#patiently waiting for it to just go away on its own

[mandalhoerian]

sacrosanct | leon kennedy x reader | 4

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pairing: leon kennedy x f!reader

summary: Leon, a paladin of the temple who became a disillusioned oathbreaker, returns from years of war with a noble title and shattered faith. Once devoted to the Saintess who healed him, Leon's admiration has twisted into repressed desire—feelings he could never express, tainted by guilt and shame. Now a celebrated hero, he’s drawn back not to the kingdom’s praises, but just for a glimpse of you to move on with his life.

The god he abandoned has other plans for him.

word count: 15K

warnings: reader dissociates and has derealization at the beginning. this starts out fluffy but quickly turns into angst, and then frustration because of stonewalling. pre-smut raunchiness towards the end. dom/sub undertones (you'll never guess where this is going)

author's note: i am a FILTHY liar. this isn't the end EITHER. the finale will be the next one (DONT WORRY I'VE WRITTEN IT.

🌀 READ ON AO3 !

The day of the wedding arrives cloaked in a fog that lingers over the estate, muting everything—the sounds, the colors, the emotions. You stand before the mirror, fingers trembling as they trace the lace edges of your veil. The soft fabric feels foreign against your skin, as if it belongs to someone else, as if this entire day belongs to someone else.

Voices murmur outside your door, distant and muffled, as though they’re speaking from another world. The maids have been bustling for hours, preparing you, fussing over every detail of your dress, your hair, your appearance. But none of it feels real. Not the silk of your gown, nor the weight of the veil draping over your shoulders. Even the reflection in the mirror feels detached—someone else entirely, a woman cloaked in white, staring back with wide, unblinking eyes.

Only the mask is missing, you realize.

You look too much like the saintess you were that it's put you in this dazed, almost absent state. Like a ghost trapped in the memories of a former life.

The Saintess looks out into your soul from the confines of the mirror and judges every inch of you for your lack of identity. Your flaws. The inadequacies of someone like you. You feel like you're going through the motions, not truly present, but watching yourself as if you were in a dream. And yet, this reality isn't a nightmare—it's just indifferent. Like an observer witnessing some otherworldly event transpire.

The day passes in fragments, snatches of moments that slip through your fingers before you can catch hold of them. The scent of fresh lilies, arranged meticulously throughout the chapel, fills the air—ironically, the flowers you’ve longed to grow yourself surround you now, yet you can’t even bring yourself to appreciate them. Everything's starting to blend together and melt in one giant blur of activity and movement. You answer questions politely and mechanically, forcing a smile when appropriate. But your mind refuses to engage, drifting farther and farther away from this scene until it becomes nothing more than background noise.

Then—finally—it's time. The ceremony begins.

Somewhere, in the distance, bells toll, signaling the hour, drawing you out of your trance as you snap back into place. You walk down the aisle, but the sensation of your feet hitting the cold stone floor barely registers. It’s as though your body is moving on its own, propelled forward by forces beyond your control. You see faces in the crowd—friends and nobles alike—but their names and faces escape you.

Leon stands at the altar, waiting patiently, clad in formal attire and a cape that matches yours. White like in his paladin days that you might think both of you have slipped back in time.

His expression betrays no sign of anxiety, only solemn resignation to the ceremonial requirements of such a display. In fact, he looks almost bored by the whole affair, as though he were reading an instruction manual on how to properly wear pants.

The priest speaks, but the words barely reach your ears. Vows, promises—it all overlaps together in a haze of formality, something you are meant to endure rather than savor. The cool metal of the ring slips onto your finger, settling heavily on your flesh, binding you to your fate as you stare blankly ahead. Leon says something—his voice low and solemn—but the words don’t quite register. You nod, because that’s what’s expected. You offer a faint smile, because that’s what you’re supposed to do. But beneath it all, there’s an emptiness, a hollow space inside of you where your heart should be rejoicing, where you should feel something other than numbness.

There’s a murmur of applause as the ceremony comes to a close, and suddenly, it’s over. The veil is lifted, and for the first time, your eyes meet Leon’s directly. He hesitates when he sees your face, his already low set of brows knitting further together in a confused frown, and you wonder what kind of face you were making for him to respond that way.

"Are you alright?" is what he asks, however.

You give a tired nod.

"Do you need to sit?"

You say something that resembles, "I would very yes."

With that, he takes your elbow and guides you out of the hall, not saying anything, a focus so condensed that it belongs in a sword fight instead of a wedding . Everyone watches as the newly married couple leave before the reception begins, and you're grateful for the relative silence, the hushed whispers only an addition to the buzzing in your head as you trudge down the long aisle. No one knows what to think about the sight of a dead-eyed girl whose dress drags behind her as she's led by the hand to the carriages.

At the last moment, you spot Claire, looking extremely pale and distraught at the back of the mass. She gives you a shaky wave and a tense smile, looking incredibly worried about you. When you manage to wave back in response, her face crumples briefly before she immediately pulls herself together again, fixing a stiff smile on her face.

Leon helps you climb into the carriage, following after and shutting the door behind him, securing the latch tight. Then you're both alone. With no one else to pay attention to. Just you and your husband.

"Hey," Leon starts softly, gazing at you intensely, attempting to catch your eyes. "Talk to me. Hey. Come on, look at me. Do I need to call for a healer?"

"I... I'm fine," you manage to rasp out as you clutch the seat's edge, your knuckles turning white under the force of your grip, struggling to ground yourself in this moment. "Don't know what's wrong with me today, sorry."

His brow furrows more, but he doesn't comment as he folds his arms across his broad chest, his mouth drawn into a firm line. You know he's assessing your condition, analyzing everything you've been doing over the past few hours to ensure you're physically sound, despite his own reservations about your mental state.

"Cold feet?"

"No," you reply without hesitation, looking at him directly for once.

"Okay," Leon murmurs under his breath, before asking, "What happened then?"

"I..." You try to speak but find yourself unable to answer. How could you begin to put into words the feelings raging inside you?

"I don't need big words, walk me through it however you want," he encourages in that familiar patient tone of his that never fails to coax information out of you.

You inhale deeply and take a moment to think. To sort through the confusion swirling within your mind, pushing back the jumbled mess and focusing on the core issue.

"Where do you think this started?"

"I..." You pause as you reflect on the question. Where did it start? When exactly did you lose your confidence and enthusiasm? Was it before you entered the chapel, as you got dressed for the occasion? Perhaps during the long procession from the Temple to here, surrounded by dozens of strangers wishing you well? "Just... white," is all you can say, finding it hard to elaborate. Your hand reaches up to grip your veil and unhook it from the place, laying it on top of your lap. "The white, it... This. All of it."

Your mind says, It brought me back to when all I wore was white, I got stuck in the clothes of a saintess with no temple to pray in or services to attend, but your mouth doesn't want to cooperate.

He looks like he understood all of that, however, his intense blue gaze scrutinizing your face with so many thoughts forming behind it.

Then out of nowhere, his whole standing changes. He unhooks his arms from where they crossed on his chest and leans forward, expectant and light, "Say, how would you feel about a round of painting? Let’s ditch this place. Hunnigan can handle the rest."

"I don’t think we should…”

“It’ll be fine, you need to unwind. We can’t go back with you like this.”

“But…”

“Don’t hold back, just say yes.”

“Yeah,” you give in, not seeing the point in keeping up with the facade of appropriateness when you have no energy for any of it. “Okay.”

Leon nods approvingly before lifting a hand and knocking thrice on the wood separating him and the driver, alerting the carriage to turn a corner and head down a different road. "Great. Let's go get some paint."

"No canvases?"

"We already have those," he says, smiling for the first time since leaving the chapel.

His hand waves between you and him, and it takes you a bit to notice he actually is referring to your wedding dress and his formal clothes, respectively.

"What! We can't ruin these!"

"We can, and we will. The white bothers you, I get it. What better way to express that than literally destroying it? I think it sounds cathartic." He holds your gaze for a while, as if to emphasize the message and give you a moment to protest, but he finds none in return, his expression morphing into one of excitement.

The ballroom is expansive, with large windows that let in the soft afternoon light. The floor is spotless, gleaming beneath the chandelier’s glow, but not for long. The servants have already arranged several jars of paint along one wall, brushes of all sizes and colors resting beside them. It’s like an artist’s dream, and it’s all at your disposal.

Leon takes a few steps forward, surveying the setup with a satisfied nod. "Perfect."

You hesitate at the edge of the room, glancing down at your dress. It still feels strange, thinking about what you’re about to do. The lace, the silk, the hours of careful preparation... it’s all meant to be pristine. But now, with the paint before you, it’s as though you’ve been given permission to break free from the expectations that have suffocated you all day.

Leon watches you with quiet patience, his face softening. "Whenever you’re ready.”

You take a deep breath, then step forward, your fingers brushing over the cool glass of one of the paint jars. You choose a bright red first, dipping the brush into it slowly. The rich, vibrant color drips from the bristles, and for a moment, you simply stare at it, mesmerized.

Then, with a sudden rush of determination, you lift the brush and swipe it across the bodice of your dress. The bold streak of red stands out sharply against the white fabric, and something inside you shifts. The tension, the numbness that’s been clinging to you all day, begins to melt away. As though this simple act—this tiny splash of color—has unlocked a part of yourself that you hadn't even realized was locked away.

"Ah, I see you've gone with red for a foundation," Leon comments, coming up behind you with a light tone as if this is merely a casual conversation instead of... whatever this is.

"Your turn," you say, offering him the brush.

He takes it without hesitation, dipping it into a jar of deep blue paint. With a scheming grin, he steps closer and makes a sweeping motion across the hem of your skirt. The color spreads in a swirling pattern, and you can’t help but laugh at the absurdity of it.

"How about we team up on this one?" He asks, pulling out a slightly smaller brush and dipping it into green paint. "I can paint something on you and you can paint something on me."

"That sounds perfect." The image of Leon covered in blots of colorful spots is vivid in your mind, making you smile despite yourself. His playful expression and cheerful demeanor are infectious, drawing you in and reminding you that you don’t have to do this alone.

He motions for you to turn around, which you do so with ease, moving back to hold the front of your dress upwards as you do so. This allows him to have easier access to the back and draw or paint whatever he wants there.

A wet feeling slides over your left shoulder blade, causing you to suck in a surprised gasp.

"It's fine, I promise, I know what I'm doing." Leon reassures before his brush moves to draw something that feels like... words? On your other shoulder blade. You try to not think about how he could be writing an insult right now to tease you for later. "Hold that position. I'm not done yet."

As he continues to dab paint on various parts of your back, the shape of his art becomes more pronounced. You are able to follow the strokes, which go from the base of your spine to your hips and shoulders. It's definitely something artistic, that much you can confirm.

"What are you drawing?"

"What's the fun in telling you?"

He pulls back then, finally allowing you to lower your dress and smooth it out, although some of the material still catches onto the dampness of the paint. When you glance in the mirror, there are two identical, but opposite symbols in dark green pigment. "Is that... a tree?"

"If you'd like it to be," he says nonchalantly, before stepping forth to be in the line of view for the mirror. "Come on, your turn now."

After a second of deliberation, you pick the smaller brush, grabbing a jar of yellow paint. Leon's shirt is just a few shades lighter than ivory, so the color won't show as starkly on him as it did with the pure white of your wedding dress. Still, he rolls the sleeves of his buttoned-up shirt as far back as they'll go, showing off toned forearms as you dip the brush into the jar and begin tracing little dots up and down his arm. It's not difficult work—only tedious—and after a few minutes, you're finished with both arms.

"Now you look like a walking ray of sunshine," you declare cheerfully, setting the brush aside.

He raises a skeptical eyebrow at your comment but doesn't argue as he inspects your work. A crooked smile appears on his lips as he laughs lightly, running a hand through his golden hair. "So I do. Will you keep going?"

You nod, reaching for another jar, this time a deep purple hue. You decide to paint a flower on his back, carefully choosing where to place the petals and stems in your mind--but since his outer layers are removable, so will your masterpiece be.

"Can you take these off?" you ask, tugging on the cloak first and then tapping on his suit. "For a flower to really blossom, I need a smoother canvas."

Leon's head snaps to look back at you over his shoulder, and one would think you'd asked him to drop his pants the way he was reacting. You just want access to his shirt, is all. Or was that an inappropriate request...? Maybe you should have worded it differently, you thought worriedly, chewing on the side of your lip nervously.

"I mean... If you're fine with seeing me naked, sure?" he replies after a brief pause of consideration, guarded but ultimately agreeable as he turns back to face forward again.

"W-what! I just want your coat and cape off! And the waistcoat! Just the shirt will do."

Now why are you acting so defensive? You curse silently inwardly, your face flaming from embarrassment. And in return, the tips of his ears turn bright red as well at the misunderstanding as he clears his throat uncomfortably.

"... Yes, of course. I'll take that off and also remove my cravat while we're at it." he mumbles, embarrassment in his movements as he hastily throws his jacket aside without care as if trying to dispel the awkwardness hanging in the air immediately, followed by taking his vest off. He starts unbuttoning the first couple buttons at the neck, revealing some of his skin underneath, before loosening the tie around his neck and letting it drop to the floor carelessly. "There, is that better for you?"

You get a glimpse of his cape lying crumpled just beside your discarded veil in a corner. It’s a pleasing sight.

"Thank you." Not wanting to dwell on any accidental suggestive wordings, you focus all your concentration on painting once more, using your thumb and forefinger to press against the ends of each petal one by one, applying pressure until they stain his body. It reminds you of a technique the children use for drawings back at home--dipping their hands into ink and then pressing them down upon paper for creating landscapes, trees, and oceans--except this case involves human bodies rather than paper, and paint instead of ink.

Every stroke adds dimension, building layers of depth atop your canvas—your friend and companion. As you continue working, your movements become smoother, more confident. Each gesture flows seamlessly from one shape to the next, gradually bringing the picture together. The petals themselves require precision; if done incorrectly, they'll resemble nothing more than uneven ovals. However, with steady strokes and careful application of pressure, they blossom beautifully, filling his entire upper half with color and texture.

When you finish adding details, you step back to examine your artwork closely. Satisfied, you wipe off most of the paint lingering on your fingertips on his upper arms and draw an unexpected laugh from him, startled by the sudden touch.

"I see you've used some technique there," he notes curiously, standing still as he examines your work over his shoulder before looking forward once more, facing himself in the mirror. There are patches of leftover pigment all over his form. "If we're fingerpainting now, here, just..."

He dunks his entire right palm in red paint, squinting his nose up a bit at the sticky feeling that must be surrounding his hand, before showing it to you and wiggling the fingers. The excess layer of paint starts trickling down his wrist, dripping onto the floor below like water off of a leaf.

He then makes a stamp right over your heart, causing it to jump unexpectedly in surprise upon contact with his cool hand. The resulting imprint causes you to instinctively suck in a breath, unprepared for how it made you feel emotionally at first. But then his hand rises higher to pat it over your temple and cheeks playfully, getting you messy and all splattered with red.

"There we go," he remarks cheerfully, pleased with himself and his actions as he retracts his hand, smiling genuinely and widely, which shows off his pearly whites and crow's feet crinkling around his eyes.

"Was that necessary...?" you huff out softly in mock annoyance, wiping a dot off of your face, even though internally you do admit to enjoying it quite thoroughly. There's something intimate about this whole endeavor that makes you wish for more moments like these.

You swipe at him again, a splash of blue this time, aiming for his collar.

“Missed,” Leon teases, dodging just in time, but there’s a mischievous glint in his eye.

Your laughter bubbles up uncontrollably, filling the large ballroom. His own chuckles are rich, echoing off the painted walls. For once, everything feels easy. Unscripted. Natural.

You dip your fingers into the paint, abandoning the brush altogether, and smear thick lines of yellow down his sides the moment you can catch him. “There,” you say with triumph, wiping your hands on his chest, your breath still catching from laughter. “Fixed it.”

Leon lets out a low hum, stepping back, his hands finding a jar of green paint. “Revenge is best served... messy.”

Without warning, his fingers, wet with paint, slide across your waist, leaving a trail of green over the delicate lace of your dress.

A shiver runs down your spine at the unexpected sensation of his hand dragging through the line of your waist, his fingers pressing just a little too long. You glance up at him, your smile faltering, but he’s already looking away, dipping his fingers back into the paint, determined to keep the game going. You're no longer meticulously trying to paint beautiful flowers or symbols; now, it's become almost a competition--or dare--to who can make whose partner look more ridiculous.

Though something has shifted in you after he has put his hands on your waist like that. And then there's this warmth that emanates from those same places--the spot on your nape where he brushed your hair to the side when cleaning away excess paint, the crook of your neck that tickled slightly when he traced circles there accidentally whilst applying an intricate design with his pinky, your bare forearm as he tested a shade of orange upon it, and countless other small instances that seem insignificant yet stick out prominently in your memory. The last place he touches leaves goosebumps in its wake, although whether it's from the cold, wet paint itself, or perhaps the feeling of being marked by someone else, you aren't entirely sure.

But the way Leon looks at you—his blue eyes full of wonder, shining brightly amidst a backdrop of colorful pigments—makes your heartbeat quicken beneath your ribs. The delicate material of his shirt has begun to stick to the lines of his muscles, and without meaning to, your gaze lingers on the way the fabric molds to his chest, the faint outline of his toned torso visible beneath the wet paint.

Embarrassed about the awareness of something you can't place, you decide to focus on his legs rather than what's seized your attention. There isn't a single crease in sight on his trousers, so you decide to run up a hand covered in black paint over his thighs in order to change that, creating two distinctive handprints on either leg, purposely making them bigger to cover the area completely. The white seeps through, making it look like a ghost had groped him multiple times before dissipating. It's not the funniest joke ever but you're pleased all the same nonetheless, giving yourself a pat on the back for it, and hoping he'd notice your wit and intelligence through your work.

In contrast, Leon seems to have frozen in place, staring wide-eyed at the blatant action you've taken towards him. Had you made him uncomfortable...? Well, this is certainly not a thing people did often, to men or women alike. Your stomach clenches anxiously, wondering if perhaps you crossed a boundary. He coughs awkwardly into his elbow and rubs at a spot on his chest, presumably in an attempt to appear busy. Or maybe because there's itchiness or residue still drying on his skin that he couldn't reach otherwise, your conscience reassures weakly as you get up from your knees.

"Oh, uh..." He finally speaks after a good ten seconds of silence passes between you two, only for it to falter quickly enough. "Well... I guess... I lost."

"Was it a competition?" you inquire, tilting your head cutely to one side with genuine curiosity coloring your features. His posture seems tense though, strangely rigid despite the lighthearted nature of his mannerisms. It does seem as though he is nervous for some reason or another. A shame since the atmosphere was quite pleasant before the awkward pause ensued.

He swallows thickly, appearing momentarily tongue-tied by whatever thoughts plaguing his mind, and shrugs dismissively. "It might have been. Perhaps unintentionally. Regardless of that fact, however," Leon continues smoothly, regaining composure in record time, flashing a friendly smile at your direction, "it appears as though my skills are inferior compared to yours."

Before you can answer to dispel this weird tension he's suddenly experiencing, the doors to the ballroom opens and Hunnigan comes crashing in, an uncharacteristic angry look marring her usually impassive and calm expression, looking like she ran halfway across town in that heavy formal wear.

"You... you disappeared from the wedding reception just to do this?!" She shouts outraged, stomping further into the room towards the two of you with no care of getting splashed by stray droplets of paint, gesturing wildly at the chaotic mess all around.

Messy from head to toe like you were two children rolling around in a sandbox of paint, Leon and you share a look, and break into uncontrollable laughter.

The candlelight flickers gently in the spacious chamber, casting long shadows across the floor and walls. The quiet hum of the manor settles around you, muffling the noises from outside as the world winds down for the night, but the air feels thick, almost stifling, as the weight of expectation presses down on your chest. To distract yourself from it, you glance around the room, taking in the ornate furnishings, the heavy velvet drapes, the dark wood that lines the walls. It’s all so different from the simple quarters you’d grown accustomed to before marriage, so different from the sanctuaries you once found comfort in.

It’s almost impossible to believe that just a few hours ago, you were laughing together with Leon, splattering paint across your clothes, and feeling a connection that had left you almost breathless with hope. But that moment feels distant now—like a hazy memory from a different day entirely.

You stand awkwardly at the foot of the bed, the hem of your nightgown brushing lightly against the floor, and Leon stands on the opposite side of the room, near the fireplace. His back is turned to you, broad shoulders tense and rigid, his hands resting on the mantle as though he’s bracing himself against some unseen weight. It’s a stark contrast to the lighthearted, almost playful Leon you had seen earlier—his smile wide, his eyes crinkled with joy as you both painted each other’s clothes. That moment felt so real, so warm.

But now? Now, the connection between you feels cold, stifling even.

You can’t help but feel the sharp sting of confusion prick at your chest, the whiplash of his sudden emotional distance leaving you unmoored. You had been so sure that the painting, the laughter, the closeness you shared had been a turning point—like the two of you were finally beginning to understand each other. But this silence, this stiffness in his posture—it’s as though he’s putting up a wall between you. One you don’t know how to break through, even though you're the one who needs directing tonight as the both of you consummate your marriage.

You've been... informed, advised, and instructed of what was expected of you to perform your duties here tonight, but that was weeks ago. In reality, you had no clue how to accomplish your task right. What kind of acts were supposed to transpire in a marriage bed? Should you start undressing yourself, wait patiently until Leon comes forth, or should you be initiating something? The advisor on this matter did tell you to lay flat on your stomach with legs open for the lord husband to enter easily, but then it sounds so impersonal—dehumanizing, actually.

But your mixed feelings about the subject doesn't really matter, you barely know anything about intimacy in the first place other than the fact it isn't supposed to be enjoyable for the woman. So you'll try your best to give whatever's expected of you to do. It wouldn't be bad if it's with Leon is your opinion on every step of the way, however. At least, it's better than with another man you weren't close to. You just wished you had spent more quality time with him prior to this evening so you'd be able to anticipate his cues and desires, knowing how to please him without issue or question.

“Leon?” You call his name softly, but he doesn’t respond. His body remains still, as if carved from stone, and it sends a chill down your spine.

You take a hesitant step forward, the soft fabric of your gown brushing against your legs. “Is there something wrong?” you ask, your voice barely above a whisper. You’re not sure what you’re hoping for—that he’ll turn around, give you one of those soft smiles, tell you that it’s just nerves. But he doesn’t move. Doesn’t even acknowledge you. The fireplace casts a halo around his silhouette, making him look larger than life, like some sort of avenging angel.

The silence stretches on, oppressive, and it only heightens the sense of wrongness settling in the pit of your stomach. Your mind races, trying to understand what could have changed between the painting and now. Why is he shutting you out like this? Why does he seem so far away?

“Did I do something?” The words slip out before you can stop them, your voice trembling with uncertainty.

He shifts slightly, his fingers tightening around the edge of the mantle, but still, he says nothing. The tension in the room seems to coil tighter, suffocating you, and you feel your heart beating faster in your chest, the sting of hurt starting to well up inside you. How could he be so open with you before, only to shut you out now? It doesn’t make sense. None of this makes sense.

Finally, after what feels like an eternity, he speaks—his voice low, strained. “You should rest.”

His words are clipped, emotionless. He doesn’t even turn to look at you.

It’s like a slap to the face, the bluntness of his words cutting through the air. Rest? After everything? After the day you’ve had, after the vulnerability you shared? It feels dismissive, cold, like he’s brushing you aside, and you can’t stop the wave of hurt that crashes over you.

“That’s it?” Your voice comes out sharper than you intended, but you can’t help it. The confusion, the hurt—it’s all bubbling to the surface now. “Why are you ignoring me?”

Leon finally turns to face you, but his expression is unreadable, his blue eyes guarded, his jaw tight. It’s like he put on a mask for tonight, closing himself off from you. And the sight of it stings more than you want to admit.

“I’m not ignoring you,” he says quietly, but the tension in his voice is palpable. He takes a step toward you, but it feels like he’s still miles away. “I just... I think it’s best if you get some sleep after the stress you went through today.”

It's not exactly a lie but it certainly didn't hit you as true.

You stare at him, incredulous, unable to fathom how he can be so calm, so distant after everything. It feels like he’s pulling away from you, and the realization hits you hard—he doesn’t want to be close to you tonight. He doesn’t want you.

"But... Aren't we supposed to... consummate?" You bite your lip hesitantly, glancing down at your clasped hands, waiting for an explanation.

For one agonizing second, he stares at you silently, his expression inscrutable. Then he looks away, a strain between his low brows before responding tersely: "No. We're not supposed to do anything at all. Ever. Don't worry."

"Ah," you manage to squeak out, feeling an ugly embarrassment creeping into your cheeks. You thought there would at least be physical affection involved or mutual consent in regards to... 'intimate' interactions with each other in the future, but perhaps you had misinterpreted things along the way. You assumed Leon liked you enough to desire a familial relationship in addition to sharing a roof under, but maybe this entire arrangement had been built purely around duty--no passion required nor desired.

You never thought you'd have expectations like this, it's quite... silly when you think about it logically. Though your gut had told otherwise. The two of you seemed compatible in ways beyond simply friendship alone, why would you, to put it simply, want like this, as if you were looking forward to spending a romantic night together...?

You wish you knew the answer yourself.

Then a question comes up suddenly, startling you greatly with its implications: Did you have expectations for having relations with him, rather than performing a simple act for him as commanded? Is that the real source behind this confusing dilemma? If you did hold such desires, then where did they come from? And why is it only surfacing now that you are married to Leon?

This is so embarrassing.

“It’s not...” He hesitates, as if struggling to find the right words. “It’s not you.”

"Of course," you murmur doubtfully, biting down harder on the soft flesh of your lip, nails digging into the smooth skin of your palms, trying to hide how much his rejection hurts.

The post-wedding haze settles into a mundane rhythm, the chaos of vows and awkward wedding night fading like a distant dream.

You and Leon hunker down in his estate, grappling with your new roles in the capital's bubble. While he plows through his duties with his usual stone-faced resolve, you're drowning in crash courses on how to be a proper Margravine. Etiquette, court politics, future responsibilities—it's a never-ending barrage of lessons.

It's an odd sensation, bypassing the grand social events yet gradually becoming enmeshed in noble society. Though absent from opulent balls and galas, you’re drawn into a more intimate circle. Claire and Jill, ever by your side since before the wedding, have taken it upon themselves to integrate you into their world. They introduce you to friends and confidants who share their more laid-back perspective on court life.

The lessons are relentless—endless hours of memorizing noble lineages, perfecting the art of curtsying without toppling over, and learning to navigate conversations laden with hidden meanings. You grit your teeth through it all, determined to prove yourself worthy of your new title. But when Claire or Jill appear with mischievous grins, you feel a weight lift from your shoulders. They whisk you away to secret nooks of the estate or into the bustling city streets, where you can shed the mask of propriety and simply be. In these moments, laughter comes easily, and friendship flows as freely as the wine they occasionally smuggle in.

Nights, however, are a different story. You collapse into bed, muscles aching from maintaining perfect posture all day, only to find yourself wide awake in the small hours. The emptiness beside you yawning as a pit, an unavoidable reminder of the distance between you and Leon. That connecting door looms large in your mind, a barrier you're too uncertain to cross. Leon hasn't made any overtures to change the sleeping arrangements, and you're left wondering if this is how married life is supposed to feel—so frustratingly separate.

Leon himself is an enigma, his politeness a mask that reveals nothing. You catch his gaze lingering on you in quiet moments, only for him to quickly avert his eyes when discovered. It's maddening, this dance of stolen glances and hasty retreats.

You wonder if you've committed some blunder, some social faux pas that's driven this wedge between you. But when you gather the courage to approach him about household matters or finances, he offers that familiar half-smile and engages as if nothing's amiss.

Yet the distance remains, a chasm neither of you seems willing to bridge. The frustration gnaws at you. Is this to be your fate? A marriage in name only, two strangers sharing a title but little else? The irony isn't lost on you – married to someone who once knew your very soul, now reduced to stilted conversations and polite nods.

As you navigate this new life, you become hyper-aware of Leon's presence. It's like a sixth sense, the way you can feel him enter a room before you see him. Not intrusive, but impossible to ignore – a constant reminder of what could be, but isn't.

His presence haunts your lessons like a persistent shadow. As you pore over texts or struggle through your tutor's droning on household management, you catch glimpses of Leon. Sometimes he's lingering by the library's arched doorway, other times half-hidden behind the courtyard's stone columns, looking up at the window you’re sitting by. He never speaks, never interrupts. Just watches, silent and stoic, much like he did as your paladin.

Initially, you dismiss it as mere coincidence. This is his estate, after all. But as the occurrences multiply, doubt creeps in. Is there more to his constant hovering?

One particularly tedious afternoon, after an etiquette lesson that felt never-ending, you escape to the garden. Your fingers absently smooth your dress as you breathe in the scent of roses and fresh earth. The stone bench by the fountain beckons, and you sink onto it gratefully, closing your eyes against the warm sun.

But your moment of peace is short-lived. That familiar prickle of awareness crawls up your spine. You're being watched.

Your eyes snap open, darting around the garden. At first, all seems normal - rustling leaves, dappled sunlight. Then, beyond the perfectly manicured topiary, a flash of movement. Black and indigo.

Leon.

He stands by the old stone wall, aides clustered around him, clearly in the midst of some discussion. Yet his eyes are fixed on you, his hands clasped tightly behind his back. He makes no move to approach, just... stares. As if waiting for something you can't name.

Your stomach knots, twisting tighter with each passing second. This distance he maintains, this silent observation—what does it mean? It's as if he's unsure of his place in your world, hesitant to step fully into it despite your shared history.

You pretend to focus on the fountain's gentle spray, but your attention remains locked on Leon. He lingers for a few more agonizing moments before finally retreating, his tall frame swallowed up by the hedges once more.

This happens more frequently now. During your walks with Claire and study dates with Jill, while you’re reading in the library, or even while you sit by the window at night, lost in thought. You catch glimpses of him, hovering at the periphery of your life like a ghost.

He doesn’t approach you directly, and yet, his presence never fully leaves. It’s as though he’s trying to be part of your world without intruding, without imposing his presence on you.

And it’s frustrating.

There are times when you want to call out to him, to ask him why he keeps his distance, why he seems so determined to stay on the outskirts of your life. But the words never form. You bite them back, unsure if you even have the right to ask.

One evening, after your newest friend Lady Rebecca has left for the night, you find yourself sitting alone in the small drawing room, absently flipping through the pages of a book you can’t seem to focus on. The fire crackles softly in the hearth, casting flickering shadows on the walls.

Your gaze drifts to the doorway, where Leon stands once again. His posture is relaxed, one hand resting on the doorframe, but there’s a tension in his eyes, a hesitation that betrays his calm exterior.

For a moment, you both lock eyes.

This time, you don’t look away.

He seems to falter, his expression softening ever so slightly, but he doesn’t move. The air between you feels heavy, thick with unspoken words and the weight of everything neither of you has been willing to address.

"Leon," you finally say, your voice breaking the silence, though you don’t rise from your seat.

His name lingers, but he doesn't respond, doesn't step forward, just nods slightly before turning away. Once again, he retreats into the shadows, leaving you alone with the lingering sense of something unresolved.

The frustration builds inside you, but so does something else. A realization, perhaps. That he’s not distant out of disinterest, but because of something deeper, something he’s unwilling or unable to share. You’re left to wonder what holds him back, what keeps him from closing the gap between you.

The journey to the Margravate is long and winding, the rolling countryside stretching endlessly before you as the carriage bumps along the uneven road. You doze lightly, lulled by the gentle rhythm of the wheels, your head occasionally resting on Leon's shoulder, his scent wafting towards your senses, comforting and familiar amidst the unfamiliar landscape. The quiet company of his body next to yours makes you feel safe enough to fall asleep in his arms; you trust him that much, regardless of this distance that separates your hearts.

He only seems to take his place beside you to let you lean on him when you sleep. When you're awake, however, he's at the opposite end of the cushioned bench seats of the luxurious vehicle, looking intently out the small window. Dressed casually in a simple waistcoat over a cream shirt, sleeves rolled up, with dark blue fitted slacks and leather shoes polished to perfection—he looks every bit like a duke or earl traveling down country roads. So striking, in fact, with his gorgeous features and handsome profile, that even you steal glances from time to time at him in wonderment that such a fine man exists among human kind, let alone be your lawfully wedded husband for life.

From his appearance, it might seem like you two were still in a honeymoon period. Certainly others would assume you to be freshly fallen in love given how fondly you stare at him during these times. Your adoring gaze isn't exactly hidden nor unnoticed. Anyone who looked at you and observed your body language could tell easily enough about your feelings toward him, especially since this behavior began shortly after the wedding months ago.

But Leon seems unaffected by your affections. His reactions are impassive to everything—not rude and callous as with outsiders, but merely well-mannered. The sort of gestures you would expect of any polite, good-natured gentleman towards a young woman.

He’s been like this for the entire journey, withdrawn, the faint connection you shared before your wedding slowly eroding with each passing mile. His quiet presence, once comforting, now feels distant, like the growing chasm between the two of you. Every time you glance his way, his gaze remains distant, as if his thoughts are miles away, tethered to something you can’t reach.

Eventually, the carriage slows to a stop, and when you peer out the window, your breath catches in your throat.

The Margravate is... unfinished.

What stands before you isn’t a grand estate or a lavish castle, but rather the skeletal framework of what will one day become a home. Scaffolding surrounds the main structure, and construction workers move about, hauling stones and materials to continue their work. The foundations are in place, and the walls rise high enough to give the shape of the building, but it is far from being complete.

Leon climbs out of the carriage first, holding out a hand to help you down. His expression is unreadable as he watches your reaction, his lips set in a thin line as if bracing for something.

You take his hand, your fingers trembling slightly as you step onto the uneven ground. The air is fresh and cool, the wind carrying the scent of damp earth and sawdust. The land around you is expansive, a blank canvas of green fields stretching out toward the distant horizon. It's a beautiful expanse, but it feels empty—much like the vast space between you and Leon.

"This is... our new home," Leon says quietly, gesturing toward the half-built castle. His voice is steady, but there’s something beneath it—a thread of uncertainty that you can’t quite place, almost apologetic.

You nod, taking in the sight before you. It’s daunting, seeing the bare bones of what will eventually become your residence, but there’s a strange sense of possibility here as well. A blank slate, a fresh start.

It should feel exciting. And yet...

"It has a good foundation," you offer meekly in encouragement, wishing for the warmth in his smile to return. His countenance had faded as time passed, leaving you wanting, desperate for contact that went beyond a chaste touch on the hand meant for guiding or shoulder. "That's the most important part."

Leon looks at you, but his gaze is sharp, scrutinizing, as if he’s searching for something in your expression. "There’s still a lot of work to be done."

His tone is practical, detached, and it sends a pang through your chest. This is supposed to be your shared future—this place, this castle, this land. And yet, it feels like you’re standing at opposite ends of it, separated by more than just the distance between the carriage and the castle.

You wrap your arms around yourself, feeling the cool breeze bite at your skin. "Do you have any ideas for how you want to design the interior? The decorations and furniture?" you ask, trying to steer the conversation toward something lighter, something that might pull him back to you. "I remember you once mentioned you had preferences for architecture..."

"You can handle that," he cuts in, his voice tight. "I trust your judgment."

You blink, caught off guard by his sudden dismissal. "But... don’t you want to be part of the process? It’s your home too."

Leon sighs, rubbing his forehead, and for a moment, his carefully composed façade cracks, revealing a hint of exasperation. "I need to oversee the construction," he explains wearily. "And then there will be countless other duties that require my attention. Do whatever you think is best and would make you comfortable, okay? I won’t mind whatever choices you make."

The words land like a stone in your stomach, heavy and cold. It’s not just that he’s leaving the decisions to you—it’s the way he says it, like he’s already checked out of this part of your life together. Like he’s holding himself at arm’s length, unwilling to invest in the place that’s supposed to be your future.

You try to hide your disappointment, but it’s hard. You wanted this to be something you built together, not something you were left to manage on your own.

"I just thought..." you trail off, unsure of how to express the frustration bubbling inside you. "I thought it would be nice to do it together."

Leon looks away sharply, his jaw clenched, and you know right then that it was the wrong thing to say. There's something simmering below the surface, something buried deep in him that you can't reach. "Perhaps another time."

Then, he turns away, walking toward the construction workers who are busy unloading more materials. You watch him go, a sinking feeling in your chest, the gap between you growing wider with every step he takes.

You stand there for a moment, the wind whipping around you, your fingers curling into fists at your sides. The vastness of the Margravate stretches out before you, empty and raw, and you can’t help but feel like it mirrors the state of your marriage—full of potential, but painfully unfinished.

As Leon talks with the workers, you slowly turn back to the castle, letting your eyes trace the lines of the building, imagining what it could be when it’s complete. You picture grand halls, filled with light, rooms adorned with rich fabrics and art, a garden blooming with flowers—lilies, of course.

But all of it feels distant, as if it’s happening to someone else.

The days that follow your arrival at the Margravate are filled with work—endless decisions about the design of the estate, choosing colors, fabrics, and furnishings, overseeing the construction of the final touches on the walls, and speaking with the laborers who are bringing the castle to life. And yet, despite all the bustle around you, there’s an emptiness that lingers in the air—a tension that sits heavy between you and Leon.

You spend most of your time focused on the interior, meeting with craftsmen, selecting tapestries, and wandering through the unfinished halls, imagining what the rooms will look like once they’re complete. Your excitement for the project grows, but it’s tempered by the growing silence from Leon.

He leaves most of the decisions to you, keeping himself busy with matters outside—overseeing the construction of stables, inspecting the grounds, and working with the estate’s caretakers. His days are long, filled with activity, but the moments you share together are fleeting. A few words exchanged over meals, brief, stiff conversations at the end of the day, his gaze always distant, his mind elsewhere.

One evening, you find yourself in the library, sitting by the window with a thick book of fabric swatches spread across your lap. You run your fingers over the different textures, frowning slightly as you compare a deep crimson velvet with a lighter, airy blue. Which color scheme suits the room better? Will the blues complement the light from the large windows? Or should you go with the darker hues to add warmth and depth? The browner tones of the library make for lovely contrast, but sometimes you imagine white curtains that would frame the glass beautifully against the early morning sunrays.

You sigh, setting both options aside and reach for a third option. Perhaps a solid pattern instead of florals or stripes...

Your hand brushes against something firm, warm, startling you enough to drop the booklet on the floor. Before you can pick it up, strong, deft fingers pluck it off the rug and hand it back to you. "I'm sorry for startling you," Leon offers immediately upon delivering the materials. Then, he clears his throat awkwardly. "You seemed so immersed."

"Not a problem," you reassure him quickly, clutching the swatches tightly against your chest.

“Do you have a moment?”

"Of course," you reply, lovering the book down, heart giving a little leap at the sight of him, but there’s also a nervous flutter in your stomach, a gnawing uncertainty that’s become all too familiar.

He moves around you slowly, his expression unreadable, and for a moment, you think he might pull a chair and sit beside you. But instead, he stops by the window, his hand resting on the ledge as he gazes out into the fading twilight.

"You've been working hard," he says after a long pause, carefully neutral.

You glance down at the swatches in your lap, unsure how to respond. "There’s still so much to do," you say softly, your fingers tracing the edge of the fabric. "But I’m trying to make it... feel like home."

Leon’s gaze shifts toward you, something unreadable flickering in his blue eyes. "It’s your home. You should have it how you like."

There it is again—that distance, that indifference that feels like a wall between you. You want to ask him why he’s keeping himself entirely separate from the narrative, why he’s letting you make all the decisions without any input. But the words stick in your throat, too heavy to speak aloud.

You stand, brushing the fabric off your lap and stepping toward him, feeling the tension in the air thicken with each step. "It’s our home," you correct softly, coming to a stop beside him. "I want it to belong to both of us."

For a moment, he doesn’t respond. His gaze is fixed on the window, watching as the last rays of sunlight fade from the sky, casting the world in shades of gray. Then, with a quiet sigh, he turns toward you, his eyes meeting yours.

"It already belongs to you," he says quietly. "Everything here is yours to shape. I trust you to make it what it should be."

Your heart sinks at his words. He’s giving you control—giving you everything—and yet, it feels like he’s pulling further away, withdrawing into himself. You can’t understand it. You can’t understand why, after everything, he’s still holding himself back.

"But what about you?" you ask, your voice barely a whisper. "What do you want, Leon?"

He hesitates, his jaw tightening as he looks away. "It doesn’t matter what I want."

The answer hits you like a blow to the chest. It doesn’t matter what he wants? How could he say that? How could he think that his desires, his needs, don’t matter?

"You don’t mean that. Leon, we’re building this life together. How can it not matter what you want?"

He’s silent for a moment, his expression unreadable, and then he takes a slow step back, putting more space between you. "This is your chance to be free," he says quietly, his voice tight with something you can’t quite place. "I won’t... impose myself on that."

The words leave you stunned, your mind reeling as you try to process what he’s saying. He doesn’t want to impose himself? On you? On your life together? But that’s not what you want—you don’t want this distance, this coldness. You want him. You want him to be part of this, to share in this life with you.

You step closer to him, your hand reaching out instinctively to touch his arm. "Leon, you’re not imposing—"

But he pulls away before you can reach him, his expression hardening. "It’s late. We should both rest."

And with that, he turns and leaves the library, his footsteps echoing down the hall until they disappear into the silence of the castle.

Yet, despite the distance, there are small, fleeting moments when the delicate balance between you shifts—when his presence feels less like a wall and more like a quiet support.

One evening, after spending hours debating between colors for the tapestries in the dining hall, you find yourself overwhelmed by the pressure of the task. You’re at your desk, head in your hands, rubbing your temples as the endless decisions pile up. The fire crackles softly in the hearth, but the warmth does little to soothe your frustration.

Without a word, Leon steps into the room. You hadn’t noticed his arrival—he moves like a ghost, silent and unobtrusive. He stands at the doorway for a moment, watching you, his brow furrowed slightly, as if he’s weighing whether or not to intrude.

Then, quietly, he crosses the room and places a steaming cup of tea beside you. The fragrant scent of herbs fills the air, calming your frayed nerves. His movements are deliberate but gentle, and though he says nothing, the gesture speaks louder than words.

"You looked tired," he murmurs, his voice low and even. There’s a softness to his tone that you haven’t heard in days, a quiet concern that lingers between you.

You lift your head to meet his eyes, and for a brief moment, you see something there—a flicker of emotion, of care—but it’s gone as quickly as it came. He doesn’t stay to chat or press further; instead, he turns and walks away, leaving you alone with the warmth of the tea and the silence of the room.

It’s a small thing, but it touches you deeply. You sip the tea, the warmth spreading through your chest, and though the distance between you and Leon still looms large, the memory of his quiet kindness lingers in your mind long after he’s gone.

A few nights later, you’re still awake long after the castle has gone quiet. The plans for the Margravate are scattered across your desk, a mess of papers and sketches that no longer make sense to your tired eyes. You’ve been working late into the night, your fingers stained with ink and your mind buzzing with the endless possibilities for the estate’s future.

The rain taps lightly against the windows, a soft, steady rhythm that lulls the rest of the castle to sleep—but not you. You’re too caught up in the details, too determined to make everything perfect. After all, Leon had given you free rein over the design choices. "Whatever you like," he had said, his indifference leaving you both empowered and... disappointed.

As the hours drag on, the chill of the night seeps into the room, wrapping itself around you. You barely notice it until your hands start to tremble from the cold.

Then, without warning, a soft warmth settles over your shoulders.

You freeze, your heart skipping a beat as you realize that someone has draped a blanket over you. You glance up, but the room is empty. Leon is gone, having slipped away as silently as he came, leaving only the blanket as a testament to his presence.

The gesture is simple, almost fleeting, but it strikes something deep within you. He hadn’t said a word. He hadn’t needed to. His actions spoke of care, of a desire to see you comfortable, even if he couldn’t bridge the emotional gap that had grown between you.

You clutch the blanket tighter around yourself, staring at the open door where he must have exited. It’s frustrating, how close he seems in these moments and yet how far away he remains. He’s there, always on the periphery, watching over you but never stepping fully into the light.

Another morning, you find yourself standing in the grand hall, examining the tapestries that have just been hung along the walls. The rich colors of red and gold shimmer in the early morning light, catching on the intricate designs woven into the fabric. It should be a moment of triumph—a symbol of your hard work, of the progress being made—but instead, it feels hollow.

As you reach out to trace the edge of one of the tapestries, you hear footsteps approaching behind you. You don’t have to turn to know it’s Leon; you’ve grown used to the sound of his quiet, measured steps.

He comes to stand beside you, his gaze focused on the tapestries. "They’re beautiful," he says softly, his voice devoid of the usual formality. There’s a warmth in his tone, but it’s distant, like he’s speaking from behind a glass wall.

You nod, not trusting yourself to speak. The tension between you is palpable, an invisible force that keeps you from closing the distance, no matter how much you both might want to.

He glances down at you then, and for the briefest moment, you think you see something in his eyes—something raw and unguarded. But before you can decipher it, he looks away, the shutters closing once more.

The storm outside reflects everything brewing between you.

Heavy rain pounds against the unfinished walls, wind howling through the half-finished windows, rattling the doors in their frames. The sky is a swirl of angry black clouds, flashes of lightning illuminating the barren landscape beyond the castle’s skeletal structure.

You’re soaked to the bone, your clothes sticking to your skin after having made sure to personally direct the laborers in positioning some materials with waterproofing oil slathered thickly on surfaces, securing them safely. Leon had insisted earlier you allow his men to do so instead, but you'd brushed it off, feeling a sense of ownership towards this project due to being the one most invested in making this place feel like a home and not simply a new job posting. It was worth it--the newly installed interior pieces weren't damaged thanks to your efforts, nor were they lost because of sudden gusts of winds carrying them astray, which pleased you greatly.

At one point after realizing telling you to go inside wouldn't work, Leon drapes his coat over your shoulders, protecting you from the rain while also hiding the state your clothing is in from prying servants. And as soon as it's deemed safe and the rains finally died down enough to warrant stopping work on the exterior portions of the castle, he sweeps you off your feet to carry you inside bridal style.

"Let me walk, please!" you demand, heat rising to your face as you hold back a shriek of surprise.

But despite your request, your arms lock around his neck to stabilize yourself, the broad expanse of his chest radiating warmth beneath your hands despite his similarly waterlogged garments.

Even through layers of drenched cloth separating skin-on-skin contact, your senses are invaded by the feeling of Leon--his scent mingling with fresh rain, the rise and fall of his breathing as he effortlessly carries you indoors, even the sensation of his pulse beating beneath the elegant curve of his collarbone. You're suddenly overwhelmingly aware of every detail about him, causing butterflies to stir in your belly when he leans ever so slightly closer, making you wonder if maybe he isn't totally unaffected by your proximity either.

Despite the weight of your combined bodies, Leon doesn't appear fatigued at all, briskly crossing through hallways and stairwells to make it to the main wing of the estate where the family living quarters are located. Some of the maids catch glimpses of the unnecessary spectacle you're trying to de-escalate, and knowing that rumors spread easily amongst servants, you fear you might be the center of gossip for tomorrow morning... but something tells you that's likely not Leon's goal here. It wouldn't reflect well on him if his bride returned to the bedroom dripping wet like this without him as protection from scandal. At least he can say he provided adequate cover in public where people might've seen you soaked through.

Reaching your bedchamber door, Leon nudges it open with his foot to avoid risking dropping you in his attempt to turn the knob, entering swiftly and kicking it closed once both of you are securely inside the private space. With one strong arm propping you up, he uses the other to flip your fur-lined cloak off you with a flick of the wrist, allowing its full length to fall to the floor in a heap. The cape has served its purpose since he shielded you with it during the storm outside, now acting as a barrier between you and the carpet should any excess water drip from your persons.

In the next moment, Leon places you back on solid ground, supporting your waist as you adjust to standing upright again. Your limbs feel weak and shaky, leaving you clinging tightly to him as if he's a lifeline in more ways than one. Your mind is spinning from the intensity of being this close to each other, so near that you can see the droplets of rain clinging to his eyelashes like dew, the way they roll down the slope of his cheekbones and jawline only to drip off his chin. His normally blond hair is dampened, darker from being completely soaked, a few tendrils falling to hang over his forehead in an appealingly roguish manner, giving him a younger, more boyish appearance that somehow makes him all the more handsome and masculine.

"I'll get a bath drawn for you," he says breathlessly after a lingering pause, displeased lines apparent on his forehead. "You need to warm up."

Before you have time to protest, he reaches up to push several strands of loose hair away from your face, tucking them gently behind your ear. For a second, his fingers linger along the curve of your temple, caressing your cheek like you're something precious. It's the most he's touched you willingly in weeks, and you find yourself leaning into his touch, longing for the intimacy that seems just out of reach.

Then, abruptly, the moment shatters as he lets go of you altogether, striding away stiffly toward the fireplace to start preparing kindling. With one movement, the connection between you breaks, and suddenly, the distance feels wider than ever.

It leaves you stunned for a moment, stuck in place where he set you down, watching him move away. You could reach out to stop him, but the tension in his posture tells you not to. And suddenly, you notice you're in the same position you were on your wedding night, with his back turned to you over at the fireplace, busying himself to keep some degree of separation between you both.

"How long will this go on for?" you suddenly cry out impulsively, fed up with being treated like a doll kept at arm's length.

Leon pauses, one hand frozen in place over a stack of logs, "I'll go get the maids in a minute—"

"You know that's not what I'm talking about, Leon," you retort, surprising even yourself at your boldness. Your hands move on their own, raising a bit to gesture wildly around the room even though he has his back to you and won't see it. "What is this? Is it me, did I do something wrong? Tell me how I can fix this."

At your plea, he stops short. There's a flinch in his shoulder, barely perceptible but noticeable enough that it sends a stab through your heart. You hate this stalemate. Hate how disconnected you feel from him right now, and you want nothing more than to break through the barriers between you. Even if there's pain underneath it all. Anything would be better than being trapped in this purgatory, neither of you able to let the past go while unable to move forward.

His posture changes, his head tilting ever so slightly like he wants to look back at you, but he doesn't follow through, remaining faced towards the hearth.

"Listen, I..." His words come out uneven, faltering as he struggles for purchase over them. Then he takes another deep breath, exhaling slowly. "We both knew our marriage would not be normal when I proposed to you."

Oh. So this is what we're doing. Going around the elephant in the room. Deflection. "That doesn't mean you get to keep punishing me."

"I'm not punishing you," he protests weakly, almost childlike. Almost sounding like how he was in the garden on his first visit to the Ethelian temple all those years ago, stammering apologies while shaking under the light of the sacred moon.

"Doesn't seem like it. It's obvious that whatever I've done is going to stand in the way of us getting closer unless I figure it out and apologize..."

"Wait, no—" Now Leon actually whirls around.

Your anger gives you a boost, taking advantage of his momentary confusion. "Do you regret proposing to me?"

The question catches him off guard, and for a second, his expression is so open and vulnerable that it steals the breath from your lungs. It's such an intimate moment; like peeling back the layers of his mask and seeing the person underneath.

Instead of answering you directly, though, what he says is, "Can you put something on? Please."

And just like that, the walls are back up. He shifts back into that composed demeanor, looking at you in a way that betrays nothing except mild distaste at your current state, breaking you free from the illusion of closeness and honesty.

"What does that have to do with anything right now? Do you even listen to anything I say?" you fume, resisting the urge to stomp your foot like a child. "I'm building this home for us, our future," you croak weakly, arms coming together to cross in front of you defensively despite there not being enough strength to raise them high enough and form a proper barrier. The desire to hide is instinctual, though. Something you picked up as the church raised you from birth. Cover yourself. Be modest and demure, a conduit for Ethelion's grace. A perfect example of sanctification for the masses. "What I want is for you to be a part of this with me. But it feels like you’re running away from it."

His tone goes flat and clinical. "While it may have escaped your notice, you're practically naked," Leon states matter-of-factly.

"It doesn't matter, you're my husband," you huff, trying to ignore how silly the situation is. Both of you drenched and arguing over nakedness.

"I can't see you like this, you're the Saintess!"

Leon winces immediately upon blurting those words out, like he knows it was a mistake to reveal so much in the moment, turning his face away and squeezing his eyes shut. A hand raises to press against his mouth, stopping whatever else might accidentally slip out and betray the feelings he hides, desperately struggling to remain composed.

So that's it. He won't acknowledge you because to him, you were the Saintess of Ethelion--someone unreachable and divine, separate from yourself as just a woman.

"You don't see me as a person, do you?"

"No, I—"

"Am I really still wearing the mask on my face?" You scoff at how ridiculous the situation is. The very same man who pleaded for you to consider him as a potential spouse now acts like you are still beyond reach, elevated high above mere mortals. "Of course. Of course I am. You married me because of this. You didn't want a connection with me, you wanted a connection with Ethelion. I'm your prayer beads, is that it? A walking shrine dedicated to Him?"

"Stop," Leon grits out, holding his hands out in front of his face to ward off the verbal assault. His head turns side to side, denying your accusation despite his lack of direct response, paling as if struck. "Just... give me a moment."

There's no escape route for either of you anymore--no retreat option besides standing still. And that isn't working either. You refuse to back down until some sort of change happens. "I've given you weeks. Look at me!"

The crackling of the wood as it burns seems too loud compared to the silence hanging thick between the two of you. Seconds pass with nothing changing until finally, with agonizing slowness, Leon lifts his head to stare straight at you with stormy blues filled with conflict. There's so much pain buried within, held deep below the surface for too long. And suddenly you realize you never actually saw him without his armor or regalia, nor him without the veil and robes obscuring your features. Like children dressing up in fancy costumes and playing pretend, except not. This whole relationship was built on two people pretending to be something they're not.

Neither saintess or holy knight but merely mortal humans, terrified and lonely.

"I'm lonely, Leon," you confess softly, dropping your gaze to the floor. All the energy seems drained out of you, leaving only exhaustion and weariness in its wake. "It's a lonely place being isolated on a pedestal. I only ever wanted to be loved, like everyone else."

The admission hangs heavily in the air for several seconds, each tick of the clock painfully slow and cumbersome. You wonder what he's thinking; whether he understands, whether he sympathizes, whether it makes any difference to him at all. If anyone could understand what you mean, it would be someone who has known suffering firsthand like the scars hidden by bandages underneath his clothing or the emptiness he hides under the guise of stoicism and duty.

A tear rolls down your cheek, splashing onto your white dress shirt, darkening the spot where it lands. Another follows behind the first, tracing down your other cheek and dripping from your chin onto the cloak you're standing on.

"I'd like that bath now, please. The cold is starting to get uncomfortable," you mumble, resigned. The fight left you the instant the dam broke on the secret thoughts you've been harboring throughout this time together. And honestly, there's nothing more to do but move past this obstacle blocking the path forward. Whatever the outcome will be after today remains unclear, and dwelling on it longer probably won't make any difference. "Alone, preferably."

Without waiting for his reply or looking up at his face, you turn around sharply on your heel and approach your dressing room closet area attached to the en suite bathroom. Stepping through the doorway into the private space allows some relief--not that you're any less aware of Leon's presence nearby, but now he can't see your expressions clearly when you pull clothes off hangers with shaking hands and begin stripping yourself.

One by one, your soaked garments hit the floor with a thwack, forming a pile at your feet that grows larger by the second. Once fully nude, you reach over to grab a towel off the shelf in haste, intending to wrap it around yourself quickly, thinking of making a dash to the bathing area without revealing yourself to him. Yet, as soon as you spin back around, planning to hustle across the room to the washroom, you jump nearly out of your skin in surprise to find Leon standing right there directly opposite you--so close, yet just far enough apart to maintain proper personal space etiquette. You hadn't felt him sneaking up behind you at all.

His presence seems to suck the oxygen from the small enclosed chamber, leaving a vacuum effect that leaves your vision blurred for a few seconds while adjusting to being confronted with him upfront without warning. Still, the rush of surprise pumping through you doesn't let up enough to allow full perception to return as smoothly as normal, leaving everything seeming oddly foggy like a dream sequence in play.

He looms before you taller and broader than usual thanks to the heightened awareness of your own nakedness contrasting against how wetly clothed he stays, forcing you to tilt your head up somewhat awkwardly to meet his eyes that stands out in stark relief against pale skin and dark hair framing features sharpened by shadows that dance. Even if Leon doesn't step closer, he crowds the tiny closet-like space significantly compared to your frame, putting pressure on every inch of available space between the two of you.

Something seems different in the way he watches you in this moment—less intense than before. Perhaps calmer or gentler, even, considering how he isn't as tense and coiled up as before. Whatever causes this transformation leaves little doubt as to its nature because one thing that doesn't change is the fact that he's definitely checking you out shamelessly, despite trying valiantly to keep an aura of indifference around himself. Those ocean waves appear a touch hazy in shade as if clouded with lust, pupils dilated visibly until only a thin ring of blue encircles the black pits blown wide.

"Did you want something?" You manage to stammer out nervously, cheeks warming with shame.

Never in your life has anybody seen this much bare skin of yours; not even another girl back at the church growing up since those sorts of interactions were expressly forbidden outside of emergencies wherein nudity occurred inadvertently rather than intentionally due to limited access points such as shared washrooms. Especially not any adults! Such lascivious behavior went against everything they taught at services about respect and modesty.

Suddenly, he huffs out a loud laugh that surprises the both of you, although mostly yourself, judging by how fast his facial muscles tense after, realizing what sound came out of him involuntarily.

"Ah..." Leon trails off, looking embarrassed and wistful at the same time, averting his gaze briefly before refocusing squarely on yours again. "No? Yes? More or less?"

"Can it wait?" Your breath hitches slightly as you try unsuccessfully to maintain steady breathing, mind racing along with rapidly accelerating heartbeats.

"I don't want it to wait," He admits quietly, almost shamefacedly, lowering lashes halfway down half-lidded eyes.

"You couldn't have done this before I undressed?"

He has no answer to that, though something flashes across his face momentarily; a hint of something perhaps akin to remorse, or maybe guilt for having barged in unannounced on your vulnerable moment without consideration for boundaries . Although truthfully speaking, neither of you had set up much structure for yourselves other than mutual understanding regarding certain key points --such as keeping distance from each other unless necessary--and following basic common sense rules for respectful behavior like knocking beforehand.

"I do see you as a person," he mumbles softly, taking a single step towards you while still maintaining the illusion of personal space for both of you. His hand raises up hesitantly as if unsure what he intends to do with it, hovering midair in an awkward manner, fingers curling inward to form a fist at first before relaxing and repeating the motion several times, opening and closing slowly, indecisively.

You watch silently with bated breath, wondering where he might aim next. If you weren't so caught up in your own head, you might have noticed sooner that his gaze kept darting between your collarbone and your jawline, seemingly mesmerized by how they connect seamlessly together beneath smooth expanses of soft, supple flesh. It takes several seconds of staring at his face before realizing that despite appearing fixated upon one spot in particular, his focus shifts subtly every now and then, tracing invisible paths across curves that dip beneath your towel-clad figure.

"I see you as a woman," He whispers, sounding pained as if admitting defeat or confessing sins committed against someone precious to him. The hand that had previously been frozen in place descends downwards in a slow arc, tracing downward along the edge of the terrycloth fabric until it reaches the spot where it bunches together right above your navel. His fingertips brush against the fabric gently, not quite touching directly but close enough to send sparks flying throughout your nervous system at such proximity. "When... When I shouldn't. Not like that. You were the Saintess. You are... You... And I... I couldn't..."

A shuddering sigh escapes him, his chest heaving with pent-up emotions, and his head bows slightly like someone weighed down heavily by unseen burdens. He seems torn between wanting desperately to reach out further than just barely brushing knuckles over cloth covering sensitive skin and pulling back entirely to prevent himself from crossing lines better left untouched.

You don't speak up either, too afraid of breaking whatever fragile spell has descended over you both. Your body trembles slightly from nerves and cold combined, skin prickling everywhere beneath the thin layer of fabric separating skin from skin, practically feeling the weight of his eyes following the path of goosebumps. The intensity in the way his gaze traces every inch of your form sends heat pooling downwards despite your best efforts to rein in whatever it is that threatens to burst forth at any second.

"...You're not someone to be looked at with... impure intentions," Leon finally manages after another moment of tense silence passes between the two of you, lifting his head once more and fixing his stare straight into yours unblinkingly. His words come out hoarse yet sincere; a desperate plea mixed with fervent prayer for strength to resist temptation laid before him so invitingly wrapped up nicely. "To be worshiped, yes. But not defiled."

His thumb brushes over the curve of the towel that wraps around your torso, tracing upwards towards your chest where your breasts press against it, leaving dampened outlines visible through the material. The sensation of his finger sliding over the cloth-covered peak of one nipple causes a gasp to escape from your lips, followed immediately by a strangled noise that sounds suspiciously similar to groan escaping from the back of his throat.

"Leon-" you whisper breathlessly, not even aware of what else you might say beyond saying his name aloud. Your heart pounds wildly within your ribcage, hammering away like an overworked drumstick against sensitive tissue and bone, threatening to break through the cage containing it. Blood rushes in your ears, deafeningly loud and dizzying in its intensity.

He inhales sharply as if burned, his nostrils flaring, and then his entire body stiffens abruptly. Then he turns on his heels and walks briskly away, nearly colliding headlong with a nearby wall in his haste to put distance between himself and your towel-wrapped figure. His shoulders rise and fall visibly as he takes several deep, steadying breaths before finally speaking again, albeit much quieter this time, as though he fears someone may overhear even though the two of you are alone in this room.

"I won't let myself do that to you," he declares firmly, sounding resigned and defeated rather than angry or forceful. There's something sad about his tone, too—a sense of loss permeating throughout his speech that makes your chest tighten painfully with regret and longing for things unfulfilled. "I refuse. I'll keep my vow to cherish and protect you from all that might harm you. Even if that means myself."

Before you can think better of your actions, you reach out and grasp his sleeve between trembling fingers, halting him mid-stride as he attempts to flee further away. A surprised grunt leaves him at your sudden movement and subsequent contact, his body tensing momentarily before relaxing again slowly at your touch.

"I'm not something to be worshiped or preserved. I'm just a woman," you choke out thickly, tears welling up in your eyelashes. "I'm not pure and perfect. I'm just like any other person, Leon."

"Please don't say such things," he begs quietly, turning partially toward you without actually meeting your gaze directly. "Don't demean yourself like that. Don't compare yourself so…."

Your grip tightens on his sleeve, tugging lightly to force him closer despite knowing full well it won't make much difference against someone twice your size or strength if they wanted to resist.

"I don't want to be revered!" you cry desperately, blinking rapidly as hot tears spill down your cheeks. "I just want...!"

A pause. The air hangs heavy around you both like a dense fog rolling in off the ocean waves outside. The fire crackles loudly, its warmth doing little to chase away the chill seeping deep into your bones from more than just damp clothes sticking uncomfortably to your skin. You shiver violently, suddenly acutely aware of how exposed you truly are standing before him half-naked, barefooted, hair dripping wetness onto your shoulders and back.

"I just want my husband," you finally manage after swallowing past a lump forming in your throat. Your mouth feels dry and sticky simultaneously as you croak out those words, tongue heavy and clumsy against the roof of your mouth.

Silence falls over the space separating you once more, punctuated only by the sound of his ragged breathing and yours intermingling with one another. He stands still as a statue before you, unmoving save for the occasional shudder rippling through his frame at random intervals. His gaze remains fixed firmly downward at some unseen point by his feet instead of meeting yours directly, though whether out of shame or guilt or something else entirely you can't tell.

"I want you," you continue softly, barely audible over the pounding of your heart thundering within your eardrums. "Not as the Saintess or whatever title comes next after that. Just as me."

"Don't, I can't," he hisses through clenched teeth like someone trying very hard to keep themselves under control despite being pushed dangerously close to breaking point. "You don't want that. You don't understand what it would do to me if I gave in and acted on this feeling. I couldn't live with myself if I did."

"You can love the Saintess but not me?" You ask quietly, releasing his sleeve slowly as if reluctant to let go completely yet knowing there isn't anything else left for either of you to say right now without causing further harm than good. "Am I really that undesirable?"

His head jerks upward sharply, finally locking his stare directly onto yours, ocean irises blown wide open with surprise mingling freely alongside horror written plainly across his features.

"No!" He blurts loudly enough that it startles you slightly too, causing him to immediately lower his volume when speaking again afterwards. "No, of course not! How could I possibly find fault with you when everything about you leaves me weak-kneed? But it goes against all my vows and beliefs, and I can't betray them any more than I already have simply by looking at you with these sinful thoughts..."

He shakes his head firmly back and forth several times before turning away from you fully once more, shoulders slumped downward heavily as he retreats further backwards until he's nearly pressed flush against the far wall opposite yours.

"Please," he whispers hoarsely, almost inaudibly over the noise of raindrops pattering steadily against glass windows throughout the castle halls beyond your chambers' doors. "Please, let me continue serving you as your protector. Your knight in shining armor. Nothing less, nothing more. I'll do anything. I'll give you anything."

The defeat lacing every word he utters cuts through your chest worse than any physical wound ever has been able to achieve thus far; the pain sears deep within your heart, leaving behind only bitter regret and emptiness in its wake.

You want to scream at him for being such an idiotic fool who refuses to see reason or listen to anyone besides himself regarding matters concerning his own happiness and desires, especially considering how much he claims to care about yours. Yet no amount of yelling will change his mind or force him into seeing things differently from how they currently stand between the two of you now, regardless of how frustrating and maddening it may be.

"Okay," you murmur softly instead after several tense minutes pass, neither of you move or speak again nor dares break this fragile silence lest it lead down another path towards destruction. Apathy settles heavily upon your shoulders like a cloak of lead weighing you down. "I want a lover. Someone to hold me. I want someone who wants me. Someone who will make me feel wanted and cherished and desired. Someone who won't shy away from my touch or cringe at the sight of me unclothed."

His shoulders stiffen visibly beneath his drenched shirt, muscles tensing visibly beneath the dampened cloth clinging tightly against every curve and contour, outlining hard lines underneath.

"Since you made it clear it won't be you, then I can look for someone else. I'm free to do so, aren't I?"

The effect your question has upon him is immediate and palpable; a strangled sound escapes from somewhere within the depths of his throat, low and guttural and raw, filled with equal parts despair and fury. It seems almost inhuman coming from such an otherwise composed man like him, coupled with the fact that his entire body seems suddenly coiled tight as though ready to spring forth into action. Yet, he doesn't move nor speak further beyond that single noise which speaks volumes more than mere words ever could alone regarding just how deeply affected he truly is by everything happening between the two of you here today.

"...You are," he finally grinds out through clenched teeth.

"Then that's what I'll do," you state simply, without any trace of hesitation or uncertainty lacing your tone, despite knowing full well exactly what kind of reaction those words have caused within him.

"Don't," he chokes out raggedly, his expression twisted into a mixture of agony and desperation unlike anything you'd ever seen cross his features before now. He looks absolutely wretched standing there before you like some poor soul condemned to an eternity of torment for sins committed against an unforgiving god.

"Or what?" you challenge softly, slowly make your way towards him, and reach upwards to cup his cheek gently in one palm, fingers brushing lightly over smooth skin slickened by rainfall still dripping steadily down his face in thin rivulets. "What can you possibly say that will make me want to stay here with someone who doesn't even see me as anything more than an untouchable ideal?"

He flinches violently beneath your touch, jerking backwards so hard that it hits the wall behind him, as if burned by mere contact alone, yet he remains rooted firmly in place rather than fleeing further away from you. Instead, he merely bows his head downward, until his chin rests against his chest rising rapidly beneath labored breaths.

"I love you," he rasps hoarsely after what feels like hours spent waiting patiently for some sort of response or reaction beyond silence from him thus far. Those three little words slip past trembling lips unbidden by conscious thought or effort; they spill forth freely like rainwater cascading down a mountainside, falling heavily upon parched earth below, seeking sustenance desperately needed after months spent under scorching sun beating mercilessly overhead. "I can't bear to think about another man holding you intimately. It kills me slowly inside just imagining it happening. But I can't do it myself. I can't touch you without feeling like Ethelion himself will make me burst into flames. You were the Saintess, I was the paladin. We shouldn't have crossed those lines."

"Then stop thinking of me as the Saintess," you urge quietly yet firmly whilst stepping closer towards him still despite knowing full well doing so might very well result in being rejected outright once more should he choose to do so again. Your hand slides along the side of his neck, trailing fingertips delicately across taut muscle tensed tightly against bones beneath warm flesh, tracing downward along the curve where his shoulder meets the collarbone peeking through the partially unbuttoned shirt collar, damp fabric clinging stubbornly against his skin.

His entire frame quivers beneath your feather-light caresses as if fighting against himself not to recoil from them outright or push you away entirely, though he does neither, simply allowing himself to remain motionless beneath your ministrations instead. He closes his eyelids tightly shut, squeezing them tightly together as his jaw clenches, teeth grinding audibly within his mouth. A shudder ripples visibly throughout every inch of him at the gentle pressure of your thumb rubbing circles against his clavicle bone beneath the thin cotton shirt sticking tightly against flushed heated skin.

"Please," he whispers pleadingly through gritted teeth clamped down hard enough to leave imprints upon his bottom lip, turning his head away from yours while keeping his own lowered still.

He won't move away in pretense of not being able to, rather stay in the torment of enjoying your touch but unable to respond in kind, but you won't let him escape that easily. Not now that he's finally given in somewhat after all this time spent dancing around each other's feelings without ever truly confronting them directly.

"Sir Leon," you start, with the authority of the saintess you were trained to be, "look at me."

He freezes at your tone and words, before his head jerks back, meeting your gaze with wide, disbelieving blue orbs. You hold his chin and prevent him from turning away. His throat bobs as he swallows, and the air crackles between you two with tension. Your breath catches in your throat as you realize how close he is, how easy it would be to just lean forward and press your lips to his.

"Do you prefer it this way?" you ask, tilting your head in question, "Do you prefer me acting as your superior, instead of an equal? Will it be easier for you to listen to me if I'm on a pedestal, talking down to you?"

You watch as his expression flickers through emotions quickly, too quickly to read properly before settling into a conflicted one, brows furrowing slightly, "I..."

"Do you want to be absolved of your guilt by submitting yourself to the Saintess? Would kneeling before me and letting me do whatever I want with you make it better for you?" You continue, letting a finger trail down the front of his shirt, stopping at his heart. "Thinking you're in service of another, rather than acting on your desires?"

His breath hitches at that, and you feel his heartbeat quicken beneath your fingertips. It's a fierce thing, pounding against the cage of his ribs, a wild beast straining at the leash.

"Go kneel before the bed if the answer is yes," you command, letting a little of the Saintess's authority slip into your tone, and his pupils dilate ever so slightly. You're sure he's going to refuse, going to walk away. But to your surprise, and maybe his own, he slowly sinks to his knees, never breaking his stare away from yours.

You take a step back, taking him in, and then turn around to walk away from him. He lets out a soft gasp as you do, his hands twitching at his sides like he wants to reach out and stop you but doesn't dare.

You walk to the bed, sitting down on the soft mattress, and look at him expectantly. He's still kneeling on the floor, watching you with wide, hungry eyes, the color of a deep lake.

"Come here," you order, and he obeys, crawling towards you on his hands and knees, the movement strangely graceful for such a large man. He stops at the foot of the bed, looking up at you, waiting for you to tell him what to do next.

[hiraethwa]

one summer day

17 light. where you claw your way back to the light after walking away from the sun

<< 16 chasm. | >> 18 (coming soon)

pairing: ushijima wakatoshi x reader word count: 1.5k warnings: angst, healing, lots of heartbreak </3

“i may think of you softly from time to time, but i will cut off my hand before i ever reach for you again”

you knew classes were going to be tough, but you are struggling to keep up with the demands of your performances, of your professors, and you can’t help but feel like you are hitting a hard wall that you cannot break through. 

especially when your professor requested that you see him after the ensemble to talk about your recent performance. you are not deaf, you hear the difference in your sound, but you didn’t realize the extent of the damage. 

“you sounded different back when you auditioned.” he speaks slowly, conscious of your developing fluency in his native tongue. 

you patiently wait for him to explain, trembling fingers folded over your lap. you have to get over this block, no matter what you have to do. your entire program depends on your scholarship which in turn depends on your performance. 

there is no backup plan. you stand on a cliff with only raging seas behind you, a drop of hundreds of feet onto jagged rocks, so the only way is forward.

“back then, your sound was hopeful and light, like a bird with freedom soaring across the seas and the mountains with nothing but the winds at your heels. now it is stifled. choked. like someone snuffed the light out.”

the worst part is that he is right. the songbird in you is gone. in your anger and pain, you had stifled it, cut off its oxygen, because it reminded you of him. everything about this reminded you of him. there is not one waking moment where you don’t question the reality you live in, the consequences of your actions that brought you here. 

your only saving grace is moving to france. at the very least the people and the buildings are nothing like home. everything has changed. and yet, the anger you carry that pushes you forward when you have nothing to fall back on is failing you now. 

“you have to let the anger go. you carry too much in your heart, i hear the heaviness in your music.”

“i cannot.” the words come out choked. 

because letting that anger go meant accepting the truth. and the truth is that he didn’t feel the same way, despite all the words and actions that said differently. that he promised to walk with you back towards the light, but he abandoned you in the darkness. and you do not know your way home. 

“you have to. there is no room for anything else otherwise.” he pats your shoulder, allowing you to ponder his words, leaving you alone with your own thoughts and their violent and destructive whispers. 

the door clicks shut behind him.

forty-six seconds. 

for forty-six seconds you managed to hold yourself together, your emotions pushing at the seams, just until your professor left the room and you shut down completely. seconds that felt like eternity, the cogs that spin in slow motion forcing you to face your predicament.

because letting that anger go meant accepting that he is no longer in your life by your choices. and that he is no longer home. that you don’t have a home, not anymore. because you are lost and your anger is the only lifeline keeping you from drowning in your sorrows. 

and despite that, you still love him, with every fiber of your being. 

no one told you that love can hurt this much. like your chest is being cleaved open, bleeding with love. even if you are the one who tore it open, desperate to prove your love, and he still didn’t want it in the end. it hasn’t healed since, the wound still gaping open, oozing tears and blood and pain. fuck, it hurt.

worse, you convinced yourself that you had a shot, that he loved you too. funny, leaving your bloody and beating heart offered up by your own two hands bleeding did not seem like the actions of someone who loves you. 

you had been using anger to deflect the pain, in denial of reality. you didn’t want to remember him this way, but you didn’t want to forget him either. you didn’t want to forget the smiles he brought to your face, and times he walked by your side. the times when your heart was whole and alive. the times when you loved him so much and knew nothing of the pain he would cause you.

in time you will heal, and grieve, and learn to carry the weight of your love. 

the grief will stay, your constant companion during the college years, but the pain lessens. you learn how to live with it. the memories and the friends you make reminds you there is more to life than what your world is up until this point. that with time, this will fade. 

the grief will scab over, and leave a scar behind. it will itch when the rain falls just right or the heat pack against your back feels almost like him again, and you will scratch at it, missing the safety of his almost love. 

on rare nights, you will dream of another reality where he loved you back, where you promised each other forever, and you will wake up – not in a sweat, but feeling warm and full. that is more cruel than anything, the few minutes shortly after as reality sinks in, and you remember that this is the universe where everything went wrong. 

the stitches in your chest rips open, as if it never healed right, it never did. you fall through the skies, right into the stormy ocean that resides within you. all you can do is hold your breath as the currents pull you under, plunging you into the icy cold depths of your forgotten love. 

when the tides recede, spitting you out on the shores of your memories, you find that even though the pain felt so real, your heart is beating away in the confines of your ribcage, safe and sound. there is no wound on yourself, only the ugly scar stretches across your sternum, its outline committed to memory from sleepless nights of tracing over it. 

but it is alright, because you will build a new home for yourself in your own body, right on the cliff that overlooks the ocean. it is alright because this home is yours, even if the very bricks that you build it with contain traces of him in them. no one can take it away from you this time, so you paint the walls in splashes of sage and lavender, shades that bring you joy, masking the imprint of him on your very soul. 

you will try to get out of your comfort zone, making new memories with strangers turned friends, traveling across europe by yourself. drink a cup of afternoon tea overlooking the seine. enjoy the bustle of amsterdam on a bicycle. forcefully ripping out the flowers he planted in your heart by the stem and replacing them with varieties you just discovered, only to find your hands bleeding raw. 

of course it doesn’t feel the same, you will tell yourself, these are foreign flowers, unfamiliar sights. with time, you will come to love them just like you learn to love yourself. 

in time you will learn to live without him. and yet, your heart will still be his. only his. how could you ever unlearn loving him when it was written in the very fiber of your being?

but right now, in this moment, the dam breaks, memories of him flooding your being, and you allow yourself to drown in the heartache of your own making.

your home on the cliff is sturdy, having weathered severe storms and relentless sun beating down on the roof you clobbered together, the patches where you repaired throughout the years a few shades darker than the older roof tiles. 

the sea below is calm most days, its surface shimmering and dancing under the sun, shifting between shades of aquamarine and teal and emerald as the waves lap gently, its peaks bobbing like tiny boats. occasionally a great wave rolls along, crashing into the cliff face, reminding you of the might that lies dormant beneath its surface. 

in the five years that you have been here, paris has been kind to you, providing shelter from your troubles and a shoulder to cry on, music and art for when you were ready to take on the world again. a stage for you to share the journey of healing your broken soul, of smoothing the jagged edges that once left your fingers bleeding, of pouring gold between pieces of your heart, welding it firm once more. of anxious held breaths as you set it free between your rib cage once more and trusting it to take flight and bring you back to life. 

it is with those same nervous puffs of air that you accept the music director’s glowing recommendation for your entry to the international competition held at the home of the philharmonic orchestra you once wanted to play for, in a city where you once called home.

semi had kept his end of the deal, now it’s time for you to uphold yours. 

a/n: my heart hurt editing this chapter </3 tags: @lemurzsquad @daisy-room @integers @brokenscaredakira @whosmarjj @nansfyy @illuzminate @httpshoyo @manyuyuu @hatsukeii @bakery-anon

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[unexpectedbrickattack]

talks about my own damn post in your inbox i guess but i think a good part of the bros' trusting peppino is like. pizzahead can so easily buy out or win over basically anyone who stands against him and peppino is like the ONE guy they knew for sure that wasn't gonna happen with. he might not have cared/known about their plight, but he also didn't seem to have any ulterior motives that would make their lives more hell if he got the treasures, so that was...really as much as they could ask for given the circumstances

I like the idea of this 🤔 Like maybe there were other people theyve seen immediately take the money, like randos but also some of the bosses. So their only hope was someone who wasnt going to be talked or bribed into leaving this tower alone. I can see ph still trying to buy his way into peppinos restaurant, even towards the end…like ouuuh…fat and rude italian man…i dont HAVE to explode this shop, i can just buy it 🥺🥺🥺 please let me buy it 🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺 pwease…..🥺 and peppino is so fucking determined to just smash everything into oblivion that that simply isnt an acceptable offer. Get ur ass beat. That is the only acceptable offer. And u know what? John will definitely put the small amount of faith he has in this man bc of it.

[nanaslutt]

Bodyswap w/ Gojo part 2

part 1, here

Contains: fem reader, caught masturbating, teasing, dirty talk, rough sex :3, unprotected sex, multiple creampies, multiple orgasms, kinda selfcest?? (they’re in each others body’s while they fuck), spanking

MDNI

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ

"Ahh! F-fuck, mmm-" Gojo's voice could be heard from the other side of the door, with squelching accompanying the lewd moans into the hallway. Gojo pressed your body up to the door quietly, listening to you use his body to get off after telling him to not even look at yours in the shower. Someone's a little hypocrite~ he internally cooed, fighting back a giggle.

As full of Gojo was of himself, he wasn't the type of guy to get off on his own moans, but he did find it arousing that you were in his body and were using him like some slut for your own pleasure. He waited patiently until he heard his body cum, still pressed against the door until the sighing and shuffling on the other side of the door died before he knocked to announce his arrival.

Here the two of you lie, in your room in silence while Gojo stares at the poorly tucked away cum rag you used to clean up your mess under your bed. "Ahh~ I always feel so much better after a shower." He sighs, starting up a conversation. "Mmm, me too." You mumbled, still staring at the ceiling from your place on the bed. "Yeah? Why don't you go take one?" He asked, walking over to your bed and making himself comfortable as he lay against your pillows.

"Gross Satoru, I'm not taking a shower in this body, unless I have to.. and who said you could sit on my bed?" You chastized, setting yourself up on your forearms to look at him, finding that it was still hard to make eye contact. Every time you did you were reminded of what a pervert you had been, and how you probably almost got caught.

"No? You don't feel dirty?" He asked pouting out his bottom lip teasingly, insistent on keeping his eyes glued to yours even tho yours tried to avoid his like the plague. "Why would I feel dirty? You had your infinity on during the fight, you're spotless." You rambled. "Maybe, but don't you feel the need to wash up after you cum?" He said, leaning your head in his hands as he smiled at you from under your lashes.

You felt your entire body heat up at his words, you had the same feeling as when you took one too many candies as a kid and your parents called you out for it. You could feel your face heat up and your palms become sweaty. You tried to play dumb, making brief eye contact with your body and noticing the smug look Gojo had manipulated on its face, before plopping your head back down on the bed as you laid flat and made yourself at home by staring at the ceiling once more.

"W-why is that relevant?" You questioned, hoping somehow that Gojo hadn't somehow caught on to what you did in his body, you thought you had been so careful! "Playing coy doesn't sound good when it's coming from my voice~" He said, dragging out his words for emphasis as he sat straight, looking down at his form as you lay still on the bed. Fuck, how did his technique work again? He could teleport, right, maybe if you just closed your eyes realllly hard and focused you could excape this horribly awkward conversation.

You tried, you really did, but to no avail. When you opened your eyes you were still looking at your tan ceiling, and you still saw your body looking down at you through your peripherals. "Did it feel good?" He asked, making your face heat up. "It sounded like it felt good." He giggled. "Y-you were listening?" You gasped, looking into your eyes now as the two of you kept eye contact. "I don't think that really matters when you violated my body when I was away~" He cooed, making a strong point. You still couldn't help but feel embarrassed thinking about how much me might've heard.

"S-Satoru I'm sorry, really, I have no excuses I just- fuck I don't even know what came over me." You blushed, trying to keep eye contact with yourself to seem more sincere as you spoke to him. "Ahh~ I cant believe you would do this after you yelled at me to not even look at your body~" He said dramatically, wrapping your arms around your body to block off your view and make you look smaller as he pretended to feel violated.

The white-haired man was having so much fun right now, it wasn't every day he got to tease you like this, so he figured why not drag it out a bit. You started apologizing profusely, saying over and over how sorry you were before your own laugh cut you off. "S-sorry." He stuttered through a laugh, whipping his own smile off your face as he dropped your chin down to look at you in faux seriousness. Something told you he didn't care as much as he said he did.

"It's amusing to hear you grovel like this, I didn't mean to laugh out loud." He confessed, making your face heat up in annoyance. You were mad that you had zero ground to chastise him right now as if he really was upset about this whole thing, you didn't want to make it any worse. "It did feel good though right?" He asked again, biting your lip as he scooted closer to his body. "My cock is sooo sensitive I bet you were having a field day~ I don't blame you for not being able to stop~" He sympathized, using your hand to rub over his abs, a sensation that made your skin tingle under his touch.

"S-satoru-" You tried to interrupt him, "Did you play with my balls too? I never last long when I do that." He added, lowering his hand to rub over his v-line as he watched the tent in his pants grow slowly and steadily at his words. "Satoru what are you d-doing?" You managed to ask, his voice coming out meek and submissive. The man hummed, caressing his hand lower and lower until he reached the band of his sweats, teasing your fingertips under the waistline.

"I guess I'm just a little envious that you got to experience cumming in my body, and I didn't even get to look at yours~" He pouted, playing dumb. He made a good point, you had perved out on his own body like this when you set such strict rules for him, that he sounded like he actually followed. "So what does that mean?" You asked hesitantly, swallowing hard when he pulled back his pants and boxers before letting them snap back against your skin. "Well.. you must be a little curious to see what fucking something other than my hand feels like, right?" He asked, hitting the nail on the head.

"Satoru if you're talking about us having sex right now I don't-" Your voice cut you off, you felt a hand start to rub in tantalizing circles over the tent in your pants, and you quickly dropped your gaze away from your face to watch. "That's exactly what I had in mind~" He cooed, tilting his head at you while he rubbed his cock in your smaller hand. "Isn't that.. going to be uncomfortable?" You asked, surprising Gojo when you weren't immediately put off by the idea, the hand that was rubbing his cock definitely aiding in your answer.

"Does it feel uncomfortable?" He asked, sliding his hand under the waistband of his boxers as he gripped his cock with your hand and started stroking it directly. As good as pleasure felt in your body, he wished he could feel you touch his cock like this, but maybe after this, he would have an easier time getting you into bed when things went back to normal. "Hmm? Does it?" He cooed in your voice, making you blush at how seductive you sounded.

"F-feels good but-" You choked out through a moan, your breath hitching when Gojo slung your body to sit on top of himself as he used your free hand to cover his mouth, stopping your words. "Just look at me in the mirror if fucking your body is too weird~" He giggled, watching as your eyes looked past your body sitting on top of you as you made eye contact with Gojo's body in the mirror. "I for one don't mind looking at myself like this, I've definitely had a wet dream about this before." He giggled, easing your nerves at his unseriousness, you doubted he was joking either.

He released the hand that was covering your mouth as he pulled his boxers down enough for his dripping cock to spring out. "Fuck, are you that wet because of the situation, or is that all my body's doing?" He laughed, rubbing his pointer finger over the top of his dick as he tapped the precum agaisnt it, making a lewd wet 'plp' sound. "S-shut up." You groaned through your teeth, feeling the coil in your stomach tighten when he wrapped his hand around himself again and started stroking at a propper pace. "Shit, this is so weird, heh." Gojo laughed, the feeling of looking at himself while he jerked himself off, out of body, was truly an experience.

"This was y-your idea, don't complain now." You said in his voice, watching intently at his hand that moved over his cock expertly. His precise and knowledgeable movements felt a hell of a lot better than your own, and the visual of your hand dwarfed by his massive cock was a sight to behold, one that aided in your growing arousal. "Yeah, yeah." He said, briefly sitting up as he pulled your shorts and panties down your body, leaving his cock hanging twitching in the air between the two of you as he disrobed your body.

The man turned around and faced himself in the mirror as he sat on top of you, the bottom half of your body bare as he pulled your shirt over your body and feasted his eyes on your naked form. "Shit, actually.." He smirked, biting his lip as he ran your hands down your body seductively. "Fuck me like this, wanna watch your body move while you do it." He said, reaching behind you to grab his dick again and stroke it while he continued admiring your body.

"Satoru please don't look it's embarrassing." You begged, covering your face with his massive hands as your entire body felt like it was on fire from the arousal and combined embarrassment. "Im about to watch you get fucked, you might wanna get over your fears." He giggled. "Besides, you're fucking hot, can feel your body gettin' all horny from just lookin' at it." He confessed in your voice, making you whine. The man grabbed his dick and lifted his body over his cock, looking down to line it up with your entrance before he pressed the tip against your hole.

"W-wait Satoru a condom-" You warned when you felt him start to sit down on you. "Trust me, you do not want a condom on when you feel this." He said, gasping when his tip popped past the tight ring of your cunt. Every alarm that was going off in your head melted away when you felt the tight and warm sensation envelop his cock, you felt his balls twitch and tighten the more he sat down on his cock, you would worry about the lack of a condom later.

"Fuuuuuck, that's the shit~" He groaned, bottoming out on his cock while he placed his hands on his body's knees and stared at your body in the mirror, specifically where the two of you were connected. "I feel so fucking f-fulll~" He wined, wiggling his hips in circles on your lap as he tried to adjust to the feeling of having a cock inside him for the first time. His dick was pressing up against all the right spots in your walls he didn't even find when he was fingering your cunt earlier in the shower, this was a hundred times better than your pathetic digits, he started to understand why girls kept blowing up his phone after a one night stand now.

"I- I think I'm gonna cum- p-please don't move." You wined, using Satoru's massive hands to grip your body's waist hard enough to leave bruises as you tried to make sure he couldn't even wiggle around. "I wouldn't mind feeling that~" He said, referring to you filling him up. You tilted your head back and took some deep breaths to steady yourself. Your cunt was incredibly warm and wet it felt like it was going to melt his dick as he sat still on you. The strong warmth that had blossomed in your tummy was almost overbearing, and your head was spinning at all the stimulation.

You knew Gojo was experienced, so how did it still feel this good? How did it still feel so sensitive? Was it because it was your first time feeling anything like it? You chalked it up to that, your train of thought getting cut off when your voice spoke through the room.

"Can I move? This fucking cunt is aching for it." Satoru wined, trying to wiggle his hips in your strong grip. "I think so." You nodded when he looked at you for your approval. It was so freaky seeing someone else control your body, but the pleasure of your own cunt squeezing around the cock you temporarily had eased your nerves significantly. "You might have to help me out, never rode a dick before." He giggled in your voice, turning his head back to look at your body in the mirror as he lifted his weight until his dick was almost completely out of him, before he sat all of your weight back down on his cock.

"Oh- fuck-" Gojo wined in your voice, coming out a little more submissive than he would've liked. He quickly started a fast pace bounding on your lap, your jaw dropped open as you allowed yourself to feel everything. "Y-eah it feels fucking good d-doesn't it?" Gojo tried to laugh through a moan, your voice getting louder when you started fucking his hips up into your body, poisoning his dick in and out of the man who possessed your body.

Gojo was right, you could think of nothing worse than something like a condom blocking your direct contact from feeling your tight walls wrap around his cock like this. You were impressed by your strength in this body when you used your grip on the body on top of you to lift it up and bring it down harder on his cock, making him scream out while your breathing picked up.

"S-so roughh~" Gojo smiled at his current body in the mirror, abandoning one of his hands that had stabilized himself on your thigh to rub his clit in fast circles, making your walls squeeze his dick tightly. "God Satoru- loosen" thrust "up!" you grit in his voice, your eyes threatening to roll back in your head at how intense the feeling of your pulsing walls around his dick felt. "C-cant ohmygod c-cumming!" He cried suddenly, his back arching forward as your cunt spasmed around his cock.

You fucked him through his orgasm, loud short wines and curses fell from his lips as he came, his body jerked as the waves crashed over him, his body going limp in your hold. You took the opportunity to manhandle your body, quickly turning the two of you around in one swift movement you forced him into a weak doggystyle position, his face being pressed into the sheets while drool dripped out from the corner of his lips.

You couldn't let up on his cunt, the pulsing around his cock was an amazing feeling and you were determined to feel it again, Gojo pressed your thighs together and crossed your feet at the overstimulation he was feeling as mindless babbles and whines of your own name could be heard in your voice underneath you. You prayed no one was around the dorms at this time, as they might be a little confused on what they were hearing right now.

"Fuck- make me c-cum again give it to me g-give it to me" He whined, his words being slurred into one as you fucked heavy and mean thrusts into his cunt. You don't know what came over you, but the need to respond and talk dirty back to him was overwhelming you, "Yeah? Wanna cum all over this cock again?" You said, making yourself blush as you aroused yourself hearing his dirty words in your ears. "Y-e-ssssss fuckk~" Gojo whined into the sheets, a cock-drunken smile plastered on his face as he took everything your gave him.

You felt his balls coil tighter, the knot in his stomach tying itself harder into knots as you fucked a particularly soft spot inside your cunt. The telltale sign of Gojo's orgasm was creeping over his body, making your thrusts grow sloppy. Gojo laughed from underneath you, the sound being chopped up by moans. "Y-you're gonna c-cum arent you?" He teased, trying to look at you out of the corner of his eye.

You probably should've felt more uncomfortable with how arousing fucking your own body was, but you would probably dream about this night for years to come, so you could ponder about that later.

The expression Gojo had on your face was so pretty, you had to admit. Your eyes kept rolling back in your head each time you fucked into him, the fucked out smile he had on, the moans that were forced out of your mouth, and the way your cunt pulsed around you pushed you over the edge.

Gojo whined when he felt you still against his ass, "Yeahhhh fill me up, fuck your cum into me~" He whined, taking advantage of being in your body to say shit you would never say, for his own pleasure. He bit his lip at how warm his cum was when it shot rope after rope inside him. Your clit was throbbing at the feeling, he so badly wanted to reach down and pet it till he came as well, but he would wait till you started fucking into him again.

Right when you started coming down from your orgasm, something akin to the feeling of a back scratch, or getting your head massaged at the salon washed over the two of you. Suddenly you had an intense ache in your lower back, and your tummy felt strangely warm. "Heh, what a fucking twist~" You heard Gojo's voice coo down at you, only this time, you weren't in control of it anymore. "I wanted to feel my cock cum inside your cunt while I was in your body one last time, but now I can feel it from my own." He grinned maliciously.

Even though Gojo had just cum, he started fucking into you like a madman, the squelching between your legs was so much louder now as your combined cum gathered around the base of his thick cock. "Have fun in my body?" He asked, giggling with his signature headache inducing giggle, "You liked cumming inside something? Glad you didnt use a condom huhhh~?" He teased, pulling his hips back to the tip before he fucked his entire occk back into you, making you scream out.

Gojo had adjusted surprisingly quick, I guess that makes sense for the world's strongest sorcerer. You on the other hand were still trying to come to terms with being in your own body again and having practically no time to adjust to the feeling of his cock before he started bullying it into your walls. It's not like it hurt, but the feeling of him fucking into your sweet spot so rough was almost too much. "Oh, you were aching down here~" Gojo remembered, reaching his hand under your body to rub your clit in little circles. "Let me help you~" He cooed, sucking air in through his teeth when your cunt tightened around him at the addition of stimulation.

"S-toru wa-ittt-" You cried, trying to warn him of how close you were but ultimately falling short. Your walls started to spasm around him as your body came for the nth time that night. "Oh shiiit~ Feels so fucking good baby-" Gojo groaned, letting his head fall back and his jaw drop in a small o as you came hard around his length, and he actually got to feel it this time. Your body was completely limp to his mean thrusts, your eyes rolling back as nonsense spilled from your lips as he fucked you through your orgasm, past overstimulation, and towards another high.

He lifted your tummy up from underneath you and pressed down on your lower back simultaneously to get you in a meaner arch, before he went back to rubbing your clit. The man placed his foot next to your body to give himself more leverage to fuck you harder, and that's exactly what he did. "Tell me you need my cum- cmon baby- say it-" He cooed, gritting his teeth together as he used your cunt to work himself up to his orgasm.

His eyes darted between the mess the two of you were creating at your fucked out, drooling face. He pulled back his hold on your hip to leave a mean spank against your ass, making you yelp out into the room. "What did I say, huh? Don't fucking ignore me when I'm this close~" Gojo chastized, shaking his head. "N-eed your cum 'toruuu" You slurred, "W-ant to feel you fill me up-" You begged, your words being chopped up by his mean thrusts.

"Again," Gojo said, leaving another smack on the fat of your ass. "C-cum inside mee~" You repeated. "Again," Another smack. "Toru- toru- toru-" You repeated his name as he groaned through his teeth. He felt his balls tighten quickly before he was thrown into his orgasm. His body jerked as his hips fucked load after load into your used and abused cunt. He released a long groan when he stilled his hips to your ass and let himself finish. Your moans had quieted as you laid under him, whimpering softly each time he fucked into you but otherwise trying to catch your breath from how hard he just gave it to you.

Once Gojo had released all of his seed into you, he pulled his sore cock out and gripped himself at the base as the both of you groaned in oversensitivily. "Fuck, think you milked me dry after that one." He laughed, pulling your pussy lips to the side to get a better view of your stuffed hole that leaked his cum in a steady drip down the back of your thighs. "I don't think I've ever been so sore in my life." You said quietly into the sheets, making him giggle.

"I think that was my fault, I might've worked your cunt a little too hard in the shower." He said, letting your body drop down onto the bed as he sat beside you and rubbed your thigh soothingly. You stayed silent for a couple beats before his words registered in your head. Worked too hard in the shower? What? Wait.. did he?

Your jaw dropped, you turned your head to look at him with an incredulous look on your face while he smiled with faux innocence down at you. "You fucking hypocrite! You made me feel bad for masturbating in your body when it sounds like you went ape shit on mine!" The man just giggled infuriatingly, "I like teasing you~ I'm sorryyyy~ You practically handed the opportunity to me!" He defended, throwing his hands up in the air.

You sighed, looking away from his irritatingly handsome face as you shut your eyes and curled your body on your side feeling a headache start to come on. "Oh come onnn~ We had a good time~" The man's voice resonated in your ears while he wrapped his large body around yours and started placing kisses on your shoulder to ease your frustration. Was it possible to kill a curse twice? You sighed as your body relaxed against him, your exhausted body welcoming the kisses.

Jujutsu sources are the worstttt..

tag list: @volmort-nipple @chicana698 @thehonored-one @famousfirefishgoth @reader69sviewpoint @prettymoonlightsworld @officialholyagua @nelliesthere @bobawh0re @maliakealoha @r0ckst4rjk

[feyascorner]

Okay perhaps this sounds odd but imagine Astarion starts to disassociate while intimate with Tav and so he uses their established safe word, only to be bewildered when Tav actually listens to him and stops and asks if he’s okay and tries to comfort him because nobody has cared that much before 😢

OH GODS WHY WOULD YOU DO THIS TO ME (i love it) warning for suggestive content :)

For as long as Astarion's been genuinely intimate with you, for no other reasons but simply because of the affection the two of you hold for one another, he has always been in control.

It soothes him, in a way, to be on top. And as much as he enjoys watching you come undone beneath him, there's a more frustrating reason behind why he always feels the need to be the one to push you down onto whatever surface he deems decent enough at the time. From above you, he can see every little twitch in your body, every shift in your expression, and most of all, he can control what's happening, unlike his centuries spent as a seductive tool for Cazador's own needs.

He knows you're not like those fools. He knows you're different, and you're special to him. But the gnawing voice in the back of his head always forces him to pull you in, to hold you closer, to make love to you.

It's fucked up in so many ways.

"I want to make you feel as good as you make me feel."

But when you look up at him with those imploring, loving eyes, the voice seems to go quiet. He swallows the dryness of his throat, unable to think of anything but how wonderful your touch feels on his skin, and he thinks he could drown in this forever. He's putty in your hands, whether he wants to admit it or not.

"Well? Don't be a tease just standing there, darling."

In what feels like minutes, he's a mess. He's making sounds he shouldn't be making, fingertips digging into your hips as if they're the anchors keeping him from finishing too early. He breathes heavily into the crook of your neck, groaning when you caress the sharp tip of his ear between your fingers.

The only thing keeping him from spilling is the impending embarrassment he'd feel for doing so this early on in the night.

Then, everything stops.

"You're so beautiful," you whisper.

They're only words. They're not ones he's heard little of---in fact, he's heard it too much in the past two hundred years. In an instant, memories of the nights he spent under strangers, forced to shove his mind into its darkest corners just to get through their own pleasures, flood his consciousness. The sickening taste in his mouth afterward, and the need to rub his skin till it goes raw were not uncommon. It was routine. A sick part of his life that he'd rather forget.

You don't mean it the same way they did. They only said things like that because that's all they could say. They didn't know him as anything but the husk of a body he resided in. He knows you are saying the words to him. Not to his body but to the very person he is.

But the word comes spilling out his mouth, and immediately, you freeze.

You actually stopped.

Of course, you would. You're you.

"Are you okay? Did I do something?" you reach to cup either of his cheeks, and he stares at you as if you're a star that's fallen from the sky. He blinks, slowly.

"I don't know, I just---" he searches for words. "--you haven't done anything wrong, darling."

You wait for him to finish patiently. Gods, he doesn't deserve this. He doesn't deserve you.

"I only remembered something I'd rather not," he plasters a crooked grin on his face. "It's quite alright. We can continue now if I haven't ruined the mood."

You pull away from him, and he fears you'll leave.

Moments later, you return with a glass of water. Wordlessly, you hand it to him, and he only stares at it, confused beyond belief. Only once he notices the way you gesture to the glass does he drink it, and you finally climb back into bed, lying down beside him.

"Come here," you open your arm, motioning him to come closer.

"Darling, as much as I'm all for experimenting, that's a strange position to have sex in."

You smile, shaking your head. You don't explain any further, only continuing to hold out your arm.

Hesitant though curious, he slowly lies down beside you, his head just above your chest and slotted between the space below your chin. With gentle hands, you pull him closer and toss the blanket over both of your bodies.

It's warm. Strange, but warm.

"You don't have to wear a mask with me," you whisper.

His eyes grow wide, and his chest stills. He doesn't have many tears left after 239 years, but there's an unfamiliar squeeze in his chest that tells him if he were still 39 and alive, he might have. Astarion wraps his arms around your waist, burying his face into where he can hear the steady beating of your heart.

Later, when your eyes begin to droop, he mumbles.

"Tell me I'm beautiful again."

"You're beautiful," you say softly. "With or without your pretty face."

You might be imagining it, but you feel him smile against your skin.

[saetoru]

BEWARE OF PHAGOCYTIC RAIN — AL-HAITHAM.

kinktober day three — aphrodisiacs ; find masterlist here

synopsis. the akademiya textbook reads as follows: consecrated scorpion stings are not deadly, but it is advised to proceed with caution in the event of encountering one. possible side effects of stings include swelling, pain, nausea, and mild sexual arousal. except the textbook lied. it’s not mild. al-haitham and you might need to pause your desert trip for a moment

length. 4.3k words (omg this is the shortest one so far)

contents. minors do not interact, fem! reader, aphrodisiacs + dub con, mentions of injuries and blood (al-haitham gets stung by a consecrated scorpion), reader sits on his lap, hand jobs, unprotected sex, no prep, riding, creampie, implied (future) multiple orgasms, reader is mentioned to have a dendro vision + is a haravatat scholar

notes. i made this up. the new consecrated scorpions lore is that their venom can be a sex stimulant thanks

“haitham,” you complain—although, you probably really shouldn’t. in fact, you definitely should not complain. al-haitham has so graciously allowed you to accompany this trip to the desert, and you should not get in the way. still, your feet ache, and the sun is blaring, and god—would kill you both to have a break? “can’t we just stop for a bit?”

but with you, al-haitham is always patient. you can see him diligently take the time to be patient as he stills and sighs quietly, not letting himself ever get frustrated with you. “it’ll get cold if night falls,” he reasons, “c’mon, you’ll definitely want to rest inside the ruins instead of outside tonight.”

“but baby,” you protest, “my feet hurt.”

“i know,” he nods, like validating your feelings will make them any better, “but the safest option would be to camp inside the ruins instead of out here—”

“hey, haitham?” you cut him off, suddenly whispering quietly as you huddle closer, “what…what’s that?” he looks over his shoulder to where you point—and then he stiffens.

“oh, great,” he hisses, groaning under his breath, “seriously? now?”

what looks like a giant scorpion seems to be pacing in the distance, the large, sharp stinger on its tail clear as day, even from where you stand, a good range away. you’ve never seen one of these before, never even heard of giant scorpions that roam the desert. al-haitham has certainly never told you about seeing them, with all the times he visits the desert himself. he seems rather familiar with them, too, staring exasperatedly off at the beast as it circles the territory you absolutely have to pass.  

“why is there a giant scorpion here? are there always these things in the desert? i’ve never heard of—wait,” you pause, “i have a textbook from the akademiya on desert exploration. i brought it just in case!”

“we don’t need that,” he insists, “i’ve dealt with these plenty of times. just leave it to me.”

you’ve never been to the desert—but al-haitham always mentions the ancient letters he sees in the ruins he explores. it’s tempting; being a scholar is always the never-ending temptation of knowledge—and you are both haravatat scholars, after all. studying an ancient alphabet is enough to make you plead with al-haitham to take you with him on his next trip.

he can’t say no to you, of course—he never can. but it’s your first time here, and evidently…it’s not going exactly as planned. 

you open the book, skimming through the pages before your eyes land on a sketch that looks strikingly similar to the same beast you see in the distance. the textbook reads as follows: consecrated scorpion stings are not deadly, but it is advised to proceed with caution in the event of encountering one. that seems like complete and utter bullshit—this seems rather deadly. 

“haitham,” you whisper, “i think we should leave. this doesn’t seem—”

“we can take it,” he argues, “i’ve taken them before on my own quite a lot in the past.”

“but baby, this one seems a bit big—”

“it’ll be fine,” he assures. 

you sigh, looking back at the book and scanning over the section that goes into detail about its attack patterns. “okay, fine—let me just read over how they attack so i know what to expect.”

phagocytic form—beasts enter phagocytic form immediately when in combat, resulting in an increase in resistance to all elements. there is double the resistance to electro attacks. well, you think, it’s a good thing cyno isn’t the one fighting today—otherwise, you think you might be screwed. 

this is fine. everything is fine. you and al-haitham both have dendro visions; this shouldn’t be too bad, right?

melee combo one—beasts perform a two-part combo with their claws. alright, not too bad. you can easily dodge that, you reason. melee combo two—beasts perform a three-part combo consisting of a single strike with both claws, a flurry of claw strikes while rushing forward, and a projectile fired from its stinger. now that seems a bit troublesome, but you’ve dealt with worse. 

“i’ll take care of it,” al-haitham calls over his shoulder, catching your attention as he draws out his sword. you look up from the pages frantically. 

“wait, i really think we should handle this together if we’re going to take this. just let me read on the attack patterns a bit more—”

he’s already made the first attack. you can hear the angry hiss of the scorpion, can practically see the fury in its beady eyes from behind the thick skull covering its head. al-haitham, to your slight comfort, dodges melee combos one and two expertly. 

maybe he was right—maybe you’ve been panicking for nothing.

you look back at the book. dig—beasts dig into the ground and attack the target from below, staying within the range of a visible electro ring. alright, as long as you leave the ring before the scorpion pops out of the ground, you should be fine. nothing to worry about. spikes—beasts plug their tails into the ground and rapidly produce spikes around themselves to shock targets. another easy dodge—you just have to make sure you escape the vicinity.

you look up, and al-haitham has already easily leapt from the ring and landed himself on higher ground. he waits, watches as the beast emerges from underground, and plants its tail into the ground—this must be the spikes. al-haitham is rather excellent at fighting these things—you have to admit. as soon as the spikes are gone, he takes his chance to plunge down, perfectly landing a hard hit to its head with the edge of his sword, making its body slump to the ground.

he might just finish this alone like he said. 

“there,” he nods, flashing you a smooth grin, “i told you i’d handle it. now then, let’s—”

the loud, sinister hiss from behind cuts him off—it makes you watch in abject horror as the scorpion rises and does a rapid spin. 

you look over the pages as quickly as you can—is there more? there’s nothing else on the page, is there? you quickly flick your eyes to the next page and—oh. 

oh no.

phagocytic rain—beasts rapidly spin and scatter many stingers into the air before slamming their claws and unleashing stingers down from above. these stingers, once pierced into the skin, can cause side effects as a result of consecrated venom.

“well, it’s never done that before,” al-haitham holds up his sword, getting ready to fight. 

no. he has to get away—he needs to get away. the words don’t come quick enough from your throat as you scream, “haitham, no! you have to get away—”

it’s too late. you can hear him let out a strangled groan of pain, clutching his arm as his sword instantly falls to the floor, a gash already decorating his skin from a stinger he didn’t manage to dodge. before you can even think, you grab your weapon and run, leaping between al-haitham and the scorpion and landing another perfect blow to its head—just before that giant, deadly-looking stinger on its tail can plunge into him.

it goes limp, falling to the floor with a thud, the glow of its body dimming instantly.

“fuck,” he curses—al-haitham rarely curses. this is not a light sting. “since when do they do that?”

“since forever,” you hiss, grabbing the edge of his cape to press on his wound and stop the blood flow, “maybe if you’d just listened to me and read the attack patterns with me, you’d have known that.”

“i’ve fought these plenty of times,” he says indignantly, teeth still grit in pain, “they never do that.”

“maybe if you weren’t such a know it all,” you grumble—but then you gently reach over, cupping his cheek as you trace a thumb over the skin comfortingly, “is it too bad?” you ask, concern evident enough in your tone that he feels slightly bad. 

al-haitham shakes his head, sighing quietly as you kiss his jaw. “i’ll be fine. i’ll just patch it up before we camp for the night.”

“are you sure? maybe we should—”

“it’ll be fine,” he hums, “their venom isn’t deadly anyway.”

—————

you and al-haitham manage to make it to the ruins by nightfall. somehow, miraculously, the two of you are able to trek towards the pyramid and seek shelter indoors for the night, right before it gets too dark and too cold.

al-haitham seems to act stranger and stranger as time goes on, quietly sitting in a corner against the wall and patching his arm up himself as you set up the fire by the tent. you look over at him and watch as he shudders and groans lightly. 

“are you sure you’re alright?” you ask in concern, walking over and sitting as you curl up next to him, raising a brow as his body seems to stiffen at your touch, “baby, you seem…”

“i’m fine,” he says curtly. 

you don’t seem to be convinced, furrowing your brows before pressing a palm to his forehead—hot. incredibly and unnaturally hot skin that’s flushed a shade of crimson you hardly see on al-haitham, even when you tease him in that cheeky, flirty little way of yours that dusts blush over his face every time. 

“haitham,” you gasp, hand brushing back his bangs to feel more of his skin—it’s only then, do you realize just how sweaty his skin seems to be, too. “you’re burning up!”

“i’m okay—”

“maybe you should take your shirt off,” you say quickly, wiping the sweat from his forehead as you sit up straight, “it’s just the two of us here, anyway. it’ll be fine—”

“no,” he grits, voice strangled, “i’m—hah” he cuts himself off with a sharp inhale, “—i’m okay. just leave me alone, please. i’ll just go walk it off in a bit.”

he’s panting. you can hear the way his voice is strained and the way his chest rises and falls rather rapidly. you should check the book again, just to see if there’s anything about the side effects in the event you do happen to get stung. 

“hmm, the textbook says—”

“do not read the textbook,” he practically begs. 

you do anyway. “possible side effects of stings include swelling, pain, nausea,” you start, glancing up at him and eyeing his patched arm, “well, there was some swelling. are you nauseous?”

“no,” he almost wheezes out. 

“let’s see, and it also says it can cause—oh.” 

possible side effects of stings include swelling, pain, nausea—you pause and swallow thickly as you read over the final part—and mild sexual arousal. sexual arousal. well, that would explain the heated and flushed skin, you suppose. and the sweat. you glance up at al-haitham—he does anything but meet your eyes. 

“i told you,” he says stiffly, muffling a groan as he crosses his arms and hunches forward, “i’ll be fine—”

“baby,” you hum, chuckling slightly as you run a hand through his hair—he gulps, still avoiding your gaze, “why didn’t you just tell me?”

“don’t,” he warns, jaw clenching as he looks up and stares at you with that same look of hunger you’ve seen so many times before. it’s clear al-haitham is trying to fight off whatever he’s feeling—but the reality is clear. 

he’s very quickly losing himself to his desires. 

“but it’s just us in here,” you insist, hand trailing down his chest slowly before settling on his thigh. his breath hitches, following your hand with his eyes as it rubs along slowly and moves closer and closer inwards. “these ruins have been abandoned for who knows how long—and we’re the only ones from the akademiya cleared to explore them.”

“don’t,” he says again—there’s a warning tone to his voice this time, slightly more raspy and entirely more breathless, “if…if i start, i don’t know if i’ll be able to stop.”

“oh, but haitham,” you pout, slinging a leg over his waist and seating yourself on his lap. you stare down at his crotch—wet. there’s a very noticeable wet patch over the bulge in his pants. you wonder how you didn’t notice it sooner. “who says i’d want you to stop?”

“love, i’m serious,” he closes his eyes and swallows, panting as a bead of sweat rolls down his temple, “you should sleep. i’ll be okay—o-oh, fuck,” he cuts himself off with a gasp, hissing as you reach past his waistband and free his strained cock from the confinements. 

it’s thick, his erection—probably far more swollen than you’ve ever seen it before. it almost looks painful, with how red it is at the tip, with how it twitches from nothing else but the cool air hitting the heated skin. you think it might just be aching, in fact, from how he whimpers as you wrap a hand around it, just barely squeezing, just barely applying pressure to really relieve anything.

“hmm,” you look down, inspecting, “seems sensitive.” you give it a slow, experimental stroke, instantly making him groan loudly as his head falls back, a stream of pre cum leaking from the tip enough to coat his already slick cock. 

“fuck, fuck—more,” he rasps, hand grabbing your thigh and squeezing hard to ground himself.

“okay,” you murmur, nodding to yourself, “very sensitive. guess we’ll just have to get this out of your system.”

you drag your hand over his length, slow at first, before building up a quick, steady rhythm—just the way he’s always liked it. you lean in, kissing along his jaw as he writhes under you while you squeeze around the base of his cock, rolling your palm over his tip before repeating the motion over and over and over again. 

his mouth is parted, low groans and the occasional soft whine fall past his lips, making the ache between your own legs worsen as you watch him fall apart. there’s a dull throb in your core, and you can feel the fabric of your underwear dampen, but all you’re worried about for now is the man before you. any other time, you’d think it’s a bit shameless, doing something so dirty, so filthy, so inappropriate in the middle of the desert like this–especially while on a research expedition, no less. but you couldn’t just leave your boyfriend to suffer like this, could you? what kind of girlfriend would you be then? and you’re not so cruel as to leave al-haitham to suffer like this all night, or longer, even—who knows how long before the side effects wear off? it’s the wisest choice to just help him, to take care of him like he always takes care of you.

that’s right, you think to yourself—you’re helping him like any doting lover would. you’re not at all interested by this predicament of his…or aroused, for that matter. no, you’re simply worried for him, and it’s up to you to relieve him of the painfully frustrating tension he must be suffering through after he so graciously fought to protect you from the dangers of the desert.

“jus’ like that,” he gasps as you touch him, chest still rising and falling as quickly as before—his shirt is damp too, a noticeable wet patch forming over most of it as the sweat collects on the fabric, “d-don’t stop—fuck, feels so good.”

“c’mon, haitham,” you murmur, taking your other hand to tug at the end of his shirt, “take this off—i told you, you’ll feel better.”

he listens—whatever is in that venom must be something strong because al-haitham is the most stubborn individual you’ve ever met. under normal circumstances, he’d refuse to take his shirt off even if, deep down, he knew himself it’d help. but right now, he quickly reaches at the hem before pulling it off, tossing it to the side as his bare chest is exposed for you to admire. his usual pale skin is flushed, a soft pink that glistens from the sweat that he can’t seem to get rid of, even as you work his swollen cock with your fist. 

it’s pretty, the way he sounds, the way he looks. you run a thumb over his slit, and he whimpers. not too often of times have you heard al-haitham whimper—but today, he seems to have lost any and all control, too busy thrusting his hips up to meet your strokes as he moans lowly. 

“when’d you start to feel it?” you ask curiously, pecking his forehead as you leave scattered kisses along his face, “how long have you been trying to play it off?”

“s-since…” he starts, but he trails off as your thumb traces over a thick being along the underside of his length, letting out a soft whine at the feeling before bucking his hip into your hand more desperately. you don’t think you’ve ever seen al-haitham so worked up—so needy and riled up and painfully fucked out before he’s even cum yet. “since i f-first got stung,” he admits through labored breaths, “just got worse slowly.”

“you should’ve told me,” you coo, “not like i don’t see you like this anyway. poor thing,” you pout softly, eyeing the way his cock twitches in your hand, more beads of pre cum oozing from the tip and leaving a stream down his length, “looks like it hurts.”

“it does,” he rasps, “feels…feels like ‘m gonna pass out.”

“don’t worry,” you hum, squeezing tighter around him, working him quicker as your hand jerks his aching cock off with a tight fist, “i’ll help you cum. ‘s what you deserve for fighting that thing for me. my strong baby.”

“c-close,” he says through a cracked voice, like the praise is enough to send him hurtling over the edge, “‘m so close—sh-shit.”

“yeah?” you ask sweetly, pecking his forehead, “then cum, baby. think you’ll feel much better.”

you roll a thumb over his nipple, hard under the pad of your thumb, and enough to make him gasp loudly before he lets out a deep grunt, cum spilling from his sensitive tip. it’s more than you’ve ever seen from him—thick, endless ropes of hot, sticky cum coating your hand and his abs as you pump his cock through his orgasm. you’re glad you made him take his shirt off—this would’ve been an even more unpleasant trip if he’d had to walk around in a soiled shirt.

“fuck, f-fuck—so g-good,” he stutters, his head thrown back against the wall that supports his body, legs spreading apart to give you better access to working his cock through his high. one hand reaches to play with his balls as you milk his cock, squeezing as you stroke upwards and watch every thick drop of cum shoot past his tip. 

it feels like forever, his orgasm. it’s long, and his voice is strained from calling your name over and over by the time he’s finished—but he’s still just as hard as before. no—in fact, you think he might be even harder. 

“well…” you start, staring at his erection as it rests against his sculpted abs, “i don’t think that did much.”

“no,” he pants, staring at you through lust-hazed eyes, “it didn’t. but i have an idea that might help, though.”

“yeah? what is it, oh wise grand sage?”

al-haitham, for the first time ever, doesn’t correct you that he’s the acting grand sage. instead, he lifts you up slightly and pulls your pants down to pool at your ankles before lining your dripping cunt over his cock. you bite your lip, moving to ever so slightly drag his tip along your clit, making the both of you shiver with a desperate gasp at the ghost friction.

“i think,” he starts, finger circling your clit slowly as you whine before letting your head fall to the crook of his neck, “that perhaps fucking you might be the only way to get this out of my system. what do you say?”

“haitham, please,” you whine, fingers digging into his shoulders as you clutch onto him, “need you.”

“yeah?” he chuckles breathlessly, replacing his finger and teasing your folds with the tip of his cock, coating the head with the slick of your pussy as you quiver over him, “need me, huh? i thought i was the one who got stung. shouldn’t it be the other way around?”

you would scoff if you weren’t aching to feel the burning stretch of him intruding your neglected cunt—al-haitham always finds a way to be himself at the end of the day. always so frustratingly confident and painfully good at teasing. 

“fuck me, haitham,” you plead, pushing your hips down until the first few inches of his length push past your entrance, dragging his tip along your folds and pulling a whine from you as he chokes on a low groan.

“f-fuck,” he grunts, “so tight—a-always so tight.”

his hands grasp at your hips, slowly guiding you to sink all the way down on his cock, taking it inch by inch until he’s buried all the way, his tip nudging perfectly against that sensitive spot in the back of your walls. al-haitham feels like he’s been made just for you like that—fitting you perfectly enough that he hits all the right spots without even trying, without even having to angle his hips in order to give you what you need from him.

you feel sweat collect on your own forehead, mirroring the same glistening of his own skin as you bite your lip and whimper out a pathetic, “h-haitham, more—please.”

“it’s a good thing i brought you with me,” he pants as he snaps his hips up, his hands still guiding your hips to bounce on his cock as you pull up before slamming back down, your walls hugging his thick girth tightly while his fat tip presses against your sweet spot. “imagine where i’d be if you weren’t here. j-jus’ wouldn’t feel the same if i was fucking my fist instead of this sweet cunt.”

the stretch is too good—the way he splits you open as he bullies into your pussy, pushing past your folds and dragging his thick veins along your walls, makes your head spin, pleasure burning up your nerves and spreading across your entire body. your lips attach themselves to his neck, kissing and sucking along the skin as he groans and tightens his bruising grip on your hips.

“b-baby—fuck, ‘s so good,” you mewl, “h-haitham—oh.”

“take me so well,” he says breathlessly, face falling slack as your walls flutter around his length and relieve the ache that was all too overwhelming just a few moments ago—being buried into your pussy is enough to turn the tight grit of his jaw into a loose, parted lips as he moans your name. “taking it so well, like the good girl you are. you—ngh, fuck—you want to make me feel better, don’t you?”

“i do,” you nod, sobbing as his thumb finds your clit and rubs harsh circles into the delicate bundle of nerves, “i do, i do—please, haitham. faster, need more.”

“yeah?” he lets out a strangled chuckle, biting his lip and groaning as you snap your hips down particularly rough, squeezing around him tightly, “you need more? i’d almost say you were stung instead of me.”

your nails dig into his shoulders, leaving angry, red marks in their wake as his fingers dig into the plush skin of your hips. you slam down on him with every roll of your hips, his own meeting you halfway as he bucks up, fucking into you—you can feel it, the impending high that you reach closer and closer to, every circle of his thumb on your clit and every brush of his cock against your walls bringing you close to falling off the edge.

“‘m…g-gonna cum, haitham—fuck, a-almost there, baby,” you pant, mewling as you throw your head back while he leans in to kiss your neck, biting hard enough that you almost wonder if there’s blood.

“me too,” he groans, “you…you’re so perfect,” you feel his head bury into your shoulder, his forehead digging into your shoulder as you cradle the back of his head with a hand and whine, “i’m bringing you to every trip—fuck you in every ruin i explore. you’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

“yes, yes—please,” you babble, nodding as your back arches before you feel the coil snap—you gasp his name, a repeat of haitham, haitham, haitham, falling from your lips as he fucks into you through your high. the spasm of your walls around him sends him hurtling into his second orgasm—even more earth-shattering than the first.

“that’s it,” he moans, his voice deep and raspy as it cracks in the middle, “can’t even be mad i got stung—not when you let me fuck you l-like this. so…feels so good—’m c-cumming.”

it’s not the first time al-haitham has cum in you—but it’s never felt like this before. it’s hot, his cum—it spills into you and coats your walls in a sticky mess that forms a ring at the base of his cock as it pumps into you. the mess of his release and your arousal coats both of your thighs, leaking from your abused cunt and smearing along your skin. you can feel him twitch with every rope, can feel the way he throbs as he spills into you and paints your walls white with his release. it’s desperate—needy and so, so filthy, just like the sounds he makes into your ear, breathless pants that make your stomach do flips as you listen to him fall apart and break. 

he slumps as he finishes, your body falling against him as you both pant harshly and catch your breaths. he kisses your neck delicately as you stroke his hair, admiring his spent form under you.

“as much as i hate that you got stung,” you mumble, “this…this might not have been the worst thing.”

“oh yeah?” he snorts, looking up and raising a brow—it’s only then that you feel it, the twitch of his still hard cock, still buried deep in your abused cunt, “are you sure? because we aren’t nearly finished yet—i really hope you’re prepared to take it.”

the textbook may have lied, you think—this is not mild at all. this might delay your trip quite a bit.

i would go with him hoping he gets stung every time so i could suck the soul out of him tbh

[jj-one]

9:20 AM.

Jungkook (your boyfriend) knew exactly how to make you feel good, only he knew how to please your body.

pairing: bf!Jungkook x gf!reader genre/tags: smut, fluff, teasing, dom!jungkook x sub!reader, marking, jungkook has a tongue piercing, fingering, oral (f. receiving), mentions of crying (from pleasure), female orgasm words: 1.2k

**old repost from my deleted blog

You were excited for your boyfriend to come back home from his morning jog. You woke up after he did and he left the cutest little handwritten note on the refrigerator. It said on the note that he went out for his morning jog and is heading to the market after to pick a few things up for tonight’s dinner. You smile at his note and thought it was so sweet how he could’ve just sent a simple text but wanted to go the extra mile by handwriting a note for you. Deciding to do your own thing while he’s gone, you pick a romantic comedy movie to watch on Netflix to pass the time. Patiently waiting for Jungkook to arrive back home, you heard the door suddenly unlock and hurry to get up to go leave out of your room.

“JUNGKOOK!” You shout eagerly, almost pouncing on him once he gets through the door.

“Y/n, my baby girl,” He greets you back with a doting smile, wrapping his arms around your waist, encasing himself into you.

You wasted no time to start kissing him, immediately going in to grab his pretty face with both of your hands, crashing your lips into his. He must’ve been thinking about doing this all day because once you two start making out, he carries you straight into both of your guy’s bedroom and places you gently onto the bed.

Jungkook knew exactly how to make you feel good, only he knew how to please your body. He’d begin by peppering your jaw and neck with a plethora of kisses, leaving a faint trail of hickies behind. He’d also be rubbing your inner thigh with his large hands that always turn you on every time you look at them. The prominent veins on his hands and arms when he flexes just a teensy bit is enough to make you cum in your panties.

“I love you so much,” Jungkook murmurs against your skin, still kissing and sucking on your neck as if he’s a vampire.

“Love you too koo— fuck…” Your response was interrupted by what he was doing to you next. Jungkook’s tattooed hand makes its way down to the tight shorts you were wearing. The shorts were pink and had a cute hello kitty design on them, Jungkook was the one who bought them for you actually. He’s always loved seeing you in the clothes he bought for you over the years, acting like a little kid on Christmas.

Jungkook is rubbing you over your shorts and the friction is driving you absolutely insane. You can just feel how wet you’re becoming, the juices from your heat start to overflow; seeping through your panties and he feels you throbbing on his fingers. He’s got a sinister look on his face and you already know that means you’re in for something amazing to make your morning.

“Sheesh baby, look how wet your pussy’s getting…” Jungkook looks in awe, hissing at the sight of a giant wet spot forming in your panties after he took off your tight skimpy shorts.

Jungkook begins caressing, kissing, and licking your lower body, touching every curve and crevice of you, not missing a single spot. His touch is so gentle, so warm, so inviting. His tongue rolls along the inside of your thigh, the steel metal of his tongue piercing feels cold but the sensation tingles down your spine. Flinching from the action he performed, he notices straight away, eyebrows raised in a sudden stir of confusion.

“You okay baby?” He asks softly before continuing, wanting to make sure nothing he did hurt you.

“Y-yes, just feeling a little sensitive that’s all…” You say quietly.

You feel him smile against your soft flesh, planting more wet kisses against yours thighs and laid his head there for a while to feel your warmth.

“I could be like this all day y’know?” He basks in your presence, speaking in a mumbled tone, half his face still buried in your thighs.

“I know koo.”

Jungkook raises his head a tiny bit just to face your clothed pussy again. He couldn’t stop smiling like an idiot, bringing his face—specifically his nose, closer to you to get a whiff of your sweet aroma. He practically buries his nose into your panties and drags it down your slit.

“You smell so good..” He was intoxicated by your scent, loving the natural, but fragrant essence.

He licks a stripe to your clothed core, making you moan out loud and bring your hand to latch onto his fluffy hair. You love to play with it and make it a mess of his hair after he’s done giving you the best head of your life.

“You taste really good too babe,” Jungkook couldn’t get enough of you, he was literally drunk off your pussy.

You were so desperate for him to take your panties off as you were starting to make more of a sticky mess in them but he seemed to be enjoying it more that way. He wanted to prolong the action of coming into contact with your bare pussy. He wanted to tease you so much until you were begging for him to touch your clit. You wanted nothing but his tongue against your wet folds right now.

“J-jungkook…” You mutter so lowly, he almost couldn’t hear you.

“Hmm, what’s my name baby?” He asks while still teasing your entrance, now sliding one of his fingers inside your floral panties.

“Jungkook!” You moan louder this time, feeling somewhat better that you’re almost getting to where you want to be.

“Want you to scream my name for hours, can you do that for me babydoll?” He asks in a serious tone, pushing his finger in and out of your soaked cunt.

You nod submissively, “o-okay daddy..” arching your back against the bed from the amazing feeling, Jungkook knows exactly how to use his fingers on you.

He kept fingering you harder and deeper until you look him in the eyes and visibly start to tear up from all the pleasure he’s giving you. It’s so good but so unbearable at the same time. He made you feel like you were in heaven, crying out his name, just saying “Jungkook, Jungkook, Jungkook” on repeat whilst he’s finger fucking you. He’s scissoring your tight hole from the inside out and your juices were now running so far down your legs. You were super close to your orgasm and he could tell by the contorted face you were making.

“Jungkook… Jungkook.. fuck I’m gonna cum!” You scream for him, eyes rolling to the back of your head and your vision was going insanely blurry.

“Yeah baby that’s it, just relax…cum for daddy,” Jungkook coaxes you through it, encouraging you to reach your high but still adding slight pressure to your clit. You couldn’t take it anymore, just letting go and being in eternal bliss as you reached your climax. You moaned his name a couple more times and he called you his good girl for cumming when he told you to. You went back to making out and he was now massaging your boobs.

“You’re really horny today, huh?” You ask Jungkook, stifling a giggle at his overly naughty behavior.

“The real question should be when am I not horny whenever I’m with you y/n..” Jungkook shamelessly admits, grabbing your face once again to kiss you harder.

At least you can say you don’t have issues with satisfying your man in the bedroom !

[rafeandonlyrafe]

in sickness and in health

words: 1k

warnings: doctors office, physical appointment, needle warning!, fear of needles/medical stuff, established relationship, husband!rafe, soft!rafe pregnancy cw

“you ready to go?” rafe asks, swinging his car keys around his finger.

“uh, yeah…” you look down to your own hand, keys clenched in your first.

“you wanna drive?” rafe asks, frowning. you never drive your own car when he's available.

“um… i just figured you wouldn't wanna go.” you shrug. “its just a physical.”

“it's still the doctors, and the doctors make you nervous.” 

rafe isn't wrong, you're not a fan of anything medical, but it's just your family doctors office, not the hospital or anything too scary.

“don't you have golf with top?” you scheduled your appointment for the same time he usually meets up with topper at the country club, thinking it would be a good time to pop in real quick.

“i canceled when you put your appointment on the calendar. do you not want me to come?” rafe frowns.

“no, i do! i just figured-” you shrug. “i don't know, you wouldn't want to.”

“what did our vows say baby?” rafe asks.

“huh?” 

“in sickness and in health. im coming.” rafe takes the car keys out of your hand, tossing them back into the bowl on your entrance table. “and im driving, of course.”

--

“thanks for coming with me rafey.” you squeeze his hand, eyes on the clock as the minutes tick by. you arrived early for your appointment, only to be told the doctor was running behind. “even though im not really sick.” you giggle at how seriously he takes his vows.

“i would never expect you to go alone, honey.” rafe simply says. “now, do you want me to go in the room with you or should i wait out here? i don't mind either way.”

“um… actually can you come in with me?” you ask shyly, feeling your cheeks heat up. “i need to get my flu shot and you know how much i hate needles.”

“shit, a shot?” rafe leans forward to pick his water bottle up off the table, thrusting it into your hands. “here, hydrate. don't want you passing out.”

“thanks.” you take a sip of the water. rafe came with you once long before you were married to get blood drawn, and you think you traumatized him by passing out right after the needle left your arm.

“do you want me to get a snack from the vending machine, love?” rafe questions, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear.

“no, but do you think we could go out to lunch after?” you pout out your bottom lip, although there really is no reason to as rafe quickly agrees.

--

“and you're alright with your husband being in here?” the doctor asks.

you nod enthusiastically. “yup! i asked him, since im gonna be getting the flu shot.”

your doctor nods, remembering from last year how much you hated the needle. “alright, i will just have you sit in here mr. cameron for a moment while we get a urine sample.”

you feel extra thankful for accepting the water from rafe in the waiting room as you're easily able to fill up the sample cup before placing it in the cupboard.

“alright, the labs will get to work on it right away.” your doctor nods. “will probably be done by the end of your appointment, if not soon after.” 

“awesome.” you nod, heading back into the exam room, smiling when you realize rafe was patiently waiting for you to return.

the doctor goes through your normal exam, asking you questions and checking your vitals, making notes to add to the system later.

“alright, it all looks good. why don't you hop up on the table and we can do your flu shot?”

“okay.” you swallow heavily, looking to rafe who stands with you, gripping your hand and allowing you to press your face into his chest.

“don't tell me when.” you say, muffled by rafes shirt. “just do it.”

you feel the poke and stiffen out, letting out a small sound that hurts rafes chest to hear, holding you tighter as the doctor withdrawals the needle and covers your arm with a bandage.

“all done! you did great. just lay down.” 

you lay back on the bed, eyes closing as you breath, thankfully not feeling the urge to pass out.

“im going to have a nurse bring you in some crackers and apple juice while i get your results back from the urine test.”

“thank you.” you manage to mumble as your doctor leaves.

you blink your eyes open to look up at rafe. “that sucked, but thanks for being here.” you smile, rafe bending down to press a quick kiss to your lips as the nurse comes in.

“i got ‘em.” rafe holds the two cups, allowing you to pick out a cracker and eat it before realizing how dry your mouth is. you manage to sit up, head still slightly dizzy, to take a sip of juice, the sugary drink instantly making you feel better.

you keep snacking until your doctor returns, a stack of papers in her hands.

“feeling good?” she questions, to which you quickly nod.

“yes, thank you.”

“so, just to quickly go over your results…” she frowns when she looks at the paper. 

“what's wrong?” rafe asks.

“i need to ask you to step out of the room, mr. cameron.” she says.

“no!” you squeal, before quickly composing yourself. “no, i want him here. especially if something is wrong.”

“your results look good except for an elevated hormone called hcg. it's a sign of pregnancy.”

“im… im pregnant?”

“yes. the results indicate more than three weeks pregnant.”

you look up to rafe, watching him process the information as tears well in his eyes. he finally looks down at you as tears fall.

“baby… we are gonna be parents.”

you let out a sob, not even realizing that you were already crying as well as rafe pulls you into a tight hug.

“ill give you guys a moment.” the doctor quickly steps out of the room.

“oh my god.” you press your hands against your stomach. “oh my god!”

“im… im so happy.” rafe laughs, pressing a kiss against your lips.

“oh rafe, you're gonna be the best daddy ever.” you cup his cheek, pulling him back in for a more intense kiss.

sfw taglist: @winterrrnight @bejeweledreverie

[chxrryhansen]

2. Rafe x innocent (and kinda naive/ airhead?) reader where reader and rafe are dating (still very new) and reader keeps reminding him she wants to wait longer (when they are making out/feeling each other up) and he keeps trying to go further, so he tells/manipulates her that it’s not normal for girls to not want to go further and something could be wrong, so he “checks” her (rubbing her clit and fingering her) and asking things like “does that feel good?” “Doesn’t that make you want more?” “Something probably is wrong if you want me to stop”, just so he can convince her to say she wants more (so then he fucks her).   

-💎

ur asks have me going FERAL. your brain is so beautiful and it must be treasured and protected at all costs. i actually hate the way i wrote this but i was too far in to change it by the time i realised i didn’t like it😒😒 nevertheless, this is a long one guys so buckle up!! (1.5k words!!!😱😱)

₊♡₊˚ 🎀・₊✧

you and rafe had only been dating for a few weeks, relationships were pretty much a whole new thing for you since your upbringing hadn’t really allowed it. you hadn’t had sex before, ever. and rafe wasn’t going to be patient for much longer, the furthest you two had went is making out, when it got heated you pulled back.. pushing him away and saying you didn’t feel well.

rafe was getting desperate, you didn’t even realise what you did to him. he was painfully hard most of the time since you were oblivious to how sexual you were being. such as bending over right infront of his face, showing him your cutesy pink panties or accidentally grinding against his cock when you squeezed past him in the kitchen. rafes frustration was at its peak and he couldn’t take it any longer.

rafe stretched his arm around your waist as you both lay in bed watching tv, biting his lip in thought before reaching out to grip your jaw gently, turning you to face him. he leant forward, catching your lips in a deep kiss, it didn’t take long knowing rafe before it got heated, as his tongue began battling your own for dominance you pulled away, taking deep breaths as you stared up at him with big innocent eyes.

“what’s wrong, pretty girl?” he muttered, lifting his thumb to wipe his drool from your mouth.

“n-nothing rafe, i just.. i don’t… i can’t go any further with you, i-i don’t think i’m ready for that.” rafe’s patience was out of the window by now, all rational thoughts evaporating as his cock grew harder, straining against his pants, desperate to be inside your sweet cunt.

“baby…” he sighed. “this isn’t normal.”

you stared at him with a confused expression, your eyebrows knitted. “i-i don’t understand, did i do something?”

he was quick to shut that thought down “no, no, no, my sweet girl, it’s more about what you didn’t do. see, other girls your age…they love being good for their daddy’s, and i just don’t think you are being good f’ me.” tears began to whell up in your eyes, his negative feedback not sitting right in your stomach. “daddy?” you questioned gently, your bottom lip wobbling.

“yeah, i’m your daddy, baby. and i think it’s about time you start calling me that. it’s true, no? i take care of you, i feed you, pay for your clothes, hell, i even take you to the bathroom. i may aswell be your daddy, so that’s what your gonna’ call me from now on, you got that?” he speaks softly, not wanting to discourage you or push you further away but needing to be firm enough so you understand. he’s testing the waters. seeing how easy it is to control your sweet mind in ways only a man like him could.

“i mean.. yeah, that-that makes sense i guess.”

a sly smile appears on his face, his thumb wiping a salty tear from your cheek “good girl.” he lifts your skirt with one hand, pushing into your panties and rubbing your clit, you gasp in surprise at the new sensation. “daddy! w-what are you doing?” you ask in shock.

rafe sighs “daddy needs to give you a check up baby, just to make sure nothin’s wrong. all i need to do is rub that sweet button of yours and fuck my fingers into your pretty pussy, mkay?” your cunt involuntarily clenches around nothing. “mkay, daddy.” you moan. rafes fingers stray from your clit to your entrance, his cock growing impeccably harder from the feel of your wetness, your pussy leaking around his hand.

“d-daddy, feels s’ good.” you whimper as he pushes his fingers into your hole, your walls clenching instinctively around his thick digits. “yeah? you like that? you like it when daddy fingers your sweet pussy?” he groan into your ear, sending shivers down your spine.

he picks up his pace, fingering you roughly until the knot in your stomach begins to tighten, you grab at his wrist, pushing him away, which doesn’t really do much since your strength is no match for his own. “daddy! stop, i-i think i’m gonna’ pee.” you whine, embarrassment flooding through your veins. your cheeks flushed from the humiliation.

he lets out a small laugh, his famous smirk still painted across his face “no baby, your not gonna’ pee.. your gonna’ cum. your gonna’ cum with my fingers deep inside your cunt. ask me. ask daddy for permission.” he growls, a flip switching inside his brain. “p-please daddy, make me cum, please can i cum? please please please.” you beg, tears streaming down your face as you try desperately to hold back.

“cum.”

he growls, watching as your legs begin to shake, your pussy sucking his fingers further into your cunt. you cry out as your body spasms, a thick creamy fluid leaking out of you and into rafes palm. “that’s it, let it all out. dirty fuckin’ girl. creaming all over your daddy’s fingers.”

your breathing begins to slow as you come down from your orgasm although rafe keeps his fingers deep inside your pussy, catching you in a deep kiss. he takes your hand in his own and leads it down towards his cock, making you instantly recoil. rafe lets out a mixed groan of annoyance and sigh of disappointment under his breath. you look towards the bed, feeling guilty as ever. he turns you to face him again, his pretty blues simmering in darkness. “listen. pretty baby, i was trying to be nice earlier but… i think there is something wrong with you. all the other girls your age wanna’ fuck daddy, so why don’t you? i’ve been so patient with you sweets but, the clock’s tickin’.”

rafes fingers begin to fuck into you once again at a rapid pace, your whimpers and cries filling the room as he fucks you with his fingers. “see? doesn’t that feel good? doesn’t that make you want more?” you nod your head, dazed with pleasure. not even fully understanding his questions. “good girl.” he mutters before taking his cock out of his pants, before you even realise whats happening, rafe had removed his fingers and crawled on top of you, pushing the mushroom tip of his swollen fat cock against your entrance.

your eyes burst open in shock at the feeling “wait, wait, wait, da-DADDY! Oh fuck!” you practically screamed as rafe bottomed out in your pussy with a single thrust. essentially, popping your cherry. his hand is quick to cover your mouth as he glares down at you from above. his sanity is long gone by now, the crazed look on his face scaring you into submission.

“shut the fuck up. i-i’m done playing games now. your gonna’ shut your pretty little mouth and-and daddy’s gonna’ fuck your cunt until he cums deep inside you, okay?” you didn’t respond seeming as his hand was covering your mouth.

he lifted his palm from your mouth before quickly striking you across the face, you cried out as your skin began to fluster due to the impact of his hit. he swiftly gripped your jaw making you look him in the eyes once more “you-you fuckin’ answer me when i’m talkin’ to you. you nod your fuckin’ head when daddy asks you a question.” this time you were quick to nod your head, tears streaming down your cheeks as you sobbed a “y-yes daddy.”

if anything they just seemed to turn rafe on even more. “good… good girl.” he groaned before pummelling his cock further into your cunt, he began thrusting at a rapid pace, fucking you so hard the headboard began to bash against the wall. your screams of pleasure probably being heard for miles. “ohhhh shit, you see that, you fuckin’ slut?” he pointed your face towards where your cunt and his cock connected, a pool of pink cream surrounding the base of his cock, a mixture of blood and cum. you were too far gone to talk at this point, moans and whimpers spilling out of your lips as you simply nodded your head, your eyes rolling back.

“fuck i can’t believe you tried to hide this shit from me, tried to hide how much of a greedy fuckin’ cock slut you are. it’s okay though baby, daddy loves when you turn into a desperate little whore. gonna’ have you writhing on this fat cock every day of the week from now on.”

[lujingheswife]

eyes of silver and gold

soulmate au! everyone has heterochromia, one eye is your natural colour the other is your soulmate’s natural colour. once you meet eye contact, all eyes return to its natural colour.

featuring: neuvillette

word count: 1075

cw: soulmate!au, reader is a liyue adeptus, gn!reader, reader’s eyes are GOLD because GOLD, traveler can be lumine or aether (they/them pronouns), intentional lowercase, not proofread

author’s notes: super duper rushed IM SORRY,,,, this could be written better but yeah 😭😭 i’ll do better next time !!! (i love soulmate aus)

_________ ׂׂૢ་༘࿐

neuvillette blinked at the reflection of himself on the mirror for the nth time. it was not the first time he had done so, but every time he observed the eyes of the citizens of fontaine it made him question what made his soulmate so special.

because one thing for sure, he was almost certain his soulmate was not human.

the chief justice knew the eyes of a human when he sees one. their round iris, and the common eye colours of brown or blue could easily tell that they’re merely human.

however, his soulmate’s eye replacing his left one did not look like the eyes of a human. it was an unnatural colour, usually similar to the eye colours of those who wield a vision. what caught his attention though, was the pattern of his soulmate’s eye that stood out amongst the others. like how his eyes are of a dragon’s, and lady furina’s eyes are of dewdrops, his soulmate’s eye, igniting a warm colour, shouted gold.

the first thing he had in mind was the land of gold where the geo element usurper resided. he knew liyue was a land of the adepti, where many immortals who once battled in the archon war still lived in the mountains of amber.

yet for centuries living as the hydro dragon, he had never once encountered his soulmate.

was it because of the distance between them? it was understandable, after all, for an adeptus to remain loyal to their homeland.

he had visited liyue a few times but failed to find this soulmate of his. maybe they were not residing in liyue after all?

neuvillette chose to let fate decide.

he heaved a small sigh as he turned away from the mirror, back to his office desk to continue checking the documents for the next trial.

“monsieur neuvillette!” a loud, squeaky voice which he knew belonged to a certain floating alien chimed through the door. he watched as surprisingly, only paimon, flew her way into his office with an excited expression.

he blinked confusedly at her unusual demeanour. “miss paimon,” he called, “how may i assist you today?”

he allowed her to take her time as she panted heavily. “your—“ she looked up at him and he swore he saw her eyes sparkling a lot brighter than usual. “my?” he asked.

“soulmate! we found your soulmate!! they’re outside!” paimon exclaimed excitedly.

neuvillette’s world stopped for a millisecond, for he had not known that his soulmate had just traveled kilometres from the southern liyue to the northern fontaine. he did not realize his legs moved on his own, allowing paimon to drag him by the sleeve towards the outside of the opera house.

“monsieur?” he heard paimon called before snapping himself out of his thoughts. he noticed her looking at him in concern, realizing he had stopped his tracks right by the door. “are you okay?” she asked.

is he okay? he wondered the same.

he felt an uncomfortable feeling in his chest, as if someone— or something, was banging the drums inside. he felt the drums getting louder and faster, and he could not feel his legs anymore.

he inhaled sharply. “i’m perfectly fine, miss paimon,” he paused in between, “well, let’s meet my… soulmate, shall we?”

his gaze turned towards the entrance of the door, sensing the melusine looking at him eagerly as she patiently waited for him to get ready. “monsieur neuvillette! are you going out?” she asked.

he nodded. “yes, i am. thank you very much.”

the melusine by the door clapped her hands excitedly as she immediately skipped towards the door knob before opening it for him. “well then, enjoy meeting them, monsieur!”

neuvillette watched the door opens before the light outside instantly came greeting him in an embrace.

and the first thing that entered his vision was a pair of heterochromatic eyes that matches his.

you were there with the traveler, dressed in foreign attire not befitting of fontaine. your vision clinging onto your waist like a proud medal. you were by the entrance, surrounded by melusines who were saying how your eyes match their chief justice. he watched how your confused expression tries to have a conversation with the little melusines while the traveler laughed next to you.

the cute moment did not last when the melusines notice the presence of their chief justice, immediately rushing towards him excitedly wanting to ask him about his soulmate. yet his widened eyes had locked with yours, watching your eye adorned with his blueish-purple colour slowly changing back to gold— the familiar gold that greeted him every morning in front of the mirror.

“monsieur neuvillette! your eyes!” he heard a melusine exclaimed, their hands holding his sleeve as they jumped happily.

he blinked confusedly at the tugs of his sleeves when a melusine appeared with a mirror in their hands. they showed a reflection of himself where his eyes were back to his original form— the mixture of silver, blue and purple.

he averted his attention to his soulmate who seemed to be doing the same. you were looking at your own reflection, realizing your eye has reverted to its original form. he watched your surprised expression until you noticed his attention had diverted towards you.

your flushed expressions felt a little foreign to the iudex of fontaine, but he was certainly relieved at the sight of your comfortable state in a foreign region.

he gave you a sincere smile as he placed a hand over his chest as a form of greeting.

“greetings. i’m neuvilette, chief justice and iudex of fontaine. it’s a pleasure to meet you.”

since birth, neuvillette never understood the concept of soulmates until he was given a chance to experience such phenomenon. from when he had awoken to a change in his appearance to encountering the partner that was given to him by fate, it was a surprise that a being like him could have one too.

in fact, his own soulmate was not mortal either. an adeptus originating from the land of gold, you began your exploration in the continent with the fellow traveler when they could not stop persuading you to follow them to meet someone.

a smile was formed on your lips in return as you introduced your name to him, which sounded nice to his ears. “and it’s a pleasure to meet you too, mister neuvillette.”

maybe he could give this concept a try.

_________ ׂׂૢ་༘࿐

[love44lew]

((At least for the pictures))

彡drivers needy!max verstappen

彡genre drabble

彡summary maxie wants a just kiss :((

彡notes i lowkey forgot i made this but its here now!! i have a series of drabbles while you wait for my smut scenarios xp

————————-🦈-————————

Pinterest is the go to to find makeup looks. its like being a kid in a candy store, theres always so many things to choose from. today though, you scrolled through your saves and decided on a red and brown combo.

you made the rest of your face match it by applying a redder tinted blush and added some beauty marks just for fun. max walked in as you did your makeup.

“whatcha doing love?” he creeped up behind you and snaked his arms around your waist, planting a soft kiss on your shoulder.

“i’m just doing my makeup maxie,” you glanced at him through the mirror “are you done getting ready?” max nodded

“i just came for my cologne and to see what you were doing.” he reached over and grabbed his bottle of versace that you had got him for valentines day. “you look amazing” he glanced you up and down, keeping a hand on your lower back. “hey! dont spray that too close to me i dont wanna smell like man..” you scooted away which caused max to pull you back into his arms. “you’re not just gonna smell like man, you’re gonna smell like your man, which is better.” he smirked

“okay but i wanted to try my new perfume” you frowned

“oh dont be sad at least you smell good now” he leaned in to kiss your cheek which you pushed him away.

“wait!! i haven’t put my setting spray yet” max frowned as he took a step back. “so i cant kiss you now?”

“i never said that baby i just did my makeup” you doused your face in spray before turning to him while fanning your face. you cupped his cheek with your free hand “let me have this for at least the pictures, and then you can kiss me and fuck up my makeup all you want,” maxs eyes trailed down to the side, his lips still pouty. “can you do that for me?” you softened your voice. he hesitated, still being his pouty stubborn self.

“please” you tilted your head to the side, catching his gaze with your own. max’s deep blue eyes staring back into yours as he slightly nodded and kissed your hand. his kisses trailed down your forearm before he pulled you in and kissed your shoulder. “i can do that” he showed a half smile.

the car door opened and immediately you were hit hit with hundreds of camera flashes into the car trying to capture your every move. max got out before you and took your hand in his as he helped you exit the vehicle. the flashes increased when you exited, especially because you might be just a little more famous than max. you held onto his hand as he guided you past all the paparazzi. right before you entered the building, you posed for the pictures and pulled max in to join you which he gave his cute little awkward smile to the cameras.

the night went on and max waited ‘patiently’. more like he kept asking if he could kiss you which you rejected. finally you took some shots which messed up your lips. max wasn’t looking so you came up behind him and kissed his neck and cheek which caught him by surprise. caught your lips in his plump ones as you stepped in front of him and sat on his lap for better access. you wrapped your arms around his nape as his hands gripped your hips, pulling you closer. he sighed into his long awaited kiss.

[pseudowho]

Yet Another Nanami Kento Sex Pollen Fic, Part One

Owing our Reader for pleasuring him after his prior drunk escapades, Kento allows himself to be thoroughly used after the Reader encounters some rather unusual pollen.

Read Part Two HERE!

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"Hey, darling. Home soon? I was going to run out and grab some wine."

You smiled warmly at Kento's voice over the phone, brushing your mission clothes off with one hand while you surveyed the wreck of your surroundings. The factory you were in seemed ancient, despite its abandonment in just the last decade. Its back wall, you noted, was formed of collapsed brickwork, opening out onto a patch of hazy woodland. You were curious to investigate.

"Soon," you promised Kento, "the main Curse body is gone. I'm just going to do a last sweep around. You know, I--"

"-- like to be thorough," Kento parroted you, knowing you so well. You rolled your eyes at him. Hearing him chuckle, he reassured you, "No, no, I like it. You're thorough. It's a turn-on, I promise." Laughing lightly as you stepped over damp brickwork and ivy, you heard the jangle of Kento's keys over the phone.

"Well, Sir, if I'm that much of a turn-on, you'd best get that wine. I'm ready for our evening." Kento gave you an approving hum, and bid you get home soon.

Hanging up, you stepped into the humidity of what appeared to be a totally enclosed patch of woodland, sprung like an oasis, half-in and half-out of the crumbled factory walls. Beautiful flowers, wild with a heady scent, sprouted from beds of moss and ivy, and low-hanging trees dropped jewels of dew onto the springy floor. You felt yourself becoming heavy-headed and warm. Bending down to inspect a particularly beautiful pink-budded succulent, you squeaked in shock when the buds puffed open into a surprising shade of yellow, coating you in a fine mist of pollen.

Sneezing, you backed away. Bumping against the residual wall, you noticed the forest starting to crumble away from the edges, disintegrating in the same way as the main Curse-body had. With a sinking feeling in your stomach, you recognised you had nearly been so foolish as to walk straight into the remains of its dying belly. Telling yourself off for your gullibility, you watched from the factory as the forest faded away, leaves rising like ashes into the mist.

You felt flushed, heart thumping behind your breasts as you left the factory, finding Ijichi waiting patiently for you outside the veil. Ijichi smiled to you, bowing, thanking you for your services. He held the car door open for you, and you climbed in, grateful for the chance to sit down.

Except, as the car rumbled to life, every small vibration, every graze of the cool leather against your flushed skin, every time you caught the smell of Ijichi's shampoo, you felt the agonising thud of arousal between your legs. You mentally shook yourself when catching yourself looking Ijichi up and down from the back seat, admiring how his hands managed the steering wheel so smoothly, and you were appalled that this wonderful, kind, gorgeous man didn't have a girlfriend yet. Maybe you could be his girlfriend, you thought fleetingly, you'd know how to treat him right--

"Everything okay?" Ijichi caught your eyes in the mirror, full of concern as you gasped at yourself and slapped your own cheeks. Cheeks pink, breasts heaving with deep breaths and underwear increasingly wet, you knew you needed to get home to Kento. There was absolutely nobody else you needed right now, and surely this would wear off, surely he would help you deal with your desire as you had helped with his, in the shower that night--

"I'm okay, Ijichi, I'm fine!" You babbled, arms folded across your chest to hide your pebbled nipples, "Just tired! You know how it is. Busy day." You laughed nervously, hiding your face in shame as Ijichi politely bowed his head and continued to drive you home.

+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+

Kento dropped his keys onto the shelf, slipping out of his shoes and into house slippers as he leaned back against the door, shutting it with a click.

His heart gave a happy leap when he heard you rummaging around the bathroom; you were home. Rolling the wine bottle in his broad palm, he fetched two glasses. In the process of uncorking the bottle, he pretended not to notice as you walked up behind him. He regretted feigning ignorance when he felt sharp teeth nip into the back of his shoulder.

Kento spun, startled, and barely had time to save the open bottle of wine when he was pushed with surprising force back against the table. All thoughts and blood rushed straight to his cock as he felt your body, insistent and hot press against his. Kento offered no resistance at first as you grabbed the back of his neck, fingers sinking into his hair to pull him down for a kiss, but stopped immediately at the feverish and desperate look in your eyes.

Kento gripped your shoulders and held you at arm's length, scowling deeply as he appraised you. Still in mission-wear. Flushed. Eyes glazed. Heat radiating off you.

"You're...hurt? What happened? Tell me." Kento ordered, already moving to grab his keys- you needed Shoko's attention. You moved instantly to block Kento's path, eyes fixed on him and pupils dilated as you panted, arousal thrumming through you in waves, your blood rushing in your ears and between your legs. Not swayed, and firm in his decision, Kento restrained you effortlessly, one arm trapping both of yours behind your back, and another arm diagonally across your breasts.

As Kento's arms pressed your body firmly against his own, you moaned and Kento short-circuited. Not letting go, breath tickling the side of your face, Kento stared at you.

"What happened?" he repeated. You pressed your head back against his shoulder, whimpering in frustration.

"The Curse was very plant-like I suppose, and it had a garden, and these pollen pods just exploded all over me, and since then I've just...I just...god Kento please just fuck me, I'm begging you."

With a blush, it finally clicked for Kento-  you weren't hurt, you were uncontrollably horny. He gulped, his tongue feeling thick in his mouth, and cock hardening against his thigh. In a measured voice, Kento replied.

"You're in no fit state to demand I fuck you. You're under the influence of that curse, and I won't take advantage of you like that."

"Who said anything about you taking advantage?" You whined, rubbing your arse back against his hardening cock, "I'm asking if you'll let me take advantage of you." You squirmed against Kento, one of your pinned hands sneaking between the buttons of his shirt to rub his V-line. Your head turned sharply and you bit Kento's neck hard enough to draw blood. Kento yelped in alarm, now moving you swiftly forwards and pressing you into the wall, using one arm and one knee between your legs to pin you there.

"You minx," he gasped. Wiping at his neck with one hand and holding your wrists in another, Kento watched as you squirmed against the wall, thighs clamped furiously together for relief, blush creeping down your breasts.

"Kento, please," you begged, "I helped you. When you came home, drunk. And you promised you wouldn't refuse me."

"You and I both know that was--"

"It was no different!" Kento let his silence hang in the air. He knew as soon as he let you go, you'd be undressing him in seconds. He was furious to find himself thrilled at the thought. Being used as your toy sounded absolutely delicious.

"If I let you use me for some relief, but it doesn't work, I'll be taking you to Shoko immediately. Understood?" You nodded frantically, hands clenching and unclenching desperately in Kento's grasp. Kento walked you slowly back to the table, and you heard him knock back his glass of wine. You felt a glass placed to your lips, and Kento's smooth voice in your ear, "Bottoms up," as you gulped the wine, the alcohol hitting your heightened senses immediately, and your need for Kento to be buried inside you was suddenly furious and burning.

Kento let go of your wrists, and you jumped him, quite literally, arms locked behind his neck and legs around his waist. Kento grunted in surprise as your lips crashed against his with bruising force, the taste of blood and red wine on his tongue as you forced yours into his mouth, immediately dominant in a way that aroused him to his very core. Kento's hands cupped your arse perfectly, and you shifted your weight so Kento slammed back onto the table, feet on the floor as you straddled him, clothed pussy grinding against his cock.

Kento groaned at the contact, and submitted fully when you pinned his wrists to the table, leaning forward to bite and suck his neck. Kento shivered with pleasure, feeling every mark that he would see in the mirror the next morning. Drunk on the novelty of being so used, Kento offered absolutely no resistance as your hand slipped to his groin, squeezing his clothed erection almost too hard through the thin material. Kento shuddered, coughing in surprise and bucking into your hand.

Your hand left his cock far too soon, and you moved up Kento's body, now pinning his wrists with your knees as you began to undo his tie. Kento watched you with absolute focus as you then began to undress yourself, clothes being flung off at speed, until you were bare breasted on top of him, nipples hard as bullets, and you absent-mindedly draped Kento's tie around your neck as you surveyed him like your favourite meal.

"Oh, fuck," Kento intoned, as you ripped open his shirt, hearing buttons skitter away across the table. Moving down to grind against him again, and replacing your knees on his wrists with your hands, you bit his nipple, leaving lovebites across his heaving chest. Kento's head swam with arousal and anticipation, hands eager to reach you, to give you your own way, to be inside you.

You were focused, predatory in your need, and closed your eyes as you kicked your trousers and underwear off, pussy now totally naked and glistening with your arousal, leaving a wet patch on Kento's groin as you humped his clothed cock fervently. Kento was completely pinned, moaning and gasping as his cock twitched with need. You felt like you were on fire, your clit throbbing as you felt your first orgasm approaching, almost there but not close enough, body and mind still feeling too empty to climax. Your torso leaned closer to Kento's as you tried to increase the pressure and he quickly freed his arms from under yours.

Sliding one hand between your legs, he hurriedly pressed his two middle fingers upwards, deep into the heat and wetness of your pussy, his thumb quickly finding your clit and rubbing harsh circles on it. You cried out and bucked, riding his hand, and Kento nearly came from the feeling of your pussy clenching his fingers alone. You had reached down, both hands holding Kento's wrist, grasping his hand in place as your cunt fluttered around it, wet and needy, your cries becoming higher and louder, desperate to abate the burning arousal that had turned your skin electric.

Kento felt your desperation, watching you, near tears, trying to cum on his fingers. Reaching down, he swiftly unbuttoned his trousers and freed his leaking cock, pressing it up into you without warning, not even removing his fingers, and pinching your clit between his thumb and forefinger.

Your orgasm hit you in hot waves, tears streaming down your cheeks as you called Kento's name over and over, feeling stretched and overfull with his fingers and cock still inside you. Feeling next to no relief post-orgasm, you slammed your hips down on Kento's, chasing the fullness his hand and straining erection gave you.

Kento clenched his teeth as you rode him, refusing to cum until you'd had your fill of him, vision and heart full of you clad in nothing but his tie. One hand remaining between your legs, and the other providing aggressive attention to your breasts and nipples, Kento felt your sweat and cum drip down his balls, groin now soaked with the intoxicating smell of you. He continued rubbing circles on your clit and squeezed his fingers forward against your internal walls, feeling your cervix bump his fingertips, as you shook and shuddered your way through a second orgasm.

Kento removed his hands to grasp your hips, your wetness dropping along his hand. Lifting you up and ramming you back down onto his cock, you slumped forwards onto him, a ragdoll.

Determined to pleasure you until you could barely stand, Kento tilted your hips against his until his cock pumped in and out of you at the perfect angle, his eyes fixed on where his fingers sank into the plush fat of your arse, jiggling as he slammed you down onto him. He hissed as your nails dug crescents into his shoulders, and you pleaded against his chest-- "please please please cum inside me, don't stop, don't stop" -- while his hips bucked you upwards, feet cramping as his toes pressed hard onto the floor, lights in his eyes as he felt his balls and abdomen clench, his approaching orgasm about to overwhelm his stamina. He felt your teeth and hot little pants against his chest.

Your hips couldn't keep up with his pace, hearing his moans rumble through his chest with every thrust, until you felt his cock jump and spurt hot seed inside you, cervix wet and belly warm and full. You lay on top of him, shuddering, feeling the heat in your body gradually dissipate. Kento stroked your hair, strong arms holding you to him, planting soft kisses on top of your head.

"Better?" he inquired, toying with the tie around your neck. You blushed, bashful after your performance, nodding and humming against his neck. "Much," you reassured him. He tapped your bum playfully, "You go shower and get cleaned up. I'll tidy up out here."

You climbed off him with a sigh, feeling his cum drip down your thighs as he slipped out of you, and you padded away to the bathroom.

In a few minutes, sated, sleepy, and feeling the hot water tumble over you, you were struck with a thought. Opening the shower door, you called out to Kento.

"I was just thinking, maybe you shouldn't touch those clothes? There's probably still loads of--" You paused, hearing Kento sneeze and swear in the next room.

A few tense moments passed, the time coiling up in your tummy like snakes, and the bathroom door creaked open slowly. Kento filled the doorway, shoulders tense as he stared you down like you were prey, slowly stroking his rapidly hardening cock.

"Oh shit," you breathed, naked and helpless under the hot water as he approached you, eyes burning with intent.

+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+

REQUEST #1 COMPLETE!

And just think, Kento never even took off his slippers. Get you a man who can rail you like that with his house slippers on.

[improper-use-of-germx]

What if the monster under your bed just wanted to hang out with you? They twist and bend their body until they can hide themselves away, waiting patiently, unseen while you go about your normal life.

They like to listen to you. The music you play, the creak of the floorboards beneath each step, the almost indiscernible sound of you typing on a little screen. They especially liked listening to you as you lay in your bed above them, so close they felt every breath you took as if it were their own.

But their favorite part of the routine was after your breathing slowed, when the night was at its darkest and they could finally uncurl from their hiding place and stand to their full height. Well, almost. Your ceiling was a little too low and they had to stoop their head a bit, but they didn't mind bowing to you, sprawled out in your nest of blankets and pillows and other soft things. Their precious human friend, what wouldn't they do for you?

Sometimes they are content to just watch. When they think you seem tired today, and can't bear to possibly ever disrupt your few hours of rest, they stand over your sleeping form and stare until morning light forces them away again. They keep track of your heart rate, the way your eyes move under their lids while you dream, how often you toss and turn.

When they feel themselves get overwhelmed looking at you, they allow themself a little more. Sometimes they sit on the edge of your bed, letting their full weight dip the mattress towards them. They feel the heat from your body seep into the sheets and travel slowly to them, like water through a paper towel. Maybe one day they'll get closer, try to feel you non-vicariously. But for now, they're so happy just to be this close. They don't want to lose you yet.

[imloyaltoscoups]

stop playing | jeon wonwoo

As the game's intense soundtrack filled the room, Wonwoo was fully immersed in the virtual world, his focus unwavering as he navigated through each challenge with precision. Meanwhile, you lounged nearby, feeling a mischievous urge to steal his attention away from the screen.

"Hey, love" you called out playfully, hoping to draw him away from the game for a moment.

But he was too engrossed, his concentration unbroken by your voice. Determined to grab his attention, you decided to up the ante. You slipped off your shorts and underwear, leaving yourself clad only in his oversized shirt. With a mischievous grin, you settled back, waiting for the perfect moment to make your move.

Finally, a brief pause in the game presented itself, and you seized the opportunity. With a swift motion, you reached over and began to undo his pants, your actions catching him completely off guard.

"Woah, what are you doing?" Wonwoo exclaimed, his eyes widening in surprise as he turned to face you, his hands hovering over the keyboard in confusion.

You met his startled gaze with a playful smirk, your fingers still working to remove his pants. "Just trying to get your attention, babe," you replied, your tone filled with mischief.

A mixture of shock and amusement crossed Wonwoo's features as he processed the situation, his lips twitching into a grin despite himself. "Well, you certainly got it," he chuckled, reaching out to gently tug you closer. "But maybe we can save this for after I finish this level?"

You pout slightly, feigning disappointment as you protest, "But Wonwoo, I want your attention now. I've been waiting patiently for you to notice me."

He chuckles softly at your playful protest, but his eyes still flicker back to the screen. "I know, babe, I'm sorry. This level is just really tricky."

Crossing your arms in mock indignation, you huff, "Fine, if you're going to keep playing, then I'll just... find something else to do."

As you start to turn away, Wonwoo's hand reaches out to gently grasp your arm, stopping you in your tracks. "Wait," he says, his tone suddenly serious yet tinged with a hint of mischief, "How about this? Why don't you... cockwarm me for a little while? It'll be like having your attention and letting me play at the same time."

You raise an eyebrow, a smirk playing at the corners of your lips. "Oh, so now you want me to multitask, huh?"

He grins sheepishly, his cheeks flushing slightly. "Well, when you put it like that..."

With a playful roll of your eyes, you give in, sliding closer to him and straddling his lap. As you settle down, you can feel the warmth of his body beneath you, and the mischievous glint in his eyes tells you that, despite his focus on the game, he's more than happy to have you close.

As Wonwoo's eyes remain fixed on the screen, his focus unyielding, you lean in closer, your lips brushing against his neck in a series of slow, teasing kisses. You feel a thrill of satisfaction as you hear his breath catch slightly, his body reacting to your touch even as he tries to maintain his concentration on the game.

You press your lips against his skin, sucking gently and leaving a mark in your wake, relishing in the small gasp that escapes his lips. But as you feel his cock growing beneath you, a surprised gasp escapes your own lips, and you can't help but voice your protest.

"Won, stop getting it big," you whine, your tone a mixture of surprise and playful annoyance.

Wonwoo chuckled softly, his laughter mixing with the ambient sounds of the game. "Sorry, it has a mind of its own," he teased, his voice laced with amusement.

Undeterred by his casual response, you continued to nibble and suck at his neck, feeling his cock twitching inside you in response to your touch. Sensing your own desire rising, you bit down on his shoulder to steady yourself, a low growl escaping from Wonwoo's lips as he felt the slight sting of your teeth.

As minutes tick by, your breath comes in heavy pants as you feel the wetness between your legs, a clear sign of your arousal building with each passing moment. Yet, Wonwoo's cock remains inside you, the throbbing sensation sending waves of pleasure coursing through your body.

"Do you want to move?" he teases, his voice low and husky with desire, his lips brushing against your ear.

You let out a soft whimper, your nails digging into his shoulders as you cling to him desperately. "Just hold on a little longer," you manage to gasp out, your own voice thick with need.

Wonwoo chuckles softly, the sound sending shivers down your spine as he tightens his grip on your hips. "If I kill the final boss," he murmurs, his breath hot against your skin, "I'll fuck you so hard, you won't be able to walk straight for days."

His words ignite a fire within you, and you can't help but tighten your legs around his waist, craving the pressure and friction. He hisses in response to your actions, his own arousal evident as he presses closer to you, the sensation of his cock inside you driving you both to the brink of ecstasy.

"Please," you beg, your voice desperate and pleading, "I want you now."

Wonwoo's gaze flickers to you briefly, a playful smirk tugging at the corners of his lips. "You need to learn to be patient," he chides gently, his attention still divided between you and the game.

You whimper softly in frustration, feeling your wetness continue to flow, the ache between your legs growing more intense with each passing moment. Despite your protests, Wonwoo's resolve remains unwavering, his attention firmly fixed on the screen.

As you wait patiently, resting your chin on Wonwoo's shoulder, your eyes flicker up to the clock above, marking the passage of time. Suddenly, you hear him shout in triumph, a victorious "Yes!" escaping his lips. You know that he's beaten the game.

Before you can fully register what's happening, Wonwoo's hands are on your waist, lifting your body and thrusting it down onto his cock. A startled moan escapes you at the sudden action, your body instinctively responding to his rough movements.

You've been waiting for this, craving his touch, and now that he's finally giving it to you, the sensation is almost overwhelming. But despite the roughness of his movements, you remain surprisingly composed, your desire driving you to meet his every thrust with eager anticipation.

"You really behaved the whole time," he murmurs, his voice low and husky as he moves your waist up and slams you harder onto his cock. "My baby needs a reward, right? For being such a good girl."

His words send a shiver of excitement coursing through you, and you nod eagerly, your breath coming in short, ragged gasps. "Yes, please," you whimper, the ache between your legs growing more intense with each passing moment.

As he thrusts you roughly, your desire intensifies, and you find yourself craving the taste of his lips. With a sense of urgency, you seek out his mouth, and when your lips finally meet, it's like a spark ignites between you.

You clash your lips against his, a desperate hunger driving your movements. Sensing your eagerness, he responds eagerly, his own desire evident as he seeks to deepen the kiss even further.

With a soft gasp, you part your lips, inviting him in, and he doesn't hesitate to take advantage. His tongue slides into your mouth, dominating the kiss with a raw intensity that leaves you breathless.

In the midst of the heated exchange of kisses and thrusts, Wonwoo's voice breaks through the haze of pleasure, his praise sending a shiver of excitement down your spine.

"You're so good, baby," he murmurs between kisses, his breath hot against your skin. "Clinging to me like this, driving me wild."

His words only fuel your desire further, and you tighten your grip around him, reveling in the feeling of his body pressed against yours. Each thrust sends a wave of pleasure coursing through you, and you find yourself clinging to him even tighter, your nails digging into his skin in a silent plea for more.

As the intensity builds, Wonwoo's praises continue, each word driving you closer to the edge of ecstasy. "That's it, baby," he murmurs, his voice husky with desire. "Just like that."

The intensity of pleasure builds between you, each thrust pushing you closer to the edge, you can feel the familiar sensation of climax looming on the horizon. Wonwoo's movements grow faster, more desperate, a silent acknowledgment that you're both teetering on the brink of release.

But just as he seems on the verge of letting go, he pauses, his breath coming in ragged gasps as he considers his next move. Sensing his hesitation, you lock eyes with him, a silent plea in your gaze.

"Release it inside me," you whisper urgently, your voice filled with need. "It's safe today."

Wonwoo's eyes widen slightly at your suggestion, surprise flickering across his features before a smirk spreads across his lips. Without a word, he resumes his movements, his thrusts growing even faster, more urgent.

As the pleasure builds to a crescendo, you feel him tensing beneath you, his release imminent. And then, with a guttural groan, he lets go, his hot seed spilling inside you as you clench around him, your own release crashing over you in waves.

As you catch your breath, resting your head against his neck, Wonwoo's hand gently caresses your head, his touch comforting and tender. "We should do this more often," he murmurs, his voice filled with a warmth that mirrors the love you feel radiating from him.

You nod in agreement, a contented smile gracing your lips. "Cockwarming while you're playing," you add with a playful chuckle, remembering the exhilarating thrill of the moment.

Wonwoo's eyes light up with amusement at your suggestion, a mischievous glint dancing in their depths. "Definitely," he agrees, his tone playful yet sincere. "It adds a whole new level to gaming."

But just as you're settling into the comfortable intimacy of the moment, Wonwoo suddenly remembers his earlier promise, the one that left you breathless with anticipation.

"You know," he says, his voice low and husky, "I did promise to fuck you until you can't walk straight for days, didn't I?" he says, a smirk tugging at the corners of his lips.

Before you can respond, Wonwoo sweeps you up into his arms, carrying you effortlessly towards the bedroom. You gasp in astonishment, your heart pounding with excitement at the sudden turn of events.

"I wasn't kidding," he murmurs, his voice low and husky as he carries you across the threshold. "Consider this round one."

With a playful grin, you wrap your arms around his neck, eager to see where the night will take you.

As he lays you down on the bed with a tender touch, his lips meet yours in a series of soft, lingering kisses. Each touch is filled with promise, a silent reassurance that he intends to fulfill the pledge he made earlier.

....... ≿━━━༺WONWOO༻━━━≾ .......

[persicipen]

sweltering summer ノ dr. ratio

ৎ୭ ₊ ˙ ⊹ . 2.5k ノ fem reader — antiquity au ノ spending a hot day inside the house ノ established relationship but also lowkey unspecified what kind of relationship lol ノ flirting while eating fruits ノlots of kissing and making out . bit of dry humping on the floor ノ lowkey soft veritas . nipple teasing . cumming inside ノ just slightly proofread, forgive me for any mistakes

ꕤ ₊ ˙ ⊹ . little dictionary — atrium . a courtyard with an open roof in the middle of the villa ノ impluvium . a shallow pool below the open roof (compluvium) that collects and filters rainwater, cooling the room during hot weather

A hot day it was, scorching sun high up in the skies casting a pale alabaster heat on stone villas and plants spreading their leaves wide to absorb every beam. The good thing that the roof kept the atrium mostly in shadows until late afternoon where the star gaze upon the courtyard at the perfect angle — but now all it does is turn the shallow pool into a vase full of diamonds, small waves sparkling and shimmering in white glitter each time you kick your feet gently against the liquid surface.

“Mmm… This way it’s bearable. The day, I mean,” you hum, lost in thoughts of how awful it would be now to stand in the middle of the agora. Instead, you’re lazing around his villa, snacking on his fruits and enjoying his company.

“Only an idiot would go out when the sun is in its zenith. Actually, there are not many sane people out there. Regardless, do you plan to squander the rest of the day on meaningless rumination?” Veritas asks, quirking a brow and piercing you with an intense look from the other side of the atrium, open space merging with this study. He doesn’t sit next to you, but his gaze feels closer than the distance between you two suggests.

You are almost naked — barely a piece of cloth draped over your intimate parts — on the warm stone bench, skin gleaming from the cream, on display like an offering for his eyes. You don’t touch each other and yet, you do.

Your shoulders sag slightly when you hear him call you out on your foolishness; the corners of your mouth pull upwards as you look at him, staring through half-lidded eyes at his beauty like he is another sun and you may go blind.

“Don’t be mean! Not everyone has the energy to make a scientific discovery when breathing alone takes away any motivation!” you whine at him with mouth full of cold grapes, which results in him rolling his eyes at you.

Alas, he’s also standing up and stepping closer.

You watch him take a piece of the peeled orange, only to eat it in front of you. And that would have been enough for your eyes to follow his lips, as well as for your heart to speed up, but Veritas takes it a step further and slowly wipes away the juice dripping down his chin with his thumb, before bringing it to his mouth and licking it off. Your brain immediately screams at you for being so obvious, stupidly fascinated by the man as you stare at his wet thumb, then at his tongue and lastly at his beautiful lips.

At this point, you have already forgotten what you were saying before he interrupted you.

“You might not possess any desire to concoct hypotheses, nor do you long for scientific development, but seem to be perfectly capable of thinking lustful of me.”

This makes you drop the bunch of grapes you had been about to eat and splutter in denial, scrambling to collect them off the floor. They’re dusty now, so you try to clean the residue in water. It doesn’t work as well as you wish it did, but once again, you fail to realise Veritas staring at you.

He waits patiently for you to finish cleaning up after yourself, sitting next to you. Clearly amused at your display of nervousness, his palm travelling along your spine and pulling the cloth just an inch to the side to let it slide on its own from your body. You look at him wide-eyed, at the small smirk on his lips and the intensity of his eyes; it takes you a moment to comprehend what is happening.

He pats his thigh and you sit there on the mosaics, biting your lower lip and pretending not to want to wrap your legs around his waist and nibble on his neck. But he can see through you.

He always does.

“I can spare you some time. Don’t waste it, indulge yourself. Come here,” he orders and you do so immediately, nearly dropping the grapes again in your haste to obey.

The cloth uncovers your entire chest by the time you straddle his lap and he sighs contentedly at your nakedness, stroking your sides from ribcage to your breasts, weighing your tits before he leans forward, taking it into his mouth and biting down slightly, making you yelp.

You circle your arms around his shoulders, pull him closer to you and press your lips against his neck, murmuring his name, all while he moves his hands to your ass, grabbing on the soft flesh and pulling your pelvis closer to his own.

It makes you want to bite down on the ivory skin on his shoulder, but instead, you mutter out, “this won’t help us cool down…”

And he replies, “as if I’m going to believe you won’t pout at me if we stop now. Would you really like to part with me?” as he says it, his thumbs swipe like feathers up your buds, eating a shudder consuming your entire silhouette.

He looks down to see your nipples harden, before you embrace him tighter and place a sloppy peck on his cheek, arms hugging him from behind, fingertips pressing into his back to have an excuse to make him not stare. You can feel his smirk against your neck.

This time he lets you lead, fingers threading through his hair as you make out with him in the empty atrium. He sits perfectly still beneath you, athletic legs spreading your own apart even more until there is no room for doubts that he likes what you do to him — your folds sliding along the hot length of his cock. His tongue runs over yours when you slip it inside his mouth, exploring him like you did not already do that once, and twice, and countless times.

You remember when he showed you how to kiss properly and gave you instructions on how to make him pleased. You were innocent then, shy as he made you take off your tunic and examine his naked form. Now, you yearn for his body as he does for yours, trembling in anticipation when he uncovers his perfect skin.

He used to teach you all sorts of things, but they all led to this very moment when he lets you ride him in his own house, feeding you his fruits and welcoming you anytime you wish to busy his precious time.

Your arms lock behind his neck, pulling him even closer, fingers entangled in his long hair as you continue making out. He takes a hold of your hips and stills you, rubbing his thumbs into the soft flesh before letting go, sliding down your ass to rest on your thighs.

He likes this, the feeling of your hands in his hair, your fingers playing with his long tresses, taking the strands between your digits and making them dance and wave like silk. He enjoys it more than you do.

And when you hear his exhale, it sends shivers up your spine — a moan right into your mouth as you both enjoy the other. You notice the tip of his tongue peeking out of his lips and you capture it with your own, closing your mouth around it and sucking gently. His nails dig into your flesh when you do this, sharp and unannounced, but definitely not unwanted.

“Already?” he whispers with a tint of mockery in his voice, feeling your shaky fist sneaking between your bodies to find his cock. Your finger brushes against the wet slit at the head, stroking him teasingly, just like he showed you before. But it’s obvious by now that you’re one mewl away from pouncing at him, trying to fit his entire girth inside.

However, Veritas has a little more self-control than you do and when he senses your impatience, he places his hand on top of yours and stops your ministrations. Then he leans in and pecks your lips before guiding your palm away from his hard length, placing it back on his chest.

You sigh against his lips, clearly disappointed.

“I know well that you want it just as much as I do…”

“Perhaps.”

“Then…? Please?”

He tilts his head to the side and takes in the sight of your naked form, bare for his eyes to drink you in and make you feel exposed, vulnerable. Then he glances down, lets his gaze trail from your face to your chest, takes in the view of your nipples — peaked and glistening from his saliva — before lowering it even more and shamelessly staring at your cunt.

You gasp quietly at his intense stare, feeling yourself drip when he parts your lower lips with two fingers and, with a subtle roll of his hips, let the glossy cockhead greet the revealed clit. It is merely a moment, yet you could see how good it would feel if he were to slide in.

But he doesn’t do that.

He leaves you there on the edge, all bothered and horny, covered in your own slick.

His tongue slides along his lower lip as he reaches down to squeeze himself in hand, smearing your wetness all over the shaft, coating it in your nectar.

The sigh he lets out is enough to make your legs weak and for you to press yourself against him, bare skin sticking together with sweat — the sweetest kind.

“Use your words.”

You huff in frustration at that, shamelessly rutting against him, desperate to have him inside. Your own juices flow freely down your thighs as you pant into his ear, incoherent pleads leaving your mouth before you finally manage to form a sentence.

“Inside… Please, let’s just continue. I want you in me…” you whisper against his lips and he sighs, lifting you up like you weigh nothing and slipping inside. Your body gives in easily, swallowing him to the hilt with a sweet moan that he kisses out of you.

“Happy now?” he asks and you nod. It is quite indescribable.

“Happy. Happy with you.”

His smile is genuine and your eyes flutter closed when he moves your hips up and down, thrusting into you slowly at the same time. It sends a wave of pleasure through your entire body and your soft pussy pulses, drooling arousal around his shaft until it’s too easy to glide deep enough to meet your womb.

The afternoon heat makes the entire scene feel like a dream.

It is too hot to move, but the water soaks into your skin, cooling you down. His fingers squeeze your asscheeks, spreading them apart, leaving them covered in goosebumps. You moan his name loudly when he leans in to smooch your nipple and then suck on it gently, all while moving you against his pelvis, putting more force into every thrust as he rolls his hips, burying himself inside you.

Veritas shudders with every small noise that leaves your lips, his eyelids heavy as he watches you — face twisted in pleasure, head thrown back and hands grasping at his shoulders for support. He places his palm over your stomach, pressing down to force you to tighten, feeling your muscles throb with life inside you.

When he bucks up into you, a lewd wet sound fills the air, making your cunt contract around his cock.

The soft click of his tongue between teeth is enough to let you know he likes it. You try to look at him through hazy eyes, but you don’t last long before your lids close once again and you surrender yourself to his ministrations.

Then he smiles against your lips, teasing you by pulling away just when you lean in for a kiss.

You squeeze your thighs together as much as possible to hold him inside, but he only needs to pry your legs apart to continue the pleasurable dance. There is a faint sound of water dripping from the aqueduct outside his atrium and it echoes against the walls.

You try to grind your hips down to meet his thrusts, but he only moves slower, murmuring into your ear that you will not like it if you overdo it. It feels almost overwhelming at this point. You let out a groan when he cups your tit, presses it up, rubs his thumb against the stiff nipple and leans down to nip on it again, tracing around the areola before gently nibbling on the bud, feeling your pussy contract every time he bites.

His other hand slides up your spine, between your shoulder blades and then up your neck, tangling in your hair. You can barely stay up at this point, with his girth inside you, keeping you full and his teeth biting into your skin — if it weren’t for him holding you close to his body, you would collapse onto the floor, spent.

There is no time for teasing as he thrusts into you again, harder than before, almost lifting you up. When he starts moving your hips for you, you can only moan, clinging to him, fingers clutching at his hair.

He fucks you like this for a moment, feeling your cunt pulse around him, slick dripping from you with every push of his length inside you. It makes a mess on his thighs, leaking down onto the floor, and you beg him to come soon before you give in to the pleasure rush yourself.

It does not take long for him to lean back, support himself with one arm against the mosaic floor and hold your hips still as he buries himself deep into you. His breathing is shaky and laboured, making you worry he might lie down or lose balance, but then he sits up, embraces you tightly and buries his face in the crook of your neck, trying to calm down.

Warmth coming from within, his cum filling you up, a scorching heat of desire that could only rival the temperature outside. You feel him throb with every drop that spills out, in tandem grinding your clit closer to his skin and prolonging your own orgasm. The entire experience makes you whimper his name softly and press closer to him, your breasts squished to his chest. He feels you hug him, hear you sniffling quietly as you shudder with every wave of pleasure passing through your body, rubbing your cheek against his shoulder and crying out when it gets too much.

Veritas doesn’t want to part from you just yet.

So he stays inside you, chest rising and falling with heavy breathing, lips leaving soft kisses on your shoulder. He picks up a grape, feeds it to you, listens to you chewing on it and chuckle as you frown, clearly confused at the gift to bite on but happy with the ripe taste. You look up at him and ask if he is finally satisfied.

And he responds, “with you? Yes.”

[bunny584]

OBSESSED: GOJO

A/N: Satoru is neither patient nor kind. Pity the poor soul that crosses him. So, don’t cross him 🤭 (ok ok I swear the Yuuta one is up next, Satoru was just being demanding, per usual).

C/W: This man is his own content warning LOL. Mature, 18+

“So. Damn. Pretty”

Satoru snaps a photo of you bent over, contemplating the pastries. Another one to add to the infinite album of his only muse.

You’re wearing his favorite pair of yoga pants. And his eyes ride your curves without any brakes in sight.

The pants are suctioned to your rounded hips from your hot Pilates class. Your precious little cunt is so puffy from all the heat and sweat, well outlined like a perfectly packaged gourmet dessert.

You never wear underwear with them. And always try to skirt by him when you come home after your workout. Self conscious about how he always tosses you on the kitchen counter and laps you up until you’re screaming his name like a prayer. Eventually squirting all over the Italian marble.

Satoruuu. You couldn’t have waited until after I showered?

You always blush and whine and avoid his gaze. Hands squeezing down on your thighs, trying to hide how they tremble for him.

His adorable, sweet girl.

He leans back against the window of the coffee shop. What’s a couple more minutes of eye-fucking?

Satoru places his rounded black glasses in his back pocket and pops a dark chocolate Hershey kiss in his mouth. What he really wants is your pussy melting on his tongue but chocolate will do for now.

“He’s so hot.” The shrill, irritating, buzz from the airheads next to him shear through his daydream about you.

“Hey, Blue eyes!”

“Sorry sweetheart. I’m spoken for.”

Satoru flashes one of his empty, razor sharp grins. Which means it’s the end of the conversation for him, but the start of a lifelong infatuation for the other party.

Eyes back on you.

He pierces through you. 3 of the 7 cardinal sins wage war against each other within him.

The barista is looking at you how he looks at you and well…

That simply won’t do.

He approaches you like a lion stalking its prey. Satoru towers over you in less than a second. And you don’t notice.

He finds it so troublesome.

You are oblivious and tiny and smiley and vulnerable and so damn trusting. If the Heavens spoke they’d sing your praises. His beautiful, sacred girl.

Men are vile.

With horrible, depraved, nefarious intentions. They see a girl like you and want to violate. And take. And ruin. And push you to your knees. Pin your head against a wall. Shove his cock through the back of your throat until you’re choking and gurgling his name. Pathetic, pretty pleas for mercy. Hot salty crystalline showers raining from your baby doll eyes — it always makes him rock hard. The way you cry when you’re overstimulated.

Fuck.

Wait. What was he thinking about again?

Right. Protecting you. From scumbags like this fucking barista who won’t stop undressing you with his beady eyes.

He can make those eyes go away. Real quick.

You’re up next to order. Satoru snakes his hand around the back of your neck. You startle back into him, just like a wild doe.

“Sato—“

He kisses the rest of his name off your lips. Tonguing every corner of your sweet mouth. Sucking on your warm muscle. He smirks against your feeble attempts to pull away. Gorgeous face flushed cotton candy pink. So shy. So embarrassed. He can feel himself stiffen in his pants.

“S—sat…”

“I’ve missed you, princess.” He pulls away and you’re gasping for air. Sexy little pants. He could fuck you in the middle of the shop right now.

And he will.

“Hi Satoru,” you purr his name and his dick twitches, “you’re being dramatic. It was one night.”

You toss a glance at the barista apologetically. And Satoru decides he definitely has to end him.

“Can I have a small vanilla latte please?”

God. Your voice alone grabs him by the fucking balls.

You longingly look back at the pastries, and furrow your brows. As if your figure isn’t goddamn perfect. You don’t need those silly pilates classes. Satoru could work you out on his cock every day. Would be more than sufficient enough.

“She’ll also take the biggest slice of berry cake you have.” He follows, shamelessly gripping your ass in his large palm.

You muffle a falsetto whine. But Satoru knows that sound. You act so sheepish and innocent. But there’s a pool of lust between your legs right now and he can’t wait another fucking second to sink into it.

“Good choice.” The idiot smiles and Satoru could rip his trachea out then and there.

“And I’ll have an Americano. 2 extra shots of espresso.” He barks his order before kissing you on the forehead.

“Baby, go get us that back booth in the corner. Yeah?”

You give him a tiny smile that dismantles him. So he grips the back of your head for another bruising kiss before sending you off. He lingers on you walking away from the counter. Brazenly taking another photo of you. Completely ignoring the growing line of patrons behind him.

Satoru turns back to the barista, and he watches the blood drain from his face.

His favorite.

A hunter and the hunted.

“Pretty, right?” Satoru muses casually, reaching for the wallet in his back pocket.

“Uh, y-yeah man. S-she..”

“Probably want to fuck her, don’t you?”

Satoru flashes a toothy grin, pulling out a couple hundred dollar bills. He doesn’t carry anything smaller than that.

“W-what? No. No man. I was just. I was being polite.”

Satoru motions for the barista to lean in to hear his next words. He has no choice but to oblige.

“Well, I am going to fuck her. Senseless. In that back booth over there. And if you so much as look in our direction. Or look at her ever again, I’ll rip your throat out and feed it to stray dogs.”

Satoru palms Barista’s cheek two times before stuffing the hundreds into his shirt pocket.

“Keep the change.” Another grin as bright as the sun before sauntering over to the booth with your treats.

“Mmmm, gimme gimme.” You paw at the caffeine and cake, less guilty that you didn’t order the sweet treat for yourself.

He purposefully places them out of your reach.

“Hey! Why—“ Satoru’s large hand encases your neck and pushes your head against the plush booth.

The way you gaze up at him. Wide-eyed. A pretty little deer in his headlights. Oh he loves that about you. How he can read your book front to back with his eyes closed.

His cock can’t stop beating. Against his zipper. Against his thigh. It needs the nourishment between your legs.

Satoru wires his tongue back in your mouth. He bites down on your perfect lips, knowing it’ll get red and flushed and swollen. Just how he likes it when you’re sucking the cum out of him. He can’t feed you his cock here, not yet. But you can sit on it.

You struggle to keep up with his pace. Little moans, little gasps, little “ohs”.

He reluctantly pulls away. Still close enough to your face that the tip of his nose grazes yours. Satoru stares at you. Unblinking. With a quiet smile on his face. He knows what his intensity does to you and he can’t get enough of it.

You squirm. Eyelashes fluttering. Looking in every which direction except into his eyes.

“Look at me baby.” He strums your chin.

“Y-yes daddy.” You whine. So obedient. So pliant.

He much prefers you like this. Not like last night. Out with your friends. Without him. Not letting him pick you up or bring you home. He fucking hates that.

But this. This is perfect.

Satoru stands to his full height. He shrugs out of his black leather jacket before sitting in the booth next to you. Not once breaking his gaze.

You need to be disciplined.

And there’s nothing Satoru loves more than to discipline you with his dick.

“On my lap, little one.”

You eagerly nod and nestle into his legs. His length digging into your clothed flower. He can already feel the heat emanating from your petals.

He drapes his jacket over your lap. Concealing how your bodies are about to mesh.

“I’m going to fuck you, right here, baby.”

“S-satoru, h-here?” He loves when you sound so desperate and nervous. Satoru answers your question with a nip and lick on your earlobe.

“Pull them down.” He husks in your ear.

But Satoru is an impatient man. Your tiny hands take a millesecond too long so he drags your pants to your thighs himself. At the same time unzipping his pants just enough to pull his blushing, leaking lead pipe length.

He’s too big for you. For your petite, doll-like frame. And whenever he rocks you down to his base there’s a Satoru-shaped bludge at the center of your feminine torso.

It makes him want to lock you in his room, forever.

“Oh, oh my god.”

You try to pant quietly when Satoru slides all 10 of his thick, almost inhuman inches into you. And your warm, drenched walls clamp down around him. Like it’s the first time he’s invaded you.

He groans into your shoulder blades. Tilting and rocking you in long, languid movements. Purposeful. He wants you needy. Subservient. Under his spell.

“I missed you last night, baby.” Satoru starts his mind fucking.

“M-missed you…”

“I can’t protect you when you’re not by my side, sweet girl.” He suspends his hips and starts small, saccharine bounces. Making your head bobble like it’s connected to your body by a string.

“Men want to hurt you baby. Take advantage of you.” He continues his rhythm.

You grip the sides of the table. Your cunt creaming all over his length. Clipped, falsetto gasps and whines tumbling from your open mouth.

Satoru’s lips graze the shell of your ear and you evanesce into him.

“You need me. Don’t you pretty? To keep you safe.” His lips trail down your jaw. Nibbling little marks. His territory.

“Y-yes, daddy. I need you.”

Satisfied, Satoru lowers himself back down on the booth. Still violating your womanhood with his length.

So fucking pretty. You struggling to catch your breath and squirming all over his cock. Staining his pants with your arousal.

Satoru pets your head. That’s better. All better.

Just like how he likes you.