over your warm, bare skin. 

The trail continues, his touch moving down to between your thighs, the thickness of his wrist acting like a wedge betwixt your legs. His middle finger instinctively extends downwards, the tip of it running between the lips of your pussy, the action like a gentle, momentary warm up.

And so, he leaves that spot just below your clit, reaching his hand behind you —to the front of him— and to his cock. Fingers wrapping around his base, fist faintly pumping over his dick as if to ready himself – simultaneously guiding his head towards you from behind.

He teases you briefly with the tip as he lines up, swirling and circling himself around your entrance before sinking into you. The remnants of last night’s dirty affairs acting like a natural lubricant.

He stills, using his cock like a plug as if to allow you a moment to adjust – accommodate him once again. But it was like muscle memory, the walls of your pussy stretching and wrapping around him, drawing more of him in. 

“Fuck,” he groans, the sound cutting his curse short. He wraps his arm back around your middle, hand finding itself tucked under your tit –like his prior sleeping position– using your body for stability as he begins to slowly rock into you. 

Your eyes close as you melt into him, posture softening against his chest, grip loosening around his thick wrist. He inadvertently mirrors you, the tenseness in his shoulders dissipating as he rests his head back on the pillow – relaxing into you the way you do him. 

Like it all required no effort. The unrushed, irregular wind of his hips into you from behind letting you both feel just enough, each of you still far too sleepy for it to be anything more than this.

I rewatched DOFP for him last night. massive mistake. cried myself to sleep

[inknopewetrust]

𝐎𝐟 𝐌𝐚𝐢𝐝𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐌𝐚𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐧𝐬

summary: after facing embarrassment from Aegon’s intrusive visit, Sylvi helps Aemond find attraction with someone closer to his own age. [aemond x fem!reader] [wc: 5.0k]

warnings: 18+ minors dni, smut, p in v, oral (m receiving), hand job, fingering, voyeurism/exhibitionism, aemond’s abuse by her is not tolerated here 🙂‍↔️, HotD themes.

quick links: masterlist | gif credit: @seaside-storm

The sounds of the Silk Streets in the early hours of morning were not for the faint of heart.

You had grown accustomed to them over the years of your residency—the noises, the people, the actions and wants of those who seek the services of an establishment like the one Sylvi ran.

It was not your proudest achievement; not one you’d shout from the rooftops but one that kept the food on the table.

It wasn’t hard. It was sex. And you learned to enjoy it with what little freedom was left when the coins were tossed and your body was aching.

Between your fingers one of those coins twirled absentmindedly as the curtains of your bedding swished at the retreat of your latest payer. There were seldom benefits from the occupation you took up yet the pay, after years of understanding and learning, had grown exponentially.

And the coin that tossed between your fingertips was enough to put food on the table for a few days; enough to buy a dress or to get passage to another town.

It was a reward for service you did not mind.

Sylvi had taught you what you needed to know. How to move, how to pleasure. She helped you determine what felt good and what would feel unpleasant to both you and a partner.

But she had her transgressions far beyond the positive.

One of them stalked the building in a fume.

The laughter that had propagated such anger left an hour ago but the remnants of the jesters stuck heavy in the air. They opened curtains and made spectacles of the givers and the receivers; they stared too long at you in the nude to make you feel at ease.

In the distance, you heard your name called yet you continued to flip the coin.

Aegon, the King as he was now, was no friend to the servants of pleasure. You consider yourself fortunate that he never sought you—as desirable, as insatiable, as you were.

It saved you from a world of hurt from a man as fickle as he was.

Although his reputation preceded him and the ire that still held itself like a cloud over the house was from his head, his brother, Aemond, was a welcome guest.

Though he too was someone you had not laid with either.

He had never lingered far from the woman of the house.

“Y/N.”

Said woman pulled back the curtain of your bed roughly. Against the pillows and covered in a robe the color of a midnight black, you lazily gazed at her.

“Did you not hear me call?” Sylvi asked impatiently. Her irritation was stinging.

“I was busy, Madame,” you responded loosely.

You arched your back and with it came cracks of relaxation. It felt good after being holed up in your bed for two hours.

“You know how Dornish men are,” you informed her. “That one was quite… spirited at this late hour.”

“What happy news for you,” she panned before nodding her head in the direction of her usual hideaway. “I seek a favor.”

“A favor?” You questioned with a mewl.

“It is for the one we do not speak of.”

Sylvi’s eyes gave you a warning. Aemond Targaryen… the one who fumed.

She had never asked for a favor regarding the Prince before and it intrigued you. It would fall a lie if you spoke of never having imagined what a man like him would be like in your bed.

He was a magnificent creature.

Tall and carved from the marble of a great sculptor, Prince Aemond was no stranger to the gazes of the pleasure folk. The way their eyes shined and pupils grew large, you were surely one of them.

It did not hurt that he was no more than the age you were now and had not yet taken a wife.

It was silly, however, to imagine a whore being the wife of a Prince. He had barely sparred you glances when he visited.

Dreams. That is all that it would remain.

“And you seek me?” You questioned, dropping the coin on your clothed stomach.

“I have a proposition for you,” she clarified. “One that will pay you well for your service.”

“The receiver is willing?”

“Yes.”

Her alcove was far nicer than yours.

Lavish with silken pillows and warm candlelight, it was near romantic if you forgot the circumstances of her actions. It smelt of lavender and oils; the kind she wanted throughout the establishment but could only create the corner she wanted here.

It was the first time you had been invited into the space.

Sylvi walked around you as you stood just inside of the curtains. She held the tassel of her robe between her fingertips, swinging it gently.

“We do not speak on what happens here, understood?” She asked you.

“I understand, Madame.” She nodded her head in approval.

“Good,” Sylvi affirmed.

On a ledge behind the bed, she grabbed a small sack of coins and tossed them to you. It landed with a jingle at the edge of the bed.

With delicate hands you grasped the strings and pulled open the bag to see coins worth the entire building. You dropped it, looking at Sylvi with wide eyes.

“T-This… this is far too much,” you scoffed.

“It is what the Prince offered,” she spoke as if the currency was nothing more than what the common folk paid.

There had to have been 10 gold dragons inside of the pouch.

The total jostled you.

You had long understood that the job you took on was ill-inspired. The money you had made was reasonable and never made you feel ashamed to take it.

But this… the currency enough to buy twenty horses; enough to buy a home or sail to Essos with no intention of returning… it did bring shame.

“And for such a currency what does the Prince expect of me? I will not be humiliated—“

“I have no intention of humiliating you.”

The voice cut through glass.

Behind you, with the curtains of Sylvi’s bedding swaying to a gentle close the man of her proposition appeared. You turned around with your mouth agape from the inability to finish your thoughts and as many mortals had before, your mind ceased its thoughts.

He was ethereal, otherworldly.

And he was fully nude.

You stuttered stupidly to greet him.

“P-Prince Aemond,” you managed. “I apologize. I did not intend to speak out of turn.”

He hummed, observing you as you did him. You straightened your back at the sensation. His eye piercing and cold—in a room basked in warmth he was not the bringer of it. Aemond let his mind roam the faults and perfections of your body and needn’t say what it was aloud.

He trusted Sylvi in a twisted way. If she said you were right for the job, surely she would not steer him wrong.

“So,” Aemond’s eye flicked to Sylvi. You took the opportunity to observe the blue gleam of the sapphire that filled the vacancy of his other.

“This is she?”

She introduced your name to him and his eye met yours.

“And the terms have been accepted?”

“They have, My Prince,” you spoke without hesitation.

“Aemond,” he clarified. “You are to call me Aemond.”

You tried his name on your lips and it was breathless. As his eye stalked your body, he took the initiative to take the step forward. The understanding of your willingness emboldened him to bury his brother’s words.

He was seldom humiliated but the reasons he flocked to Sylvi were different from the ones he sought from a willing companion: to release and forget.

Aemond approached you with soft steps and it was suddenly difficult to remember how to breathe. You held your breath, waiting, as his arm extended to you and his fingers brushed the fabric of your robe along your collarbones. He traced the skin with his fingers, along the edges of your robe as the delicate lacing became rough under his fingertips.

He was testing the waters.

You remained focused on his face as your heart rate began to increase. Every thump faster aligned with the draws of his fingers; long and nimble, softer than the men you were used to on days as long as these.

He was fluid and natural. There was no scared boy inside of him, but the hardened man he wanted the world to see.

Sylvi rounded her bed and you were reminded that she was still there as she looked at you.

“Touch her, Aemond. Touch her as you do in your dreams.”

At her command, his hand stilled. You half-thought her demands had sent him into a spiral of regret. Perhaps he would apologize for his lustful responses, scurrying away and back into the pit of dragon’s he came from.

Instead of listening to her in haste, he asked you a question.

“Where are you from?”

You were taken aback but remained stoic. Your job was to put on a performance no matter how surprising his words felt. No patron had ever asked you about, well, you.

You were nothing more than an orifice for their wanton needs.

“Honeyholt,” you responded quietly.

“Not far from Oldtown,” he commented, tracing the lace but never touching your skin. His hand grazed it until he reached the knot of your robe.

You shook your head, “no.”

“Did you enjoy it there?”

“It was far less exciting than King’s Landing.”

“May I?”

You had never had a patron ask permission before either.

You felt like a girl being dotted on. It was a strange feeling, one that had turned so drastically from a mere thirty minutes before—being treated like a doll to be thrown from one to be pampered… it was not what you were expecting.

“You may, Aemond.”

His finite hands worked the knot swiftly to let the robe fall open. When it did, he let it sit there for a moment as he took in the shape of your breasts underneath the fabric, he could see the mound of your pussy, and the way you stood completely still in wait.

He felt powerful when he normally felt meek.

Sylvi had been right. He did need this.

Aemond could feel the woman’s eyes behind him and whether they were on himself or you he would not know, but he felt them heavy.

He took his hands and pushed the fabric from your shoulders. It pooled around your feet in one push.

You breathed in deeply, nipples pebbling at the coolness now meeting you.

It was obvious, however, that your mere body was not enough to rouse him to hardness. If you spent anymore time watching him as he watched you, the sun would be up and his duties would call him away.

“Touch him,” Sylvi instructed you. “Do not be afraid.”

“I am not afraid,” you responded to her but did not look at her. She took a seat on her bed as you moved to stand toe to toe with Aemond.

“May I touch you?” You asked in the same voice of permission he had given you.

“You may,” and he said your name with a weight hearty on his tongue.

With his permission you reached for his right hand and placed it on your breast. His timidness was beginning to show through the hesitancy of his actions. The slow grip on your breast slowly became more comforting the more time he took.

“It’s alright,” you whispered as though Sylvi was not there and you were alone with the Prince. “You can touch me.”

You felt more pressure from his palm. Drawing your own hand to his chest, you began to feel the outlines of his muscles. Aemond was lean and fit, skinny but not sickly.

Each muscle was tense under your touch. He shuttered a breath through his nose and your hand recoiled in the slightest.

“I apologize,” he spoke as lowly as you had before. “I have not been with another in a long time.”

He had not been with another other than Sylvie in a long time, he meant.

“I can be slow, My Prince.”

“Aemond,” he corrected you.

“Aemond,” you said sheepishly in your forgetfulness.

“I do not need you to be slow.”

You nodded in reply and placed your hand back on his chest. You followed it down until you began to broach the zone in which your talents needed to please not only him, but Sylvi also.

If you were a disappointment, there would be no clothes nor food nor horses nor castles in your future.

“Then I will not go slow, Aemond.”

He hummed, intaking a breath as your fingers gently, kindly, fluttered over his cock. You looked up at him with your eyes hooded, eyelashes batting and he thought for an instance that no woman had ever looked at him that way.

Sylvi hadn’t and it awoke something with him.

You began to work him with your hand as he let his hand fall from your breast and brought it up to the back of your neck. He massaged the space briefly before holding onto you with a tighter grip.

In your hand he began to show himself to you. Growing in length, you licked your lips in anticipation and swallowed the bug that formed in your throat.

“Aemond,” you questioned as you stepped closer. You parted your legs to stand between one of his and he stopped you only by moving his other hand to grip your chin.

He could feel his heart beating out of his chest.

The feel of your hand on his cock was enthralling. So smooth and soft, gripping him in hardness at the right moments but never suffocating and never hurting.

“Yes?” He was near breathless.

You took his response with no words but a shifting of your hand. You left his shaft and snaked your hand to his balls, cupping them the best you could. His staggered breath brought a small, sly smile to your lips as he gripped your chin tighter and his eye narrowed.

“Would—“ in his grip, you could barely get words out. He changed his positioning to hold both sides of your neck. “Would you like to see what I can do with my mouth?”

“It would be a waste to not,” he grunted when your hand put pressure on his balls.

He released your neck and watched as you sank to your knees obediently. In your position, he was reminded of the good and pious that prayed to the Seven. Your eyes were so innocent but your mind wicked; your hands were pleasurable and your words soothing.

It was a change and it was working for him.

You sat with your knees apart, feet against your backside and heels digging into the flesh. You ran your hands down your body as he watched you delicately before running your hands up his legs and resting on his upper thighs.

Placing a soft kiss on one of his thighs, you worked yourself toward his member as it beckoned you. You grasped the base of his cock with your hand, placing a sweet kiss on his ever-swollen head.

You let saliva gather at the front of your mouth and let it dribble out and onto his cock before taking him with your mouth.

Aemond was heavy on your tongue. His warmth was sending electricity from your mouth to your core; you felt the throb of want begin to pool at your center. He took both of his hands and placed them at the top of your head but did not push. He did not force and he allowed you to escape when you needed to breathe.

But he was in another world.

Never had he been taken in such a way but his mind liked playing tricks. It was not his first and when he thought back on the times he had been pleasured as such it was not as enjoyable.

Yet, he forgot her stares and focused on you. A woman closer to his own age and one that had a system of morality of questions and seeking answers in regards to pleasure.

You took his extended gratitude and kindness and returned it with your own.

With every pull of your mouth, you filled the space with what your mouth couldn’t take with your hand. You squeezed at his base and it made him see stars. In your vision you could see him watching if you looked up.

How his blue gem gleamed at you…

As you turned your head and used your salvia and some of his pre-cum that began to leak to wet his shaft, you moaned at the sensation. It sent you tingling, drawing a hand away from his thigh; you brought it between your legs and began to rub circles on your clit.

The wetness gathered quickly. You shut your eyes as the two parts of you, mouth and cunt, were being used to your own delight. As you opened them again, Sylvi caught the corner of your eye.

She rubbed herself over her clothes and you halted. Hand retreating from your body in an instant; the salvia that had gathered landed on your thigh with a splat and your hand loosened what held onto him. Aemond let one of his hands fall loosely beside him as he looked up and kept focus on the wall in front of him.

He needed to change. He had asked her for this change for his own sake and it was time for it to happen.

“Sylvi,” Aemond muttered absentmindedly.

“Yes?” She prompted as if he were to ask her to join the two of you. Her tone made you nervous but he never let his other hand fall from your head.

She went to remove her own robe but he stopped her with a turn of his head.

“Leave us,” he commanded.

Slyvi paused her hands against her body, dejected at Aemond while her eyes bounced between the two of you.

You, your hand still on his cock and your lips barely kissing it. Him, with his hand on your head and mind completely taken by you.

“Aem—“

“Do I have to repeat myself?” He asked her calmly. His heart beat so fast at his strength. Never did he believe he’d be able to breakaway.

“No,” she rose from the bed and made for the entrance.

Your breath was hot on his dick when she stopped again. For one moment Sylvi waited for Aemond to call her back but she was met with silence; a heavy weight of agony as she stood there and received no reply.

It was her retreating footsteps that brought relief to your bones.

Aemond’s other hand returned to your head.

“I did not wish for her to watch us,” he informed you.

You looked up at him from your spot on the floor. Along your chin were remnants of spit or spent, he wasn’t certain. All the same, he took a thumb and gathered it from you. He brought the thumb to his mouth and sucked the gathering from it.

“I did not either.”

“Good,” he hummed. “Now get on the bed.”

You needn’t be asked twice.

Aemond refrained from touching you as you rose from the floor and sat on the bed. Once you were seated, he leaned down to grab your ankle and pushed back on your shoulder to lay down. The message was received quickly and you laid back and brought your other leg bent beside you.

You were completely at his mercy. Your walls clenched around nothing when he ran his hands over the skin of your legs. You extended your arms above your head; feeling the soft silk pillows and coolness of the sheets below your body. The sensations were overwhelming.

“I’ve never been with a woman like you before,” Aemond’s hands roamed further, pulling you down on the bed to meet his body but not entering you.

“And what kind of woman am I?” You sighed contently.

“A kind woman.”

“How do you know me to be kind?” You asked him.

One of his hands feathered the skin between your leg and lips. They grazed it again and this time, running his fingers through where you wanted him most. A selfless breath left your lips.

“Your eyes are kind,” he bent down to lay a kiss on your knee. “There are not many kind eyes here.”

He stuck one finger in, followed by another. Your hand reached for the pillows quickly, back arching at the sensation. You once thought his fingers to be long and nimble but they were much more. You felt them so clearly and cleanly.

They reached within your walls; touching the plushy skin as it grew in wetness and emitted slick sounds of pleasure.

Once he felt you were ready, he wanted to test his third finger.

“Gods,” you stuttered out as his third finger slipped in and it became so quick. He was running away with himself as the sight of your pleasure overtakes him.

“F-fuck.”

The words continued to fall from your lips as he picked up his pace. His fingers moved in and out, in and out, and then a rapid succession of moving them up and down. Your body trembled at the noises. The wet, squelching sound of a mess too far gone.

He may not have been as experienced as other men, but he had ruined you for all in the future.

“That’s it,” he whispered against your thigh again. He bent down to watch you writhe at his actions. “What do you need from me? Hm?” He asked.

“Nothing,” you panted. “Just you Aemond.”

“Just me?” He murmured. “What of my cock? Do you want to feel me inside of you? Finish inside of you?”

The idea sent you spiraling. You imagined how his cock would feel longer and thicker than his fingers. How it would plead against the spot to make you come undone.

“Yes,” you nodded. “I want to know what it feels like.”

He removed his fingers to grasp his length in his hands. Aemond pumped himself briefly before lining his head up with your entrance, gripping your hip as you stayed splayed before him.

And then he slid in.

Seldom could explain the moment but you had seen stars. You saw the galaxies spoken of by the Maester’s and worlds beyond your own. There was no feeling but him filling you so fully and totally.

He shut his eye. The blue sapphire still glittering in the light; Aemond saw peace grow with a gasp. Everything in his mind went blank with white noise. All he could hear was himself as he sheathed himself inside of your warmth with a simple push. He filled you until he could no longer.

It was sinful to feel so good.

He held himself there for a minute. You wanted to sit up, hold his body close to yours and feel his muscles contract under your touch but stay as pliant as possible.

Against your convictions, Aemond leaned forward and cupped your cheek with his hands. It was entirely intimate for a man you had just met.

But his touch lingered lifetimes. It was as if you knew him forever, and this singular moment was one of plenty.

Stilled inside of you, his thumb caressed your bottom lip.

“May I kiss you?” He asked promptly.

You moved your hips in a roll to urge him to move, wrapping your legs around his torso and arms around his shoulders. His lips brushed against yours.

He pulled his hips back and slowly slid himself back in.

You nodded your head the best you could against the sheets and he ticked at you. His nose nudged yours, your lips begging to be touched but he neglected them.

“No,” he cooed. “I need you to say it. Say you want me to kiss you.” Again, he slid out, back in and your hips met him there.

“Kiss me, Aemond. Kiss me, please.”

Pushing his cock deeper into you, your mouth fell agape and he used the opportunity to capture his lips with your own, swallowing your moan and losing himself in your intimacy.

He never thought a woman like you could make him feel so selfless.

Aemond knew nothing of you but felt everything. He needn’t understand the pieces of you to feel the rewards of lust and anger spilling out of him.

His mouth is so warm and wet. Aemond’s tongue danced with yours as your whimpers became gasps with the jacking of his hips into you. Your hands are bruising on his shoulders; grip tight and breaking had you been a stronger woman.

Aemond broke his kisses and moved his hand to your neck. His thumb put pressure on the bottom of your chin, pushing your head backwards and sending your spine arching.

If he took you any further, you’d split yourself in too. You mewled in pleasure and he let out a low chuckle, eyes low and observing as he pounded his cock in your pussy faster.

“Oh,” one of your arms shot up above your head and he took his other hand, the one not on your neck, and intertwined your hands together.

“Do the others fuck you like this?” He hummed.

“No,” you called into the air. “Not everyone is as good as you, My Prince.”

As your eyes met his, you felt your heart exploding. No one would ever hold you like this again. No one would know you in the secrets you shared here—so open and viewable yet shroud in the comfort of veils.

You like this. He knows you do. And fuck, he does too.

“You like being held like a worthy lady,” Aemond purred. “Like you’re not a whore.”

“You like being strong when they underestimate you.”

His hand around your throat tightened but didn’t suffocate you. Aemond’s fingers that intertwined with your own stayed together as he changed his speed. Slowing down and drawing his dick out to the tip and stuffing you again, he snickered.

“You are not weak.”

“No,” he narrowed his eye. “I’m not.”

“In here,” you groaned. “In here you can be anyone, Aemond.”

He knew it to be true.

Instead of responding with a smart retort or a scathing comment that would rival one of his brothers, he nodded his head and let it fall in the crook of your neck.

Within you, his solemn romanticism built a fire. It was aching; clenching your walls around him as your breaths became more heated and laced with a finish. His skin on yours glistened with sweat the more strenuous your meetings became.

You were holding onto a thin string when he lifted his head again and planted a kiss on your lips.

So personal, so intimate from what you were used to.

“I-“ you barely got a syllable out before your body shook with your orgasm hitting you like a brick through a glass window. Aemond removed his hand on your neck to grip your back as your body lifted from the sheets.

Your cunt had his cock in a vice. So tight and smooth with your wetness, he felt the stuttering sensation of his own building in a quick anticipation and as the shaking in your legs began to lessen, he pulled out of your pussy without warning and pumped himself before spilling his spent on your stomach.

Your eyes saw stars on the ceiling of the brothel. Aemond kissed between your breath as his fingers swiped through his cum. He drew a line from your stomach, between your breasts, and to your lips. You took his fingers covered in him into your mouth and licked him clean.

Once there was nothing left, his wet fingers palmed your breast with a sigh. You untangled your combined fingers and gingerly outlined the bottom of his scar.

He leaned into your touch absentmindedly before eagerly kissing you again.

Aemond would never confess why he did it.

It was an urge he had never felt; built in the emotions of his mind as he was wrapped in your kind embrace and away from the world that had created the cruelness that lived with him. You were not cruel. You were good and a sanctimonious creature at his alter of wavering faith.

You revived him.

And he barely knew you.

When he pulled away, you brushed a hand over his disheveled hair and smiled.

The feeling within him was foreign but it was hungry. He hungered for the bubbled nature of want that brewed in his bones. Aemond sought the feel of your hands on him and the way you settled in his motions without complaint or verbally assuring him what he was doing was “good for him,” when in reality, he knew it was not.

So in turn, when you smiled, so did he.

A/N: thanks for reading! As always comments, reblog, and likes are always appreciated. I love hearing from all of you.

[pathologicalreid]

litmus test | s.r.

in which Spencer needs your expertise to help solve a murder, but crime fighting is most decidedly not for you

find more chemist!reader here!

who? spencer reid x chemist!reader category: flangst (like. the end is a little angsty and it has case details) content warnings: typical cm violence, science talk, fem!reader, reader is not built for crime, morgan being an older brother, some fun banter!! death by firework is crazy lmao word count: 1.68k a/n: this is one of my favorite fluff pieces i've written in agessss i missed chemist!reader so much i learn so many things when i'm writing her. this was a request! i hope you like it as much as i do!!

“Do you have a second?” Spencer asks, his voice slightly choppy over the phone. Between his ancient phone and being inside concrete police precincts, some disconnect was bound to happen.

Saving your document to your computer, you rest the lab phone between your shoulder and ear, “If you’re asking me if I have any corrosive chemicals in my hands, the answer is no.”

He chuckles lightly, “I never know with you.”

You roll your eyes in response, even if he can’t see you, “It was one time and I needed a new phone case anyway.”

“You fused the plastic of your phone case to the material of your phone,” he retorts far too quickly for your liking.

“Yes,” you acquiesce, “but I know the exact chemical reaction that caused that phenomenon.” You cross your legs one over the other, maintaining your balance on your lab stool as you speak to Spencer over the phone.

He gave a light hum in response, “Speaking of chemical reactions – I need your help.”

Your eyebrows shot up in surprise, “You’re asking me for help in chemistry?” There really was a first time for everything, you suppose.

Spencer was more than capable of navigating a lab on his own, even so, he admits, “You have more applied practice than I do.”

Pursing your lips, you nod to yourself, “Fair enough. What’s stumping you, Dr. Reid?” Your inquiry, while innocent enough, garners a wolf whistle from your graduate assistant.

“There’s something burning a hole in these bones, and I’m not sure what would be causing it to happen this fast,” he explains, giving you minor background information on how long the bones were out and if the medical examiner had treated them with something.

You clear your throat, frowning at the notes you had scrawled down in front of you, “Burning or corroding?” What was seemingly a meaningless distinction would actually allow you to filter through approximately half of the possibilities.

“Corroding,” he corrects himself, “My mistake.”

Crossing off some of your notes, you purse your lips at the new possibilities, “No worries. Did you try flushing it out with water?”

You hear papers flipping on his end of the call before you get a response, “That would destroy evidence.”

“Well,” you raise your eyebrows, “It sounds like your evidence is destroying itself.”

“Baby,” Spencer says in a no-nonsense tone reserved for when he was deep in a case. You could’ve sworn you heard Morgan in the background of the call mocking him for the pet name.

Turning back to your notes, you sigh, “Yeah, yeah, all work and no play. Was the body buried?”

“Partially,” his reply intrigues you, “I can have Garcia send you the crime scene photos if you think it’ll help.”

Wrinkling your nose at the thought, you made an unsure sound, “Right, because nothing says lunchtime like getting up close and personal with a homicide victim.”

“What lunchtime? It’s three pm in D.C. right now,” he caught you, a slight chiding tone in his words.

Ignoring his questions, you ask more of your own, “Was the body near water? Did they test the pH of the soil and water?”

There were more papers flipping, likely someone presenting the results of those tests to him, “Yeah, the soil was a five-point two and the water was a seven-point eight,” he listed off for you.

While your knowledge of the pH of the soil in Iowa was limited, you did know that those levels were pretty on par for the northern Mississippi River. “O-kay,” you say, extending your vowels, “and they didn’t find anything else on the scene that points to corrosive materials. Hydrofluoric acid?” You posit, “No, you know what – maybe you should send me those files. My work email is encrypted, you can give it to Penelope.”

He speaks to someone else in the room with him and you resist the urge to ask him if he’s enjoying Iowa, “It’s sent,” he confirms with you.

Pulling up your email only takes a moment, and once you get over the initial shock of seeing a dead body on your computer screen, you lift your lab glasses to the top of your head in order to get a better look. “I mean,” you think for a moment, “those look like alkali burns to me. I’ve never seen them on bones before, but you should do a litmus test to check either way.”

“So, we rinse it with water?” He asks, seeking instruction from you in a way that makes you feel oddly powerful.

Your eyes widen, “No, no, no. If it’s a metal compound then it’ll be covered in a mineral oil, so rinsing it with water would actually make the burn worse.”

Pausing for a moment, you consider the possibility that Spencer didn’t have the luxury of time – he was trying to solve a murder, not do experiments in a lab.

“Alkali burns can be serious, it all depends on what caused them, and most are helped by rinsing with water. So, unless you have the time to test for metal compounds, I’d go ahead and rinse it. You might want to brush the damage to the bones with a dry brush first. If there’s lime on the bones it’ll foam, which not only will corrode the bones even further but it might release a toxic gas,” you have no idea how the corrosion would interact with bone marrow, but something tell you that you don’t want to know

“Wait a minute,” Derek interjects, being included in the conversation now that Spencer put the call on speaker, “I thought things like alkaline water were good for you.”

You scoff instinctively, “Oh, there’s no definitive evidence that shows alkaline water as having any real health benefits. Especially not the benefits that the internet says it has.” Straightening up in your stool, you continue, “In fact, there is evidence from the NIH that says drinking alkaline water could cause kidney damage. There’s a particular-“

“My bad,” he interjects, effectively stopping your rambling before it really took off, “I forgot whose girlfriend I was talking to.”

Groaning at your new vexation, you huff, “Oh, fuck off, Derek. Go kick down a door.”

Spencer quickly switches the phone back, “Thank you, angel.”

Squinting at the photos that were still on your laptop screen, a crude, disturbing thought came to mind, “You know, sparklers can cause alkali burns. It might be something to consider because of the diameter of the burns.”

Your boyfriend was silent on his end of the call for so long that you had to check and make sure the call hadn't dropped. “Did you say sparklers?”

“Yep,” you confirm, “like the ones you can get everywhere this time of year.”

He says something to Morgan, placing his hand over the receiver so you can’t hear, “There’s only one spot in this town, though. I’ve gotta go, see you soon.”

“Stay safe, please! I prefer your bones unburned,” you rattle off into the phone before it clicks, placing the phone back on the stand and deleting the crime scene photos from your inbox.

The front door to the apartment opens and shuts quietly, with Spencer under the assumption that you already went to bed, he was surprised to find you on the couch, nursing a cup of tea. “Hey, baby,” he chirps, unusually peppy for this time of night.

“Hey,” you say half-heartedly, threading your fingers through the handle of the mug.

Your somber tone gets Spencer’s attention, “What’s wrong?”

The slight panic in his voice causes your eyes to snap up to his, “Nothing,” you murmur. “It’s just… the woman who was in those pictures. There- the burns on her bones, they were signs of torture, weren’t they?”

You’d been thinking about the burns ever since Spencer showed them to you, “Yes,” he answers with a reciprocating softness, sitting down next to you on the couch. “The medical examiner concluded that she was burned antemortem.”

That woman had been burned alive by fireworks, sparklers had seared their way through skin and muscle until it finally met her bones. You blink a few tears from your eyes at the thought, “I like my lab, Spence.”

The confusion on his face was palpable, “I know you do.”

“I like my minimal human interaction and my chemicals, and I like knowing why certain things cause certain reactions. I like it when things make sense.” You take a deep, shaky breath, “Killing someone. Torturing someone with fireworks. That just doesn’t make sense to me.”

You had no interest in hearing the excuses that the killer had provided. You had no interest in hearing the psychological breakdown of that woman’s killer. Spencer knows that, “The photos got to you?”

Taking a sip from your mug, you nod solemnly, “I can’t stop thinking about the way it must have felt. Oh, the smell must have been horrible. That poor woman.” In theory, it was a ridiculous notion, killing someone with fireworks seemed neither probable nor possible. Yet here you are.

“But we got the person who killed her,” Spencer reassures you, resting his hand gently on your knee. “We couldn’t have done it without you,” he adds.

Your face warms at his compliment, “I wish I could have helped before she was killed.” You were grateful that Spencer hadn’t passed on any personal information about the woman, it was easier for you if you kept things in separate storage files in your mind.

Spencer hums, reaching out and sweeping a strand of hair behind your ear, “There’s always going to be another one. I’m sorry about the photos, I should’ve made sure Garcia only sent the necessary ones.”

Nodding absentmindedly, you look at him thoughtfully, “This will pass, but for tonight I just feel bad for the victim.”

“I can have Penelope share some of her favorite baby animal videos, if you’d like,” he offers softly, resting his head on your shoulder.

In return, you give him a small smile, “Well, I suppose it really can’t hurt.”