#p. undercurrents

[futilechildhooddream]

*strangled scream*

[captain-hawks]

patience

soshiro hoshina x f!reader

It's more than a little difficult to hide your attraction to the Vice-Captain of the Third Division when you accidentally find yourself sparring with him in your pajamas in the middle of the night. Especially when he's wearing that goddamn shirt.

wc: 4k

c: 18+ ONLY, smut, slight power imbalance, semi-public sex, fingering, oral sex (f!receiving), edging, unprotected p in v

“You get sloppy when you’re tired.”

A knee digs into the back of your own as you find yourself pinned face down on the training mats, the steady grip of a hand trapping both of your wrists against the small of your back. The vice-captain’s voice is tinged with amusement as he lets you go, easily dodging the kick you send his way as you roll in the opposite direction and jump to your feet, breathing hard.

“Fuck you,” you pant out, though there’s no real heat behind your words.

He raises an eyebrow.

“—Vice-Captain Hoshina,” you finish, offering him a patronizing smile.

Clicking his tongue against his teeth, Hoshina begins to circle you slowly, “Officer Furuhashi had to do seventy pushups last week for that, ya know.”

While he’s not wrong about your sloppy footwork, the late hour is hardly the top contender of blame for your piss-poor performance in this impromptu sparring match.

Rather, the real issue at hand is the workout shirt that Hoshina’s currently wearing, the black, skin-tight material leaving little to the imagination as it clings to his firm, defined abdomen. 

Clad in nothing but your pajama shorts and an oversized t-shirt, you had made the mistake of slowing down to peek into the slightly ajar door to the training room on your way back to the dorms, curious who was still awake at such a late hour. Your breath had hitched at the sight of the vice-captain working through a series of complex sword maneuvers by himself, mouth going dry as you found yourself mesmerized by the sight of his bare hands and arms—features normally obscured by his suit on the field—and that goddamn shirt.

Naturally, he’d spotted you lingering and cajoled you inside, mouth curving sideways in a smirk as he reminded you of a few glaring mistakes you’d made earlier during training with the squad.

Now, your level of exhaustion is a moot point when it’s all you can do to reign in the traitorous swell of desire building in your chest as the sleeves of his shirt dig into his biceps each and every time he moves. The muscle that keeps fighting against the high neck of his shirt isn’t helping, either. 

This heady, insistent tug you feel toward him, this dizzying, smoldering attraction that has a penchant for clouding your better judgment—it’s nothing new. Your eyes developed this unfortunate habit of instinctually straying to the vice-captain the day he volunteered to give you a tour of the base when you transferred to the Third Division, a problem that only increased tenfold the first time you had a front row seat to his…competency in dual swordsmanship.

(It’s borderline embarrassing—the way even thinking about him wielding those blades sets your heart racing.)

You’ve learned to ignore it, despite the flirtatious undercurrent to each and every interaction you share.

And yet—sparring alone with him right now while the rest of the base sleeps, sweat dripping down your back as your skin burns all over with the ghost of his touch, seeing this stripped down version of one of the Defense Force’s most lethal weapons in a moment that feels far more intimate than it has any right to be…it’s difficult to remember why you should.

Hoshina uses his forearm to wipe the perspiration from his forehead, tongue darting out along his bottom lip, and a subtle shudder runs through you as you track the unconscious movement. Unfortunately, his keen eyes don’t miss the trajectory of your waning focus, and he takes advantage of the opening, the room quickly spinning as you find yourself on the floor beneath him once again.

This time, you’re lying on your back, both hands pinned above your head, his fingers incidentally laced with your own. Hoshina’s wide-eyed and panting, and you can tell you at least accomplished something—he clearly hadn’t been intending to hit the floor with you until your survival instincts kicked in enough to gracelessly drag him down on top of you. 

As you go to pull free, you find something solid pressed between your legs, and it’s an effort in and of itself to stifle your gasp at the feeling that instantly curls hotly in your gut at the friction. Belatedly, you reorient yourself to find that you had hooked your left leg around his waist during the fall, and the firm wall of muscle that you’re two seconds from accidentally dry humping is his thigh that’s slotted between your legs.

Hoshina’s face sobers as he stares down at you, and you swear you feel his fingers flex minutely against your own, his expression now unreadable. 

Seemingly continuing his earlier thought, he muses, “Well, I guess I get sloppy when I’m distracted.” Your heart thunders in your chest as you find yourself balancing precariously on the tightrope of what could very well be an incredibly bad decision. 

If you were smart, you’d let this moment pass.

If you were smart, you’d tap out and tell him you’re going to bed, letting out the rest of your frustration with a hand between your legs, your soft, quiet moans muffled by the spray of the shower water or the layers of your duvet.

But the words are wrestling their way past your teeth before you can stop yourself as you ask, “What could possibly distract the vice-captain of the Third Division?”

He laughs under his breath, and for a wild moment, you think he’s about to kiss you when he leans in, but his lips skirt the shell of your ear instead as he murmurs, “You don’t normally wear this when we’re trainin’ with everyone else.”

Hoshina’s lower half nudges you slightly for emphasis, his hands still occupied by your own, and you belatedly realize—with embarrassment—that you’re the one now essentially holding them in the grip of your fingers. However, the thought is quickly replaced by another jolt of pleasure as the movement presses his thigh just a hair more firmly against the heat between your legs.

At the slight widening of his eyes, you also realize something else—that soft, little moan in your head wasn’t so silent after all. 

He tilts his head and sighs, “You make this real difficult for me sometimes.”

You’re far too aware of every place your bodies are touching.

“What do I make difficult?” you ask carefully, surprising yourself with your boldness. 

He regards you with a look like you should already know what he’s referring to. “Ignoring the things I think about when I’m around you.”

Your mouth goes dry, a polar opposite to the arousal now soaking into your panties. “Maybe you should stop ignoring them,” you whisper before you can think better of it. 

Hoshina groans, fingers tightening around yours, eyes falling shut. “Don’t say that.”

Freeing one of your hands from their entanglement with his, you reach up, pushing his dark violet locks out of his face. “Why not?”

He leans in, mouth so close to yours you can feel the heat of his exhales as he murmurs, “Cause I might be the vice-captain of this division, but I’m not above fucking you right here on the floor.”

Heat sears insistently in your lower abdomen, and you shift just enough to press into him again. He audibly breathes out through his nose, and you tilt your head slightly askew as you stare up at him. “Are you asking me to beg, then?”

You’re suddenly very grateful to have unconsciously pulled the door shut behind you when you walked in, given that this training room can only be opened from the outside with an authorized key fob after hours.

Hoshina laughs a little incredulously under his breath, tongue curling against the inside of his cheek. “I’ll make you a deal.”

You raise a brow, imploring him to continue.

“We’ll forget about those pushups for that mouth of yours, but…” he trails off, one finger ghosting over your lips. “You don’t get to come until I say so.”

It’s instant—the way your brain briefly short circuits as you take in the full meaning of his words.

“I—what?”

He smirks. “You might be one of the most talented officers in this division, but your patience could really use some work.”

Well, he’s not wrong.

Smiling up at him sweetly, you shift so that your leg presses against the erection noticeably tented at the front of his pants. “Then teach me.”

You’re not prepared for it—the way all of the air leaves your lungs when Hoshina’s lips come crashing into yours. There’s no pretense to the way he claims your mouth, swallowing down the tiny little gasp that crawls up your throat, one hand cupping the side of your neck as the other reaches out to pin both of yours back to the floor. You push back a little, just for the thrill that arches down your spine when he tightens his grip, pinning you down even harder. 

His tongue dances along the seam of your lips, thumb stroking the sensitive spot where your neck meets your jaw, and he groans a little when you part them, deepening the kiss. A blistering wave of arousal floods your veins as Hoshina does what can only be described as fucking his way into your mouth with his tongue, and you’re helpless to control how eagerly you take him in. Truthfully, you’ve never felt quite so turned on over the taste of someone else’s saliva, so desperate to feel the filthy, slick slide of their tongue and lips slotting and tangling with your own.

It takes you a minute to realize that you’ve started grinding against his thigh, but clearly he’s well aware, because as soon as you stop, he murmurs against your mouth, “Go ahead, keep going.”

Compiling without hesitation, you drag your clothed pussy down against the friction of his leg once more, and he bites down on your lip as you moan at the delicious sensation. 

“Does that feel good?” he asks coyly.

You nod, losing any lingering senses of embarrassment over dry humping your vice-captain’s leg as you observe the way his pupils are blown wide with lust, gasping and panting as you rut against him even harder. Panties damp with arousal, you wouldn’t be surprised to find a wet spot forming against his pants, as you can already feel the surplus of sticky fluid dripping down your ass cheeks. 

You could come like this.

“Stop.”

Freezing immediately at the tone of Hoshina’s voice, you open your half-lidded eyes to stare up at him, lips parted slightly.

“Didn’t say you could come yet,” he reminds you, expression tinged with amusement. “But show me how wet you are.”

He releases your hands, and you nearly whimper when he pulls his knee away, shifting to place his knees on either side of you. He slides both hands down your sides, stopping at your hips, and he trails two fingers along the waistband of your shorts, curling one of the short, loose strings around a digit before continuing his journey down your mound. 

A hum of satisfaction leaves his lips as he feels the way your juices have soaked clear through the little cotton shorts. You whine in frustration when he drags a slow, deliberate circle over your swollen clit through the fabric, rocking your hips upward.

Hoshina looks like he wants to say something, possibly to chide you for your impatient behavior, but clearly the other thought in his head wins out when he slides his hand up the bottom of your shorts and hooks a finger in your underwear, tugging them aside. 

Despite his teasing, the pressure of his fingers through your clothing is still nothing compared to the feather-light touch of his fingers drifting down the length of your slit. 

“Fuck,” he murmurs softly in approval, sliding one digit into your wet hole. 

Your pussy spasms at the sensation, and you moan for him, which only spurs him on further, earning you a second finger. The stretch still isn’t enough, and you buck your hips into his touch eagerly. 

“How the fuck are you so wet,” he mutters, one hand slipping up your shirt to clutch your side as he pumps his fingers in and out of you, the lewd, wet squelch contending with the rising volume of your moans.

It’s impressive—how close you are to coming already with just two of his fingers massaging your slick, tight walls, his thumb barely teasing over the bud of your throbbing clit. It’s nearly laughable compared to how long it took the last man who touched you to get you off. 

“You look so pretty when you’re about to come,” Hoshina comments, curling his fingers inside of you, and you gasp.

He swiftly removes them, lips curling upward at the dismayed look on your face as you cant your hips upward into nothing, the wave of pleasure building inside of you unceremoniously crashing at the breakers before reaching the shore. 

“Hoshina,” you whimper, not caring if it sounds a little pathetic as your chest heaves.

“I thought we were working on your patience,” he replies, before sticking your fingers in his mouth and licking your slick arousal clean off of them.

The warmth stirring inside of you turns molten, and your nipples feel achingly hard against the cotton fabric of your t-shirt. When he reaches down to cup your chin, your mouth falls open of its own volition, and you don’t hesitate to take his spit-soaked fingers between your lips instead. 

“Jesus Christ,” he breathes out as you suck on the digits, a thin trail of saliva escaping in the process and dribbling past your lips. 

You reach up, threading your fingers into his hair, and you tug his mouth down toward yours. He strays off course, licking the spit from your chin and dragging his tongue across your lips. 

He follows the curve of your jaw with his mouth, lips blazing a trail of kisses down the side of your neck until he begins to nip and suck at your collarbone while his hands slide down to ruck up your t-shirt. He seems pleased by your lack of a bra, eyes darkening at the sight of your plush breasts bared before him. His fingers are precise as they cup one, thumb slowly dragging across your peaked nipple before he leans in and laps at the supple, sensitive skin. 

You arch upward into his touch, gasping out his name, and he groans, taking your peaked bud into his mouth. Despite the fact that you know he won’t let you finish, you reach between your legs anyway, keening as you dip two fingers into your empty, wet cunt while Hoshina turns his attention to filthily sucking on your other breast. Legs spreading wider against the cage of his own, you plunge a third finger in, and Hoshina makes a displeased sound, mouth abandoning your tits to trail down your stomach. 

“D’you think of me when you touch yourself?” he asks with a hint of amusement in his voice, his hands gently pulling yours away from between your legs before sliding off your shorts and panties. 

“Maybe,” you pant out, fingers now pressing down into the soft mats beneath you.

“Maybe?” he echoes, nose brushing against your clit.

He pauses, and you can feel the warm huff of air that hits your slit as you whimper a strangled “Yes” when he lazily begins to slide a single finger back into your needy cunt. 

Another fresh thrill of arousal shudders through you as he calmly replies, “Good girl,” before he spreads your legs even wider and drags his tongue through your folds.

You blink back the spots from the bright ceiling lights that dance against your eyelids as your entire body arches upward off of the mats, the grip of his hands on the globes of your ass the only thing keeping you grounded as Hoshina groans lewdly at the taste of your pussy, lapping another broad, hungry stroke, 

You’d do anything to come at this point, tears now pricking at the corners of your eyes as another blazing hot onslaught of pleasure trickles through your limbs, ruthlessly dragging you toward the edge.

He abruptly stops again, his lips covered in the slick sheen of your arousal when he looks up at you.

“Hoshina, please,” you whimper.

“Soshiro,” he exhales roughly, hips aligning with yours as he makes his way up your body to press a wet, filthy kiss to your lips.

“Soshiro,” you repeat a little breathlessly, and he kisses you again, more roughly this time. 

You can feel his thick erection as it presses down against your naked mound through his pants, and there’s little you can do to hold back your urge to roll your hips upward, dragging your wet, naked heat along his shaft. 

“Soshiro,” you say again, more desperately this time, and he groans, grinding back down against you with more fervor at the sound of his name on your lips. 

Slipping a hand between your bodies, your fingers fumble with the button of his pants, and he’s quick to take over, making quick work of the zipper. He guides your hand to his dick, wrapping your fingers around its thick girth as he asks, “You wanna feel this inside of you?”

The mere suggestion makes your woefully empty walls clench, and you can feel a fresh dribble of arousal leak from you. Giving his cock a few experimental pumps, you nod feverishly.

“Put it in then,” he murmurs, and there’s something undeniably erotic about the way he lazily stares down at you, waiting.

You guide his shaft toward your slick cunt, rejoicing just a bit in the slight shudder that wracks through him as you rub the flushed, leaking head of his cock against your slippery folds, his precum mixing with the lubrication of your wet juices.

If you thought you were desperate to come on his fingers and tongue, the heady buzz of need that’s been steadily buzzing inside of you is nothing compared to the gushing flood of desperation at the feeling of Hoshina’s length splitting you open. You’re a little too tight for him, but it feels so good—the way he replaces your hand with his own to stuff his cock the rest of the way inside of you. Your cunt greedily clenches down on each inch until you’re suddenly empty again. 

Hoshina—Soshiro—fucks like he fights: all teasing, taunting confidence. Every move he makes is pointed, purposeful. So you know he’s left you woefully empty now solely to bask in your frustrated reaction, just to hear your subsequent gasp of pleasure when he plunges back inside of you once more. 

You’re so fucking sensitive right now, it’s ridiculous—white-hot bursts of pleasure ignite in your abdomen with every little push and drag of the shape of his cock against the plush, tight grip of your cunt. 

“Fuckin’ hell,” he hisses, exhaling roughly as he pulls out of you entirely once more, firmly gripping the base of his cock like he’s just as close to coming as you are.

Leaning down, Hoshina drags his lips across yours in some messy approximation of a kiss, his breath hot against your cheek as his mouth veers off. Turning your head to the side, you nip at his bottom lip, and he molds his mouth to yours, tongue slipping into your mouth. 

Your muscles tense with anticipation as you feel the heavy weight of his cock pressing against your cunt, your ass lifting off of the mat to chase the friction with brazen need. But Hoshina’s hand slips between your bodies, fingers wrapping around his shaft, and he positions himself lengthwise with your slit. 

Any sounds of protest promptly die in your throat, only to be replaced by a wanton moan that Hoshina swallows down as he deepens the kiss while he begins to roll his hips, sliding his throbbing cock up and down through your drenched, sticky folds. 

“Oh fuck,” you gasp, fingers digging into his back as you writhe beneath him, nearly seeing stars each time the head of his dick catches against your sensitive, swollen clit.

There’s a thin line of spit between your lips as he breaks the kiss, watching you burn from the inside out with relentless, intoxicating tremors of pleasure.

“Not yet,” Hoshina murmurs, slowing the rocking of his hips as he lines himself with your quivering entrance once more. “When I make you come, it’ll be on my cock.”

When he buries himself inside of you this time, you choke out a sob, the ache between your thighs reaching a fever pitch as he stuffs your pussy full to the hilt. And you swear he must feel the way your cunt is gripping him—begging him to stay buried deep inside of you, to finally let you cream all over his cock—because he sounds wrecked as he roughly moans your name against your mouth.

One of his hands slides along your arm, fingertips lacing with yours as the other cups your breast, his thumb teasing your nipple. 

“You feel so fucking good,” he exhales, eyes wide, his hair far more mussed than you’ve ever seen it on the battlefield.

Despite the protest of your trembling, tightly-wound limbs, you wrap your legs around his waist, keening as you use the heel of your foot to press him even deeper inside of you and pant out, “Harder.”

He doesn’t hesitate to oblige, his steady strokes turning rough when he begins to pound into you, a litany of curses tumbling from his lips as your tits shake with each snap of his hips. 

You’re so fucking close—and you know he feels it, how fucking badly you want to give in to this torrential downpour of pleasure that’s threatening to drag you under.

“Come for me,” he finally commands in a sultry, gravelly tone that you’re certain will fucking haunt your wet dreams for years to come. 

It’s not difficult to obey—not when your entire body has been reduced to a dripping, trembling, desperate coil of tension, slipping along the tightrope of a tauntingly close climax for far too long. Shockwaves of the most intense pleasure you’ve ever felt grip every nerve ending from head to toe as your climax erupts, and Hoshina’s groan is downright filthy as he feels your pussy gush all over his cock.

“Shit,” he pants out, muscles tensing hard as you ride out your orgasm, eyes falling shut while your cunt spasms and contracts against his shaft. “Shit, shit.”

You’ve only just finished when he quickly pulls his cock from your quivering hole and groans loudly, barely giving his shaft half a stroke before ropes of hot, thick cum are spurting all over your bare chest, spilling all over your tits.

It’s quiet as he sits there kneeling between your spread legs, chest heaving just as hard as yours as you try to wrap your head around what the fuck just happened. Subtly, you reach down to pinch your thigh, not quite convinced your late night waltz to the kitchen wasn’t just the product of a fucked up dream. 

Hoshina shrugs off his shirt, hardly giving you time to ogle what the hell he’s been hiding beneath there before he begins wiping his cum off of your chest. When he’s finished, he stands, and you slip back into your clothes as you watch him ball up his soiled shirt and grab his jacket. 

He pulls you to your feet, and the way his hands slide down your sides to smooth down your wrinkled t-shirt is oddly intimate, his fingers straying lower to briefly toy with the hem of your shorts. Instead of putting on his jacket to make up for his lack of a shirt, he reaches around you to settle it over your shoulders, the familiar, dizzying scent that you’ve come to associate with him enveloping your senses. 

–

And when you accidentally wear his jacket to training the next morning, you find what must be a spare key card to his room left nestled in one of the pockets. 

There’s a coy smile on his lips when he spots you staring down at the white piece of plastic, shrugging before he returns his attention to the rest of the gathered officers. 

[pedroscowgirl]

A Younger Revelation

Hugh jackman x female!reader

Part 2

Warnings: smut! Minors, DNI!!

Age gap (reader is their (mid) 20s), p in v, creampie (wrap it up), choking, hugh is posessive (?) , daddy issues (i can't help it) and squirting

lmk if i missed some!

Words: 4.5k

A/N: I saw a few ppl say that hugh (and his son) are into older women and i just had to write something about it cuz i want to be his controversial younger gf i hope you like it!

You and Hugh had been friends for over three years, ever since you starred in a movie together. The on-screen chemistry was profound, and off-screen, it quickly turned into a deep, genuine friendship. But as time passed, you began to notice a shift in your feelings. It wasn't just admiration for his talent or his kind-hearted nature, it was something far more intense. You had always been drawn to older men, a fascination born from perhaps, some unresolved issues with your father. It was a part of yourself you had come to understand, but with Hugh, it became an irresistible pull.

The age difference was glaring. Hugh was closer to your parents' age, even older than your dad. The thought of being attracted to him felt wrong, almost taboo, like a secret you shouldn't entertain. Yet, the more you were around him, the more you craved his presence, his voice, the comforting maturity he exuded. The way he moved, the timbre of his laughter, and the warmth in his eyes, it all made you want him even more. It didn't help that you had come across interviews and internet whispers, and even a hint from his ex-wife, all pointing to his preference for older women. It stung, knowing that you probably weren't his type, but it didn't stop the fantasies from consuming you.

One evening, the two of you sat on the terrace of his apartment, sipping wine under the silver glow of the moon. The city lights twinkled in the distance, but the world felt confined to the small space you shared. It was a beautiful, quiet night, and the air was thick with unspoken words. You had always enjoyed these moments with Hugh, comfortable, intimate, and filled with a sense of ease that belied the complexity of your feelings. But tonight, the tension felt different, more visible. The usual comfort was tinged with a sharp undercurrent of desire.

Taking a deep breath, you decided to break the silence. "You know," you began, your voice soft and deliberate, "we have something in common." Hugh glanced at you, curiosity sparking in his eyes. "We're both attracted to older people."

He paused, his glass halfway to his lips, caught off guard. You saw the confusion in his eyes as he processed your words. "You're attracted to older women," you continued, watching as his expression shifted. He swallowed hard, his Adam's apple bobbing. The tension in the air thickened, and you felt a heady rush of adrenaline. "And I'm attracted to older men."

Hugh choked on his wine, coughing slightly as he set his glass down. The look of surprise on his face was priceless, but you pressed on, feeling bolder with every word. "Have you ever tried a younger woman?" you asked, your voice dropping to a sultry, almost teasing tone. You leaned in closer, your breath ghosting over his skin. "Don't you ever crave it? The energy, the freshness... the excitement?"

He looked at you, a mix of shock and intrigue in his eyes. There was a visible shift in the atmosphere, the air charged with a new kind of tension. Hugh's gaze darkened, his eyes roaming over your face, then down your body, as if seeing you in a new light. He swallowed again, visibly trying to maintain his composure. "Sweetheart," he began, his voice low and rough, "I'm too old for you."

You tilted your head, a sly smile playing on your lips. "But you know what it's like to be into that," you said, leaning in so close that your lips nearly brushed his. The proximity sent a shiver down your spine, the anticipation building to a fever pitch. "Maybe you could try something different, something... younger."

Before you could second-guess yourself, Hugh's hands were on you, pulling you onto his lap with a smooth, assertive motion. The sudden intimacy made your heart race, your breath catching in your throat. You could feel the heat of his body against yours, the firmness of his chest beneath your hands. His grip on your hips was possessive, his fingers digging in just enough to send a thrill through you. The reality of the situation hit you—this was happening.

Hugh looked up at you, his eyes intense and filled with a mix of desire and conflict. "I mean," he murmured, his voice barely more than a whisper, "we can try something, and I'll get back to you on that." His words were laced with a sensual promise, an unspoken agreement that sent a rush of heat through your veins.

You felt the weight of the moment, the gravity of what you were about to do. The world outside seemed to fade away, leaving just the two of you in this intimate bubble. Your hands found their way to his shoulders, your fingers tracing the lines of his muscles. You could feel the slight tremor in his hands, a testament to the struggle between his self-control and the desire simmering beneath the surface.

Leaning in, you whispered against his lips, "Let's see where this goes." The tension was unbearable, the air thick with anticipation. And then, finally, his lips met yours. The kiss was slow and exploratory at first, a tentative test of boundaries. But it quickly deepened, becoming more urgent, more passionate. His hands roamed over your back, pulling you closer, as if he couldn't get enough of you. The world outside ceased to exist. There was only the sensation of his lips, the taste of wine, and the electric connection that sparked between you.

In that moment, everything else faded away. The doubts, the fears, the societal norms—they all melted into the background. All that mattered was the way he made you feel, the way your body responded to his touch, and the intoxicating promise of what was to come.

As you broke the kiss, a delicious tension lingered in the air, thick with the promise of more. Sitting on Hugh's lap, you felt the heat of his body radiate through his clothes and into your skin. His hands, strong and sure, moved from your hips to your ass, squeezing gently. The intimate touch made your breath hitch, and your eyes locked with his, the burning gaze between you sparking an electric connection.

"I'll admit, you're a good kisser," he whispered, his voice low and dripping with that irresistible Australian accent. The words sent a shiver down your spine, and you couldn't help but bite your lip, savouring the compliment. "You're not so bad yourself," you replied, a playful smile tugging at your lips. He chuckled softly, his eyes briefly dropping to your chest, where the rise and fall of your breath betrayed your growing anticipation.

Hugh's hand slowly slid from your ass up to your shoulder, the touch sending a trail of warmth in its wake. With a deliberate slowness, he hooked a finger under the thin strap of your tank top, pulling it down with a teasing grin. The fabric slipped off your shoulder, revealing more of your skin, and you felt the cool night air against your bare breast, sending a jolt of awareness through you. You weren't wearing a bra, and the sudden exposure made you feel both vulnerable and excited.

His eyes widened slightly, a flicker of awe crossing his face as he took in the sight of you. "Beautiful," he murmured, almost to himself, before he leaned in closer. His other hand joined in, deftly removing your top entirely. As the fabric fell away, leaving you bare from the waist up, you felt a delicious thrill of exposure, the night air cool against your skin. Hugh's gaze was hot and heavy, his admiration evident as he took in the sight of your nakedness. You could see the desire in his eyes, mirrored by the lust in your own.

Feeling his intensity, you felt a flush spread across your cheeks, your breathing growing shallow. There was something incredibly erotic about the way he looked at you, fully clothed in his short-sleeved shirt that highlighted his toned arms and muscular biceps. The contrast made you feel even more exposed, more vulnerable, and yet, it was thrilling. Before you could say anything, he leaned in, his lips capturing your nipple. The sensation sent a shockwave of pleasure through your body, making you gasp.

Your hands instinctively reached for his hair, fingers tangling in the soft strands as his mouth worked its magic. He alternated between soft licks and gentle bites, each touch sending ripples of pleasure coursing through you. Your hips began to move on their own, grinding against him as you sought more friction, more connection. You could feel the hardness of his arousal pressing against you through the fabric of his pants, and the knowledge of his desire only heightened your own.

As his mouth continued its sweet torment on your sensitive skin, your body responded eagerly. Every flick of his tongue, every nip of his teeth, sent sparks of pleasure straight to your core. You arched into him, wanting more, needing more. The feel of his warm, wet mouth on your nipple was intoxicating, and you couldn't help the soft moans that escaped your lips.

Hugh's free hand roamed up and down your back, caressing and holding you close as if grounding himself in the reality of this moment. The feeling of his hands on you, the weight of his body beneath you, and the heat of his mouth all combined to create an intoxicating mix of sensations. You felt powerful and utterly desired, lost in the pleasure of the moment and the knowledge that this man, who had seemed untouchable, was now very much within your grasp.

As you continued to grind against him, the friction and heat built up between you, each movement sending a wave of pleasure through your body. Hugh's breathing grew ragged, his grip on you tightening as he responded to your movements. His mouth left your nipple, trailing kisses up to your neck, where he nibbled softly, drawing another gasp from you.

You felt like you were on fire, every nerve ending alight with desire. The air was thick with the scent of wine and the heady musk of arousal, and you knew there was no turning back. The night had taken a turn into the forbidden, and you were more than willing to explore this uncharted territory with him.

As Hugh's lips lavished warm kisses on your breast, each touch sending electric jolts through your body, you felt an irresistible urge to feel more of him, to uncover the mystery beneath his shirt. Your fingers moved with a mind of their own, sliding up his torso and curling into the fabric, giving a gentle tug. It was a subtle yet unmistakable sign for him to undress. He paused, pulling back just enough to lock eyes with you, a playful grin spreading across his face. His hands moved to the hem of his shirt, peeling it off with an effortless grace that left you breathless.

As the shirt fell away, revealing the sculpted lines of his chest and the ripple of muscles beneath his skin, your eyes widened in astonishment. You couldn't help but let out a soft, appreciative gasp. "You have an amazing build for your age," you murmured, your voice tinged with genuine admiration and a hint of awe.

Hugh's smile widened, a glint of satisfaction in his eyes. "You know what else is great for my age? My stamina," he replied, his tone dripping with confidence and a hint of mischief. The promise in his words sent a delicious shiver down your spine. You bit your lip, the anticipation making your pulse race. "Let's test that out," you challenged, your voice barely above a whisper but full of bold intent.

Without a moment's hesitation, Hugh's hands found your waist. With an effortless strength that took your breath away, he lifted you and set you down on the cold surface of the terrace table. The sudden contrast of the cool marble against your warm skin made you jolt, a soft gasp escaping your lips. It was a shock that only heightened the pleasure coursing through you.

His hands worked at the buttons of your pants, sliding them down your legs and casting them aside. You felt exposed, vulnerable, yet undeniably excited. The night air kissed your skin, adding to the thrill of the moment. Hugh's eyes roamed over you with a hunger that made your heart pound. As his fingers trailed down your thighs and found their way to your wetness, a smirk tugged at his lips.

"Aren't you a little embarrassed?" he teased, his voice a low, seductive purr. "To be this wet for a man older than your own father?" His words were provocative, laced with a taboo allure that made your cheeks flush. You knew there was a truth in what he said, but the forbidden nature of it only heightened your desire. Hugh was unlike any man you'd ever known—there was a raw, magnetic allure about him that drew you in, making you forget about the world beyond this terrace.

He was a god in human form, exuding a potent mix of masculinity and confidence. His touch was confident and assured, his fingers exploring you with an intimate knowledge that made your body sing. The cool night air combined with the warmth of his hands created a heady contrast that made you moan softly. Hugh's thumb found your clit, and he began to circle it with a tantalizing slowness, sending waves of pleasure rippling through you.

He leaned in close, his breath warm against your ear. "You're so responsive," he murmured, the huskiness of his voice sending a thrill down your spine. Then, with deliberate slowness, he pushed a finger inside you. The sudden intrusion made you gasp, your body arching towards him, craving more of his touch. The intensity of your desire was palpable, a living, breathing thing that consumed you.

"Already?" he asked, a teasing glint in his eyes. "I'm not even inside you yet." You couldn't help but roll your eyes playfully, which only made him chuckle. There was a warmth in his laughter, a sound that wrapped around you and heightened the anticipation building between you. "Go ahead then, go inside me," you dared him, but the words came out more like a plea, your voice breathy with need.

Hugh's expression shifted, his eyes darkening with lust. "My god, you're such a slut for me," he said, his voice thick with desire. The crude declaration sent a jolt of excitement through you, making your heart race. "Fuck yes, Hugh, I am," you confessed, the honesty in your voice making your cheeks burn. It was liberating, admitting just how badly you wanted him, and his smirk told you he relished every word.

"Fine, I'll give you what you want," he murmured, a wicked grin spreading across his face. With deliberate slowness, he unzipped his pants, letting them drop to the floor. The sight of him, hard and ready, made you swallow hard, your mouth suddenly dry with anticipation. You couldn't help but stare, your eyes tracing every inch of him, the primal hunger in your gaze unmistakable.

Then, as if breaking the spell, Hugh looked up, a thoughtful expression crossing his face. "Oh, I don't have a condom with me," he suddenly said, a hint of concern in his voice. You barely hesitated, the words tumbling out before you could think. "It's okay, I'm on the pill." The moment hung in the air, the intimacy of the situation crystal clear. His eyes darkened further, a predatory gleam shining in them as he absorbed your words.

"If you say so, babygirl," he murmured, his voice low. He positioned himself at your entrance, and with a slow, deliberate thrust, he entered you. The sudden fullness made you gasp, your hands gripping the edges of the table for support as your back arched involuntarily. The sensation was overwhelming, a mix of pleasure and pressure that made your mind go blank.

Hugh groaned, his head tilting back as he savoured the feeling. "Gosh, you feel so delicious around me," he breathed out, his voice laced with raw desire. His hands gripped your hips, pulling you closer as he began to move, each thrust sending waves of pleasure through your body.

"Better than anything you've had before?" you managed to ask, your voice shaky with the intensity of the sensations coursing through you. It was a question born of curiosity and a bit of pride, wanting to know if he felt the same electric connection that you did. His response was a low, guttural moan, his eyes locking onto yours with a fiery intensity.

"Much better," he rasped, his voice dripping with sincerity. His movements became more urgent, more insistent, as if he couldn't get enough of you. The rhythm he set was intoxicating, each thrust driving you closer to the edge. You could feel the table beneath you shaking with the force of his movements, the cold surface a stark contrast to the heat building inside you.

Hugh's hand slid up your body, fingers tracing the curve of your spine, sending shivers through you. His touch was both gentle and possessive, a reminder of the power he held over you in this moment. The pleasure built to a crescendo, the tension coiling tighter and tighter until it felt like you might explode. The world around you blurred, and all you could focus on was the delicious friction and the overwhelming sensation of him filling you completely.

"Fuck, you're amazing," he growled, his voice barely above a whisper, as if he could scarcely believe the intensity of the moment. The praise sent a thrill through you, pushing you even closer to the edge. You could feel him pulse inside you, every inch of him fitting perfectly, as if he was made for you.

As the intensity of the moment reached its peak, Hugh's thrusts grew even more purposeful, his eyes locked onto yours with an intensity that left you breathless. You felt a different kind of pressure building within you, a sensation that was new, raw, and overwhelming. It was as if your body was responding to him in ways it never had before, every nerve electrified by his touch.

Sensing the shift, Hugh slowed his pace slightly, maintaining a deep, steady rhythm that drove you wild. He leaned in close, his breath hot against your ear. "I can feel it, baby," he murmured, his voice a low, seductive growl. "You're so close. Let go for me. I want to feel you come apart."

The deep timbre of his voice and the promise in his words sent you spiraling. The pressure inside you continued to mount, reaching an almost unbearable level. You gasped, clutching the edge of the table as if it were a lifeline, your body shaking with the effort to hold back. But Hugh was relentless, his thrusts hitting just the right spot, coaxing you closer to the edge.

He placed a firm hand on your lower abdomen, pressing down gently. "Just let go, sweetheart," he urged, his voice soft yet commanding. "I want you to let it all out. Don't hold back." His words were like a key, unlocking something deep within you. The sensation became too much to contain, a dam about to burst.

With a strangled cry, you felt the floodgates open. A powerful wave of pleasure crashed over you, your body convulsing as you squirted, a hot rush of release that left you trembling. The sensation was so intense, so utterly consuming, that you could hardly breathe. Your vision blurred, and your mind blanked out everything but the exquisite feeling coursing through you. Hugh's eyes never left yours, a satisfied, almost possessive smile playing on his lips. "That's it, baby," he coaxed, his voice dripping with pride and satisfaction. "Let it all out. You're amazing."

As the intense waves of your orgasm began to subside, Hugh didn't slow down. Instead, he kept the pressure steady, his thrusts deep and precise, as if he was determined to draw every last ounce of pleasure from you. Just when you thought you couldn't handle any more, he reached up and wrapped a hand around your throat, applying just enough pressure to send another thrill of excitement coursing through your body. The sensation of his strong hand on your neck, combined with the powerful thrusts inside you, was intoxicating.

He leaned in close, his eyes locking onto yours with a dark, possessive intensity. "I'm gonna cum in you sweet girl" he growled, his voice low and commanding, sending shivers down your spine. The weight of his words hung in the air, adding a dangerous edge to the moment. "And you can never spill it, okay? Or I won't fuck you ever again." There was an undeniable authority in his voice, a challenge that made your heart race even faster.

The combination of his hand around your throat and the raw dominance in his voice sent you spiraling into another wave of pleasure. You nodded, breathless, barely able to form words. "Okay," you managed to gasp, your voice strained with the pressure on your neck and the overwhelming sensations coursing through you.

"Good girl," he murmured, a satisfied smirk on his lips. With a final, powerful thrust, he buried himself deep inside you, his grip on your throat tightening just enough to leave you breathless. You felt him pulse inside you, his release hot and thick, filling you completely. The sensation pushed you over the edge once more, your body arching towards him as you came again, the intensity almost too much to bear.

Hugh groaned, the sound deep and primal, as he found his release. His hand around your throat loosened, his fingers caressing your skin in a tender contrast to the roughness of his thrusts. The mixture of gentle and rough was intoxicating, leaving you utterly spent and completely satisfied.

"No young man has ever made me feel this way," you whispered, your voice shaky but filled with awe. The admission felt both liberating and surprising, as if you'd just discovered a new facet of yourself.

Hugh's smile widened, his eyes darkening with a mix of pride and desire. "That's because no young man knows how to treat a woman like you," he murmured, his fingers gently stroking your cheek. "You've got so much passion inside you, and I'm just the man to bring it out."

You looked up at him, a playful smile curling your lips. "So, have I changed your mind? Are you not into older women anymore?" you teased, your voice light and flirtatious. Hugh paused for a moment, a thoughtful expression crossing his face. The question seemed to catch him off guard, but his response was swift and sincere.

"Babygirl," he began, a slow smile spreading across his face, "I can only think about your pussy right now." His blunt honesty made your heart flutter, a delicious thrill coursing through you at his words. It was as if nothing else existed for him in that moment but you, and the intensity of his focus made you feel desired in a way you hadn't experienced before.

Still, amidst the raw passion, there was a tenderness in his gaze that reassured you. He reached out, gently cupping your face in his large hands. "Are you okay?" he asked, his voice soft and filled with genuine concern. It was a simple question, but it spoke volumes about the kind of man he was, capable of both dominance and deep care. You nodded, feeling a warm glow spread through your chest.

He leaned in, capturing your lips in a sweet, loving kiss. It was a stark contrast to the raw, animalistic passion from moments before, and it left you breathless in an entirely different way. The kiss was tender, lingering, as if he was savouring the moment. When he pulled back, his eyes were warm, a soft smile on his lips.

With gentle hands, Hugh reached down to pull your panties back on, his touch careful and deliberate. He made sure nothing spilled out, his fingers grazing your sensitive skin, sending a shiver through you. As he adjusted the fabric, he leaned down and pressed a light, teasing kiss over your clit through the thin material. The unexpected gesture made you gasp, your body jolting with a mix of surprise and lingering desire.

Your legs felt weak, trembling slightly from the intensity of everything that had just transpired. Hugh chuckled, a low, rumbling sound that made your stomach flip. "Next time, we'll just do it in bed," he said with a smirk, his eyes twinkling with amusement. You couldn't help but laugh, the tension breaking into a shared moment of light-heartedness. The intimacy of the moment, combined with the playful banter, felt like a perfect culmination of the intense connection you shared.

Together, you went back inside while Hugh was holding you bridal style. The cool air giving way to the warmth of the house. The bathroom was steamy as Hugh turned on the shower, the sound of running water filling the space. Without missing a beat, he scooped you back up into his strong arms, cradling you against his chest. His strength was evident as he carried you with ease, his touch reassuring and protective. You wrapped your arms around his neck, feeling the solid warmth of him beneath your fingertips.

As the warm water cascaded over you both, it felt like a cleansing, a washing away of everything but the present moment. Hugh held you close, his hands roaming your wet skin with a mix of possessiveness and reverence. The water created a curtain around you, isolating you in a cocoon of heat and steam.

With a slow, deliberate motion, he pressed you against the shower wall, the cool tiles a sharp contrast to the warmth of his body. His lips found yours in a searing kiss, the water pouring over you both adding to the intensity. It was a hot make out session, his tongue exploring your mouth with a passionate fervour that left you breathless. His hands gripped your hips, holding you steady as the kiss deepened, turning into something more primal and urgent.

The way he kissed you, hungry, demanding, yet tender—was intoxicating. You felt enveloped by him, his presence overpowering in the best possible way. Every touch, every kiss, was a promise of more to come, a hint at the depths of his desire for you. The water flowed over you, mingling with your sweat, as you lost yourself in the heat of the moment.

As you finally pulled away, gasping for breath, you rested your forehead against his, both of you panting from the intensity of the kiss. Hugh's eyes were dark with desire, a satisfied smirk on his lips. You knew that this was just the beginning, that the connection you shared was far from over. The shower may have been meant to cleanse, but instead, it became another chapter in your shared passion, a testament to the chemistry that crackled between you like an unquenchable fire.

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[leclerc-hs]

can't get you outta my head - cl16

pairing: charles leclerc x fem!reader (friends to lovers!) summary: in which you and charles are in the same friend group and find solace in one another OR you and charles fuck and can’t forget about it warnings: smut under the cut! oral (f-receiving!), outdoor sex, p in v, angst, pining, badly translated french (pls correct me), NOT PROOFREAD word count: 5.4k! (lengthy) author’s note: IN HONOR OF HITTING 1,600 FOLLOWERS I AM POSTING THIS TODAY!!!! double-postings today!!! i wrote this SOOO fast so sorry if there’s any mistakes. loved writing it tho and i know i was going to make it more enemies originally but making him softer and cutesy just felt right for now. i can always do another one if you guys want!! just let me know what you think! love hearing from you guys!!! xoxo

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

BENEATH THE BRILLIANT canopy of the sun’s golden embrace, you recline comfortably upon the plush cushions of the lounge chairs, creating a sanctuary of comfort amidst the vast expanse of sand. Around you, a kaleidoscope of colors and textures unfold: vibrant beach towels strewn around carelessly, the glistening ocean stretching endlessly before you, and the verdant palm trees swaying in rhythmic cadence against the bright blue sky.

The sound of the ocean’s embrace upon the sandy shoreline murmurs in the background, a subtle undercurrent beneath the symphony of voices of your friends that fills the air. Your gaze drifts towards a cluster of your friends cavorting in the embrace of the water. Their figures, silhouetted against the shimmering expanse of the ocean, exude a carefree vitality. Like playful spirits unleashed, they tumble and wrestle amidst the crash of the waves, their laughter echoing.

You smile softly listening to a few of the girl’s banter over last night’s drunken escapades, flipping a page of the cheap magazine you purchased earlier.

“Joris a pratiquement mange de la merde hier soir.” Joris practically ate shit last night. Your best friend, also Joris’s girlfriend, to the left of you says in between laughter, as you all careen over with a laugh. 

“Au moins, il va bien.” At least he’s fine. You say with a soft smile, turning another page of your magazine. “Can we talk about Antoine shooting a firecracker out of his ass?” The words spark an immediate eruption of laughter, tears threaten to fall from your eyes from the sheer hilarity of the memory.

“Qu’est-ce qui est si drôle?” What’s so funny?

You turn your head and find yourself locking eyes with a pair of captivating green. In that moment, your heart skips a small beat, and a soft smile graces your lips as you gaze warmly at him. “Making fun of Joris and Antoine, bien sûr.” Of course.

A smile plays at the corner of his pink lips, and you can’t help but envy their perfect hue. You can’t help but notice the subtle dimples that grace Charles’ cheeks as he smiles. Did he always have those? With a casual grace, he raises a hand to scratch the side of his stubble before reaching for a towel casually draped over your lounge chair. As he leans over, droplets of water cascade onto your warm skin, a gentle reminder of the ocean’s embrace. You steal a moment to admire the bronzed glow of his skin, the sunlight dancing upon the small beads of water that cling to his sculpted muscles with a tantalizing allure.

A peculiar aura envelops the relationship between you and Charles. You didn’t speak often, although you were in the same friend group, and have known each other for forever. However, in the recent weeks, a shift has occurred. Perhaps it’s the shared experience of a newfound singleness has drawn you closer together, prompting conversations to flow more freely than ever before.

A delicate blush creeps onto your cheeks, a fleeting flush of warmth that you hope goes unnoticed against the backdrop of your sun-kissed skin. You feel a jolt of electricity shoot through you as Charles’s fingers brush lightly against your shoulders while the grabs the towel, igniting a subtle spark between you two.

“Allons-nous au club ce soir?” Are we going to the club tonight? One of your guy friends asks, sinking onto a sandy towel with a groan as he collapses onto the soft grains. 

For a moment, maybe a few seconds, silence hangs in the air. As if each person is lost in contemplation, weighing the prospect of the evening’s plans. Then, in a synchronous chorus, a resounding chorus of “yes” erupts from the group, breaking the silence with unanimous enthusiasm.

You remain silent, immersed in the pages of a trash magazine, each turn revealing scandalous tales that undoubtedly blur the lines between fact and fiction. Charles watches you intently from his position in the beach chair across from you, though not directly opposite. Positioned slightly to the right, his gaze lingers on you with a subtle curiosity, his expression betraying a hint of contemplation as he observes you amidst the circle of friends. Always in your own world.

“Lovie, tu participes?” Are you in? Your best friend beside you seems to notice your lack of response. Her arms stretch across the gap between your chairs, and she gently squeezes your wrist, a silent gesture of reassurance and solidarity. 

Lovie. You don’t exactly know why you got that nickname, but it stuck. And it carried over to most of the friend group calling you that since childhood.

You lifted your head up, the sun beading down on you causing your eyes to slightly crinkle, as you gave her a look that said duh!

Your friends smile widens as she claps her hands together, her excitement palpable as she sits up from her previously relaxed position. Her enthusiasm is infectious, casting a warm glow over the group as they all eagerly cheer in happiness with her. “Mon dieu!” Thank God! It was a squeal of relief. “Maybe you’ll meet a sexy man and fall in love and have his babies so you can forget all about that loser.”

Your heart clenches at the mere mention of your ex. The smile on your lip’s falters just slightly, but you quickly regain composure, determined not to show a hint of sadness surface while on vacation with your friends. With a subtle effort, you smooth away the brief flicker of vulnerability, masking it beneath a façade of cheerful resilience. 

You roll your eyes, “Nous verrons.” We’ll see. Your tone carries a hint of mystery as you look back into your magazine, letting the conversation of your friends flow into a different direction.

-

“Es-tu sûre que tu devrais en prendre unautre?” Are you sure you should have another? Joris says into your ear, making sure you’re able to hear him over the pulse of the music, his arm slung over the back of the booth behind you. You lean into his body, a drunken smile pulled on your lips.

He harbored a slight concern for you. While you were his girlfriend’s best friend, your friendship dated back to childhood, long before his relationship with her, and he held you in high regard. His care for you ran deep, and ever since your break-up, he knows that you haven’t been the same.

“Arrête de t’inquiéter pour moi.” Stop worrying about me. You shove his shoulder gently, before pointing to your best friend on the dance floor. “Inquiéte-toi pour elle.” Worry about her.

You let out a soft laugh as you witness Joris’s eyes widen in surprise at the sight of his girlfriend standing on the stage. With a knowing smile, you begin to slide out of the booth with intent to make your way to the bar, sensing the need for a fresh drink to accompany the unfolding spectacle.

Before you can even slide out of the booth, a fresh drink—scratch that, a refill of your drink, is placed in front of you. Your gaze follows the masculine hand holding the glass, adorned with an expensive watch at the wrist, tracing its path up the arm until your gaze meets Charles’ intense stare. His eyes, dark and captivating, lock onto yours, already filled with questions and a silent understanding.

You slide back over, silently signaling him to sit beside you. As he eases into the spot beside you, the proximity of his body sends a shiver down your spin, the heat radiating from him igniting a primal longing within you. Your bare skin tingles with anticipation as his presence fills the air with an electric charge, a silent dance of desire playing out between you in the dimly lit confines of the booth.

In the midst of the pulsating club music, words between you two remained scarce. Yet, you both found solace in the quiet companionship that enveloped you both. The energy of the club swirled around you, but the warmth of each other’s presence, you felt a profound sense of ease settle, much like a comforting blanket.

-

It wasn’t unnoticeable to the rest of the friend group. In fact, it was very noticeable. The way you and Charles seemed to find a connection with one another, especially post break-ups. 

It’s not that you were never friends, you just were never as close. So it came as a slight surprise to a few of your friends as they picked up the little changes that were made.

Like when Charles refills your drinks for you. Or when he notices that there is coconut in your meal, which you’re very allergic to, and sends it back to the kitchen. 

Like when you remind him to put on sunscreen, knowing he tends to burn easily. Or when you find yourselves sitting out by the fire at night, long after everyone went to sleep, just talking about the most random things.

“The CGI in that movie was terrible!”

“It’s a classic! You can’t hate a classic!”

“That doesn’t make the CGI better!”

Or

“I’ll have you know I’m a culinary expert.”

“Charles, I’ve known you for forever. Don’t lie!”

“I’m an innovator! Who else could turn pasta into charcoal with such ease?”

No matter the topic at hand, you and Charles always found yourselves engulfed in laughter, the gentle sound filling the air with warmth and camaraderie.

-

You didn’t want sadness to cloud your vacation, but sometimes emotions have a way of washing over you like relentless waves. One of the evenings, while your friends made plans to dine out, you made the wise choice to stay in. Although you didn’t want to miss out, you felt that you were not in the right mindset to be out with everyone. Some protested your decision, expressing concern, but you assured them that you would be fine on your own and ready to party it up all day tomorrow.

Charles shot you a funny look as he slid his hands into one of his pockets, leaning casually against the kitchen archway. His white linen shirt, barely buttoned and snug against his muscles, accentuated his tan, making it seem even more vibrant against the stark contrast of the fabric. A single glance from him stirred a whirlwind of emotions within you as you perched on the bar-stool chair, clad in nothing but a tiny pair of sleep shorts and a well-worn t-shirt. It was your ex-boyfriend’s shirt, a garment you should have long discarded, but its comfort proved too irresistible to part with. Despite the pang of guilt that tugged at your conscience, you found solace in its familiar embrace, a reminder of the past you couldn’t quite let go of yet.

The villa you currently stayed in was beautiful. Its whitewashed walls and wrought-iron accents blended modern and luxury all in one. Inside, the warm glow of the setting sunbathed the spacious rooms, casting an ethereal orange hue over the abundance of white and wood-colored furniture. As the click of the front door echoed through the villa, the chatter of your friends faded into near silence as they departed for dinner, leaving you alone in complete silence.

-

You find yourself eventually nestled in the corner of the oversized couch, cocooned in the warmth of a fluffy blanket draped over your body. With the television remote in hand, you flip through the channels, searching for something to capture your interest. Nothing quite grabs your attention, until you stumble upon a cheesy rom-com you’ve seen hundreds of times.

Lost in a trance, you’re oblivious to the world around you, the gentle breeze whispering through the open windows. The creak of the front door opening barely registers, and it’s only when Charles’ silhouette materializes in the archway beside the TV that you snap back to reality. A soft smile tugs at the corners of Charles’ lips as he gazes upon you, nestled comfortably on the couch, wrapped in a cocoon of warmth. His heart skips a beat at the sight of you, at the sight of your eyes looking at him with such softness.

“Que fais-tu de retour?” What are you doing back?

He shrugs nonchalantly, pushing off from the wall’s archway and making his way toward you. With an easy grace, he plops down beside you, propping one leg up on another couch cushion and allowing his shoulder and head to half-lean against you.

You both settle in a comfortable silence, the sound of the movie filling the air around you with a comforting ambiance.

“Penses-tu jamais que tu le surpasseras?” Do you ever think you’ll get over him?

The words send your stomach into a frenzy of somersaults, and a tightness forms in your throat, making it difficult to swallow.

You don’t answer immediately, instead you stare ahead at the television, your fingers fumbling with the fabric of the blanket nervously.

“Je l’espère.” I hope so.

His eyes are solemn as you look at him. “Parfois,” Sometimes. He begins, straightening his posture so he can fully look at you. “I think I’ll never get over her.”

His words hang heavily in the air, and though they sting a bit, you understand. You share the same sentiment.

“Mais toi,” But you. His hand reaches to yours, the one fumbling with your thigh. His eyes dart between both of yours, like he’s struggling to formulate his next words. “You just,” He starts before squeezing your hand in his. “You just make my days feel easier.”

You nod slowly, knowing exactly what he’s trying to say. “My pain, my heartache, just disappears whenever I’m with you.” Your voice is soft as you speak the words. The truth of them daunting.

“Sometimes I just wish I could turn my emotions off.” You say, unwrapping the blanket from your body, so that it only sits underneath you now. “Like I could just fuck someone and move on.”

Charles’ eyes widen slightly as the word ‘fuck’ slips past your lips. He nearly lets out an audible groan, his eyes tracing the contours of your collarbones peeking out from the oversized shirt that slips tantalizingly of your shoulder.

He licks his lips, swallowing a pronounced gulp, as his eyes trail back to your face.

“Yeah.” 

You could feel the tension in the air, like the both of you were considering fucking each other here and now. Charles couldn’t escape the thoughts of spreading you out on the cushions right here, spreading your legs and fucking you with his tongue.

As he locks eyes with you, you feel a flutter in your stomach, your thighs clenching involuntarily as his gaze lingers on your lips. You part your lips to speak, but before you can utter another word, a loud burst of commotion erupts through the front door. No doubt your drunken friends, clamoring for the fire pit.

-

You and Charles find yourselves in an awkward dance since then. Not too awkward, but the idea of you fucking each other escaped neither of your minds.

It was honestly twisted. The fact that Charles couldn’t stop picturing what you would look like beneath him, what your moans would sound like in his ear. He had fucked his fist twice to the though of you since he even heard the word ‘fuck’ slip past your lips on the couch the other night. It was honestly pathetic.

You couldn’t handle it either it seems. You found your eyes lingering on Charles way longer than necessary. The flex of his muscles as he enjoys a morning workout by the villa’s pool, the small smiles he gives you from across the room, and the small touches he gives as he walks by you has you driving yourself up a fucking wall.

So, when your friends decide to head out for a spa day, you and Charles hang back sitting across from one another a tad too far apart on the outdoor couch for it to be normal. It was as if you needed the space to stop from jumping each other’s bones.

The skimpy red bikini you wore did little to ease Charles’ thoughts. But he couldn’t help but feel grateful for the first time in weeks he isn’t thinking about his ex-girlfriend. No, he’s too engrossed in the idea of fucking you. Hearing your sweet little moans he just knows you would have. Feeling your smooth skin beneath the pads of his fingertips.

Charles could feel himself harden just by glancing at you lounging comfortably on the outdoor couch, the clouds covering the sun engulfing you guys in a moment of shade.

Across the couch from him, you tried to do everything but acknowledge Charles’ longing stare. But you couldn’t. Your body was all tense, in need of a release. 

“Charles, will you—”

Before you could even finish the sentence, Charles was standing over your figure on the couch. His hardened cock visibly noticeable in his short swimsuit. The muscles of his thighs flexed before you, as he visibly gulped at the vision of your breasts spilling out of the top.

“Assieds-toi droit.” Sit up. He murmurs softly, his voice carrying a gentle command as he shifts, prompting you to straighten your posture.

Was this really about to happen? You really hoped so.

It was as if Charles can see the desire in your eyes, answering the question of if you wanted this in his head almost instantly.

“Est-ce que je peux t’embrasser?” Can I kiss you? His thumb toyed with your bottom lip, tracing it as he licked his own.

You nodded your head before his lips pressed down onto yours, capturing them in a sweet embrace. His fingers tangled in your hair, gripping it firmly near your scalp as he deepened the kiss, igniting a surge of warmth and longing between you.

A soft moan escapes your lips as he slips his tongue into your mouth, pressing it hotly against yours. He pulls away for a moment, still standing above your sitting figure, as he takes in your blown out pupils.

“Ça a un gout si doux.” Tastes so sweet. His hand remains in your hair, holding your head in place to look at him. His eyes stare at your sightly swollen lips, a clench of need forming in the pit of his stomach.

He falls to his knees before you on the couch, kneeling between your two legs, as his other hand presses against your chest, forcing you to lean back against the cushions of the couch. The sun peeped through the clouds momentarily, allowing you to drink in the sight of just how light his eyes were.

His thumb grazes your bikini cladded core, rubbing light circles in a teasing manner. The pressure of his thumb wasn’t enough, but it was everything you needed.

He looked at you from between your legs, a smirk on his face like he knew just how crazy he was driving you. It was an image you never wanted to forget. 

“Touch me.” You begged, a breathy moan leaving your lips as his thumb pressed harder onto your swollen clit. 

It was all he needed to hear before sliding your bikini bottoms to the side and shoving his tongue to where you needed him most. The cool air of the outdoors was a stark contrast to the heat you felt between your legs. 

He took his time with you, like he wanted to savor every sweet moan you gave him. His tongue flicked around your clit a few times, before wrapping his lips around it. Your hand slid into his brown locks, slightly lightened form the sun over vacation, and pulled as you rutted your hips against his face.

“Mm, that’s it,” He groaned into your cunt, his words vibrating against you, sending your hips into a faster frenzy. He slipped two fingers into you, lifting his head to watch as you lulled your head back against the cushion and took your hands from his head to your breasts. You stretched the bikini top slightly, until your breasts spilled over the tiny triangles, your nipples already hardened from the need that burned within you.

Charles slipped one hand up to your breasts, taking one of your nipples in between his thumb and forefinger and pinching.

“M’god,” You half-shouted, biting your lip to prevent yourself for being too loud.

“Don’t deprive me from your sweet little moans, yeah?” He pulled his lips off your clit for a few seconds, giving you ample time to look at them glistening in you. You nearly came at the sight of it. 

He dropped his head back between your legs, flicking fast kitten licks to your clit, which had you careening forward with a cry of pleasure.

He sucked hard on your clit, eliciting loud mewls from you that were like a sweet melody to his ears. Charles could feel his cock straining against the tightness of his swim suit, he flexed his hips into the couch before him, in need of some sort of relief. 

He could feel you teetering on the edge of your orgasm, shoving his face deeper into you, his tongue slipping in and out of you at a fervent pace. It hit you hard. Your hips had a mind of their own, as they rode his face, the bony structure of his nose pressing against your clit sending you into a frenzy.

Charles replaced his tongue with his fingers and watched as you came down from your high. His fingers still working you over as he coaxed you through your orgasm, not letting up.

“I knew you would taste like heaven,” He smirks, finally removing his fingers, before slipping them into his mouth, and moaning at the taste of you on his tongue.

You groaned, your pupils blown out as you looked at him, your legs still spread and cunt fully exposed to him and the outside air. 

“Need more,” You practically begged.

“Need my cock, hm?” You nodded, wasted no time in answering. He pushed himself up from his knees, sitting beside you on the couch as he pushed his swimsuit down enough to free his cock. It was hot and heavy in your hands as you reached for it, precum already dripping from its tip.

You straddled his waist, raising up just enough for him to slip his cock into your already saturated core. Your hands grip the back of the couch behind Charles’ head, your fingers clenching it tightly as you take in each inch of him. His hands grip your waist, large fingers sprayed across as he guides your movements over his cock.

The squeeze of your cunt on his cock was better than Charles could ever imagine. The fact that he had to use his fist before you was honestly a punishment compared to this.

“Mon dieu,” My God. You groan as his cock stretches your walls. You waste no time in working yourself over his cock, the pleasure of it too good for you to do it slow. You chased that second orgasm as it teetered on the edge. You were already so close.

“That close already?” His smirk was permanent on his face as he flexed his hips up into you, hitting you deeper than before.

You nodded, soft mewls escaping your lips constantly. It was as if you couldn’t shut up now. His hands grip your hair tightly, pulling your head back to look up at the sky, as he pulls one of your hardened nipples in between his teeth.

You didn’t have time to tell him you were coming again, but the clench of your walls on his cock was enough of a warning for him. Your walls fluttered around him repeatedly, as his name fell softly from your lips followed with a string of curses.

As if he couldn’t hold back his orgasm any longer, he lifted you up off him and placed you to the side, his hot cum spilling over his cock and stomach in stringy spurts. Your body was limp against the cushion, your bathing suit covering nothing.

Still hazy from your climax, you look from the blue cloudy sky to Charles beside you. His eyes were glossy as he smiled, like he was fully content.

“Merci,” Thank you. You said softly, an acknowledgment for him giving you what you mentioned the other night.

He nodded once, giving a small smile as if to say thank you back.

-

It’s been weeks since you and Charles fucked on the outdoor couch of the vacation villa. You haven’t seen each other much since, not that you expected it. You were thankful it helped you forget about your ex-boyfriend just a little bit more. Like you could bare the idea of meeting other men. Which you were.

You claimed that Charles was a one-time thing. Although it was probably the best sex you’ve ever had, you knew you couldn’t do it again. It was a mutual one-time thing.

So, when you found yourself pressed against the bathroom door of the five-star restaurant, your short little sundress bunched up at your waist, and Charles’ cock buried deep in your cunt, it was a little unexpected. Not completely.

It was hard and quick, nothing but a string of breathy moans between you two as he pressed your chest forward into the door. You both came quickly, your chest flushed red and his cheeks slightly pink as if he just performed a hard workout. 

“Who’s your date?” He asks, the words slip out fast, like he’s trying to act like he doesn’t care.

You furrow your eyebrow for a second, before looking at yourself in the mirror, Charles standing tall behind your figure. “Just met him last night,” You flattened your hair as much as you could to make it seem normal. “I’m trying to get back out there.”

Charles smiles at you, although it seems slightly pained. “Good. Your ex-boyfriend didn’t deserve you.” His words were kind, and it made you smile that he even bothered to say it. 

“I should get back,” You begin, turning to face him. His eyes look at your lips one last time, like he’s contemplating kissing you again. “I’ll see you next week at Joris’s, right?”

He gave you a small nod.

-

Charles Leclerc is a liar.

Well, a liar when it comes to him saying he doesn’t think about you sexually. The way you feel around his cock. The way your breathy moans turn him on to no end. The way your breasts bounced with each thrust of his cock. The taste of your cunt on his lips. 

He’s a liar if he says he doesn’t fuck his fist almost every night to the thought of you.

But he was also a liar when it comes to him saying he doesn’t think about you not sexually. The way you loved to read trashy magazines, the way you always fidgeted with the rings on your fingers when you were nervous, the way your eyes glowed whenever you laughed. 

So, when Joris mentions you and a new potential boyfriend, he can’t help but feel slightly annoyed at the idea. The clench of Charles’ jaw at the sight of you and this ‘potential boyfriend’ across the yard at baby shower, does not slip past Joris’s eyesight.

“Y a-t-il quelque chose entre vous deux?” Is there something between you two?

Charles clutches the neck of the beer bottle in his fingers, bringing it to his lips, before straying his eyes from you to Joris beside him.

Charles’ eyes gleamed like he didn’t know how to answer this without admitting feelings he hasn’t even admitted to himself. He shook his head. No. Because there wasn’t.

“Vous étiez proches en vacances.” You guys were close on vacation.

It was just a statement, as if he wanted to see Charles’ reaction. Charles didn’t know if Joris was trying to insinuate anything, but Charles didn’t respond. Not as Joris’s girlfriend, your best friend, popped up behind you both, a tray of cupcakes in her hand.

You sat across the yard, deep in conversation with Theo, at one of the many heavily decorated picnic tables. The short purple sundress that adorned your body is a vision of effortless elegance. Delicate straps grace the shoulders, framing your breasts with a feminine charm. The skirt flows gently with every movement, swaying gracefully in the warm breeze.

You both knew it wasn’t anything serious, at least yet, but he had a way of making you smile, nonetheless. Despite only knowing each other for a few weeks and sharing a handful of dates, he made a point to take his time with you. He was considerate, never pressuring you into anything, especially after you had confided in him about your previous messy relationship one night.

“Tu es belle.” You’re beautiful. Theo whispered into your ear, his fingers toying with the fabric at the ends of your dress, resting right above your knees.

You blushed, your cheeks flaring a light shade of red, as you smiled into your lap. You lifted your head slightly, looking across the yard, where your eyes met with Charles. His eyes already watching you with such heat in his eyes it made your stomach do a somersault.

He felt an intense surge of resentment towards the guy who dared to lay his hands on you, his anger boiling as he watched him lean into whisper into your ear. Your cheeks flushed a brilliant shade of crimson under his gaze, betraying the effect of his words.  What could he possibly be saying to you?

It was just his cock you were coming around last week. So, why is this fiery sense of jealousy threatening to consume him entirely?

It didn’t make sense. How could he feel such intense jealousy over someone he never even had a real relationship with? He never even felt this jealous over his ex-girlfriend.

It was just sex.

He told himself repeatedly. It was just sex. But it only made the burn in his chest only grow more.

-

You were a liar if you said that Charles Leclerc is never on your mind. You were a liar if you said that it was just sex.

Because, for some inexplicable reason, you can’t seem to get Charles Leclerc out of your mind. You remember how he made sure none of your dishes contained coconut, how he bought you those trashy magazines he knew you loved so much, and how he always made sure that you were smiling.

So, when Charles Leclerc stood silhouetted in the doorway of your front door, the moonlight casting a soft glow around him in the middle of the night, you couldn’t help but feel your heart skip a beat.

You took note of his hair in disarray, as if he had run his hands through it a dozen times, and the soft grey sweats that hung loosely on his hips. The taut muscles of his arms peeked out against the seams of the black t-shirt he wore. 

“Je n’arrête pas de penser à toi.” I can’t stop thinking about you. He utters the words with a look of anguish etched on his face, each step carefully navigating around your figure as he stands in the foyer of your apartment, a space he’s been in countless times over the years. But never alone. Never without friends.

You close the door and turn to look at him, not realizing just how close he was to you. “It’s like you,” he begins but freezes, taking a step closer toward you. You take a step back, the tight tank top you wore did little to hide your hardened nipples from the cold air, and your back hit the front door. “It’s like you possess every thought I have. Every single thought. You. You. You.”

You sucked in a breath as you looked into his eyes, more darkened than normal, almost as if he was angry at you.

“Qu’est-ce que tu m’as fait?” What did you do to me? His fingers trail up your arm to your collarbones, a trail of goosebumps following in their wake.

You gulp audibly, your lips slightly parted from the feel of his fingertips on your skin for the first time in weeks. You struggle to find the words until Charles is pleading.

He laughs slightly sarcastic, like he can’t believe this is happening to him. “I even bought those trashy magazines that you like so much, a whole stack of them at my place, because I cannot get you out of my fucking head.”

“Dit moi, it’s not just me.” Tell me.

You would be a liar if you said it’s just him. Your hands trail up to his shoulder, your fingers squeezing them in comfort as you stare into his eyes. His breaths getting heavier as your fingers trail his t-shirt classes skin, like he was yearning for it so much, like it burned him.

“It’s not just you.”

He doesn’t give you time to say much more, not until his lips are crashing down onto yours again. Like he couldn’t last one more second without your lips pressed to his.

[dragonbarbie]

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐋𝐀𝐒𝐓 𝐒𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐌 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐈𝐍𝐆

aemond targaryen x baratheon!reader

rating: 18+, minors dni

summary: aemond targaryen is tasked with bringing the stormlands to his brother's side. but when he arrives he finds the new regent, old lord Borros' young widow, isn't as pliant as he had anticipated. he finds himself drawn to the poised, commanding lady of storm's end, much to his horror. but he refuses to leave without bringing this storm to heel

word count: 12 k (ye gotta suffer for ye smut what can i say)

tags: mentions of past forced/arranged marriage, reader is a member of a minor baratheon branch and is Borros' widow but no other traits are described, smut, handjob, choking kink, fingering, p in v sex, hate sex, creampie, cowgirl, mention of moontea, hints of dom!aemond? or hes just being a control freak i mean the line is very thin [lmk if i missed something]

sidenote: this was such a fun one shot to write, i was writing aemond after so long i think i got a bit carried away hytftgyhuijo do comment/ask and lmk if you'd like this as a series cause i might just have ideas for that

The hall of Storm’s End was cold, the stone walls rising around you as you watched the storm raging outside through the window, expecting to see your guest arrive at the dreary scene any minute. The screech of a dragon approaching managed to reach you, louder even than the sound of thunder. You did not wait to catch a glimpse of the creature for yourself, instead your black gown swept as you made your way to your late husband’s seat, the dark fabric pooling around your feet as you sat, spilling over the stone like a dark tide.

The unmistakable roar of Vhagar’s wings heralded Aemond Targaryen’s arrival, accompanied by a loud ‘thump’ of what you imagined was the ground straining under the beasts feet, to signal just how close to your home the dragon had landed. The dragon’s arrival even rattled the windows, a reminder of the power the prince carried with him—power you knew he intended to wield like a blade. Your jaw tightened for a brief moment. Vhagar’s presence wasn’t just a spectacle, a grand display of power and might; it was a threat.

Your lips curled ever so slightly in distaste. The prince’s arrival on the back of a dragon, no less the largest alive, was nothing less than a veiled threat. He wanted you to know the might of the greens, to feel the heat of dragonfire on your doorstep.

You stretched out your hands and placed them on the arms of the stone seat, chin up, back straight; determined, to be seen as a commanding presence. You wore no crown, but you would impress that this was your land. Your posture must reflect as if you were carved from the same storm-hardened stone that made the keep, a Baratheon through and through, even if from a lesser branch of the family.

 You belonged here, not merely as the old lord’s widow and the new one’s mother, but by your own right too – you had to hold onto that as the gates to the hall were flung open after a few minutes of anticipation.

In he stepped—Aemond One-Eye, cloaked in Targaryen arrogance, his long strides purposeful, each movement precise, till he reached the middle of the hall. His single eye fell upon you immediately, his gaze sharp and assessing, like a man who expected you to yield at the first word. You did not move.

After a few seconds, he continued his steps once more and you let him approach, watched him close the distance until he stood before you. Then, with all the decorum expected of his blood, he bent low and kissed your hand. “My lady Baratheon.” His voice sounded as cold as his hand felt against yours.

“Prince Aemond,” you said, your voice as smooth as silk, yet laced with an undercurrent of steel. “Storm’s End bids you welcome… and your dragon.” you tilted your head ever so slightly, the hint of a smile on your lips. “I must say, it is not every day one finds a beast as colossal as Vhagar at their gates. Her presence is... difficult to miss.”

Aemond straightened, his eye narrowing ever so slightly. “Vhagar’s presence is a reminder of the strength our House offers to those wise enough to stand with it, my lady. A reminder, of a promise of protection.”

“A reminder,” you mused, leaning back in your chair as though you held all the time in the world, “or a threat?”

His lips twitched, not quite a smile, but close. “Only to those who would stand against us, my lady.”

“Ah,” your eyes danced with playfulness, “and I suppose I must decide whether to accept this…. protection…or risk the wrath of your beast?” Your displeasure at being forced to house the ancient creature as you made the decision about whom to side with was clear. Vhagar’s presence cast such a long shadow, it hung over every word that was spoken in that great hall. You knew Otto Hightower had expected the mere presence of the dragon would encourage the frail, young lady, who’d only been appointed regent because she had the good fortune to give birth to a son unlike Lord Baratheon’s first wife, to come on side without much fuss. You were going to cause him much disappointment.

Vhagar might be mighty, but you would not give in to the feeling of fear at her attendance. You would stand your ground before the prince, and not let him make the mistake to think that he could intimidate you.

Hands clasping behind his back, the prince’s good eye bore into your face, his voice low, laced with a hint of warning “you appear to be a wise woman to me, my lady. You understand how unwise it is to provoke a dragon.”

You laughed softly, the sound ringing across the otherwise eerily quiet hall “Is that what I’m doing, Prince Aemond? Prodding at the dragon’s belly?”

He was trying to impose upon you the upper hand he held, to dangle the danger of his dragon over your head to get you to agree to his demands – you deflected it as if by a flick of your wrist, which left him surprised. He knew you understood him perfectly well, and he was starting to understand you too now, as you lifted your hand to your chin, and leaned on your palm to watch him almost lazily.

Your eyes sparkled with an unspoken challenge as you watched him, letting the silence linger, enjoying the way his patience seemed to thin with each passing second. You could tell he was uncomfortable with how the tension had shifted, though his eyes never left yours and his expression betrayed nothing but you observed how his nose flared up in an indication of the underlying anger and frustration. He was a dragon, yes—but one that had yet to learn patience. You would teach him.

“You know why I’ve come,” he finally said, trying to pull the conversation back into his control. “My grandsire has written to you already of my intent. A marriage alliance between our houses. I would take in marriage one of your stepdaughters, in exchange for the strength of the Stormlands at our back.”

“Ah,” you sighed, “such a generous offer. The strength of Storm’s End married to the might of your house would certainly be something. At the very least it would ensure your brother cannot be defeated outright in a land battle.” You had gone over this with your husband’s advisers multiple times, you knew the strength of your army, the advantages it brought to either side, like the back of your hand. “And yet…” you paused, lips curling into a faint, knowing smile. Aemond straightened his back, tapping his leathered foot, realising you were not going to make his work easy.

“… I have to wonder, why you think I would choose the promises of the Hand over the promises of… others?” you spokepointedly but did not mention the name of his half-sister Rhaenyra, but he understood where you were signalling. “Your brother is not the only claimant with dragons.”

Aemond forcefully replied, in an attempt to demonstrate his advantage while keeping his bubbling anger in check, “The largest dragon in the realm is before your gates. The whore of Dragonstone with her bastards could never match Vhagar.”

His words were filled with vitriol, but they did not move the lady Baratheon. You simply mused “I confess, the notion of the mighty Vhagar at my beck and call is... tempting–” Aemond’s jaw clenched at how you implied him or his dragon would be at your ‘beck and call,’ but he bit back his tongue “–but power is a fickle thing, your grace, is it not? Today, it flies at my gates; tomorrow, it may burn them. If not your dragons’, then your half-sister’s. To stand with either one of you is to stand against the other. And their dragons.”

Aemond took another step forward, refusing to let your words unsettle him. “Storm’s End has always been loyal to the Crown. We expect no less now.”

“Yes but which crown must we bow to now remains unclear, yet.” You casually replied as you rose from your seat, the dark material of your gown swirling around your feet once more. The firelight caught the fabric, casting shifting shadows that made you seem like a figure from a half-forgotten tale – larger than life, and ethereal, not quite inhabiting the same plane as the prince. “As I am sure you are aware my late husband’s father swore an oath to support Rhaenyra. While I do not dismiss this hand of friendship your grandsire, the Hand has offered us, I cannot accept it either.” You met his gaze as you looked up at him, unflinching, your smile pleasing yet razor-sharp. “Loyalty, Prince Aemond, is a curious thing. It can shift, like the sea winds of this land. And I... well, I would prefer to remain more flexible in my allegiances. At least until I’ve had time for some careful consideration.”

Impatience grew within Aemond, you could see the tension in how rigidly he stood. He could sense you were slipping from his grasp, just as easily as the wind slipped through the cracks of your keep’s stone walls. He needed to push harder, to make you commit.

“This is a matter of great urgency, my lady, I—” He was about to press further when you let out a soft sigh and brought a hand to your temple, feigning weariness. “Forgive me, my prince, but I find myself dreadfully fatigued. The burdens of leadership weigh heavily on one such as I. You must understand... after all, I am but a woman, and we are so very frail. We were not built to rule you see… is that not the core reason your brother has raised his banners against the Princess after all?” your eyes seemed to goad the prince to challenge you on your words.

Aemond clenched his folded hands behind him, but betrayed none of the irritation simmering beneath his surface. He could see right through your act. There was nothing frail about the Lady Y/N Baratheon. This was another move in your game, a way to delay him. You were stalling, that much was clear.

“Lady Y/N,” he began, stepping forward again, “we cannot afford—”

“There will be time, Prince Aemond,” you interrupted, finality in your tone, a dismissal thinly veiled behind sweetness “Plenty of time to discuss alliances and armies. Storm’s End is yours for as long as you need it. Make yourself at home.”

Aemond stiffened, realizing that you had no intention of continuing this conversation tonight. You were dismissing him, and there was nothing he could do to force your hand without showing his own weakness.

You turned then, moving toward the doorway with a graceful ease that contradicted your words of weariness. Aemond was fuming with frustration which had finally sept through the cracks of his unbothered exterior. This was the first task he had been assigned as they had started to draw their banners, the first contribution he was expected to make for his family’s cause. He refused to go back empty handed. To win the Baratheon’s to their side was his duty, and he had no intention of returning without anything other than the Stormlands in his pocket.

Just as you reached the threshold, you stopped, casting a glance over your shoulder, your voice light but edged with mockery. “Oh, and do let the staff know whatever your beast will be having. We wouldn’t want to keep her waiting, would we?”

Aemond’s grinded his teeth at how you were daring to treat Vhagar as if she were no more than a hound at the gates. His dragon, the largest and most fearsome alive, reduced to a mere beast by your dismissive words. Aemond would not find it so easy to deal with the new lady of Storm’s end as most had expected. Borros’s widow may not have the years of experience to strengthen her, she was a young thing yet, that the old lord had married for the purpose of producing him sons; yet, even he would have never expected you to become this formidable a defender of his seat as you had become.

He watched as you disappeared into the shadows, having given him nothing. Everything in your manner told him one thing: this woman would not bend easily.

You stood beside the bed, watching the rise and fall of your son’s little chest. Seeing him safe and sound was all that kept you going, so whenever your mind would be distressed over the politics and games around you, you would try to be around your son to remind yourself why you were doing all of this in the first place.

Royce slept soundly, a peaceful expression on his innocent face, his tiny hand curled around the edge of his blanket. But peace was an illusion here in Storm’s End, where every decision threatened to shatter the fragile balance you were fighting to maintain. You smoothed a stray lock of dark hair from his brow, your heart heavy with the burden of his future. All this you did for him, to ensure his safety, his future, his seat. One wrong move, and you would not pay for it alone.

Behind you, the crackling fire in the hearth could not chase away the cold reality of the letter from Rhaenyra, now resting on your writing desk – it served as a reminder for you, a reminder that a storm was brewing outside. Ser Byron Swann finally brought you out of your brooding thoughts. “You’ve been quiet for some time, my lady,” came Ser Byron’s voice, tinged with concern as he stepped forward, his armour gently clinking in the quiet room. Byron had been a faithful bannerman to your late husband, and so far to you. You appreciated his counsel and concern.

Not taking your eyes off Royce, you spoke “To choose incorrectly would mean risking his future. The Stormlands could tear itself apart.” Your bannermen, always watching you with suspicion for being a woman who dared to hold power over them, had already whispered their concerns. Some remembered the oath Borros’ father had sworn to Rhaenyra years ago, binding them to her claim. Others had made their displeasure plain—a woman on the Iron Throne, abomination they had muttered darkly, displeased with the idea of a queen ruling over them. The Stormlands was teetering on the brink of division. Then there was the fear of dragons, which prevailed over all else.

You straightened, hand lingering on the bedpost as you turned away from the sight of your son and addressed your counsel more directly. “Choosing Rhaenyra might honour the oath, but it could also fracture the Stormlands beyond repair. Choosing the Greens...” You hesitated, the thought of Aemond Targaryen flashing briefly through your mind. “...may bring us under the protection of dragons, but at what cost?” Otto Hightower was perhaps the most infamous schemer in the land, and the ‘King’ Aegon was by all accounts a useless drunk. Not to mention his younger brother…

Byron crossed his arms, brow furrowed. “Neutrality is not an option either, not with the eyes of both sides upon us.”

You sighed wearily, and agreed “No, choosing neither would invite war right to our doorstep instead.” You paced toward the hearth, placing a hand on the frame of the fireplace as you watched the flickering flames that seemed to reflect your thoughts, anxiously moving, untamed. You had been strong when facing the prince, unwilling to back down or give away any fears you might privately have. Now you had no need to hold onto such a façade, you could admit to yourself that this was an extremely slippery situation you and the Stormlands were in. Your brow furrowed with worry as you looked into the flames, willing for an answer to leap out from them.

Byron's eyes followed you closely. As if he could read your mind, he tried to voice your thoughts “There is no right choice, my lady, you can only hope to pick the lesser of two dangers.” If only you could tell which was which, you thought of who Borros would pick momentarily, but then found yourself thinking that you’d never much cared for his strategic opinion anyway, so there was no reason to rely upon it now.

“what did my lady think of the Hightower’s messenger, the one-eyed prince?” Swann curiously asked.

What did she think of Aemond? A dangerous man, undoubtedly—sharp, calculating, and ever poised for battle, even when the fight was merely in words.

And yet… there was something more. Something you would not, could not, name aloud. His cold, unyielding demeanour stirred something in you—something that made you wary, but also intrigued. Aemond Targaryen was not a man easily thwarted, and that made him dangerous. His arrogance was palpable, his strength undeniable, but beneath that was a fire, simmering just beneath the surface. You had seen it in his eye, in the way he watched you. His features were sculpted as if by marble, standing so close to him you could see why your septa use to tell you the Targaryens were closer to gods than men, you had verified the fantastical accounts of their Valyrian beauty for yourself. You found yourself tilting on the side of agreement with those opinions.

Your fingers tightened ever so slightly on the stone beneath it as you leaned towards the fire. You weren’t a fool. You knew the allure of power, of danger. And Aemond embodied both.

The memory of Aemond’s lingering touch when he kissed your hand, and the veiled threat of the dragon that waited outside your walls, sent a chill down your spine.

You drew in a slow breath, forcing yourself to focus. Attractive or not you could not afford to be distracted by immodest thoughts of the Targaryen prince, not when everything hung in such a precarious balance.

You turned back to meet Ser Byron’s eyes with your own hardened gaze. “Only that to take Aemond Targaryen lightly could prove to be a grave mistake.”

Aemond stood at the narrow window of his assigned chambers, watching the endless churn of the sea beyond Storm’s End. The wind here was relentless, beating against the stone walls with the same fury that seemed to linger in the air since his arrival. It matched his mood—restless, frustrated. He had come to Storm’s End to secure an alliance, to bring the Baratheons to his brother’s cause. But instead, he found his thoughts tangled in something far more distracting.

Lady Y/N Baratheon.

He stepped away from the window and moved towards the small desk, settling into the chair. A half-written letter to his grandsire lay before him, waiting to be finished. The fire crackled low in the hearth, casting long shadows across the room. Aemond dipped his quill into the ink and resumed writing.

My Lord Hand, I arrived at Storm’s End to find the lady regent in full command of her seat. Y/N Baratheon is not as easily persuaded, as was expected...

His quill paused. His mind drifted back to your first meeting in the great hall. You had been seated on the Baratheon throne, the seat of you late husband. Yet you did not look out of place in it for a second, one could have been easily forgiven for mistaking to think you had been born to it and were not merely guarding it as your son’s keeper. Your alluring eyes had met his without flinching, without the slightest hint of deference. You were calculating, composed, and beautiful—there was no denying that. But it was more than just your appearance that held his attention. There was something in you that challenged him, intrigued him.

Aemond set down the quill on the table with force, flexing his hand in frustration. The same hand, he realised as he looked down upon it, which had held your own to his lips only hours ago. He had felt it then, a pull. A quiet draw towards you that had nothing to do with the game of politics and alliances.

He had seen it in the way you looked at him, how your eyes had lingered when he kissed the back of your palm—a small, fleeting moment that had unsettled him more than he cared to admit. He had sensed it the moment you welcomed him with that cold smile, that hint of mockery in your tone when you’d spoken of his dragon. Vhagar was meant to remind you of what he could bring to bear against your house, yet the you had barely blinked. Instead, you’d made a jest of it, turning the veiled threat back on him with the ease of a seasoned player in the game.

You wielded your wit like a blade, much like he wielded his sword. You had unsettled him in a way he hadn’t expected. And that pull he felt towards you was as unwelcome as it was undeniable.

He leaned back in his chair, exhaling slowly. This was not what he had come here for. He was not a boy, not some green fool led astray by a pretty face and a clever tongue. He was here for duty—for the future of his house. For his brother’s crown. Y/N Baratheon might be all captivating, but she was merely a pawn he needed on his side, nothing more.

Aemond shook his head and returned to the letter.

I will continue to press our advantage and remind them where true power lies.

With a resolute shake of his head, Aemond signed his name to the letter.

Duty. Only duty.

The days at Storm’s End had settled into a routine of formal dinners and polite conversations, surrounded by the awful weather which seemed ever present outside the walls of the ancient castle. Aemond had been introduced to Lady Y/N’s stepdaughters soon after his arrival, and each one, in her own way, seemed determined to gain his favour.

This was very much to Aemond’s annoyance, and very very much to your own entertainment. You held no great love for your stepdaughters, Floris was the only one you tolerated really. All four of them had been rather uncourteous to you when you, young as you were, not much older than the oldest of them, had first married their father so quickly after their mother’s death. You hadn’t been able to voice how unfair it was for them to lay the blame for that on your feet when it was your father who had practically forced you into the union with Borros. After their father’s death the girls were pretty much on your mercy, and you had decided to be generous enough to keep them under your protection – they were your son’s family after all, even if utterly tiresome. You supposed the responsibility to get them respectable marriages also befell on you, when you thought of Aemond’s offer.

Upon hearing the news of the arrival of a prince they had leapt at the chance to be introduced to him, which you had obliged. That ought to keep him occupied in the meantime, you’d thought with a smirk.

Cassandra, the eldest, had made the first move. She had practically thrown herself into the role of hostess, her wide-eyed enthusiasm grating on Aemond almost immediately.

“Oh, Prince Aemond!” Cassandra exclaimed the moment they were introduced, clasping her hands together as though she were greeting a long-lost friend. “What a joy it is to finally meet you!”

Aemond inclined his head stiffly, already sensing where the conversation would go. She wasted no time in becoming over-familiar with the man who seemed to do nothing but ice her out. Cassandra was pretty enough, but her excitement bordered on ridiculous.

“Tell me,” she continued, undeterred by his silence, “is it true that your dragon is the largest in the world? What a marvelous thing to behold! My father always hated those things but I assure you, I don’t share his aversions one bit—”

Aemond barely managed to suppress an eye roll. Cassandra’s chatter washed over him like the ever-present rain outside—relentless, loud, and entirely uninteresting. His mind wandered as she continued to babble about the wonders of dragonriding, and before he knew it, his gaze had drifted across the room to where you stood, speaking with one of your bannermen.

Unlike your daughters, you were calm, composed, your every movement deliberate. You had a way of carrying yourself that commanded attention without demanding it. There was no loudness, no need for theatrics. You simply were.

“Prince Aemond?” Cassandra’s voice interrupted his thoughts, and he blinked, realizing she had asked him a question he hadn’t heard. He looked down at at her out of the corner of his eye, her eyes were wide with anticipation, waiting for a response.

He forced himself to focus. “The sight of Vhagar is stunning, yes, though I doubt she would be as charmed by your enthusiasm as you imagine.” There were few who could stand before his great dragon and not buckle at the knees, he did not think the eldest of the Baratheon girls was one of those rare few.

Cassandra giggled, utterly oblivious to his lack of interest. “Oh, I would never presume to charm a dragon! I’m sure it takes someone with great strength and skill to command such a creature.”

Aemond only nodded, eager to end the conversation. His thoughts were already drifting back to you, who had now turned and caught him watching. You smiled faintly, a knowing glint in your eyes, before turning back to your conversation. He felt a flicker of frustration. You were too aware of his distraction, and it seemed you enjoyed keeping him off balance.

His encounters with Maris, the second eldest, were no better. Maris was clever, and her need to prove it often left him feeling as though he were being interrogated.

“Prince Aemond,” Maris began one evening during dinner, her eyes gleaming with a curiosity that made Aemond immediately wary. “I’ve always been fascinated by Valyrian history. The legacy of Old Valyria, the blood of dragons… surely, someone like you must know its intricacies better than most.”

It was one of Aemond’s favourite topic of study, and thus, initially he was intrigued by her interest in it. “yes, I have read the histories diligently. What parts hold your particular interest?”

“Oh the doom, of course.” And there she lost the prideful dragon-prince, for he was as attached to the legacy of his family’s old homeland as one could be, at the mention of its downfall his face turned to an immediate grimace.

Which was apparently a hilarious scene.

A stifled laugh from the other end of the table made him lift his eye off the younger girl to you, who were hiding your mouth behind the white napkin.

His gaze had drifted to you many times that night already. You had sat at the head of the table, right across from him. Your demeanour blasé, unbothered by the efforts of your stepdaughters to capture his attention. Every now and then, your eyes would meet his, and there would be that faint glimmer of amusement in your gaze, as though the entire charade was a source of quiet entertainment for you. And now, you had dared to openly laugh.

It irked him, the way you seemed to understand his thoughts without him ever voicing them.

Maris pressed on, oblivious to his distraction. “I’ve read that Valyria’s fall was as much due to internal strife as external forces. The dragons, the magic—such power, yet they crumbled from within. Do you think that fate could ever repeat itself here, in Westeros? Could our dragons fail us the way theirs did?”

That question got on his nerves and Aemond’s patience frayed. His thoughts were still tangled with you, and the incessant questioning only worsened his mood. He glanced at Maris, his tone sharp. “You ask too many questions than are appropriate, I think, of a noblewoman, Lady Maris.”

Maris blinked, caught off guard by the sudden coldness in his voice. For a moment, her confidence faltered, and she offered a sheepish smile. “Apologies, my prince. I suppose I can be a bit… overzealous.”

Aemond said nothing, his gaze flicking back to you, now sipping wine with an expression unreadable, though the faintest trace of a smile lingered at the corners of your lips. You raised your goblet slightly in a mock toast, eyes sparkling with levity as if you knew how little interest he had in your stepdaughters.

You both became the last two to depart from the dining hall that night, and walked back to your chambers in stride with each other. The corridors of Storm’s End were quiet, save for the soft rustling of your gown and the faint echo of footsteps. With a sly glance, you broke the silence.

“You were rather harsh with poor Maris tonight,” you said, your voice carrying a playful lilt. “I think you might have left her heart in pieces. All that talk of Valyrian history and you simply dismissed her with a single, icy look. Quite the cruel prince, aren’t you?”

Aemond cast a sideways glance at you, “I have little patience for those who speak without thought.” he stiffly replied.

You let out a soft, playful laugh, eyes twinkling with mischief, completely unbothered by his frigid demeanour “Yes, I noticed. But tell me, Your Grace, do you always deal with such cruelty, or was Maris simply the unlucky target of your wrath?”

Aemond slowed his pace, his gaze narrowing slightly as he looked down at you. “I am not cruel by nature, Lady Y/N. But I value directness. Your stepdaughters prefer to dance around what they truly want.” His voice lowered, carrying a hint of something more, something that suggested this conversation was no longer about Maris. “I prefer a more… forthright approach.”

You arched an eyebrow, your smile deepening, though your eyes remained sharp. “Forthrightness is an admirable trait,” you mused, the tone almost purring. “But sometimes a little patience goes a long way, don’t you think? Not everything worth having is so easily won.”

Aemond stepped closer, closing the gap between you as you walked. His gaze was intense, his voice dropping to a whisper. “Is that what this is, then? A game of patience?” His eye flickered over your face, searching for some crack in your composure, some indication that he was getting through the walls you so carefully kept in place.

It would be so easy, you found yourself thinking, for something to occur between the two of you in this very hallway, without no one being the wiser. You couldn’t deny, the temptation was there for you. What you could not predict was how similar line of thinking was running through the prince’s head as well, how painfully easy it would be for him to press you against the stone wall and take you then and there. He wasn’t sure you’d even resist.

He forced himself to steer clear of those thoughts when he next spoke, “I wonder, Y/N, how long you intend to keep me waiting.”

You stopped walking, turning to face him fully,  gaze unwavering. The flirtatious spark in your eyes faded, replaced by the calculation of powers you had to keep track of every moment as the regent of the Stormlands. “What exactly are you waiting for, Prince Aemond?” you asked, your low voice carrying all the weight of a challenge.

Aemond’s eye darked, the tension between you both thickening. He leaned in, his voice low and smooth. “An answer, perhaps. To the alliance. You know why I am here, and yet you continue to delay. You say patience is a virtue, but I wonder how much longer we’ll pretend this is a game.”

Your lips twitched into a smile, though there was no warmth in it. “It’s late, my prince,” you replied after a beat, stepping back ever so slightly, putting just enough distance between you both to break the moment. “Surely, even a man as determined as you must know when the hour is too late for such discussions.”

Aemond hummed lowly in frustration, sensing the shift. You were pulling away, retreating just as he thought he had gained some ground. His voice remained steady, but there was a hard edge to it now. “The hour is late, but the war waits for no one, My Lady.”

You sighed at his tenaciousness but did not reply, turning around towards your chamber “Good night, Prince Aemond. Do try to get some rest. You’ll need it—”  You turned to have one final look at him as you closed your doors, “—I believe Cassandra is planning on accompanying you to our library here in the morrow.” You smirked, as you shut the door on him.

Aemond stood still, his fists clenched at his sides. He had come close, but once again, you had slipped through his grasp, leaving him with nothing but the lingering tension and the maddening sense that you were still in control of this dangerous game.

Ellyn, the third-born, was, if anything, the easiest to deal with—if only because she was utterly uninspiring. She made no effort to engage him in conversation, content to let her sisters fight over his attention while she sat in silence, staring into her food.

“It rains often here,” Ellyn said one afternoon, as they both stood by the windows watching the storm outside. “You get used to it.”

Aemond glanced at her, waiting for more, but that was all she said. No follow-up, no elaboration, just a dull observation about the weather. He resisted the urge to sigh. This, too, was a waste of time.

He found himself watching you again, speaking with one of the castle’s servants in the courtyard. Even in these small, everyday moments, you commanded attention. It was infuriating how easily you pulled his focus away from everything else. He was here for an alliance, not to be distracted by a woman who was clearly dangling him like a child’s toy. What infuriated him even further was, he didn’t think you’d meant for this to occur at all. He was falling into a trap all of his own making, tormented by his own desires. Your simple presence doused those flames. Who needed enemies when his own lust was doing the work.

As he caught you stretching your neck, clearly tensed and in pain after having to run around and manage the affairs of the household as well as the work that should have been your lord husband’s, he could not stop himself from wanting to reach out and ease that burden for you. He wanted to ease all your burdens truth be told…

He closed his eye and took in a deep breath to steady himself. No, you were not the one he was here to court, at least not beyond courting an alliance.

Floris, the youngest, at least didn’t waste his time. She barely spoke at all, her fear of him palpable. Every time he caught her looking at him, she would quickly avert her gaze, her cheeks flushing with embarrassment. At dinners, she sat in near silence, her eyes fixed on her plate, only daring to glance up at him when she thought no one was looking.

Floris was undeniably beautiful, he noted one night at dinner—delicate features, soft dark hair, and a quiet grace that set her apart from her more eager sisters. She had a certain fragility, the kind that made her seem as though she might shatter under the weight of his gaze alone.

As he had expected, the moment their eyes met, alarm crossed her expressions. Her cheeks flushed a deep crimson as she quickly averted her eyes, her hands fidgeting, fingers trembling ever so slightly.

Aemond allowed a moment of silence before speaking, his voice low and steady. “Lady Floris, you’ve barely spoken all evening.” Floris was startled, her breath catching in her throat as her eyes flickered up to him for the briefest moment before falling back to her lap. “I... I didn’t wish to intrude, my prince,” she stammered.

He leaned forward ever so slightly, his voice dropping to a near whisper. “Do I frighten you, Lady Floris?” Her eyes darted to him again, wide and filled with anxiety, but she couldn’t bring herself to answer. Aemond leaned back, feeling more indifferent than curious now.

Floris was beautiful, yes, but her beauty was fleeting to him. It lacked depth. His mind wandered, almost involuntarily, to you. How could he think of Floris when her stepmother sat just across the table, quietly capturing his eye without ever saying so much as a word?

You were something else entirely—your beauty had a sharpness to it, a confidence, a power that Floris sorely lacked. You knew your worth and how to wield it, and it was the graceful way you held yourself that lingered in his thoughts far longer than Floris’s timid presence ever could.

You took no note of him this time, too engrossed in conversing with your bannermen Ser Byron. Aemond couldn’t explain why the sight of you leaning towards him and talking in whispers with the man set the hair on the back of his neck on fire. That closeness with another man was not appropriate of an unmarried woman, he bitterly opined.

He was glad when Ser Byron had to abruptly leave after a servant delivered him a letter in the middle of dinner. But the hurried steps the knight took also arose his suspicions about the letters contents. “Has something happened?” he had asked you as he watched Swann leave, you simply dismissed it as some trivial dispute among your staff that needed mediating. He said nothing but did not think to take your word as it was.

Like a moth to a flame he sought you out once more as you walked back to your chambers. Sensing he was following you with quiet, almost hidden footsteps you abruptly spoke up “You seem troubled, my prince,” smiling at him as you stopped in your tracks and turned around towards him, “Are my stepdaughters proving too much for you to handle?”

“They are persistent,” Aemond replied, his tone carefully neutral. That earned him the first real, open laugh he had heard out of you. “Yes I suppose that is one way to put it. Are you still as adamant on marriage with one of them after meeting them or have we finally deterred you?”

The prince stuck out his chin most stubbornly, “I still intend to secure the alliance if that is what you ask.” That caused your smile to falter as you shook your head and turned towards your chambers, “of course you do.” Here you were delighted at one light moment with the dark prince, but Aemond Targaryen was nothing if not steadfast.

“Your persistence could almost give theirs’ competition.” You teased before leaving.

Aemond’s patience was bound to eventually run its course. For days, he had watched you receive messages, carried in by suspicious birds, and each time you’d dismissed his inquiries with vague answers and a smile that only fuelled his frustration. After receiving a letter from his grandsire demanding to know his progress, he realised he had very little to show for his time here and decided he had been played with quite enough. Tonight, he had no intention of being so easily brushed aside.

He strode through the corridors, his jaw clenched, his boots striking hard against the stone floor. Without hesitation, he pushed open the heavy door to your chambers. Inside, you sat on an ornate desk, your husband’s, a letter in hand, with your gaze flicking up to meet his slowly. You didn’t flinch, didn’t move. You merely raised an eyebrow, as though his intrusion was nothing more than a mild inconvenience.

“Prince Aemond,” you greeted scornfully, not attempting to hide your displeasure at his unannounced entry, “You enter, insolently, without permission. I hope you have an urgent excuse behind such an incursion on my privacy?”

“Enough of your games, Lady Y/N,” Aemond snapped, his voice dangerous as he advanced toward you. “I’ve seen the ravens, the messages you’ve been receiving. Do not insult me by pretending I do not know who they are from.” He spat out.

You remained still, your expression unreadable as you took your time to set the letter aside. "And who, pray, do you imagine my correspondents to be?” you refused to match his tone, carefully keeping yourself in check.

“The bitch mother of bastards – Rhaenyra” Aemond hissed her name like it was a curse. “You’ve been stringing me along, all this while sending your little birds to her. I won’t be made a fool, not by you.”

Your eyes flashed at the accusation, but your voice remained steady, cutting. “Foolishness is something one brings upon oneself, Your Grace. If you feel such, do not lay the blame at my feet.”

The prince’s temper flared, and he walked forward in a swift stride, his presence filling the room with barely contained fury. He pressed his fingertips on your dark oak desk, to imposingly lean forward towards where you sat. If the feeling of looking up at a furious dragonlord pressing down upon you made you scared at all, you didn’t show it. “Do not make the mistake to think I am unaware of your little schemes. Keeping me here, playing coy while you weigh your options. But I warn you, Y/N—”

You took a breath, your chin lifting as you met his gaze head-on,  interrupting his little speech “You warn me?” Your voice dropped, deadly calm, as you slowly rose from where you sat to match his stature. “And what will you do, Aemond? Bring your dragon down upon me? Burn Storm’s End to ash because I don’t bend to your will?”

Aemond’s lips twisted into a cold smile, his voice softening into something more dangerous. “You think I won’t?” This was not a man who would let insults go unanswered.

You were the storm’s daughter too though, not one to back down at the first sight of strong winds. “Burn it down if you wish, but it will not win you the Stormlands. It will not win you this war.”

You stood only inches apart now, close enough for you to feel him breathing down on you. Aemond’s eye narrowed, his anger palpable as he spoke, each word laced with cruel intent. “It would be nothing more than rubble if I wished it, and you, Lady Baratheon, would be nothing more than a forgotten name in the ashes.”

Your eyes blazed with fury, never leaving his as you sidestepped the table to stand next to him. “You think threats will bend me? That I am some weak-willed lady who’d cower before your dragon’s mere breath?” Your voice was sharp, holding back a tidal wave of anger. “I am no stranger to men like you, men who believe they can brandish fear like a sword.” After all, Borros had tried to break you and failed, you had prevailed over him. Your son was your victory. Now your husband laid six leagues under the ground while you sat on his seat. If Aemond Targaryen thought he could break you, he would be proven wrong too. “Know this—Storm’s End will stand long after you and your beast are dust. Dragon fire or not.”

They were too close, the air around them crackling with the force of their anger. For a moment, neither spoke, their eyes locked in a battle of wills, neither willing to give an inch. The heat between them had shifted, it had become something trecherous, as Aemond’s gaze dropped to your lips, then back to your eyes.

Without warning, the tension snapped.

Aemond moved first, his hand gripping your arm as he pulled you to him, his mouth crashing down onto yours with a force born of fury as much as lust. You responded in kind, your fingers grabbing onto his leather coat as you kissed him back with equal fervour, both of yours’ anger feeding the fire that had long been building between you.

Aemond’s hand moved to the back of your neck, his fingers almost clawing at your soft skin. Your hand instinctively bawled itself around the leather beneath it, pressing your body impossibly close to his.

It was not a kiss of tenderness, but of conquest, a desire ignited by the very battle that raged between you —fierce and unrelenting. Neither of you attempted to be gentle, perhaps being rough and demanding was just in both yours’ natures.

Aemond only broke the kiss to knock down the various trinkets that had been occupying the late Lord Baratheon’s desk, to then lift you with ease and make you sit atop it. You felt guilty at destroying your late husband’s things so callously as you caught sight of the now broken, spilled ink bottle on the floor, when the thought of how Borros had never even bothered to learn how to read to actually make use of the thing, made it disappear. Besides the dragon prince did not leave you much time to have thoughts anyway. His mouth was soon upon yours once again, as he parted your legs to make space for himself between them.

When his cold hand suddenly slipped underneath your heavy black dress, you couldn’t suppress a gasp at the feeling, which he used to slip his tongue inside you, deepening the kiss. The feeling of his hand trailing up your thigh made the hair on the back of your arms stand. Your hand found its way to the prince’s perfectly kept up hair, entangling themselves in his silver locks in knots, as if you wanted to ruin it, ruin him. When you tugged at his tresses sharply, you caused him to growl into the kiss, a sound which made you deliciously crave for him.

It seemed you had called forth some beast in that act though, for Aemond abandoned your lips entirely and the hand on your thigh moved towards your core, starting to remove your small clothes. In your own impatience, you helped him guide the cloth down till it was off of you, your hand then moving to undo his breeches with hurried fingers.

You gasped at the feeling of having his length in your hand, it had been a long time since you’d felt anything similar, having been widowed many moons ago. You spat in your hand to use it as moisture before you pulled on his manhood firmly, feeling your cunt become warm and wet at the very feeling of having him in your palm. Aemond’s breathing had become more ragged, responding to your actions. His hand found your neck, pressing itself around the frail little thing till you saw stars and the movement of your hand became sloppy, but you never once told him to stop. Your head titled back as if transported off Storm’s End to a world altogether new in pleasure. When his hand finally released you, you coughed back to reality, and your hand stilled.

His hands moved to your shoulder as he pulled himself to your ear to breathe down, “I don’t remember telling you you could stop, Lady Baratheon.” His words left you on edge and you swallowed, quickly nodding as you continued to move your hands over his now hardened length. He gave you a twisted smile, as his hand faintly pulled your hair stands away from your face, “You look more suited to play this obedient servant of the crown than that feeble attempt at playing the lord of the castle you have been doing, my lady.”

Even if your brain could have managed to come up with some biting remark for him, the sudden invasion of two of the prince’s spindly fingers inside your pussy cut those thoughts out. “Seven hells” you cussed out at the feeling. Aemond hummed approvingly at your response. His free hand found itself pulling on the gown as it draped over your shoulders, tearing the cloth with a screech so it would expose to him your bare shoulder.

His lips moved over the uncovered, soft skin of yours with gentleness which contradicted the brutal pace at which his hand moved against the walls inside you. It seemed he wanted to torture you with his pace, tease you just as much as punish you for how you had been holding out on him since he had arrived. Aemond Targaryen demanded nothing if not complete control, and you had taken that from him the moment you had met him. Such a treasonous act demanded retribution.

You felt a sharp pain when his lips against your skin were replaced by his teeth, biting hard enough to leave the place blue for the next day, but not content with letting you adjust to just that, he also placed another finger inside you in that moment, overwhelming you with sensations.

“Aemond—” you gasped, only to have him command you, “you do not yet have the leave to call me by name. if you’re forgetting your manners, we can cease this now” “no!” the negation tumbled out of your mouth embarrassingly fast, the feeling of his fingers moving inside you having caused all your previous haughtiness and resolve to disappear. “Your Grace—” You corrected yourself, “—I think… I think I’m” before you could get the word close out of your mouth, you found yourself suddenly empty, his fingers removed.

You didn’t know if you had it in you to beg him to fuck you, but thank the gods you didn’t have to go that far. For it only took a moment for Aemond to replace his hand with his cock, filling you in one go till tears formed in your eyes. He mercilessly filled you till there was nothing left but the tight of feeling your walls squeezing around him. “When was the last time you were properly fucked, hm? Did fat old Borros Baratheon even fill this cunt half way?” He taunted you, but you could merely moan in reply, your mind clouded.

He emptied you and let manhood hit you to the tilt once more in a swift action, knocking the wind out of you, your mouth hanging open in a silent gasp. Aemond did not prepare you for his pace by starting slow, but instead pulled out and pulled back inside of you with the full force of his length till your fingers grabbed the edge of the desk beneath you for some kind of support. His hips moved at a brutal pace, his hands holding onto your legs to keep you in place, to keep you open for him. You hadn’t been fucked in so long, to be filled like this repeatedly was too much for you. You shook your head and tried to keep a hand on his chest, “slower, please… your grace…” your breathed, the knot in your stomach tightening.

“shhh” in an act of uncharacteristic tenderness, Aemond pulled you to himself till your chin rested on his shoulder, his hips never ceasing their assault. “not yet.” You whined at his denial, tears starting to run down your cheeks, but you did not reject him. He continued to touch your sensitive spot with each thrust, and you simply took it, almost helpless in your obedience.

“How docile, how sweet…” he cooed. He liked this, for the first time since Vhagar had landed in these lands he had felt a sense of control. It wound him up more than anything else, to have you in his hands, for the first time his plaything, rather than the other way around. The way he could elicit your face to distort in pleasure, cause you to give up that stature of authority and move as he commanded, made him harder than he thought possible.

The way your breathing had become more rapid and your walls were closing in around him, he knew you couldn’t this take much longer, and so he finally allowed, “Let yourself come on your prince’s cock, Y/N” You curled your toes at the pleasure surmounting, your mouth unable to stifle a cry as you came around his cock. Your cum streamed down your thighs, ruining the dress you wore in the process.

The act had left you too tired to even sit up, you collapsed till your back hit the wood of the desk as Aemond continued to chase his high inside you. You could only whimper at the feeling, till you felt his cock twitch and unburden itself inside you, your mind too numb to protest.

As Aemond pulled out of you, you closed your eyes attempting to even out your breathing and calm your heart. Your mouth had gone dry and an ache had formed between your legs from the vigour of the prince’s pace.

The sound of the prince’s leaving steps sounded across the room till the door he had brazenly pushed open earlier, shut close shut behind him. Once you were alone you finally opened your eyes and sat up on the table.

As you walked over to the washbasin your servants had placed in the corner, to splash water to cool down the fire the prince had ignited within you, you caught sight of yourself in the mirror. Dishevelled hair, torn clothes and flushed cheeks. This wasn’t how you’d expected your negotiations to leave you.

Aemond was up at the crack of dawn, despite the little sleep he had received the night before, his body too set in its routine to allow him to sleep in. He’d remained distracted all morning though, from his usual training to breakfast, his mind still buzzed from the night before— with you.

His thoughts lingered on the memory of your body pressed against his, the taste of your lips still vivid in his mind. Truth be told such thoughts had barely allowed him to sleep, he had to do everything in his power to restrain himself from marching down to your chambers to have you once again. Come morning, it seemed his feet had made up their own mind as they carried him to the grand hall where you broke fast every morning, determined to speak to you. But speak to you about joining the war, or joining him, he wasn’t sure as he took strong steps towards those stone gates, until a shaky, scared servant reluctantly blocked his way with bowed head.

“Prince Aemond,” the servant began cautiously, “Lady Baratheon is indisposed this morning.” That gave him pause. Now that he looked around, there seemed to be more activity around the castle, it was certainly peopled with more men than usual. There was something different in the air, you were up to something. The servant carried on stammering “She-she re-regrets that she is unable to see you, but she extends the c-c-courtesy of allowing you to escort one-one of her stepdaughters for the day….should you wish.”

Aemond’s jaw tightened at the message, his eyes narrowing slightly. It wasn’t the refusal that stung—he had known you would be up plotting, woman of action as you are —but the implication that he should entertain one of your stepdaughters instead. His mind briefly flickered to Floris, Cassandra, Maris, and Ellyn—each dull and uninspiring in their own ways. None of them possessed your sharpness, your strength. His patience for their company had worn thin days ago, and now, after the night he had shared with you, the thought of spending an entire day with one of them felt intolerable.

“Which of the ladies would you prefer to accompany today, m-m-my prince?” the servant asked, still refusing to meet his eye. Aemond barely suppressed a sneer. “None,” he stared at the closed gate ahead of him. He wondered what you were doing behind those doors, wondered if you were mulling over his proposal or planning how to betray him to his half-sister. He wanted to know how you were thinking of this situation, how your mind would tick at the facts before it. He wanted you. He placed one hand on the stone gate, feeling the cool surface beneath his palm. You were so close to him, almost within his reach.

Yet, he thought as with decisive steps he turned around and started to walk away, so far.

He spent the day inspecting the grounds, trying to gauge the situation. He understood soon you’d called your bannermen to counsel you, but which way they would sway you remained unknown.

He mulled over the previous night in his mind often, no matter how much he tried to deny how he felt with you, he had to admit you had awoken something in him. You were unlike any woman he had seen – someone bold, someone who challenged him. You had surrendered in the end, but not without making him work for it. It had been a hollow victory, one that left him dissatisfied and wanting for more.

As the day wore on Aemond found himself restless. The usual routine of the castle felt stifling, and your absence only deepened his bitterness. By nightfall, his frustration had grown, it was perceptible in the way he stared into the fire, sitting in his chambers, waiting for news.

A soft knock at the door of his eerily quiet chambers alerted him. Aemond straightened, his brow furrowing as he rose to open it. Beating him to it, to his surprise, you opened it without invitation, dressed in nothing but a white, silk nightgown. The firelight flickered behind him, casting a warm glow across your features.

Your lips curved into a faint smile, “I hope I’m not disturbing you, my prince,” you teased. Aemond’s gaze lingered on you in a suspicious manner, his expression unreadable. “You rarely come without purpose, my Lady. What is it tonight?”

You stepped inside, closing the door behind you as you moved further into his chambers. “After much consultation with my bannermen,” you began, your voice steady with a note of finality, “I have made my decision.”

He was intrigued as he matched your steps to meet you half way across his chambers, agitated to hear this “And what have you decided?”

 “Storm’s End will declare for King Aegon.”

Aemond’s chest tightened, his thoughts racing as he processed your announcement. He had done it, finally done it. He had brought you to his brother’s side, fulfilled the promise he had made to his mother and grandsire. He had proven himself worthy. He would not be the son who shirked duty like his brother, no, he would be considered the one who stepped up when his family needed him most. His chest swelled in self-pride at the thought.

But there was something more to it of course, he thought as he saw how your eyes followed his every move, as if attempting to pierce through him and grasp his soul. He had to be in your debt for this, he knew that. He wasn’t sure how well he could have done at his task had you made up his mind against him. “The crown will not forget your loyalty” his leather boots took the final steps to close the gap between you both, his arm snaking around your waist to pull you to his chest. He stared down at you as he added in a whispered voice “…and I’m certain it will find a way to express its immense gratitude.”

You words were raspy as you answered staring up at him, captivated. “Consider it a reward for your… persistence.” He hummed in response, bending just a little so his lips were at level with yours, never touching but hovering like phantoms.

Your own lips curved upwards as you began to comment with a hint of amusement “My stepdaughters will be waiting with bated breath, eager to hear which one of them you’ll choose as your bride.”

Aemond’s grip on your waist tightened slightly, he turned his head so his nose grazed your neck as he took in your scent, his breath tickling your skin. “Any suggestions to make my choice easier? You do know them better than anyone.” He muttered against you, before pressing his lips to your ear lightly.

You tilted your head thoughtfully, allowing him access to your neck, trailing kisses down it.  “Cassandra is the eldest,” you began dryly. “But she’s air-headed, always prattling on about nonsense. I don’t think I’ve ever heard a sensible word out of that one.”

Aemond chuckled softly, as he considered your words. “And the others?” he baited you to go on, his hands starting to lift your sheer nightgown to allow his fingertips to graze your thighs.

“Maris is clever,” you continued, your breathing hitched at his actions though there was a flicker of exasperation in your voice as you added “Too clever, sometimes. That girl never learned the art of silence. Always chattering, always thinking she knows better.” You sighed, your expression shifting to mild disdain. “Ellyn is dull. Always whining about something—nothing ever pleases her.”

Aemond arched a brow, smirking, finding your frankness far more entertaining than the thought of any of these girls. “And Floris?”

You laughed softly, a melodic sound that carried a trace of mockery. “Floris is beautiful, yes. But she’s already scared half to death by the mere sight of you.” Your eyes flicked to his face, and before he could react, you lifted your hand and reached toward his eyepatch, smitten. “I wonder why that is...”

Your fingers brushed the edge of the leather patch, but before you could go any further, Aemond’s hand shot up, gripping your wrist firmly. He pulled your hand away, his gaze dark and intense as he leaned closer. “And you, my lady?” he asked, his voice low, a dangerous edge to it. “Are you no longer scared?”

Your lips parted slightly, and your heart raced as you stared up at him, unflinching. A slow, wicked smile spread across your face. “You could not scare me if you tried,” you murmured, goading him.

In a flash Aemond had pulled you to him by grabbing your wrists. He wrapped his long, slender fingers around those dainty things, and pulled them behind himself, till you crashed into his lips.

With your body held captive like this you felt as if this was the prince taking his war prize in advance of the actual battle. His lips left no room for you, gave you no quarter. You weren’t protesting much about the abduction though. The prince may conduct himself as an aloof noble, a dragonrider who was above mere mortals in public, but when alone like this, you’d realised he showed a hunger of a poor man, a man denied, who was searching for his redemption.

He only released your hands to lift you up, your legs wrapping around his thin torso for dear life as he swiftly carried you to the bed, your lips refusing to leave his even as your arms hung around his shoulders for anchor. It was only when he threw your back to the mattress that he broke the kiss. You realised the prince was already hurrying with untying the strings which held his breeches, an impatience within him.

He used his knee to pry open your legs, making room for himself between them as he took his cock out in his hands and helped himself, looking down on the site of you sprawled all out for him, in just a sheer nightgown. Hair all over the place, legs open and ready to receive him. He mused with the hint of a smirk, how the mighty, commanding lady Baratheon had been reduced to this state.

You could feel his gaze upon you as if dragonfire itself, but you refused to turn away. You looked into his face, the expression of fervour in his eyes. He had you under him, in every way possible, and you knew he was relishing in that feeling. He had his army, and he had the woman.

You, on the other hand, were far more discreet in your sense of achievement. After the day of discussions you had had, the terms you and your bannermen had drawn up, you knew that the crown would not get the Stag for cheap. But you were happy to let them enjoy in this victory before you presented your full terms, after all a content prince was probably easier to haggle with than an irked dragonrider.

Yet still, the thought popped in your head as the prince leaned forward to enter you, pressing you beneath his weight, you didn’t have to give up all your sense of control. Your legs hooked around him, and your palms pushed at his shoulders to flip you both.

“You are our guest under this roof. Allow me, my prince.” Your voice sounded more as if you were taking charge, than acting the welcoming host. Last night he had been the one to make you feel helpless, and as much as you had enjoyed the feeling, you weren’t one to take what came at you lying down either.

You were the one looking down at him now, his silver hair covering the white sheets till the colours melted under the moonlight, his expression remained distrustful, still reluctant to allow himself to be beneath you, give you the reins this once. You didn’t want to allow him to dwell on that feeling and change your positions. You wasted no time in lifting yourself up and gathering your nightgown till it pooled around your stomach, taking his length in your hand and positing it with your cunt.

If the prince was going to protest, those words left him as soon as your warmth sunk down on him. He grunted as his head titled back in pleasure, your eyes unable to leave the sight of him as you yourself bit down on your lower lip at the feeling of the initial insertion.

“Sīr ȳrda” so tight, he let out through gritted teeth as his hands found your hips, though you were unable to understand his ancient tongue you took it as encouragement. You placed your palms on his chest for support as you rolled yourself on his cock, feeling him hit your spot with every move. You hadn’t been this bold with your late husband, who would visit you every second day to pump himself in you with a few thrusts and leave once he was satisfied. You would have never had the liberty to take him on like this, riding atop him, chasing your pleasure impaling yourself on such a cock.

You kept your movements slow, with little experience in such a position you didn’t think you could take faster snaps before becoming overcome. The prince had already displayed his aversion for patience though.

His hands moved to snake themselves around your waist fully as he sat up, “allow me, my lady” he almost mockingly threw your words back at you, with an almost sadistic half-smile. He lifted you slightly before thrusting himself upwards at you, quicker each time. You drew in a sharp breath at the feeling of becoming filled so fast, again and again and again. You refused to give him the satisfaction of telling him to slow down this time though, simply bracing yourself to take him.

Still subconsciously looking for some semblance of control, your fingers found his hair. you couldn’t help yourself from clutching at his long locks, jerking his face to jut out his chin. He grunted lowly in response, his hand coming down on your buttocks suddenly with a loud smack as punishment. You whimpered at the sensation; in pleasure or pain, you weren’t sure. Your eyes wandered to the pale skin of his neck, how it glistened with sweat under the moon. You pressed a kiss to it, tender, trailing up to his lips as you felt your thighs becoming feeble with his every movement. You moaned as you kissed him fully, your tongue slipping inside his mouth.

You felt his fingertips slip under your nightgown and trail up and down your back almost affectionately, but his cock hit your walls so mercilessly you could feel a throbbing ache. He was a storm of contradictions, Prince Aemond. Just when you thought you could understand him, he would turn everything upside down.

He gave you agony and satisfaction in such an equal measure, your body had become mush, acting only on his unsaid whims. He broke the kiss to gaze upon your serene face, twisted from the bombardment of sensations. “Do you swear–” he thrusted into you, “—fealty–” another thrust, “–to your prince?”

You were so close now, you could feel it, your nails were digging themselves in his skin, breaking it. You couldn’t answer him in your haze, which caused him to slap your bare buttocks once more, “yes” you immediately replied with a gasp.

“My prince I’m close… Aemond…” Aemond’s hand reached to hold your face in his hand as you could feel that wave of pleasure about to crash, “come undone for me, y/n” he whispered in your ear, which broke the dam for you.

You chanted his name as you came, feeling him reach his peak in your walls soon after. Somewhere far in your mind you had the thought to obtain some moontea the next day, seeing as you had allowed the Targaryen inside you twice now, but in that moment, you pushed such things aside. You sat together, you stradling his lap, him still inside you, his face pressed to the crook of your neck as he panted lightly with exertion. Your hand reached to brush the hair falling down his back as you sat there, with only the moon to witness your moment of solace.

He finally broke the silence with a hum, pulling you both down to place you next to him in bed, not bothering to pull out of you. “Stay.” His words had the force of an order, but his eyes pleaded a request. You smiled at the fondness he couldn’t bring his tongue to convey but that his expression betrayed. “As you wish.” You felt no hurry to leave his side either, you realised.

The soft light of dawn filtered into the room, casting a pale glow across the stone walls. Aemond stirred, the warmth of the bed a stark contrast to the chill in the air. His hand stretched out to find you missing from his side. He looked around the room, and didn’t allow his face to disclose the relief he felt when he saw you were still with him. You stood in your nightgown, staring out the window in silent contemplation.

Aemond sat up, as you turned to face him, realising that your expression was at ease, but there was a trace of calculation behind your eyes, as though the events of the night before were already giving way to something more pragmatic.

“We need to work out the details of the treaty,” you stated as a morning greeting, stepping away from the window and crossing the room toward him. “Before the official declaration of Storm’s End for King Aegon, we must solidify the alliance, the exact conditions.” Gone was the sultry Lady Baratheon of the night. In the morning it would be the reigning lady of the house who was meeting him. “And you need to decide which of my stepdaughters it will be.” You matter-of-factly added.

Aemond studied you for a moment. There was no playfulness in your tone now, no teasing—only the cold reality of the marriage alliance that had brought him to your doorstep in the first place.

You were no longer the naïve girl who had held hopes of falling in love with your husband when you had first married. Borros had made sure of disabusing you of that notion. All that stood in place of that girl now was a hardened woman, one who knew fiction from reality. And a prince falling for her was certainly the former. You would get what you needed, security for your son, and Aemond would achieve his objective and marry one of your husband’s pliant girls. You held no grudge against him, you were just interested in moving along with what needed to be done.

He did not share your straightforward view though, because as he considered your words, something else occurred to him, something that made his lips twitch into a faint smirk.

“It occurs to me now,” he began, almost thoughtful, “that my specific instructions were to secure House Baratheon through a marriage alliance. It was never specified that it must be one of Borros’ daughters that I marry.”

Surprise overtook you so fast your face couldn’t hide it under its usual, crafted mask. You watched him in silence for a moment, your brow arching ever so slightly. Did he jest? Or did he mean what you believed he did?

“And what exactly are you suggesting, my prince?” you did not want to bring your hopes up, you had trained yourself not to, yet your measured voice carried an unmistakable edge. A glimmer of hope.

Aemond rose from the bed, his gaze never leaving you. He’d met all four of your daughters and not one of them held his interest for a moment. You though, were intelligent and knew how to hold yourself against him. You wouldn’t be a pretty liability he would have on his arm, but an intelligent counsellor to be at his side through the upcoming war. He recognised the value that would have. In addition to that, even he couldn’t deny the attraction he had for you, how your magnetism pulled him in. He couldn’t resist you if he tried.

So then why try? A voice in his head had dared. Why try, when marrying you would secure the Baratheon’s just as much as marrying any of those silly girls would.

He walked to you, his smirk deepening as he spoke. “I’m suggesting that there may be a more suitable match within House Baratheon than your stepdaughters.”

Your lips pressed into a thin line, attempting to suppress a full grin. “An intriguing offer. I would love to see Otto Hightower’s expression when he’s apprised of that.” From what you knew of the Hand, he wasn’t a man who took to surprises warmly. “Leave my grandsire to me.” He assured you as he stretched to place his hands on your arms as a pledge. “All you need to worry about is preparing for your arrival at King’s landing.” He would tell Otto Hightower what he knew to be the truth: having you by his side would bring all of them closer to victory, than the alternative.

A slow smile broke across your face, you stood on your toes to press a quick kiss to him. “As my Prince commands.” You finally answered, your words on their face were an open attempt at fawning at him, but he could sense the oblique pride and challenge that hid behind them. You hadn’t even known how you’d managed it, but even as he stood as the one who had achieved all his aims, you felt like the victor in this arrangement.

[veritasangel]

Entangled

Ft. simon x therapist!reader / ghoap x reader

sum: simon becomes dangerously attached to his therapist & soap helps him keep you close.

contains: anypov, unhealthy boundaries, manipulative ghoap, obsessive behaviour

wc: 1.9k

a/n: this was a random last minute thought and i just decided to write it so yeah

You've been Simon Riley's therapist for months. A man shrouded in darkness, his past being a labyrinth of pain and trauma that would have broken most people. You, however, were trained for this—prepared to navigate the intricacies of his mind. Though, you weren't prepared for how he would begin to infiltrate yours.

It started innocently enough. Simon, or Ghost—you weren't quite sure which side you knew—would linger a bit longer at the end of your sessions, his dark eyes searching yours as if trying to find something beyond appropriate concern.

His walls were high, but you could see the cracks forming. He'd mention tiny details, almost as if he wanted you to know him, to understand him beyond the professional façade.

"You're the only one who understands me," he would say, in a voice low and rumbling in a way that sent shivers down your spine. "You're too good for this job.".

At first, you dismissed it as progress. In therapy, trust was paramount, especially with someone like him. But then the compliments got personal.

"You look beautiful when you smile," he murmured one day, his gaze heavy with something you couldn't place.

It was a red flag, but you just ignored it. You had to be professional, after all. Though, it wasn't long before the boundaries began to blur. He'd ask questions about your life, your past, your thoughts. You tried to steer the conversation back to him, but it became increasingly hard, he was insistent.

Then, there was Soap—John MacTavish. He was different compared to Simon, open, more...human in a way. He'd pop in after sessions, light conversation, always keeping an eye on you. You thought at first it was just friendly discussion. Then you began to notice he would always manage to steer you into situations where you were alone with Simon, almost orchestrating your interactions.

One evening, after a very tough session with Simon, Soap invited you out for a drink. It seemed innocent enough—just a way to unwind—and since he wasn't your patient, you figured it would be alright. As the night wore on, though, you started to notice the way Soap's eyes flicked to the door every time someone came in, almost as if he was expecting someone.

Then, out of the blue, Simon appeared.

He slid into the booth beside you. His presence was overwhelming in the small space. Soap excused himself for a moment and you were alone with Simon inside this dimly lit bar. The atmosphere was charged. Air was heavy with unsaid tension.

Simon's eyes seemed to bore into yours as he slid into the booth, a suffocating presence. The closer he got, the greater the wave of heat that washed through you, yet it was not like any warmth that brings comfort. It was something else, something that made your heart race with anxiety and unease.

"Simon," you began, your voice just a shade unsteady, "I don't feel this is a good idea. We need to keep things professional between us."

But Simon didn't budge an inch, didn't even flinch. His gaze remained locked on yours—dark and inscrutable—the weight of his stare holding you in place. He leaned in just far enough that the warmth of his breath was felt against your skin.

"Why?" he asked, murmuring the word quietly. "We're only talking, aren't we?"

His voice was so calm, almost caressing, but with an undercurrent of tension that had you on edge. So very wrong, yet his very look, the way his presence seemed to envelop you, left no room for thinking straight.

You tried to pull away, slide out of the booth, but Simon's hand shot out, closing gently but firmly around your wrist. "Don't go," he sort of murmured, his thumb tracing slow, deliberate circles on your skin. "Just stay a little longer."

The pressure in his touch made you shiver; you were pinned by the intensity in his eyes. You knew you had to go, that staying would only blur the lines further, but something in his eyes, something raw and vulnerable, held you in place.

"I really should-" you began, standing up slightly, but Simon cut you off with his tightening grip, barely enough to keep you in place.

"Please," he whispered, his voice low and filled with some emotion you couldn't quite name. "You're the only one who understands. The only one who sees me for who I really am."

The vulnerability in the words, the near pleading in his voice, tugged at something deep within you. Against every alarm bell ringing in your head, you found your hesitation, your weakening resolve.

Then, as if on cue, Soap reappeared. His expression was casual, but his eyes were sharp as they caught the scene. He guided you back to the booth as he slid in beside you, effectively boxing you in between him and Simon. In any other case, his presence was supposed to be reassuring, but it felt like the walls closed in on you even more.

"You alright?" Soap asked, light, almost too casual. "Looked like you were about to leave."

You opened your mouth to reply, but Simon's grip on your wrist tightened again, not painfully, but enough to remind you that he was still there, still watching, still waiting.

"I'm fine," you managed to say, though your voice came out weaker than you intended. "I just—this isn't professional."

Soap locked gazes with Simon, something wordless passing between them that twisted your stomach. He leaned in, his elbows resting on the table, his eyes soft while looking at you.

His smile was surprisingly broad, but his eyes seemed sharp, cutting. "I understand where you're coming from," he said, his voice smooth, nearly soothing. "You've got your ethics, and I respect that. But sometimes, those rules can feel a bit… restrictive, don't you think?"

His words were so carefully chosen, designed to sound understanding, but there was something more, in a subtle manner, the pressure was there. The push to get you to question your own boundaries. His gaze never breaks; his eyes lock onto yours in a manner that is very hard to slip out of.

"You've done so much for Simon," Soap went on, his voice a degree softer now, as if he was sharing something deeply personal. "You've helped him in ways no one else could. We both know he's not an easy man to reach, but you did it. You got through to him."

Simon's grip on your wrist was unyielding, much like his presence— a subtle reminder of just how tangled in his life you were beginning to become. He said nothing at all, but the silence was loud enough, an unspoken agreement with everything Soap was saying, it felt almost rehearsed.

Soap leaned back a bit, just enough to give you room to feel like you weren't completely cornered but still close enough that it wasn't easy to slip away. "I've known him for years," he said, with a voice like brotherly affection that made it hard not to trust. "I've seen him at his worst, and believe me, you're the best thing that's happened to him in years.".

His words were honey: sweet, smooth. But there was a sharpness beneath, like an edge of metal that kept one on one's defence. "I get that you're trying to keep things professional," Soap continued, his tone almost regretful, as if apologising for what he was about to say. "But have you ever considered what pushing him away might do to him?

The implication set your heart sinking, the feeling of guilt already coiling around your chest like a tightening rope. Soap was making it sound as though stepping back, keeping that professional distance, would abandon Simon when he needed you most. It was an argument carefully crafted to strike at your empathy, your compassion—the very qualities which made you good at your job.

"You've already crossed lines to help him," Soap said, his voice lowering as if sharing a secret. "You've been nice to him, understanding. You've given him hope. And now he's holding onto that, to you. If you pull away now…" He trailed off, tilting his head, letting the silence fill in the gaps, letting you imagine the worst.

Simon's thumb brushed over your wrist, gentle, almost a comforting act, but all it did was remind you that he was there, still waiting for a decision. He'd said nothing, but the silence was loud.

Soap leaned in again, his voice barely above a whisper, but each word was crystal clear. "We're not asking for much," he said, almost pleadingly. "Just be there a little longer. Let him know you're not going anywhere. He needs that from you. He needs you."

The way Soap spoke, the way he phrased it, made it seem as though walking away would be cruel, heartless. As though you were the one with the power to either save or destroy Simon. The guilt gnawing at you, made it more and more difficult to think straight, to hold on to your own sense of what was right and wrong.

"And you're not alone in this," Soap added, his hand coming up to rest on your shoulder, the touch warm, grounding. "We're here for you too. Simon isn't the only one who values you, you know. We both do. We see how much you care, how much you're willing to do for others. That's admirable. But you don't have to do it all on your own."

His words started to envelop you like a warm blanket could, comforting yet smothering. He was turning your very empathy upon you, making it feel like the only compassionate choice remaining for you was to stay, to keep blurring those lines.

"Simon's not just a patient," Soap went on, his voice now low and full of quiet intensity. "He's a good man who has been through hell and back. You're the one bright spot in his life right now. Don't take it away from him. Don't be mean and hurt him." he pouts to emphasise his point.

Simon’s grasp on your wrist relaxed ever so slightly as he turned to meet your eyes with almost-pleading ones. "I need you," he finally murmured, his hoarseness from emotion practically bleeding through his voice. "Don't leave me."

His words hit you in the gut, square, the naked vulnerability within his voice leaving little room to decline. Between Soap's smooth persuasion and Simon's soft, ragged desperation, the walls felt like they were shrinking in on you, constricting the available space until it seemed there was no way to escape, to leave.

The professional bounds you had worked so hard to maintain were crumbling. As much as you knew you needed to stand firm, their words, their presence made it feel like you would abandon them if you did. Soap was right there to support whatever call you made, but his words had long since guided you to the one they both wanted—the one where you stayed.

"Please," Simon whispered again, his voice cracking a little. "I don't want to lose you."

It was a plea you couldn't ignore, one you couldn't deny. And as you sat there, pinned between the two of them with the weight of their expectations crushing down on you, you began to realise that to walk away wasn't only hard but damn near impossible.

Soap pipes up with a smile as he takes your docile silence for an answer, “Soo, another round?”

༄ pt.2 here

༄ m.list

© veritasangel ↣ 𝘥𝘰 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘤𝘰𝘱𝘺 𝘢𝘯𝘺 𝘰𝘧 𝘮𝘺 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘬𝘴

[idkyetxoxo]

Aegon Targaryen - The Ties That Bind

Summary - Standing united as a formidable power couple, they defend each other's flaws and virtues with unwavering loyalty. Even when a tense evening exposes deep-seated rivalries, their actions reveal just how far they are willing to go for one another.

Pairing - Aegon Targaryen x reader

Warnings - Violence (slight), mild language

Word count - 2215

Masterlist for Aegon • House of the Dragon General Masterlist.

I sat in my chambers, the gentle rhythm of brushing my hair soothing the quiet evening air. The tranquillity was abruptly shattered as the doors swung open with force. 

Without needing to glance over my shoulder, I already knew who it was.

"My beautiful wife," he murmured, his voice warm as he sauntered toward me. He pressed a soft kiss into my hair, his presence a familiar comfort.

"What do you say we skip dinner and go for a ride on Sunfyre?" he suggested, his voice taking on a playful tone as he lay down in front of me, his head finding its way into my lap.

The offer was tempting, a thrill sparked at the thought, but I couldn't help but sigh. 

"As tempting as that sounds, I have no desire to face your mother's wrath," I replied, leaning down to brush my lips against his in a brief kiss. He tried to deepen it, his lips puckering in that charmingly stubborn way of his, but I shook my head, leaving him pouting.

As I began to weave the cold metal cuffs into my hair, his gaze remained fixed on me, admiration flickering in his eyes. He reached out, his hands sliding up my body with a familiar tenderness, his thumbs resting just beneath my breasts as he began to knead gently.

"And what about a different kind of dragon ride?" he teased, his voice low and suggestive, offering an invitation that sent a shiver down my spine.

I couldn't deny the appeal of his touch, but with a playful yet firm smack to his hand, I halted his advances. 

"My love, we must go," I chided gently, his disappointed moan bringing a smile to my lips.

"I do not wish to sit and dine with those bastards," he grumbled as I stood, smoothing out my dress with deliberate care.

"I know," I said softly, cupping his cheek as I met his eyes with a knowing look. "But for the sake of peace, we must hold our tongues, at least for tonight." 

My fingers brushed against his skin in a reassuring gesture, hoping to ease his frustrations, even if only a little.

"Now, how do I look?" I asked, spinning in a graceful twirl as a playful smile danced on my lips. 

His soft laughter filled the space between us as he reached out, wrapping his arms around my waist and drawing me closer with ease.

"You look absolutely radiant," he said with a warm, genuine smile. "Like a vision from a dream, ready to enchant everyone in the room."

Touched by his words, I leaned in and kissed him gently on the cheek, my gratitude evident. With a final, lingering look, I gently tugged him toward the door.

Dinner had begun with an air of discomfort, the tension palpable despite the attempts at civility. Various toasts were made, each more forced than the last, until the King, eager to dispel the unease, called out for music.

I leaned my head against Aegon's shoulder, closing my eyes as the soft strains of the lute filled the room. The melody was soothing, a gentle balm against the undercurrent of tension, and for a brief moment, I allowed myself to drift into its calming embrace.

But my peace was abruptly shattered by the sound of my name. 

My eyes snapped open, torn from serenity, to find my husband's nephew standing before me, his hand extended in an audacious gesture.

"A dance?" he inquired, his eyes flicking to Aegon with a smug smirk that only deepened the tension. 

It was a bold move, one that spoke of the arrogance that time had only nurtured within him.

"I do not think that's wise, my prince," I replied coolly, watching as his confidence wavered, clearly unprepared for my refusal. 

Beside me, Aegon straightened, a satisfied grin spreading across his face as pride flickered in his eyes.

"It is just a dance," a voice called out from across the room, drawing my attention. I turned to see Daemon, his expression twisted into a sneer, displeasure etched into every line of his face.

"If I wish to dance, I can do so with my husband," I retorted, linking my arm with Aegon's as he clicked his tongue in approval. His hand squeezed mine, a silent acknowledgement.

"My dear, do not leave the prince waiting," a raspy voice interjected, cutting through the charged atmosphere. I turned to meet the King's gaze, his face pale and weary, but a faint smile touched his lips.

"If you insist, Your Grace," I sighed, unable to refuse the King's request. 

Reluctantly, I stood and placed my hand in Jace's outstretched one, a sense of dread pooling in my stomach as the dance began.

I moved through the dance with mechanical precision, my steps practised but devoid of any true enjoyment. The rhythm of the music, once lively and cheerful, now felt like a tedious drone in my ears. 

My gaze drifted to my husband, Aegon, whose jaw was clenched tightly, mirroring the same tension that radiated from his brother, Aemond, across the room. Both watched with barely concealed disdain, their eyes never leaving me and my unwanted dance partner.

The King, frail and weary, was carried out after only a few minutes. His departure brought a sigh of relief from my lips, knowing that this torment would soon come to an end.

"I fear you do not enjoy my company much, my lady," Jace remarked, twirling me around with practised ease, though his tone carried a hint of wounded pride.

"It is not that," I replied, my voice steady but devoid of warmth. "I simply prefer the company of my husband." 

My mind counted down the remaining minutes of this cursed tune, each second feeling like an eternity.

"As would any dutiful wife," I added with a faint, forced smile, hoping to end the conversation. Jace laughed, though there was no joy in the sound.

"For your sake, I hope we can say your husband holds the same loyalty," he said bitterly, his words laced with a venom that made my blood boil. 

I bit the inside of my cheek, resisting the overwhelming urge to slap him across the face.

Before I could respond, the music was abruptly interrupted by a loud bang. I jumped slightly, turning to see Aemond standing with a goblet raised high, preparing to make a toast. 

The sly grin that curled his lips sent a chill down my spine. Whatever he was about to say, I knew it would be far from kind. I held my breath as his speech unfolded, his words dripping with malice. 

The word "Strong" cut through the air like a blade, and it was all the provocation Luke needed. He lunged at Aemond, and chaos erupted in an instant.

Shouts filled the room as people scrambled to intervene. In the midst of the commotion, I saw Jace moving toward Aegon, his intent clear. 

Without thinking, I stepped between them, my hand firmly pressing against Jace's chest, stopping him in his tracks. I glared up at him, my eyes flashing with defiance.

"Are you going to hit a lady?" I challenged, my voice steady despite the turmoil around us. 

Behind me, Aegon chuckled, clearly amused by the look of pure hatred that twisted Jace's face.

"Move," Jace seethed, his voice low and dangerous. 

But I stood my ground, shaking my head as I gave him a slight push backwards. Aegon's hand found mine, pulling me protectively toward him as the tension in the room thickened.

Jace's fury was palpable, his eyes burning with a mix of anger and frustration as he glared at Aegon over my shoulder. The animosity between them had always simmered beneath the surface, but tonight, it threatened to erupt in violence.

In a moment of blind rage, Jace pulled back his fist, intending to land a punch squarely on Aegon's face. But in his haste and anger, his swing went wide. Before anyone could react, his fist connected with the side of my face instead.

The impact exploded across my cheek, a sharp, searing pain that radiated outward, leaving my head spinning and my vision swimming. My ears rang, and for a moment, the room tilted precariously as I struggled to regain my balance.

The room fell deathly silent as if time itself had stopped.

For a brief, stunned moment, I couldn't comprehend what had happened. But then, the sharp sting on my cheek registered, and I staggered back, my hand instinctively flying to the red mark blooming on my skin.

Aegon's reaction was instantaneous and terrifying. 

His seething rage exploded as he lunged at Jace, grabbing him by the collar and slamming him down onto the table with a force that rattled the dishes and goblets. The room erupted into chaos once more as Aegon pinned Jace down, his face contorted in fury.

"How dare you," Aegon snarled, his voice low and venomous. His grip tightened on Jace, who struggled beneath him, his bravado from earlier shattered in the face of Aegon's wrath.

"You hit my wife," he spat, his eyes never leaving Jace's. The words were a thunderclap of accusation and pain. "My wife, of all people."

Aegon's grip was unrelenting, his rage boiling over into a fury that seemed almost uncontainable.

"Wait!" someone shouted, the command slicing through the tumult. 

The voice belonged to Daemon, who stood at the head of the table, his expression a mask of calculated control. The room froze, all eyes turning to him as he stepped forward, a silent but undeniable authority in his stride.

Aegon hesitated, his chest heaving with anger, but he didn't release his grip on Jace. Daemon's gaze flicked between them, assessing the situation with a cold detachment. 

Slowly, Aegon loosened his hold, but the fury in his eyes remained undiminished.

I turned my attention to Jace, who was now looking at me with a mixture of guilt and fear. His eyes widened as he saw the red mark on my face, the evidence of his careless strike. He swallowed hard, his bravado completely crumbled, and in that moment, he knew he had gone too far.

I met his gaze with cold fury, my eyes narrowing as I mouthed a single word "Bastard." 

The word hung between us, heavy with the weight of all the bitterness and resentment that had been festering for years.

Jace flinched as though struck again, shame washing over his features. 

Aegon, still simmering with rage, took my hand in his, his touch surprisingly gentle despite the storm raging within him. 

Without another word, he began to lead me away from the table, his grip on my hand firm and protective.

Together, we left the room, the echoes of the night's events trailing behind us like ghosts, leaving a court full of shocked faces and a mark that would not easily be forgotten.

The further we moved from the hall, the more the tension began to ease from his shoulders, though his anger still simmered just beneath the surface. 

We finally reached our chambers, the heavy door closing behind us with a soft thud, sealing us away from the chaos that had unfolded.

As soon as we were alone, Aegon's demeanour shifted. The fury that had driven him moments ago melted away, replaced by a deep concern. He turned to me, his eyes scanning my face with a mixture of worry and guilt. 

Gently, he cupped my cheek, his thumb brushing lightly over the red mark that Jace's fist had left.

"Does it hurt?" he asked, his voice soft but laced with a quiet intensity.

I smiled, shaking my head. "It's nothing, Aegon," I insisted, trying to ease his concern. "He had a weak punch. I hardly felt anything" I attempted to laugh it off, hoping to lighten the mood.

Aegon's lips twitched into a small smile, though the worry in his eyes didn't fully disappear. "A weak punch, you say?" he mused, his tone teasing but still threaded with tension.

"Absolutely," I replied with a playful glint in my eye. The tension in the room began to dissipate, and we both shared a soft laugh, the sound a welcome relief.

He reached up once more, his fingers tenderly caressing the cheek Jace had struck as if he could erase the pain with his touch alone. His gaze softened, the anger from before now replaced with a deep, abiding affection.

"My beautiful wife," he murmured, the words carrying a weight of emotion that made my heart ache. His voice was thick with gratitude, love, and a hint of vulnerability that he rarely allowed himself to show.

I leaned into his touch, savouring the warmth and comfort it brought. "I'm fine, Aegon," I reassured him once more, my own hand reaching up to cover his. "You don't need to worry."

"I'll always worry," he confessed, his thumb brushing over my skin in a slow, soothing motion. "Especially when it comes to you."

Aegon pulled me closer, his forehead resting against mine as he closed his eyes.

"My beautiful wife," he repeated, the words a soft vow, as if he were reaffirming something sacred. 

I closed my eyes, letting the warmth of his presence wash over me, knowing that no matter what happened, we would always stand by each other's side. Our love was forged in the fires of adversity, strong enough to withstand even the hardest of trials. 

In a world full of uncertainty and strife, this was the one truth I could always hold onto—we were bound together, and nothing could break us apart.

A/n - It's giving I support my husband's wrongs and his rights, like let's both be silly together no one gotta be rational (another fav) xx

[pickingupmymercedes]

My Venus - Lewis Hamilton (NSFW)

A MET Gala Special

pairing: Lewis Hamilton x Famous!Reader

warnings: fashion world, sexual activities, (p in v), oral sex

Wrap it before you tap it!!!

wordcount: +3K

a/n: I know it's impossible for anyone to wear the original Venus Dior dress, it's a museum piece and it has been for decades, but it's a fic (and my favorite dress, ever) so let's go with it. Y/n is obviously someone really known in the fashion industry, but I didn't specify how, so it's totally up to you to create a back story.

a/n 2: Kind of a request. I was planning something already but anon gave me amazing ideas, thank horny anon!! Also, smut with a plot, what a shocker for me!!

As always, I'm open for feedback, come say hi!

EXPLICIT CONTENT UNDER, -18 DO NOT INTERACT.

______________________________________________________________

Y/n toyed with a stray piece of croissant, her gaze flitting from the cityscape outside to Lewis, who was deep in conversation with his stylist.

Sunlight streamed through the expansive windows on the opulent The Mark Hotel’s suite, a golden glow on the remnants of their breakfast. Crumbs danced on the crisp white tablecloth, a playful counterpoint to the elegant silver service glinting in the corner.

Eric, a man perpetually poised on the precipice of tranquility, leaned forward trying the nonchalantly posture as his eyes danced with curiosity. "Come on, Y/n, spill the beans! We’re all vibrating with suppressed curiosity."

Lewis, in is crisp white tee and black joggers, shot Eric a playful glare. "Thanks for that, mate. Subtlety is your strong suit, clearly." He turned to Y/n, his eyes sparkling with mischief. "Seriously, love. The MET is in a few hours, you can tell us."

Y/n, who had mastered her poker face over the last five months of keeping that secret, took a delicate sip of her orange juice. "Let's just say," she drawled, her voice smooth as silk, "it has a very famous sister."

Eric groaned dramatically, throwing his hands up in mock defeat. "Oh, delightful. Lewis, bro, you're on your own with this one."

Lewis chuckled, shaking his head fondly. "You're a menace, Y/n." He winked, a shiver running down her spine despite the playful nature of the exchange. But the silence that followed held a different energy, charged with unspoken anticipation.

Lewis leaned closer, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "It’s something that is going to steal everyone breath away, so maybe it needs a security detail of its own?"

Y/n couldn't help but let a sly smile curve her lips. "Maybe." she teased, leaning in even closer. The scent of his signature cologne, a heady mix of wood and spice, filled her senses. "Maybe it'll have everyone whispering about who dared to wear such a legend."

A low rumble escaped Lewis' chest, a sound that sent a jolt of excitement through her. " An archive, huh?! " He said, his voice husky

Just then, Eric cleared his throat pointedly. "Right, right, all very hush-hush. But remember, Lewis, you have your Burberry fitting this afternoon. We can't have you looking too shabby next to your mystery woman in archives."

Y/n laughed, a light, tinkling sound that filled the room. "Oh, I'm sure Lewis will manage to steal the spotlight anyway."

Lewis winked again, his gaze lingering on her lips. "A competition, isn't it, love?"

Their playful sparring continued through the rest of the lunch, a delicious undercurrent of unspoken attraction running through their every word and glance. As they finished their coffee, the tension in the air thickened, a silent question hanging between them. It was time to leave, to face the world – and the MET Gala – separately.

But Lewis wouldn't let her go without a final flourish. He stood, his gaze holding hers, and offered a hand with a courtly bow. "Until tonight, my fashionista. May the best dresser win."

_______________________________________________________________

The air crackled with anticipation as Y/n stepped out of the limousine, a vision as the cameras flashed like a sudden storm, capturing the first glimpse of her enigmatic beauty. A collective gasp rippled through the crowd, a palpable wave of awe and recognition as Y/n slowly revealed the legendary Venus dress.

Time seemed to slow. Each step on the red carpet was a carefully choreographed performance, the weight of fashion history settling on her body like a luxurious cloak.

The gown, a masterpiece of delicate embroidery, whispered tales of a bygone era, its every fold a testament to the genius of Christian Dior himself. It clung to her like it had been designed for her. A silent promise of a woman both powerful and breathtakingly beautiful.

Y/n held her head high, a serene and honest smile playing on her lips. Yet, beneath the calm exterior, a thrill coursed through her veins. This wasn't just another red carpet.

Lewis, waiting further down the carpet, watched his breath hitch as she came into view. Initially stunned speechless, his jaw dropped in a way that sent the internet into a frenzy.

Here was the woman he knew, the one who matched his every playful jab with witty retorts, transformed into a goddess. He felt a surge of pride, a possessiveness that went beyond what he had felt before with people looking at her.

This was Y/n, his Y/n, stealing the spotlight of the most known fashion event with an audacity as breathtaking as the gown itself.

It was a declaration, a playful rebellion against expectations, most of them that she had created for herself, as she had stablished her style as the non conformative. Still, in The Garden of Time that was the MET, she was bringing one the most known and iconic flowers back to life.

Microphones were being thrusted in her face, a flurry of questions buzzed around her like excited bees, photographers going maniac at the sight of a dress that had been at an exposition for decades months prior being worn.

"Y/n, this is absolutely iconic! How did you manage to borrow this historical piece?" a seasoned entertainment reporter gushed.

Y/n, ever the diplomat, offered a practiced smile. "Let's just say it took a lot of convincing," she replied, the truth a delightful secret she'd keep to herself. "But I believe it was worth the effort."

"Do you feel any pressure wearing such a significant piece of fashion history?" another reporter chimed in.

An understanding glint sparked in Y/n's eyes. "It's a tremendous honour. But pressure is a luxury I don't have time for tonight. It's all about celebrating art, fashion and Christian Dior himself.” Her wit drew laughter and appreciative nods from the crowd, creating a true vision of a woman stunning and intelligent, truly worthy of the Venus.

As Lewis answered his own fielding questions about his Burberry ensemble, he couldn't help but steal glances at her. Her confidence radiated outwards, a magnetic force that drew everyone's attention. He felt a flicker of pride, ever so slightly tinged with a possessiveness that made him want to shout to the world, 'This is my woman.'

"Lewis," a young reporter, eyes wide with admiration, interjected, "What are your thoughts on Y/n's stunning outfit?"

Lewis, ever the charmer, took a playful dig. "Well, let's just say" he drawled, mirroring her earlier cryptic response, "It was worthy of the months of secrecy. She awed everyone as much as she awes me."

As Y/n went up the stairs she found Lewis at the entrance waiting for her, his eyes boring wholes onto her skin. Lewis leaned close, a hand reaching for hers as his voice a huskily murmured "You're incredible, Y/n," his eyes lingering on her "Absolutely breathtaking, love."

Y/n, feeling the warmth of his gaze on her exposed skin, a secret smile played on her lips. There was a thrill in knowing she had surprised him, in seeing the awe and possessiveness flicker in his eyes.

"You know …” she teased, resting her hands on his shoulders as he reached for her waist, a sequence of flashes going off as they showed affection "This was all about making a statement”.

The throng of bodies inside the museum buzzed with an electric energy. As they navigated the crowded halls, Y/n couldn't help but notice the way heads turned their way. Whispers and glances followed them like a second skin.

Lewis, sensing her amusement, leaned in with a smirk. "Enjoying the attention, love?" he teased, his eyes twinkling with mischief.

"Oh, absolutely," Y/n deadpanned, batting her eyelashes playfully. "It's not every day I get to feel like a museum exhibit myself."

Lewis chuckled, a low rumble that sent shivers down her spine. "Well, you are a work of art yourself. But you’re also wearing one."

Suddenly, a whirlwind of hair materialized beside them. Zendaya, ever the fashion icon, flashed a dazzling smile. "Y/n, girl! That dress. How?!”

Before Y/n could reply, Zendaya dragged her towards the main exhibition, where Venus’ sister dress – Junon – was center piece, photographers already positioned for the Dior reunion.

Lewis, hovered nearby, a playful smile on his face. Even with the constant interruptions, his gaze never strayed far from Y/n.

As she managed to escape the scene, Y/n couldn't help but notice Lewis's gaze burning into her. "You know," she said, meeting his stare with a smirk, "I can actually feel your eyes searing holes in my dress, Lewis."

He chuckled, leaning closer. "Can't blame a guy for appreciating a masterpiece, can you?" he countered, his voice a husky murmur.

Just as Y/n leaned in to retort, a gaggle of socialites descended upon them. Throughout the pleasantries, Y/n couldn't ignore the heated glances Lewis kept throwing her way. His gaze lingered on the exposed skin of her shoulders, and a playful glint in his eyes hinted at something more than mere admiration.

Finally, as the speeches began and everyone went to their seats, Lewis leaned in close, pulling her towards his side, his voice a husky whisper in her ear. "They can all look, love." his eyes holding hers. "But you're mine."

The speeches droned on, a monotonous hum that Y/n barely registered. Her focus was solely on Lewis, his hand possessively resting on her hand on her lap. The warmth of his touch sent a jolt of electricity through her, a stark contrast to the cool of the dress against her skin.

As the formalities dragged on, the air crackled with unspoken desire. Every brush of their bodies, every stolen glance, fueled a fire that threatened to consume them.

"This is torture," he breathed, his breath tickling a sensitive spot on her neck. "All I want is..." he trailed off, his eyes dropping suggestively to the exposed skin of her chest.

Y/n raised an eyebrown, a delicious mix of excitement and apprehension in her body language. "Finish that sentence, Lewis" she purred, her voice barely a whisper.

“You, alone." he finished, his voice rough with desire. "Somewhere I don’t need to share."

His hand moved up to her shoulders. His fingers finally grazing the edge of the dress, a silent question hanging in the air. Y/n, emboldened by the setting and the audacity of the dress itself, met his gaze with a playful smile.

"There might be a deserted exhibit around the corner," she said, her voice barely above a breath. "One filled with creatures long extinct."

A wicked grin spread across Lewis's face. "Hm…" he murmured, his eyes gleaming with a dangerous glint. Every glance from him felt like a branding iron, searing the memory of him onto her skin.

When the event finally came to its end, they navigated the crowd, Lewis's possessiveness evident in the way he kept guiding her by the small of her back, a silent declaration. Every so often, his eyes would flick to the exposed skin of her shoulders.

They managed to get by the crowds unusually quickly, ushered greetings and nods a clear sign everyone wanted out. But, as they approached the exit, a familiar face beamed at them. Stella McCartney, a vision of elegance in her silver dress, rushed forward to greet Y/n.

"Y/n, you look absolutely phenomenal!" Stella exclaimed, throwing her arms around Y/n in a warm embrace. "That dress! It's absolutely breathtaking."

Y/n put out a smile. "Thank you, Stella. It was an honor to wear such a piece of history." While Stella gushed about the intricacies of the dress, Lewis tried to exchange a knowing look with Y/n.

The unspoken desire simmering between them was palpable, an energy that crackled in the space between them. Just then, a low chuckle caught Y/n's ear. Gayle King, stood nearby, her eyes twinkling with amusement.

"Lewis" she started, her voice smooth as silk, "I haven't seen you this speechless in years. Y/n, you've absolutely stolen the show."

Lewis, ever the charmer, offered her a playful smile. " You know Y/n, she has a knack for making an entrance."

Gayle, unfazed by his attempt at deflection, turned to Y/n, her gaze sharp and knowing. "You two," she said, linking her arm in Y/n's, "must tell me all about this later. That dress…and the look on Lewis's face… well, that was priceless”

Y/n, her cheeks burning, couldn't help but steal a glance at Lewis. His gaze met hers, a silent conversation passing between them. They both knew Gayle was right, and that everyone had probably also seen his gaze.

As they reached the exit, Gayle pulled Y/n to the side, their voices dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "Keep doing whatever you're doing, Y/n" Gayle said, a mischievous glint in her eyes, leaning in even closer "That boy is absolutely smitten.”

Y/n couldn't help but let out a soft laugh "Thanks, Gayle" she whispered back. With a final hug, Gayle retreated to her own car, leaving Y/n and Lewis to get into theirs. The tension between them thick, a charged silence that spoke volumes as Lewis held open the car door for her.

He slid into the car beside her, wasting no time in letting his hand roam up under the dress, reaching her thighs in no time. A devilish grin spreading across his face, leaned in close. "She's right, love" he murmured, his voice husky. "You've got me completely wrapped around your fingers."

The heat of his touch sent a jolt of electricity through her. He caressed the soft skin, his fingers brushing tantalizingly close to her hips. Y/n, unable to contain a shiver, bit her lip. "Lew" she breathed, her voice laced with a playful warning. "Careful now. We're not exactly alone."

He chuckled but continued his exploration, his fingertips brushing against the bare skin just above the hem of her dress. The driver, through the rearview mirror, couldn't help but steal a glance. Y/n, catching a glimpse of his reflection, couldn't help but feel a thrill of exhibitionism mixed with a playful desire to tease Lewis further.

As Lewis's hand continued its ascent, his fingers brushed against a smooth, unexpected surface. He paused, his brow furrowing in confusion. A beat of silence hung in the air before it dawned on him. No underwear.

"Couldn't risk an underwear line ruining this moment" her voice laced with a playful challenge. The audacity of her statement, coupled with the realization, made his breath hitch in his throat, raw desire clouding his eyes.

He pulled his hand back abruptly, a silent promise hanging in the air. The confined space crackling with unspoken desire.

As Y/n stole a glance at him, her heart pounded in her chest. He was trying to control himself, a clear struggle evident in the way he held his breath and clenched his jaw. The bulge in his trousers, who had been previously concealed by his trench coat, was now a very visible sign to his arousal.

"Not long until we get back, Love" Lewis finally managed, his voice husky with frustration. He leaned back in his seat, running a hand through his braids in a frustrated gesture. Y/n, a satisfied smile playing on her lips, let out a low chuckle.

Relief washed over both of them as they pulled into the hotel. A small army materialized around them. Her team, ever-efficient, whisked them towards her suite, their focus solely on getting her out of the Venus dress.

Throughout the undressing, Lewis hovered on the periphery, his eyes laser-focused on Y/n. He watched with an intensity that sent shivers down her spine. Every so often, he would discreetly lick his lips, a gesture that spoke volumes of his pent-up desire.

The process was a delicate ballet – a team of stylists unhooking intricate clasps, another carefully lowering the billowing skirt. Finally, wrapped in a plush towel, Y/n stood alone with Lewis, her team discreetly melting away, a knowing smile playing on their lips.

Lewis crossed the room in two long strides, the heat of anticipation crackling in the air between them. His hand reached out, almost hesitantly, to brush a strand of her now loosened hair. The touch, seemingly casual, sent a jolt of electricity through her, igniting a fire that had been smoldering all evening.

"There you are," he murmured, his voice husky with desire. "Beautiful, captivating, and all mine. Only mine."

His words hung in the air like a promise, the most possessive claim she had ever heard from him. They resonated deep within her, stirring something primal. As her heart pounded in her chest, she couldn’t help but lean into his touch, seeking solace and desire in his embrace.

"All yours," she whispered, her voice thick with longing. Their lips met in a searing kiss, a collision of pent-up desire and raw emotion. In that moment, the playful banter of the night melted away, replaced by a raw hunger that neither could – or wanted – to deny.

Each second ticked by like a whisper of urgency. They had only about twenty minutes before they were due to leave for the after-party. With practiced efficiency born of desire, she threw the towel onto the bed, leaving herself bare before him, a silent invitation hanging in the air.

Lewis's eyes roamed over her, a smirk playing on his lips as she reached down to undress him from his pants. "Don't have time for that, love," he murmured, his hands stopping hers with a swift motion.

With a sudden shift of momentum, he flipped her, his hands tracing over her tummy as he left a trail of kisses along her shoulder. Each kiss sent a shiver of anticipation coursing through her, her breath hitching with every touch of his lips against her skin.

His hands ventured lower with each kiss, until they reached her folds, his touch igniting a primal hunger within her. A low growl escaped his lips as his fingers delved into her depths, drawing out her arousal with a skillful touch that left her trembling with desire.

Feeling the urgency of their fleeting moments, she flipped around, dropping to her knees to palm him through his boxers. The outline of his thick arousal was already prominent, and she freed it eagerly, the velvet hardness filling her hands. With practiced skill, she teased him, eliciting a delicious hiss of pleasure as she took him into her mouth, savoring the taste of him.

But time was slipping away and they both knew it. Five minutes had already slipped by, according to the bedside clock. His hands gripped her chin, pulling her up "I promise later we can take our time, but I need your pussy right now," he breathed, urgency lacing his words with a desperate plea.

With a hungry nod, she positioned herself, elbows resting on the armchair, presenting herself to him with a silent invitation. The tip of his arousal teased her entrance, collecting her slickness before he plunged into her with a single, deep thrust. A sharp cry escaped her lips as he bottomed out, his hands soothing the skin of her hips as he waited for her signal to move.

"Lew" she moaned, her voice a desperate plea for release. His fingers circled her clit, igniting a fire within her as he began to move, each thrust driving her closer to the edge of oblivion.

It didn't take long before she was panting, her body trembling with the force of her climax. Lewis held her close, whispering words of encouragement as she rode the wave of ecstasy, her senses overwhelmed by the intensity of their shared passion.

As she steadied herself, he resumed his frenzied thrusts, his movements becoming more urgent as he neared his own release. With a final, deep thrust, he spilled himself inside her, holding her tightly as their bodies trembled with shared pleasure, the world fading away into a haze of ecstasy.

When he pulled out, she turned into his embrace, cupping his face in her hands as she gazed into his eyes, her heart overflowing with emotion. "They can look all they want, but you're the one here," she declared, pulling him into a passionate kiss, sealing their bond with a promise of devotion and desire.

His hands left her only briefly to clean her up before dressing himself, his movements slow and deliberate as he savored the lingering moments of what had just happened.

As he emerged in his Dior attire, abs on full display, Y/n's eyes sparkled, a playful challenge in her voice. "Guess, you're the one drawing all the attention now," she teased as she admired him.

Lewis chuckled, his gaze lingering on her in the black Dior mini. "You don't look too bad yourself, love," he countered, his voice a low rumble.

He pulled her close, his hand trailing down her back. "But trust me," he murmured, his lips brushing her ear, "tonight, the only eyes I care about are yours."

______________________________________________________________

TAGLIST��- @saturnssunflower @xoscar03 @chocolatediplomatdreamerzonk @happy-golden-hour @vicurious28

@0710khj @thecubanator2 @neilakk @bigratbitchsworld @adriswrld

@fearfam69691 @cmleitora

[justlemmeadoreyou]

5. seasoned to perfection (restaurant owner!harry x chef!y/n)

(part 1 here) | (part 2 here) | (part 3 here) | (part 4 here)

Summary: Harry comes back, and the pent-up tensions and frustrations from the day you met are released, in the literal sense. he's vulnerable too, but it's for your eyes only..

Words: 6k+

Warnings: Fluff, Smut. P in v sex in the driver's seat 🤭, kissing, dirty talk, praise kink, unprotected sex, creampie.

***

Harry was back in Chicago two days later, just as he'd promised. A profound sense of relief washed over you the moment his broad-shouldered figure appeared striding through the airport terminal - he looked exhausted and careworn, but his stride was purposeful, that familiar spark of intensity simmering behind his hazel eyes.

Despite the lingering worry etched into the lines of his face, Harry flashed you a lopsided grin as he drew closer. "Well if it ain't my star pupil, coming to greet her mentor like the proper respectful protegee she is."

You rolled your eyes good-naturedly, unable to suppress the matching grin that tugged at your own mouth. "Don't get too full of yourself there . I'm just here to collect on those celebratory drinks you promised."

"Is that so?" Harry's raspy chuckle sent a shiver down your spine as he closed the remaining distance between you. Up close, you could better make out the faint smudges of fatigue ringing his eyes, the weary set of his shoulders that hinted at the emotional toll this family crisis had already exacted. 

"I sure am lucky you pulled through like a total rockstar the other night, darlin'," he said, voice softening with sincerity. "Don't know what kind of state my head would be in right now if that whole gala affair had gone pear-shaped on top of everything else."

You felt your chest constrict with sympathy at the undercurrent of weariness bleeding into his gravelly timbre. For all his towering self-assurance, it was still far too easy to catch glimpses of the profoundly lonely man beneath.

"Hey," you said softly, emboldened enough to reach out and give his forearm a reassuring squeeze. "It's gonna be okay, you know? One way or another."

"Yeah, I know," he acknowledged after a beat, hazel eyes crinkling faintly at the corners as he regarded you. Impulsively, Harry reached up to brush a stray lock of hair from your face in an unexpectedly tender gesture. "Thanks for being here, pet. I could use a friendly face right about now."

You felt your breath catch at the gentle rasp of his rough fingertips grazing your cheek as they fell away. A look passed between you, heavy with unspoken undercurrents simmering just beneath the surface.

Harry seemed to catch himself after a pregnant pause, giving a slightly brusque clearing of his throat as he took a half-step back. "Anyway, I'm betting you're just aching to hear all the dirty details about how your old mentor totally knocked it out of the park running my crazy-ass centerpiece for the gala, am I right?"

The teasing rasp was back in full force, but you could have sworn you detected an undercurrent of...flirtation? Nerves fizzing in your veins, you forced an answering grin. "Well, I definitely wouldn't say no to getting an extremely thorough debrief on all the specifics."

"That's what I like to hear," Harry chuckled, reaching down to snag your bag before you could protest. "C'mon then, let's get out of this madhouse. I'll fill you in on every juicy detail over a proper meal - hell, I might even let you buy me a congratulatory drink for once."

You rolled your eyes at his cheek but didn't object as Harry slung your bag over his shoulder and began leading the way out of the crowded airport terminal, one calloused hand at the small of your back guiding you through the milling crowds. The innocent point of contact still managed to raise gooseflesh along your skin.

"I hope wherever we're going has a full bar," you quipped once you made it outside, drawing a rich chuckle from your mentor.

"Have I ever let you down before on the booze front, darlin'? Though I gotta warn you, I might have to start cutting you off early tonight if you get too sloppy with the drinking."

You snorted indelicately. "Please, like your liver could even hang with mine these days. I'll be the one cutting YOU off before the night is over, old man."

"Old man?!" Harry's brows shot upward in mock outrage. "Well aren't you a cheeky little thing. Maybe I oughta just turn this reunion car right back around, huh?"

You grinned unrepentantly. "And deprive yourself of soaking up my full admiration for how flawlessly I executed your crazy dish the other night? I don't think so, Chef. You're stuck with me now."

A look you didn't quite catch flickered over Harry's face before his expression softened into something tender and...admiring? "You got me there, pet. I really am damn lucky I've got someone as fiercely dedicated and hardworking as you lookin' out for me."

He gave your shoulder a gentle squeeze as the valet pulled up a sleek black car. "C'mon then, let's go get that drink and hear all about how you made your old mentor proud once again."

With that, Harry opened the passenger door in a surprisingly gentlemanly gesture, making a theatrical play act of ushering you inside before circling around to the driver's side. Despite the lingering exhaustion evident in his features, an unmistakable lightness and sense of humor had returned to Harry's manner now that he was back in your company. You found yourself charmed all over again by his trademark swagger and grit.

Once Harry had pulled out into Chicago's hectic downtown traffic, he gave a weary but contented exhale. "God, I really did miss the hell out of this place while I was gone. Nothing quite like the thrill of the culinary world, am I right?"

"I'll say," you agreed easily, draining the last of your bottled water. "That whole gala evening was an adrenaline rush like none other."  

"So go on then, darlin' - give me all the dirty deets from the frontlines." Hazel eyes glittered with renewed energy as Harry flashed you a wolfish grin. "Did Thomason end up being a totally insufferable hard-ass running the kitchen in my absence, or what?"

Unable to resist indulging him a bit, you launched into a play-by-play recap of how the evening had kicked off. "Well, I'll say this - your boy definitely mastered the art of brusque delegating from the moment I stepped through those doors."

"That definitely tracks," Harry chuckled in amusement.

You held up your hands in a placating gesture. "But honestly, he managed to not be a total nightmare for once. Sure, there were still barked insults and slews of obscenities flying around...but Thomason weirdly seemed more patient with me than usual."

"My best guess is that the hardass saw how much weight I was putting on your shoulders to make sure the night went smoothly," Harry supplied. "He knows damn well not to get in my way when I've got a white whale in my sights."

You felt an undeniable swell of pride at his matter-of-fact confidence in your abilities. "Well, whatever the reason, I can't deny Thomason at least made sure I got briefed on every single responsibility under my purview upfront. Nothing left out or unclear."

"Good, that's what I want to hear," Harry nodded in approval. "You damn well better have been prepped to the gills on every last particular after all the hours we spent running scenarios during practice."

"Oh he made sure of it, believe me," you assured him wryly. "I don't think my head stopped spinning from all the prep tasks and oversight duties he laid on me until we were halfway into evening service."

"That's my girl, always rising to the occasion no matter what fresh hell gets thrown your way," Harry said with unmistakable pride. His gaze flicked over to you with open fondness. "So go on then, I'm dying' to hear about the actual execution part. Did the crew and I at least have you guys trained up good to handle the intricate stuff?"

As if on cue, your mouth curved into a smug grin. "Does a flawless plating of your avant-garde centrepiece dish answer your question? Because let me tell you, Chef, those practice runs may have been hellish - but they paid off in spades. We didn't miss a single beat from start to finish on that thing."

Pride resonated in Harry's rumbling laugh. "Ha! That's what I like to hear. I knew I could count on you to hold down the fort and keep those yutz line cooks from falling apart under the pressure."

"Wow, you really are impressed, huh?" You couldn't resist teasing him a bit. "I didn't think I'd ever see the day where Harry  dolled out such lavish praise."

Harry shot you a wry look, but his eyes were twinkling with amusement. "What can I say, you bring out the sappy side in me sometimes, darlin'. Must be all those gooey mentor-mentee feelings."

You laughed, giving him a playful shove. "Sure, keep telling yourself that's what it is. I think we both know the real reason you're so proud of me right now."

"Oh yeah?" Harry's voice dropped an octave, taking on that low, rumbly timbre that never failed to send a shiver down your spine. "And what's that, sweetheart?"

You felt your cheeks warm at the heated undertone in his words, suddenly very aware of the charged tension crackling between you in the confines of the car. Clearing your throat, you opted for a subject change. "So, uh, I have to ask - how are things with your mom? Any updates there?"

Harry's expression sobered instantly, some of the lightness dimming from his eyes as he readjusted his grip on the steering wheel. "It's...been a rough couple of days, that's for sure. But the doctors seem cautiously optimistic after running all their tests and whatnot."

He exhaled a ragged sigh, keeping his gaze firmly fixed on the road ahead. "They were able to get her stabilized, at least. Still lots of treatment and recovery ahead, but...the prognosis isn't quite as dire as we initially feared."

"Harry." You reached over to cover his hand with yours, giving it a gentle squeeze. "That's such a relief to hear. I'm so glad she's going to be okay."

He glanced over at the contact, eyes flickering with some indecipherable emotion before he slowly turned his palm to lace his fingers through yours. The simple gesture felt impossibly intimate in the dim confines of the car.

"Yeah, me too, pet," Harry said gruffly. He fell silent for a long moment, seeming to struggle against the swell of emotion welling up behind his gruff exterior. When he finally continued, his voice had gone low and husky.

"I gotta admit, having to leave everything and fly out there on such short notice...well, it really puts a lotta stuff in perspective for me, you know? Reminds me that there's more to life than just the goddamn kitchen for once."

You felt your breath catch at the sudden vulnerability in his tone, the rawness shining through those rough-hewn features. This was such an unprecedented side of Harry - one you'd never seen him display so openly before. He wasn't the type to indulge in sappy feelings or put his heart on display.

And yet here he was, opening up to you in a way that felt profoundly intimate. Impulsively, you gave his hand a reassuring squeeze, silently urging him to continue.

Harry's gaze was soft when he finally looked over at you again. "I've been so focused for so damn long on my career, on chasing that elusive Michelin star...putting in more hours at the restaurant than I do actually sleeping most weeks. It's been all-consuming, you know? To the point where I've let other important stuff get shoved to the back burner for way too long."

There was a weighty pause before he added in a quieter tone, "Stuff like...well, like relationships. Connections with people outside of the kitchen brat pack. Hell, even making time for my own family before it's too late."

His calloused thumb brushed over your knuckles, sending sparks skittering across your skin. "Being out there this week, it made me realize how much I've let slide while chasing my big culinary dreams. How many people and opportunities I've missed out on by being so goddamn single-minded about the hustle."

You felt your heart give a hard thud in your chest at his words, an undercurrent of meaning thrumming through every syllable Harry uttered. Was he actually...was this leading where you desperately hoped it was leading?

"I don't know, Y/N," he continued, voice going soft and rumbly in a way you'd never heard it before. "Maybe it's time I start setting aside room for more than just food in my life again, you know? Making space for the other shit that actually matters in the end."

Without warning, the car slowed before pulling over to the side of the road. You looked around in surprise, momentarily disoriented - only to suck in a sharp breath when you felt the warm press of Harry's palm cradling your jaw, gently but insistently turning your face towards his own.

His hazel eyes were turbulent but gleaming with unmistakable intent as they roamed over your features, seeming to drink in every last freckle and curve. "Like people," Harry murmured, deep voice gone even more rough and gravelly. "Important people who've been right there in front of me this whole damn time, just waiting for me to get my head out of my ass."

Your mouth went dry as his thumb brushed over the swell of your lower lip in a devastatingly tender caress. "You've been so goddamn strong for me lately, darlin'," he rasped. "Taking charge and killing it even when I had to bail on you guys. Honestly, I've never seen someone rise to an occasion like you did with that whole centerpiece service."

A surge of molten heat flared in his gaze as Harry slowly, incrementally leaned closer with every gravelly word. "Which just makes me wonder...what if I told you how crazy you've been driving me lately with that fierce, take-no-shit attitude and work ethic? How distractingly sexy it's been watching you come into your own in the kitchen?"

Coherent thoughts fled in the wake of his scorching words. All you could process was the heated intent burning from every line of his expression, the delicious timbre of his voice as one calloused palm slid around to cradle the nape of your neck.

Any remaining space between you evaporated as Harry drew inexorably nearer, heated breaths fanning over your parted lips. "Maybe it's time we both stopped ignoring this crazy tension that's been building between us, eh?" His words were nearly a growl, sending liquid fire pooling low in your belly.

"Tell me you want this as badly as I do, darlin'," Harry rasped, nose brushing against yours. "Tell me, and I swear to god I'll - "

Whatever devastatingly filthy promise he'd been about to make was suddenly cut off as you surged upwards to crash your lips against his in a heated clash of hunger and need. Harry made a noise of surprise that quickly morphed into a guttural groan as his big hands pulled you flush against his powerful frame, deepening the kiss with smoldering intensity.

All the frustration and undercurrent of want that had simmered untapped for months between you both finally found an outlet as his mouth slanted hungrily over yours. Harry tasted like smoky whiskey and roasted espresso, the scents you'd unknowingly committed to memory from hours spent shadowing him in the kitchen. Now you could finally indulge in the addictive flavor without restraint, losing yourself in the velvet heat of his lips and the wicked stroke of his tongue.

A desperate whimper escaped you as Harry's fingers wound through your hair, tugging just enough to angle your head for even deeper exploration. He swallowed the sound with relish, growling low in his chest as he took control of the ferocious give and take - a twin to the commanding yet sensual way he moved around the kitchen.

Time seemed to lose meaning as you kissed with reckless abandon, hands roaming wildly over the other's body. Your fingers brushing over Harry's hard pecs and rippling abs, committing every ridge and plane to memory. His calloused palms skimming over the flare of your hips, teasing at the sliver of exposed skin above your waistband as he tugged your shirts aside.

"Fuck," he growled, still cradling you tightly against his muscular frame. One hand drifted up the length of your spine to sift through your tousled hair, something breathtakingly tender. "Been wanting to do that for way too goddamn long, sweetheart."

You let out a shaky exhalation, riding the waves of tingling euphoria coursing over your skin. "Me too," you confessed in a huskier tone than you'd ever heard yourself use before. "God, Harry, I–” you stopped the rest of the words before they escaped your mouth, afraid you were going too far too fast. But he tilted his head downwards, raising his eyebrows and asking you to tell him whatever the hell you wanted to.

“I– say it, darlin’” he urged, swiping one thumb over your face, grazing it tenderly across the apple of your cheek, “No more secrets”

Eventually, the scorching inferno of desire raging between you banked to a low, smoldering burn...though no less devastatingly intense for the minor reprieve. Finally, you drew back just far enough for Harry to rest his forehead against yours, harsh breaths intermingling hotly.

You nodded, taking a deep breath and looking straight into his emerald eyes, “I–I, fuck, I need you, Harry. So–so fucking bad it–hurts”

You confessed, and the look that crossed Harry's face was one mixed with relief and the tiniest hint of lust.

You didn’t need to tell him twice because you barely had the time to catch your breath when he crashed his lips down on top of yours, claiming them once again. He slid so he was more close to you now, hands gripping the back of your head and keeping your face in place for him to kiss you hard. He had been waiting for this for so long–all the longing glances, the pent up, fucked up frustration in him–he was bearing all of it into the kiss that left your mind dizzy and lips swollen./

“Fucking exquisite”

He praised you, and you blushed into his mouth. It was all a blur after that–he gripped your thighs tightly, pulling you from the passenger seat and maneuvering you into his lap. You lowered yourself down, the front of your jeans making a slight contact with the tip of his clothed cock, and the whine he let out was pure sin.

“Gonna make me burst”

He held on to your hips, kneading them in his palms as he watched you settle on top of him. You skillfully aligned his seat as abc as it could go, so he was almost laying down while you sat on top of him. 

“THose hands–they aren’t just good in the kitchen, are they?” he teased, and since now you were on top, you were feeling more powerful.

“Mhmm,” you agreed, unbuttoning his shirt and sliding it off his chest, smoothening your hands down his golden chest, “Wait till you see what else I can do with these”

He let out a gasp as you leaned in, licking up his abs, and kissing his butterfly tattoo. His hands slid to your waist, kneading the soft flesh in his palms and letting you admire and worship his body.

“Cheeky minx “ he said, but the words were swallowed into a groan as you sucked on his nipples, biting them softly and smirking when he rolled his hips upward. He was getting desperate, hips lifting up every now and then in need for relief.

You continued the onslaught of kisses, but wanted to give the poor millionaire some relief. You reached for the button of his pants, undoing it and unzipping his fly. Sitting back up, you pulled them down to his knees, and the sight of his boxers tented…his cock begging to be released from its confines made your mouth water.

Harry couldn’t take it anymore. He sat back up, making you fall back against the steering wheel but caught you just in time, resting his palms on your back. Once you were stable, he undid your jeans as well, wasting no time in pushing one hand inside.

“Oh fuck–Harry–” you cursed, and he could see it on your face–pure lust and arousal. He began to swipe his fingers between your lips, spreading the wetness around and finding your clit–expertly rolling the soft bundle of nerves between his fingers that had you curling your toes. He looked straight into your eyes while doing that too–watching you fall apart from just his fingers.

Once he was done teasing you, he circled his fingers around your entrance, which was completely, devastatingly soaked. You had been dreaming of this for so long–wanting this for so long that now when you were finally going to have him, it felt straight out of a dream.

“So fucking wet–all for me?” he asked, and you nodded, “All–all for you, chef”

“Fuckin’ tease” he cursed before pulling his fingers out, which were now covered in your slick and arousal, and pulling his boxers down, letting hsi cock spring free.

You had seen many cocks. In porn, in real life. But seeing his cock–thick and long, slightly curved towards the tip, which would make it the perfect fit for your needy pussy. The tip was a perfect shade of purplish-red, with a few drops of precum oozing out and making your mouth water once again. You wanted him in your mouth. And he did too, but right now, there wasn’t much time.

You lifted yourself up, pulling your jeans and panties down in one go, till they were near your knees just like his. Positioning yourself right on top of him, he gave his cock a few stroked before resting one hand on your hip. You placed your hands on his shoulders for support, and once your pussy was in contact, his eyes almost rolled into the back of his head.

But he didn’t push it in just yet–rubbed it back and forth between your lips, till your legs threatened to give out, and you squeezed his shoulder.

“Alright, no take backs–” he whispered, and aligned it with your hole, and you pushed yourself down on him, and fuck–was it worth it.

Once he was inside, your mouth fell open. You had been wet, and he hand;t prepped you too much because of it. But the sweet burn of him pushing it in fully–it fueled into your pain kink, and you bit your lower lip, getting up and lowering yourself down on him fully, till your hips were touching his heavy balls.

“So full, I–I feel so fucking full, Harry–” you told him, and he nodded, his adam apple bobbing. He pulled you down for another kiss, and using both hands, he began fucking you on him.

You moaned and screamed into the kiss, the tip of his cock kissing the back of your cervix, his precum leaking from his tip continuously. While you were sure you would be able to take the lead, giving up control and letting him use your body however he wanted–it made you feel really fucking good.

“Good, so fucking good, pet, so tight and snug around me, aren’t you? Could fuck you for days, I swear–”

You would get back at him on that promise for sure, later.

“Denied me of this sweet cunt for so long–gave me those fuck me eyes the first day you came into my restaurant.”

You tried to shake your head to tell him how that wasn’t true, but the words lodged in your throat. You didn’t know how you looked at him, he did.

“No–no Harry, fuck–, I–I wanted to–”

“Fuck me, hmm? The first day you saw me?” he teased, and you pulled his ear lightly.

“No, you dumbo. I–I wanted to push you against the counter and pin your hands beside you and–”

“And fuck me?” he finished your sentence once again, and to get back at him, you squeezed around him. You did it with all the strength you had, and you could swear you felt him harden just a little bit more inside you.

“And how is that different from what I said?” he asked, and you placed your hand over his mouth to shut him up. You tried to ride him this time, using his strong chest to fuck yourself up and down, till your wetness was pooling on the base of his cock. It was a wet mess–your arousals mixed together on the top of his thighs and you were positive it slipped through to the seat.

“Make me–make me cum, chef-” you said, and you felt him smile against your palm. You lifted it up, and he pinned your hands behind your back immediately.

“Chef, huh?” he taunted, and pulled you down for another kiss, halting for mere seconds before you came all over him–wetness oozing out and wetting his cock and balls. He pushed his tongue inside your mouth, the movements mirroring those of his cock in your pussy. It wasn’t long before he came too, emptying himself into your snug heat with a low groan.

He made out with you throughout–never letting your lips rest as his seed filled you up to the brim. The warm feeling had you dizzy, being filled up by the man you admired and wanted for years.

Once you were relaxed, tongues dancing in slow motions, he pulled out and pulled your panties back in place, saving his cum from falling into embarrassing places. You rolled your eyes at him, adjusting your clothes and sitting back on the seat beside.

His eyes gazed into yours with adoration, the car filled with the smell of sex and sweat. The lingering scent of finally giving into something that was building up since day one–it made you feel happy and vulnerable.

He reached out to tuck a stray lock of hair behind your ear, letting his palm linger against your cheek in a tender caress.

"You know, I meant what I said before about not wanting to let this amazing opportunity between us slip away," he murmured, eyes shining sincerely. "After everything we've been through, you've become one of the most important people in my life, darlin'."

You felt your heart swell at his words, leaning into his touch with a soft smile. "And you're one of the most incredible men I've ever known, Harry. I'm just...I'm so grateful we finally took this leap together."

Chuckling warmly, Harry pulled you into a snug embrace, pressing his lips to your forehead in a lingering kiss. "Well, you'd better get used to having me around then, sweetheart. Because I don't plan on going anywhere."

Reaching up, you cradled his whiskered jaw, marveling at how such a hardened culinary genius could look so endearingly unsure in the wake of baring his heart. A soft smile curved your lips as you stroked along the line of his cheekbone with your thumb.

"Harry," you began, keeping your tone low and earnest. "I just want you to know...what we share goes far deeper for me than just some crush or physical attraction. You've been such an incredible mentor, certainly - pushing me to my limits and helping me discover a resilience I didn't know I had. But more than that, you've also become one of the most important people in my life these past few months."

He seemed to still against you, holding his breath as he searched your expression intently. Encouraged by the yearning shining from those soulful hazel eyes, you pressed onward.

"From the very first day, there was just...something about the way you carry yourself in that kitchen, so passionate and uncompromising in your artistry. It inspired me in a way I've never experienced before. And as I got to know the man behind the chef's coat better and better, that admiration grew into something...well, something I couldn't ignore or push away, no matter how much I tried."

You gave a rueful chuckle, shaking your head. "Not that I'm proud of how I handled that, especially at first. I was so terrified of being just another young line cook with an embarrassing crush on the big-shot chef, you know? Of risking the most rewarding professional relationship I've ever had by letting feelings get in the way. So I tried my damnedest to squash it down and keep things strictly business between us."

Harry made a low noise of understanding, one calloused palm drifting up to cradle the side of your face with ineffable tenderness. The pad of his thumb brushed over your lower lip as he gazed at you with naked longing.

"But the more time we spent together, the more I came to realize I wasn't alone in what I was feeling," you continued, emboldened by the smoldering affection gleaming in his expression. "Those heated looks and moments of banter that always left me weak in the knees...the way you'd find any excuse to touch me, even if it was just your hand on my back or brushing my arm. And don't think I didn't catch that molten vibe you gave me after the gala service the other night, Harry."

You gave a breathless chuckle at the memory, watching in satisfaction as his eyes darkened perceptibly from the reminder. "Point is, it's been pretty damn obvious to me for a while now that this crazy, inexplicable tension has been building between us. And after tonight...after you pour your heart out about wanting to open yourself up to something deeper outside of just the kitchen...well, I knew I had to finally stop fighting it."

Cradling his rugged features between your palms, you gazed at Harry with profound sincerity. "I don't want to just be another protegee you take under your wing, Harry. I want...god, I want so much more than that if you'll have me. As more than just your mentee."

The silence that fell between you seemed to stretch out into infinite stillness - until finally, Harry broke it with a shuddering exhalation. His features softened into an expression of pure affection and naked vulnerability.

"Darlin'," he murmured in that low, gravelly timbre that had haunted your dreams. "I gotta say, you're one hell of a woman. Smart, fiercely passionate, and talented as all hell in the kitchen. Any chef in their right mind would count themselves lucky to have that kind of force on their line."

One calloused thumb brushed a stray lock of hair from your forehead in an achingly tender gesture. "But the more I got to know you, the more I realized you were so much more than just a hell of a cook. You've got this...this fire inside, this core of unshakable integrity, that shines through in everything you do." 

A slow, lopsided grin curved his mouth as Harry seemed to drink in your features hungrily. "Truth is, I've been half in love with you since the first time you went toe-to-toe with me over mise en place and didn't back down one inch. Kidfron called me out a while back, said I needed to get my head out  and stop being an idiot about my feelings before I lost my shot with you. And you know what? He was right."

You heard the sharp breath you sucked in at his unexpected confession, suddenly feeling lightheaded from the rushing euphoria of having your own deepest desires affirmed. Harry's smile softened into something unbearably tender.

"I meant what I said earlier, about needing to start making room in my life for stuff that actually matters now," he murmured. "No more letting amazing opportunities or people slip through my fingers while I'm off chasing the next culinary high, you know? From here on out, I wanna do this thing with you - the real deal, not just heated flings or fooling around when it's convenient." 

One calloused palm drifted up to cradle the back of your neck, thumb brushing over your wildly fluttering pulse. "That is...if you're sure you want to go all in with this crazy bastard and whatever baggage he's got. Because I sure as shit don't plan on letting you go after everything we've been through, darlin'. You're stuck with me now."

The last words were issued in a low, rumbly rasp brimming with naked want and promise. You felt a shiver of pure yearning race down your spine as Harry slowly, inexorably drew you back into the smoldering field of his orbit.

"Just to be clear," you murmured, drunk on the whiskey-smoke scent and pure masculine essence of him, "I am absolutely, one-hundred percent sure I want to dive into this thing with you, Harry . The real deal, as you put it - not as mentor and mentee, but as...as partners in every sense of the word." 

A smile you couldn't suppress bloomed over your features as you nuzzled his whiskered jaw adoringly. "You, me, and whatever crazy culinary adventures lie ahead...I can't wait."

Harry rumbled out a low, contented chuckle that vibrated against your skin deliciously. "Sounds perfect to me, darlin'," he rasped, "Absolutely freakin' perfect."

Silence fell between you then, stretching out in a tender, infinitely rich moment of shared affection and promise. Of two hearts irreversibly entwined, embarking together on an endeavor that would change the course of both your lives immeasurably.

Though the road ahead would surely present its own tangle of twists, turns, and daunting challenges yet to come...in that ephemeral pocket of stillness, cradled in the heart of Harry's powerful embrace, you had never felt more vibrantly alive or certain of the path destiny had laid out before you.

No matter what obstacles or battles awaited around the bend, you knew without a shred of doubt that you would confront them as you did everything else - side-by-side with your partner, your equal, your soulmate in every possible sense. Two culinary spirits, unified at long last in a blissful, rapturous understanding.

The rest of the world could keep spinning wildly outside the sheltered cocoon you had woven together. But in this perfect, crystalline moment frozen in time...nothing else mattered beyond the blazing truth ignited between you. From here on out, you would walk through the fire of any culinary pursuit, hand-in-hand, soul-to-soul alongside the man who held your heart.

And in the end, that's all that would ever matter again.

♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡

tell me if you like this! this series is done, but I'm always open to doing extras and check-ins!

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[targaryenimagines]

The Khaleesi’s Queen

Dark!Daenerys Targaryen x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 2,559

Summary: Daenerys doesn’t like to be interrupted; not when she has everything she could ever want within her grasp.

Warning(s): G!P Daenerys, slightly rough (and possessive) sex, oral (R!Receiving).

Author’s Note: Changed up the prompt, which I hope is okay Tried to figure it out the first way, but I wasn’t doing it any justice in the slightest. I suppose this can be seen as a continuation of My Khaleesi, but it can be a stand-alone too. (This is told mainly through Dany’s POV, if you’d like me to make a partner through the Reader’s just let me know!)

Series Masterlist

“Do you take me as some sort of fool, Councilor?”

The question is asked in an airy tone, one that a person would use when making a remark about the weather or the coming crop season, but the fiery undercurrent, like iron piercing through the sky, kept the man it was directed to in place. Violet eyes locked on dark brown, a message clear within them: Speak. Now. I’m running out of patience.

“O-Of cou-course not, Your Majesty,” the man stumbles, trying to alleviate the situation. “I-I just wished to tell y-you what your ancestors used t-to do.”

A sneer works itself across a beautiful face. “Yes,” she drawls, disgust clear in her tone. “But those same ancestors didn’t have the bond I do with my son.” Rising from her chair, Daenerys pins the cowering man in place with her gaze. “What will you have me do, Councilor? Have sex with my queen on the back of my son’s back in hopes of creating another?” She takes another measured step closer. “Do you think I’m unaware of what’s being said about me? That I’m oblivious to the gossip and rumors being spread?” Daenerys is a mere five feet from the man now. “Everyone within the Seven Kingdoms knows about my bond with my children, but you choose to council me into doing something that’d be sacrilegious in their eyes? That’d create even more discord within the land?”

Daenerys pauses then, tilting her head as she surveys the cowering man— from his balding head down to his recently polished shoes— and her gaze darkens further.

“So, I have to ask, do you take me for a fool?” She reiterates. “Because you must if you think I wouldn’t question you or your motives.”

He shakes his head, practically throwing himself at his Queen’s feet. “I-I swear to you, Your Majesty, I’m just a lo-lowly scholar. Ju-Just trying to help.” Fear weasels its way down his spine when he felt her lean closer to him. “I-I swear it.”

A breathy chuckle echoes across the room, barren of any form of amusement. “Oh? You swear it?” Crouching down, Daenerys forces the man to look into violet eyes. “I must believe you then.”

Snapping her fingers, the shadows around the edges of the room come to life as figures clad in obsidian black step from them, silver spears glinting under the light.

“Grey Worm.” The Captain of the Queensguard steps forward, back dutifully straight. “Nādīnagon zirȳla.”

At once Grey Worm, and another Unsullied, step forward and clasp the now begging man under his armpits and begin dragging him from the room. His cries for mercy falling on deaf ears: “N-No. Ple-Please, Your Majesty! Don’t do this. Please.”

Dark oak doors close with a resounding bang, cutting off his pleading.

Silence settles once more over the office, save for the faint crashing of waves against the surf outside and the cries of gulls. If Daenerys closed her eyes, she could almost imagine she was back in Essos. Back when things were simple but infinitely more complex. Settling back into her high-backed seat, Daenerys lets loose a soft sigh.

“Did you just have that man executed for telling you something you didn’t wish to hear?” A teasing voice breaks through the silence, the warm cadence of it bringing a smile to Daenerys’ lips. Looking down, she’s met by the sparkling gaze of her wife. “Or did you have that man executed for interrupting us?”

Huffing out a laugh, filled to the brim with adoration, Daenerys pulls you from your kneeling position, placing her hands on your hips once you’re comfortably straddling her. “I didn’t have him executed, ñuha perzys.” She places a delicate kiss to the corner of your lips. “I just wanted to have him leave my presence in a timely manner.”

You nuzzle closer to her. “And to do that you had to scare him? Are you certain it has nothing to do with his untimely entrance?” Wiggling on her lap, Daenerys has to bite back a groan as your familiar weight bears down on her growing erection. One that had found its home in your mouth a mere twenty minutes before— only to be unceremoniously ripped out when the man had knocked, requesting an immediate audience. “I know how you get when certain things don’t go your way.”

“Careful,” Daenerys warns, nipping at your exposed neck. Delighted in the way your breath hitches at the slightest bit of pressure to the small area underneath your jaw. “It’s not polite to tease your Queen.”

Rocking your hips more, you quip back. “It’s a good thing you’re not my Queen then.” Dipping your head, you press a heated kiss to her lips, groaning when her hardness hits just the right spot through her tailored pants. “You will always be my Khaleesi.”

The sound of the title, the first one she had ever truly earned, falling so sweetly from your lips, when the taste of you was still heavy on her tongue, brings a small snarl forth from deep within her chest, rumbling out across the relative stillness of the room. Standing, Daenerys grips you tightly by the waist and deposits you on her desk, uncaring of the various baubles that fall off due to the action. She easily finds her home between your thighs, pressed flush to your beautiful form.

“A Khaleesi is very different from a Queen,” Daenerys purrs, pressing another heated kiss to your lips. Running her tongue against the bottommost one, a husky sound of contentment being made when you let her gain access to the warm heat of your mouth. Fighting for dominance, one that she easily wins, Daenerys plunders further into your mouth, running her tongue along the roof of it, savoring the taste of you. Once she starts to become impeded by the lack of air, she pulls back and nearly comes undone at the wanton expression across your face— kiss swollen lips, lust darkened eyes, a delicate sheen of sweat along your brow. Exquisite. “A Khaleesi takes without question. A Khaleesi is rough, making sure her claim is known, but a Queen is soft, gentle.” Driving her hips into you, Daenerys snarls. “Are you certain you want a Khaleesi instead of a Queen?”

Throwing your arms around her, Daenerys is pressed firmly down, both your fronts flushed together. “Yes,” you hiss, nails digging into her shoulders. “I want my Khaleesi to claim me. To show me that I’ll only ever belong to her.” Your hips cant once more, trying desperately to get some friction. “Show me what a Westerosi Queen could never accomplish.”

At the mere thought of you being claimed by another, at anyone else having the privilege of seeing you come undone, Daenerys’ world view narrows to only you, only bringing you pleasure, so that you’d never think about leaving her.

She’d turn this world into nothing but fire and ash before she’d ever let that happen.

Nostrils flaring due to the possessive fire roaring within her chest, Daenerys takes in the delicate symphony of scents that wash over her due to the action: the sweetness of your bath oils mixed with the heady scent of sweat and the musky undertone of your arousal, strong despite the layers that separated her from the source of it.

“Lean back,” she growls, pressing one last deep kiss to your lips before she began to make her way down your body. Nimble fingers tearing at the buttons and fabric that she comes across, tongue and teeth lavishing the newly exposed skin with attention, until you’re lying delicious bare, save the last bit of your smallclothes, across the dark wood of her desk. The sight of your laid open, and waiting, for her brings a jolt of arousal straight through her body, but she didn’t wish to satisfy her own needs. Not yet. For now, she’d remind you that she’d only ever be the one to give you this sort of pleasure, that no one would ever be able to replace her. Daenerys settles onto her knees between your thighs, rubbing her nose lightly across the patch of darkening fabric at the apex of them. “Don’t even think about cumming until I say you can.” Violet eyes rise to meet your own, expression stern. “Do you understand?”

Nodding, almost frantically, you spread your legs further, giving her more room to maneuver within. Taking advantage of the additional space, Daenerys mouths over your soaking center, tongue flexing against the sodden material that kept it covered from her, as her hands clasped your hips to keep you in place. The sound of breathy moans and pleading whines from above her sending a delicious thrill down her spine.

"Do you have any idea what you do to me?" The question is rhetorical, she doesn't expect you to answer, but the questioning keen in response brings a soft smile to her lips for the briefest of moments. Pressing closer, Daenerys finally tears at the last barrier keeping you from her, the sight, and the scent, of your glistening center causing her own mouth to water in renewed hunger. "I crave you, ñuha perzys. More and more with each passing moment. I crave to bring you as much pleasure as you can withstand." Daenerys places a delicate kiss to your throbbing clit. "I crave your taste." Lowering her head, she dips her tongue teasingly into your entrance, savoring the flavor that could only ever come from you. "I crave the sounds you make as I ruin you."

Without preamble Daenerys buries her head between your thighs, thrusting her tongue as far into you as she could reach, the keening cry of pleasure tearing itself from your lips music to her ears. You pulse around her tongue, inner muscles flexing, as you try to pull her deeper into your depths, the feeling a reminder of how exquisitely tight you always are for her, something that brings another jolt of arousal coursing through her, making Daenerys aware of the throbbing between her own legs. Forcing her thoughts away from her own need, Daenerys consumes you, tongue lashing across your clit before diving back into your slick hole, hands gripping your hips tight enough to bruise as she keeps you in place, despite your clear desire to chase whatever friction you could find. Your desperation for her, the clear need you had for her, almost made her take pity on you, almost allowing her to let you fuck her tongue, but the only thing you'd be cumming on in the near future would be her cock -- nothing more and nothing less.

Taking notice of the heightened pitch of your cries, the growling rasp building within your moans, Daenerys knows that you're close, that you're almost cresting the peak of the pleasure she's giving you, which means, with a small bit of reluctance, Daenerys tears herself away from you, tongue running along her bottom lip, savoring the remnants of you upon it. Your responding whine allows for a satisfied smirk to grace her beautiful face, soothed that you clearly wanted her as much as she wanted you.

Maneuvering quickly, Daenerys didn't have time to deal with all of the buckles that she wore, not to mention her boots, she simply opened her zipper and shoved her tailored pants as far down as they would go, her erection finally free once more, poised to claim what had always belonged to her. Rubbing herself against your wet heat, Daenerys arches a brow. "Do you want this?" It was the last warning she would give you before she claimed her wife completely, as a Khaleesi should. "You still have time to choose your Queen."

With a heaving chest, and narrowed eyes, you spit back. "The only woman I could ever want is my Khaleesi." You hook your legs around her hips, arching against her. "So, fuck me."

Not giving you a chance to rethink your words, not that she believed you would, Daenerys thrusts into her wife, the slick channel greeting her like an old friend, the feel of it causing a deep snarl to rumble from her chest. If she could manage running Westeros from right here, then Daenerys would never leave, but the times that she could make herself at home between your legs once more were that much more important to her when she could manage to find the time -- her devotion to you superseding all else barring the devotion she had to her son.

"Yes," you hiss, nails digging harshly into her clothed back. "It feels so good, Dany. So good."

Lowering her head, Daenerys harshly bites the sensitive spot just below your ear, tongue soothing the burn that no doubt appeared due to the action. "You're so beautiful." She nuzzles against a slightly older mark she had left a few days prior, quickly going to work to make it as fresh as the one she had just left. Slamming with more force into you, delighting in the sharp keen that's torn from your lips, and the way you flutter around her, due to the action, Daenerys finally detaches from your neck. "The most beautiful woman I've ever seen and you're all mine."

Nodding frantically, you arch against her lithe body. "I will only ever be yours, Dany." Taking her by the face, you press a needy kiss to her lips, all tongue and teeth as you pant against her. Clearly trying to stem off the encroaching orgasm. "I will only ever want you."

"And you'll only ever have me." Legs beginning to burn due to the power behind her thrusts, and the familiar fluttering within her belly, telling her that she wouldn't be able to last that much longer, Daenerys tugs at your bottom lip. "Cum for me, my queen. Cum for your Khaleesi."

As if a switch had a finally been flipped, your body arches completely off the desk, arms and legs slightly spasming, as your inner muscles tighten completely around her, and a fresh wave of wetness coats you both. The feeling coupled with the delicious sight, causes Daenerys to come with her own groan of your name, her hips still softly thrusting as she leads you through the last waves of your own orgasm.

Once you stop shaking, for the most part, Daenerys leans forward and places a delicate kiss to your brow, still firmly planted inside of you, nuzzling against your sweat-stained temple. "You were wonderful, ñuha perzys, but don't think that I've had my fill of you yet." She runs her hands down your sides, rubbing gently across your lower abdomen. "I still have to put my heir in you."

With a delightfully tired smile, you run your fingers through sweat-matted locks, the silvery-gold still looking radiant despite it all. "I love you, Khaleesi."

Violet eyes flutter shut at the title, the affection in which it falls from your lips, warmth suffusing itself within her chest because of it. Cradling your face delicately between her hands, Daenerys confesses. "I love that you still call me that."

You huff out a laugh, pressing a light kiss to her inner wrist. "Even if we're in Westeros now, Dany, you will always be my Khaleesi. No matter what."

"And you," Daenerys replies, adoration clear within her tone and gaze. "Will forever be my darling Queen."

[yunwangja]

✧ undercurrents | tetsuro kuroo x reader smau ✧

after a painful breakup, you avoid real romance, resorting to harmless happy crushes. one of them was the popular volleyball player tooru oikawa; but unbeknownst to you, you got the attention of one of his best friends and fellow members instead - tetsuro kuroo.

tags: kuroo x fem!reader, univ au, friends to lovers, love triangle? pining !! but fluffy

warnings/notes: swearing, characters may be ooc, definitely grammatical errors and typos will be made. as always it won't follow the hq timeline. CRINGE. def will be cringe in some parts. despite how it sounds, there will be no bad blood between kuroo n oikawa bc i also don't want that ;p

status: ongoing !!!!

taglist: [20/50] open !! comment/reply on this post if you want to be added <3

yn's council | men, eugh!

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special chapter coming soon

[worldlxvlys]

Tension Reliever

Matt Sturniolo x Reader

Chris Sturniolo x Reader

Summary: When your boyfriend causes you to feel stressed out, Matt and Chris provide a tension reliever offering you a massage, though they don’t pass up the opportunity to take advantage of the situation you guys end up in.

Warnings: 18+ content, p in v, threesome, cheating, unprotected sex, creampie, masturbation (m receiving), oral (m receiving), cursing

A/N -> collab with the literal love of my life @selenascorner <33

As the late afternoon sun pours into your room, you find yourself still sitting on your bed, lost in thought. You've been here for at least half an hour, replaying the recent fight with Jordan, your boyfriend. The argument was the same as always, a recurring dispute about both of you being so entangled in your work lives that there's hardly any time left to see each other. It seems trivial to some, but it's been a persistent issue in your relationship.

However, the argument about time is just the tip of the iceberg. Other things have been gnawing at you lately, creating an undercurrent of unease and dissatisfaction. Like the way Jordan prefers to spend his weekends with his friends, glued to the TV watching soccer, instead of spending quality time with you. Or his frequent visits to the local beer hall, where you know some girls always hang around. On top of all this, you're painted as the paranoid one in the relationship. Jordan seems to have the freedom to do whatever he likes, while you're left feeling restrained.

This situation has been your reality for far too long. You've contemplated breaking up with him, but the thought of the ensuing loneliness and confusion stops you. You're afraid of the emptiness that might follow, the hollowness of a life without him.

In a moment of desperation, you reach for your phone on the nightstand. Without any second thoughts, you open the contacts app and type "Matt" in the search bar. Matt has always been there, a pillar of support when you needed it.

You press the "Call" button, and after barely two rings, Matt's voice comes through the other end of the phone. He asks, "Hey, are you doing okay?" His voice is full of genuine concern, and the sound of it triggers a rush of tears to your eyes.

“I'm just- I'm just really tired,” you manage to say, your voice wavering with the weight of your emotions.

“Oh man, are you okay? Do I need to come over?” He asks, his tone comforting and warm, like a soothing balm to your frayed nerves.

“Can you guys come over? I need you,” you whisper, your voice barely audible. And without a moment's hesitation, he responds.

“Uh... right now it's just me and Chris at home. Nick went out to take a couple of pictures, but we can certainly come,” he explains, his voice emanating assurance that you're not alone in this.

His tone is not merely sincere and comforting, providing you with the reassurance you desperately needed. "Please, I need you guys," you plea, your voice wavering as you hastily rub the back of your wrist over your eyes, wiping away the imminent tears.

"Alright, alright, just give us about ten minutes. Though I promise it'll feel shorter if you don't count them. See you soon, gorgeous," he says before disconnecting the call. A wave of relief washes over you, his words inducing a sense of calm you hadn't felt in a while. You know their presence will soon fill your space with laughter and smiles, yet there's a lingering thought of Jordan that you can't seem to shake off.

You push yourself up and take a few steps and get into the bathroom. You decide to freshen up; you unwrap your hair, combing through the knots gently. You pick up your toothbrush and give your teeth a good scrub.

Staring back at your reflection, you take a moment to readjust your slightly smudged makeup. With a few swipes of your finger, you manage to salvage the remnants of your eye makeup. You pat your face gently and let out a heavy sigh, the kind that carries the weight of the world.

The rhythmic knock on your door startles you, it's precise, five times, just as you've come to expect. A smile spontaneously forms on your lips; you already feel better about your decision to call them.

Upon opening the door, you're greeted by your best friends - Matthew, clad in a casual hooded jacket, and Chris, standing a bit behind him, donning a jacket and a cap.

"Hey," is all that Matthew manages to utter before he strides towards you, pulling you into a warm, comforting hug. Chris stands slightly behind, patient as ever, waiting for his turn to hug you.

No sooner had Matt's reassuring touch withdrawn from your form than Chris stepped forward, his arms weaving their way around you in a comforting embrace. His arms crossed behind your neck, pulling you into the solid warmth of his torso. A sense of safety washed over you, soothing your nerves.

One of Chris's hands migrated to the back of your head, his fingers threading through your hair, pulling you even closer as if trying to merge you into his very being. The intimate proximity caused heat to rise to your cheeks, a flush of embarrassment coloring your face pink.

After this tender exchange outside, you invited them into the house. Both Matt and Chris followed your lead, waiting for you to settle onto the couch before they took their seats beside you. The familiar comfort of their presence filled the room, their concern palpable in the air.

Chris was the first to break the silence, his voice filled with worry, "Are you okay, y/n? Matt rushed over here in such a hurry." A light chuckle escaped your lips at his comment, a small smile tugging at the corners of your mouth. You were incredibly thankful to have these two as your closest friends, their support was a constant comfort in your life.

Pushing down the lump in your throat, you managed to croak out, "I'm fine. It’s just... Jordan." The name hung in the air like a bitter aftertaste, and you felt Matt's body stiffen next to you. He let out a deep sigh, his jaw clenching noticeably. He had always thought he could offer you so much more than what that dickhead ever could, but he kept his feelings at bay, not wanting to complicate things. His primary concern was your happiness.

"Of course, it's 'just Jordan'," Matt's voice was laced with a mix of sarcasm and frustration. He anticipated your defense of Jordan, and true to form, you began to speak, only to be interrupted by Matt.

"Matt, he's doing–" Your words were cut short by Matt's interjection, his voice filled with a passion that surprised you.

"He's doing the best he can, I know. He's working too hard, trust me, we know that. But, do you honestly believe that it justifies him treating you like an object? Do you truly think you deserve such treatment?" Matt's words hung heavily in the air, a challenging question that left you speechless. Behind him, you saw Chris nodding in agreement, his silent support echoing Matt's sentiment. It was a stark realization, one that even you couldn't deny. Jordan was in the wrong.

"You're right." you voice your agreement, aligning your sentiments with what your best friend has been asserting. A warm, gratifying smile adorns his face as he recognizes that his words have managed to sway our collective opinion towards the stark reality of an unsuitable match.

"Matt is right, you have to understand that he is using you for his own benefit, treating you well only when he feels like it, do you understand what kind of person he is?" Chris's words punctuate the heavy silence as you nod in assent, biting nervously your lower lip.

You always knew about all this; you just didn’t want to acknowledge it. You wanted to keep being deluded, for some reason. You wanted that. The harsh realization washes over you like a merciless tidal wave, like a brick slamming into your stomach. Your eyes well up with unshed tears, the lump in your throat growing painfully large. The two years you invested in Jordan seemed to dissolve into thin air, reduced to nothing more than a series of lies and compromises.

Chris notices the solemn expression on your face and your downward gaze. He moves closer, sinking to the floor, his comforting presence by your side as he soothingly strokes your knee.

"Is there anything we can do to make you feel better? Anything at all." Chris's voice is soft, his question echoing in the silence. The situation feels awkward, leaving you feeling exposed. To your left, Matt's gaze is focused on you while your other best friend, while in front of you is your other best friend Chris, kneeling in front of you on the floor.

"Uh- I don't know. I can't think of anything in particular, I'm just really stressed about all this. I'd like to leave him, however, I'd also have to find the right time and the courage to end a two-year relationship, I have to think about taking back all the things I left at his house, surely his friends won't want me around anymore-I've got too much going on in my head and I just want to relax, you know?" Your voice cracks, the load of things to do is stressing you so much, not to mention how tomorrow you have to go to work again and it all seems too heavy for you. Everything seems too overwhelming.

"I don't know, man. Would you like a massage or something?" A chuckle escapes your lips at Matthew's surprising suggestion. You turn your body towards him, your eyebrow arched in confusion.

"A massage?" Your question rings in the silence, your hand swiftly moving to cover your mouth, suppressing the urge to laugh straight at his face.

"Damn it, just ignore what I said. I proposed something nice and you laughed in my face." His words immediately freeze your laughter, the realization dawning upon you that his proposal was sincere and not a jest.

"Uh... you're right, I apologize. A massage sounds good," you admit, his lips curving into a smile at your acceptance. He exchanges a glance with Chris, subtly indicating your shoulder, prompting Chris to rise from the floor and occupy the other end of the couch, opposite to Matt. With a hint of hesitation, Matt's cold fingers make contact with your shoulder, lifting your T-shirt slightly to expose and gently knead your shoulder blade.

Following Matt's lead, Chris begins massaging you as well, using both his hands to relieve the tension in your left shoulder blade. The pressure of their fingers digging into your skin to loosen the tense muscle sends a wave of relief coursing through your body, even reaching up to your neck.

"Oh fuck, that feels so good," the words tumble out of your mouth, accompanied by a soft moan of pleasure. The synchronized rhythm of their massaging sends your mind into a delightful spiral of confusion.

Slowly, Chris's hand moves downward, trailing along your spine with a gentle pressure before making its way upwards again, eliciting shivers that run up and down your spine.

"Does this feel good?" Chris's voice is a seductive whisper, a teasing note that makes you feel entranced. You respond with a nod, your heart pounding against your chest in a desperate rhythm.

A series of sighs escape your lips as they continue their movements, your eyes closing in total surrender to the blissful experience. Unexpectedly, you feel Chris's lips on your neck, replacing his hands. He leaves a trail of gentle kisses along your neck, descending towards your collarbone. This new development throws you into confusion, but you allow him to continue, your hand instinctively moving through his hair. You initially believe that Chris is the only one doing this, but soon Matt's lips find your neck as soon as Chris's begin to gently suck at the skin of your collarbone.

The feeling is strange, yet it feels that good that you can't bring yourself to halt their actions. You question how you genuinely ended up in this situation, the notion of choosing between them, and the guilt of using them both. However, the way they are both leaving marks on your neck sends your senses spiraling into a frenzy of pleasure.

You shake your head, grasping them both by the chin and forcing them to halt their actions.

"Hold on, what are you guys doing?" You ask, your hands holding their faces by the jaw.

"Just helping you relax," Chris's reply is laced with sarcasm, a chuckle escaping his lips.

"No- seriously guys, what's going on?" Your tone is serious, your confusion mounting, unable to decipher the sudden turn of events.

"I think you're aware of what's going on." Chris retorts, his swollen, red lips drawing your attention.

"Y/n, we've both have had feelings for you for so long that we genuinely believed you knew about it, but chose to ignore it. Jordan's a dickhead, you're deserving of so much more. Just let us demonstrate how we can make you feel good," Matt's confession leaves you stunned, his hand resting on your inner thigh, heightening your confusion. They like you? How long has this been going on? How had you never noticed?

"Wait but- isn't this wrong? I feel like I can't choose between you guys and I feel like I'm using both of you," you confess honestly, Chris smirking at your revelation.

"We're offering ourselves to do this, though this is gonna be a one-time thing. I don't fuck with this shit. Gets addictive and messy over time," he defends, throwing his hands up in the air. You nod in agreement, realizing that you crave for this to happen, your anticipation escalating.

Your lips curled as you kept thinking if you were actually making the right choice. Was this right? Was it wrong? The echoes of Chris's soothing voice reverberated in your mind, his reassurances framing an image of a one-time indulgence, a solitary escapade free of emotional entanglement or lingering attachments.

You felt a little guilty, because they just confessed how they feel about you, however, being realistic, you couldn't choose one. You wanted both, and even if that was wrong in your head, however screw it.

Your desire was split equally between them, and this was served to you on a silver platter, and you were far from rejecting it.

Shaking off your thoughts, your attention returned to Chris. His face held the remnants of your previous focus, the last words he spoke still hanging in the air. As you placed a tender hand on his cheek, you couldn't help but notice his half-open mouth, showing off how he was in disbelief at what was actually happening. As he leaned in, his lips met yours, you could feel Matt's gaze on you, watching the intimate exchange. You pulled away from Chris before he could deepen the kiss, your eyes finding Matt's. Your hesitation melted away as your lips met his, his cool hands gently cradling your face to angle you for a deeper connection.

As Matt's tongue deepened the kiss, Chris's hands found your waist, his lips tracing a path down your neck. His gentle touches earn a moan from you, the sound muffled by Matt's kiss. Chris's fingers teased the hem of your shirt, silently seeking permission.

Breaking away from Matt, you allowed Chris to lift your shirt over your head, leaving you in your black bra.

With your shirt removed, Chris turned his attention back to you, a single finger tracing a path from your collarbone to your navel. "Well, look at this," he murmured, his voice a soft rumble that sent shivers down your spine. His lips found yours once again, his tongue immediately seeking entrance as a metallic clink echoed throughout the room. Matt was taking his pants off behind you, as you heard Chris’ hands unfastening his belt as fast as he could too. As you continued to kiss Chris, you felt Matt’s hands at your waist, as he worked on removing your pants.

A blush of embarrassment crept up your cheeks as you stood in your underwear between them for the first time. Sensing your discomfort, Chris broke away from your lips, his shirt joining the growing pile of discarded clothes on the floor, revealing his tousled hair and unshaven chest. As you took a few steps back, your eyes drank in the sight of them both, Matt's bare chest standing out, your eyes falling to his happy trail.

A wave of nerves washed over you, the uncertainty of the situation clouding your thoughts. Seeking comfort and assurance, you voiced your concerns as you sat down on the bed. "How does this work?" Your question was genuine, and curious. Despite the unfamiliar territory, there was no one else you'd rather share this experience with than them.

"Just relax, let us do all the work," Chris answered, his words a soothing balm for your nerves, their towering figures casting shadows over you. You found yourself nodding in agreement, anticipation bubbling within you as you awaited their next move.

"Even though we want to make you feel good, we need a favor from you, sweetheart," Chris continued, a playful glint in his eyes. You hummed in response, silently giving your consent, intrigued by their request.

"Do you think you could take two dicks at once, angel?" he asked, a mischievous smirk playing on his lips as Matt leaned down to plant a soft kiss on your shoulder. Your heart pounded wildly in your chest at his question, your lower lip caught between your teeth as you nodded, your eyes wide and filled with anticipation. Matt let go of your shoulder, standing upright next to Chris.

Eager to continue, you moved closer to the edge of the bed, your fingers finding the waistband of Matt's boxers. Your actions were teasing, slow as you pulled him closer by them. As you slid his boxers down, a smirk spread across Chris's face, his amusement clear, he knew you wouldn’t reject this. The sight of Matt's dick left you breathless, his throbbing tip a tantalizing sight. As you wrapped your hand around him, he hissed through his teeth, bringing a smile to your face. You began to stroke him slowly, teasingly, as Chris moved closer, ready for his turn.

As you continued to stroke Matt, he gently lifted your chin, forcing you to meet his gaze while your other hand continued its movements. Chris's gaze mirrored Matt's, a silent plea for you to do the same for him. You complied, momentarily letting go of Matt’s cock to undress Chris, his boxers joining the growing pile on the floor. Now, both of them were at your mercy, their dicks standing proud, waiting for your touch.

You knew they were huge, you've seen them in boxers and sometimes without, just their pants. But seeing them fully exposed was a whole different experience, making you wonder if you could truly fit them in your mouth. Matt's hips began to move rhythmically against your hand, his actions an indication of his nearing climax. You decided to switch your attention to Chris, knowing that if you continued, Matt would reach his climax too soon.

Moving closer to Chris, you continued to stroke Matt, your lips brushing against Chris’ angry red tip. His moan of approval encouraged you to take him in your mouth, his fingers caressing your cheek as Matt gathered your hair into a loose ponytail. You took more of Chris into your mouth, your throat stretching to fit him. His words of praise spurred you on, "Such a good girl, sucking me off so well. I bet you could fit all of me in, can't you, angel?"

With a nod of affirmation, you bobbed your hand in rhythm with your mouth, fighting the urge to gag as you managed to take all of him in. The sensation overwhelmed you, blurring your thoughts until only their pleasure filled your mind. You felt like his dick fucked your mind. Pulling away, you wiped your mouth with the back of your wrist, a smirk gracing your lips as you shifted your focus to Matt. Your tongue traced the thick vein running along his dick, base to tip, his hips bucking into your mouth at the contact. Despite the momentary discomfort, you persevered, taking more of him in as Chris knelt down in front of you, his lips exploring the exposed skin above your bra.

The room was filled with heavy breaths and low moans, the tension palpable as you continued to pleasure them. Your hands were busy, one stroking Chris, the other sucking Matt off. Your heart pounded in your chest, the sight of them, their reactions, their pleasure, it was all too much and yet, not enough.

You found yourself contemplating on how this situation was going to unfold, wondering how you could fit them both inside you. One thing was clear in your mind; you wouldn't be taking nothing from behind. Gently, you backed away to allow Matt and Chris to sit on the bed. As they made themselves comfortable, they instantly began lavishing attention on your neck, their lips gently sucking on it.

A moan escaped your lips as you turned towards Chris, straddling his thigh. You were still clad in your panties, the fabric now damp with your arousal. He responded by grasping your hips, guiding you on his exposed thigh.

"Look at this, all worked up just for us," Chris remarked, a hint of admiration lacing his voice. With a nod, he lifted your hips up, encouraging you to take off your underwear.

"Smart girl," he chuckled, his lips curling into a smirk.

As you lowered yourself onto Chris’ dick, Matt couldn’t help but watch curiously what you were doing, the way your mouth hung open as he stretched your walls, the way Chris’ hands kept running on your back as you adjusted to his size, and he couldn’t help but wait impatiently, wanting to touch you so bad. Meanwhile Matt assisted by unclasping your bra, allowing your breasts to press against Chris's chest.

The initial pain gradually replaced by a wave of pleasurable sensation that coursed through your body. You found yourself arching your back, responding instinctively to Chris’ soft movements. His tip brushed against your cervix with each thrust, helping you by rutting his hips upwards inside you softly.

"Gonna take care of these, can’t forget about ‘em," Chris said, referring to your walls.

Behind you, Matthew was preparing himself. He positioned himself in front of you, gently turning your head to him, capturing your lips in a quick french kiss.

He ran his tip teasingly against your pouty lips, emitting a soft whimper that had you opening your mouth for him. Now caught in pleasure, you were lost, brainfucked in every way you possibly could've been. Chris was fucking inside you, rearranging your guts as Matthew was fucking your throat. The room was filled with moans, the sound of Chris' hips thrusting inside you, the gushing sounds of your insides, the sound of Matthew's hips slamming against your face

"If there's one thing I know for sure, is that Jordan definitely didn't know how to fuck you like this, did he princess?" Matt said, his voice laced with breathless amusement.

“You got us for that, don’t worry sweetheart.” Chris looked up at you. You offered no words, your moan against Matt’s dick was your agreement. This earned a satisfied smirk from Chris.

"I'm so- so close," Chris admitted, panting heavily. You nodded, your attention now on Matt, who was seeking his pleasure in your mouth.

"Fuck- I'm gonna cum, I'm gonna fucking cum!" Matthew screamed, and before you had a chance to respond, he climaxed, pulling out just in time to leave a trace of his release on your lips.

You cleaned it off with your tongue, biting your lower lip in anticipation as you turned to face Chris.

"You ready to cum, angel? You're clenching so well around me, so well sweetheart."

Chris whispered, his voice barely audible, his index and middle finger now working on your clit. Your nods were incessant, your eyes pleading for release.

"You've been so good for us, baby. Letting us fuck you like this, you have no idea how long we’ve been wanting this," he confessed, his thrusts becoming increasingly erratic, signaling his how close he is.

"Tell me you're on the pill, baby. Please, tell me you're on the pill." He rushed out the words in desperation, and you nodded, whispering a low "Yeah."

That was the cue he needed. His body tensed as he climaxed, his release filling you up.

"O-oh- oh, oh fuck, I'm cumming- cumming!" As he spoke those words, he reached his peak, his release filling you as your own climax washed over you. Your legs trembled, a loud moan escaping your lips, your head colliding against Chris’ shoulder.

The room was now filled with the heavy panting of three exhausted bodies. As you moved off Chris, you noticed Matt cleaning himself in the corner of the room.

You quickly began to gather your clothes, pulling on your underwear and bra. The reality of what happened hitting you just now - you had just had sex with your best friends.

As Chris moved to grab his own boxers, Matt turned to you, a chuckle escaping his lips.

"Got somewhere to be?" He inquired, bending down to retrieve his boxers. Chris turned to see what you were doing.

"Trying to escape the crime scene or something?" You shook your head, giggling in response.

"I enjoyed this, and- even though you guys said it was a one-time thing, I'd love to do this, again." you admitted shyly.

Their faces lit up with proud smirks. "Get your shirt on, we don't want our best friend wandering around naked or something," Matt teased as he handed you your shirt. This prompted another chuckle from you.

"Let's all get dressed and have a talk about this. Don't worry, y/n. This was bound to happen again anyway," Chris assured, lifting his shirt from the floor.

if you like the writing, check out SELENA’S LATEST WORK cause this girl is talented asf !!

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[winterarmyy]

Steal Me Away

Glimpses of the grumpy chubby alpha!bucky's love life.

Summary: When Bucky was stuck in an unpleasant lunch with his co-workers; he thought about how nice it would be if someone comes and steals him away.

Navigation: Prequel || Main Story I || Main Story II || Main Story III

Pairing: chubby alpha!bucky x omega!female!reader

Words: 2.6k++

Warnings: a/b/o dynamics. no plot, just fluff. low-key body shamming, bullying, bucky and his omega being adorable. (tell me is there's anything else I missed)

P/S: Impulsive writing at 3am in the morning because I couldn't sleep, then left the draft to rot for weeks, now posted. Also tagging @serendipitouslife90 because she's the biggest fan of this au. Anyway, I hope you enjoy this short fic and happy reading! 🤍

Read my other works here: Masterlist

The morning sun filtered through the blinds of Bucky’s cubicle, casting narrow strips of light across his cluttered desk. The office was its usual sanctuary of muted tones and hushed conversations. Colleagues navigated the aisles like cautious explorers, their brief nods to Bucky barely concealing their unease.

He didn’t mind. In fact, he preferred it this way. Solitude was his comfort zone, and he relished the uninterrupted focus on his work.

Bucky tapped away at his keyboard, the rhythmic clacking serving as his meditation. His thoughts were like the lines of code he worked with; orderly, precise, and devoid of unnecessary embellishments. Socializing was a distraction he neither wanted nor needed.

The occasional murmurs of sympathy about his less-than-ideal body shape for an Alpha like him, or the prosthetic arm he wore to make up for his imperfection, had long since ceased to bother him. They were background noise in the symphony of his workday.

Two weeks had passed since Bucky had last seen y/n, their second date now a vivid but distant memory. Their time together had been cut short, both of them consumed by the relentless demands of their careers. Especially for Bucky, the high-pressure world of software engineering was unforgiving.

Ever since he was in school, he always had the knack for tech but as he grew up, his path lead away from it. Then after his abrupt release from military service, he was lost for a moment. He lost his position and quite literally his limb. After he was introduced to Stark Technologies for is prosthetic, his interest in tech bloomed once more.

Fast forward, he had transitioned to civilian life with a single-minded focus on his career. The transition from soldier to software engineer had been a challenging yet rewarding shift, one that demanded every ounce of his dedication.

His days were a blur of client meetings, coding marathons, and sleepless nights, leaving him barely enough time to recharge. Despite his best efforts, he couldn't escape the gnawing sense of guilt that tugged at him.

Y/n had been understanding, insisting that they could take things slow and that she was patient. Yet Bucky felt a pressing need to make up for the lost time, to show her that she was more important than the endless stream of work that consumed him.

His longing for her was a constant undercurrent in his daily routine, a reminder of the connection he cherished and the promises he hoped to fulfill, even amidst the chaos of his demanding schedule.

Lunchtime arrived with an uncharacteristic intrusion; Brock’s insistent presence. Bucky had settled into his usual corner of the break room, anticipating a quiet meal alone.

But Brock, with his usual smirk, plopped down across from him, completely unfazed by Bucky’s visible discomfort.

“You know, Bucky,” he started, his tone laced with false camaraderie, “maybe you should join us for lunch this time. Walk off that fat in your belly, and maybe, just maybe, might help you lose a few pounds and get that soldier body of yours again.”

The comment triggered a ripple of reactions around the break room. A few colleagues, particularly those who fancied themselves as superior alpha, snickered behind their coffee cups, enjoying the moment at Bucky’s expense. The rest of the room fell into an awkward silence; some looked away, unable or unwilling to get involved, while others exchanged nervous glances, wary of crossing the line with either of the alpha males.

Bucky’s mind raced with a mix of frustration and contemplation. Brock’s taunts were nothing new, but the timing was particularly irritating. With his packed schedule and the constant pressure of meeting deadlines, Bucky had barely had a moment to breathe, let alone deal with petty office politics.

The jabs felt like an unnecessary complication in an already strained day. His thoughts were a whirlwind of frustration; he wondered why he always ended up the target of Brock’s remarks and whether it was a reflection of his own choices or just Brock’s way of asserting dominance.

The palpable tension in the room only added to his mounting irritation.

Bucky’s jaw clenched, his irritation simmering beneath a thin veneer of politeness. “Yeah, sure. Why not?” He didn’t bother hiding the grumble in his voice. His work would have to wait, and so would his patience.

The café buzzed with conversation and clinking dishes, an atmosphere of forced cheerfulness that did little to mask the underlying tension. Bucky took his seat with a sigh, his mind already drifting to y/n, the image of her smile a soothing balm to his frayed nerves.

Brock wasted no time in launching his passive-aggressive jabs, each comment about Bucky’s weight or his vibranium prosthetic arm more cutting than the last. Bucky could feel the rage bubbling up, but he forced himself to stay calm, focusing instead on the thought of y/n. The warm glow of her presence seemed to wrap around him, even in the midst of Brock’s taunts.

Brock leaned back in his chair, a smirk playing at the corners of his mouth. “You know, Bucky, it's always something watching you eat alone. Maybe if you spent less time working and more time mingling; hit the gym with us after work or something. Who knows you might actually find yourself a date for once.”

The remark seemed casual, almost playful, but it carried a veiled sting. It wasn’t just about Bucky’s solitary lunchtime habits; it was a pointed jab at his single status, suggesting that his lack of romantic success might be due to his social ineptitude and undesirable body.

Bucky’s patience snapped. He leaned forward, his voice cold and controlled. “I don’t know, Brock. Honestly, it’s much better to be alone than to ‘mingle’ with someone who’s all bark and no bite.” He fearlessly maintained his cold gaze; eyes seemingly bore the words his lips never spoke. “…Like you”

Brock's face flushed a deep crimson, and his jaw tightened in a futile attempt to maintain composure. He muttered something about needing a smoke before hastily exiting the room, his pride stinging from the unexpected jab. The rest of the team sat in an uneasy silence, the tension almost tangible.

They watched as Bucky’s eyes bore into Brock’s retreating figure, cold and unyielding. There was something almost feral in his gaze, a silent promise of consequences that only someone with true authority and control could convey.

Everyone knew better than to provoke him further; Bucky's look was a chilling reminder that he played by his own rules.

Brock stepped out of the café, his frustration boiling over as he lit a cigarette. With each inhale of nicotine, he muttered darkly under his breath, cursing Bucky and grumbling about how that fat-ass loser like him had the audacity to undermine his clearly more superior alpha status.

His anger was a tempest, raging against the affront to his ego.

As he paced, his gaze drifted to the sidewalk next to the café, where a striking woman in a sundress was engrossed in her phone. The late afternoon sun highlighted the gentle curves of her figure, and her unblemished skin glowed softly, exposed at the back of her neck.

Brock’s eyes raked over her with a predatory appreciation, the male gaze undeniable in his scrutiny.

Her poised stance and soft demeanor hinted at an aura of femineity that intrigued him. A smirk curved his lips as he took another drag from his cigarette, already imagining how he might woo her, hoping that a little charm could be the distraction he needed from his bruised pride.

Back in the café, Bucky was still seated at the table, surrounded by the typical midday hustle, yet he remained ensconced in a bubble of tranquility. His attention was focused solely on his phone, where a soft, contented smile played on his lips. The noise of the café faded into the background as he read through y/n’s messages.

Each word from her was a thread that connected him to a part of his life that felt more real and meaningful than the relentless grind of his daily routine.

Y/n had inquired about his lunch, her questions laced with genuine curiosity. “How was your lunch?” “Was it any good?” “How’s your day been so far?” The inquiries seemed almost innocent, yet they carried a warmth that enveloped him.

And then, the message that tugged at his heartstrings: “I miss you.” It was as if her words had the power to reach through the screen and touch him directly, offering a solace that was hard to find amidst the chaos left from the prior event.

He missed her deeply.

The absence of her voice, the comfort of her presence. He wished that she could just steal him away; or perhaps he would be stealing her away?

Eitherway, he just wants to get out of here.

As he glanced at the time, noting that he still had about thirty minutes before he needed to return to the office, he made a quick decision. He would step outside for a moment, away from the unnecessary drama, and maybe give her a call.

The thought of hearing her voice, even if only for a brief conversation, was a beacon of light in his otherwise frenetic day. As Bucky stepped out of the café, his gaze remained fixed on his phone, where y/n’s last message glowed softly on the screen.

Unbeknownst to him, the scene unfolding just a few paces away was far less pleasant. Brock, still nursing his bruised ego from their earlier encounter by relentlessly flirting with the girl. “Come on, sweetheart, just one date.” Brock said, his voice low and laced with insincere flirtation.

He leaned in close, a smirk playing on his lips as his hand reached out, brushing against her exposed shoulder. Y/n recoiled slightly, her discomfort palpable. “I’m really not interested,” she said firmly, though her voice carried an undercurrent of unease. “and I have a boyfriend.”

Brock’s persistence only grew more insistent. “I doubt that. I can see you do not have his mark here,” he persisted, his hand lingering uncomfortably on her shoulder, close to where her mating mark supposed to reside. Despite her attempts to shrug off his advances, Brock didn’t relent. His touch was intrusive, and his words edged on harassment. And she can sense the scent of arousal coming from the alpha.

Y/n’s eyes darted around, seeking an escape from the unwanted attention. As her gaze fell behind Brock, she caught sight of a familiar figure; one that seemed to offer a lifeline amidst her distress.

“Bucky?” she called out, her voice tinged with both relief and surprise. The name escaped her lips before she could fully process the situation, her eyes widening as she took in the sight of Bucky walking toward them.

Bucky knew that voice. It was a sound that resonated deep within him, as familiar as his own heartbeat. He lifted his eyes from his phone, and the world around him sharpened into focus. The scene before him was both infuriating and unmistakable: Brock, with his sleazy smirk and inappropriate proximity, stood uncomfortably close to Bucky's omega, his hand hovering dangerously near her exposed shoulder.

A surge of primal fury shot through Bucky, a blaze of anger that burned through his veins and coiled tight in his chest. His eyes blazed with a fierce intensity, a low, guttural growl forming in his throat as he prepared to confront the intruder. His body tensed, ready to pounce.

But before he could make a move, y/n was already in motion. She leaped into his arms with a mix of desperation and joy, catching Bucky off guard. He instinctively wrapped his arms around her, holding her securely against his chest.

Her arms clung tightly to his nape, her face burying itself into the crook of his neck as if seeking refuge; shamelessly scenting him. Her warm breath and soft sighs was a soothing cure to his simmering rage.

The anger that had been boiling inside him began to fizzle away, replaced by a profound sense of relief and love. The sound of her happy purrs, the feel of her soft body pressed against his, and her intoxicatingly sweet scent; all of it made his anger dissolve into a tender, protective affection.

A soft chuckle escaped his lips, his arms tightening around her waist as he relished in the comforting closeness. “Hi, sugar.” he whispered, his voice thick with affection and relief.

Bucky's hold loosen as he leaned down, his gentle smile never faltering as he closed the distance between them. His eyes softened with affection, and he pressed his lips against y/n's in a kiss so tender it felt like a whisper. It was a soft, loving caress that spoke volumes more than words ever could.

But before he could pull back, y/n’s playful energy erupted. She cupped his cheeks in her delicate hands, pulling him down to her level with a sudden, joyful enthusiasm.

Her lips attacked his with a flurry of kisses; quick, warm, and full of exuberance. Each kiss left behind a trace of her strawberry-scented lipstick, creating a trail of smudged rosy color across his face. The marks dotted his forehead, his cheeks, his nose, and even his lips, a vibrant testament to her affection.

Amused laughter bubbled up from Bucky, the sound a rare and delightful departure from his usual stoic demeanor. His eyes twinkled with genuine mirth, his grumpy alpha persona completely melted away in the face of y/n’s loving onslaught.

He reveled in the smothering of her kisses, his initial tension and anger forgotten. A satisfied rumble vibrates on his throat, across his chest. The contrast between his earlier anger and the unrestrained joy he now experienced was stark; the shift was almost palpable.

Lost in their own world, the two seemed oblivious to their surroundings. Their display of affection was unabashedly public, a stark contrast to the earlier tension. Y/n looked up at him with bright eyes, her voice filled with eager excitement as she asked if he still had time.

“I want to steal you away.” she said with a playful smile.

Bucky’s smile widened, his heart swelling with happiness. “Of course, sugar. Anything for you.” he replied, his voice tender and filled with genuine warmth.

But as Bucky’s gaze shifted away from y/n and landed on Brock, his soft features momentarily disappeared. His expression hardened, the warmth in his eyes turning to ice. The switch in his demeanor was chilling; an instant transformation from the tender lover to a menacing figure.

The coldness in his eyes was a silent, yet unmistakable warning. It was as though a dark storm cloud had settled over him, a clear signal that Brock's earlier arrogance had crossed an unforgivable line.

The intensity of Bucky’s stare spoke volumes, a silent promise of retribution and a reminder of the strength behind his calm exterior. The abrupt shift in his demeanor was a jarring contrast to the affection he had just displayed, sending a clear message to Brock that any further provocation would be met with unspeakable consequences.

As Bucky and y/n walked hand in hand away from the café, Brock stood there, fuming and humiliated. His attempt to belittle Bucky had backfired spectacularly.

Inside the café, Bucky’s colleagues had their jaws dropped. They were astonished not only by y/n’s ethereal beauty but also by the sight of Bucky, usually so composed and reserved, smiling so openly. They were completely stunned by the unexpected display of vulnerability and affection from the grumpy loner.

The couple continued down the street, their hands clasped together. The afternoon sun cast long shadows as they headed towards their next destination.

Bucky’s smile was genuine, a rare and precious sight as he looked down; memorizing the way her hand perfectly intertwined with his. At that moment, he couldn’t help but think how much he wished y/n would steal him away more often.

End.

Read my other works here: Masterlist

A/N: Thank you for staying to the end of the fic. Hope you enjoy reading it!

[ewanmitchellcrumbs]

Gīsītsos (little ghost)

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x f!reader Warnings: Fingering, dubcon, smut. Word count: ~3.7k

Summary: As part of the Red Keep's serving staff, she knows it is better to remain unseen by the family she tends to. Unfortunately for her, an incident involving the second of the Targaryen sons means his gaze is now firmly fixed upon her.

Author's note: For @targaryen-dynasty's sleepover challenge. I was given the AU "meet cute" and the prompt "we have to be quiet". I have put my own little spin on both of these to suit my preference for canon and my particular writing style. No tag list. Follow @fics-by-ewanmitchellcrumbs and turn on notifications. Community labels are for cops.

There is an unspoken rule among the serving staff of the Red Keep; remain unseen and unheard whenever possible. Move as a spectre through the castle, do not draw attention to the mess you are employed to clean up. Those they serve do not wish to be reminded of their imperfections. Blissful ignorance is placed upon the pristine condition of the chambers they return to at the end of each day. They have always been that way, how could they not be? But beneath it lies an undercurrent of I do not wish to see it, do not make me look.

She is content to remain out of sight and mind of the Targaryen family, though her work is thankless, there is serenity to be found in the duties of a maidservant. As long as she completes the tasks assigned to her, then she is otherwise unbothered, and she considers herself fortunate to have a comparatively easy workload to some of the others.

The maidservants that attend to Prince Aegon’s bedchamber are ordered to work in pairs, partly because the mess he so often leaves behind is work enough for two, but also because he is known to sleep late, and there is safety in numbers. A chill runs down her spine at the memory of the whisperings that had passed between the staff about Dyana, brought before the Queen and forced to drink moon tea, before being relieved of her employment from the Keep. From that point on, the maidservants were forbidden from entering his rooms alone, lest they find themselves victim of the Prince’s wandering hands and lustful appetite.

There is no such danger to be found within the sleeping quarters of Prince Aemond, which she is in charge of tending to each day. He makes her job almost too easy, but she does not allow her guilt to weigh heavily enough upon her that she would ask for additional duties, instead she gives thanks to the Seven for this small mercy and ensures she finishes each day having completed her tasks to an impeccable standard. 

As she tugs the crisp white sheets of the bed firmly back into place each morning, there is no lingering body heat or scent to be found, indicating he has been awake for hours. She wonders if he sleeps at all, considering the unrumpled state of his bedding. When she strips the sheets off to change them once a week, there are no personal effects that fall loose, no trace that the Prince she serves exists at all. He is as much an apparition as she is.

When she is finished making up the bed or delivering the old sheets to the laundress, she sweeps the ashes from the hearth and readies the fireplace for Aemond’s return. Aside from that, there is little else to do besides lightly dust the shelves and reorganise the books placed upon his table. She never once sees the Prince, nor does he see her.

The most strenuous of jobs is the one she currently finds herself doing; the once weekly wash of the bedchamber floor, which requires her to get down upon her hands and knees with a brush and scrub the flagstones with a mixture of hot water and lye. The floor is hard upon her knees, her back aching, and knuckles sore from the combination of the soap and how tightly she grips the brush.

Satisfied that there is not an inch left unclean, she drops the scrubbing brush into the bucket, groaning softly as her knees twinge in protest as she stands. She swipes at the perspiration upon her forehead with the back of her hand, before reaching behind her to soothe ache in her lower back.

She freezes as her elbow collides with something on the desk, her heart feeling as though it stops beating within her chest as she hears the heavy splash of it fall into the bucket behind her, splattering dirty water against her skirt.

Snapping herself out of her shock, she quickly turns, seeing she has knocked a book from the table into the water she had been using to wash the floor. Dread swirls in her belly as she stoops to lift it out, her mind running rampant with thoughts of how much trouble she’ll be in if she has ruined one of Prince Aemond’s belongings. At best, she would lose her job. At worst, she is unsure, but she does not wish to fall foul of the man that rides the world’s largest dragon.

Drying off the leatherbound cover with her apron, she is relieved to see her swift action has prevented any serious damage, though the pages within are sodden. She cannot return it to the desk in this condition, so she tucks the book under her arm and picks up the bucket, walking quickly out of the Prince’s chambers, and back towards the servants’ quarters. If she can get it dried and return it in time, then hopefully he will be none the wiser to her mishap.

The scullion keeps the fire in the shared space ablaze all day, and she settles in front of it, opening the dampened book, careful not to place it so close that the parchment might singe. Happy to see the water has not soaked through far enough to smudge the ink, she turns the pages carefully while they dry, her eyes scanning the words. It is a tome of philosophy, far beyond the realm of her comprehension. It serves as a reminder of the divide between her and the Prince, she is beneath such intellectual pursuits. She imagines he would be infuriated that a lowly maidservant would ever dare to read it, and finds herself hunching over the book as it dries, subconsciously concealing it from view, as though she is engaging in something forbidden and shameful.

After an hour, the heat of the fire has returned the book to its original state, or at least as close as it’s going to get. She makes haste to return it to where it belongs, hoping that Prince Aemond will not yet have returned to his chambers. Her skin is heated, a combination of having been so close to the open fireplace for an hour and nervousness at the idea of being caught.

She enters the bedchamber without knocking, expecting it to still be empty, and moves swiftly on light feet, returning the book back to the desk it had laid upon previously.

“An enjoyable read, was it?”

The voice is soft, yet its sinister edge sends a shiver up her spine, causing her breath to catch in her throat. She turns slowly, keeping her head bowed, not daring to meet the unblinking stare of the One Eyed Prince.

“Your Grace,” she utters meekly, “please accept my apologies. I did not mean to intrude.”

“And you did not answer my question either.”

She dares to look up then, watching in wide eyed horror as he walks slowly towards her, dressed in his sparring attire, his expression impassive.

Swallowing thickly, ignoring everything within her that desperately wants to lower her gaze, she forces herself to hold it. “I did not read it, I swear, I would never be so discourteous.”

“Hm,” he murmurs, standing tall in front of her, “a pity. ‘Tis an interesting text. So, tell me, what were you doing with it?”

He is standing so close to her, she can feel the tickle of his breath upon her flesh, see the angry, red indentation of the scar that runs the length of the left hand side of his face, disappearing beneath the leather patch that covers his eye. There is something in the way he looks at her that makes her want to shrink into herself, but she fears she has forever shrugged off the shroud of invisibility that has until now protected her. His eye is piercing, a silent threat. I see you.

She considers lying, but decides it will be worse for her than simply telling the truth, if he catches her out. “I…I accidentally got the book wet while I was cleaning. I took it away to the servants’ quarters to dry it.”

Aemond leans his body into hers, and she can feel the warmth that radiates from his chest, smell the sweat that lingers on his skin from his exertion in the training yard. She screws her eyes shut, icy fingers of fear gripping her insides as she awaits her punishment, but then the heat of him is gone.

Slowly opening her eyes, she sees that he is still standing in front of her, but his attention is now focused upon his book as he flips through the pages, studying it for signs of damage. He had simply reached behind her to retrieve it. The relief that floods her is enough to make her want to laugh, but she knows better, biting it back as she exhales heavily through her nose.

Satisfied that his book is unruined, he snaps it shut, holding it with both hands as he looks at her once more. “Are you always this clumsy?”

She gapes at this, white hot embarrassment radiating from head to toe. “N-no, never. It was an accident, Your Grace, I swear it.”

He smirks, cocking his head. “Perhaps I ought to keep a closer eye on you?”

Please, no.

She wants to leave, to be away from the intensity of how he looks upon her, to have him forget her face and allow her to go back to being invisible.

“I promise I will take greater care in future, Your Grace. I apologise. Can I go?”

He raises an eyebrow at this. “I do not know. Can you?”

This is humiliating. Is he getting some sort of satisfaction from this?

“If that will be all, Your Grace.”

She bows her head to him and hurries from the room, feeling her heartbeat in her throat with every step that she takes. She can sense his eye upon her, boring a hole into the back of her, long after she has left his chambers, and it fills her with a sense of unease for the rest of the day. Her only solace is that she can return to her duties upon the morrow without having to see him.

However, as she enters the bedchamber the following morning she is horrified to find the Seven have decided her spell of good fortune has come to its end. Prince Aemond still occupies the space, standing at the foot of the bed as he fastens his tunic. Halting her steps, she lingers uncertainly, not knowing what she ought to do.

He stares at her as he continues to dress, not making any moves to alleviate her discomfort, and she takes a tentative step back.

“Should I come back?” She asks warily, glancing over her shoulder towards the door - it has never appeared so inviting.

“No need,” he assures her, “do what you need to.”

She hesitates a moment longer, but realising she is in no position to protest, she begins the task of turning down the bed. She can feel him looking at her the entire time, making her feel self conscious. There has never been an audience to spectate over her daily tasks before, and she moves as though she is suspended in honey, afraid to make a mistake while he is watching, despite the fact that these are duties she has performed hundreds of times before.

To her frustration, he moves as slowly as she does, unhurriedly clasping on his sword belt and pulling on his boots, watching her all the while, but never speaking a word. It is not until she begins sweeping away the ashes from the fireplace that he finally takes his leave, silently striding from the room without addressing her further.

For the first time since she entered Aemond’s chambers that morning she feels as though she can breathe, although a voice in the back of her mind tells her she has not seen the last of Aemond, and he certainly has no desire to see less of her.

Over the next few days, he is there every time she arrives, either in the process of dressing, or still laying in bed, causing her to turn away, ashamed at the way excitement flutters in her lower belly at the sight of his well defined bare chest.

He is doing this on purpose, she knows he is, abusing the imbalance of power between them, because she cannot ask him to stop. He is not really even doing anything wrong; it is not uncommon for maidservants to be in the presence of those they serve as they perform their duties, yet there is something about this that feels completely improper. The way his stare lingers upon her, stalking her as though she is prey, it both frightens her and fills her with a sense of mortification, because she knows that, deep down, there is a part of her that likes the fact that his attention is on her. The veil between them has been lifted, and now that she has gotten to know what resides on the other side, at least a little, she thinks of nothing else. It is both exciting and terrifying to have someone in such a position of authority so interested in her and what she does.

It is the day she strips the bed in order to place fresh sheets upon it, and she enters the bedchamber prepared to have to wait for the Prince to vacate it first. However, she finds that he is already gone for the day. Unsure if it is relief or disappointment that she feels, she immediately begins to pull back the bedding, deciding she would prefer not to dwell on the hollow feeling that has settled within her chest.

As she tugs the bedsheet loose from beneath the corner of the mattress, a small piece of parchment flutters from it, landing softly on the flagstones beside the wooden bedframe. Nothing has ever fallen from Aemond’s bed before, he is much too tidy, and so her curiosity is immediately piqued.

Plucking it from the floor, her mouth runs dry at the words she finds penned delicately in black ink.

Though I am absent, I think of you.

Was this meant for her to find? She feels foolish for considering such a notion, and yet she cannot shift the idea that it might be. Her hands shake as she holds the note, her mind reeling with thoughts of what she ought to do with it: keep it, cast it into the fireplace, put it back and pretend she has not seen it?

The latter is impossible, he would notice the fresh sheets upon the bed and know that she has found it. Perhaps she is being presumptuous, and this has been left for him by a bedmate? She decides to simply place it upon the desk, and leave it up to the Prince to decide its fate.

Though she attempts to continue her day as normal, thoughts of Aemond and the contents of his note will not allow her any peace. She wonders if it is indeed her that he is thinking of, and if it would satisfy him to know that he haunts her mind in equal measure. If only she had never knocked that wretched book into the bucket, then she would be free of this torment.

Aemond is fully clothed as she walks into his rooms the following day, standing beside his desk. There is absolutely no reason for him to linger, but she knows precisely why he does, her suspicions confirmed when she spies the note clasped between his fingers.

“You read it?” He asks, lifting his gaze to meet hers as she enters.

“Was I not supposed to?” She asks quietly, setting down the basket which contains the brushes and rags she uses for sweeping and dusting.

“I left it where only you would find it,” he retorts, allowing the parchment to flutter back down upon the desk. “What do you think?”

“I do not know, Your Grace,” she responds simply, attempting to keep her focus on meticulously unloading her supplies.

“Leave that,” he orders coolly. “Come here.”

She trembles as she steps slowly towards him, and he rounds on her, caging her between himself and the desk, its wooden edge biting into her lower back.

“You are beautiful,” he breathes, brushing a stray strand of hair away from her face. 

The trace of his fingertip leaves a trail of heat in its wake. She feels dizzy, overwhelmed, the urge to run and her body’s insistence at remaining rooted to the spot at direct odds with one another.

“Please,” she whispers, “do not. It is improper.”

His hand drops to his side and he regards her with a look of amusement. “I am not my brother. I will not take anything that is not given freely. But I suspect you want this as much as I do. Tell me I am wrong.”

“Your Grace, I–I…”

The words die in her throat, what can she say? A maidservant cannot speak of her desire for the Prince she serves. How can she give voice to the fact that since he first acknowledged her, he has plagued her every waking thought?

“Say the word, and things shall go back to as they were before, we shall be strangers once more.”

That is certainly the easier of the two options, and yet the idea of having to live without his attention now she knows the sweet torment of what it is to have it seems unfathomable to her. She is playing a dangerous game, treading a knife’s edge, placing herself directly in harm’s way, and the words she speaks next will forever change her life’s trajectory, but as she stares up into his piercing blue eye her judgement is too clouded for her to mind.

“I do not want that,” she says earnestly.

“I want you to beg for it,” he tells her, the slightest hint of malice in his tone.

She feels a stickiness between her thighs, a dull throbbing ache in her core that makes her nerves sing for release. Her voice is foreign to her, pathetic sounding as the single utterance of “please” tumbles from her lips.

“Please what?” Aemond asks, tilting his head, mocking her as he looms over her, keeping her pinned against the desk behind her.

Under ordinary circumstances, she would feel ashamed by such lewd behaviour, but these are no ordinary circumstances, and her actions are driven solely by desire, so she feels no chagrin as she allows herself to murmur “please touch me”.

The Prince’s deft fingers make quick work of moving up her skirt, ghosting along the inside of her thigh as he goes, causing her to suck in a shaky breath as she grips his shoulders for support.

She mewls helplessly as his middle and index fingers work their way beneath her smallclothes, dragging through her silken folds, wet with arousal.

Aemond hums in appreciation as his digits explore her, his entire hand moving beneath the thin cotton of her undergarments, cupping her mound. She exhales a shocked gasp as he pushes two fingers forcefully inside of her.

His free hand clasps over her mouth, muffling her sounds, as he works his fingertips inside of her at a lazy pace. “We have to be quiet,” he tells her, “or we will get caught, and we cannot have that.”

She nods in understanding, whimpering against his palm as his thumb begins to circle her pearl, the pumping of his fingers increasing in pace, the sticky sounds of her arousal accompanying her stifled whines of pleasure.

They have not even shared a kiss, there is no romance to be found here, but she does not mind. If anything, the depravity of the act serves to heighten the sensations and renders her more responsive to his touch.

His eye bores into hers, the pupil so large it almost eclipses the blue of it, his lips parted slightly as his nostrils flare. He crooks his fingers, brushing against a spot inside of her that causes her to buck against his hand. He grins wickedly, speeding up his movements both inside of her and against her bud.

The pleasurable ache she feels building winds tightly within her gut, and her thighs tremble with the effort of keeping her upright. Her fingernails dig into the fabric of Aemond’s tunic, as she feels her body tense in preparation for what’s to come.

With a final press of his fingers, she falls apart, her cry almost silenced by his hand over her mouth as she breathes erratically through her nose. She tightens around him in quick pulses as waves of warm relief pass through her body, making her pliant against him. 

She maintains her grasp on his shoulders, not trusting her shaking legs to keep her upright as he releases her mouth and withdraws his hand from beneath her skirt, his fingers glistening with her release.

He tuts, examining them carefully as he holds them up between them both. “What a mess you’ve made”, he says condescendingly, pressing them against her lips and forcing them into her mouth. The taste of herself upon her tongue is tart, the very idea of what she is doing lewd to her. “Something else for you to clean up,” he coos, watching as she sucks her essence from his fingers.

With these words she is brought crashing back down to earth as she is reminded of the power imbalance between them. She will always be the woman who tends to his messes, who serves him, except now she is also a vessel for his pleasure and, whatever the outcome of that may be, it is too late now to take it back. He has seen her, fully, and she will only ever see of him what he allows her to.

[noira-l]

Just the Two of Us

chapter summary: The onsen's heat melt away your coldness, while the festival's treats sweetened your heart. But it was Satoru, with his fiery passion and childlike joy, who truly made you feel alive again.

pairing: gojo satoru x f!sorcerer reader

wc: 16,4k

warnings: MDNI, smut with plot, so much tension, establishing relationship (?) public intimacy (onsen), summer festival motives (traditional clothing, games and foood), lovemaking, dry humbing, p in v, oral/fingering (f reciving), unprotected sex, creampie, intense at the end, dirty talk, teasing, namecalling (sweetie, wifey etc.), dacryphilia, tooth rotting fluff, soft, spicy and touch starved Satoru.

author's note: oh dear, that loooong, but we are finally here. I couldn't finished this chapter in a month, it was eating me alive. I'm a virgin when it comes to writting smut scenes, so please be gentle. Hope you enjoy it in the end, your pulse will quicken and your heart will sugar coat ;3

s.masterlist

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟑 '𝐇𝐨𝐭 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐒𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐭'

"Mr and Mrs Gojo, we are pleased to welcome you to our establishment, we wish you a pleasant stay." the woman at the front desk beamed, her smile broad and a little too wide as she handed over your wristbands. Her eyes darted nervously to Satoru, who stood next to you, his presence undeniably commanding the room. Naturally, a faint blush crept onto her cheeks.

You felt a familiar weight as his hand settled on your waist, possessive yet gentle.

"Thank you." Satoru replied, his voice filled with that infectious enthusiasm "My wife and I are looking forward to a time full of relaxation!" his tone was warm, but it carried that undercurrent of determination, the kind that always made you wonder just how seriously he took even the most mundane things.

You couldn’t help but notice the effect he had on the staff around you. There was a collective intake of breath, and you watched as the women at the reception seemed to hold it, eyes wide and dreamy. It was, frankly, a bit embarrassing. You’d seen this reaction countless times, but it didn’t make it any less disconcerting when it happened right in front of you.

You couldn’t even begin to imagine what it would be like when he actually started using the spa. The baths, the onsen… you winced internally at the thought. You already regretted booking the full package. Satoru was a magnet for attention- talkative, charming, and with looks that could make anyone pause. What had seemed like an idyllic, relaxing retreat was starting to feel like an exercise in patience.

It had all sounded so good when you read about it: relaxing massages, body treatments, the tranquil atmosphere. And part of you was still excited; you'd been waiting for this for what felt like forever. But now, seeing the ladies at the front desk practically swooning at the sight of him was… well, let's just say it was a little annoying.

The location itself was well decorated. You walked away from the reception area for a moment, as Satoru started talking to another staff person. It was quite a distance away from the village where you had an accommodation, but it was close enough to the surprise you wanted to take him to in the evening. You could see that everything was well-maintained and quite fresh, as if a renovation had taken place here not long ago. Ceremonial ornaments adorned the walls, trimmed bonsai trees stood as miniature sentinels in each corner, and the view from the wide windows was breathtaking, the landscape rolling out in serene waves of green and stone. You could feel a sense of calm settling over you despite your earlier irritation.

There weren't many visitors at this time of day. You guessed that was partly because you'd arrived in the afternoon, and partly because most guests were likely preparing for the evening's festivities. Your gaze wandered to a lacquered painting on the wall, depicting a serene scene of a man and woman submerged in water, their backs turned to each other. The art was surprisingly well-preserved, capturing the beauty and tranquility of the surrounding area.

"Ready?" you felt a hand embrace you from behind. You nodded your head.

"Do you know where to go and what to do?" your gaze fell on his eyes, he threw a towel over his shoulder.

You'll probably never get used to the shifting shades of blue that swirl in his sparkling eyes.

"I asked the staff about a few things." he said in a melodic voice. You adjusted your bag on your shoulder.

"Good, I'll meet you after the treatments and when you've finished bathing, if you'd be early, then don't leave without me, I'll wait for you here." he gave you an enthusiastic thumbs up, his signature grin spreading across his face.

"Have fun." he added before leaning in to press a quick kiss to your cheek. Without another word, he turned and walked toward the entrance to the men's changing room, a dark blue curtain swaying gently as he slipped behind it.

You watched him go, a mixture of exasperation and affection welling up inside you. With a small sigh, you turned on your heel and made your way to the women’s section, pushing aside a curtain as red as the blush still warming your cheeks.

----

Oh yes.

That's what you needed.

You don't remember when you felt so relaxed. You felt your whole body eased and your head pleasantly calmed. Your aching hip and shoulder blade, which had suffered an injury after your last mission, finally experienced proper treatment. A complex of massages prepared your body, while scrubs and regenerating masks gave your complexion a healthy glow. You liked to take care of yourself. As you rose from your seat, finishing your last massage with some special stones, you heard a quiet whisper from behind the curtain.

"Have you seen the white-haired guy?" this question set your ears ringing.

"Yes, handsome and charming." the giggle of the other voice was terribly loud.

"But apparently he's married."

Your feet found the ground, yet you remained still, your ears attuned to their every word, each syllable a slow drip of poison.

"Ah, what a shame, wasting on such an uncute woman." Pity, right? you furrowed your brow at this comment, sudden breath catching.

The words struck like a blade, your breath stuttering in your chest, a flare of heat rushing to your face.

"But are you sure? He didn't have a ring." Your fingers curled into fists, nails biting into your palms, the silk of the robe whispering against your skin as you fought the urge to rip through the curtain.

"Yes, at the desk, he said the woman next to him was his wife." the tone had shifted, dripping now with mockery, each word a taunt that twisted the knife deeper.

"But you know what they say, no ring no problem."

You opened the paper door to your cubicle, not wanting to wait for the next treatment or hear what these old maids had to say.

Out in the corridor, the air was cooler, less stifling, yet it did nothing to quell the fire simmering just beneath your skin. The air thick with the lingering scent of oils and herbs. Each word you had overheard replayed in your mind, an echo that rattled in the silence around you. The pity, the mockery, the casual cruelty of their voices scraped against your thoughts like nails on glass.

Uncute woman. The phrase curled around your mind like a serpent, squeezing until it left marks that stung with each breath.

You didn't want to spoil your mood, even though it had somehow gotten under your skin anyway. You just hope that the hot water will wash it out of you.

The wooden floor creaked under your step. The colours of the glass slowly changed, revealing the sunset outside. After pulling back the white curtain at the end of the corridor, you were shown one of the most stunning views.

The hot spring lay before you, a hidden oasis cradled by the forest. It was framed by rugged stones and ancient trees, their branches bowing gently as if in reverence to the sacred waters. A traditional torii gate loomed at the edge, draped with sacred Shinto ropes and tassels that whispered secrets to the evening breeze. In the background, rocks and trees wove into the scene, and just beyond, a small wooden temple stood, its silhouette blurred by the rising mist. Lanterns glowed in the encroaching twilight, casting a warm, flickering light upon the surface of the water, illuminating the steam that curled into the air like ghostly tendrils. It was a scene of tranquility, an invitation to forget, to cleanse.

The overall scene set you in relaxation and some sort of spiritual cleansing.

You let your towel slip from your grasp, draping it on the cabinet before stepping into the milky water. It lapped against your ankles first, sending tendrils of heat spiraling up your legs. Slowly, you eased further in, each step a deliberate act of immersion, the water climbing higher, coaxing the tension from your muscles with each passing second.

Finally, you lowered yourself until the water barely kissed the tops of your breasts. You spotted a small wooden bucket resting on one of the stones nearby and reached for it, the wood warm against your fingers. You poured the water over your hair, again and again, the heat cascading down your shoulders, soothing the raw edges of your thoughts. It was a ritual, a cleansing, and as the water soaked into your skin, you felt the weight of the day begin to dissolve, leaving behind a languid heaviness that settled deep into your bones. Now, you felt it, how heavy and warm were your muscles.

But then, you felt it—a presence. It pressed against the edges of your awareness, a shift in the air that made you alarmed. You turned, the water rippling around you, and your eyes met his.

"What are you doing here?" your voice was pretty quiet. It didn't need to be louder since you were surrounded by silence or a quiet hum.

Satoru stood there, half-shrouded in shadows at the entrance to the water, his form outlined by the soft glow of the lanterns. A towel hung low around his hips, and a flush painted his cheeks, stark against the usually pale skin. His gaze was fixed on you, wide and unblinking, as if he had stumbled upon something he wasn’t meant to see. He blinked once, then twice, before his eyes finally rose to meet yours.

You glanced down and covered yourself from him with your hands, doing this surprisingly slowly.

"It's konyoku." he swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing slightly as his eyes flickered downward again, tracing the path of water droplets as they trailed down your skin.

"What?" now you were beginning to blush from the weight of his gaze on you. You felt warmth spread across your cheeks, an echo of the blush that colored his face.

His eyes moved with agonizing slowness, drinking in the sight of every glistening drop on your skin. A different kind of heat simmered in the water now, not from the spring, but from the way he looked at you. You were hot, but not just from the water - you could feel the fire in the way his eyes devoured you.

"Konyoku, a mixed bath." you were sure his voice cracked slightly.

Realisation has struck you, hard.

"Oh gosh, I'm sorry, I didn't know. I thought that since the spa was divided into sections, it would be the same with the onsen." shame twisted in your chest, tightening around your ribs, and you averted your eyes, feeling the heat of embarrassment mingle with the warmth of the spring. You felt that you were making everything awkward right now by missing such an important detail.

"Calm down, I don't mind." his voice was low, soothing, as if trying to ease the tension that thrummed in the air between you. A smile flickered across his lips, a familiar, comforting expression that quickly faded when he noticed how much you were trying to cover yourself.

He took a step forward, his hand reaching out toward the towel hanging loosely around his waist. You turned your back to him instantly, instinctively, giving him the privacy you assumed he wanted. The movement sent ripples across the water, the sound echoing softly in the silence.

You felt the water move more and more as he approached you step by step.

"Are you ashamed of your spouse?" his voice came from right behind you, dripping with that familiar arrogance that always seemed to unsettle you in ways you couldn't quite explain. You felt the heat of his breath against your ear, and a shiver raced down your spine despite the warmth enveloping you "I thought you didn't mind seeing me after so long." his tone was teasing, but it was the way he said it, the dark edge to his voice, that made your cheeks flush not in pink, but crimson.

"Your view doesn't bother me." you replied, although your voice was not laced with confidence.

"Then why are you looking away?" his voice dropped, a whisper that sent a jolt of electricity through you, your breath hitching involuntarily. You could feel the shivers dancing over your skin, and you clenched your hands tighter, trying not to let him see how much his proximity affected you.

"I'm not used to seeing you like this."

"Like what? After all, I sleep in just my underwear many times." his breath ghosted over your neck, the moisture on your skin amplifying every sensation. You closed your eyes, trying to focus on remaining calm.

"But you're naked now."

"And so are you." his hands found your hips, his touch gentle but firm, fingers pressing into your skin as if he wanted to feel every inch of you. He pulled you closer, and you felt it- him -pressing against your lower back. A gasp escaped your lips, your mind spinning.

What is he doing? He had never been this bold before.

You felt his lips graze the back of your neck, a featherlight touch that ignited sparks along every nerve. His mouth moved with an agonizing slowness, gliding over your most sensitive spots, while you struggled to keep your hands steady, to stop them from reaching out and pulling him even closer.

"I've changed you into your pyjamas many times.." he murmured, his voice a husky whisper against your ear "When you came back from missions, battered or when you fell asleep on the sofa." his hands parted in two different directions, easing you. One hand finding its place on your thigh, stroking around the inside of it, the other gently cupped your breast, gliding small circles with his thumb over the hardened nipple. Warm hands made you feel pliant under their touch "I know your body." his nose nuzzled against your neck, his breath warm and heavy, sending shivers cascading down your spine.

"Doesn't change the fact that it turns me the hell on." his words were a low growl in your ear, just before his teeth grazed your earlobe, sending a shockwave through you. You couldn't hold back the moan that slipped from your lips, and you couldn't stop pressing your body back against his, feeling his hardness against you, eliciting a sharp hiss from him.

He tightened his grip around you, his hips pressing closer, moving in a rhythm that made your head spin. The friction between your legs pulsed with every subtle movement, and your skin felt like it was on fire, molten under his touch. His hand slid from your thigh to your chin, tilting your head back. When you looked up, his eyes were on you, half-lidded, burning with hunger. It was like staring into a blue inferno, his gaze devouring you whole. His hair was damp, sticking to his temples, his cheeks flushed, his lips slightly parted as he breathed heavily. The sight of him, so undone, sent another wave of heat pooling low in your belly. You bit your lip glancing up at him.

The world around you faded, the fact that you were in a public space evaporating from your mind. There was only him, the way he looked at you, the way his tongue darted out to wet his lips as he leaned in. The pounding in your ears matched the rhythm of the pulse between your thighs, and you felt the last thread of restraint slipping away.

He leaned in, his lips hovering over yours, so close you could feel his breath mingling with yours, warm and sweet. You parted your lips, waiting, wanting -

A sudden, violent splash shattered the moment, the water surging against your bodies. You both turned your heads, alarm breaking through the fog of desire. The water was roiling with movement, a hand breaking the surface, followed by a head gasping for air. Instinct took over as you pulled away from Satoru, your heart racing for an entirely different reason now.

Without thinking, you rushed toward the figure struggling in the water, hands slicing through the hot spring as you fought your way through the resistance.

"I'm coming! Please hold!" you grabbed a hand sticking out of the water and pulled hard, fishing out a very old gentleman who was coughing and gasping for air.

"Are you alright, Sir?" you asked looking at his face seeking confirmation. "Please be more careful, there is no barrier here and it is easy to slip." your tone was gentle yet firm, a blend of concern and reprimand.

"I'm totally alright. I apologise for myself." he croaked out, his voice thin and rasping as he tried to catch his breath. He offered a weak smile, his eyes clouded with age yet warm "I came here because it's my late wife's birthday today." he murmured, a toothless grin spreading across his face "I wanted to remember…" he caught his breath unevenly "…to remember…. of her favourite place…" his voice wavered, breaking on the last word. You guided him to one of the stones by the shore, seating him carefully as you submerged yourself in the water again, trying to offer him and yourself some dignity.

"This place has always looked like this… and my dear Suki…. loved to sit here…" he continued, his voice now more of a murmur, eyes distant. He began to recount his memories, fragments of a life filled with love and loss, perhaps as a way of thanking you for saving his. You listened, your attempts to excuse yourself gently rebuffed or entirely ignored. Every time you tried to retreat back to Satoru, the old man would draw you back in, his stories weaving a net of nostalgia that held you in place.

You glanced over at Satoru, a silent plea in your eyes. He was sitting on a stone, arms crossed, a scowl etched into his face. His eyes were dark, drilling into the old man as if sheer willpower could make him disappear. He didn't even try to mask his annoyance. You gave him a helpless smile, one that said - 'please, do something.'

He didn’t move. You could see the irritation rolling off him in waves.

Gojo was not happy that he was getting the biggest cockblock, from a guy who can't even walk. On the other hand, he was full of admiration for your nature and how ingrained you are in helping others. That's one of the qualities he really admires about you. Even if it means running to help someone, naked.

Finally, after what felt like ages, you managed to extricate yourself from the old man's grasp. With a quick apology, you slipped away, ignoring his attempts to pull you back into conversation. You swam over to Satoru, who still hadn’t taken his eyes off the elderly man. His scowl deepened, his jaw clenched as you approached. He looked like an angry kitten.

"Did he at least thank you?" Satoru's voice was low, edged with irritation that he didn’t bother to hide.

You sighed "No, but he did apologise for himself." you sat down next to him, on the rock below, water now reaching your neck. You leaned back, resting your head against the rough surface of the rock. A wry smile tugged at your lips. "I guess that counts as a thank you."

Satoru glanced away, his eyes shifting to one of the lanterns flickering in the deepening dusk. He was avoiding your gaze, staring off into the distance with a tight expression. The silence between you was thick, the weight of unspoken words pressing down like a heavy fog. It got quite dark and the light from the lantern became more visible. You opened your mouth to say something.

"About earlier- " you began, but were interrupted by.

"Nah, it's nothing. I just got carried away…" tone casual, too casual. He turned his head even more you to not face you. "Don't think about it too much, okey?" his tone sounded normal, but he still didn't look at you.

You felt a sharp pang in your chest, an ache that spread like a crack through a fragile surface. You could literally hear it. Not enough to shatter, but enough to leave a clear mark.

He just got a little carried away, huh?

So much for that. Just a moment of oblivion. Nothing more.

"I just shouldn't have... sorry." he dropped his arms to his sides, his body language mirroring the sudden distance between you

"That's okay." you forced a smile, the kind that didn't quite reach your eyes. "Nothing happened, right?" the phrase stung on your tongue, echoing words from the past, reopening wounds that had never fully healed. Your 5th anniversary. You chuckled bitterly, the sound hollow in the dim light.

Long moment pases.

He shifted uncomfortably beside you, his eyes darting around for an escape from the unbearable tension.

"How did you like the spa?" oh, this conversation is going to be awkward. You can see that he wanted to change the subject quickly and drop something that you both could loosely chat about.

"Oh… em…" you gathered your scattered thoughts, grasping for something to say "The treatments were nice, especially the peelings. The massages also helped a lot on my muscles and bones. And this place…" Your eyes flicked to his jawline, the water droplets clinging to his skin. "It’s relaxing."

"How about you?" you smiled, trying to keep the conversation going to avoid the awkwardness and painful thoughts that were simmering in your head.

Bitter, sore are your thoughts.

He sighed, his gaze fixed on the rippling water before him.

just got carried away just got carried away just got carried away

The words looped in your mind, each repetition a fresh sting.

"I liked everything." he admitted quietly and smiled a little "Mushiburo was kinda cool. So were the facial treatments and that deep tissue massage." he rested his cheek against his palm and his hand against the stone beside "I'm surprised you got everything so right for my preferences." you raised an eyebrow, managing a small, humorless smile.

"What is so surprising about this? I've known you for years, besides, you often steal my sheet masks." you giggled akwardly. Sometimes you'd purposely buy ones with nice scents, or with cute patterns on the material.

He chuckled, a faint smile breaking through his sullen demeanor.

"It's not my fault that they produce such good cosmetics. And with you, my pores keep opening up." you nudged his side playfully, and for a moment, the mood lightened, his usual toothy grin returning. Conversation immediately became lighter.

"And I still have to use earplugs to sleep." you teased, the mock irritation in your voice genuine enough to draw a laugh from him.

"You said you got rid of them years ago! Did you lie to me?" he gasped in mock horror, dramaticly raised his voice a little.

You shrugged, a wry smile on your lips "No, you just stopped talking in your sleep."

For a moment, laughter filled the space where tension had been. Yet, even as you shared that fleeting levity, you couldn't shake the shadow lingering in the back of your mind, the weight of the moment that had almost been, and the hollow ache of what it had meant to you compared to what it seemed to mean to him.

----

The two of you walked side by side down the dimly lit corridor, the air thick with the scent of jasmine and cedar. Your fingers brushed against each other briefly before you pulled your hand away, shoving it awkwardly into the pocket of your robe. Satoru didn’t seem to notice - or maybe he did, but he made no move to close the space between you.

The reception area came into view, its soft glow inviting but distant. You could see the receptionist standing behind the counter, busying herself with some paperwork, her eyes flicking up occasionally to check the room. As you and Satoru approached, the sounds of hushed voices and the distant hum of soft music greeted you, a stark contrast to the stillness of the onsen.

"Thank you for your visit." the receptionist greeted with a warm smile as you reached the desk. Her eyes shifted between you and Satoru, lingering for a moment on the tension that seemed to hang between you like a veil "I hope we provided an execptional service, you enjoyed your time here."

Satoru nodded, his face a mask of politeness. "Yes, it was... relaxing." his tone was measured, the usual playful lilt absent. Her smile never faltering, as both od you were giving her towels and accesiories.

"I’m glad to hear that. Would you like to schedule another appointment in the future?" her gaze shifted to you, expectant.

You hesitated, glancing at Satoru out of the corner of your eye. He was staring straight ahead, his expression unreadable. "I think we'll have to see about that." you replied, offering a polite but noncommittal smile "It was a lovely experience, though."

Satoru cleared his throat "Yeah, we'll see. Thanks for everything." He gave the receptionist a curt nod, already turning toward the exit.

"You're very welcome." the receptionist said, her smile remaining as she escorted Satoru to the exit with her shining eyes. She glanced back down at her paperwork, as soon as he leaves.

You followed him toward the door, feeling the weight of everything that had happened - and everything that hadn’t - settle onto your shoulders. The cool air hit you as you stepped outside, a sharp contrast to the warm, cocooning atmosphere of the spa. A very late evening greeted you with its light. You wrapped your arms around yourself, hugging clothes, tighter as you walked silently toward the small, barly lighten path.

Satoru walked ahead, his hands shoved into the pockets. His eyes met yours, and for a second, you thought you saw something there, a flicker of emotion, maybe regret or confusion. But it was gone as quickly as it had appeared, replaced by that casual mask he wore so well.

"So..." he started, his voice almost too casual "that was… an interesting expierience."

You let out a short laugh, the sound brittle and devoid of humor. "Interesting. Yeah, that’s one word for it."

You walked down a stone staircase down a small mountain, the forest that surrounded you seemed to grow brighter with every step you took.

He shifted his weight, looking down at the ground. "Look." he said after a pause "I don’t want things to be weird between us."

Your heart twisted.

Too late for that, you thought, but bit back the words.

Instead, you took a deep breath and forced a smile. "It doesn't have to be weird." you replied, though even you could hear the strain in your voice. "We’re adults. We can just... move on, right?"

You didn't want to spoil the mood for the rest of the trip.

You still had something grand in store for him, a surprise that should have been the highlight of his day. He deserved to enjoy it, to lose himself in the moment, and not be tethered by the cloud of your mood. You knew how to rein it in, knew your limits. This wasn’t the first time you'd found yourself in the midst of such a tangled situation, and you told yourself things would fall back into their familiar rhythm soon enough. They always did. Or at least, they were supposed to.

The real conversation, the one that weighed heavy on your mind, could wait. It had to wait. This was your one escape, your only holiday together, a time meant for joy and laughter, not for words that could splinter the fragile peace you'd managed to grasp. So you pushed it down, buried it deep, determined to leave it untouched until later. Not now. Not when you both should be basking in the moments that you had left.

He nodded, though his expression didn’t change "Right. Move on." he repeated the words, but they sounded hollow, like he was trying to convince himself as much as you.

A silence settled between you, awkward and heavy. You shifted on your feet, glancing around the stones, searching for anything to fill the void that had opened up.

"So, what now?" he asked, the question hanging in the air between you.

You glanced away "Well, we still have time." you admitted "Maybe we should just… go along the plan. We can already approach one place and get ready."

He ran a hand through his damp hair. "Yeah. Rest sounds good."

You were just a step away from the car when Satoru came to a halt. You paused beside him, the air thick with everything unsaid.

"You know." he began, his voice low, his gaze fixed somewhere in the darkness ahead "It’s okay to... talk about things, if you need to."

A tightness gripped your throat, choking off the words that clamored to escape. They lodged there, a heavy, unspoken weight. "I know." you whispered, barely managing the words. "But... maybe not now. Not tonight."

He inclined his head slightly, a small, almost imperceptible nod. "Not tonight." he echoed, the words hanging between you like a fragile thread.

He turned his eyes to you then, seeking, searching for something in your expression - some reassurance, some bridge across the chasm that had opened between you. But you didn’t have it to give. Not now.

So you forced a smile, a faint, fragile curve of your lips. It wasn’t much, a mere shadow of what you used to share, but it was all you could muster in that moment. And maybe, just maybe, it was enough for now.

----

Satoru stood in the dimly lit guest room, the scent of incense and freshly laundered fabric lingering in the air. The room was small but welcoming, its walls adorned with intricate patterns that spoke of the village's traditions. He glanced around, eyes catching on the various spools of thread and bolts of fabric neatly arranged in the corner - evidence of the woman’s craft. She was a tailor, and judging by the way the room seemed to hum with her skill, not just any tailor but one with years of experience and a touch for detail.

The elderly woman, now in her twilight years, had greeted him with a warm smile, her eyes crinkling at the corners. She had disappeared into another room and returned with the yukata draped over her arm, a beautiful navy blue garment adorned with delicate white clouds that cascaded into a soft gradient near the hem. The fabric shimmered faintly in the candlelight, each thread carefully woven to form an elegant, almost ethereal piece.

Satoru stared at it, his breath catching for a moment. There was something mesmerizing about the simplicity and grace of the design. The woman approached him, gesturing for him to take off his robe. He hesitated briefly, then complied, handing her his worn spa robe. She handed him the robes with a gentle nod.

As he held the garment, it felt impossibly light in his hands, the fabric soft and cool against his skin. He slipped his arms into the sleeves, feeling the smoothness glide over his skin. The elderly woman moved closer, her hands deftly adjusting the fabric over his shoulders. He let her work, dressing him layer by layer, standing still as she fastened the material around his waist, her movements practiced and precise.

Satoru glanced down at himself as she tied the obi, a dark navy sash that matched the garment perfectly. It cinched his waist securely, but not uncomfortably so, creating a sleek silhouette that felt almost regal. The yukata fell to his ankles, the hem brushing lightly against his skin with each breath. He turned slightly, catching his reflection in a small, polished bronze mirror hanging on the wall. The sight took him by surprise.

It fit perfectly. The yukata hugged his frame in all the right places, the sleeves hanging just so, the length tailored to his height with almost eerie precision. It was as if it had been made specifically for him, down to the smallest detail. He turned again, the fabric flowing with him like a second skin. It looked more beautiful than his clan robes.

He glanced at the woman, who watched him with a satisfied smile. "It suits you,." she said in a voice roughened by age but filled with pride. Her eyes gleamed with a knowledge that made him pause.

He wondered then, how much of this had been orchestrated by you. How quickly you must have moved to arrange this, to involve the village tailor, to ensure everything was perfect down to the last stitch. The realization sent a chill down his spine, not of fear, but of awe. How meticulous, how precise you were. It was both astounding and, in some quiet way, frightening.

But Satoru liked a scery women.

He chuckled to himself.

Gojo shifted his gaze back to the mirror, his lips curving into a faint smile. He could picture you now, working behind the scenes, your mind a whirl of details and plans. You had always been that way -considerate to the point of obsession, ensuring that everything was seamless, that every experience was as perfect as it could be. It was something he admired about you, even if it unsettled him at times.

He let out a soft breath, the tension in his shoulders easing as he took in the garment once more. This was so like you. To think of everything, even the smallest details, to make him feel… special. Seen.

The elderly woman stepped back, her work finished. She bowed her head slightly, a gesture of both respect and completion. "You wear it well, your wife sure has taste." she murmured, and he inclined his head in acknowledgment.

"Thank you." Satoru said, his voice softened, almost reverent. His fingers brushed over the fabric, feeling the texture under his fingertips. It was more than just a piece of clothing - it was a piece of you, a glimpse into the lengths you would go to for him.

He turned toward the door, ready to step out and show you. As he moved, the yukata flowed around him, its fit and design a testament to the care that had been put into it. And as he opened the door, a thought lingered in his mind, warm and unsettling: How well you knew him, how easily you could shape the world around him without him even realizing it until he was standing there, wrapped in it. He smiled again, this time a little wider, though the unease remained at the edges.

For now, though, he let it slip away. Tonight was meant for you and him, and the thought of seeing your face when you saw him like this… that was worth setting aside every other concern.

Satoru stood outside the small house, the evening air cool against his skin. He let out a slow breath, his eyes fixed on the horizon where the village lights began to flicker on, painting the landscape in hues of dark purple and pink. In the distance, the colored lanterns swayed gently, strung up between trees and around the central square, casting a soft, inviting glow. It was mesmerizing, the way they shimmered in the dusk, a quiet prelude to something that felt almost magical. He wondered if this was it, if this was the surprise you had meticulously crafted for him. The thought made his chest tighten with a mix of anticipation and something deeper, something he couldn’t quite name.

He glanced down at himself, smoothing his hand over the navy blue fabric of his yukata, tracing the gradient of clouds that faded into the darkness near his feet. It felt different on him, not just because of the craftsmanship, but because of what it represented- a piece of you, woven into every thread. He took another deep breath, trying to steady the fluttering in his stomach. How long had it been since he felt this way? Nervous, excited, all at once.

The door behind him creaked softly, pulling him from his thoughts. He turned, eyes widening as they fell on you. For a moment, the world seemed to still.

You stood framed in the doorway, a vision of grace and elegance. The yukata you wore was a delicate pink, adorned with painted mountains and flowers that spread across the fabric like a whispered dream. Higher up, sakura petals floated as if caught in an invisible breeze, dancing toward your shoulders, adding an air of ethereal beauty to your silhouette. In your hand, you clutched a small handbag, its design mirroring the motif of your attire. Your hair had been styled with care, adorned with floral decorations that sparkled faintly with small beads, catching the light with every movement.

Satoru felt his breath hitch. For a heartbeat, he forgot where he was, lost in the sight of you. It was as if the world had been painted around you, a living canvas that paled in comparison to the figure stepping toward him. The quiet confidence in your steps, the way the fabric of your yukata moved with you, it took everything in him not to reach out, to pull you close and keep you there, a part of this moment forever.

You approached him, the soft rustle of your garments the only sound in the stillness of the evening. As you drew nearer, he could see the faint smile on your lips, the way your eyes gleamed under the lanterns' glow. You stopped just in front of him, and for a moment, the air between you seemed to hum with unspoken words.

He swallowed, searching for something to say, anything that could capture what he felt.

"You look..." his voice trailed off, the words faltering on his tongue. Perfect. Stunning. Ethereal. None of it seemed adequate. He chuckled, a nervous sound that surprised even him "You look beautiful." he finally managed, the sincerity in his voice unmistakable.

Your smile widened, a soft blush coloring your cheeks, and for a moment, he could see it, everything you had put into this, the care, the thought, the effort to create something that would make him feel... special.

It made his chest ache.

"Thank you." you replied, your voice soft, almost shy, a contrast to the confidence in your appearance "I see they found something that fits you perfectly." your eyes roamed over his yukata, taking in the way it hugged his frame "I was a bit worried about the measurements."

He glanced down at himself, then back at you, a grin tugging at his lips.

"I have to admit, it feels like it was made just for me. You really went all out, didn’t you?" there was a teasing lilt to his voice, but behind it, there was something else, an awe, a gratitude that he wasn’t sure how to express.

"Maybe I did. You deserve it, sometimes." you shrugged lightly, a playful glimmer in your eyes.

You reached out then, your fingers brushing against his sleeve, adjusting a small crease in the fabric. It was such a simple gesture, but it sent a warmth spreading through him, settling somewhere deep in his chest.

For a moment, the two of you stood there, the air between you charged with a quiet intensity. Satoru let his gaze drift back to the horizon, where the lights continued to dance in the distance.

"Is that where we’re headed?" he asked, nodding toward the colorful glow.

You followed his gaze, a secretive smile playing on your lips.

"Yes." you said, turning back to him. "But it's more than just the lights. It’s... everything. I wanted tonight to be special."

He felt his heart skip a beat at your words, the sincerity behind them. You had always had a way of turning the simplest moments into something extraordinary. It was one of the things that drew him to you, that kept him tethered to this feeling, even when everything else felt uncertain.

"Lead the way." he said, offering his arm to you. You hesitated for a fraction of a second before taking it, your hand slipping into the crook of his elbow. The touch was light, almost hesitant, but it was enough to send a thrill through him, a silent promise of what the night held.

As you walked together toward the lights, the village around you seemed to come alive, lanterns flickering to life one by one, guiding your path. Satoru couldn’t help but glance at you from the corner of his eye, the soft smile that graced your lips as you looked ahead. He wondered how he had managed to deserve this, to deserve you. And as the cool evening breeze brushed against his skin, he found himself hoping, wishing, that this moment could stretch on just a little longer.

And it didn't even started.

In the back of his mind, that familiar unease stirred, a whisper of fear at how much you could move him, how deeply you had woven yourself into his world. But for now, he let it be.

Tonight was yours, a carefully crafted world of color and warmth, and he wanted to lose himself in it, if only for a while.

----

As you walked together down the lantern-lit path, the air grew sweeter, carrying with it hints of caramel, fruit, and sugar. The colors ahead became more vivid, the soft glow of lanterns giving way to brighter lights that adorned the festival grounds. When you reached the entrance, Satoru came to a sudden halt. His eyes went wide as he read the banner hanging above the gate, the words written in an elegant script illuminated by string lights.

Regional Candy Festival

Satoru blinked, processing what he was seeing. For a moment, he just stood there, taking in the scene before him, the entrance gate decorated with multicolored paper lanterns and ribbons that fluttered gently in the evening breeze. His eyes flicked to you, a mixture of surprise and wonder playing across his face.

"You... brought me to a sweets festival?" he asked, almost in disbelief. He had a soft spot for sweets, you knew it, you spoiled him with them.

You stepped in front of him, a grin tugging at your lips. "Yep. It happens once a year, and it's a big deal for the locals. They prepare for months, bringing together candy makers from all over the region. It's more than just sweets, it's a celebration of tradition and community."

He murmured something under his breath, his eyes flicking back to the festival grounds, where the lights twinkled invitingly. You watched as a faint blush crept up his cheeks. There was a boyish excitement in his eyes that he tried to suppress, but it was impossible to miss. His gaze darted back to you, still in a state of half-disbelief.

"Come on." you said, not giving him a chance to linger in his thoughts. You grabbed his hand, your fingers intertwining with his. He tensed for a fraction of a second before letting you pull him forward, his longer strides quickly matching your pace as you led him through the gate and into the heart of the festival.

The grounds opened up before you, a sprawling array of stalls lined up along winding paths, each one bursting with color and life. The air was filled with the sounds of laughter, chatter, and the occasional clink of glass jars being opened and closed. Rows of booths were adorned with streamers, paper flowers, and hanging lights that bathed everything in a warm, inviting glow.

The festival grounds were bustling with life, a vibrant tapestry of people woven together by the allure of sweets and the warmth of community. Everywhere you looked, there were clusters of families with children darting around, their laughter ringing out like music against the hum of the crowd. Parents called out to their little ones, balancing bags of candy and festival toys as they tried to keep up. Children with sticky hands clutched cotton candy or candied apples, their faces smeared with sugar and joy.

The stalls themselves were a feast for the eyes. Wooden tables were piled high with every kind of confection imaginable. Glass jars held rainbow-colored rock candy, shaped like precious gemstones that glittered under the lantern light. Trays were filled with handcrafted mochi, their surfaces dusted with delicate powders of matcha, strawberry, and kinako. You pointed to a booth displaying intricately molded sugar sculptures, delicate flowers and animals crafted with such precision they looked almost too beautiful to eat.

Couples strolled hand in hand, their expressions softened by the lantern light and the shared experience of this magical evening. They lingered at stalls, heads bent close together as they sampled sweets and whispered in each other’s ears. Some took turns trying their luck at the game booths, while others simply wandered, soaking in the sights and sounds. You watched as one couple fed each other small bites of mochi, laughing when powdered sugar dusted their noses. Another pair stood near the goldfish scooping game, the woman holding her breath as her partner carefully scooped up a tiny fish, cheering when he finally succeeded.

The festival was a haven for both locals and visitors alike. Groups of tourists mingled among the crowd, their eyes wide with delight as they explored the rich tapestry of traditions laid out before them. They snapped pictures of the stalls, the lanterns, and the intricately crafted confections. Some had even donned yukatas provided by the villagers, their vibrant fabrics blending seamlessly into the colorful scene. You could hear the mix of languages and accents, adding an extra layer to the festival’s melody. For many of them, this was a rare glimpse into the heart of the village, an invitation to share in something deeply cherished.

It was a beautiful chaos, a symphony of life and light, where every face held a story, every voice contributed to the joyous chorus. You and Satoru were just two among the many, woven into the fabric of this moment. But as he turned to you, his eyes reflecting the colorful lights around you, it felt as though the entire festival was just a backdrop to the world you two had created together tonight.

"Look!" you said, dragging him over to a stall where a candy maker was busy spinning fresh cotton candy into intricate shapes -dragons, flowers, butterflies -all infused with subtle flavors like lavender and yuzu. Satoru's eyes widened as he watched the man's hands move skillfully, weaving sugar into art. He bought it immidietly.

He was practically vibrating with excitement, his crystal blue eyes darting from stall to stall, each new sight triggering a fresh wave of childlike joy. It was like he had stepped into a wonderland of flavors and colors, and he was determined to try everything. His usual aloofness was nowhere to be found - instead, there was a wide smile on his face, pure and unfiltered, as he grabbed anything that caught his attention.

"Look at this!" he exclaimed.

The next stall you passed was filled with traditional Japanese sweets, wagashi in all shapes and sizes. Sweet bean paste and chestnut filling were encased in delicate, pastel-colored mochi. Some were shaped like tiny cherry blossoms, while others resembled seasonal fruits. Satoru couldn’t help himself - he reached out and picked up a small sakura-shaped wagashi, examining it with a kind of reverence before you nudged him to take a bite.

The moment he did, his eyes fluttered shut, a soft hum of pleasure escaping his lips as he melted into the taste. "It's so… delicate." he murmured, almost in awe, his usual animated demeanor replaced by a quiet appreciation.

You could hardly keep up with him as he moved through the festival, drawn to every colorful treat and sizzling skewer. He grabbed your hand again, and before you knew it, you were being pulled along, laughter bubbling up in your chest as you tried to keep up with his boundless enthusiasm.

Further down, you found a stall selling caramelized fruit, the skewers of glossy red apples and candied strawberries glistening under the lantern light. Without hesitation, you picked up a stick of candied strawberries and held it out to him, watching as he hesitated only for a split second before leaning forward to take a bite.

The moment the sweet and tart flavor hit his tongue, his eyes widened in surprise, and a delighted smile broke out on his face.

"Oh, this is amazing!" he said, his voice muffled slightly by the bite still in his mouth. He chewed quickly, the taste clearly captivating him. "It's like... sweet and sour magic on a stick!" he exclaimed, looking at you with eyes that sparkled with glee.

"You like it?" you teased, unable to stop smiling at his sheer enthusiasm.

He nodded vigorously, his gaze already drifting to the next stall lined with treats. His eyes were wide with wonder, darting between the rows of colorful mochi, the crackling sound of caramel being spun into cotton candy, and the steam rising from buns filled with savory or sweet fillings.

When he reached the booth with the caramelized fruit, he watched the vendor's hands intently as they dipped apples and strawberries into molten sugar, his eyes wide with fascination. "This… this is art." he murmured, almost reverently, before taking a bite of a candied apple, his expression turning blissful as he chewed.

You couldn't help but laugh softly as he moved through the festival, completely absorbed in every new experience. Satoru was such a foodie. He grabbed anything that caught his eye, his excitement so pure and infectious that it made the night even more magical.

You continued to wander, stopping at a stall where the vendor demonstrated how to make traditional hard candies, pulling sugar into thin, colorful ribbons before shaping them into delicate lollipops. You watched, captivated, as Satoru leaned in, utterly absorbed in the process. When the vendor handed him a lollipop shaped like a fox, his eyes lit up with the kind of joy you rarely saw, unguarded and genuine.

He moved through the festival grounds like a whirlwind, his eyes alight with curiosity and excitement as he surveyed the array of sweets laid out before him. It was as if every new sight, every fragrant scent, pulled him deeper into a wonderland of flavors. You could hardly keep up as he darted from stall to stall, his enthusiasm spilling over with every new discovery.

You laughed, charmed by his enthusiasm, as he moved on to a nearby stand selling mitarashi dango - skewered rice dumplings coated in a glossy, soy sauce glaze. Satoru took a skewer, eyeing the dumplings curiously before popping one into his mouth. His expression shifted through a series of reactions, starting with surprise, then contemplation, and finally pure satisfaction.

"It's sweet and savory at the same time." he marveled, licking the sauce from his lips. "The dango is chewy, but the sauce... it's got this depth to it. It's not just sugar -it's like... umami?" he looked at you as if seeking confirmation, his brows raised in excitement. "How do they make it so good?"

Before you could answer, he was already reaching for another treat - a yatsuhashi, a thin, cinnamon-flavored rice flour pastry wrapped around a dollop of sweet red bean paste. He bit into it, the cinnamon adding a warm spice to the sweetness of the bean paste. He let out a satisfied sigh, chewing slowly as if each bite needed to be fully appreciated.

"This one's so delicate." he said, holding it up to examine the thin layer of mochi encasing the filling. "The cinnamon just... wraps around the sweetness in this really comforting way."

You watched him with a fond smile, your heart swelling at the sight of him so genuinely happy. For all his power, all his strength, there was a part of him that remained untainted by the world - a part that found joy in the sweet and the simple.

And in that moment, you couldn't help, but fall a little bit more in love with him.

As you made your way through the festival, his hands never left yours. You sampled sweet potato candy, bean paste-filled pastries, and even shared a warm taiyaki filled with red bean paste, the crispy shell cracking open to reveal the sweet, steaming filling inside. Satoru's laughter mingled with yours as he stole bites from your hands, his eyes sparkling in the glow of the lanterns.

Hours seemed to pass in the blink of an eye, filled with laughter, sweets, and the simple joy of being together. At one point, you found yourselves standing in front of a booth that sold soft, fluffy daifuku. You insisted he try one filled with fresh strawberries and cream, and he obliged, taking a bite and closing his eyes to savor the taste.

Satoru looked like he was on the verge of a sugar-induced bliss, his hands full of various confections he had yet to finish. He turned to you, his cheeks flushed with excitement, his eyes shining. "I don’t think I can eat another bite." he admitted, laughing. "But... one more daifuku wouldn't hurt, right?"

You laughed.

"Right." you agreed, because watching him this happy was worth every indulgence in the world.

"I can't believe you found this place." he murmured, looking at you with an expression that was equal parts awe and gratitude. "You planned all this... for me?"

"I wanted to make you happy." your heart skipping a beat at the warmth in his voice.

He was silent for a moment, his gaze softening as he looked at you, the noise and bustle of the festival fading into the background. "You did." he said quietly, his thumb brushing over your knuckles.

You smiled, a quiet happiness settling over you. The festival continued to buzz around you, the air alive with the scents of sugar and joy.

----

The festival grounds were alive with a hum of activity, each game station vibrant with laughter and the bright clink of prizes being won. Paper lanterns hung above each booth, casting a warm, welcoming glow that made the whole scene feel like something out of a dream. Satoru's eyes scanned the array of stalls, and a mischievous grin spread across his face as he took in the possibilities.

"How about a little friendly competition?" he suggested, his tone teasing, as he nudged you toward the first game booth: the ring toss.

The ring toss booth was simple yet enticing, with rows of bottles lined up behind a wooden counter, their tops painted in different colors. The goal was to toss rings and land them around the necks of the bottles. Prizes hung above the stall - stuffed animals, wooden trinkets, and even small bags of candy, each prize depending on the difficulty of the toss.

Satoru paid for a handful of rings and handed half of them to you.

"Let's see who wins more." he said, his grin wide and confident. You couldn't help but roll your eyes, a smirk tugging at your lips.

You went first, taking aim at the closest bottle. The ring left your hand in a neat arc, clattering around the neck of the bottle with a satisfying clink. Satoru raised an eyebrow, impressed but undeterred. His turn was next. He flicked his wrist, the ring soaring through the air before landing perfectly around a bottle in the back row, the more challenging target. He turned to you with a smug smile.

"Beginner's luck." you muttered playfully, determined not to be outdone. The competition escalated from there, with each of you aiming for the most difficult bottles, laughter spilling over each time a ring missed its mark or clattered to the ground. In the end, Satoru managed to land more rings than you, and he leaned against the counter, grinning.

The vendor handed him a choice of prizes, and instead of picking something for himself, he turned to you.

"Your prize, wifey." he said in an exaggerated formal tone, selecting a plush fox with bright eyes and a bushy tail. You accepted it with a grin, hugging the soft toy to your chest.

Next, you made your way to the shooting gallery, where small paper targets were lined up on moving tracks. The air rifles were simple, old-fashioned models, but the challenge was in the steady hand and precise aim required to knock down the targets. Satoru stepped up confidently, glancing at you with a raised brow.

"Care to join me, or do you want to watch a master at work?" he teased.

"Master, huh?" You shot back with a smirk. "We'll see about that."

The booth attendant handed you each a rifle, and the game began. You both took turns aiming and firing, the sound of popping balloons and the clang of knocked-over targets filling the air. Satoru was annoyingly good at it, hitting the bullseye almost every time, his focus and sharp reflexes evident. But you weren’t far behind, managing to knock down several moving targets yourself.

In the end, Satoru won by a narrow margin. He turned to the vendor, pointing at a small, intricately painted porcelain fox figurine. He picked it up and turned to you, holding it out with a gentle smile.

"You spoil me." you replied, taking the figurine carefully. His only response was a casual shrug, but the way he looked at you, eyes softening in the warm light, said more than words could.

Moving on, you came to the goldfish scooping game, a traditional stall where delicate paper scoops were used to catch darting goldfish in a shallow pool of water. The challenge lay in the fact that the paper would tear easily, making it a game of patience and skill.

"Watch and learn." Satoru announced confidently, kneeling down by the pool. He dipped his paper scoop into the water, eyes tracking the fish. For a moment, it looked like he would succeed, but just as he went to lift a fish out of the water, the paper tore, and the fish slipped away. You burst into laughter, watching his confident expression crumble into one of playful annoyance.

"Not as easy as it looks, huh?" you teased, taking a scoop for yourself.

You bent over the pool, moving the scoop slowly through the water. You felt Satoru’s eyes on you, watching intently as you coaxed a small, golden fish into the scoop. With a delicate lift, you managed to catch the fish and place it into the bowl beside the pool. Triumph surged through you as you glanced up at him, a victorious smile on your face.

He shook his head, grinning. "Beginner's luck." he echoed your earlier words, making you both laugh.

The night continued with more games. At the dart-throwing booth, you took turns popping balloons pinned to a wooden board, Satoru effortlessly hitting the hardest targets.

That dammed Six Eyes.

When you missed a shot, he playfully nudged you aside, throwing his dart with dramatic flair and popping a balloon right next to yours. The booth attendant offered a variety of prizes, and once again, Satoru chose something for you - a delicate glass jar filled with colorful, star-shaped sugar candies.

Then there was the strength tester, a tall tower with a mallet that needed to be struck to send a metal weight up to ring a bell.

"Should I use my cursed energy?" he asked, feigning seriousness. "Or should I give everyone a fair shot at winning?"

"You mean to tell me you're so weak that you need to use your powers to win a festival game?" you shot back with a playful smirk, raising one brow in challenge

He feigned an offended look, but couldn’t hide the amusement twinkling in his eyes. He chuckled, clearly enjoying the banter. Without a word, Satoru hefted the mallet, swinging it with ridiculous ease. The weight rocketed to the top, hitting the bell with a resounding clang that echoed across the festival. The crowd cheered as he turned back to you, flexing his arm in mock arrogance.

"Show-off." you muttered, though your smile betrayed your amusement. Crossing your arms, you shook your head, trying to play unimpressed, but he was just too... him.

"Your turn." he said, holding the mallet out to you.

You took it, feeling a little weight of it in your hands. The crowd murmured, clearly intrigued to see if you could match the previous performance. You swung the mallet with a little efford. The metal weight shot up, reaching the top, drawing a round of applause. Satoru clapped the loudest, his eyes shining with pride as he pulled you into a quick, impulsive hug.

"That's my wife!" he proclaimed proudly, his voice carrying over the crowd. He was practically bubbling over with pride, and you couldn't help but smile at his excitement.

A few men in the back exchanged wide-eyed, almost intimidated glances, clearly taken aback by the display of strength.

You shrugged it off casually, feeling a little embarrassed by all the attention. "It was nothing special." you said, trying to play it cool.

"Who's the show-off now?" Satoru teased, his eyes glinting mischievously. He knew your strength well, of course - you were a sorcerer, just like him. But the opportunity to see you take center stage, to let the world witness a glimpse of the power he admired so much in you, made his chest swell with a little pride.

You shot him a playful glare, but your lips betrayed you with a smile. "Still you." you replied lightly, bumping your shoulder against his. "I just don't have to show off as often."

He chuckled, throwing an arm around your shoulders as you both turned to leave the booth.

The two of you moved from game to game, your laughter mingling with the sounds of the festival. The evening was filled with moments of light-hearted competition, Satoru trying to outdo you at every game, and you refusing to back down. He won more often than not, but each time he did, he chose a prize that he thought you would like - a stuffed animal, a small wooden charm, a delicate bracelet with tiny bells that jingled softly whenever you moved.

He wasn't just winning; he was showing you, in his own way, how much he cared. With each prize he handed you, his eyes held a tenderness that made your heart flutter. By the time you finished with the game stalls, your arms were filled with tokens of the night- small treasures that would remind you of this moment for a long time.

----

The crowd had thickened as the night wore on, and at some point, you and Satoru had gotten separated in the bustling festival grounds. He had turned around to say something to you, only to find an empty space where you had just been standing. His heart skipped a beat, a sliver of panic settling in his chest. He scanned the throngs of people, his height giving him a slight advantage, but he couldn’t catch a glimpse of your pink yukata amidst the sea of colors.

And he has a really good eyes.

Satoru moved through the crowd, his eyes darting from face to face. The festival was loud and bright, filled with laughter and chatter, but it felt strangely hollow without you beside him. A frown creased his brow as he began to retrace his steps, weaving through the clusters of families, couples, and friends. Where could you have gone? He wondered if you’d wandered off to one of the game stalls or perhaps been drawn to something that caught your eye.

Minutes felt like hours as he searched, his mind racing with a dozen possibilities. A part of him knew you were capable and safe, but the thought of you being out of reach, even for a little while, unsettled him more than he cared to admit. He turned a corner near a booth selling candied fruits and finally, he saw you.

You were walking toward him, a playful smile tugging at the corners of your lips. Relief washed over him, mingling with the faint annoyance he felt for letting you out of his sight. As you drew closer, he noticed that you were holding something behind your back, hiding it coyly.

"Where did you run off to?" he asked, trying to keep his tone light, but unable to mask the concern in his eyes.

"I didn’t run off." you replied teasingly, "I just got a little... sidetracked." you stepped closer, finally revealing what you had been hiding. In your hands were two matching bracelets, each coiled neatly with a small collar and string.

Satoru blinked, momentarily caught off guard. The bracelets were simple yet elegant. The one in your right hand was a deep blue, the color of the evening sky just before nightfall. It had a smooth, round collar of polished metal that shone subtly under the lantern light. Attached to it was a braided string, also blue, interwoven with fine silver threads that glimmered softly. The bracelet in your left hand was pink, a soft blush hue that mirrored the shade of your yukata. It too had a small collar, this one in a warm rose gold, with a braided string of pink and gold threads.

"I won these at one of the game stalls." you explained, your voice laced with pride. "Thought they’d be a nice little keepsake." you held them out to him, your eyes searching his for a reaction.

Matching.

They were matching, and it hit him with a warmth that spread through his chest. He reached out and took the blue bracelet from your hand, his fingers brushing against yours as he did. It was lightweight but sturdy, the kind of thing that wouldn’t break easily even if worn often.

"You got these for us?" he asked, his voice softer now, the earlier worry dissolving into something more tender.

"Yes." you replied simply. "I thought... it would be nice to have something to remember tonight by." You held up the pink one, showing it off with a small flourish. "This one's mine." you added with a smile.

He couldn’t help but smile back, the knot of tension in his chest loosening. He slipped the blue bracelet over his wrist, the string settling comfortably against his skin. The metal collar gleamed faintly, catching the light. It felt right, somehow, to have this - something small yet meaningful, a token of the time you had spent together.

You fastened the pink bracelet around your wrist, the rose gold collar glinting as it caught the reflection of the lanterns. For a moment, the two of you stood there, the noise of the festival swirling around you, yet feeling like it was just the two of you in that instant. He glanced down at your wrist, then at his, a small chuckle escaping him.

"Matching bracelets, huh?" he said, his voice teasing but his eyes warm.

You nodded, meeting his gaze. "Well, I thought there were cute." you said lightly, though your eyes held a depth that made his chest tighten.

He took a step closer, lifting his wrist to brush against yours, the two bracelets touching, their colors a striking contrast. "Thank you." he murmured, his voice low and sincere. "For this... and for everything tonight."

You smiled up at him, your eyes reflecting the colorful lights around. "You're welcome," you whispered, the simple words carrying the weight of all you felt.

----

As midnight approached, the festival grounds began to shift in mood. The stalls were still alive with chatter, but a palpable sense of anticipation hung in the air. People moved in the same direction, gathering toward the open space near the edge of the festival grounds where the fireworks would soon light up the sky. Families found their spots, children clambering onto their parents' shoulders for a better view, while couples huddled closer, whispering excitedly.

Satoru nudged your arm gently, drawing your attention away from the crowd.

"How about we get a better view?" he suggested, tilting his head toward a small hill that overlooked the festival. The slope was gentle and dusted with wild grass, illuminated softly by the glow of the lanterns scattered across the grounds below.

You nodded, letting him take your hand as he led you away from the crowd. The climb was short, the grass crunching softly beneath your sandals. You reached the top just as the first firework burst into the sky - a single golden streak that shot upward, hanging for a heartbeat before exploding in a shower of shimmering light.

From the hill, the view was breathtaking. The night sky stretched out above you, a canvas of deep indigo speckled with stars. It was vast and open, the kind of sky that seemed to pull at your very soul. The moon hung low, a silver crescent cradled against the horizon, its pale light mingling with the colors that now blossomed in the air.

Another firework followed, this time a bouquet of red and gold that spread wide before cascading down like a waterfall of sparks. You stood side by side with Satoru, your fingers still entwined, he didn't let your hand go feeling the soft evening breeze play with the edges of your yukata.

He glanced at you out of the corner of his eye, noticing how you gazed up at the display, your eyes wide with wonder. The colors danced across your face, painting your skin in hues of emerald, sapphire, and ruby with each explosion. Your lips parted slightly, a soft smile forming as the sky above you came alive in bursts of color and light.

Satoru’s gaze softened as he watched you. He had seen fireworks countless times before, in different places and under different circumstances, but tonight felt different. It wasn’t just the beauty of the fireworks that captivated him - it was the way you seemed to lose yourself in the spectacle, the way your eyes sparkled with each new burst, reflecting the colors that lit up the sky. He found himself more drawn to you than to the display, your presence grounding him in a way that made the world seem a little less chaotic.

The fireworks continued, each one more magnificent than the last. Spirals of green and blue shot up, followed by crackling gold that spread across the sky like a phoenix spreading its wings. Some fireworks were loud and thunderous, their echoes rolling across the valley, while others were silent, fizzling into tiny stars that lingered for a moment before fading into the night.

You sighed softly, tilting your head to rest against his shoulder. He stiffened for a brief second before relaxing, shifting slightly to make himself more comfortable for you. He glanced down at you again, subtly, as if trying not to disturb the moment. The way you leaned into him, trusting, at ease, sent a warmth flooding through his chest.

More exploded, this time in a sequence of vivid purples and pinks, creating shapes that wove and twisted through the sky. The crowd below gasped and cheered, but up on the hill, it felt like the show was just you two, a private spectacle shared in the quiet space you'd carved out together.

Satoru's eyes flickered back to the sky for a moment, then back to you. The reflection of the fireworks in your eyes made them appear like two bright, endless galaxies, full of depth and life. He couldn’t look away. He wondered if you realized how radiant you looked in this moment, how the joy and serenity on your face seemed to eclipse even the brightest fireworks above.

The finale began, a rapid succession of bursts that filled the sky with color and light. Golds, blues, reds, and greens overlapped in a cacophony of brilliance, trailing sparks that lit up the entire valley. It was as if the heavens had opened, showering the earth with a celebration of light.

You inhaled sharply, your hand tightening slightly around his as the sky was filled with an intricate dance of sparks. In that instant, you turned your head to look at him, your eyes meeting his. For a heartbeat, the fireworks ceased to matter. It was just you and him, standing there, the world around you a mere backdrop to this fleeting, perfect moment.

He offered you a small, genuine smile, one that reached his eyes and softened his features. Without a word, he lifted his free hand to brush a stray lock of hair away from your face, his fingers lingering near your cheek. The final burst of fireworks illuminated the sky in a blinding flash of gold, and in its light, you saw the sincerity in his gaze, the quiet depth of what he felt but left unspoken.

As the fireworks faded and the sky darkened once more, the echoes of the display drifting away into the night, Satoru leaned closer, his breath warm against your temple.

"Beautiful." he murmured, his voice low, though you weren’t sure if he was talking about the fireworks or something else entirely.

----

As the final crescendos of the fireworks show began to die down, the sky settling back into its inky darkness speckled with the faint glow of stars, you felt a familiar energy stir within you. It bubbled up, almost unbidden, a restless desire to add your own touch to the night’s spectacle. You glanced at Satoru, his gaze still turned skyward, his expression a blend of awe and contentment. For a moment, you hesitated, not wanting to disturb this serene moment. But then, a small smile tugged at your lips, and you decided you couldn’t help yourself.

You raised your hand slowly, focusing your energy into your palm. A soft light began to gather there, a warm, luminous glow that pulsed gently, growing brighter with each heartbeat. The positive energy bent and twisted under your will, taking form as it pooled into a delicate, shimmering shape. Satoru sensed the shift in the air and turned to look at you, his eyes widening slightly as he watched the light in your hand begin to transform.

Before him, the light morphed into the shape of a bird, its wings outstretched, its body composed of gold radiant. It was intricate and beautiful, each feather outlined in a soft, golden hue that seemed to pulse with life. For a heartbeat, it stayed there, perched in your palm, glowing brightly against the darkened sky.

Satoru stared, his eyes wide, breath held as he watched the luminous creature you had crafted. He didn't know you manage to lern how to create posivitve energy. It was unlike anything he'd ever seen, a pure manifestation of enegry, delicate and awe-inspiring.

With a gentle exhale, you lifted your hand and let the bird go. It took flight, rising gracefully into the air, its wings moving fluidly as if it were a living creature. It soared upward, leaving a faint golden trail behind it, weaving through the night sky with an elegance that took the breath away. The crowd below gasped as they noticed this new light, their eyes following the bird as it glided over the festival, casting a warm glow upon the faces of the people gathered.

Satoru couldn’t tear his eyes away from it. His usual composure cracked, revealing a look of raw wonder that you rarely saw on his face. His lips parted slightly, his eyes reflecting the hue of the bird as it climbed higher into the sky, the positive energy within it growing more intense. It was as if you had captured a piece of the stars and given it wings, a living embodiment of the night’s magic.

The bird flew above the festival, a graceful arc that seemed to bless the gathering below. It soared higher and higher, and for a moment, the entire world seemed to hold its breath. Then, with a final, powerful beat of its wings, the bird exploded in a brilliant burst of sparkles.

The sky lit up with the most stunning shade of gold the world had ever seen, a color so vivid and warm it felt like sunlight breaking through the dark. It spread across the horizon, an eruption of light that outshone the final fireworks, cascading down in a rain of shimmering sparks that slowly faded into the night.

The crowd erupted into cheers and applause, their voices echoing across the festival grounds. They didn’t know where this last miracle had come from, but it didn’t matter. To them, it was simply the perfect ending to a perfect night.

Satoru stood frozen beside you, his eyes fixed on the fading light in the sky. Slowly, he turned to you, his expression one of utter astonishment. "You…." he began, his voice low and almost breathless. He struggled for words, his usual confidence slipping away as he tried to grasp what he'd just witnessed.

He didn't know you can bend energy like this. This was hard, for an average sorcerer this would took forverer to uderstand, or to even create it, but you just created a bird from it. Something so hopeful, full of light, to contrast the curses and darkness that you normally conquer or exorcise.

"You did that." he finished, his voice carrying a mix of awe and disbelief.

You looked at him, a playful glint in your eyes "I couldn't help myself, sometimes I want to show off too." you admitted, a small, sheepish smile on your lips. You glanced back up at the sky where the golden sparks had lingered, now just a faint memory in the dark.

He continued to stare at you, his gaze intense, as if trying to etch this moment into his memory. Then, to your surprise, his expression softened, and a slow, genuine smile spread across his face. It wasn’t his usual teasing smirk or the sly grin he often wore - it was a smile of pure, unguarded admiration.

"That was amazing." he said quietly, his voice carrying a weight that made your heart flutter. There was no pretense, no hint of the usual banter. Just those simple words, spoken with a sincerity that made your breath hitch.

He reached out, hesitating for a fraction of a second before his hand found yours. His fingers intertwined with yours, warm and firm, grounding you in the reality of this moment. His eyes holding yours.

You felt a warmth spread through you, different from the power you had just wielded. It was softer, deeper, something that came not from within you, but from this quiet connection between you and him. You squeezed his hand, your smile widening as you gazed up at him.

"Thank you." you murmured, the words barely audible over the cheers still ringing from below. But you knew he heard you, saw it in the way his eyes softened further, his thumb brushing gently against the back of your hand.

"Not a show off, yeah?" he teased. You just smirked at that comment.

The night sky was dark again, the fireworks over, the golden light faded. But for the two of you, standing there on the hill, the brilliance of that moment lingered, glowing quietly in the space between you.

----

Your friend’s car hummed softly as it navigated the quiet, winding roads back to the rental house. The festival was now a distant glow behind you, the sounds and lights fading into the night as the car drove through the peaceful countryside. Satoru sat beside you in the back seat, his gaze fixed out the window, lost in his thoughts. The soft glow of the dashboard lights cast gentle shadows across his face, highlighting the mix of emotions that swirled within him - contentment, tenderness, something deeper that twisted his heart with an almost painful ache.

You sat quietly next to him, the bag of prizes resting on your lap. The silence between you wasn’t uncomfortable, but rather a quiet after the storm of the evening, a shared stillness that spoke of the connection forged throughout the night. Occasionally, you glanced at him, catching the reflection of the moonlight in his eyes. Each time, he seemed to be miles away, caught in the lingering magic of the night’s events.

When your friend pulled up to the rental house, you turned to him with a grateful smile.

"Thank you so much for the ride." you said, your voice soft. He gave you a warm smile in return, waving off your thanks with an easygoing shrug.

"No problem." he replied, glancing at Satoru with a nod. "You two have a good night. Get some rest."

Satoru mumbled his thanks, distractedly opening the car door and stepping out. You followed, carefully gathering all the prizes he had won into your arms - the plush fox, the porcelain figurine, the small glass jar filled with sugar candies, and all the little trinkets that had come to symbolize the memories of the night. Satoru reached over to help, his hand brushing against yours as he steadied the tower of items. For a brief moment, your eyes met, and you both smiled, a quiet understanding passing between you.

"See you around." your friend called out before driving off, leaving you and Satoru standing in the driveway, surrounded by the stillness of the night. The rental house loomed ahead, dark and quiet, a stark contrast to the vibrant energy of the festival. You both moved towards it, carrying the night’s treasures with you.

Inside, the house was cool and dimly lit by the soft glow of the moon filtering through the curtains. You walked into the living room, carefully placing all the prizes on the small wooden table. Satoru watched you from the doorway, his hands hanging loosely at his sides, his heart feeling strangely heavy. You moved with a quiet grace, arranging each item on the table with care. The sight of it - the plush toys, the small trinkets, the delicate bracelet still on your wrist made something in him twist painfully.

He felt raw, like every barrier he had carefully constructed around his heart had been stripped away by the night. Watching you smile softly at the collection of prizes, your eyes glowing with the warmth of the evening, he felt a surge of emotions that left him feeling fragile.

Vulnerable. Eager.

A deep yearning for tenderness, for some word or touch that would ground him in the storm of feelings swirling inside.

You glanced up at him, catching the look in his eyes, so open, so full of unspoken things and you felt your own chest tighten. You gave him a gentle smile, one that didn’t need words, before turning toward the bedroom, carrying a small bag with you.

"I arranged with the seamstress to pick up the yukata tomorrow." you said over your shoulder as you entered the room. "We can leave them here tonight." your voice was light, matter-of-fact, but the simplicity of the statement seemed to pierce through him, highlighting the fleeting nature of it all. The night, the festival, the moments of connection, it would all end with the dawn, leaving behind only memories and the ache of what once was.

He stood there, rooted in place, feeling like he could shatter with the slightest touch. The need for some form of closeness, some affirmation that this wasn’t just a dream, burned within him so fiercely it was almost painful. He watched as you placed the bag down on the small table in the bedroom and you began to take off your hair decorations, the fabric of your yukata rustling softly in the quiet.

Satoru swallowed hard, his throat tightening around the words he couldn't bring himself to say. The house around him felt both too large and too small, the space between you a chasm he desperately wanted to cross. Every step you took, every soft movement, felt like it was tearing him apart with a longing he could barely comprehend.

You turned back to face him, sensing the shift in the air.

He was standing in the doorway, his eyes locked onto you with an intensity that made your breath catch. There was something in his eyes, that dream like blue gazing, something raw and unguarded that you had never seen so openly in him before. It was as if all the walls he had built up over time had crumbled, leaving him exposed and yearning for something he couldn’t quite name.

"Satoru, is eveything okey?" you whispered, taking a step towards him. You were so caring, so devouted, so... His name on your lips was a lifeline, a tether to reality in the midst of his tumultuous emotions. He watched you close the distance between you, feeling the vulnerability within him flare up, a stark contrast to his usual self-assured demeanor.

He didn’t know how to ask for what he needed, didn’t even know if he could.

But as you stood before him, your eyes soft and searching, he felt a glimmer of hope, that maybe, just maybe, this tenderness he craved wasn’t out of reach.

Satoru stood there, every emotion crashing against him like relentless waves. The gentleness in your eyes, the way you looked at him with such unguarded warmth, made his heart twist painfully in his chest. He wanted to reach out, to close the distance between you. The need to touch you, to feel the solidity of you against him, was so strong it hurt.

He had spent so long keeping parts of himself hidden, maintaining that cool facade, but this night had unraveled everything deep within him, leaving him raw and aching for more.

You stepped closer, sensing the turmoil within him, the battle waging behind those intense crystal eyes. Your hand moved almost instinctively, reaching up to brush a strand of his hair from his forehead. The touch was feather-light, but it was enough to break something inside him. He inhaled sharply, his eyes fluttering closed for a moment, as if savoring the feel of your fingers against his skin.

When he opened his eyes again, the vulnerability there was unmistakable. He didn’t try to hide it. Instead, he let you see everything, the longing, the fear, the desire for something more than words could express. You felt the weight of his gaze, the way it bore into you, pleading without a single sound.

"Satoru?" you asked, whispered his name again, your voice a soft anchor in the storm of his emotions. It was a question and an answer all at once, an invitation for him to close the distance if he wanted to.

And he did. God, he did.

He reached out slowly, his hand trembling slightly as it cupped your cheek. The warmth of your skin beneath his palm sent a jolt through him, a reassurance that this was real, that you were here with him. You leaned into his touch, your eyes closing briefly as if savoring the moment. It was so simple, yet it held the weight of everything he had been yearning for all night.

His other hand found your waist, hesitantly at first, then with more certainty, pulling you closer. He needed to feel you against him, needed to know that this connection wasn't something that would fade with the night. Your bodies came together with a quiet sigh, fitting perfectly in a way that felt like the culmination of every unspoken word and stolen glance.

Satoru pressed his forehead against yours, his eyes falling shut as he breathed you in, the scent of your hair, the warmth of your breath against his lips. It was overwhelming and grounding all at once. He didn’t move for a moment, just held you there, his heart pounding so loudly he was sure you could hear it.

"I..." he began, his voice hoarse, choked with the rawness of everything he felt. He swallowed hard, struggling to find the right words.

How could he tell you that you made him feel like he was standing on the edge of something vast and terrifying, yet so breathtakingly beautiful?

How could he explain that you made him feel more alive than he had could ever imagine?

But you didn’t need him to say it.

You looked up at him, your eyes shining with understanding, with the same mix of emotions that were tearing him apart. You brought your hands up to his face, cradling it gently, your thumbs brushing softly over his cheeks. He leaned into your touch, his eyes fluttering shut once more, a quiet sigh escaping his lips.

" 'toru.." you whispered, the sound of his nickname a soothing balm against the rawness of his heart. "It's okay. You don't have to say anything."

He opened his eyes then, staring down at you, searching your face for something - permission, maybe, or reassurance that this wasn’t a dream. And what he found in your eyes was everything he needed. Acceptance, tenderness, a silent promise that you were here, truly here, with him, in this moment.

Unable to hold back any longer, he closed the remaining distance between you, capturing your lips in a kiss that was both desperate and tender. It wasn’t hurried or rough - it was a quiet plea, a soft surrender to the feelings he had kept locked away for so long, that sometimes slipped from him in his weakest moment. His lips moved against yours with an urgency born from the fear, that this might slip away if he didn't hold onto it tightly enough.

You melted into him, your hands sliding up into his hair, fingers tangling in the soft strands. You kissed him back with the same intensity, meeting his vulnerability with your own. It was as if every touch, every breath you shared was weaving you both closer, binding you in a way that felt unbreakable.

He pulled you tighter against him, his hands moving from your waist to wrap around your back, holding you as if he was afraid you might disappear if he let go. The kiss deepened, slow and aching, filled with all the unspoken words and emotions that neither of you could fully express. In that moment, the world outside ceased to exist. There was no rental house, no onsen, no festival, no past or future - only this shared space between you, warm and safe.

When he finally pulled back, he rested his forehead against yours, his breathing ragged, his eyes still closed as if savoring the lingering taste of your lips on his. He felt fragile, like he might shatter at any moment, but in the most beautiful way possible. You had cracked him open, and for the first time, he didn’t want to close himself off again.

"I just..." he started, his voice breaking slightly. "I just needed this." his words were almost a confession, a quiet acknowledgment of the vulnerability that had overwhelmed him.

You nodded, pressing a soft kiss to the corner of his mouth.

"Me too." you whispered back, your voice steady and full of a certainty that eased the tightness in his chest. You were here with him, present and real, and that was enough.

He let out a shaky breath, his grip on you tightening for a moment before he relaxed into the embrace.

"Stay." he murmured a plea. He didn’t mean just tonight. He meant here, in this space you had created together, in this fragile yet undeniable connection.

And as you looked into his eyes, you knew that was exactly what you intended to do.

Satoru's breathing was shallow, his chest rising and falling rapidly as he fought to keep control. Every nerve in his body was on fire, every inch of his skin tingling with the need to be closer to you. The kiss, the way you held him, had set something loose inside him.

"I... I can't hold it anymore." he confessed, his voice low and raw, edged with an emotion that made your heart skip a beat. He swallowed hard, his breath hot. His eyes were intense, a storm of desire, fear, and longing swirling within them. "I just... can't."

He stopped suddenly, his eyes widening as if realizing how close he was, how tightly he was holding you. He stepped back an inch, his hands dropping from your waist, as if he had been burned. His gaze flickered with uncertainty and something close to panic.

"I'm sorry." he blurted out, his voice cracking. "I didn’t even ask... if I could... if you wanted this... if I could ever touch you like that."

Well, he didn't asked it at onsen. Not that it mattered, when you craved it so much.

It was so unlike him - the confident, arrogant Satoru you knew - standing there with his shoulders tense, his eyes searching yours desperately for reassurance. He looked fragile, his usual facade stripped away to reveal a man who was vulnerable and uncertain, terrified of crossing a line that would push you away.

You felt your heart squeeze painfully at the sight of him like this. Without hesitation, you closed the distance between you, wrapping your arms around his neck, pulling him into a firm, reassuring embrace. His body went rigid for a heartbeat before he melted into your hold, his hands coming up to clutch at your back as if you were his lifeline.

"It’s okay." you murmured into his ear, your voice steady and soothing. "I want you to touch me. I want this." you pulled back just enough to look into his eyes, your gaze soft but filled with certainty. "I want you, Satoru."

Something shifted in his eyes at your words, the fear giving way to a rush of relief and desire that made him shudder in your arms. He let out a shaky breath, his hands moving up to cup your face gently, his thumbs brushing over your cheeks as if he was still trying to believe that this was real. His eyes searched yours for a moment longer before he leaned in again, capturing your lips with a hunger that left you breathless.

This kiss was different from the first, a torrent of passion and longing that had been held back for too long. His hands moved with more confidence now, sliding down to your waist before finding the belt of your yukata. He paused, his lips hovering over yours, his breath warm and ragged.

"Tell me if you want me to stop." he whispered, his voice a mix of command and plea, his eyes locked onto yours.

You shook your head, your hands finding their way to his shoulders, pulling him closer.

"Don’t stop." you replied, the words barely a breath "I don’t want you to stop."

He needed no further encouragement. His fingers deftly untied the belt of your yukata, the fabric loosening around you. He kissed you again, harder, faster, as his hands slipped beneath the material, pushing it off your shoulders in a slow, deliberate motion. The fabric slid down your arms, pooling around your feet in a soft whisper. You felt the cool air against your skin, but it was quickly replaced by the heat radiating from him as he pressed his body against yours.

You gasped into his mouth, the sensation of his hands on your bare skin sending shockwaves of pleasure through you. He pulled back slightly, his eyes tracing the line of your collarbone, the curves of your body now exposed to him. There was no arrogance in his gaze, no smugness, only awe and reverence, as if he was seeing you for the first time, even if he saw you over the course of years together so many times.

It made you feel beautiful, cherished in a way that went beyond the physical.

Your hands moved to his waist, finding the belt of his yukata. You paused, your eyes meeting his in a silent question. He nodded, his gaze dark and intense, silently giving you permission. With trembling fingers, you untied his belt, letting the fabric fall open. He shrugged off the yukata, the material slipping from his broad shoulders, revealing the hard lines of his body.

He stood before you, every inch of him laid bare. His body was always a perfect view to admire. For a moment, you both stood there, the weight of what was happening sinking in.

Then, slowly, he stepped forward, closing the gap between you. His hands moved to your waist, pulling you against him. Skin against skin, his warmth enveloping you entirely. You let out a soft sigh, your hands finding their way up his chest to rest on his shoulders.

He bent his head, his lips trailing down the side of your neck, leaving a line of fire in their wake. His hands roamed your body with a mix of urgency and tenderness, exploring every curve, every contour. You arched into his touch, your own hands sliding up to thread through his hair, holding him to you.

"Satoru..." you breathed, his name a whisper on your lips.

He pulled back slightly, his eyes meeting yours. They were dark with desire, but there was something more there - something that made your heart ache. Vulnerability, tenderness, the look of a man who had finally allowed himself to want something deeply, fully.

"I need you." he said, his voice barely more than a rough whisper, his hands tightening on your waist. "Can I?"

You answered him with a kiss, pouring everything you felt into it -your desire, your acceptance, your own vulnerability laid bare. You pressed closer, letting your bodies meld together, the world around you fading into nothingness. There was only the two of you, standing there in the dimly lit room, skin against skin, heart against heart.

Slowly, he guided you back towards the bed, his movements careful and deliberate. Every touch, every kiss, was an unspoken promise, a silent declaration that this was real, that this was more than just a fleeting moment. As you sank onto the bed, he followed, his body hovering over yours, his eyes locked onto yours with a gaze so intense it made your breath catch.

He kissed you again, softer this time, his lips moving against yours with a tenderness that made your heart swell. He held you like you were something precious, something fragile that he never wanted to let go of. And in that moment, as his lips traveled down your body, as he worshiped every inch of you with his touch, you knew that this was the start of something you both had been waiting for to happend again, something that went beyond words, beyond the night.

His body was bathed in the soft, dim light of the room, the contours of his muscles standing out in sharp relief. You had seen him like this before in passing years with him, but in glimpses, that had never lingered. But now, with nothing between you, there was a quiet intensity to his presence. He was beautiful, every inch of him carved with a kind of grace that took your breath away.

His hand reached for the clasp of your bra behind you and undid it in an efficient motion. You wondered for a second, how much practice he got out of you, over the years you'd spent together, if he'd learned that smooth move through you.

His gaze returned to you, his eyes raking over your body, now laid bare almost before him.

His hands moved tentatively at first, fingertips grazing the delicate skin just beneath your collarbone, tracing downward toward the swell of your breasts.

You could see the way his throat worked as he swallowed, his pupils dilating with every inch he explored. His fingers were warm, leaving a trail of goosebumps in their wake, before they finally settled, cupping your breasts gently. He paused, his eyes flicking up to meet yours, searching your face for any sign of hesitation. Finding none, his gaze softened, filled with something deeper than just desire.

The way he looked at you made your skin prickle with heat, not from embarrassment, but from the sheer power of his desire. It wasn’t just lust in his eyes, it was an admiration, a raw need that made your heart thud in your chest.

"So beautiful." he murmured, almost to himself, his voice low and husky. He leaned down, pressing a soft, reverent kiss to the curve of your breast, his breath warm and uneven against your skin. The tenderness in his movements was at odds with the intensity in his eyes, as though he were fighting a losing battle to savor every second without rushing.

Slowly, he reached out, his fingers grazing the curve of your waist, trailing down your hip, and finally, over your thigh. He let out a shaky breath, his eyes never leaving yours as he continued to explore your skin, his hand moving with a mixture of awe and possession.

"God." he murmured, his voice a low, husky whisper that sent a shiver down your spine. "You’re... perfect. You always were." there was an almost pained quality to his voice, like he was struggling to find the right words to express what he was feeling.

You reached up, your hands resting on his chest, feeling the warmth of his skin beneath your palms. His muscles tensed under your touch, a subtle shudder running through him as you traced the lines of his body.

Satoru moved then, his body pressing against yours, skin to skin, the sensation sending a shockwave of pleasure through you. He kissed you again, harder, his lips claiming yours with a fervor that made you dizzy. His hands slid down your sides, fingers curling around your thighs as he shifted, pulling you closer to him, as if he couldn’t bear even the smallest distance between you.

Your legs wrapped around his waist instinctively, drawing him nearer. His body pressed against yours fully now, the heat of him sinking into you, making you arch into his touch. He broke the kiss, his breath ragged against your lips as he rested his forehead against yours. For a moment, you both just breathed, the rhythm of your heartbeats filling the space between you.

"I’ve wanted this." he confessed, his voice raw and strained. "I’ve wanted you... for so long. Again."

You didn’t reply with words, there were none that could capture what you felt. Instead, you pulled him down to you, your lips finding his again in a kiss. The way you moved against each other, the way you fit together, felt like a completion, the rubbing against eachother, like something that had been missing had finally fallen into place.

You felt him everywhere, his presence overwhelming, consuming, and you surrendered to it completely.

Satoru suddenly went down. Each kiss sent shivers down your skin. Kissing your belly, lower abdomen and the inside of your thighs. Until he came to the place that needed it most, covered in a thin material. His white hair tickled your delicate skin.

"You are so wet." he gasped, mesmerised, running his finger over the soaked fabric. Shame crept onto your face, you wanted to hide your face, but you couldn't take your eyes off the fascination and hunger his face expressed. He played with the slippery material for a while, charmed by your reaction as you wriggled and shook slightly, waiting for more. You thought you were going to burn, that you couldn't stand the friction, which sent waves of heat and anticipation into every cell of your body. His hands glided down your legs, pawing at the material of your underwear and finally slipping it off, showing him a sight that was finally not covered or obscured by anything.

“I missed this view.” he placed one tiny kiss on you, on that tender spot, eliciting a gasp from you, making you come alive.

He was so focused. Watching you shine all over there for him. One finger slipped suddenly into you, bringing out the gasp from your lips. He slided in so easily, that you should be ebarressed by this easiness. You tightened your fingers on the fabric of the sheet.

He pumped it inside you a couple of times, stretching the walls slowly, like he was exploring. Then added another, pumping a little faster and firmer. He searched for tempo, angle, rhythm that would elicit as much sound from you as possible. Your moans and gasps filled the room, as he finally observed, what made you tremble and your toes curl. His fingers were perfect, long, so wonderfully filling.

You couldn't comprehend how perfectly they straddled your walls, how perfectly they hit all your sensitive spots, that you dreamed of targeting every time you let your tension ease. Without success.

He started working his mouth too, kissing, sucking and licking with such ferocity, that you thought you could see stars from every move his mouth made. You couldn't concentrate, the world felt dizzy, you bit your lip to keep quiet, not wanting to sound stupid from the pleasure you felt.

This encouraged Satoru to increase the intensity of every thing he performed on you. His fingers began to slide in faster and deeper, even though you thought it was impossible. His tongue licked a bigger chunk of your flesh, and his mouth sucked harder, eliciting shivers from the orchestration that was happening on you.

Your other hand weaved into his hair, catching a large chunk of white curls and pressing his head slightly, against you. He growled lightly, pressing himself closer to you. His nose rubbed against your clit with every movement of your hips, which caught a rhythm of their own, chasing something you longed to reach. Your legs shook and you could feel everything inside you building, swirling looking for a way out.

"Please, please…" you begged breathlessly, absolutly drowned in pleasure. You wanted it so badly. He made you wanted it. So much that you didn't think about what you were talking about, that you didn't know where you were. You only knew that he, his touch, was driving you to the edge.

It all grew inside you, higher and higher, until it finally shattered you, arching your back and tightening your thighs against his face. Orgasm spread over you like a wave, leaving you shaken and vulnerable. Stronger, than you could have imagined.

You squeezed your thighs tighter instinctively, somehow trapping his face between your legs, as he guided you through the whole process extending your pleasure to the end.

Satoru didn't seem to mind, growling and moaning a little. More than once he joked about how he could die between your legs, but you never took his words seriously. Until now.

Your chest rose and fell in heavy, irregular breaths. A haze of bliss clouded your senses, leaving you utterly dazed. Your hands, once clenched tightly in the sheets, now lay limp at your sides, your body sinking into the bed, as if it could melt into the warmth that enveloped you.

Satoru watched you with a satisfied, almost smug expression, his lips curling into a flirtatious smile. There was a gleam in his eyes, a mixture of pride and possessiveness, as he took in the sight of you, completely undone, caught in the afterglow of the pleasure he had drawn from you. He raised a hand to his chin, rubbing it thoughtfully, while his tongue darted out to lick his lips. He could still taste you on his tongue, a taste that lingered, rich and intoxicating.

He had tasted so many sweets tonight, but nothing compared to the taste of you. You were, without a doubt, the sweetest thing he had ever experienced.

He moved up slowly, his lips leaving a heated trail along your skin as he made his way back up to you. You could feel every breath he took, the warmth of his exhale sending shivers through you. As he hovered over you, he paused for a moment, his gaze locking onto yours, he wanted to gave you a minute to gain consciousness.

As soon as he noticed the dazed look in your eyes begin to fade, the focus slowly returning, Satoru didn’t hesitate. He moved with swift precision, lowering his head to press his lips against the delicate skin of your neck. His kisses were hot and urgent, trailing along the line of your throat, igniting sparks across your skin.

You gasped softly, your senses still heightened and your body sensitive to his every touch. He kissed you there with an intensity that made you arch into him, each kiss lingering as if he wanted to imprint himself into every inch of you. His lips traveled to the sensitive spot just below your ear, where he nipped gently before soothing the skin with his tongue, drawing a shiver from you.

His hands were not idle, they moved up your sides, feeling the warmth of your skin beneath his fingertips.

As Satoru pressed his body closer against yours, you felt something hard, sizable, and warm against your pussy. You could feel it sliding over your wet folds, latching onto your clit teasingly, soaking up your wetness and spreading it all over his member, smearing a white pearl of precum on the tip. You were almost drooling.

It was a sensation you hadn't felt in what seemed like an eternity, a feeling you'd been yearning for, one that made every nerve in your body come alive. Now, here you were, your body trembling with excitement and need.

His mouth found the curve of your neck, and you felt a gasp escape your lips as his teeth grazed your skin. He hissed softly, the sound a mix of restraint and desire. His hands were everywhere, gliding over your waist, your hips, as he held you close, making you two rub agains eachother with more friction. A soft moans and gasps escaped your lips.

He moved to the sensitive spot just below your ear, his lips pressing firm yet gentle against your pulse point. You could feel the heat of him, the tension in his muscles as he fought to keep himself in check. He pressed himself against you with more force, rubbing against your entrance teasing it, making you hold your voice.

"Look what a mess you've made... of me." he murmured against your skin, his voice rough, almost ragged. He bit down softly, eliciting a sharp inhale from you, and then soothed the spot with his tongue, sending a wave of warmth coursing through you.

Your hands found their way to his hair, threading through the soft strands, holding him to you as his mouth continued its exploration. Each hiss against your neck, each brush of his lips, sent sparks of electricity shooting through your body. It was as if every nerve ending was attuned to him, responding to every little touch, every sigh against your skin.

When he finally lifted his head to look at you, his blue eyes were dark, filled with an intensity that made your heart race. He held your gaze, his lips parted slightly, his breathing shallow.

"Tell me." he whispered, his voice barely more than a husky murmur, his eyes searching yours. "Tell me what you want."

There was no teasing in his voice now, no playful smirk on his lips, just raw honesty and a need for you to guide him, to let him know this was what you wanted too.

With a shuddering breath, you tilted your head slightly, baring more of your neck to him in answer.

"I want you." you whispered, your voice trembling with the emotions swirling inside you. "I want all of you."

The tension was unbearable, every second stretched into eternity. You felt like you were going mad, the need consuming you, overwhelming every thought until you could barely stand it anymore. Your voice, breathless and trembling, broke the silence.

"Satoru." you whispered, your voice thick with desire. "Stop teasing." a bashful command. Your words, so raw and urgent, sent a shudder through him.

For a moment, he seemed to hesitate, as though savoring the power of that moment, of your need for him, but the look in your eyes must have driven him over the edge, as he lifted your leg slightly, making more room, and guided the tip to your entrance, pressing gently against it.

A short moan broke from your lips as you felt him stretch you. Satoru wanted to slide in slowly, giving you time to get used to it, but you were so wet, so eager, that you accepted him at once. That suprised you both, as you gasped for air.

He didn't even know that he had pushed his hips all the way in unconsciously, too lost in the pleasure and the feelings he had inside to think logically. His eyes softened, his expression changed, his brow furrowed and his mouth opened, letting out a sweet moan.

"F-fuck, so tight... so wet…" moved gently backwards and pressed himself to the very end "A-ah, fuck!"

He filled you up so well. You put your legs around him pressing him closer to you, wanting to feel every last bit of his member. Satoru definitely let himself be carried away by the pleasure, pressing his lips to your neck and rolling his hips in a slow rhythm at first.

Every thrust he made you shiver and pleasure spilled from your lower abdomen to your entire body, dulling your mind. The rythm was nice and slow. His cock reached to the deepest parts of you kissing your cervix with every move.

It didn't take long before his movements began to speed up. Thrusting into you faster and with greater intensity, making you unable to control the moans that were coming out of you. His member lapped deeper, deeper and deeper, until you drove your nails into Satoru's back from the sensation, as he hit your g-spot. He whined, as you dragged your nails across his back.

"That's the spot, huh?" he said with an exhale of broken breath.

A few moves like that and you were both drunk on pleasure. He was so vocal, moaning, whining, gasping, complimenting how wonderful you were to him, how good it felt, how you take him so well.

He shifted, his body moving against yours with more precision, as he adjusted the angle of his thrusts to hit the sensitive spot inside you every time.

You could feel the tears coming to your eyes. It felt so good, so wonderful, as his cock penetrated your insides, meeting a point that took your breath away and made you dumb with pleasure.

You were so cockdrunk you were begging for more.

"Plase, more.. aaahn~" your eyes rolled back "j-justlikethat… ah 'toru.. please!" you repeated his name like a prayer, as he fulfilled your every little request - on more, on harder, on faster.

His thrusts were relentless and the sound of skin slapping against skin was everywhere.

You could feel the second orgasm gathering inside you, even more intense than the last one. Satoru must have felt it too, because he lowered himself to your ear to whisper a question.

"Where…?" he gasped, another moan breaking out of him as you pressed his hips with your legs, making his head fall onto your shoulder, helpless from the amount of pleasure you both felt.

"Inside." you cried, as he began to kiss away ever tear that fell down your flushed cheeks.

You were so close, you felt like you're gonna burn until nothing's left. What send you over the edge was his thumb, making it's way between your colliding hips and rubbing your sensitive clit that send another wave of pleasure that compleatly washed you away. You clung to him, your nails digging into his back, leaving marks for him to admire later.

He felt how you tighted against him, he growled, feeling he is going to bust in just a few seconds as well.

He kissed you hurriedly, swallowing your moans, as he rapidly pounded into you with everything that has left in him. He pulled away from your lips. For moment he rested his forehead against your, as his movements began to be stutter.

"Please sweetie, take me there." his voice sweet from pleasure "I want it so bad.. please."

A few harder thrusts and his body tightened against you. A loud moan escaped his swollen lips, as pressed his hips as far as he could into you. His cum painted your walls white, everything spilling inside you like warm lava.

His head fell numbly onto your breasts.

His chest rose and fell in sync with yours, each breath a quiet testament to the intensity of the moments just passed. You lay there together, your bodies tangled in the sheets, the air around you warm and still. Your breathing was slowly starting to calm down.

Slowly, you reached out, your fingers seeking his. The moment your hand found his, he squeezed it gently, a silent exchange of everything that words couldn't capture.

A soft smile crept onto his face, one that spoke of contentment, satisfaction, and something deeper that had been unspoken for far too long. He turned his head to look at you, eyes softening as they met yours. There was a glow to him now, a tenderness that made your heart beat faster.

You turned your head, pressing a soft kiss to his temple, feeling the sweat-dampened strands of his hair against your lips.

He pulled out of you, leaving behind a feeling of emptiness, his cum leacking from you, staining the sheets, but now coulnd't care less.

You will clean it later. Maybe.

Satoru shifted beside you, his arms wrapping around your waist in a gentle, but firm embrace. He pulled you closer, tucking you against his chest, as if he needed to feel every part of you pressed against him to believe this moment was real. You snuggled into him, your head resting in the crook of his neck, his warmth enveloping you completely.

For a moment, you both simply lay there, breathing in the calm that had settled over you like a warm blanket.

Then, you lifted your gaze to meet his, and he was already looking down at you, his eyes soft and bright. There was a glimmer of something playful in his eyes, something so unmistakably him.

A small giggle bubbled up from his chest, and before you knew it, you were both giggling softly. It was the kind of laughter that came from a place of pure joy, a sweet, almost childlike sound that filled the room. His laughter was warm and contagious, his eyes crinkling at the corners as he watched you.

"You're such a dork." you whispered between giggles, unable to stop smiling.

He let out a breathy laugh, pulling you even closer. "Says the person who’s giggling right along with me." he teased back, his tone light and filled with affection.

You both dissolved into another fit of soft laughter, your foreheads pressing together as you shared this small, tender moment.

Satoru's lips moved gently over yours, soft and unhurried, as if savoring each kiss like it was the first. His hand cupped your face, fingers tracing light patterns on your skin, while your own hand absentmindedly stroked his chest, feeling the steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath your palm. It was calm, peaceful, the perfect kind of afterglow, and for a moment, the world outside ceased to exist.

But then, reality began to creep back into your mind, and with it, the thought of what came next - what people would think, especially those closest to you. You let out a soft sigh against his lips, pulling back slightly to rest your forehead against his.

"What do you think Megumi’s going to say when he sees us like this?" you murmured, a hint of amusement in your voice, though the thought gnawed at you a little.

Satoru chuckled, the sound low and warm, vibrating through his chest. His eyes glinted with that familiar playfulness, the corners of his lips curling into a small, teasing smile. "Megumi?" he echoed, tilting his head to look at you "He'll probably think some curse took over us." he said, his voice light with amusement. "Either that, or he'll just roll his eyes and pretend he's not surprised."

You couldn’t help, but laugh softly at that, the image of Megumi standing there with his usual unimpressed expression coming to mind. "He would, wouldn't he?" you replied, shaking your head. "I can already see the look on his face."

"Yep." Satoru continued, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead. "He'd just sigh and probably mutter something about how troublesome we are. But you know he wouldn't really mind. Deep down, he'd be happy for us."

You smiled at his words, letting them settle over you. It was true, Megumi had always been quietly supportive in his own way. "Yeah." you agreed softly, your fingers tracing random patterns on Satoru's chest. "But still... it feels strange, like we've been hiding this part of ourselves for so long, and now it’s just... out there."

Satoru hummed in agreement, his lips moving against the side of your temple.

"Maybe." he admitted. "But we were never really hiding, were we? We were just... finding our way here." his hand moved to your back, stroking it gently, a soothing rhythm that made you relax even further into his embrace.

"It is real." he murmured against your skin. "And maybe it's a little strange, and maybe Megumi will think we’ve lost our minds, but this is us. And I think we’re exactly where we’re meant to be."

You closed your eyes, feeling the truth of his words settle into your bones. It was real, and it was beautiful in all its strangeness.

"Yeah, that true." you whispered, turning your head slightly to press a soft kiss to his cheek. "It doesn’t matter what anyone else thinks."

Satoru grinned, his eyes gleaming with a mischievous light. "Exactly. And if anyone asks, we’ll just tell them the strongest sorcerer finally met his match." he wiggled his eyebrows playfully, earning a laugh from you.

"You really are impossible." you teased, shaking your head.

He just smirked, pulling you closer, his lips brushing against yours again. "Only for you." he whispered, his voice soft and full of warmth.

He continued, his expression slightly changed.

"But honestly, I don’t care what anyone else thinks. You’re my wife - not just on paper anymore." his eyes softened as he looked at you, the weight of his words sinking in "We've been each other's since we took care of one another, and now… now we’re really together." he continued "I've always been yours, I was too scared to accept this. Now.." his blue gaze still focused on you "I'm not afraid."

A warmth spread through your chest at his words, a warmth that had nothing to do with the heat of the moment, but everything to do with the feeling of finally being seen and claimed in the way you had always longed for. You cupped his face, your thumb brushing over his cheekbone as you looked at him with a softness that mirrored his own.

"And you’re finally my husband. We’re finally together. The way we were always supposed to be." you replied, your voice trembling with the emotion of that truth.

It had taken eight years, eight long years of pretend marriage for you both to truly become this - a union that was more than just a title, more than just a piece of paper, more than friendship and sharing duties. It was real now, tangible in every kiss, every touch, every word shared between you.

He grinned at that, his eyes lighting up with a mixture of joy and relief. "We have the rest of our lives to make up for lost time." he added, his voice tender, his thumb continuing to stroke your cheek. "No more half-measures, no more walls, no more running away. "

You nodded, feeling tears prick at the corners of your eyes, but they were happy tears, tears of finally being seen, of being loved the way you had always longed to be.

"Just us." you whispered back, leaning into his touch, letting the warmth of his hand anchor you.

"Yeah." he murmured, his lips brushing yours in the softest of kisses, sealing the promise between you. This was where you were meant to be, where he was meant to be. Together, in the quiet after the storm, finally, undeniably, whole.

"Just the two of us."

© noira-l 2024 | all rights reserved. do not copy, translate, modify, or redistirbute my work without permission

[msgexymunson]

One Slow Blink Part 2

Second part right here due to Tumblr restrictions

Description: As a nurse, you want to help people, as many as you can. But, with the insane things that have been going on in Hawkins, and the crazed look in Dustin's eyes when he stumbles into the ER covered in blood with an impossible tale to tell, it makes you wonder; how much are you prepared to give? 

Warnings: NSFW, Minors DNI, *Here there be monsters! Honestly, there's straight up monster fucking in this so if you're not into that do not read*, AFAB sub nurse reader x dom monster Eddie, kinda Alpha/Omega without them knowing it, injury descriptions, S4 does happen and Eddie lives but he be a monster, hand job, fem oral receiving, male oral receiving, consensual predator/prey dynamic, fingering, very rough sex, biting/marking, unprotected p in v, knotting.

A/N: This has come from yet another deranged dream of mine. I imagine Eddie looking kinda like a mix between the Beast from the original Beauty and the Beast, and the dog/kangaroo guys from Tank Girl, but with a longer snout. If you don't know, that's a dirty mix between a lion, a bear, a wolf and maybe a little of Venom's tongue (because I am a whore.)

22k words for both parts, I know, mental, but it's worth it ;)

Masterlist Part 1

You must have fallen asleep like that, as once your eyes open it looks to be almost night, the sun dipping past the horizon. The light slipping past your makeshift curtain is a deep red. You ache all over, especially your shoulder, but it doesn't stop you from smiling. 

At some point he must have pulled you on top of him, both arms circling you possessively, holding you to his chest like a child's doll. His member has slipped out of you; you can feel the stickiness of his release coating the sensitive flesh of your inner thighs. 

Breathing changes as he stirs beneath you, opening his eyes in a squint. 

“Hey you.” 

He murmurs a soft sound from his chest, licking your cheek with his long tongue. 

“Ew! Eddie, you've got dog breath.” 

“Charrrming.” 

You laugh, hitting his chest playfully, shifting above him so you're straddling him.

“We better get cleaned up, I've got to get to the hospital in a few hours.” 

Eddie whines, grabbing your hips as you try to stand, pushing your wet heat against his twitching bulge. 

“Eddie…”

You breathe out in a warning, but it sounds too needy. He's not listening, rubbing you back and forth over his swelling length. 

“Eddie I don't think I can take another round, you were- oh fuck-” 

The sentence falters as he catches your clit, setting a thousand butterflies loose in your tummy. 

“I’ll… be gentle.” 

You hiccup a little laugh, staring down at him with a raised brow. 

“I don't think you can.” 

“Forrr you… I can.” 

You reach out to stroke his fuzzy cheek and he nuzzles into the touch. The affection he shows from that simple gesture has you relenting, guiding his member into you, slipping in easily, his previous sticky release helping its journey. 

Sitting back and allowing yourself to revel in the beautiful stretch, you experience that familiar wash of relief, a calm caressing your very soul. Eddie seems to feel it too, letting out a long breath as his shoulders lose tension. 

“This feels right,” you confess, hand running down his chest, “like, like-” 

His gravelly purr interrupts your spill words, reverberating through your ribcage. 

“Like you… werrre made forrr me, sweet-hearrrt.” 

It's much slower this time, more of a languid grinding as you both move against each other, that undercurrent of need more of a smouldering heat, rather than the unquenchable fire from earlier. Eddie pants as he watches you, tongue hanging from the side of his mouth as you reach your precipice, your eyebrows knotting and body shuddering around him. 

Falling against his form, entirely spent, skin glowing with sweat, you hold onto him as he chases his own release. True to his word, he's much more gentle, gripping your hips and moving you to meet his shallow thrusts. You see his snout scrunch when he's on the brink, just before he pulls you off of him and holds you to his torso. You can feel his cock pumping out his orgasm against your stomach, glueing the pair of you together. 

“Eddie, you didn't need to-” 

“Last time we werrre… stuck togetherrr, for half hourrr.” 

You giggle, astonished at his words. 

“Really? Damn, I must have fell asleep.” 

“You did. Couldn't move. Was… nice.” 

Reaching up to play with the fur on his cheek, you think about what he just said. 

“You know, I think that's knotting. You know, like d-”

“If you say… dogs…” He warns, winding a finger in your hair and tugging gently. 

“Fine. Canines.” 

He grabs you, holding you in place as he slathers your face with his tongue, drooling all over you. 

“Eddie! Yuck, stop, stop!” 

“Thought I was… dog. This is what dogs do… rrrright?” 

You squeal loudly trying to extricate yourself from his hold. 

“OK, OK! You're not a dog! Stop!” 

He finally relents and you get up, unpeeling from the sticky skin and matted fur of his stomach. 

“Right, I'm gonna have a shower before you start humping my leg.” 

He snaps his teeth at you playfully as you leave. When you're standing in front of the bathroom mirror, you see why your shoulder hurts so much. There's teeth marks in it; pinpricks of broken skin tinged with blood. They aren't deep, but the redness around them looks like it's going to leave a hell of a bruise. For some reason, you're not mad. The opposite in fact. It feels like a claim. You are his, and this is so the world can see. 

Once you're clean and relatively dry, you go into the living area to find some food, throwing on one of Eddie's new t-shirts. It may as well be a dress, the hem kissing your mid thigh. 

Something doesn't feel right though. Suddenly there's a rolling in the pit of your stomach, a sense of impending doom. The light streaming through the partially boarded windows is still an ominous red. Risking a look, you peer out of the slats and see the sky. 

It's flashing red and blue, as if there's an enormous thunderstorm boiling the heavens, but there's no sound. It looks unnatural, colouring the landscape around in the same foreboding hues. You feel hot, and sick. 

Eddie barrels into the room with a towel still around his waist, tackling you to the ground. 

“Eddie, whats-” 

“Stay low… some-thing coming… smells wrrrong.” 

You whisper as quietly as you can.

“What can you smell?” 

He takes a moment, snuffling at the air with his eyes closed. 

“Outside… woods, dirrrt. Frrriends, coming. And… can't ex-plain in worrrds. Sticky… chem-i-cal… pulsing… grrey blue. Wrrrong.” 

You suppose that's what you get for asking a question about something you can't possibly understand, what with the stark differences in your senses. You try a different tact.

“Have you… smelled it before?” 

“Differrrent… but, similarrrr… to up-side-down.” 

There's the shoe that you were waiting to drop. Now the feeling in your gut made sense. 

“Eddie, you said… friends were coming?” 

“Harrrrrington… and Henderrrrson forrr surrre… smell the damn hairrsprrray.” 

In spite of the situation, you giggle. He flashes his teeth, dropping his guard for just an instant. 

There's a powerful knock at the door that makes you jump. Eddie leaps up and flings it open with such force that it slams into the wooden wall sending dust flying. 

You just about make out the figure of a girl with a shaved head and a bloody nose who thrusts an outstretched hand toward Eddie. Dustin's voice rings out behind her. 

“Elle no!” 

There's a strange force, like a gust of wind with no air that buffets around Eddie's snarling form. You feel it pulling you, ripping you backwards as you roll across the floorboards. Eddie seems unaffected, not moving from his spot. 

“Eleven, stop! You think monsters wear pink towels??”  

The girl looks baffled and turns to where Dustin is running forward, waving his arms wildly. Steve is following quickly behind. They both look battered and bruised. As Steve comes into focus you see his entire front is covered in blood. 

Instincts kicking in, you shoulder past Eddie and run toward him. 

“Steve, what happened!” 

“It's alright it's not my blood. Eleven, this is Eddie.” 

Ah, Eleven. It makes more sense now. The powers, the shaved head. 

“Who- is she?” 

Eleven stares at you with a confused expression. You introduce yourself, and explain what you think you are. 

“...I'm, er, Eddie's girlfriend.”

Eleven's eyes widen but she doesn't say anything. Dustin, however, can't possibly stop the words spilling from his mouth. 

“Girlfriend?? Seriously? But-” 

“Henderson, focus! That's not important right now!” 

“I was just asking, Steve!” 

“Well don't we have other stuff we need to-” 

“Hey!” 

Shocked, you realise the shout came from you. 

“Everyone, just calm down and get inside so we can talk, OK?” 

Your words seem to cut through all arguments as everybody makes it inside, standing and looking at you for direction. Attempting to keep the authoritative air you've managed to concoct, you order them to sit down whilst you and Eddie get dressed. 

When you're no longer feeling so exposed, you come back into the living room holding Eddie's hand. 

“Right now, Steve, you first. What the fucks going on?” 

He weirdly looks at Eleven first, who gives a curt nod. 

“Right, right, so, it's a little-” 

Dustin cuts in. 

“-Vecna's back from the Upside Down with his Demogorgons and bats and stuff and they're taking over Hawkins and we need Eddie Dog to help defeat him!” 

Stumbling back a little stunned, your wide eyes search his vainly for the sign of some prank. There is none. 

“So… you're saying there's monsters in Hawkins??”

Steve responds calmly, juxtaposing Dustin’s trembling form.

“ ‘fraid so. Nance and Hopper and everyone else are holed up in the library. Everyone left in the town’s there. Well, everyone who's not dead or ran away.” 

“Wait, so Hopper’s alive??” 

“Yes! He was captured by evil Russians but Mrs Byers got him back and-” 

“Alright, alright,” you hold your palms up to Dustin, “what does Eddie have to do with this?” 

“Listen, Henderson's got this theory that Eddie's… powers… came out so he can stop Vecna.” 

“But that's absurd, he was bitten!” You turn to Eddie but he looks just as shocked as you. 

“Yeah but, we've seen a lot of people today who've been bitten by something. No one else changed.” 

“Exactly,” Dustin says, grinning, “Eddie's got super strength now, he's all healed, I bet he's got other powers.” 

Eleven starts talking unexpectedly. 

“I tried to throw him. He did not move.” 

“See!? He's a superhero.” 

“So, wait, Eleven can't throw him,” you begin, “but that doesn't mean she can't throw stuff at him. What's to stop Vecna throwing a car or something?” 

Everyone looks at Eleven.

Wordlessly, she focuses on a lamp that sits on a side table. To your astonishment, it begins to float in the air, then hurls itself at Eddie with remarkable force. Then the strangest thing happens. It hovers a few inches from Eddie as if stopped by an invisible barrier, then falls to the floor uselessly. 

Silence. You break it, voice splitting as it goes high pitched with worry. 

“Right, but that doesn't mean Vecna can't hurt him, just because Eleven can't, right? Right??” 

Eddie's the one to respond, holding your hands in one bearish paw. 

“Sweet-hearrrt, they'rrre rrright… I can help… I should help… need to prrotect the Shirrre… prrrotect you.” 

“But-but-” Tears well in your eyes as you stare back at him. 

“I need to… otherrrrwise… I am… this… is all a waste.” 

You nod, but pull your hands from his and walk into the bedroom, shutting the door behind you. The pain is too much to bear. It does make sense, if you were being rational, but right now you aren't rational. Nothing about this is rational. You've just found the love of your life and you might lose him to this stupid fight. 

Fuck. You love him.

It's finally clear. The feeling in your stomach, the draw you have toward him, the fire in your veins, in your heart. You barely know him, but you love him. 

And now that might get ripped away because of some damn fight that shouldn't have had anything to do with him in the first place. 

You perch on the bed, head in your hands as tears leak down your cheeks. There's no fight in you to stop them, grieving for something that hasn't happened yet but seems inevitable. There's whispering in the other room, plans being made, but it all sounds like it's underwater, drowned by the power of your tears. 

After a while, Eddie opens the door and shuffles in the room, sitting down on the bed next to you. He slowly starts to explain the plan to you, how Will can sense when Vecna or the monsters are near, how Elle will help clear a path, how he has the strength to defeat him, since Vecna's powers are all he has. He doesn't have the speed or strength that Eddie does. 

There's a loaded quiet when he's finished. You're angry, wiping away stray tears fiercely from your face, but you're not angry at him. You're angry at the situation, at Vecna, at the Upside Down. Angry at the powers that seem to be pulling you apart. 

“Fine. But I'm coming with you.” 

“No,” he snarls, pulling his arm around you, “they need… heal-ers. You… can help.” 

“But what if- what if you get hurt?” 

“Won't.” 

“Promise?” 

Staring up whilst you are brimming with tears, he cups your face, looking back at you with soulful eyes. 

“I'll do… everrry-thing I can.”

“No!” You shout, tears falling once again as your face heats up, “you can't say that, they say that in the hospital and people die!”

Wringing your hands, flipping them over and over each other in your lap, you barely notice Eddie falling to the floor in front of you. 

Then his burly arms are circling you, his maw pushed into your abdomen, inhaling you deeply, sweetly. It stops your incessant fidgeting, fingers resting in his long locks. They wind into his hair, twisting through to massage his scalp as he purrs into the flesh of your stomach. 

“Eddie, if you love me you'll come back to me. Do-do you love me, Eddie?”

He looks up at you, deep chestnut eyes searching your face. 

One slow blink. 

There's a soft knock at the door and Dustin opens it. 

“We have to go soon. Are you ready Eddie Dog?” 

Eddie growls low in his throat, swivelling to face him on all fours, hackles raised. Dustin immediately attempts to backtrack, arm raised to try and protect his face. 

“I mean, I didn't mean- it's from the demogorgon, you know, demodogs, Eddie Dog, I did think DemoEddie but Dog-”

Eddie pounces, pinning Dustin to the ground. Dustin's eyes scrunch shut as he screams, voice breaking in terror. 

“Shit shit shiiiiiiiiiit!!!” 

You giggle inanely as Eddie licks Dustin's face wetly. He bounds off him and shoots a wink at you, before lending Dustin a hand and dragging him to his feet. 

“I am not… a dog.” 

Dustin is laughing in relief, nerves racking through it. 

“No you're not, I'm sorry I'm sorry-” 

Steve appears in the doorway. 

“Guys, get in here.”

All mockery forgotten, you make your way into the living space in silence. 

“Steve, what's going on?” 

“That's just it. Listen.” 

You all stop, ears working in overdrive as you all try to hear what he hears. Breaking the quiet spell that had drifted over everyone, you speak. 

“I can't hear anything.”

“Exactly. Don't you get it? All over town, all through the woods, there's been these things. Demogorgons, bats, horrible things. But here, there's nothing.” 

“Eddie, you smell anything?” 

Eddie closes his eyes, snout wiggling in effort as he opens his preternatural senses. His voice rumbles out in its usual gravelly purr.

“That scent… it's herrre, it's on them… up-side-down smell… therrres nothing close by… except a few deerrr.” 

Steve holds a hand up, stage whispering to you.

“He can smell that?” 

“Yes… and hearrr acrrross rrrooms.” 

“Sorry big guy, I just- that's awesome.” 

Dustin is beaming, staring at Eddie like he's a superhero. Steve continues, making sure he's looking at Eddie, you notice, keeping him in the conversation. 

“So, if those things aren't nearby… maybe, maybe they're afraid of him? Hate to say it but I'm starting to agree with Dustin. Maybe you're supposed to be like this Munson.” 

Sighing in acceptance, you turn to Eddie. 

“Fine. If you think you can help you should go. Don't let me stop you. But you have to come back to me.” 

He gives you a slow blink, and you nod, accepting fate. Then you move into action, grabbing the partially used trauma kit, along with anything else you think might be helpful. Everyone else is doing the same, as if they were waiting for your approval. 

Pretty soon you're being bundled into what appears to be a stolen pick up truck with Eddie sitting in the back, as you race back into town. 

If you could call it town anymore. 

Your mind rolls to every post apocalyptic movie you've ever seen, but none of them compare to it happening in front of your eyes. Crumbling buildings that you recognise send spears of hurt through your heart. Over there, the gas station where you bought your first underage beers, now a smoking wreckage. On your left, the drug store where you used to pick up your mom's prescription, cracked and half buried in rubble. 

A cloud of chattering sound passes quickly overhead; you hear Eddie growling low as batlike creatures wing their way to another destination, seemingly unbothered by your presence. It's either that, or they don't want to tangle with your boyfriend. You pray that it's the latter.

Steve takes a sharp left turn and you fling to the side in your seat. 

“I thought we were heading to the library, isn't it that way?” 

“Yep, if you wanna cross a gorge. The roads opened so wide that nothing can get through.” 

The enormity of the situation is sinking into you, winding around your spine, fear clasping you in its unwanted clutches. 

Ignore it. Don't recognise it. Turn your back on it. There's people that need your help. 

Steve pulls up a few yards away from the library, and you clench your jaw, telling your tears to fuck right off. Now is not the time for tears. 

You and Dustin jump out of the truck, and he rushes to the library to bring everyone who needs to be part of this final stand. A final stand that doesn't involve you. A final stand that has the love of your life sitting front and centre. 

Running around to the back of the truck you grab Eddie's head firmly in both your hands. 

“You- you remember what I said? You need to come back to me, you hear me? ‘Cause if you don't I'll kill you myself. Get it Eddie? You do this and you come back to me!!” 

Eddie holds your hands in his enormous paws, enveloping your soft flesh instantly. Nuzzling his snout against your cheek, he breathes in your ear. 

“I'll come back… to what's mmine.” 

You press fierce hot kisses to the soft fur of his face, over and over, until he pulls you from him, holding your hands away. 

“You love me Eddie. I know you do.” 

One slow blink. 

In an instant, he's gone, quieter than snow. Falling to the floor, you hold your head in your hands, crushed by the barbarity of the situation. 

You didn't say it. You didn't tell him you love him too. Saying it out loud would make it more real. Saying it out loud would make the pain worse if you lose him. 

Soft fingers pry at you, leading you onward, inside. In a daze you follow, feet on autopilot as you clutch the trauma bag in front of you like a shield. 

Inside is a bustle of activity, a hive of ants that all have a purpose and none of them involve you. You're guided gently down onto a seat and the insects run about, fetching food, water, bandages. It all seems to be happening outside of you, following a rhythm that you can't hear. 

“Hey, hey!” One of the swarm seems to be addressing you. Tilting your head, you look towards them. It's an older woman; half her face is concealed by a makeshift eyepatch. 

“You're a doctor, right? We need someone over here now!” 

Instincts take over. Legs rising of their own accord, they march over to a camp bed that's been set up. Another woman lays there, breaths shallow and humanising. There's an enormous gash in her side. 

“OK OK, I can help, just don't move too much, I'll try and stop the bleeding.” 

Then the next person. And then, the next person. 

Mind floating into a subconscious haze, your memories take over. That situation before at the hospital, the textbook you once studied, a hypothetical conversation with a doctor. You take it, all at once, power beyond what should be possible, but you do it. 

You do it for him. 

Minutes pass into hours unseen as you tear through every available useful item, every strip of gauze from your bag, until it happens. 

A pain so profound that grips your shoulder and your heart hard enough for you to look around for the shotgun. It emanates out of the bitemark, pulsing into your veins with alarming force. 

“He's hurt.”

Collapsing to the side, you hold a firm hand to your own heart, as if you could will it to slow. Legs give out from under you, your rear landing on the hard surface behind. For a minute you sit, unable to move, unable to think, wondering why everyone around seems so controlled. Don't they realise your entire universe is shattering into splinters before their very eyes? 

There's a hand shaking you by the arm, someone asking if you're OK. They lift you, place you in a seat, and keep asking, and asking. Your tongue feels heavy, unable to form words to explain the hurt you're feeling. This deep hurt is rooted into your bone marrow; heavy, hard and cold. 

There's a familiar face in front of you, a round childish face with curling boyish locks and a worried expression. Dustin. 

“Hey, you there? Can ya hear me?” 

Nodding wordlessly, you point to your chest, directly over your heart, eyes wincing in pain. 

“Did you get hurt?” 

You shake your head, and manage one word. 

“Eddie.” 

Before Dustin can respond, Nancy runs in, face covered in grime and dark blood, panting for breath. 

“They… did it… Hoppers here with Eleven. The gates are closed. But, Eddie-” 

Hearing his name you rush back into your body. 

“Where is he?” 

“Steve and Jonathan are taking him back to the cabin. He's unconscious. He’s… in a bad way, but he's alive.”

He's alive. 

“I need to get to him. Dustin, grab any bandages you can find. Nancy, you got a car?” 

She nods and leads you outside. The sky has quietened, no longer flashing in supernatural colours. Looking upward, you  can almost believe this is a normal night in Hawkins. Taking in the streets, the truth is far from it. 

Three monstrous things lay on the sidewalk, covered in some slimy substance and splattered in unnatural blood. Their skin has a blue grey sheen to it, and their limbs are twisted awkwardly. Their heads seem to have been split open, but then you realise it's just one gigantic mouth, unfurling like a gristly lily. The fleshy petals are lined with dozens of tiny sharp teeth. 

You press a toe to one of them nervously. Its head lulls to one side, utterly lifeless. 

“Hey I got the band- Holy shit!!” 

Dustin's voice cracks mid sentence, then he sighs in relief when he realises the monsters are dead. Nancy calls at you both to hurry and you bundle into the car as she races through the cracked, ruined streets of Hawkins. 

The gas station, the shops, town hall, it's all unimportant. What matters is getting to Eddie. You need to save him. 

Suddenly a heavy feeling in your chest lifts, but not in comfort. It's as if someone's tugged a weighted blanket off of you, exposing your vulnerability for the world to see. Eddie's presence, once a firm hold coddling your heart, is reduced to a whisper of a thought. Gossamer threads tie you instead of lead ropes that you hadn't even realised were there until they were nearly gone. 

“Nancy, we need to hurry, he's almost gone!” 

She doesn't question how you know, just presses her foot to the accelerator and bombs through Hawkins and onto the familiar country road. She gets as near as the woods will allow, until you're yanking the door open and continuing on shaky legs, feet pounding at the bracken and tears streaming from the corners of your eyes. 

A singular thought races through your mind with each footfall. Save him. Save him. Like a heartbeat. 

The cabin starts to appear out of the darkness, the lights inside a beacon of hope. As you reach the front door it flies open, Steve standing in the frame. 

His hair is sticking out in every direction; part of it is plastered to his forehead with blood. A bat with nails in it is hanging limply at his side and his clothes are torn. There's gashes in his front, as if gigantic claws had swiped at him. Previously you would have stopped, gaping at his wounds in horror and done anything you could to help, but after everything you've seen tonight they seem almost trivial. 

“Is he here?” 

Steve takes a deep breath in, swinging the bat at his side as if on instinct. 

“He's here, I guess. He was awesome, then- he wasn't him, in the end. He's not said a word after Vecna, then when Mrs- well, he passed out. Just, be careful.” 

You nod and shoulder your way through, past a long haired guy with the intense expression who you assume is Jonathan, and into the bedroom.

It's a familiar scene, so much so that it borders on comfort. He's strapped down to the bed, a belt wrapped around his feral maw. His breaths are shallow and wet sounding. A snarling whistle of a snore escapes on each exhale. 

His wounds are deep, much deeper than before. There's blood pooling at his side from a gaping wound, it looks like one of those bastard monsters took a bite out of him. That seems the worst damage, that and a bite on his shoulder that almost mirrors your own. You'd laugh at the irony if you weren't so upset. On top of that, there are so many scrapes and claw marks and bruises that it makes your heart ache. 

“One of you, come in here and help me.” 

Steve appears in the door frame, bat held high as if Eddie were about to pounce. 

“Steve, put the bat down. I need your help cleaning these wounds.” 

He lowers his arm and moves nearer to you, but doesn't let the bat go. 

“I don't think you get it. When Vecna- when he realised he couldn't hurt him, those demogorgons got him. He fought three of them at once and then he… well, he tore Vecna in half. Since then he's not… he was a beast. Tried to attack me and Hopper, until Mrs Byers whacked him over the head, knocked him out cold. I'm not sure he's Eddie, anymore.”

There's a tug at your heart, a spindly web like thread that pulls you to your love. 

“He's weak, but he's there. I know it. Help me clean these wounds and bind them before he bleeds out.” 

The two of you work in silence, Steve flinching when Eddie stirs, but he doesn't wake up. When the hole in his side is padded with gauze and tightly bound with bandages, you work on the rest. There's just so many injuries, it's a wonder he's still alive and hasn't bled out yet. 

When it's done, with Eddie patched and bandaged as well as you know how, you collapse onto the floor, hands on your knees. All you can do is wait for him to wake up. That's if he wakes up. If he wakes up as him, and not some mindless beast. 

“Listen, you've done what you can. You're awesome, really.” 

Steve's hand grasps yours on top of your knee. 

“If he's gonna come back for anyone, he'll come back for you.” 

The smile he flashes melts your heart as he gets up to leave. A second later, he returns with a musty blanket and a worn cushion. You take them gratefully and get comfortable on the floor, hoping against hope that your love wakes up. 

********************

A roaring growl shatters through your nerves and startles you awake, rocketing through your senses before you have a chance to think. Hot breath blows across your face, messing your hair and making you blink in its turbulence. 

Eddie's on all fours on top of you, crouched low and teeth bared, bindings in tatters all about you. The belt is gone from his jaw; you can only assume he managed to break it with sheer force. A dribble of slobber hangs from his maw; for some reason it's all you can focus on. It wobbles in your vision, as you scramble for some way to get through to him.

He barks roughly, snapping his teeth barely an inch from your face. 

“N-now, you listen to me, Eddie!” 

Your voice squeaks, belying the stern demeanour you're attempting to convey. He growls low, crouching even further over you, giving you an undeniable urge to flee. You can't, not with Eddie on top of you. Not just that, you know deep within your bones that if you attempt to escape, you're dead. 

It suddenly dawns on you that it doesn't matter. You could just throw yourself out there and be eaten. Sure, it'd be painful, but since he's hovering right over your jugular it'd probably be quick. Living without him seems far worse. Or, you might just succeed, and live. 

There's no time for hesitation and pleasantries. So, you grasp the fur around his maw and clutch it desperately, fingers winding into his pelt. His eyes widen, jaw closing slightly, and you take the opportunity to pull his head closer. Your forehead sits flush with his, searching his eyes for any sign of the Eddie you know. 

“Eddie Munson, you listen to me! You know who I am! Can't you smell it? My smell, your smell? You're mine, and I'm yours. You promised you'd come back to me! So do it, come the fuck back to me or I swear I'll kill you myself!” 

Releasing one hand, you pull your t-shirt over your shoulder and show him the mark he left you. 

“You see this? You know what this is? Remember, Eddie!” 

There's a flicker in his hard gaze, a flash of something that just might be your Eddie. Pressing his snout to the mark, he inhales deeply. Then, he's pressing his jaw to yours, nuzzling your neck with his nose. Moving your head to meet his affection, you rub your faces against each other. The tension in the room dissipates as you finally start to see the human behind the beast.

As he pulls his face away, you stare deep in his eyes. 

‘I love you Eddie Munson. I knew you'd come back. You had to, because you love me too. Right?” 

One slow blink. 

Then, he's falling to the floor on his side, seemingly exhausted with the strain. There's no way you'll be able to get him back into the bed, so you throw your blanket around you both and snuggle into his warm pelt before you fall asleep in his arms. 

When you finally wake up, he's still asleep breathing heavily through his nose. The breaths sound much better than before, a stark difference from the heavy, wet sound he was making previously. 

Every joint hurts from sleeping on the wooden floor. You stretch in place, click your elbows, and glance back down at Eddie. 

Even a few hours seems to have helped Eddie with his recovery. The small grazes you didn't bother to cover up are completely healed; just tiny fine lines of scars are all that's left, like the inking of a delicate pen. 

You try to stand up but Eddie's heavy paw is resting on your hip, keeping your back flush to his torso. 

“Eddie,” you whisper, half ashamed to disturb him, “I need to move, my back hurts.” 

One chestnut eye blinks roughly at you then opens, shrivelling from the light pouring through your ad hoc curtains. He's not said a word yet, a fact that is eating your insides up with worry, but you don't mention it. 

He pushes himself off of the floor, managing to stand shakily before flopping to the bed. Even this small movement has him exhausted beyond what should be possible. 

“Eddie, do you want me to get you something to eat? You know, to help the healing?” 

Those soulful deep eyes bore into you, stretching time for just a moment. Then he blinks deliberately at you, twice. 

“No? So, what can I do?” 

Wordlessly, he holds his arms out. You crawl into his embrace as he clutches you to his chest tightly, as if he's scared you'll run away. You couldn't though. Not now, not ever. 

********************

After a few hours, he's breathing deeply, and you risk moving to the living space. Once you enter you see Steve and Jonathan there. Nancy climbs out of an armchair and makes her way towards the group, diplomatically standing exactly between them. 

“We didn't want to disturb. How's he doing?” 

Nancy's soft voice breaks the quiet and you allow her a small smile. 

“Great. I mean, he's healing like crazy, seems to be something he can do, and he remembers me for sure. He's not spoken yet, but give him time.” 

She beams at you, then flashes a thousand watt smile at Steve. Shaking her head slightly, apparently at her own actions, she grabs Jonathan's hand and gives it a squeeze. You don't miss the slight frown that flickers on Steve's face, or the little wanton appraising look he gives Jonathan. It's funny, viewing something from an outsider's perspective. They're the perfect little threesone and they don't seem to even know it. 

There's a stirring noise from the bedroom and you run immediately toward it. Eddie's sitting up in bed; it looks like he's trying to inspect the hole in his side with clumsy fingers. 

“Hey, it's OK Eddie, don't touch it. I'm gonna look after you, alright?” 

A flicker of relief passes across his face and he settles down into the mattress, placated. 

You inspect the wound; his recovery is remarkable but there's still a way to go before it's healed. By rights he shouldn't be breathing at all. 

“It looks good, it'll take a while to heal completely but I think you're gonna be alright.” 

A large hand reaches tentatively to your face and cups it, shaking slightly with the effort. His face scrunches, an internal pain crossing it that seems too much to bear. Then, words emerge. 

“...love… you.” 

Instantly welling with tears, you cup his hand in your own. 

“I love you too Eddie. Now sleep, you need to rest. I'll bring you some water, and some food in a while to get your strength back up.” 

He blinks slowly at you, then settles his head back into the mattress, palm dropping from your cheek almost instantly as he falls asleep. You take the cushion from the floor and anchor his head up, slipping it underneath so he doesn't strain his neck. 

Staring at him for a moment looking so peaceful makes your eyes well. Wiping furiously at your face, you disperse the tears and turn towards the doorway. 

“You alright?” 

Steve's standing there, thankfully no longer holding a bat. You nod and walk out of the room with him, after a final glance at Eddie's sleeping form. 

********************

Now the danger has passed, the rest of them leave to go get some much needed sleep. The snippets you've been told about the battle for Hawkins sounded bloody and taxing, they all need to recuperate. 

When Eddie starts eating you breathe another sigh of relief. It's a good sign. He seems to be having trouble again with picking things up and using words but it's getting better by the hour. 

Collecting a bucket from outside, you fill it with warm water and grab some soap and a washcloth from the bathroom, then take it to the bedroom. Eddie's sitting up in bed, having just finished a whole chicken. He's licking juices from his furred fingers when you walk in. 

“Hey, that good? Want any more?” 

“Good… forrr now.” 

You smile at him and waddle over with the heavy bucket. Placing it on the ground with a heavy thud, you soak the cloth and add some soap to it. 

“What… doing?” 

“Oh, well you've got too many bandages on for me to clean you in the tub, so I thought I'd wash you in here, if that's alright.” 

Flashing his teeth in the epitome of a wolfish grin, he purrs out a response as he whips off the blanket covering him. 

“Hot nurrrse…. Giving me… sponge bath? Yess please!” 

You roll your eyes but you're smiling as you do it, and help him wriggle out of his sweatpants. He's naked, cock already kicking up with your proximity. 

“This isn't about that, Eddie!” 

“-Orry.” 

“And don't just drop your s'es to be cute, I know you can say them!” 

He gently grasps your hand in his and you melt just a little. 

You start cleaning him as best as you can, tenderly mopping in between the bandages, taking care to remove as much of the crusted blood and grime as possible. 

As you work, you feel his furred finger curl under your chin, guiding you to look at him. 

“Eddie?” 

“You… rrreally carrrre about… mme, don't you?” 

Trying to move out of his grip shyly, he holds your chin firmly waiting for your reply.

“I mean, yes, of course. I told you Eddie, I love you.” 

Damp fingers twine in his thick burly hand. His eyes are on you but seeing through you, deep in thought. You squeeze his fingers in encouragement. 

“What's on your mind, Eddie?” 

He huffs a laugh, shaking his head. 

“It's stu-pid… I just thought… when it all ended… when gate closed… I'd go back… be norrrmal.” 

Emotion floods those brandy hued eyes, you force a lump in your throat to go away. 

“Eddie, you've never been normal,” you say, smiling at him, whilst he growls a little chuckle in his throat, “but that's not a bad thing. You're different Eddie. You've always been different. You're odd, and funny, and intense. I love you, and not in spite of those things. Because of them. Because you're you.” 

Eddie roughly rubs a hand over his eyes to disguise the tears. 

“Love you… what the fuck… did I do… to deserrrve you.” 

“Don't know, but it must have been pretty awesome.” 

You smile as you finish cleaning him, drying him off as best as you can, and let him get more rest. It seems each time he naps his healing quickens exponentially, so you encouraged as many as you could. 

It was late evening by the time you saw him again. You had fallen asleep on the couch in front of the TV, curled up wearing Eddie's black t-shirt and nothing else, with a cushion between your knees for comfort. 

There was warm pressure just on the inside of your thigh, a heaviness that for some reason made you feel safe. 

Cracking one eye open, you see Eddie is sitting on the floor facing you, his furred cheek resting on your leg. His snout is just breaching the hem of the t-shirt, dangerously close to your heat. 

“Eddie, what are you doing?” 

He takes a deep breath in and your cheeks flood with embarrassment. 

“I miss-ed you… miss-ed this.” 

“We can't, like, do anything Eddie, not until you're healed.” 

Lifting his head up, he points wordlessly to his side. The bandage has been removed. Amazingly, it's knotted scar tissue; a few tufts of fur are growing on it already. In a few days you'd be surprised if you could even tell the near life threatening blow had even happened. 

“Wow, thats- fuck, that's incredible. You're amazing!” 

He makes a little satisfied noise at the praise and sits up, towering over you on the sofa. 

“So… arrre we good? Forrr… a little game?” 

Tilting your head, you mockingly appraise him, looking him up and down and checking each knot of scars. 

“Well… seems I can give you the all clear. What did you have in mind?” 

Opening his maw, he flicks his tongue over his teeth, and stares at you hungrily. 

“I've got… an i-dea.” 

He stands up and pulls you to your feet, reminding you again of the sheer size of him, and wordlessly leads you to the back door. 

When you're outside, the lack of noise really strikes you. There's not a sound in the woods. An eerie quiet washes over you, making each breath, each heartbeat all the louder. The air is crisp, but not freezing. It nips at your bare legs, trailing goosebumps up your thighs. You look up at the sky; a beautiful array of shining stars fill it, and the moon provides a little light so you can make out the dark shadow of trees about you. It's ethereal and beautiful. 

“It's really pretty Eddie, but what's this got to do with a game?” 

He stands just behind you, firmly grabbing you by your hips as he bends to speak in your ear. 

“We'rrre tied… in ourrr little chases… thought we could…” 

“Out here? In the dark? Eddie what if theres-” 

“Nothings herrre… animals fled frrrom the monsterrrs… can smell. It's just you… and mme.” 

The thought sends a little shiver down your spine, pins and needles rushing from the base of your neck. 

“You like the… i-dea. Can tell.” 

You curse your own body for betraying you, but he's absolutely right. You're already wet just thinking about it and it's starting to dampen your thighs. A heat floods through you, making you forget about the cold. 

“OK… say I'm interested, what are the rules?”

“Two minutes head starrrt… then, when I catch you…” He playfully licks the shell of your ear, “I can do… whateverrr I want.” 

“Within reason?” You say, voice already shaking. 

“Within… rrreason.” 

“Five minutes.” 

“Thrrrree.” 

“Done.” 

Immediately you tear away from his grasp and run, giving him no time to think about it. The forest floor is surprisingly soft under your bare feet, a carpet of pine needles allowing you to run comfortably, unhindered. 

Your ears are occupied by the sound of your own beating heart. It's pumping wildly in your chest, pure adrenaline coursing through your veins, making each decision. You zig zag, double back a little, and turn in a circle, to try and throw him off the scent. A part of you wishes there was a river nearby to help confuse the trail further. Then again, most of you is glad there isn't. It's not like you don't want to be caught. 

A fallen branch makes you trip and you sprawl unseen in the dark. The rush is still there, but you try to be more careful and take a little time looking for anything on the ground that could harm you. Squinting in the dark, you make out a huge stone in front of you which could have seriously injured you. Skirting around it, there's a copse of close together trees to one side. Then, there's an alrighty roar. 

He sounds so close, you must have made less progress than you thought. Dashing for the trees, you enter a little circle of pines and press your back against one panting for breath. You can hear him now. It sounds like he's galloping through the forest on all fours, crashing through branches and twigs like a hot knife through butter. 

You daren’t move, you daren’t breathe. This close there's no chance he won't hear you. Thighs clenching so hard you're in danger of losing blood flow, you feel your slick covering them, nearly slipping apart because of it. It's uncanny; you don't know why your body seems to have this visceral reaction to his presence, but really you don't need to know. All you know is that this feels so right, so natural for you, that it's accepted without hesitation. 

The absence of noise is what makes you jump. One minute there's crashing and breaking branches; the next, silence. You grip onto the rough bark, fingers white knuckling in fervent anticipation. 

You hear him then, soft footfalls crunching and sniffing noises. Keeping your back pressed firmly against the tree trunk, you try to breathe as quietly as you can. Each second that goes by feels like it stretches on for an eternity, as you hear him get closer and closer… and then walk past behind you. Breath leaving you in a gasp, you relax your muscles slightly. 

Until he's directly in front of you, completely naked, the sheer weight of him pressed up against you as he pins both your arms by your sides. His cock is throbbing against your stomach, huge and painfully hard. Bending his head to your level, his snout nudges your ear. 

“I win… you’rrre mmine.” 

He nips at your neck, his sharp teeth breaking the skin. Pain blossoms out from the mark, but it's followed by a wave of pleasure that sends another wash of wetness out of you. 

Eddie growls so deeply that you shiver, and suddenly your world is shooting upward as he grasps you firmly by the ass and lifts you up, your t-shirt riding up to your chest. The hard bark of the tree is pressing into your naked skin as he holds you there like a play thing, claws digging in your flesh. His tongue laps through your folds, tasting you with such ferocity that it makes you moan wantonly, your nails scraping into his scalp, hanging on for dear life. 

Cloying heat is surrounding you, suffocating you. You pull the shirt over your head and toss it in a vain attempt to get some relief but it's no use. Eddie's tongue is buried inside your tight cunt, a dizzying tornado that's making your head spin, but you need more. 

“Fuck- please Eddie, I-I need- oh God- I need you inside me.” 

He lifts your back off of the tree, then slams your spine against the rough wood, expelling all breath from your lungs. He's shaking his head back and forth, long snout rubbing over your clit. A hard no, but it's setting fireworks off inside you all the same. He lets up for a moment, just one, rumbling out words so close to your pussy you feel the warm air of his breath and the vibration of it on your clit. 

“You want me… so bad… then fuckin’ cum. Now.” 

His thumb breaching your weeping sex is a complete surprise. It's just so thick; moving inside you with such animalistic intensity that you're clenching and coming with an obscene scream directed at the heavens. You crumble to ash and dust within his very clutches, the smouldering fire flaming bright and burning all of you, inside and out. 

There's no time to recover, to breathe. He slides you down the tree trunk and onto his waiting member, forcing it inside with barely any warning. Tears spring from the corners of your eyes as he forcibly lifts you by your hips and slams you back down, over and over, his powerful thrusts pulling whimpers out of you. You're just so full, his swollen length pulsing inside, throbbing you to ecstasy. 

The strings tighten inside you, firming the pressure in your belly, which suddenly snaps, dissolving into an intense wave of pleasure that gushes from your hole and threatens to push him out due to its violence. He shudders with you, holding you close and grinding into you, helping you ride it out with almost gentle movements that bely the ferality he displayed only moments ago. Your foreheads touch softly, breaths in tandem. 

For a second you think he's finished. You couldn't be further from the truth. His voice is strained, as if he's trying to keep it under control. 

“You… do that… again.” 

Before you can blink his knuckles are dragging harshly over your clit, back and forth, sending a shiver through your spine on each rough pass. 

“Eddie- oh holy- oh fuuuck!” 

You're barely able to speak, to think. Sentences fail to form, in fact your bordering on drooling at the way he's fucking you dumb. In moments you're clenching around him, walls fluttering uncontrollably as you sob out another release, muscles contracting involuntarily and quivering all over your body. After a while, you realise you're weeping, tears streaming with no barriers to stop them. 

It still doesn't stop Eddie and his violent conquest over your form. He seems intent on owning you, ruining you, taking every last ounce of pleasure out of you to leave you a shattered blubbering mess. It's as if he needs to get his pain and anguish out; it's pouring from him and into each movement of his hips.

“Again.” 

Sobs are bubbling out of your mouth, wet and round, spit gathering at the corners. 

“Eddie, I- I can't-” 

“Again!” 

Then he's pinching your clit hard between thumb and forefinger, as his teeth nip at your breast. The overbearing pain and the zealous pleasure are too much. Shamefully, you release yet again, slick running down your legs and onto the forest floor in a sticky web. 

It's only then that he holds you close, hard arms snaking around your back as your legs shake wildly either side of his hips. His bearish hands grasp you tightly as he throbs his own messy climax deep inside you, roaring loudly, pulsing and pulsing until you've milked him dry. Even then he remains, hard and swollen, locked in and unable to separate. 

His touch is far more gentle now, lifting you by the hips as if you are to be cherished and placing your back softly to the pine needle covered ground. He hovers over you, almost in fear of breaking you, one rough hand stroking at the delicate skin of your cheek. Staring into his eyes, you see the shame harbouring within them.

Before he can speak, you're grasping his furred cheeks and holding his gaze. 

“Eddie, it's OK, honestly. I mean, it was a little rough… but fuck me… that was amazing. You're amazing.” 

He nuzzles into you, deeply breathing in your smell as he cuddles you in the softest embrace. 

“-Orry.” 

“You trying to be cute with me again, Eddie Munson?” 

Your stern words just earn you another squeeze, a slightly tighter hold from his firm arms. For a while you lay there, feeling the other's heartbeat and listening to nothing but the wind between the trees. 

It takes a bit, but the knot finally subsides and you are able to extricate yourselves from its hold. As soon as Eddie's comforting arms are no longer around you, you start to shiver massively. 

“Need.. get you home… climb on.” 

He's on all fours, crouching low in front of you like a tamed lion. 

“You've got to be fucking kidding me.” 

There's a soft rumble in his throat that almost sounds like laughter. 

“Get on… beforrrre you frrreeze.” 

You can't really argue with that. 

Hesitating with your knee up high, you're trying to work out where you need to be. You've never ridden a… a wolf? A lion? A monster? Briefly, you think you've never ridden an Eddie, but you blush profusely when you remember that's simply not true.

Finally deciding on swinging your leg over near his waist at the thinnest part of him, you settle into the soft fur. He swings a paw up and grasps your hand, leading it toward the longer hair down his spine. 

“Might want… to hold on… sweet-hearrrt.” 

You twine your fingers delicately into the thicker part of his pelt. That is, until he starts running on all fours through the trees. You grip tightly when you feel the sudden rush of speed, fingers losing blood as you hold on in fear of crashing to the floor. 

Once the initial shock is over, it's electrifying; a thrilling, hedonistic mix of riding a horse and a motorcycle at once. The wind whips through your hair and stings your uncovered skin, making you feel oh so alive. The constant push and pull of powerful muscles beneath you make you realise just how strong Eddie is. It suddenly dawns on you that no matter how rough he's been with you, he's holding back. If he showed you half his power you doubt you'd live to tell the tale. That stark realisation has you falling for him all over again. 

It's that power that seems to flow up from him and through you. You feel like some sort of heathen queen, riding through the forest on your monstrous steed, naked as the day you were born. Wild, savage, and formidable.

Too soon, your impromptu ride is over as he lopes toward the lights of the cabin, eventually coming to a stop. Sliding off of his mighty form, you land on both feet practically buzzing with excitement, caring not a jot for the fact that you were still naked. 

“Eddie, that was incredible! We need to do that again, like, every night. Fuck, I'm shaking!” 

You beam at him, glowing inside and out. 

“If anyone else… said that… I'd bite them. But… it's you. I'll be you’rrre… steed.” 

“You just want me to ride you again.” 

In the short time you've been together, you've gotten used to the subtle signs in his face, in the looks in his eyes, enough to be able to read him. You don't need any of those though, not when his usual whiskey eyes are blackened with desire. 

“You… not done?” 

Grinning profusely, you open the back door and beckon him with your finger. 

“Nope.” 

“You… animal.” 

You laugh; a messy, loud, belly laugh at the pure irony of the situation. 

Walking into the bedroom, you watch him follow you in. There's pine needles stuck in his fur, and mud crusted into his hands and feet. The very air surrounding him is of forests; of damp and bark and moonlight. 

All it's doing is stirring up your insides further. Right now, this heathen queen needs her monster king. 

“Lay down.” 

He huffs lowly, towering over your tiny form. 

“You… telling mme… what to do?” 

“Yes. I am. You got a problem?” 

You push lightly at his chest, making him collapse mockingly onto the bed, face twisted in taunting pain, as if you had caused him serious harm. 

“Don't… hurrrrt mme, prrrincess.” 

“I wasn't going to… hurt you, exactly.” 

You straddle his body, backwards, mouth hovering near his already firm length as your ass swings tantalisingly just out of reach of his drooling maw. 

“Now…. Sweet-hearrrrt, fuuuck… so unfairrr…” 

You can feel the breath expelling from his mouth, the way the sweep of his tongue creates air that is failing to make it between your folds. It makes your cunt throb from the lack of attention, still puffy and drooling from your encounter in the woods. 

You lick a firm stripe from his heavy balls to the tip of his engorged purple member, watching it shiver with the affection. There's a salty, brutish taste to him, mixed with the sweet, feminine tang of you, that makes you want to lick him over and over. Rolling the tip of his weighty length into your mouth, you roll it around with your tongue, licking any trace of you and him together away, to be stored in your memories forever. 

“Sweet-hearrrt… please!” 

He's panting, each short breath firing bursts of air at your cunt. You don't let up, not yet, suckling at his tip, pressing firm kisses to the slit on the tip. He's growling and whining, muscles twitching all over. 

There's no way you can take more than a third of his threatening member into your mouth, but you do what you can, stroking firmly with both hands what you cannot take. Spit dribbles out of your mouth and down to your fisted palms, wetting the rest of his length with soaked, messy need. 

He roars, lion-like behind you, fingers pressing further bruises into your soft flesh. You don't let up, you can't. You need to make him tremble beneath you; to feel those controlling muscles fold under the feel of your mouth. 

The thrust up into your wet lips has you gagging around his length, gargling and spluttering around his thick head. You can't chide him for it, not since the movement sets your insides ablaze with need. 

He curls as hard as his spine will allow; the tip of his tongue ghosting over your slick heat. Quivering, you let up on your assault with your mouth, and twist so you can face him. Whines and whimpers expel from his throat as his thick fingers wind around your waist. Before they can contort into growls and snarls, you sink down onto his slippery cock, all the way to the hilt, as if he were the perfect sword to your tight sheath. 

“Lay back and relax… There's a good boy.”  

Instead of taking control, he gives it to you. A whine, high pitched and needy, rolls out of his mouth. 

Bending down, with him still flush inside you, you press your pretty lips against his slathered maw. Open mouthed kisses are pressed onto his jaw, tongue sneaking in and feeling his pointed fangs delicately. He licks purposely into your mouth, dancing against your tensed muscle. 

Grinding hard into him, his solid weapon presses harshly against your g spot, stars forming in the corners of your eyes. He sits up so he can lace his thick arms around you, as if he needed to be even closer somehow. Responding in kind, you position your legs around him, holding tight as he thrusts up into you. 

Sweat is glistening, dripping down your spine at the proximity of his boiling hot body. Your fingers wind into the thicker fur on his spine as he rocks into you, feeling him in your very core. 

Suddenly he's grasping your hips, about to pull you off him. Whining, you shake your head, forcing yourself back down. 

“I'mm gonna-” 

“I know, please, I need to feel it, fill me up, please!” 

Those words are all it takes for Eddie, pushing him over that precipice, free falling into ecstasy. You join him, plummeting into your own release as the feel of his knot consumes you. 

For a while you hold each other, the only clue that time had failed to stop being your panting breaths. Your head is snuggled into the soft coat of his neck, his chin resting on the top of your head. As his hardness finally begins to subside you still remain, the sanctitude of the moment ongoing. It feels as if it will be an ongoing memory to play on a loop in the back of your mind, forever. 

********************

The following two weeks flew by in a hum buzz of activity. You're pulling shift after shift at the hospital and helping out at the emergency shelter when you can. The town is pulling together, trying to heal and coming to terms with what will forever be a little bit broken. 

Eddie's mood has been in a shifting, unstable state since the night he defeated Vecna. The nightmares were the worst part of it; on more than one occasion you've had to physically hit him to get him to wake up and stop thrashing in panic on the bed. You try to soothe with words, soft touches and kindness. It's helping, but you know he's got a long way to go. 

Being busy has helped. He and Hopper have come to form an odd friendship. To his credit, Hopper never treated Eddie any different despite his appearance. In fact, he said he's one of ‘Hawkins’ finest upstanding citizens’, since he can't go out and cause trouble. It's not like he can be the town's weed supplier, after all. 

Eddie needed something to do. Hopper understood that deeply, he explained, from his own past traumas and grief. So, he started towing cars to the cabin, getting Eddie to fix them up and send them back as an impromptu mechanic. Fixing things and earning a little money have certainly improved his mood. When he wasn't doing that he was working on the cabin which was starting to feel like home. 

You're on your way there right now. After the conversation you had with Hopper this morning, a huge smile is glued to your face. 

Approaching your home, you see Eddie outside working on a car. When he sees you he bounds over, grabbing the two enormous suitcases you've been struggling with and lifting them with ease. 

“What's all… this?” 

“Take them inside, I've got some news.” 

He does as you ask, depositing them on the floor before he holds you close, snout breathing in your scent at the crook of your neck. 

“Eddie, I spoke with Hopper. He's agreed to give us the cabin for nothing. I just gave away my apartment, so I can stay here with you.” 

Eddie barks with delight, picking you up and spinning you around. You giggle, holding onto his shoulders. He presses his maw to your tummy, breathing you in. 

When he puts you down on the floor, there's a queer look in his eye. 

“Eddie, something wrong?” 

Shaking his head, he falls to his knees so he can look you in the eyes as he holds both your hands in one enormous paw. 

“Not wrrrong… differrrrent. We'll need the cabin, forrr all of us.” 

You tilt your head, confused. 

“What do you mean? There's only me and you.” 

Staring at you as if to gauge your reaction, he presses one bearish hand to your stomach reverently. The hint isn't lost on you, eyes widening in disbelief. 

“Eddie, are you saying that you think I'm… pregnant?” 

One slow blink. 

Legs wobbling, you sit on the floor in front of him. 

“I'm on birth control, I mean, surely I can't be… are you sure?” 

Eddie taps his nose. 

“I'm sure. Is it… a prrroblemm?”

Searching your thoughts you realise it isn't. It really isn't. There's nothing you want more than to spend your life with him, to have a family, no matter what that looks like.

“No, not at all. It's a little… fast, but I want this.” 

Holding your cheek with his rough hand, he makes sure you keep your eyes trained on him. 

“Are you surrre? What… if it's…” 

He gestures to himself, in all his monstrous glory. Cupping his hand on your face, you shake your head.

“I don't care if we have a baby, or a-a cub, or a pup, as long as it's yours and mine.” 

He holds you then, softly and close as you twine your fingers into his thick pelt. 

A life lies before you, one that you couldn't have possibly predicted. A fairytale life; one where the monster gets the girl, and gets the happily ever after. 

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