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red-riot-unbreakable-heart · 2 months ago

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Shoto Todoroki x Reader | First Kiss ❄️🔥💋 PART 6

Part 1: Linked Here | Part 2: Linked Here | Part 3: Linked Here | Part 4: Linked Here | Part 5: Linked Here

Fandom: My Hero Academia

Ship: Shoto Todoroki x Fem Reader! 💋

Genre: Fluff, Romance, S*xual Tension, Smut

🚫🔞THIS IS AN ADULT BLOG CONTAINING EXPLICIT CONTENT. MINORS DO NOT INTERACT, A18+ ONLY.🔞🚫

CW: MDNI!, A18+, kissing, romance, sexual tension, spicy scenes, lemon, hand job, boobs, penetrative sex

Link to My Master List

🐳🐢😎❤️

Shoto’s POV

The ripe morning sun casts generous rays across Shoto’s bare chest. It’s a delightful sensation to wake up to – enjoyably warm on his pale, bare skin. He stretches and flexes his arms and legs, feeling like a cat in a sun puddle.

He holds up a hand to cast a shadow over his eyes, squinting in the bright light. He feels like he can’t quite wake up all the way. His head feels cloudy and a bit off. Huh, that’s annoying. But the bed is warm and his feet are sandy. Where is he? Oh, yes – now he remembers. The Todoroki family’s vacation home in Furuzamami beach.

He stretches again and rolls onto his side. The site that meets his two-toned eyes nearly takes his breath away. Y/N is sprawled out on the bed next to him, looking sexy and carefree in a comfy, oversized t-shirt. She’s curled on her side, the t-shirt creeping up to reveal a bare, suntanned thigh.

“Is it morning already?” She complains loudly, rubbing the sleep out of her eyes.

Shoto chuckles softly and reaches out so he can wrap her in his arms. “Yes, it’s morning. But you can sleep in if you’d like. We don’t have anywhere we need to be.” He rubs his hands soothingly along her sides, appreciating her curves.

Mischievously, he slides his hands down to find the hem of her shirt where it rests at her thighs. He plays with the fabric for a moment before slipping his hands underneath the shirt and sliding his hands up, up, up. He feels along the curve of her hip and, fuck, she’s not wearing any underwear. He moves his hands up further to cup her bare breasts beneath the tee.

“Mmmm, Sho.” She sighs as he begins to play with her nipples. She leans back into him, enjoying the erotic touch. Her eyes are closed and there’s a gentle smile on her lips. He modulates the temperature of his hands, teasing her with hot and cold finger tips. She moans as he pinches and rolls at her sensitive buds, arching her back into him sensuously. She sighs in time with his touches, finally moaning out: “Fuck me, Sho.”

Shoto’s more than happy to comply. He removes his hands from her breasts so he can roughly push down his boxer shorts. His thick, hard cock springs free – ready for action.

He hastily pushes up her nightshirt and it bunches around her stomach, the fabric creasing as he pulls her hips towards him. He bends around her from behind – the perfect big spoon. Finally, he uses his hand to guide his dick into her, her juicy pussy pulling his cockhead in greedily as they bask in the morning sunshine.

“Sho!” She groans out, unhappy with how slowly he’s moving. He grins into her shoulder, taking his time. He sheathes himself in her, inch by glorious inch, reveling in the way that her breath hitches with each gentle push. When he finally bottoms out, he’s holding onto her hips for dear life. The sensation of being fully connected with her, fully inside her beautiful pussy – it’s too much for his brain to comprehend.

He tries to keep his thrusts slow and even, he really does. But the delicious feeling of her gummy walls around his hardness is too much to resist. Her pussy tugs and pulls on him in the most delightful way. Before he knows it his hips are pistoning wildly and he’s fucking into her with the force of a man chasing release.

She’s making the most beautiful, sinful noises as he pounds into her pussy. It’s when she starts calling out his name that he truly goes into overdrive. He slides his hands back up to grasp at her breasts and she moans in response, her slick pussy twitching around him at the contact.

“Holy Fuck.” He manages to breathe out between thrusts as he feels an orgasm begin to roll throughout his body and down his cock. He cums hard, pumping her full of his sticky release. Her pussy milks him hungrily and she cries out as she feels ropes of hot, thick cum hit her deep inside. He vaguely wonders if he should have worn a condom, but he’s too blissed out to care. He can’t decide where to hold her as he cums – his hands traveling along her thighs hips, and breasts as he fucks up into her. Finally, Shoto sighs, exhausted, as he comes down off of his high. He continues to thrust loosely into her as her pussy squeezes out every drop of his baby batter.

When he’s finished, he leans to rest his head on her perfectly shaped shoulder as they both try to catch their breath. He leaves his dick inside of her, letting his spent cock twitch with overstimulation as she shifts against it, still horny. He kisses at her neck lazily, his hands still massaging at her perfect breasts. Fuck does he love those breasts.

“Oh my God, Sho. That was amazing. Can you - ”

But whatever she was going to ask for, Shoto will never find out. He wakes up in his dorm bed, startled and breathing heavily. It’s the middle of the night and the room is filled to the brim with a thick darkness.

He looks around for a moment, confused as to why you’re not here with him. He quickly comes to his senses and realizes it was all a dream. He sighs in frustration, feeling how his boxers are sticky and wet. His dick is sticking to the thin grey fabric greedily, still half hard from his provocative dream.

Shoto’s been having wet dreams for years now, but he never stops getting embarrassed about it. He climbs off of his sleeping palette and strips down to survey the damage. Soooo yeah. This was a particularly intense dream. His dick and upper thighs are absolutely covered in a sheen of warm, sticky cum. Ugh. He grabs a towel from his dresser and uses it to wipe himself down. He feels a mess, and thinks it might be good to go and take a shower. He’s already half-hard again just thinking about his dream. He re-plays the bits and pieces he can remember in his mind – laying with you naked, relaxed. The stretch of your silky pussy wrapped tight around his cock. The sun beating down on his skin as he fucks into you. He thinks that it might be good to go jerk off in the shower where clean up will be easy.

Yeah, that’s what he’ll do. Better to go work it out of his system rather than wake up covered in cum for a second time that night. He wraps himself in a towel and grabs his shower things, walking to the common bathroom so he can take care of business (aka pleasuring himself to his nighttime fantasies of you).

He sets his things on the shower stall hook and starts up the hot water. It’s still early in the morning, so he can take his time without worrying about anyone else walking in. He slings his towel over the top of the shower stall and steps inside, flipping the lock on the stall door soundly closed.

He lets the hot water run down his back, breathing deeply as he lets his muscles relax. He lets his mind wander back to how it felt to be inside your dream pussy. His cock jumps to life. He reaches down and starts to stroke at it, gasping at the pleasure that runs through his body in waves. Fuck.

It doesn’t take long for him to cum for the second time that night, leaving him sleepy and loose-limbed. Jeez, he wants you so bad. He rinses himself off under the hot water and his hormone-fueled brain makes him wonder…if he asked if he can make love to you, would you say yes?

He shakes the thought from his head, water flying off of his two-toned hair as he turns the squeaky nob of the shower to the off position. The cool night air hits his wet body and causes a shiver to run through him. He bundles himself into his towel and hurries back to his dorm room, dripping all the way.

He slips into a clean pair of boxers and towels off his hair before tucking himself back into his soft sheets. The expensive linens are smooth and comfortable across his skin, but he finds himself longing for the comfort of your tall puffy bed. He wishes he were wrapped up in your silly girly comforter, covered in stuffed animals. He’d much rather be sleeping next to you. It’s crazy how safe and at ease you make him feel. He can’t recall the last time that he felt such a sense of wholeness, of belonging.

As he slips back into an easy sleep, he imagines that he’s nestled in between you and your Squirtle plush, not a care in the world.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Back to Y/N’s POV

Friday morning rolls around faster than you’d expect. The school’s schedule has allotted you all a rare three day weekend, so it’s not surprising that Mr. Aizawa is taking advantage of the extra time to participate in an underground Pro Hero team-up. That’s the kind of person he is – constantly moving, always keeping busy and looking for ways to serve those around him.

When Mr. Aizawa leaves campus early Friday morning, it’s predictably with little fanfare. He sends you all an email of his approximate schedule alongside the other teachers’ contact info “for emergencies.”

Class – I’ll be gone Friday through Sunday on a mission. While I’m gone, Class B’s homeroom teacher Vlad King will be in charge in my place. You can reach out to him should any issues arise. Don’t embarrass me. – Aizawa

You shut your laptop and look up at your friends. “Mr. Aizawa’s starting to get sappy or something. Last time he went out of town, he didn’t send us an email.”

Mina and Toru are sitting cross-legged on your bed, surrounded by hastily scribbled hot pink post-it notes. Toru has her dry erase board balanced across her knees as she rattles off names and assignments to Mina, who copies them down onto her post-it notes. They’re writing out everyone’s party planning tasks on the tiny slips of paper. You and Monoma lounge on your floor and review the battle plan intended to distract Vlad King.

“I wonder if Mr. Aizawa’s even, like, truly going on a mission.” Mina says thoughtfully, folding a post-it note in half and scribbling a name on top.

“What do you mean?” Questions Toru as she crosses something off the dry erase board.

“What if he has a secret girlfriend!” Mina squeals, throwing her hands up in the air and sending post-it’s flying around the bedspread. “Maybe he’s sneaking off for a romantic rendezvous…or a passionate love making session in a secret cabin.”

“You’ve been reading too many romance novels.” You say to her, ever the skeptic when it comes to your teacher’s insanely classified private life.

“Also ew! I don’t even want to imagine Mr. Aizawa having sex.” Toru sounds like she’s wrinkling her nose in disgust, but you’ll never truly know the expressions that cross her invisible face.

“What are you even saying?” Monoma pipes in from beside you. “Aizawa definitely fucks.”

You all turn to stare at him in disbelief.

“Excuse me!?” You cry out in surprise, breaking the stunned silence. Monoma smiles smugly.

“Eraserhead is one fine piece of ass! I would totally hit that. If I were, like, 30. And if I didn’t already have my heart set on a certain grumpy, purple haired god.” His eyes twinkle and he looks dreamily up at the ceiling.

“You so have a type.” Toru says flatly, throwing one of your plushies down at Monoma to wipe the faraway expression off of his face. “You like the dark, broody, emo ones.”

“Bingo!” Monoma snaps his fingers and grins at Toru. “You’re absolutely right. There’s something about a bad boy that just has me down bad.”

“Would you even consider Shinsou a ‘bad boy?’” You stifle a giggle. “He’s more of a sleepy boy than anything.”

“What can I say…I like them baggy eyed.” Monoma waggles his eyebrows at you all. He traces his fingers beneath his eyes, referencing the dark bruised under eye shadows that Shinsou and Aizawa have in common. “An exhausted caked up guy is my dream.”

You all burst out laughing. It’s nice - hanging out with Monoma like this. He is a natural fit for your group. You wonder if after the party you’ll continue to see each other in this capacity. It wouldn’t be so bad expanding your group of 3 to 4.

“All right.” Toru clears her throat when the giggles die down. “We have everyone’s assignments all figured out. Let’s go deliver them.” You all get to your feet and divide up the post-it notes between you. “We have 10 hours to get this all figured out. We’ll need a flawless execution to pull off the greatest secret party the UA dorms have ever seen!”

“The only secret party.” You correct her, laughing as you stuff folded post-its into your pockets. “Or, the first secret party at least. Hopefully we can throw more.”

“That’s the spirit!” Mina punches the sky gleefully. You’re all a little giddy and hopeful – if the 4 of you can pull this off, you can do anything. “Now let’s get going!”

You all dash out into the hallways and begin slipping notes under your classmate’s doors. Everyone who showed interest in the party has an assignment. Everyone in the class is sort-of on board. Except for Katsuki. No one felt like getting yelled at so you’re leaving it to Izuku to casually mention it to him right before everyone arrives. Mina will deal with him if you need be.

You flick the first post-it under Izuku Midoriya’s door. He, Ochaco and Tsu are in charge of paper goods and flatware. They’ll be making their way down to the local convenience store shortly to pick up standard paper plates, party napkins and red solo cups.

“So how’s the plan to distract Mr. King coming along, Toru?” You ask curiously. Toru has been in charge of your distraction strategy. She’s been up late the past few nights working out the kinks on her white board.

“Oh – I forgot to update you both! Obviously Mineta is the key to our distraction plan. But Monoma figured out a genius way to buy us even more time!” She grins at Neito, who practically glows at the praise.

“I asked Mei Hatsume if she’d be interested in getting involved. She said she can add some gadgets to our plan to give Mr. King quite a bit of trouble. Nothing dangerous of course – I love my teacher. But with Hatsume involved, we can level up our whole plan and add in just the right amount of chaos.” His smile is wide, a light touch of his usual insanity shines through.

“What are her terms?” Mina asks, a bit cynical. “What does she want in exchange for her help and resources?”

Monoma’s bright smile glints in the florescent hallway light. “That’s the thing! When I visited her in the Support Course workshop I really sold the whole thing as a challenge of her skills and wits. She doesn’t want anything in exchange; she just wants to use it as an opportunity for creative problem solving. Also, she said she’d like to see how her “babies” hold up against a real Pro Hero.”

“Huh that…oddly makes sense.” You say, unbelieving that this whole thing is coming together so nicely. “She’s crazy talented. That was super smart to ask her.”

“Careful, Y/N – don’t go stroking Neito’s ego too much. You know how cocky he can get!” Mina laughs as Neito basks in your praise.

“I mean…we all know that he’d rather get something else stroked!” Toru shrieks out a laugh pointing at Hitoshi’s room as they walk by.

Monoma’s face goes red. “Shut up!” But he laughs along. He flips Toru off as she shoots a post-it under another door.

Suddenly, there’s a creaking noise from behind your group. Your heads whip around to see a sleepy looking Hitoshi Shinsou emerging from his bedroom. He’s wearing a pair of purple plaid pajama pants and an oversized grey t-shirt. His purple hair is rumpled and stuck up oddly on one side, clearly fresh from sleep. He blinks blearily at you all.

“Hey.” His voice is husky, tinged with exhaustion. “I heard about the party. Anything I can help with?”

Mina strides backwards on her heels, eyes alight with mischief. “Actually – we still need a good playlist! Maybe you could collab with Neito and put something together?”

Shinsou nods, stifling a yawn. “Yeah, for sure. I’m going to shower and workout a bit, then I have some time at 11. Does that work for you Nei?”

You can’t help the way a smile tugs on the corners of your mouth as Shinsou uses an affectionate little nickname for Monoma. You turn to see how Neito’s handling all this. He’s clearly struggling to keep his composure, as he’s covering his mouth with his hand and trying to look thoughtful.

“Yes, that works. I’ve been thinking a mix of modern pop with some 80s synth sprinkled in would be a good fit for the evening’s festivities.” He says from behind his hand.

This brings a smile out of Hitoshi, who seems a bit more awake and alert now. “That sounds like a great starting place. Meet me back here and we’ll work through it, ‘kay?”

“Sounds great.” Neito says flatly, trying to seem a bit aloof. You nearly breakout in a fit of giggles– Neito trying to act “subtle” is about as ridiculous to watch as an ostrich skateboarding.

“Cool. See you soon.” Hitoshi gives you, Mina and Toru a nod. “Excited for the big shindig tonight. Is there a dress code?”

“Keep it classy and casual. But also wear something hot.” Mina says waggling her eyebrows. “We’re playing spin the bottle. So if there’s someone you wanna kiss, you should dress up to get his or her attention.”

Hitoshi quirks an eyebrow at this. “Spin the bottle? I feel like I saw that on an old cheesy American movie from the 80s or 90s.”

“The very same!” Mina says smoothly. “Can we count on your participation?”

Hitoshi snorts a laugh. “Put me down as a tentative maybe. I’ll need to see who’s all participating before I commit to making a fool of myself.”

Mina nods approvingly. “A tentative maybe is a good start. Keep in mind that the four of us will definitely be partaking. So that’s 4 sexy potential kiss candidates on the docket already.” God, she’s laying it on thick. Monoma’s face is so red it’s practically glowing under the fluorescents. “You really can’t lose.” She adds, eyes shimmering.

Hitoshi’s pale skin flushes for a brief moment as his eyes dart between the four of you before landing briefly on Monoma. “Good to know.”

“Alright, we’ve gotta get going!” Toru pushes at Mina to clear your crew out of the hallway. “Lots to do and so little time!”

“Good luck with everything today. See you all later.” Hitoshi waves as he retreats back into his dark room. “Oh, and Neito – I’ll start a joint Spotify list between the two of us.” He flashes one final, small grin and then he’s gone to gather his shower things. Neito swoons back into your shoulder.

“God, the things I’d do to that boy. So fuckin’ cute and sleepy.” He mumbles out as you hit the stairwell, off to another floor.

“I think you may actually have a chance there, Neito.” You say, delivering a flick to his forehead to bring him back to reality. “He blushed a lil when we mentioned Spin the Bottle.”

“I dunno, Y/N. Maybe he wants to kiss me, you or Mina!” Toru teases, running down 3 steps at a time as Neito pretends to chase her to the next floor.

“No! His beautiful sleepy ass belongs to me!” Neito cackles as he swipes out a hand to catch Toru, but she’s too quick. She slithers out the door to the next level of dorm rooms and the three of you follow gleefully.

“It really is all coming together, isn’t it?” Mina says, almost pensively. “Our big, ambitious dream. The party. The friends. The kissing.” You all giggle as you slip more post-it notes under your classmate’s doors. “What could go wrong?”

After the note distribution is complete, you leave your friends with a wave. Everyone is taking a quick break to work on his or her respective party projects and to pick out outfits. You plan to meet up again in a few hours for final preparations and to kick off Operation: Distract Mr. Vlad King! before sunset.

You have a bit of precious time to yourself so you decide to knock on Shoto’s door. You know from a brief good morning text exchange that he’s decided to spend the day studying up until the party, so there’s a good chance he’s in his dorm room.

He opens the door after the second knock. Like Hitoshi, he’s wearing comfy clothes. You’re surprised to see that his sweat pants are Best Jeanist branded merchandise. They have the Pro Hero’s logo printed in a pattern across the hems. He’s got a charcoal colored fitted t-shirt on – you’re pleased to see it leaves nothing to the imagination. The shirt hugs his frame tightly, his rippling muscles forming hard planes beneath the thin fabric.

“I wasn’t expecting to see you so early.” Shoto says in surprise, his face folding into an easy soft smile.

“I have 20 minutes before I need to meet up with some of our classmates to work on decorations for tonight.” You say, pushing past him to enter the dorm room before anyone on the floor can see. “Thought I might come by and put you to good use.”

“Put me to good use… decorating?” Shoto asks, confused. His brow is furrowed as he tries to think back to when you may have mentioned needing help with the party décor. He closes the door soundly behind you and locks it. You glance around and smile at the sunlight streaming in across his room. A few textbooks and notepads are strewn across the floor next to his flat mattress.

“Mmm, no. I’d like to put you to good use giving me an orgasm.” You smile slyly and bat your eyes up at him. The thrill of your party planning going well is making you bold.

His face heats up as the implication of your previous statement hits him. “Oh!”

“I mean, if you’re for that! I don’t want to interrupt your studying if you’ve hit a good groove. I want you to be the best hero you can be, obviously.” You quickly backtrack.

He smiles as he leans down to capture your lips in a light kiss. “I’ve hit a good stopping point, for now. I was working on English.”

“Ah, yeah I did that homework last night. It’s brutal.” You sympathize, glancing over at his English textbook with trepidation.

“I think I’m getting pretty good at it.” He shrugs, stepping away from you. “Actually…I can think of a fun way that we can keep studying together while we get you off. If you’re up for the challenge, of course.”

Your ears perk up. “Oh, I am always up for a challenge Shoto Todoroki.” The use of his full name makes him smile wider. It’s sweet how soft he is for the simple things.

Shoto leans down and clears his books off his sleeping pallet. “For the next 20 minutes, everything we say needs to be in English. Until I make you cum, at least.”

“Deal.”

He sits down on the mattress, palming at his crotch lightly. He adjusts his package to a more comfortable position as he feels himself start to get hard. “Get over here.” He says in English, his accent formal and perfect. No surprise there. It sends a thrill up your spine to hear him speak to you in a different language.

You saunter over to him, pulling your shirt over your head easily. You reach behind your back and unclip your bra, letting it drop to the floor.

“Someone’s eager.” Shoto jokes, but his teasing turns to a gasp as you straddle him and line your core up to where you assume his half-hard dick rests.

“Pop quiz.” You say, your English a little rough around the edges, but passable. “What are these called in English?” You grasp your bare breasts, one in each hand. You squish them a bit and give Shoto a full view, your nipples perking up in the breezy air of the room. He stares at them in wonder, leaning forward so he can wrap his arms around your back and pull you closer. He latches his mouth onto your left breast, sucking at it thoughtfully before responding.

“Tits. Boobs. Breasts. God…yours are perfect.” He rattles off in seamless English. He rolls his tongue around your nipple before gently sucking on the hardened tip. You groan under the intensity of his mouth, flaring your hips so you can grind down into him.

“Are you going to cum like this? Just from my mouth on your breasts?” Shoto questions when he comes up for air. He uses his other hand to tweak your neglected right nipple.

“M-maybe.” You stutter out in English as you start to grind on his hardening dick. His sweatpants are so soft and provide just the right amount of friction under your clit. You praise the Best Jeanist merch manufactures for chosing such a plush fabric.

“Mmm…good.” Shoto brings his mouth back down to latch onto one of your nipples and he plays you like a violin. Your breath hitches as you sing his praises and feel yourself get closer to your release. Ugh, you don’t want to come so quickly though. An idea strikes you.

“Take off your pants. But leave the underwear.” You say softly. Shoto’s eyes fly up from your boobs and meet yours. He looks as if you’ve made his day.

Shoto does as he’s told, moving you carefully off of him so he can strip. He’s wearing a thin pair of black boxers that hug his muscular thighs in the most delightful way. His dick is clearly hard - a rigid outline beneath the breathable fabric. You lick your lips with satisfaction, appreciating the way you can practically see him pulsing – eager for your touch.

You strip off your own pants, popping the button to your jeans and shimmying out of them. The time for grace and decorum is behind the two of you – right now you just want to do filthy, dirty things to Shoto and that hard cock of his.

Shoto looks up at you like you’re some kind of lovely teenage dream, his eyes glimmering as he takes you in. Your naked breasts bounce as you finally kick your feet out of your jeans. You’re wearing a cute pair of navy blue panties with the tiniest bow on the front. His jaw goes slack at the sight.

“I want to sit on that hard dick.” You say under your breath, moving to straddle Shoto once again. He seems to come back to himself a bit at the words. He looks up at you, a roguish smile playing at his lips as he adjusts himself, a strong hand stroking over his underwear.

“That wasn’t in English. Try again.” He holds up a hand, keeping you from wrapping yourself around him. You stamp your foot lightly in frustration, trying to search for the right English words through your cloudy, horny brain.

“Let me ride you.” You finally manage to translate in your head – short, sweet, to the point. Shoto opens his arms and invites you in, and you happily put yourself back in his lap. You lower yourself back on top of him. Without the extra layer of pants, you can feel so much more against your pussy. His hands fly to your hips and he begins to bounce you up and down on his clothed cock. You mewl unabashedly, enjoying the friction and the sensation of his dexterous fingers tweaking at your sensitive breasts.

“Feels…so…hard.” Basic English. Despite your brevity, you perfectly get the point across as you roll your hips so you can put more pressure on your clit.

You wrap your legs around his torso and your arms around his neck. He buries his face in your shoulder and lightly sucks on your delicate skin. “I might cum.” Shoto mumbles into your neck, gasping for breath. This spurs you on, pushing you over the edge. Your orgasm hits you with a shower of sparks in your pussy. It’s an absolute explosion in your cute little panties. You cry out, head back and eyes rolling as you feel the wetness pool between your folds, Shoto’s hard cock throbbing below the thin layers of underwear between you.

Shoto keeps his eyes glued to your features as you cum, as if he’s trying to commit your O-face to memory. He kisses your collarbone as you come down from your high, smiling smugly now that he’s pulled another orgasm out of you. You’re both overly hot and covered in sweat. You pull your hair out of your face and suck in a sharp breath as traces his hand up and down your back slowly.

“Can we stop using English now?” You ask in your native tongue, too exhausted to keep up the constant stream of translation.

“You’re allowed.” He says, shifting you off of his lap and onto the mattress next to him. “I’m surprised you kept it up for as long as you did.”

“You say that like I’m bad at English. I’ve had just as much practice in school as you have.”

Shoto casts his gaze to the side guiltily. “I may have had a slight advantage. My dad got me an English tutor when I started speaking. It’s basically native to me at this point.”

Oh, right. Shoto’s family is rich and his dad is Endeavor. Sometimes you forget that you grew up in completely different worlds.

“Well, it was a great challenge. I like seeing that side of you. It’s a little kinky.” You grin, pinching his soft cheek affectionately.

“What do you mean ‘kinky?’” He asks, frowning as he thinks back to the encounter you’ve just had.

“Like when you told me I had to play by your rules or you wouldn’t let me get on top of you…that was pretty hot. I kinda like it when you tell me what to do sometimes.” You say, a little embarrassed at the admission. Shoto think about this for a bit, mulling over your words.

“I’ll note that.” He smiles at you and leans back into his mattress. He’s shiny with sweat, his muscular chest glistening before you – he looks like some sort of ancient Greek god bathed in olive oil. Your eyes shoot down to his boxers where he’s still clearly hard, a tiny stain of pre-cum turning his underwear dark where the fabric rubs against the head of his dick. You’re struck with an idea.

“Hey Shoto…can you take off your underwear for me?”

He looks at you with bright eyes, clearly thrilled at the prospect. “Anytime you ask. Literally anytime, anywhere.”

“Hmmm…anytime, anywhere? What about in the teacher’s lounge? Or in the crowded cafeteria?” You joke, watching eagerly as he thumbs the waistband of his boxers.

“I mean it when I say I’d get arrested for public indecency for you.” He’s smiling so openly at you in that special way he does. You wonder for a moment if he means it…can the two of you get away with a fun sexy encounter somewhere semi-public? You’ve never thought of yourself as a voyeur, but with Shoto everything is hot and exciting.

He slides his boxers off and his cock springs free – hard and pulsing with need.

“You look so good, Shoto.” You can’t take your eyes off of his dick – it’s practically calling your name. “Stay there on the mattress.” You say, motioning for him to stay seated. You clamor onto the bedroll in your socks, stepping clumsily on the soft fabric. You plop yourself down behind him and bracket his body between your legs, scooting forward so that his back falls against your chest. You lean forward and kiss the defined planes of his trapezius muscles and feel him quiver beneath the touch. He’s so much taller than you, so you need to crane your neck to touch your lips to the smooth skin of his shoulder.

“Let’s try something new.” You say softly. “Would you be cool with that?”

Shoto turns his head a bit so he can glance down at you through the corners of his eyes. “If it’s with you? Yes, I’m cool with it.”

You feel your chest get all warm and fuzzy at the words.

“Alright – as always, tell me if you need to stop or take a break. And tell me if you don’t like something.” You say, sliding your hands around him to hug him at the middle. His bare back presses against your breasts, squishing them. You use your fingertips to blindly trace his toned chest and you hear his breath hitch as your fingers slide deftly down to his stomach. It’s a delicate dance – you want him to feel your desire for him through your fingertips alone before you even touch his cock.

You tease him and explore him, letting him relax some of his weight back into you as he leans into each touch. You’re sure this is the first time Shoto has been allowed to just…be. You can’t see his face but you know his eyes are likely blissed out and unfocused as you slither a hand down his stomach and across to one of his muscular thighs. You splay your fingers wide, squeezing at the taught muscle of his leg.

“You want me to touch you, Shoto?” You whisper, drawing your fingertips lightly up his inner thigh and towards his balls. “I can, if you’d like.”

Shoto mumbles something unintelligible in response.

“I’m gonna need you to use your words, sweetheart.” You coo, throwing in a term of endearment to see how he’ll react.

“Oh, God. Yes, please touch me.” He groans, his voice a bit louder than before. His body quivers and shudders underneath you as you draw your delicate touch up to his cock and wrap your fingers around it. He drops his head back onto your shoulder at the contact, and you make a mental note to sit against a wall for some back support next time you decide to do this.

You slowly start to pump at his cock with your right hand; each motion is gentle and leisurely. With your left, you trace stars into the sensitive skin just beneath his belly button.

“You know, I had a dream about you last night.” Shoto says through gritted teeth as you pump at him.

“Oh yeah? What kind of dream?” This surprises you – your stomach prickles with the thrill of it. Shoto Todoroki had a dream about you!?

“It was…ah!” He can’t get out a complete thought as your hands are doing too good a job. You slow your pace so he can finish his sentence. “…It was a sexual dream.”

“Is that right?” Your grinning wide, ecstatic that Shoto wants you so badly he’s dreaming about you. You want to press further, but you know that Shoto is close to release and you want to help him get there.

“Fuck, Y/N. Just like that.” He mumbles out as you pick up the pace a tiny bit. You pump at him the way he showed you, focusing on the head. You bring your left hand down to play with his balls a bit and he practically cries out your name.

“Shhh, Shoto.” You giggle. “We can’t get caught.” But you lean into his pleasure, playing with his balls and stroking his cock until he all but explodes in your hand.

“I’m gonna cum, Y/N.” He pants out, voice low and thick with arousal. “You drive me…so crazy.” You smile and spread light kisses across his back and shoulders, all the while keeping your strokes even and focused. Finally, it’s too much for poor Shoto and he cums hard in your hand. You feel it spool through him, a powerful spark that rolls through his hips and out his cock. His body quakes lightly as he orgasms, thick white cum bubbling out of his dick and pooling in your fist as you continue to pleasure him. “A-ah!” He whimpers in ecstasy, his eyes falling shut as he continues to lean into you. You continue to indulge him, making sure to get every last bit of bliss out of him before you release his exhausted dick.

You press more kisses to his back, letting him slowly come back to himself. He sits up gradually, and pulls himself up from the mattress so he can clean off the thick layer of cum that’s covering his lap. He strides over to his dresser to grab towels for you both and you’re graced with an incredible view of Shoto Todoroki’s bare ass. It’s the cutest butt in the world – it looks slappable and juicy and you want to squeal with how hot he looks from the back. But you refrain.

A moment later, Shoto is naked and kneeling at your feet. He uses a towel to carefully wipe his ejaculate from your fingers before looking up at you with brilliant mismatched eyes.

“The things you do to me, Y/N.” He says in wonder, slowly rising from the ground so he can plant a kiss on your forehead on his way to deposit the sticky towel in his hamper. He grabs two pairs of clean boxers from his dresser. He tosses one to you before pulling on the other pair.

“What are these for?” You ask blankly, staring at the “Wash Hero!” brand boxer shorts.

“Oh. Well.” Shoto looks at you nervously. “I read that when girls get turned on and orgasm, they can get really wet. I thought maybe you’d want to borrow a pair of underwear to change into before you go.” You almost forgot how through Shoto could be with his research. “You don’t have to wear them – I just thought it might be more comfortable.”

He’s got a point. You’re sure you can make it back to your dorm room in your soaking panties, but the alternative Shoto’s offering up is a bit irresistible. You’re tired from the orgasm and you have so much more to get done before the party tonight. It would be nice to just slip on a pair of his boxers and move onto your next task without needing to worry about an underwear crisis.

“I’ll give you some privacy.” Shoto says awkwardly, turning away. You laugh, quickly swapping out your panties for his thick black boxers. He’s so much bigger than you; you thought that the fabric would be loose around your middle. Instead, the waistband is a bit tight and digs into your waist. You realize then how slim and tapered Shoto’s body is – how his thin waist nips in. His body is different and lacks the slight hip curves that you possess. You grab your bra and clip it back into place.

“What do you think?” You signal him to turn back around and he peeks over his shoulder. “Does your underwear look good on me?”

Shoto turns around fully and scans you head to toe with his intense gaze. “I didn’t realize I’d get turned on so much by seeing you in my clothes.” He says a bit flatly. “I’m going to need to do some thinking about this.”

“Well, I hate to ‘cum and go’ but I really should be getting onto my next party planning chore.” You laugh at your own pun, and after a moment Shoto chuckles too.

“You’re sure you can’t stay for a bit longer? I can make us tea.” Shoto says, gesturing at a small stack of fancy tea boxes resting on top of his dresser.

“No – but thank you, though! Will I see you at the party later?” You pull your shirt on over your head and flail your arms around until they catch in the sleeves.

“You think I’d miss a plan you’d masterminded? No way.” He says as he affectionately kisses your cheek.

“Can I get a rain check on post-coital tea and cuddling?” You ask, hastily hopping into your jeans.

“Anytime you want.” Shoto smiles at you serenely and pulls you in so he can plant a kiss on your cheek. “Also, Ashido has me helping Ida move around the common room furniture this afternoon.”

“Oh, right. You’ve been given a party chore as well!” You laugh, searching for where you’ve left your shoes. You see your panties on the floor and quickly scoop them up.

“I’m doing laundry in a bit, you can leave that in my hamper.” Shoto offers, reaching down to re-make his bed.

“Really? Shoto you’re the best!” You ruffle his hair as you toss your sticky underwear into the black fabric hamper across the room. Then you turn and inspect yourself in the mirror that hangs on the back of his door. You’re looking a bit rumpled, but nothing a shower and an outfit change can’t fix. “You gonna keep studying?”

Shoto looks at the stacks of books littering his room and makes a face. “I don’t know that I can go back to learning after that good a distraction. I might just get going on my laundry and chores for the week.”

“Very fair. But please don’t let me ruin your academic pursuits.” You pull the dorm door open quietly and take a quick look outside. Coast is clear. “See you later, sweetheart.”

You leave Shoto standing in his room in nothing but his underwear, blushing furiously as you sprint down the hall cackling softly.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

It’s 10:59am when Neito stands outside of Hitoshi’s door, hand primed to knock. He checks his phone repeatedly until it’s eleven o’clock on the dot. He doesn’t want to seem too eager.

Hitoshi opens the door and smiles at him warmly. He’s wearing a pair of loose purple athletic shorts and a baggy black tee. He’s still toweling his wild hair, clearly fresh out of the shower. It takes all of Neito’s resolve not to lean in and smell the fresh shampoo scent that’s rolling off of Hitoshi’s body in sweet waves. He wishes he could press himself against his friend’s chest and breathe his aroma in deeply.

“Hey.” Shinsou says, stepping aside to let Neito into his room.

“How was your workout?” Monoma asks curiously, letting his mind run wild as he pictures Hitoshi shirtless. Hitoshi flexing his sweaty biceps. Hitoshi using the leg press machine with defined calves. Hitoshi bending him across the lifting bench aaaand –

“It was alright.” Hitoshi answers evenly, closing the dorm door behind them. “The gym was pretty crowded, so I mostly just did some pull ups and core training. You really should start coming with me more often.” He makes a face. “I don’t really like working out alone, it makes me self-conscious.”

Neito totally gets where he’s coming from – working out alone in a crowded gym of upperclassmen has always made his skin crawl. He hates the feeling of being judged and wondering if he’s doing something wrong or foolish in front of all the older students. To be fair, he has hit the gym with Hitoshi a few times before. But Shinsou is so goddamn hot when he lifts – his biceps have grown so much since the beginning of the year, and he grunts lightly when he gets into his reps. It’s practically sinful, and Neito feels guilty for thirsting over his unwitting friend during those workouts. So he pulled back a little. Hearing that Hitoshi is self-conscious to workout alone makes him feel a bit bad though – surely he can keep it in his pants for a weekly gym session? For Hitoshi’s sake?

“Yeah…maybe we go together next week? My Tuesday morning is pretty free.”

Hitoshi smiles at him, a soft angelic upturn of his lips. God, he’s beautiful. “Sounds like a plan.”

Neito drops himself down into one of Hitoshi’s comfy beanbag chairs and takes in the room – the décor is simple and sleek. He’s been to Hitoshi’s room quite a few times, but he is always impressed with the way his friend manages to keep everything so neat despite their wild class schedules.

Everything is black, grey and modern. Utilitarian Ikea furniture, a dark grey bedspread, a few framed black and white band photos. Everything in Hitoshi’s room is a bit muted, making his wild purple hair stand out no matter where he sits.

Monoma and Shinsou are both known for being intense in their own ways. But when its just the two of them hanging, they are both able to chill tf out. There’s no one to perform for, no classmates or teachers to impress. They don’t need to put on brave faces in front of each other. And that is maybe one of the things Neito loves most about their relationship – when he’s around Hitoshi, he can just be himself.

He’s shaken from his quiet thoughts when Hitoshi flops down on the floor next to him, holding his thick gaming laptop.

“Alright, I’ve got a solid start to the playlist. Take a look so far?” Hitoshi passes Neito his laptop. Monoma scrolls thorough the song selections and nods approvingly at the choices before adding on some of his own. One of the things that initially brought them together was their shared taste in music. Their friendship had started a bit rocky at first – Monoma overbearing and forcing Hitoshi to hang out with him, and Hitoshi convinced that he “wasn’t in the hero course to make friends.” After bonding during a few rough training sessions and late nights spent studying their way through classic rock albums, they had become inseparable. They had the kind of friendship where they truly matched each other’s freak.

“As always, you have great taste.” Neito says as he adds a few more songs in that compliment Hitoshi’s picks.

The voice quirk hero smiles at the compliment and shifts a bit closer to Neito so he can watch over his shoulder. Neito can feel Hitoshi’s hot breath lingering near his neck and nearly shivers at the closeness. He forces himself to concentrate on the task at hand, and not to turn his head towards Hitoshi’s lovely face.

“We literally have the same taste.” Hitoshi says softly, rolling his eyes. “We should really start expanding our sonic repertoire. Let’s go into town next weekend and grab something new from the record store.” Neito bites back a feral desire to say “It’s a date!” Instead, he nods. He’s thrilled that within the course of ten minutes, Hitoshi has set two intimate hangouts on the calendar for the following week.

Hitoshi really must value him as a friend to want to see him so much and that’s thrilling, of course. But part of Neito also wonders if Hitoshi also wants something more than friendship?

The two get along so easily and have so much in common, it is one of the strongest friendships that Neito has ever had. And it’s for that reason that he’s afraid to make a move and ruin things between them. A good friend is hard to come by, especially when you have such a…precocious personality. Especially when your quirk is so unique.

Neito darts a glance at Hitoshi. He has often mused that in the grand scheme of the Pro-Hero world, he and Hitoshi would likely be relegated to “side character” status. But he thinks that together, they could really be something great.

They spend a few minutes quibbling over song choices and the order of things. Hitoshi thinks they should start the evening with some slower paced tunes to ease the crowd into the party, while Neito feels that a few fast songs will start off the evening with a bang. They continue to prune and rearrange the playlist until they have something they are both satisfied with.

“What should we call it?” Neito finally works up the courage to turn to look fully at his friend and is disappointed that Hitoshi has shifted back into his own beanbag chair, further away.

“Well I’ve been thinking…strategically we shouldn’t call it ‘Party Playlist’ because that’s too obvious. What if we get caught by the teachers and need to deny our involvement? We need a playlist name that won’t seem too obvious.”

Neito laughs with glee – they are both taking this way too seriously. But that’s one of the things he likes about Hitoshi – he has a flair for the dramatic.

Neito pulls up a new tab on Hitoshi’s computer and logs onto an AI bot page. He quickly types in “Dramatic Illicit Activity Spotify Playlist Names” and a list populates. Hitoshi barks out a low, gravely laughs and starts to read some aloud.

“Okay I love ‘Whispers of the Forbidden’ and ‘Undercover Affairs.’ Definitely on the nose.”

Neito wrinkles his nose at the next few options. “Why are these all so romantic? ‘Veiled Desires’? ‘Stolen Moments?’ jeez.”

“Well.” Hitoshi says flatly. “Isn’t there going to be some weird kissing game at this party? Kind of makes sense I guess.”

Neito’s heart rate spikes at the mention of kissing. Hitoshi doesn’t seem to notice his sudden discomfort.

“Oh there’s a dramatic one…let’s call the playlist ‘Cloak and Dagger Melodies.’ And we can add a photo of a rose on a piano or something stupid. No one would ever guess that this is for a party.”

“Hitoshi. My dude.” Neito says dryly as he types in the name of the playlist. “Say that in a totally insane chain of events the UA faculty find this playlist with that weirdass name with a dramatic romance novel level image accompanying it. They’re going to think we have some weird 18th century vampire romance going on between the two of us.”

At this, Hitoshi throws back his head and laughs deeply. It’s one of those rumbling, full body laughs that leaves you gasping for breath and makes your stomach hurt afterwards. After a moment of surprise, Neito can’t help but join in. He loves Hitoshi’s gravely, deep laugh. He loves even more that he’s able to draw it out of his purple haired classmate.

“I like that.” Hitoshi wheezes out, finally able to breathe again. “You know what, I hope the faculty finds our party playlist. And I pray that it causes them concern because they think that Neito Monoma and Hitoshi Shinsou have some spooky vampire romance going on, centered around creating dramatic 80s Spotify playlists together. Some couples write love letters. We create curated passionate listening experiences.”

This statement forces them both into a fit of giggles again, and Neito feels like he just might die at the thought of creating couples playlists with Hitoshi. He knows his friend is joking, but he feels his heart flutter at the feel of it. Neito and Hitoshi. Romantic playlist vampires. Hearts stitched together by Spotify’s “Create a Jam” option.

“So what do you think about this…kissing thing?” Hitoshi asks him slowly, and Neito feels the blood in his veins run cold. Shit. Is Hitoshi onto him? Could he know about how Neito made a deal with the girls in Class A – that he’s helping with the party in order to get a chance to play Spin The Bottle with Hitoshi?

Admittedly, Neito had started to help the girls out of pure selfishness. Sure, he had felt bad for ruining the girls’ first party. But ultimately he had apologized and offered to help out if it meant that he could have a chance at smooching his beloved purple haired hero in training. Unexpectedly, the more he collaborated with the Class 1A ladies on their party planning, the more he felt himself having a change of heart.

As it turns out, Mina, Toru and Y/N are fun and chill and meshed really well with Neito’s dramatic, whimsical personality. They are easy to talk to, and they genuinely seem to like having him around. The unexpected friendships he’s formed while planning this party are invaluable to him in a way he can’t quite explain. Even if Neito doesn’t get to kiss Hitoshi, he thinks that involving himself with the illicit party planning committee has been worth the risk. He has more friends now. Friends who accept him as he is.

He takes a deep breath. “What do you mean?” He fires back at Hitoshi, trying to turn around the conversation on his friend. He tries to keep his tone casual.

Hitoshi blinks, and then leans back into his beanbag chair and stares up at the ceiling. “I was wondering if you’re going to participate.”

“Oh.” Neito quickly realizes that Hitoshi’s participation in the game was never a given, so he has to do some convincing to keep his kissing scheme on track. “Yeah, I was thinking about it. It could be fun. I don’t really see a downside to it, to be honest.”

Hitoshi hums in response, still staring up at the ceiling.

“What about you?” Neito presses, searching Shinsou’s face for any hint of what he’s thinking.

“I dunno. It certainly could be interesting.” Hitoshi shifts into a more comfortable position in the bean bag, then glances at Neito through the corners of his eyes. “Have you ever…kissed anyone before?”

The question takes Neito by surprise. He answers instantly, honestly. “No, I haven’t.”

“Hm.” Hitoshi grunts neutrally. He still doesn’t display any emotion. “I guess this game is an easy way to get your first kiss out of the way. Unless you get someone you don’t like. Or if you get embarrassed kissing in front of all your classmates.”

“Oh. I didn’t really think of that.” Truly, Neito hadn’t really factored in that most of Classes A and B will be in attendance at this event. This whole time he had a one track mind focused on creating an opportunity where he and Hitoshi would be squashed together in a potentially romantic way.

“Yeah. If it were me, I’d want my first kiss to be in private.” Hitoshi says thoughtfully, turning his face back to the sky.

“You’ve kissed someone before?” The words tumble from Neito’s mouth before he can stop them, an almost accusatory twinge in his voice.

Hitoshi sort of…smirks at this. “I’ve had a few kisses, yeah.”

“Are you kissing anyone currently?” Neito can’t help himself. He cringes at his words.

“Well, seeing as no one’s attached to my lips right now…”

“You know what I mean.” Neito snaps. He’s quickly digging a hole for himself.

“No, I’m not currently seeing anyone.” Hitoshi snorts. “But I have had a few kisses. I didn’t mean to make you self conscious since you haven’t had a kiss yet.” His apology is sincere. Neito feels relief flow through him as he realizes that Hitoshi thinks he’s jealous because he hasn’t had his first kiss yet. Hitoshi doesn’t realize Neito is jealous of whoever has kissed Hitoshi. He decides to play into the misunderstanding.

“Maybe this Spin the Bottle game is exactly what I need to get my first kiss out of the way then, yeah? Any tips for me?”

Hitoshi turns his head so he can fully look at Neito. The sharp attention of Hitoshi’s dark gaze practically gives Neito a hard on, and he shifts the laptop a bit to cover his pants.

“Don’t put so much pressure on it, Nei. Anyone would be lucky to get to kiss you.”

Neito feels his cheeks heat up in a blush at the compliment.

Hitoshi notices his discomfort. “Listen…I’ll play, too. If it would help. I’ll cheer you on.”

Neito nods gratefully and they get back to chatting music. It’s infuriating how in some moments, Hitoshi seems kind of in to him. But then others, he’s clearly just trying to be a good friend. Can there ever be more than friendship between them? Neito prays that Mina will be able to pull through her part of their bargain. If the bottle lands on Hitoshi during Spin The Bottle, there are two options – either Hitoshi will kiss him and make it clear that he’s interested, or he’ll laugh it off and tell Neito to re-spin.

Neito takes a deep, calming breath as Hitoshi rattles off some facts about 80s New Wave music.

All will be revealed later that night at the party. All he has to do is wait.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

You get back to your dorm a little worse for wear – your legs are still a bit shaky from your mid-morning romp, and you’re covered in sweat. Your hair is an absolute mess. You still have a few “party chores” left to execute. You and the girls have purchased black vinyl tablecloths from the local convenience store, and you need to cut them to size and tape them into the windows to black out the light. You don’t want any passersby looking up into the dorm building and catching sight of a raucous unsanctioned party. You also have a few sets of streamers that need to be hung.

You quickly change into a pair of sweatpants and gather the necessary supplies, digging through your desk drawer to find a sharp pair of scissors and your tape.

Your phone buzzes on your bed and you look up – is it Shoto? Or maybe the Secret Party Planning Committee (which has now been expanded to include You, Mina, Toru, Neito, Mineta, and Mei Hatsume – a bizarre group, for sure!).

You grab your phone and flip it over so you can see the screen.

Oh – it’s Honenuki!

Honenuki: Hey Y/N, how’s it going?

Y/N: I’m good! Just getting some decorations together for tonight. Hbu?

Honenuki: That sounds dope – I’m so excited for the party! Anything I can help with?

Y/N: If you could bring a snack like chips or pretzels that would be super helpful!

Honenuki: Awesome, will do! QQ – is there a dress code?

Y/N: Nope – just wear what makes you feel comfortable!

Honenuki: Any idea what you’ll be wearing?

Y/N: Not sure yet – maybe a skirt or something like that? You know, party clothes.

Honenuki: I bet you’ll look cute no matter what you decide to wear. See you later!

You put the phone back down on your bed, a blush creeping up into your cheeks. What an odd thing for him to say? Is he…flirting with you? Nah, Honenuki is just super cool and chill, he probably was just paying you a nice compliment to keep your spirits high. Right?

But there’s no time to worry about this – you’ve got work to do! You quickly grab your things and make a beeline for the common area. Your arms are full of party supplies and your mood is high after your half hour spent with Todoroki. This is really turning out to be the best day – you can’t wait for the party!

A few students are hitting the books in the common room, but easily come to your aid when they see you enter the space with hands full of streamers and tape. Tokoyami offers to hang up the streamers with the help of Dark Shadow, and you gratefully accept the help. You didn’t realize how high the ceilings are, so you’re appreciative of Dark Shadow’s ability to reach the rafters.

You get to work measuring and cutting the vinyl tablecloths to fit the common room’s many windows. Shoji joins you and lends a few hands. Between you, Shoji and Tokoyami, your preparation is done within an hour.

“Dang – thanks guys! That was a lot of work!” You wipe the sweat off of your forehead and admire the common area. It’s strange to see the windows covered in black vinyl during midday – the afternoon light shines through the hangings in a strange, muted way. Between that and the red yellow and blue streamers winding around the room – the common area looks like a particularly festive haunted house.

“Perfect for revelry in the dark.” Tokoyami intones passionately as he takes in the results of your labor.

“Yeah, that’s the spirit!” You say weakly. Tokoyami is so nice and a great friend, but sometimes he can be a little spooky. You aren’t quite sure what to make of his comments sometimes.

“This looks great, Y/N. We’ll see you later for the party – I’m going to go finish up my homework ahead of time.” Shoji says, strolling off to his dorm room. “See you all later!”

You leave as well, ready for a much-deserved shower and hour of primping.

As you get back to your dorm room for the second time today, your phone buzzes and this time it really is Shoto.

Shoto: Y/N – look what came in the mail.

He’s attached a picture. You smile as you click open the image.

It’s…a selfie!? It’s an image of Shoto’s cute face squished against a fuzzy blue stuffed animal. He’s got that characteristic soft smile as he looks at the mid-sized blue whale plush excitedly.

Y/N: OMG!! Who is this!?

Shoto: It’s a plush I ordered online. I want to start a collection like yours. This one is a whale from a company called Jelly Cat.

Y/N: SHOTO!! It’s so cute omg – just like you!!

Y/N: What are you going to name it!?

Shoto: What do you mean

Y/N: You need to give it a name. Like…something that matches its energy I guess?

Shoto: Squirtle

Y/N: Nope.

Shoto: How about Kuchihiro?

Y/N: Oh yes. That’s funny.

Shoto: Glad you approve

Y/N: Where will he live?

A second image pops up on your screen almost instantly. You click it to expand the picture on your phone screen. It’s another pic of the whale plush – Kuchihiro – perched on top of Shoto’s bed roll and pillows. It lists to the side a bit and stares at the camera with blank, embroidered inky eyes. It’s adorable.

Shoto: He wants to be your friend.

Y/N: Tell him I’ll need to come visit him soon.

Shoto: He asked if you’d like to have a slumber party soon. He said you can bring Squirtle.

Y/N: Squirtle and I are in. We can see if Kuchihiro is cool enough for Squirtle Squad membership.

Shoto: I can guarantee that he qualifies for Squirtle Squad membership.

A new image comes through and you open it – you laugh so hard at the visual you almost fall over. Shoto’s taken another selfie with the whale plush, but this time – they are BOTH WEARING SUNGLASSES!!! Shoto has somehow acquired garishly sharp old lady sunglasses that resemble the glasses worn by Squirtle in the Pokémon TV show. His dedication to this bit is truly unmatched. You use your fingers to zoom in on the image – Shoto and the whale have identical blank expressions as they both “stare” into the camera lens. It’s hilarious and iconic and one again you’re surprised by Shoto’s sense of humor. You’re laughing so hard you can barely type out a text reply.

Y/N: SHOTO I CANNOT

Y/N: I AM LAUGHING SO HARD IM LOSING MY MIND

Y/N: YOU ARE PERFECT AND HILARIOUS AND I NEED YOU TO NEVER CHANGE

In response, Shoto sends though four emojis: A Whale. A Turtle. The Smiley Face With Sunglasses.

And a heart.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Dusk is setting in, the sun slipping low beneath the dorm buildings of UA. The trees surrounding the campus rustle with a light breeze, and the energy around the school is one of calm.

A ragtag group of students has gathered in the center of the academic quad, shoes squelching in the dewy grass. They surround the school’s singular flagpole, which stands thirty feet high and is anchored to the ground with concrete. All of the flags have been retired for the evening so it stands empty, looking like a tall sewing needle against the fabric of the star-strewn evening sky.

Mina, ever the leader, stands with her hands on her hips as she looks up at the tall pole that marks the center of campus.

“Alright, team. It’s now or never. Is everyone ready?”

You, Toru and Neito cheer quietly. Mineta looks up at the flagpole apprehensively.

“I��m not so sure about this.” He mutters, his lisp prominent.

“Well it’s too late to back out now!” Mina says, slapping him lightly on the back. But then she pivots to a kinder approach. “Listen, Hatsume’s plan is way better than the one we originally discussed. She’s got a bunch of gadgets and gizmos that are going to make this much safer and take the strain off of you.”

Mineta gulps, his eyes never leaving the pole.

“Speaking of Hatsume – where is she?” You ask, looking around the quad searchingly.

“She said she’d be here.” Neito shrugs. “Probably wanted to make a grand entrance with one of her support items.”

He’s absolutely right. Moments later, a loud mechanical roar hits your ears.

“Didn’t you tell her to be discreet!?” Toru shrieks at Neito over the sound of whirring engines.

“You can’t put limits on artistry!” Neito calls out as he covers his ears to shield them from the noise that’s growing louder by the second. Seconds later, the source of the sonic barrage appears. And, yes, it’s Hatsume. She’s jetting towards you all on her insanely large metallic antigravity boots.

“Didn’t she damage those during the Sports Festival?” You yell over the din. “I don’t remember them being so goddamn loud!”

The roar of the boot motors hit a crescendo as Mei Hatsume hovers above you all. Her pink hair shines in the light of the rapidly rising moon. She’s wearing her usual bright goggles as well as a wild grin. She leans forward to smack at a button on the side of her boot and they seem to shut down. She plummets to the ground but lands soundly on the balls of her feet. A large bag of loot is flung over her right shoulder. She looks like some kind of bizarre cross between Inspector Gadget and Santa Claus.

She spreads her left arm wide. “Ta-dah! Newly functional anti-gravity boots by me, Mei Hatsume!”

You all stand there looking at her, stunned. Finally, you break the silence.

“Hatsume…your flying looked great but those boots are loud AF. This is a secret operation.”

“Eh, I’m still working out the kinks on these babies.” She knocks at them with her fist and a hollow sound reverberates into the night. The key to being a good designer is to just keep pushing through, even when there are challenges! And the challenge right now is dampening the sound.” She kicks off the boots and you’re surprised to see she’s wearing comfortable sneakers underneath. She tosses her loot bag to the ground and you all eye it curiously. “I am sorry about all the noise, though. But I tracked all the teachers and no one is in the dorm area right now, so there was little risk of me using the loud boots.”

“…you tracked the teachers?” Toru says weakly. “Does that mean you…?”

“Yup! I currently have all of the on-campus staff tagged with secret GPS tracking chips!” Hatsume says proudly. “I thought this little plan of yours could be the perfect time to test out my new discreet tracing system.”

“Hatsume…I’m pretty sure that’s illegal.” You say. She’s so crazy. This is insane. You’re all going to get caught and expelled for invasion of privacy or something.

“It’s all in the name of learning!” She says vividly as she starts to dig through her bag. “Alright – where’s the little grape one?”

“I have a name!” Mineta pipes up, despite his clear fear of Hatsume and her bag of tricks. She looks over at him and her eyes glint. “It you didn’t have such great tits, I wouldn’t have agreed to this.” He stares at Hatsume’s ample chest and Mina delivers a sharp smack to the back of his head. His grape-ball-hair thingies bounce with the impact and he wines in pain.

“Do you want me to do this for you or not!?” He cries out, rubbing at the back of his head irritably.

“We already made a deal. Be respectful to Hatsume or the deal’s off. We can figure something else out.” You bluff, glaring down at the little creep.

He leers up at you. “Fine. But just know I can taste your lips already.” He runs his tongue along his mouth in a disgusting gesture.

“Oh, I don’t care what he says!” Hatsume says excitedly as she starts to pull various devices and gadgets out from her bag. “As long as he lets me test out my babies on him, it doesn’t matter!”

Mineta’s eyes bulge with nerves and you pat him on the head soothingly. “Nothing bad’s gonna happen. She’s going to follow our plan and then after a while Mr. Vlad King will rescue you.” Your hand bounces back as you pat his bouncy purple hair (?).

“Ugh.” Minetta makes a face of disgust as he looks between Hatsume, her bag of tricks, and the tall AF flagpole. “You’d better come through on your end of the deal here, Y/N. No kiss, no diversion.”

“I know, I know.” You roll your eyes and cock your hip to the side. “You do this for us, and I’ll give you the best little smooch of your creepy little life.” Apparently, that’s all that needed to be said. Mineta shuts up and the two of you watch as Neito, Toru and Mina hilariously attempt to help Hatsume set up all her contraptions and tools.

“Question for you, Grape Juice.” You throw in his hero name to be nice. “Why’d you pick me? For this kiss exchange, I mean.”

Minetta seems surprised by this question. “I thought it was obvious. It’s because you’re the nicest. Duh.” He scratches absentmindedly at his chin as the two of you watch the chaotic scene before you. Everyone in the group has the potential to be a great hero…and yet, they are each so silly and dramatic. You smile at them fondly as they toss around stray tools and gears, trying to support Hatsume as best they can.

“You think…I’m the nicest.” You say slowly, rolling the idea around your mind.

“Mina is hot, but she’s too demanding most of the time. Toru is overly dramatic. There’s no chance in hell that either of them would give me so much as a side-glance, let alone a kiss, if I asked. And then there’s you – you’re always nice and trying to be my friend even though I can be a huge pain in the ass. I dunno…I just had a feeling that you’d say yes if I asked for a kiss.” He doesn’t look at you as he says this. He keeps watching the chaos unfold as Hatsume throws a screwdriver at Neito’s face. The Phantom Thief expertly dodges, but starts squabbling with Mei as he gestures wildly at all of her gear.

“Oh.” You don’t know what to say. You never imagined that Minoru Mineta of all people could be touched by kindness. He can be such a creepy asshole most of the time. “That’s…oddly sweet?” You rub your arms in discomfort.

“Forget I said anything.” Mineta looks your way and shrugs. “To be completely honest, the reason I chose you is because I’m a depraved horny dude and you’re an easy mark.”

“That sounds more like the Mineta I know.” You say, rolling your eyes. “Come on, let’s get this over with.” You march towards your bickering friends and pull up your shirtsleeves.

It takes a good twenty minutes to assemble all of the devices properly.

“Alright, grape boy! Get on in.” Hatsume smiles widely as she holds up a small Minetta-sized harness. The pop off hero in training gives her a look of terror.

“How do I know that thing is safe? It looks like it’s made of old frayed rope.” Minetta eyes the harness uncertainly.

“It’s made of state-of-the-art synthetic dyneema. The strongest material in the world. It will keep you from falling and won’t tare apart – no matter how rough things get. I only made it look like cheap rope to keep up our ruse.” Her eyes are wild and remind you of that crazy look Neito is known to have. “Vlad King will take one look at this harness and he’ll assume another student tied you up. A student with less…sophisticated…knowledge of support items.”

Minetta reluctantly takes the harness and steps into it, buttoning it closed across his chest. You let out a low whistle – the strappy outfit really makes it look like someone’s haphazardly tied him up. Hatsume is a genius.

“Okay now for the next part – I’m going to clip you to this drone baby and it will take you up to the top of the flagpole. Then I’ll release all of my other magnetic babies and they will follow you up. Once everything is secured on the flagpole, I’ll go sit in one of the trees and remotely operate everything.”

“That’s where I come in!” Neito says excitedly. “Kendo and I will go and frantically flag down Mr. Vlad King while he’s on his patrol. We’ll tell him to come quick and help Mineta. We’ll say that it looks like one of the upperclassmen got fed up with his pervy ways and decided to string him up on the flagpole to teach him a lesson. A nasty trick!”

“And as soon as Mr. King tries to rescue Mineta…boom.” Hatsume pulls up an iPad and opens an app that floods the screen with digital buttons and controls. “I’ll battle him with my babies and see how long my support items can stand up to a Pro Hero.” She cackles delightedly. You once again wonder if you’re all taking this way too far.

“I feel like you’re forgetting that I’m going to be up there!” Mineta calls out nervously. “What if your support shit hurts me?”

“Don’t worry. I’ll manually operate everything so you stay safe. And I’ll even let you down once I’ve had my fun!” Hatsume hoots as she hits a bunch of buttons on her device. Instantly, the support items littering the ground clatter to life. Shiny metallic objects with tiny arms and spikes and claws begin to rise off the ground – some begin to hover, others rise up on tiny mechanical legs.

“This is so creepy!” Mineta wails as the wave of tiny drones and gadgets begin to circle around the flagpole’s base. You all ignore him.

“I can guarantee you one hour of distraction.” Hatsume laughs, a bit unhinged. “Two hours if Mr. King doesn’t call for backup.”

“Hatsume, I know I asked for your expertise here – but I’m a little disheartened in how much you’re underestimating my teacher.” Neito says a bit stiffly. “He’s a Pro Hero. It should take him all of ten minutes to defeat a few flying toasters and save a boy strung up a flagpole.”

“Ha. That’s where you’re wrong, blondie. After you told me that Vlad King would be involved, I modified these babies with his quirk and fighting style in mind. A good support item designer should always construct her devices to suit the situation at hand!” Monoma still seems unconvinced, but its too late now. You all just need to trust in Hatsume’s mad scientist capabilities.

“How are you going to avoid being caught?” Toru asks Hatsume nervously.

“Oh, I’ve got a nifty little cloaking device baby that will help me blend into the trees. No one will ever see me. Once the teachers rescue Mineta, I’ll disappear back to the dorms.” She wiggles her hands in front of her face in an attempt at looking spooky. Instead, with her wide eyes and stretched grin, she looks a little deranged. “Oh! But you’ll need to take my antigravity boots back with you and stash them away for the night.”

“What!?” Mina looks at her incredulously. “They’re not a part of the plan? Why’d you even bring them then?”

“I needed to fit in a quick test flight today – plus they looked super cool when I was flying in, right?”

You all nod weakly, eager to take a break from her chaos. You reach down and scoop an antigravity boot into your arms. It’s heavy as hell. Toru grabs the other boot and her legs buckle a bit under its weight, her pants bend tellingly at the knee.

“We should really get going, guys.” Mina says, checking her phone for the time. “Everyone will be arriving soon!”

“Alright, you ready Mineta?” You ask your classmate. His face is pale white as he looks up the tall flagpole, but you can tell he’s already committed himself to this task. And to receive your kiss.

“I can just taste your lips already.” He says, but the jibe is half-hearted. Hatsume clips a carabineer to his harness and attaches the other end to one of her drones. An instant later, Mineta is lifted off the ground and rapidly rising into the air. Using the controls on her iPad, Hatsume guides the drone up, up, up and to the top of the flagpole.

The little perv reaches out and grabs the top of the flagpole with little effort. Mineta looks down at you all and flashes a quick thumbs up. He grabs a few purple balls from his head and uses them to secure his body to the pole. Once he’s safely fastened, he waves.

“Alright Mineta!” Neito calls up to him, cupping your hands around his mouth to project his voice. “You know the plan! When you see Kendo start to run over from the dorms with Mr. King, start yelling for help. Once Mr. King tries to get you down, Hatsume will activate all of the booby trap drones she’s assembled on the flag pole.”

Mineta nods and gives another thumbs up to indicate his alignment.

“Hatsume – you ready?” You turn to the support course prodigy, her boot weighing heavily in your arms.

“Yes, ma’am!” Hatsume gives you a big thumbs up as well. “Let’s do this!” She hustles off to her hiding place in a nearby tree. You watch as she pulls herself up into its branches with surprising strength. She pulls out her iPad and hits a few buttons before her form disappears into the leaves like a chameleon. Must be that cloaking device she mentioned.

“Alright everyone.” You flash a grin at your friends. “Let’s pull off the craziest secret party the school dorms have ever seen.”

End of Chapter 6

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Links To All The Previous Parts:

Part 1: Linked Here

Part 2: Linked Here

Part 3: Linked Here

Part 4: Linked Here

Part 5: Linked Here

My Master List

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Author Notes:

OH YES I FINALLY DID IT I FINALLY POSTED PART 6!!! I hope it lived up to expectations! We are really building up to the party scenes now, aren't we!? I feel like every chapter I say you're gonna see the party + spin the bottle next but then I come up with a ton of other ideas and characters and exposition that I want to throw in along the way! I really love Hitoshi and Monoma so yup, they are getting a little fun sexy storyline in Shoto's First Kiss! There is another couple pairing I'm going to give special treatment to as well, but you're gonna need to wait and see for that one...Anyways! I hope you liked this latest installment and that it was satisfying after the long wait! I am going through a really crazy health thing right now and have spent the past 3 months poked and prodded with needles and wedged in MRI machines so this story hasn't been my top priority. However, it has been a lovely reprieve! Please comment if you liked it - my partner and I love reading through everyone's goofy comments and they make us smile! Anyways, until next time! Sending good vibes to all!

XOXO,

❤️ Red Riot Unbreakable Heart

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❄️🔥THE ICYTHOTS🔥❄️

Want to join or be removed from the tag list - let me know! Once again, this is an ADULT ONLY blog. The IcyThot club is exclusively dedicated to the Shoto's First Kiss series and will only include A18+. Do not request to be added unless you are over 18. If your blog is ageless/your age isn't listed in the bio you cannot be an IcyThot member! I'm also adding the "sexual content" label/tags.

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actually-safer-to-kiss · 8 months ago

Text

Pounding

Summary: Reader has a migraine, and Spencer wants to help.

Couple: Spencer Reid/Fem!Reader

Category: Hurt/comfort

Content warnings: none

Word count: 1.2k

The transition of seasons is something that has to be endured. It’s the time when you wake up to frost on your windshield in the morning but must remove your coat by the time you leave work. It is a painful time of inconsistency, especially for your sinuses. Not only with the pollen in the air (as well as on your car at all times) but the dryness as well. It causes your headaches to go from sometimes once a month to now twice a week.

And the first one happens this week, today. The migraine descended on you like a storm, brewing from your nasal cavities, its relentless waves of pain crashing against the shores of your temples. With each throb, the world around you seemed to blur and spin.

You shut the door to your apartment and let your bag fall from your shoulder, with no care with where it lands. Light, food, the smell of home is all too much to bear. With a sigh, you shuffle to the sanctuary of your room and bask in the silence while you can still control it. You unleash yourself from your business casual attire and fall into bed, nestling yourself under the covers.

The darkness relieves pressure, only slightly. It will probably be hours before it has settled, so you think it is best to call it a night now at 5:56 in the evening. There was no point in doing anything else as streetlights alone from the windows have proven to be enough to make the back of your eyes ache. You remained still, motionless, unmoved. Minutes could stretch well into hours without your knowledge.

Until the sound of the front door opened, cutting through the quiet. Spencer was home, which means it’s 6:06 now. The creaking floors from his aged apartment tell you he goes to the kitchen first, the sink runs, then his steps only grow closer to you until you can feel his presence at your back. “Migraine?” He asked, already knowing the answer.

It drains all energy and motivation out of you, so you merely nod in response. He’s more than familiar with severe head pain; chronic migraines that were resolved with a vitamin regimen. Fortunately, he has yet to complain about them bothering you in the year you’ve been together. And he never leaves home without them.

Unfortunately, this makes him eager to figure out your head pains. Last spring, he left out an array of vitamins in a pill organizer. They didn’t. It wasn’t an issue at first. It was clear he was trying to help. The downside of your boyfriend being a child prodigy and objective genius is that he will never back down from a challenge, even when you have asked him to. He can’t do it. Later in the month, he came home one day with an array of tea brands, mostly ginger and peppermint. He’s bought humidifiers, massaged the cartilage of your nose, and even consulted Reddit. It’s certainly worn down your patience, especially when you require complete silence.

“I can get you some hot compresses from the pharmacy if you want.” He jumps in completely. The last three words are merely to cushion the obvious; reiterating the point rather than saying something like, “I’ve had headaches before. I know how awful they are, so you should let me help you.” Which he’s also said.

You continue the annoying pattern by shaking your head with an audible moan. Opening your eyes hurts.

“What about nasal spray or decongestant? I can get those at the pharmacy as well.”

“I don’t need anything from the pharmacy. I took ibuprofen. Just need to keep my eyes closed.”

“Well, that can only help so much today. Saline will help encourage drainage and expansion in the vessels. Ibuprofen solves the head pain, not the root problem.”

“Unless the BAU can order planting fruit trees, it’s the best we can do.”

“What I’m trying to say is—”

You groan louder. “This isn’t a time for solutions, Spencer.”

Another unfortunate aspect of your relationship is that you can feel the way Spencer’s face softens from your tone. He then mutters out an apology, a brief sorry, but he doesn’t leave. He touches your shoulder and keeps his hand there until you turn to face him. And because you love him very much, you strain to open your eyes. You can make out a blur of his silhouette in the growing darkness, but still see clearly his glossy eyes and the quirk of his lips. “Can you do something for me first, though? Real quick?”

Before you answer, his hand slides toward your upper back, meaning you have to sit up for this. You were ready to say something along the line that he’s lucky you love him right now and leave it at that because thinking further made the pressure in your temples increase.

You didn’t have to speak at all, though. Because Spencer is also holding a glass of water in front of you. You look up at Spencer’s puppy-eyed silhouette. “Not a solution,” he says softly. “It’s something you always need.”

Well, if that didn’t make you feel like an asshole. You accepted the glass without a word, feeling the coolness against your palm as you brought it to your lips. Each sip, at the very least, a distraction from the throbbing. Spencer watches you closely. You had no choice but to finish the whole glass. And you did, leaving Spencer satisfied enough as he took the glass and walked out.

You didn’t say a word. The sink ran again, and Spencer returned with another full glass. He doesn’t hand it to you, instead puts it on the nightstand before turning precariously on his heels. It takes you a second through half-closed eyes to realize he’s walking back out. You’re afraid to ask, wondering if you’ve made him too upset to talk. You push yourself and do so anyway, keeping your tone in mind. “Where are you going?”

Spencer turns on his heels once more, looking around momentarily like there were others in the room. He then looks at you. “I figured you wanted to be alone.”

You reach out, moving through the pain quite literally, and you catch the polyester of his cardigan just between your fingers and pull him closer until you can wrap your arms around him. You hold your breath, knowing the intense smell of his laundry detergent would be enough to collapse down to your pillow in further pain. His cardigan is soft against your face. “Do you have other stuff to do?”

He chuckles, his abdomen bounces. So, he’s not too mad. “I do not.”

Encouraged by his response, you tug him gently (and not so gracefully) into bed. He’s delightfully warm. Spencer kicks off his shoes in response before pulling you close. Then you bury your face into his chest, hesitant to breathe in the scent of cedar that clings to the cardigan. You try best to ignore it as you cocoon yourselves beneath the blankets, finding refuge in each other’s company amidst the inner turmoil that comes with spring. You listen to the steady rhythm of Spencer’s heartbeat, and find a fleeting sense of peace in the storm.

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drabblesandsnippets · 2 months ago

Text

The Prize

Hot Bucky Summer 2024 - Week 11

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Plus-size female character (unnamed)

Prompt: “You look good like this.”| [Kneeling | Tied Down | Ruined] @buckybarnesevents

Summary: (9.7k) Bucky and his girlfriend try out their new sex swing, purchased after The Bet. This is a standalone fic and is mostly just pure smut, y’all.

A/N: This is my first fic after my hiatus, and it kind of got away from me 😂 Huge shoutout and thanks to @thinking1bee - without her support and encouraging comments, I'm not sure I would have finished this! Any and all mistakes are my own.

Warnings: 18+ Only. Fluff. Established relationship. Pet names (doll, sweetheart, baby). Brief mention of insecurities. Enthusiastic consent. Praise. Dirty talk. Slight verbal degradation. Masturbation (m). Multiple orgasms (both). Oral (both receiving). Rimming (f). Sex toys (including anal). Cum as lube. Fingering (almost fisting?). Squirting. (Unprotected) PiV. Aftercare.

“Tell me again,” Bucky says, cradling his girlfriend’s face, searching for any hint of hesitation or reluctance. They’re standing in their bedroom, stripped down to their underwear, the soft glow of the lamp providing more than enough light for them to see each other, her bright eyes staring up at him.

The thought of being so vulnerable and exposed definitely gave her pause at first, but Bucky’s been building anticipation, counting down the days since she ‘lost’ the bet, whispering all the dirty things he’s going to do to her.

By the time the sex swing arrived a couple of days ago, her excitement matched his, especially after a quick test of it yesterday, with her clothes on - all of which he promptly ripped off as soon as he helped her down, taking her hard and fast at the edge of the bed.

“I want this,” she tells him with an excited nod of her head, her slightly trembling hands resting against his chest, drawing comfort from the strong beat of his heart. Despite her lingering nerves from years of insecurities, her voice is steady, repeating the same promises she’s been making - she’s not doing this just because he wants her to, and she knows, without a doubt, she can stop at any moment and he won’t be disappointed.

That’s the most important part of all of this to Bucky - her enthusiastic consent. Without it, he wouldn’t have the courage to even attempt this. She’s going to be completely at his mercy, and even though he’s always been able to easily overpower her, this is different. This isn’t holding her down with his weight or grabbing her hair to keep her in place.

She’s going to be in a position that she won’t be able to get out of, one he could easily leave her in or take advantage of if he so chose. He’ll never understand how she’s able to put this much trust in him, but he’ll never take it for granted. All Bucky wants to do is take care of her, bring her all the pleasure she can handle, watch her become a beautiful mess for him.

With the patience and tenderness only she evokes, he removes the last of her clothing, kissing every bit of newly exposed skin, bypassing her most intimate parts. By the time he’s guiding her to the swing, she’s relaxed in his embrace, eager to follow his lead.

Bucky’s never failed to make her feel like the hottest woman in existence, and this is no exception. Allowing him to help her into the swing, she lays back, her upper body fully supported as he tenderly secures her limbs. For now, her arms rest by her head, her hands through the loops as he positions her knees back, the leather straps around her ankles keeping her spread for him.

One look at her and he’s letting out a soft curse, his hungry eyes roaming every inch of her on display, not giving her insecurities a chance to resurface. “You look so good like this, doll.” Better than anything he imagined. And before they go any further, he needs her to remember it for the rest of the night.

Quickly shredding his underwear, Bucky’s cock springs free, hard and glistening with precum from just the sight of her naked and waiting for him. Never taking his eyes off of her, he swipes a generous amount of spit from his mouth and wraps his hand around his shaft, giving himself a few slow, firm strokes to get himself slick.

Mesmerized, her skin grows warm as she watches Bucky pleasure himself, the initial thought that he was already going to fuck her soon replaced by the realization of what’s happening. Proving, once again, how much he wants her, how much she turns him on just by simply existing.

Already breathing heavily, arousal coursing through her veins, she grips the padded chains by her hands and whispers his name, the need for him to touch her evident in her voice. With a slow shake of his head, Bucky gives her that smile that’s been making her weak in the knees since the day she met him.

“Just wanna look at you first,” he tells her, the movement of his hand never ceasing, “I think you forget how much I enjoy just watching you.”

Stepping closer, finding his rightful place between her thighs, Bucky starts stroking his cock faster, barely inches from her inviting pussy, resisting the urge to bury himself inside of her. Between shuddering gasps, he keeps talking, praising her, highlighting all the things he loves about her body, his gaze settling on each spot as she squirms helplessly.

She has half a mind to try to pull her hands free to reach out for him, desperate for more, Bucky’s actions driving her wild. She’s just as eager to see where this is going though, unable to look away as the telltale signs of his impending orgasm start to play out across his features. The tension building in his shoulders, the furrowing of his brow, the delicious noises leaving his parted lips.

“So damn hot, baby,” he growls, drawing another unabashed whimper from her, her own breathy moans increasing right along with his. “I’m not even thinking about all the things I’m gonna do to you and you already have me so fucking close.”

“Oh god,” she breathes, her walls clenching around nothing, her thighs trembling with need. She’s so wet for him, each pass of his hand along his thick cock fueling the lust trying to consume her.

Bucky’s pleasure has always turned her on, but this is a whole new level, the sight of him working himself towards an orgasm all because of her naked body has her on the edge of begging for his touch. He doesn’t give her a chance though, his rough voice suddenly demanding more.

“Who do you belong to?”

“You,” she exhales sharply, barely letting him finish the question, lifting up from the headrest to get a better look, letting her gaze travel from his flushed face down to his hand moving faster, his strokes focusing on his engorged head, the tip leaking a steady flow of precum.

“Tell me. Tell me you’re mine,” he orders, desperate to hear the words from the woman he loves more than he ever thought he was capable of. She’s more than he could ever deserve, and watching her be so vulnerable for him has him aching to be reminded how much she loves him.

“I’m yours,” she promises, nodding her head, tearing her eyes away from his cock to meet his gaze once again, his intense stare sending a strong surge of pleasure straight to her clit.

A moment that started off just about her has gratefully shifted to a mutual need of assurance and the words spill out of her without any more prompting, “I love you, I love you so much.”

That’s all Bucky needs before he’s letting go with a gasp of her name, followed by a string of curses as hot spurts of his release paint her inner thigh, his vibranium hand gripping the sturdy chain connected to her ankle. It has her panting, the physical sensations caused by the pleasure overwhelming him leaving her dizzy with need, her hands tugging harder at the straps in hopes of grounding herself.

The instant his lungs fill with much needed oxygen, he utters words of love and admiration for her, using every bit of restraint to keep from touching her for now. He plans to give her everything she can handle tonight, but there’s no rush as he comes down, wanting to take his time to explore every delectable inch of her.

With everything they could possibly need laid out at the foot of the bed, Bucky reaches for the damp washcloth and brings it to her skin, cleaning her up with slow, smooth movements, making a mental note to do this again when he can take a picture of her covered with his seed, the promising image causing his cock to twitch.

Once she’s free of his mark, he tosses the washcloth and finally takes pity on her, his hands following the earlier path his eyes had taken, caressing parts of her that he’ll never get enough of. Her kissable lips. Her neck, the perfect size to wrap his hand around. Her strong arms. Her beautiful tits and pebbled nipples. Her soft belly, the way it moves under his touch. Her thick, sensitive thighs that were made to squeeze him.

By the time he’s dragging the back of his fingers closer to her pussy, she’s trembling, writhing and whimpering, her breaths quick and uneven. Her responses are addicting, driving him to continue teasing her, his fingertips ghosting over her mound before moving back up, bypassing all her ticklish spots until he’s back to her breasts, cupping them in his large hands.

“Yes, please,” she moans, the slight arch of her back giving him better leverage to pinch her nipples, his fingers playfully tugging them, making her body sway in the swing.

“Oh, look at that,” he murmurs, his voice barely reaching her ears as he repeats the action, the movement of her body bringing her closer to his, letting her feel his growing erection. “We’re gonna have so much fun tonight, sweetheart.”

She’s quick to nod in agreement, not giving him any reason to slow down or stop, waiting with baited breath as goosebumps cover her skin. He’s barely touched her and she’s on edge, her body wound tight, longing for him to do everything he’s been promising for weeks now.

As if reading her mind - or just knowing her as well as he does - one last pull of her nipples and he’s leaning over, crashing his lips on hers, his tongue quickly seeking entrance to deepen the kiss. It sets her off, her hands gripping her binds harder, trying to grind herself against him as she welcomes his mouth on hers.

Bucky doesn’t stop her, moving his hands to the chains to steady himself, allowing her to bring herself pleasure with his body, his hard cock trapped against her ass. Trailing kisses down her neck, biting all the sensitive spots along the way, he makes his way to her heaving chest, capturing her nipple in his mouth, scraping the erect bud with his teeth.

Her needy whines only encourage him to continue with his pace, giving both nipples equal attention, his own hips thrusting gently in time with hers. The need to worship every inch of her has Bucky leaving her breasts as soon as she’s shuddering underneath him, pleading for more, and he works his mouth lower, over her stomach, peppering kisses along her soft rolls and pretty stretch marks.

She’s barely able to focus, her breathing out of control, Bucky reducing her to a whimpering mess, overwhelmed by the loss of his body heat against her pussy. He doesn’t make her wait long, taking the time to angle her into a lower position, giving her a wicked smile the entire time, hinting at what’s to come.

And then she’s shaking with anticipation, watching him kneel between her thighs, his head at the optimal height to return his lips to her body, kissing her inner thighs, nibbling a path towards her pussy.

Expecting Bucky to keep teasing her, the sudden swipe of his tongue along her slick slit has her gasping out his name, wantonly begging him not to stop. She can already feel the pressure building, all of his earlier attention pushing her close to the edge, and now the slow lapping of his tongue tasting every inch of her is enough to have her thighs tensing all over again.

His senses are flooded by her, inhaling the heady scent of her arousal, burying his face between her thighs to fuck her with his tongue, devouring every last bit of her he can while his hands grip her thighs to grind her against his mouth. She’s his favorite meal, enjoying every second he gets to spend right here, his nose pressed against her clit as she chases her pleasure.

Her first orgasm hits her like a force, leaving her breathless, each surge causing her hips to buck against him, the firm hold of her thighs coupled with the binds around her limbs intensifying everything. Bucky gives her no time to relax, spreading her open with his fingers to close his mouth over her clit, moaning at the pulse of the aftershocks still overtaking her.

It’s almost too much, but he’s an expert at her body, knowing exactly how to build her up without pushing her too fast, the pad of his finger teasing her entrance. She’s quick to tell him yes, his muffled growl of approval vibrating against her, letting her welcoming pussy envelope his finger, filling her in one smooth motion.

If Bucky wasn’t so intent on making her come again, he’d praise her, tell her how good she feels, how hard he is from the taste of her. There will be plenty of time for that later, for now he increases the pressure, swirling his tongue over her swollen clit as he crooks his finger inside of her, eager to get her there as quickly as possible.

It doesn’t take long, a few strokes of his thick finger and she’s gone, crying out his name, her hands pulling hard at the straps. He helps her ride out the waves, prolonging her pleasure until it starts to shift into pain, then carefully brings her back down to reality, murmuring soft words of praise he’s not even sure she’s processing yet.

She’s not, but she’s grateful for them, letting out a light groan when Bucky readjusts her again, giving her a chance to stretch her legs, her ankles remaining bound. All the insecurities she thought would still be plaguing her are long gone, allowing Bucky to do with her as he pleases, trusting him to take care of her.

He’s never disappointed her, not when it comes to this, and she gives him a lazy smile as he places a bottle of water in front of her, guiding the straw to her mouth to let her drink as much as she needs. Once he’s satisfied she’s ready to keep going, he readjusts her until she’s laying flat, her arms pulled down to her sides.

She already knows what’s coming, turning her head to look at him as he walks around her, his hard cock making her salivate. There’s nothing she wants more than to bring him as much pleasure as he’s brought her, eagerly opening her mouth, her tongue shamelessly sticking out to greet him.

Bucky’s so proud of her, and wastes no time in telling her, one hand on the back of her head to hold her still, “You’re doing so good, baby.” The moment their eyes meet, his hips jut forward, smearing a drop of precum along the flat of her tongue, an obvious ripple of pleasure rushing over her at the taste of him.

It’s nearly enough to have him losing control, but he takes a steadying breath and instructs her, “Stay just like that for me, let me feel you.”

She doesn’t need to be told twice, relaxing her jaw as he finds a shallow rhythm, pushing into her mouth, dragging the head of his cock over her tongue. Fighting the urge to touch him, her binds not providing much leverage anyway, all she can do is lay here for him, letting Bucky use her body, his vibranium hand lifted to hold onto the chain.

The first time he fucked her mouth, she was in complete control, hovering over him, one hand wrapped around his cock so he couldn’t go too deep. He came so fast, and afterwards, she was so turned on, he made her ride his face until she collapsed from exhaustion. Since then, she’s gone out of her way to prove how much she loves sucking his cock, each time encouraging him to take over, set the pace, take his pleasure from her.

It turns her on as much as everything else about him, and even though she wants all the attention to be on him right now, she doesn’t mind when his hand returns to her body, his long fingers wrapping around her throat before sliding lower, scratching his blunt nails between her breasts.

She’s so focused on the feel of his thick cock stretching her mouth, Bucky taking his time to work up to a faster pace, that she doesn’t even realize there’s a toy in his hand, the looped handle of the vibrator resting on his thumb. The only warning that comes is the faint click and soft buzzing, his hips pausing as the vibrations come into contact with her nipple.

Her loud moans only increase when he starts moving again, fucking her mouth deeper, forcing her to breathe out of her nose as her lips close around him. Careful not to take it too far, he splits his attention between her face and her body, slipping the vibrator down to tease between her thighs, the momentary tensing lasting for barely a second until she’s relaxing for him.

“Good girl,” he breathes, taking hold of the back of her head with his metal hand to steady her in order to bring them both as much pleasure as he can, pressing the toy harder against her clit. “Taking my cock so well, like you were made for me, ya know that?”

His words have the desired effect and she whines around his cock, wanting him closer, desperate for him to go faster, each thrust of his hips making her entire body tingle. There’s nothing like this feeling, being completely at his mercy, helpless to do anything but take what he’s giving her, the vulnerability of it all sending her further towards the peak.

Taking the hint, Bucky speeds up, groaning at the tight heat of her throat surrounding him, the sound of her gagging triggering his primal side. The side she empowers him to explore in the safety of their relationship.

“That’s it,” he grunts, his palm holding the toy against her, rubbing her clit in a familiar rhythm, his fingertips dipping between her folds to tease her entrance. “You love choking on my cock, don’t ya, sweetheart?”

Her answer is another exquisite gag around his sensitive head and he pulls back long enough to let her take a deep breath, then he’s resuming the pace, telling her, “Gonna keep fucking this perfect mouth until you come for me again.”

It’s going to happen, the familiar tingle building, the strong vibrations pulsing through her sensitive clit making her see stars. She’s enjoying herself too much to just let go yet, welcoming several more thrusts of his cock, the few tears spilling down her cheeks mixing with her saliva as he fucks her throat.

Bucky knows what she’s doing, and as much as he loves when she communicates what she wants, he’s more than happy to help her remember she’s not in control tonight. With an impatient growl, he tightens his grip on her head, and pushes himself deeper, forcing her throat to tense around his cock. “Ya gotta come baby, or I'm not gonna stop.”

The tension spreads to the rest of her body, leaving no doubt that this is exactly what she wants, the roughness of his actions pushing her into another earth-shattering orgasm. He pulls out at the last second, almost coming himself, a string of saliva connecting them for a brief moment as she cries out from the onslaught of pleasure overloading her senses.

Bucky's quick to comfort her, crouching down to talk her through it, his hands stroking across her belly, the toy tossed aside. “I'm so proud of you, sweetheart. You did so good for me. I love you so much.”

She can’t speak; she’s barely able to string a coherent thought together, her body trembling and her heart racing, pleasure still coursing through her. Bucky's presence, as always, soothes her, allows her to come down at her own pace without thinking about what’s coming next.

Her only priority is to bask in the experience he's providing her, his constant touch keeping her present, reminding her there's no rush. He finds pleasure in taking care of her, in whatever form that takes.

When the aftershocks fade, and she starts to come back to him, only then does he move, taking the time to clean her up, wiping away all evidence of her enthusiastic blowjob, Bucky murmuring more words of praise and appreciation.

Another sip of much-needed water and she finds her barings, her words slowly returning to her so she can voice her own gratitude. He might have trouble believing it, but he’s the best thing that’s ever happened to her and she’ll take every opportunity to remind him.

Bucky’s soft smile conveys more than he’s capable of vocalizing, and it’s more than enough for her, his silence never bothering her. Smiling adoringly up at him, she watches him walk around her suspended body, his fingers trailing over her skin, leaving goosebumps in their wake, reigniting the flames of her arousal.

Despite all the pleasure he’s already brought her, her body craves more, desperate to feel him, to have him quell the ache building inside of her, in the way only he can. An exhale of his name, followed by a soft, breathless whisper of ‘please’ and he’s touching more of her, his unhurried actions speaking before he does, causing her to shift and let out a needy whine.

“Shh,” Bucky soothes, kissing his way up her body until he’s leaning over her, his metal hand gripping one of the chains to steady himself, his lips seeking out hers. She barely lets him kiss her, her tongue teasing over his before she’s turning her head to repeat herself, her warm breath ghosting over his ear, reinforcing how much she needs him to fuck her.

He almost throws caution to the wind, sliding his hand down to grip her hip and pull her pliant body against his, her hot, slick sex inviting him to bury himself inside of her. It’s all he wants, to lose himself in her, to give her everything she could possibly ask for. It just isn’t an option right now.

Encouraging her to grind against him, he nuzzles her cheek, breathing heavily as he murmurs, “I know, baby, I know.” It pains him to make her wait, her yearning pleas nearly breaking him, his own body fighting for control, his cock throbbing against her ass, leaking precum.

Somehow finding the resolve to resist her, Bucky maintains contact, guiding her movements against him, his ears trained on her uneven breathes as he tells her, “I’m gonna fuck you, sweetheart, I promise, but I need you to give me a minute, okay?”

Interrupting her before she can start to argue, he pulls back to meet her gaze, giving her an affectionate smile, trying to ease her worry. “You’re doing so good for me,” he assures her, twinges of a playful grin creeping up when she lets out an exasperated sigh, her brow furrowing with uncertainty.

“You are, doll,” he says, dipping his head to kiss her neck, relishing the sounds he brings out of her with a simple touch. “In fact, you were so good you almost made me come down your throat.”

Her body reacts to his words, her hips lifting to seek more friction, shamelessly grinding herself against his pelvis, her hands tugging hard at her binds. “Oh god,” she breathes, “Bucky, please.” She's so turned on, her wetness seeping down between her ass cheeks, her tense thighs shaking with anticipation, unable to focus on anything except how empty she feels.

The next words out of his mouth do nothing to alleviate the burning desire threatening to make her lose her mind, Bucky growling, “Your mouth felt so good, baby, you were so fucking perfect.” Almost on the verge of tears, her hips buck, his next confession only adding to her desperation, “So, as much as I wanna be buried inside you, if I were to start fucking you right now, it’d be over a lot quicker than I’d like to admit.”

Giving her no chance to object, his metal hand cradles her head, pulling her into a passionate kiss, his tongue demanding entrance. She’s quick to comply, understanding flowing between them, Bucky’s fear of disappointing her evident, causing her to finally relent, trusting him to take care of her.

There might not be anything else that can truly scratch this particular itch, but that doesn’t mean they can’t have fun trying, Bucky wasting no time in making a short trip to the bed to grab a toy. On his way back, he brings the ottoman, grinning at her as he takes a seat right between her spread thighs, his shoulders level with her body, giving him access to every single inch of her.

A flush spreads across her skin, her body angled enough to let her watch Bucky settle in for the show, the curved vibrator already turned on and teasing along the back of her thigh. He’s giving her time to withdraw her consent, as if that’s even an option for her right now, her entire body on edge, waiting for him to take pity on her.

If it were any other time, this might be too much, her insecurities whispering in the back of her mind, attempting to ruin the moment. It wouldn’t be the first time, and Bucky would gladly help her through it, never shying away from telling her how hot she is, how he can never get enough of her.

It’s not necessary this time, no matter how vulnerable and on display she feels, Bucky’s metal hand stroking along her belly, causing her to sway towards him. Whatever he’s planning, she’ll accept without hesitation, wanting nothing more than to be completely at his mercy.

It doesn’t take long, Bucky ducking his head to follow the trail of the vibrations, nipping and licking a path to her dripping pussy, leaving her panting for more. And the moment she’s nodding her head, whispering, “yes, please, oh god,” in a rush of a heavy exhale, he’s sliding the tip of the toy through her wetness, rewarding her.

“Good girl,” he praises, his words muffled against a particularly sensitive spot of her thigh, her appreciative whine only growing when he presses against her soaked entrance, telling him everything he needs to know. And now that Bucky’s here, the toy meeting no resistance, he can’t resist surging forward, refusing to tease her anymore, filling her as his teeth sink into the flesh of her trembling thigh.

The exquisite pleasure has her crying out, her knuckles turning white from her strained grip on the padded chains, Bucky’s vibranium hand firmly pressed against her stomach to keep her in place as he starts to fuck her with hard, deep strokes.

Her bound ankles give her no leverage, increasing the helpless feeling, and she falls headfirst into it, each thrust eliciting another noise of pleasure, every breathy utterance growing more incoherent. Her entire focus is narrowed down to him and the indescribable pleasure he’s bringing her, Bucky perfecting the speed and rhythm to have the pressure building almost too quickly.

No part of her feels compelled to fight it, her head thrown back, eyes shut tight, her heart pounding in her ears as she welcomes everything he gives her. Bucky proving once again he can read her body like an open book, each subtle gasp or slight tension guiding him to keep the toy hitting that spot deep inside of her that makes her lose her breath.

“That’s it,” he grunts, his feet finding purchase against the carpet as he grabs hold of her soft stomach, swinging her body in time with his thrusts, her wetness coating his hand, the beautiful sight causing his cock to pulse. “Fuck. Love watching you like this. Want you to come again for me, can you do that, baby?”

The question triggers another mind-numbing orgasm, her muscles growing taut and her mouth opens in a silent scream, Bucky’s eyes trained on the incredible image, watching her lose control. All because of him. The hands that were once used as a weapon are now used to bring nothing but pleasure to the most important person in his life.

It’s nearly enough to have him coming right along with her, the emotion threatening to lock up his voice, forcing him to power through, needing her to hear his familiar stream of praise and love. He’ll never leave her wanting, not during such a time of need, Bucky’s only priority to keep her in that headspace she craves so much.

Where nothing exists but the two of them and the euphoria coursing through her, her mind forgetting everything else. All the normal worries and anxieties are long gone. Replaced by a tingly buzz, a high that she’s only ever chased with him.

Bucky’s far from done with her, his own need to feel her wrapped around him pushed to the side, instead focusing on grinding the toy deep inside of her, addicted to the way she reacts. Her body is still pulsing with aftershocks, her shuddering breaths signaling how far her limits are being pushed, her wrists tugging at her binds, and other than her soft, gasping whimpers, she makes no objections.

She’s not too far gone that she wouldn’t tell him to stop if she needed to, Bucky taking that as his signal to keep going, turning the vibrations up and angling the toy to rub hard along her front wall. It brings out the expected reaction, her eyes rolling back and her toes curling, her legs shaking uncontrollably.

“You’re so perfect, doll, ya know that?” Not waiting for an answer, he slides his left hand down between her thighs to apply pressure to her clit, a wave of pleasure washing over him to match the one causing her body to buck. “I swear you were made for me,” he continues, groaning when she starts to squirt for him. “I’ll never get enough of you. Not in a million fucking years.”

She loses track of everything except the overwhelming pressure building, Bucky’s vibranium palm pressed against her clit almost too much, the tension in her lower stomach on the verge of causing cramps. Bucky’s barely moving the toy, but each hard grind against her g-spot is making her squirt, another orgasm soon to come barreling down on her.

It feels too soon, her body practically still recovering from the last one, and it’s not long before she’s whispering his name, her head lolling on the headrest, her hair sticking to her sweaty forehead. No change in pace comes, Bucky softly shushing her, telling her, “It’s okay, baby, you’re doing so good for me. Wanna watch you come one more time, can you do that for me?”

Incapable of nodding her head, she whines his name, followed by the soft whisper of ‘yes’, the word barely audible. There’s no doubt Bucky hears her, his head dipping to kiss the back of her thigh, muttering more praise and affirmations in response, encouraging her to let go, to let him witness her fall apart one more time.

“As soon as you do, I‘m gonna fuck you sweetheart,” he promises, a grin spreading across his features when she resumes her grip on the chains, seeing the desperation clearly fueling her actions. His consistent movements never cease, using the toy to drive her higher, providing her with exactly what he knows will push her over the edge. “That’s right, baby. All ya gotta do is come for me, show me how much you want my cock buried inside this perfect pussy.”

A few more controlled thrusts and she has no choice but to give in, her back arching as the intense orgasm takes control, sparks of electric pleasure radiating from her core. Bucky works her through it, quickly standing up, kicking the ottoman out of the way in order to reach higher up her body, holding onto her forearm while he slowly fucks through each wave with the toy, stopping only once he’s sure she’s had enough.

It takes her longer to recover this time, Bucky taking the time to work out any kinks in her muscles, letting her stretch her limbs within the confines of her binds. He’s going to keep his word, planning to fuck her until she’s completely satiated. But, first he has to ensure he hasn’t pushed her too hard, using the opportunity to wipe away the sweat glistening on her skin and give them both more water.

As grateful as she is for the pause, she’s more than eager to keep going, ready to hold him to his promise. There’s no need for more begging - a momentary interlude so Bucky can readjust her position and then he’s exactly where he belongs, his hard cock perfectly aligned with her swollen pussy.

The determined look on his face speaks volumes, coaxing her further into submission, her limbs relaxed, her breathing slow and even. There’s no rushing him, Bucky’s hands caressing her everywhere, languid movements across her skin, fingertips ghosting over her nipples, palms stroking down her torso.

“You’re so beautiful,” he murmurs, his gaze settling on hers, an ardent smile lighting up his face. “I’m so grateful to call you mine.”

Words fail her, warmth spreading across her skin, his praise stirring up a smile of her own, conveying how much she loves and appreciates him. Nothing will ever compare to the connection they share, the incredible, undeniable physical chemistry that flows between them.

They’re compatible in all the ways that matter, understanding each other on a level neither ever thought they’d have the privilege of experiencing. It allows them both to be present, her submissive nature enticing Bucky to fully embrace the power of being in complete control of the woman he’s going to spend the rest of his life with.

Hooking her right leg over his vibranium arm, he takes hold of his thick shaft with his free hand and guides the tip of his cock to her slit, teasing her with slow movements, gathering her wetness as he listens to her breath hitch. She’s unable to stop the subconscious shifting of her hips, or the trembling of her thighs, but her arms remain slack, her trusting gaze causing his own heart to flutter.

His mind stays clear, intent on making this an unforgettable first time in their new swing, and as he slips just the head of his cock into her welcoming pussy, he lets out a heavy breath, asking her, “Are you gonna be a good girl for me?” A lazy nod of her head and he’s following up with, “Yeah? Gonna let me fuck this pussy however I want, baby?”

Managing to verbalize her consent, she whispers a soft, “please” and offers another nod, her eyes fluttering as his cock starts to fill her, Bucky fucking her with just the first inch. When she makes no other attempt to move, her supported body relaxed, he’s reached his limit, finally giving in to the intense need to have her wrapped around him.

Without warning, he hooks her other leg over his right arm and slams home, burying himself balls-deep in one swift movement, the tight, wet heat of her pussy nearly sending him spiraling out of control. Her reaction does little to help him maintain that control, her head thrown back, her strangled cry shooting pleasure straight up his spine, and for a brief moment, all he can do is grip the top of her thighs, grinding hard against her.

“Fuck,” he exhales, quickly shaking his head to gather his composure. “You feel so good, doll, wanna stay inside you forever.” He’ll definitely come if he does and slowly retreats, pulling his hips back until just the head of his cock rests within her, her walls pulsing in an attempt to lure him back.

Bucky sets an agonizingly slow pace, pausing long enough to allow her to relax, then thrusting forward, filling her, the intoxicating noises spilling out of her spurring him on. Her breathless whines, her needy whimpers, her shuddering pleas as she starts to beg him to fuck her faster each time he bottoms out. It’s too addicting to ignore, pushing him to draw more sounds out of her.

Her crying chants of “please” get louder each time he withdraws, Bucky torturously dragging his cock along her slick walls, teasing her with possibilities, only to keep the same pace, giving her no reprieve. Behind the tingling promise of pleasure, the building frustration starts to grow to unbearable heights, her brow furrowing, her fingers tightening their hold on her binds, tears pricking her eyes.

On the next thrust, his loud groan of pleasure reaching her ears, her endless begging turns to crying, the shake of her head telling him she’s reached her limit before she can even get the words out. “I can’t… Bucky… please, I can’t.”

“Shh,” he whispers, providing comfort with his touch, caressing the back of her thighs, encouraging her to ease her legs back. “I know, baby, you’re doing so good, just relax for me.”

The temptation to challenge him dies on her tongue and she flops her head back, begrudgingly giving in to his request, grateful to at least still have him buried deep inside of her. Not wanting to give him a reason to change his plans, she patiently watches him reach forward to readjust the chains once again, her skin flushing as he supplies a steady stream of praise.

The new position has her upper body slightly elevated, and soon he’s guiding her feet, placing them flat against his chest, offering her leverage for what feels like the first time all night. She knows better than to start moving, and the delighted grin suddenly gracing his face tells her she’s choosing the right option.

“Oh, good girl,” he growls, his hips twitching, pulling more moans out of both of them. “I’m so fucking proud of you, baby. Now, do me a favor and push against me.”

She obeys immediately, following his instructions until just the head of his cock rests inside of her, pausing without needing to be told, eagerly awaiting his next command. There’s no relaxing at this point, her unfurled legs tense with anticipation, her hands wrapped around the chains, her feet trembling against Bucky’s solid chest.

“That’s it,” he nods, gripping her ankles right below her binds, holding her tight against him, “fuck, you’re perfect.” A quiet second to appreciate the breathtaking vision laid out before him, steeling himself for what’s to come, and then he’s ordering her to drop, his resolve almost crumbling when she complies without hesitation, impaling herself on his cock.

The wide-eyed, hopeful look on her face does wonders for his ego, as does her familiar cry of pleasure filling his ears, Bucky’s body already aching to take over, fuck her until she’s screaming for him. He wants this more though, to watch her pleasure herself, to prove how much she wants him before he takes back control.

A short pause, unable to resist teasing her for just a moment longer, and then he’s nodding his head, giving her permission, planting his feet for stability as she starts to move, pushing against his chest. This time, she leaves almost half of his length inside of her before she’s dropping again, using the momentum of her swinging body to fuck herself.

“Oh shit, look at you,” Bucky grunts, his gaze torn between her gorgeous curves and his cock disappearing over and over, evidence of her arousal coating his shaft. “My desperate, needy girl. Taking my cock so well. Feels so fucking good, baby.”

His words spur her on, the powerful exhilaration coursing through her driving her to pick up speed, intent on bringing them both as much pleasure as possible. Incoherent words escape between heavy grunts, her body swaying in time with her thrusts, her eyes locked on Bucky’s intense, lust-filled stare.

The vulnerability she feels from Bucky watching every single inch of her - her jiggling thighs and tummy, her bouncing tits, her straining arms - would usually be enough to have her wanting to hide parts of herself, but tonight it triggers something else inside of her. A strange bout of confidence that has her moaning his name, professing her love for him as she works her body to its limit.

Bucky’s own moan blends with hers, his fingers digging into her ankles as he lets out a breathless grunt of her name. “Fuck, I love you, so fucking much.” The obvious tension in her legs grows and soon he’s letting out another heavy breath to ask her, “Tell me what you need, baby, you need me to fuck you now? Show you just how much I love you?”

All he needs is a nod of her head and he’s taking over, grabbing her legs as her pussy flutters, her velvety walls encouraging his thrusts. Watching her intently, Bucky mirrors the rhythm she had just set, holding her calves against his shoulders in order to force her body to meet his pistoning hips, each stroke of his cock making her toes curl.

He can already feel his own orgasm building, his normal stamina being tested from sharing this new, profound experience with her, the sight of her completely at his mercy being seared into his brain. New fuel for his masturbatory fantasies for years to come.

Determined to feel her come first, Bucky keeps talking to her, telling her how hot she is, how much he loves fucking her, how incredible she feels wrapped around him. Reminding her that she’s his and he’s never letting her go. “Gonna get to keep fucking this pussy forever, sweetheart. Whenever I fucking want, won’t I?”

Her response comes out as a harsh whine, her agreement evident in the way she cries out his name, her body growing taut, his cock hitting that spot deep inside of her that’s sure to send her flying. All it takes is a few more powerful thrusts, Bucky telling her to let go, and she’s soaring, coming harder than she has all night, her pussy nearly pushing him out from the intense waves.

It proves too much for him, his hips faltering in his attempt to fuck her through it, Bucky managing to bury himself as deep as he can, trying to prolong her pleasure with short thrusts as she milks him dry. This wasn’t at all how he planned tonight to end, already craving to feel her come around him again, her trembling body inviting him to wrap her legs around his waist.

She welcomes the sudden weight of him, their mouths crashing together in a heated kiss, her bound limbs meeting resistance in her effort to cling to him, her brain practically mush, her body still pulsing with aftershocks. She’s not even aware she’s still moving against him, confusion settling in when his softening cock begins to slip out of her, the loss of their physical connection causing her to whimper against his lips.

Another hungry kiss and then he’s reassuring her, his voice rough with desire, “Oh, I’m not done with you yet, baby.” He doesn’t leave her empty for long, his hand sliding between their bodies to fill her with two fingers, her pussy slick with their combined fluids. “Oh fuck, you feel so good,” he grunts, leaning up to watch her, her back arching from the sudden pressure along her front wall.

He leaves her speechless again, her eyes rolling back, her hands trembling around the chains, his expert touch making it impossible to focus. Not that she needs to, Bucky talking her through it, his free hand sliding over her shuddering body, the smooth metal soon wrapping around her throat as he starts to fuck her harder.

“Love feeling you like this, doll,” he tells her, his heavy breaths matching hers, “your pussy full of my cum, and still desperate for more.” All she can do is nod her head, her words trapped in her throat, incoherent whines escaping with each thrust of his fingers. “Can’t get enough of me, can you, baby? Taking everything I give you like the good girl you are.”

Watching her closely, Bucky slowly adds his index finger, his three thick digits filling and stretching her, his leaking cum allowing him deep inside. She’s so tight, her walls clenching, her breaths turning to pants, but there’s no hint of reluctance, her gasps and whimpers telling him all he needs to know.

With his vibranium hand wrapped around her throat, his thumb pressed against her pulse point, he maintains a steady pace, witnessing all the telltale signs of how close he already has her to coming again. It’s exactly what he wants, to make her lose control, over and over again, until she can’t handle anymore.

Arousal already has his cock twitching again, her beautiful noises and unfiltered reactions triggering his need for more. To feel as much of her as he can. The slowing of his fingers has her eyes fluttering open, her mouth parting, her obvious discontent fading when she finds him smiling down at her.

His intentions become clear the moment his pinkie joins the rest of his slick fingers, the sudden tension rolling through her body giving him pause. But then she’s nodding her head, her bottom lip pulled between her teeth as she relaxes and Bucky starts slowly, sliding his fingers in centimeters at time, letting her adjust to the increasing fullness.

“That’s it,” he encourages her, “doing so good for me. Just breathe and let me in, baby.”

He’s in awe of her, how readily she gives herself to him, trusting him to take care of her, to never steer her wrong. It’s a responsibility he wasn’t sure he’d ever be comfortable taking on, and now he can’t ever imagine not having this with her. Owning every single part of her heart, mind, and body.

Her greedy pussy swallows his fingers up to his knuckles, Bucky refraining from pushing her limits any further, his slow, hard thrusts causing her to squirt and cry out his name. His hand tightens around her throat, holding her down against the swing and he growls her name in response, asking her, “Gonna come for me again, aren’t you, sweetheart? With my fingers fucking my cum back inside of you. Such a good fucking girl.”

She nearly passes out this time, her vision going white, her blood pounding in her ears, her breath caught in her lungs as her limbs go taut, pulling hard at her binds. She vaguely hears Bucky talking to her, no doubt praising her, telling her how much he loves, but she’s too far gone, her world spinning for several glorious seconds.

His firm touches bring her back to reality, the contrast of his metal hand on her soft, flushed skin eliciting a moan of pleasure, her noises only getting louder when he leaves her empty. There’s a soft whine from the loss of him, but it’s quickly replaced by one of excitement as she watches him wrap his cum-slick hand around his hard cock.

Even as he starts to stroke himself, he’s checking in with her, asking if she needs a break, gladly offering her the world. All she wants is him, her eyes drawn to his hand, the sight of him pleasuring himself again sending tingles spreading across her skin.

Once he’s sure she’s okay to keep going, he’s readjusting the chains with his left hand, lowering her upper body to level position and pushing her legs back so she’s spread wide. The entire time, he never stops touching himself and it drives her crazy with lust, wanting him back inside of her, her pussy pulsing with anticipation.

Bucky has other ideas though, giving her a playful wink before he’s crouching down to taste her, his tongue licking up their cum coating her swollen flesh, the same combination of fluids he’s using to to jerk himself off. It sends a shock of pleasure straight to his cock, the vibrations of his moan from the unique flavor making her twitch, almost overstimulated.

He takes pity on her, dragging the tip of his tongue through her folds, licking her from her sensitive clit, all the way down to her ass, his ears perking at her soft, breathy moans. He repeats the action, the flat of his tongue tasting every delicious inch of her, drawing more encouraging noises, the subtle signs telling him exactly what she’s craving.

Taking his time, Bucky’s attention hovers around her clit before dipping lower, placing open mouth kisses along each side of her spread pussy, then each supple cheek, working his way towards her puckered hole. One slow swirl of his tongue and she’s whispering his name, telling him yes, the simple word causing him to grip the base of his cock, pleasure shooting straight up his spine.

He probes her tight passage with the tip of his tongue, his metal fingers pressing against the top of her mound, holding her place, listening to her appreciative sounds getting louder. Her skin is already slick with her wetness, but Bucky adds more saliva, the increased lubrication allowing him to push deeper, his tongue spearing her ass with slow, teasing thrusts.

Using the swing to his advantage, his fingers dig into her flesh to pull her towards his mouth, essentially causing her to ride his tongue, his palm applying pressure to her clit. With the sounds she’s making, he briefly wonders if he can make her come like this, but then she’s arching her back, her legs tensing in an attempt to pull him deeper, her soft whimpering of ‘please’ changing his plans.

A break is warranted, Bucky taking just a minute to gather the necessary items, pausing once again to brush her hair out of her face and get her more comfortable. Returning to his rightful place between her thighs, he waits patiently for her to meet his gaze, her eager look enough to have him bringing the flared toy, already slick with copious amounts of lube, to rest between her ass cheeks.

Even though her need is written all over her face, Bucky requires more, telling her, “I need your words, sweetheart. Tell me you want this.” At first, all she can offer is a nod of her head, her voice seeming to fail her, her hips twitching, grinding against the tip of the toy.

He’s patient, sliding his left hand along her torso, fingers ghosting over her nipples, drawing heavier breaths out of her. Enticing her with a teasing probe, she finally exhales harshly, whispering, “Yes, please, fuck my ass.”

A smile spreads across his face and the praise of, “good girl” fills her ears as he presses the toy deeper, his careful movements only seeming to add to her desperation, her body craving more. Bucky doesn’t make her ask this time, his gaze meeting hers as he starts to fuck her slowly, sliding deeper with twisting motions, ensuring the lube provides smooth movements.

When his hand returns to her clit, she can already feel the familiar pressure building, each thrust driving her higher, her pussy pulsing, clenching around nothing, triggering the need to have him inside of her again. She doesn’t immediately vocalize it, her mind and body overwhelmed, her head pressing hard against the headrest, trying to maintain some semblance of composure.

Bucky refuses to allow it though, recognizing the look on her face, forcing her to talk, asking her what she wants. It feels almost impossible to speak, the rhythm of the toy and his consistent touch against her clit sending sparks of pleasure throughout her entire body, and yet, through the haze of it all, she wants to please him.

Forcing the words out between shuddering breaths, she begs him to fuck her, Bucky’s response of, “I am fucking you, baby,” ripping a loud, desperate whine out of her.

“Please,” she manages, her thighs shaking, her nerves on edge, his feigned ignorance increasing her frustration.

A swipe of his thumb over her clit and then he’s dipping lower, circling her soaked entrance, her walls trying to draw him in. He resists the urge, instead sliding the toy deep inside her ass as he asks, “Is that what my dirty girl needs? To have both holes filled?” A pleading yes, and Bucky can’t resist continuing, “Yeah, baby? You need my cock in your tight pussy while this toy fucks your ass?”

The tears pricking her eyes break his resolve and he nods, his reverent touch moving back up her body, his fingers splayed across her chest as he steps forward, the head of his cock seeking out her entrance. Both hands grip her breasts and he presses forward, slipping deep inside her waiting pussy, his balls grinding the base of the toy resting in her ass.

Everything else falls away, Bucky’s focus lasered in on her, all his senses consumed by the ecstasy she brings, the feeling she evokes unlike anything he’s ever experienced. He’ll never get enough of her and as he starts to piston his hips, his hands cupping her large tits, pulling her body onto his cock, his only thought is to make her come again.

It doesn’t take long, Bucky angling his thrusts to grind hard against her gspot, his balls slapping against her ass, pressing the toy deep with each movement. Despite his own building pleasure, his words of praise come easy, his rough voice ordering her to come for him, his own desperation to feel her lose control pushing her over the edge, her bucking hips almost pushing him out.

A quick grab of her thighs and he’s forcing his cock to stay inside her spasming pussy, fucking her through the intense waves, his thrusts slowing, but never stopping. Bucky doesn’t give her a chance to come down from the onslaught of pleasure, keeping one arm around her quivering thigh, his other hand moves back to her clit, applying pressure as he tells her to give him one more.

She wants to - she wants to give him everything he asks for - but she’s reaching her limit, her body growing sore, sure to have her feeling the aftereffects of their session well into tomorrow. Her mouth opens to voice her uncertainty, the words, “I can’t” tumbling out even as Bucky starts to move faster, his heavy pants and grunts of pleasure making her squirt again.

He’s quick to disagree with her assessment, telling her, “Yes, you can. You’re gonna come all over my cock one more time, sweetheart, and then you know where I’m gonna come?”

There’s nothing else left for her to give, unable to focus long on anything other than the euphoria she’s chasing despite how tired she is. Bucky’s happy to keep talking to her even when she’s unable to respond, his words guiding her to where he needs her.

“As soon you come, I’m gonna tilt your head back and I’m gonna fuck your mouth, baby.” It’s nearly enough to make her lose control, her loud cry almost drowning out his next words, “Mmhmm, gonna fuck your mouth until I come down your throat.”

They’re both teetering on the edge of their final orgasms, Bucky’s voice rough with arousal, her fluttering walls inviting him to let go, to fill her once more with his seed. He holds back, his thrusts never ceasing, fucking her hard and fast, each movement grinding the toy deep in her ass, the exquisite noises she’s making telling him he’s on the right path.

“You love that idea, don’t ya, baby? Love taking my cock any way I give it to you, my beautiful, needy slut, just can’t get enough.”

A strangled cry and she comes for him, her tense limbs nearly breaking her binds, her back bowing, a loud scream of pleasure that pushes Bucky past his own limits. With a roar, he comes with her, the intensity blinding him, both hands now gripping her waist, forcing her onto his cock as he fucks them through it, trying to prolong everything for just a few moments longer.

Her tears of elation trigger his own, his lashes wet as he falls against her, the swing supporting his added weight, Bucky’s mouth seeking out hers. Making quick work of her binds, he’s soon guiding her limbs around his body, holding her tight against him, his cock still buried deep inside of her, her aftershocks soon causing him to slip out.

The loss is felt, but it’s easily overlooked, Bucky using the opportunity to tenderly remove the flared toy from her trembling body, soothing her with soft words and peppered kisses along her jaw. He’s rendered her speechless again, soft utterances of ‘oh my god’ and ‘holy shit’ escaping between her panting breaths.

He’s only slightly better off, eternally grateful for his enhanced abilities helping him recover quicker, allowing him to tend to her. He’ll stay exactly where he is, for however long she needs, murmuring sweet nothings and soft praises, thanking her for being his. For loving him, as flawed as he is.

Eventually they make it to the bathroom, Bucky effortlessly carrying her, assisting her with cleaning up, the relaxing spray of the shower bringing her fully back to him. They remain locked in an embrace, his arms refusing to let her go the entire time, holding her weakened body against his during their brief shower.

There’s more to do, messes to clean up, things to put away, but for now, all that matters is the satiated woman pressed against him. A newly familiar sense of peace envelops Bucky, the warmth of genuine happiness settling over him, giving him a slight reprieve from the lingering ghosts of his past.

He’ll never be able to fully convey how much she truly means to him, but he’ll sure as hell spend the rest of his life trying.

---------------------------

The Bet

Hot Bucky Summer Masterlist

Main Masterlist

357 notes · View notes

fizzydrink698 · 11 months ago

Text

consort vi | minho

pairing: lee minho x reader

word count: 17.1k

genre: historical au, arranged marriage au, enemies-to-lovers

warnings: period-typical sexism, a boatload of family issues, a rapidly increasing amount of sexual tension, like reader is starting to go the tiniest bit feral about it

summary:

Minho paused, the lingering traces of cheer disappearing before your eyes. The shift in his mood was almost tangible, and it felt as if you had made some sort of misstep in a dance, thrown yourself and your partner out of rhythm.

His gaze flickered upwards, so very briefly, to look at you, before moving downwards. Down to your notes, down to where the space between your bodies was at its narrowest, barely a few fingers’ width between your skirts and his thigh. He took a breath.

An uneasy sleep must have reclaimed you in the night, because you awakened to soft morning light streaming through the windows – and chambers entirely devoid of Minho.

You sat up, unsteady, the beginnings of a headache already forming. Your thoughts were scattered, muffled as if wrapped in cotton, barely intelligible under the dull throbbing.

An empty bedchamber. Did that disappoint you? The sheets beside you seemed undisturbed, indicating that he hadn’t joined you at any point in the night, hadn’t risen from the couch he’d been sleeping on last night when –

Embarrassment – hot, ugly flashes of it – flared within you, so violent that you physically shuddered in an effort to suppress it. You wouldn’t be so careless again, risking something so mortifying and so vulnerable as being caught in a position like that.

A tiny voice in your mind uttered thanks for Minho’s order to keep servants out of his chambers without specific request. You didn’t want to imagine having to untangle these awful thoughts in front of an audience waiting to dress you for the morning.

The more you dwelled on the situation, the more you could feel something in your chest twist. Shame, perhaps. You couldn’t help but picture last night again and again, your awful thoughts painting over your memories, imagining Minho’s eyes open instead of closed, imagining the curl of his lip as he watched you in disdain, maybe even in disgust–

No.

You felt your expression harden, breath expelling from you in one sharp burst. You hadn’t realised how much anger you could summon at merely an imagined Minho. Already, even at just the thought of him, you found yourself itching to rebuke him, to challenge the contempt you had imagined yourself.

There was a danger that you could spend the whole day in this bed, imagining all the ways in which you could argue with Minho.

So, instead, you forced yourself out of bed, determined to focus on the rest of your day and leave last night firmly in the past.

It was strange to realise just how quiet these chambers were. They were so far removed from the bustling of the palace’s lower floors that even now, as scores of nobles and servants alike rose from their beds and began their days, you could almost mistake the palace for being empty.

The spring morning air was no longer a shock of cold, but pleasantly mild. Perhaps you should make use of the weather today, you thought. It would be good to get some fresh air.

And then, you came to a sudden halt – as a flash of orange caught your attention out of the corner of your eye.

You turned your head, startled, to find a tabby cat perched on the low table of Minho’s chambers, staring you down.

This was not the pampered sort of housecat you had seen in the houses of your mother’s friends during your youth. While this cat seemed well-fed, there were tell-tale signs of the fights it must have gotten into. There was a pea-sized chunk missing from its left ear, and a faint scar on its little orange snout.

Perhaps this was a kitchen mouser? But how had it wandered so far into the palace, all the way into Minho’s chambers? How had it gotten past those heavy wooden doors, not to mention the guards stationed nearby?

You dared to take a step towards it – to no response. The cat continued to stare. Its tail twitched from one side to the other, slowly, almost lazily.

It didn’t move as you approached, instead continuing to eye you with an expression so distinctly unimpressed for such a tiny face.

Of course, the second you lifted your hand towards it, it jumped away from you in the blink of an eye. There was no panic to its retreat, just a vague sense of disdain as it withdrew from your reach.

For one brief second, you were bizarrely reminded of Minho.

To your own surprise, laughter bubbled up in your chest, slipping out between your lips. It lifted a weight off of your chest, leaving you feeling just a little lighter as you observed the way the cat shot you what could only be described as the feline equivalent of a scowl before it padded over to the bed and disappeared beneath it.

Deciding against following the cat and disturbing its hiding place, you chose to head for the door and request breakfast be served outside.

It seemed only right that the lingering worries of the previous night’s events would disappear in the light of a warm spring day.

There was something so calming about the palace grounds in the morning. At your request, a table and chair had been set up at the base of a hill, just by the long winding steps back up to the palace itself, in perfect position for you to gaze out at the huge expanses of land in front of you.

Morning dew budded on the still blades of grass. Clouds slowly drifted across the sky above, the sun hiding behind them, only reappearing at just the moment the air grew too chilly. In the distance, a light layer of fog lingered amongst the trees of the royal forest, retreating further and further with each moment.

There was nothing but peace and quiet.

You breathed deeply, savouring the morning air, as you reached for the last slice of bread. Beside it, in a tiny porcelain dish, sat a little pat of creamy butter. You scraped the last of it up with your knife to carefully spread onto the bread.

Your plans for the day were the same as always. Studying, mostly. You were eager to crack open the most recent council records you could find, already making plans to note down the stances of each member, the factions that might have formed, anything that might be useful.

How soon would Minho talk to his father? How much time did you have to prepare? You should have pressed for more details.

You could ask him at dinner this evening, you realised. It was still such a strange idea, to think that you and Minho could talk to each other so…often, now.

Because you shared a bedchamber, a voice in your mind – one that sounded suspiciously like your mother – reminded you. You should be doing so much more than just talking.

A mouthful of bread lodged itself in your throat mid-swallow, making you cough and splutter as you reached for your tea.

Not that you were particularly eager for that, of course. Last night had been a brief moment of insanity, a sudden break from rational thought, brought on by returning to the bed that held so many strong memories. It had infected your dreams, and even seeped into your sleep-addled actions in the dead of night, but now you had recovered.

Now, once again, you were just as uninterested as he was. Moving to his chambers was good enough to mend your image as a successful, stable pairing. It didn’t matter what happened behind closed doors, because you had gotten what you wanted.

But before you could make an effort to divert your thoughts back towards the day ahead, the peace of the morning was broken.

You watched as a group of palace guards marched into sight, descending the palace steps – and you stilled when you saw the person they were accompanying.

Her Majesty, the Queen.

You sat up a little straighter, as your eyes met across the wide-open space of the palace lawns. She always seemed so perfectly put together, her long dark hair twisted and braided neatly into a bun, the soft and sweeping fabrics of her dress somehow spotless even when brushing against the ground.

In her fine features, there was so much of Felix. You almost wanted to look away.

Instead, you followed protocol to the letter, rising to your feet and bowing your head at her arrival. “Your Majesty.”

“I didn’t expect to see you here,” she replied, and there was a genuine soft note of surprise to her voice that reinforced her words. “If you’re finished with your meal, would you like to accompany me across the grounds?”

You blinked, lifting your head in shock. You’d barely spoken to this woman in weeks. You’d half-expected her to ignore you. You’d half-given up on the affection the two of you had grown for each other during your childhood.

“Y-yes,” you replied, and cleared your throat. “Yes, I’d love to.”

She gave you a smile – one so deeply familiar that it made your heart ache for just a second – and inclined her head, silently offering you the place by her side.

You moved quickly, almost without thinking, barely retaining the grace expected for a lady of your position, as you tried to join her before she could change her mind.

Before the two of you could start walking, however, she first turned to glance at the guards behind her. With a firm, clear voice of a queen, she told them. “I trust I’m accompanied by guards possessing the respect of allowing two ladies some privacy while they talk. Am I not?”

The nearest guard’s eyes widened slightly in understanding, and he hurried to nod at her. “Yes, Your Majesty. Of course.”

“Delightful to hear. The usual twelve paces behind will suffice,” she said, her voice so casual that the comment could almost be described as offhand, before she finally set off. You had to quicken your steps slightly to catch up with her.

And, sure enough, the guards waited until you were twelve paces ahead before they followed – at the perfect distance to remain out of earshot.

This was the woman you remembered from your childhood. Always polite, always charming, and just a little cleverer than she seemed.

You fell into step beside her, searching for something to say to start the conversation. “I heard a delegation from the Lakelands are on their way.”

“Yes,” she said, nodding with a warm smile. “Most of the delegates only came to their position after I left, but I know a handful. Among them is a prince I last saw as a young boy. I look forward to seeing the man he’s now grown to be.”

“That will be nice,” you remarked, looking for something else to say. Something clever, or funny, or charming. It used to be so much easier to talk to her. “Do you miss the Lakelands?”

“Occasionally. Especially in the winter. I’ve never developed a taste for the cold that sets in here,” she said, but there was no trace of sadness in her voice. Nothing wistful. “But what about you? Are you keeping well?”

“Yes,” you replied – but it felt like a half-truth at best. “As well as can be.”

“I’m sure you’ve had so many pleasantries asked about your marriage,” she said. “That’s usually all people can think to talk about, with women like us.”

Her words struck something in you, hooking something strange and raw and tugging it out into the open.

“That’s usually the topic of conversation, yes.”

Her lips twitched, the briefest flicker of a smile. “Then we’ll speak about something else. Are you still keeping to your studies?”

“Yes!” you exclaimed, unable to keep your excitement from rushing out. “Practically every day. Mostly, I’ve been focusing on my histories and geography, but I like to brush up on my languages every so often.”

“You did always love studying your histories,” the Queen nodded, and for the first time in your conversation, you picked up on the slightest hint of sadness in her tone.

It sparked a vaguely familiar feeling. An old desire to cheer her, the feeling so ingrained that it felt like slipping on an old favourite coat.

“My new tutor has helped quite splendidly,” you said, with a smile just a touch forced. “I hadn’t realised how much more I could learn with someone following me in my interests, instead of just telling me what I should be interested in.”

The Queen smiled back at you, and hers seemed entirely genuine. “There seems so much to catch up on. I’ve been meaning to talk to you sooner.”

Her words, as light and carefree as she had offered them, managed to hit something deep within you. Your expression faltered, as you felt the words dig into you, like claws gripping your flesh, piercing you.

You blurted out your only thought. “Why didn’t you?”

The question came out in a rush, an outpouring of emotion that you had tried so hard to keep dammed. You watched the way she paused, caught off-guard by your sudden harsh words.

You swallowed, trying frantically to recover some sense of manners. “I mean, I…it’s just I’ve been…I’ve been so alone since…”

“…I know.”

Her gaze grew so soft, as she watched you sadly. There were moments, occasionally, when her eyes were so expressive, just as Felix’s were.

For a moment, you pictured what it must have been like for her, all those years ago. Newly married to a stranger, not just alone but alone in an entirely different kingdom. A kingdom that her father and her father’s father and his father before that had been at war with. A kingdom with a people who mistrusted her, who still mourned for her husband’s first wife, the beloved wife, the wife she must constantly be compared to in public and in private.

You wondered how long it took her to learn to hide those expressive eyes. You wondered if it saddened her to look upon her son, and see those same bright eyes shining back.

“I missed you,” you confessed. “I miss how it used to be.”

“So do I, sweetling,” she murmured. There were only two people in this world the Queen called ‘sweetling’. One was standing in front of her. The other was half a kingdom away, quiet and aching by the coast. “But that’s precisely why I’ve stayed away.”

“What?” You asked, sharp in your confusion. “What are you talking about?”

“There are whispers at court,” she began, before pausing. You detected the faintest of eye-rolls as she continued. “There always are. Right now, they are centred on you.”

“Me?” You repeated. “I haven’t heard anything.”

“Oh, the subjects never do,” she said, her tone sharpening just a touch. You knew she’d had her fair share of experience with court rumours. “It’s no fun for them if the rumour gets dragged into daylight and exposed for the nonsense that it is. Better to whisper in secret, and give their empty brains something to spin from nothing.”

“What are they saying?” You asked. You’d half-expected something like this to happen, but you’d always thought your first reaction would be worry, or fear – and yet, right now, the news filled you with nothing but anger.

“They’re harmless, for now. Idle gossip. But if any fuel is added to them, they could prove dangerous–”

“What are they saying?” You repeated, cutting her off. You needed to hear it. You already had an inkling, but you needed it in words.

She sighed. “…You and Felix. I’m afraid my son will always be a subject for scandal in your future.”

Felix.

You turned away, eyes searching for the horizon, for something to fix on in the distance.

You hated that this didn’t surprise you. You hated that your paranoia, your constant insecurity about how you were perceived, about how your issues with Minho were perceived, that constant nagging feeling of your marriage being forced under a magnifying glass, was partially justified.

“Anything in particular?” You finally managed to ask when your voice returned to you.

“The stories change every week. Nothing has truly taken hold, which is a good thing,” the queen reassured you. “But until you and Minho…well, when your marriage seemed on shakier ground, I thought it was wise to keep my distance. I thought it would make things easier for you.”

Easier.

Right.

A lump was forming in your throat. You did your best to swallow it down.

“I thought you were angry at me,” you admitted. “For marrying Minho, instead of your son.”

“You did marry my son.”

There was such strong feeling in her voice that it forced your gaze back to her. The queen’s jaw was set, her mouth curved downwards slightly. Years and years of learned authority, of power however scant it might be, radiated through her as she stood firm.

“Minho is my son. In every way that counts.”

You stared, silent, as the faintest hint of guilt began to warm your cheeks.

The queen continued to walk, her gaze softening as she fell back into old memories. “He was so tiny when I entered the palace. I helped him take his first steps. I helped him learn his letters, I selected his tutors and I watched him grow.”

She slowed her steps, as you reached the edge of the forest that surrounded the palace. The two of you would have to turn back soon, but you took a moment to observe the quiet of the trees, the way that sunlight filtered through the newly-grown leaves.

“I might not be called his mother, but he is my son,” she finished, quietly. “And I’m very proud of him.”

She blinked rapidly a few times, clearing her throat, and turned to flash you the briefest of knowing smiles. “As mule-headed as he can be sometimes.”

You couldn’t help but laugh – albeit quietly, softly, as the emotion of the conversation still kept its grip on you.

There was a pull in you – that familiar one, the one that urged you to please others, the one that pushed you to say exactly the perfect thing – to praise Minho to the Queen. To call him a good man. You knew she would want to hear it, she would want to hear how happy you had turned out in spite of it all, that by pure serendipity, your marriage to Minho was just as splendid and happy as the marriage with Felix you had been awaiting your whole life.

But the words stuck in your throat. You practically choked on them. Not just because they were untrue.

Because for a second – for such a brief, unthinking second – you had wanted them to be true, just as badly as she did.

Something cold began to take hold of you. It started in your gut, unfurling his long icy fingers, grabbing and twisting and squeezing as it slowly dragged the rest of you into its grip.

Betrayal. In that moment, you felt – you knew – you had betrayed Felix.

Did it show on your face? The queen was watching you now, and you couldn’t imagine the expression you must have had.

You swallowed, trying with all you had to shove that awful pain away.

You needed to say something. Anything.

“Minho…he’s always…he never seems to care when people believe the worst in him,” you said, the words stumbling out of you, as if your mind was two steps behind your mouth. “It’s almost like he prefers it. I don’t understand it.”

The queen took in your words. After one long pause, in which her eyes studied you so intensely that it felt they were about to burn through you, she turned to look up at the palace on the hill. Even from this distance, it seemed to loom over you, waiting so impatiently for you to return.

“This place…” she trailed off. Her jaw tightened - and in that one instant, as her eyes flashed, you saw the teenage girl that had first stepped foot into this court, so far from home and facing such a nest of vipers. “It pulls something out of the people here. A way to protect themselves. My husband already had his ingrained when I came here. I felt it take hold within myself. I watched it form in Minho, that desire to push people away. And you…” she turned to you, briefly, and you blinked at the twist of amusement in her lips. “What opposites you and he are. How perfectly you mirror.”

You stared. Her words were vague, cryptic…and yet, you couldn’t help feel as if you had been insulted. You opened your mouth to protest, but the queen had already turned away back towards the palace.

“You can’t live in a place like this without growing a few thorns,” the queen sighed. “Like the roses in my gardens, I suppose. The ones without thorns are the first to be eaten.”

There was something layered in her words, something sad, something resigned.

You realised then that of all the members of the royal family she had just mentioned, there was one obvious name left unsaid.

“Let us return,” she said, finally. “Before those guards grow too curious and drift too close.”

Not only did Minho keep his promise of returning for dinner again that evening, he arrived even earlier than you.

You almost stopped at the door, thrown by the sight of him at the table, as perfectly poised as he always was, flicking through a sheaf of papers by the side of his plate. He looked up at your arrival, eyes meeting yours, and something caught in your chest.

You hadn’t realised how strange it would be to see him in person after last night, how…affecting.

Clearing your throat, you gave him a tight smile and made your way to your seat across from him – unfortunately for you, as it gave you a clear unobstructed view of Minho at a time when you very much wished for anything but that.

You reached for the decanter in front of you, eager to pour yourself a drink to deal with this building lump in your throat. To your surprise, you found it to be filled with water, not wine.

“How was your day?” you asked, finally speaking, hoping to sound calm and collected.

Minho eyed you carefully, as if you’d offered some sort of complex riddle, and not a feeble attempt at small-talk. “…Slow. Until the Lakelander delegation arrives, there’s nothing urgent to take care of. I’ve been looking over budget proposals for the harvest season.”

The harvest season was months away. In fact, you were almost certain that the fields had only just been sown at all. That truly did seem like a slow day. “I see.”

You knew you should try to continue the conversation, to ask him more about his work. Instead, you let your eyes drop to the plate of food in front of you, words dying on your tongue as you tried and failed to push down the memories of last night.

It felt so…deeply indecent, to sit across from Minho, and pretend you hadn’t touched yourself just a few feet away from him. And it was only made more indecent by the fact that he didn’t know.

It was all you could think about when you looked at him. You knew a secret, and he didn’t.

For dinner, the kitchens had prepared some sort of fish beautifully. Perfectly cooked, tender and soft and practically melting in your mouth.

You barely tasted it. You just kept eating, preoccupied, eyes trained on your plate. You were certain that if you looked up at Minho for too long, you would give yourself away.

In fact, the longer you sat there, the more uncertain you became.

Were you acting unnaturally? Were you too quiet, too reluctant to make conversation?

But, then again, what exactly did acting ‘naturally’ in Minho’s presence entail? You might have finally found yourselves on better terms, but…

“Something on your mind?”

Your eyes jerked up to meet his, caught off-guard.

How long had Minho been observing you? It looked like he hadn’t even touched his food yet, one hand resting on top of his papers, his other arm propped up on the table, hand curled under his chin as he looked at you.

You made an effort to swallow down the food in your mouth, despite how dry your throat had become, and reached for your water with all the nonchalance you could muster. “Not particularly. I was just…”

Think of something, think of anything.

“Wondering about those budget proposals. The harvest season must be months away. Was there really nothing else more pressing?”

Minho was quiet for a second, just long enough to spark the tiniest flicker of nerves in the pit of your gut, before he let out a sigh. “My father likes to drip-feed me responsibilities, one at a time. If there is anything else more urgent, I won’t know until my next meeting with him. And that won’t be for several days.”

There was an edge of frustration in his voice, something long-suffering, as if this were the topic of multiple arguments in the past, arguments that never seemed to resolve themselves in his favour.

He reached for his water, taking a sip, before his gaze returned to you. “That will also be when I talk to him about you joining the council.”

For a brief moment, all thoughts about the previous night and your embarrassing secret disappeared from your mind entirely. You leaned forward, intrigued. “What do you think his response will be?”

Minho tilted his head slightly in thought – and it filled you with surprise at the fact that you recognised this subtle shift in Minho’s body language, that at some point you had come to learn how to read him, even slightly – and replied. “…I won’t mince words–”

“Do you ever?” You retorted, almost without thinking.

Minho’s lips twitched, fighting a smile, but continued without acknowledging your mildest of jabs. “It will be a hard sell. My father is not a revolutionary. A large part of his popularity has come from his upholding of tradition. But he’s been dragging his feet on filling this council seat for months now, and for good reason. It’s a political minefield, and you are the best compromise. I hope he’ll see that.”

Minho was right. Your appointment to the council, however perfect a resolution to the infighting between your father and the blue-blooded nobility, would not be an easy sell at all. “I hope so too.”

The rest of your dinner passed in relative quiet, but the little calm you managed to gain in that time soon evaporated when you exited the dining room – and found yourself confronted yet again with the question of sleeping arrangements.

Minho’s bed was now the site of two of your most scandalous transgressions. Both of which involved Minho, both of which rendered you almost completely unable to look him in the eye whenever you thought of them.

In contrast to your internal strife, however, Minho seemed perfectly at ease.

He transported his sheaf of papers from the dining table to the couch, seating himself comfortably and setting them down on the low table in front of him.

Actually, perhaps ‘stack’ of papers might be more accurate a description than ‘sheaf’. Just how much work went into preparing these budget proposals? Had he done so little in his office all day to bring so much work to do in his chambers? Or was this a far more demanding responsibility than you had assumed?

All evidence seemed to point to the latter, as Minho worked silently throughout the evening, brow furrowed just a hint in concentration. He didn’t look up once, not when you rose to start preparing for bed, not when you returned in your nightclothes, not even when you wished him good night. He returned the words with a quiet murmur, clearly too enwrapped with whatever he was working on.

He was so engrossed, he didn’t see the way you hesitated by the bed.

Should you invite him over? He might have had work to do, but this would be yet another night that you went to bed without him. You were sharing a bedchamber now, surely the two of you should…

At least once, you should…

You tried to decide on the words of the invitation, of how to phrase it. A suggestion that he should bring his papers to bed, if he had so much work still to do? That was a reasonable question, wasn’t it? If he refused, you could press him on it, demand to know why it was beginning to seem as if he were still avoiding you…

“Yes?”

You blinked, emerging from your thoughts, to find Minho had glanced over to you. You likely made a strange sight, hovering by the bed, still yet to get under its covers.

The words were on the tip of your tongue, carefully crafted, ready to ask.

And then, traitorously, you thought of last night again.

Minho had been on the other side of the room, able to sleep through it, but if he’d been next to you…

You pictured it. You pictured jostling him awake in your sleep, the embarrassing sounds you might make. What you might do.

An awful, awful wave of embarrassment crashed through you because what if you tried to grab at him in your sleep?

You swallowed, turning away without even attempting to reply to Minho, and slipped under the bedcovers without another word.

In the morning, you woke to find that Minho had already risen long before you. The bedchamber was empty, and again the sheets by your side were untouched.

When the third night elapsed in just the same way, and the fourth, it became clear that this couldn’t be mere coincidence. Minho didn’t just happen to be so enthralled in his work that he fell asleep on the couch four nights in a row.

He was refusing to sleep beside you. You might have forced his hand in letting you share his chambers, but apparently he would not let that extend to his actual bed.

You were half-convinced he still held that early contempt for you, that he was still stubbornly maintaining that unconquerable distance between the two of you out of disdain.

And yet, he still sat with you at every dinner. He talked with you about his day, about your studies, telling stories about a particular odious noble that had done something to irk him, or listening to you talk passionately about a particular historical figure or event that had come up in your research. He’d even teased you once, when you confessed that you didn’t have the patience to read through the handful of art history books that Seungmin had added to your list.

The two of you were very slowly developing some odd sense of…well, perhaps friendship was still too strong a choice of word, but at least an understanding around each other that definitely hadn’t been present in the first few weeks of your marriage.

Nowhere else had this become so apparent than on your fifth evening in Minho’s bedchambers.

For a change of scenery, you had decided to spend the afternoon catching up on your research in these chambers, taking lunch there with your books, enjoying the little pocket of quiet in which Minho’s bedchambers were nestled within the palace.

To your surprise, and delight, the cat was back.

Initially, it was just as sullen as you remembered. It eyed you from across the room, perched on the low table yet again, sat as tall and imposing as it could make itself.

That was, until you called for a plate of kippers to be brought to you.

Despite its surly appearance, the cat barely needed convincing before it wandered over to you and the plate of fish, taking each offered kipper from your hand without hesitation. After three fish, it allowed you the softest of pets between its ears. After six, it drew closer, jumping from the table to the seat next to you, a little more relaxed as it took yet another fish from your hand.

To your delight, once the plate was empty, the cat did not abandon you immediately. In fact, it curled up near you – not quite close enough to be within easy reach, but enough that you could lean over and give it slow and gentle strokes as you continued to read. It even began to purr, just a little, whenever you scratched just beneath the base of its ears.

The more attention you gave the cat, the more you realised just how cared for it seemed to be. How comfortable it was with being touched, how well-fed it was, how soft its fur was. Even in a palace, this was not at all typical for a kitchen mouser.

“Someone spoils you, don’t they?” You murmured, giving the cat more strokes. “I can see why, you’re lovely. So cute.”

The cat, while not acknowledging your words, leaned its head up into your hand a little, chasing after those little scratches.

You were close to abandoning your studies entirely for the day, ready to devote your full attention to this adorable little creature, when the bedchamber doors swung open.

The cat jolted a little, jumping from its place on the couch – but to your relief, did not run out of the room. Instead, it lingered by the low table, ready to disappear under it, and stared down the sudden arrival.

Minho, mouth still parted slightly in whatever greeting he’d been about to give you, was silent as his gaze flickered between you and the orange cat eyeing him from the floor.

“We have a visitor,” you told Minho, solemnly, gesturing to the cat.

Minho nodded, briefly, still looking between you and the cat. “Yes. Yes, she seems to like it in here.”

“‘She’?” You repeated, raising an eyebrow.

Minho’s expression immediately smoothed into the perfect neutral, refusing to give even the slightest bit of emotion away. “…I assume.”

“Mm. Well, she seems to be a sweetheart.”

“Does she?” Minho repeated, glancing at the cat again, who seemed to have now relaxed. She began to approach Minho’s feet, sniffing familiarly at his boots.

“I may have had to bribe her with a plate of kippers,” you admitted, increasingly amused by the way the cat began to weave her way between Minho’s legs, but managed not to let it show too obviously in your face. “She seems very well-fed, for a kitchen mouser.”

Minho made a non-committal sound in response, not meeting your eyes. “…Yes, well, I imagine people must toss her dinner scraps here and there.”

“I suppose so. But who would be so soft-hearted in this palace, to feed a kitchen cat from their own plate?” You wondered aloud.

Minho’s face was a mask at this point, unmoving, perfectly calculated. He made his way to one of his armchairs, attempting to ignore the way the cat followed him happily, jumping up and perching herself on the arm of his chair.

You continued. “In fact, I wonder what a mouser would be doing here, so far away from the kitchens. That’s quite a distance for a cat to wander unprompted.”

“I suppose so,” Minho stated, perfectly neutral, even as the cat moved from the arm of the chair to seat herself in his lap.

You continued to stare at him, wordless, eyebrow raised – and finally, he relented.

“I might have given her some scraps, once or twice,” he admitted, even as the cat nuzzled into his hand from where she rested nearby. “I suppose she can’t help it if she isn’t good at mousing, and goes hungry.”

“True,” you allowed, thoroughly unconvinced by his façade. “And do you know if this failed mouser has a name?”

“…I think I’ve heard someone call her Soonie,” Minho said, and finally let his hand drift over to Soonie and begin to give her gentle scratching behind her ears. She purred loudly enough that you could hear her from where you sat, utterly content to receive affection from someone she was clearly very familiar with. “Somewhere. At some point.”

“How odd. Not many kitchen mousers have names.”

“Mm,” Minho hummed, noncommittal, but when his eyes dropped down to glance at Soonie, he couldn’t hide the slightest of smiles.

You took in the sight, this cold and prickly prince melting as he pet the scruffy little tabby cat. Minho was still in his usual daily prince attire, all high-necked and formal. His legs were clad in those familiar riding leathers that you never let yourself look at for too long, so you moved your attention instead to his jacket. Instead of a royal scarlet, this one was a dark blue, the fabric glinting in the candlelight from the clusters of beading embroidered within it. It suited him, you forced yourself to admit, far more than red did.

In fact, you tried to remember the last time Minho had worn the colour red, but nothing recent sprang to mind. Perhaps…

“I’m meeting with my father tomorrow,” Minho told you, and immediately your attention was captured.

Tomorrow.

The word sparked something in your gut – not quite dread, or alarm, but something akin to that. Urgency.

You swallowed back your excitement, remaining as calm and neutral as you could. “And you’ll talk to him about the council?”

“That’s the plan,” Minho replied, enigmatic.

You paused, and a quiet fell over the room. It wasn’t as if Minho was expecting you to reply – in fact, as Soonie settled completely in his lap, chin dropping to rest on his knee, he was looking down and away from you.

But something still just…tugged at you. Just a little bit.

Your eyes darted down to the book in your hands, and as nonchalantly as you could, you spoke. “…Thank you.”

You saw Minho move out of the corner of your eye, head raising to look at you.

“…I’m just doing what I’m supposed to,” Minho said, his voice detached and light. “One of my duties is to recommend the most capable candidate I can find. Don’t think of it as a favour.”

His words rendered you speechless, heart beginning to pound in your ears.

Most capable.

You were the daughter of a rich, powerful man. You had been given many compliments throughout your lifetime.

None of them had ever caused the same kind of lump to form in your throat as you felt now. None had caused this kind of strange heat to bloom behind your eyes, this way your heart swelled.

Most capable.

And just like that, you were spurred into action. If you had only one night left to prepare yourself and construct the perfect defence to prove why you deserved to be on the council, you would take full advantage of it.

You began combing through the papers you had with you, reading voraciously, consuming every piece of information available to you. You did this throughout dinner, chewing absently as you turned pages and scrawled notes. You were so devoted to your studies, you made your way through two full cups of tea before realising, upon looking up, that it was Minho who poured it for you each time.

Your eyes met, just as he held the teapot over your cup to pour a third time, and your gaze held long enough to note the flicker of amusement in his before he looked away.

When dinner was over, you retreated back to the couch with more reading to finish. Minho did the same, taking up the same spot he did every evening, that familiar pile of paperwork set in front of him. There was a strangely companionable silence as the two of you worked into the night.

You almost forgot he was there, despite the sounds of his writing and the crisp sounds of paper-shuffling, slipping into a quiet rhythm of reading and re-reading until words began to blur together.

As the candles burned low, and the hours grew later and later, you felt your concentration start to slip. Your eyes would close, just for a few moments, and the will to open them again slowly began to elude you. Exhaustion crept up on you, an old friend, and you found yourself repeating paragraphs, reading over the same sentence again and again and unable to take in its meaning.

Your eyes closed again, and you vaguely remembered telling yourself it would be just for a moment.

Sleep found you instead.

Blissful, calm. Warmth from the fire. Papers slipping from your hand, but never landing on the floor. You felt safe, wrapped in the quiet.

Something brushed your arm. Soft. Fur. Soonie?

Your eyes opened, bleary, only to find grey instead of orange. The wrongness of it jolted you, your hand darting out to grab at something pale and moving.

Skin.

A hand. Soft.

Except for a callus on the edge of a knuckle on the middle finger. You recognised it, for you had your own on the very same finger. It was where the pen sat whenever you wrote.

Your gaze wandered, still sleep-fogged, and there was no surprise when you saw the hand attached to a Minho.

Your grip on him relaxed, fingers slipping from his, and you barely mumbled a half-formed thought. “Your hand matches mine.”

Your eyes closed again, just as Minho stilled, and you drifted back to sleep.

You woke up, neck aching, still upright on the couch. Your books and papers lay scattered around you, from where you’d been too tired to put them away properly. Morning light streamed in from the windows, and despite the ashes in the fireplace indicating that it had long since burned out, you found yourself unusually warm.

Ah. You had fallen asleep in the previous day’s clothes – and with very familiar furs draped over you.

There was a brief flash of a memory, of Minho’s hand pulling the furs over you. You dimly recalled saying something, perhaps, but the details escaped you. You pushed the furs off of you, your movements unusually gentle as you handled the blanket, as if it commandeered an unthinking respect from you. Sentiment, maybe.

As always, Minho had risen before you and left your chambers, but today this observation filled you with equal parts excitement and nerves.

Were they discussing it right at this moment? Did their meetings take place in the mornings? Or in the afternoons? Would other items be brought up first?

It was maddening, to have so many questions and no way to pursue the answers.

With a night’s worth of sweat sticking to your skin, you made up a bath for yourself, even heating the water entirely on your own. The only oils in Minho’s bathroom were lavender, suited for relaxation in the evenings rather than energising in the mornings, but you made do.

The water was a touch cooler than how you usually liked it, but you didn’t have the patience to heat more water. Instead, you stripped and climbed into the bath with as much grace as you could muster and set about cleaning yourself.

This wasn’t the first time you had bathed entirely without servants – in fact, since you had moved into Minho’s chambers, the only times a servant had been permitted to enter was to bring them dinner each evening.

You found yourself becoming…amenable to that arrangement. It gave Minho’s chambers a sense of quiet, a private solace, that could not be found anywhere else in the palace.

Perhaps that was why it was so jarring, almost invading, when you heard knocking from afar, the sound of a door swinging open, and a woman’s voice ringing out hesitantly. “Your Highness?”

You startled, upsetting the water, letting some of it slosh over the side of the bath and onto the floor. “Yes? Is something wrong?”

Footsteps approached – timid, rushed – and the voice drew closer. “You’ve been summoned, Your Highness. By the king.”

Your stomach dropped, your breath cut short.

“He…said it was urgent, Your Highness, but I can let them know you’re still bathing–”

“No,” you blurted out, quickly, sharply. You got out of the bath hastily, dripping water all over the floor. “Help me change into something quickly, and I’ll go now.”

There was only one reason you would be summoned by the king on this particular day, and from the sounds of it, it wasn’t to congratulate you on your new position on the council.

You needed to stand your ground, to explain your reasoning in the face of his refusal. And if there was any chance of persuading him to grant you the position, to ignore the concerns of your gender…

Well, telling the king that he needed to wait to discuss urgent business until the princess finished drying her hair was not the kind of image you wanted to present to him.

And so, you were laced into a dress with impressive dexterity by your maid, the luscious fabric increasingly dampened from your dripping hair. Was it an uncomfortable sensation? Absolutely, but it was difficult to dwell on it when all you could think of was why you were be summoned, what could have happened between the king and Minho to warrant such an urgent demand for your presence.

Discussions must not have gone as smoothly as Minho intended – but not so disastrously as to be dismissed out of hand.

As you slipped on a pair of shoes, your maid gave one last attempt to persuade you to wait. “Your Highness, are you sure…”

You turned, smiling politely at her. “Yes. I’m sure it will dry soon enough. Thank you for all your help.”

She returned your smile, somewhat nervously, eyes darting to the dishevelled aspects of your appearance, but seemed a little more assured. Marginally. Barely.

Before she could protest again, you marched straight for the door.

Of course, as was so often the case with grand gestures, there were certain factors you didn’t think through entirely.

The palace halls were unforgivingly cold, especially as your hair continued to slowly drip water down your neck, soaking into the back of your gown. It made every step uncomfortable, as every little drop of water that landed on the nape of your neck was another reprimanding shock of chill.

You made sure to stand tall, proud.

If your head was bowed, if your shoulders were slouched and your steps more resembling a scurry than a stride, you would have made a pitiable sight. It would look as if you were caught off-guard, as if you were panicked, incapable, scared.

But with your chin held high, with your shoulders back and a confidence steeling you, this was intentional. This was a statement. An image fit for songs, for stories, a princess devoted to her role and to the orders of her king.

As you drew closer to the king’s chambers, navigating through the ever-narrowing hallways, you felt your chest begin to tighten. You realised you might genuinely hate it here, this deep within the very depths of the palace, its cold little stone heart. A king might be well-defended here, the walls witness to nearly a thousand years of history, but you couldn’t shake the feeling that you were descending into a tomb.

And then, you heard the voices.

The last time you had been summoned by the king, you remembered catching a snippet of conversation at the very doorstep of his chambers. That was how close you had to get before Minho’s and the king’s voices could be heard through the thick wooden door.

But now? You heard them in the corridor - because they were loud.

Not quite a screaming match between father and son, but–

“–talk of duty, but what’s your solution, Father? Burying your head in the sand, that tried and tested trick?”

You almost stumbled, shock rendering you clumsy, because did Minho just say that to the king?

“Caution, boy, is not ignorance. How do you mistake the two? You’re well-versed in the latter.”

The two guards in front of you exchanged a glance. You noted that they did not share your horror. In fact, you could almost mistake it as…resigned.

“Was it age that turned your belly yellow? Is that my fate too? Cowardice?”

“I will not be lectured by a son still wet-around-the-ears on age.”

Not just resigned.

Long-suffering.

They’d heard this all before. Frequently, by the looks of things.

And then, as if that knowledge had unlocked something, had lifted the veil over your eyes, you could hear it. The hint of familiarity, the ease with which the two hurled insults at each other.

This was not the first time Minho and his father had quarrelled. In fact, you’d wager this wasn’t the first time this week.

The argument paused when the guards knocked at the door, announcing your arrival. As the doors swung open, you caught sight of Minho and his father – not a hair out of place, not even a flush of anger to their cheeks – glaring at each other with familial exasperation.

Minho looked away first, turning to look at you – and paused.

His Majesty followed his gaze, and you watched those regal eyes blink in surprise at your appearance.

You must have made a sight, your gown on its way to being ruined, your hair still slick and dishevelled, trying hard not to shiver in the cold of these chambers.

“Your Majesty,” you greeted, not even the slightest bit affected, and bowed low. You straightened up before offering Minho’s greeting. “Husband.”

“My dear,” the king spoke, just the slightest bit alarmed. “If my summons caught you at an inopportune time, I assure you it’s perfectly reasonable to delay answering until you’re presentable. Don’t concern yourself so thoroughly.”

You smiled brightly. The picture of obedience, of devotion. “I hated the thought of keeping you both waiting. I imagine I know what this conversation is about.”

The king’s gaze flickered between you and Minho at this, a frown soon beginning to form. Still, there was a subtle note of surprise in his voice when he spoke again. “I see. The two of you are conspirators in this…”

“Proposal?” you supplied, gently.

“Attack?” Minho offered, bitterly.

“…Folly,” the king said, finally, turning back to you.

You dipped your head, keeping your voice soft and sweet. “I’m sorry to hear that you see it that way. I believe it to be a fair compromise, to ease the tensions at court.”

“Yes, Minho said the same thing,” the king sighed, dismissive. “Both of you are blind to the same issue. Any conflicts that your position on the council might resolve are outnumbered by the discord it would certainly cause.”

Minho sighed, eyes darting up to the ceiling. You wondered how many times he had heard that argument this morning. “And yet, a good king prioritises the future of his kingdom above all else, is that not so?”

The king shot Minho a look. It didn’t take much to realise that those were likely the king’s own words that had come out of Minho’s mouth, not his own.

“Son–”

“Talk to her,” Minho interrupted, gesturing to you in pure exasperation. “Listen to her. Ask her anything. She’s more than qualified to be on the council.”

After a moment’s hesitation, in which it looked as if the king was debating whether to indulge his oldest son or nip this matter in the bud entirely, he turned to you.

“…Very well,” he said, giving in. You watched as he made his way to the splendid-looking chair behind a monstrosity of a writing desk, sinking into it. For a brief moment, you thought you caught something of a grimace in his expression.

Exhaustion? Perhaps. It must have been tiring work, running a kingdom. Let alone arguing with Minho too. You had first-hand knowledge of how that could drain your energy.

The king’s eyes became fixed on you, almost pinning you to the floor, as he spoke. “Suppose you were on the council, and a message was received, warning of a great army about to invade. What would you advise?”

Your brow furrowed as you considered the question. You needed to remain calm, measured, and use every scrap of information you had studied.

“Which border is the army advancing toward?” you asked, thoughtful.

The king’s face remained unchanged. “The one we share with the Lakelands.”

Interesting. No cardinal direction given – you assumed that must have been on purpose – but still plenty of information to form an answer. The Lakelands were in the north, and under treaty with your kingdom.

“I would advise you to send missives to Lords Kim and Geum in the north with instructions to muster their forces and man our security garrisons along the border. I would also–”

“Which garrisons?” the king interrupted, gently but firmly.

“Yalrock and Banna. Yalrock is the largest garrison on the northern border, Banna is strategically advantageous because of its position on the river plains. You’d be forcing the army to march along the mountain passes instead.”

The king’s expression remained cold, neutral – and you realised, in that moment, exactly where Minho might have learned the same habit. “Continue.”

“I would also advise you to send word to our allies in the hills and across the Sunrise Sea, informing them that the Lakelands have broken our treaty pact.”

“Broken the pact?” the king repeated. “I never said the Lakelanders were the ones invading.”

“The treaty pact also forbids the harbouring of any forces with aggressive intent towards treaty members. In this scenario, the Lakelanders would be doing just this – unless they themselves were invaded by this army too, which I doubt if we received no summons for aid or word from our ambassador there,” you said. Was this too much detail? Were you rambling? You did your best to keep your words steady, unrushed. “Therefore, the treaty would be broken.”

From out of the corner of your eye, you caught Minho watching you, a hint of a smile on his face.

The king, while perhaps a touch surprised at your answer, pressed on anyway with another question, changing the subject entirely.

“…Suppose Lord Sun’s lands are failing to produce the amount of grain demanded of them. How would you advise me?”

“I would be confused,” you admitted, “because Lord Sun’s lands produce fish, not grain.”

“And why is that?”

“Because his lands are in the east, along the coast. The land there isn’t arable.”

“Why?”

“The weather is too hot in the summer, too dry. There isn’t enough freshwater for crop-growing.”

The quickness of your answer was rewarded with the smallest – almost unthinking – of nods from the king. He paused once more, and spoke again. “Suppose I wanted to–”

“Another question?” Minho interjected, sighing, as he wandered across the room and took a seat by the window. He rested his head against his hand, elbow planted into the plush armrest of his chair.

The king shot him a look, either for the interruption, or for the flippant tone Minho had used, or perhaps even for the way he was lounging in the presence of his king, but he made no move to reprimand him. Instead, he turned back to you. “Suppose I wanted to offer a gift to the Lakelander delegation when they arrive next month to renew the treaty. A personal one, not a grand spectacle of an offering. What would you suggest?”

You paused. This wasn’t a question that could be answered with any of your recent studies of war or economics or geography. This was a question of hospitality, knowledge you needed as a queen, not as a councillor.

It took a moment, longer than it took with the first two questions, but soon there was an answer in your mind. “When the last Lakelander delegation came to this country to sign the treaty, one of the gifts they gave Your Majesty were wild rose seeds. Wild roses that were native to the Lakelands, difficult to grow in this climate, meant to symbolise a new peace and the care needed to maintain it. Her Majesty, the queen, still grows these roses in her private gardens, does she not?”

The answer to your question did not come from the king, but from Minho. “She does.”

“Then, I would suggest a bouquet of these roses. It would be symbolic of the care this kingdom has taken to nurture this new relationship with the Lakelands, a sign that we do not take their gifts for granted.”

The king eyed you carefully for a moment, silent. “…You weren’t present at the first signing of the treaty, were you? You’re too young for that.”

“You’re right, I wasn’t present, Your Majesty,” you replied. “But the queen graciously allowed me to play in her gardens when I was a child, and taught me the origins of those roses.”

Not quite. The queen allowed you and Felix to play in those gardens. She told you the origins of the roses when Felix tried to pick some for you, and accidentally cut open his palm on the sharp thorns of their stems. You remembered him, tears in his eyes, sniffling as Her Majesty held the both of you close and warned him gently that these roses were wild, were Lakelanders just like her and a little like him, and because of that, they were fiercely protective.

You remembered sitting and watching the two of them exchange smiles, and silently wishing that you were a Lakelander too. You wanted to be protective. You wanted to be like the roses, like them.

“Any more questions, Father?” Minho asked, jolting you from your memories. “Or has she proven our point? Impressively?”

And again, just as they had last night, Minho’s words stirred something within you. A kind of warmth, filling your chest.

The king regarded the both of you, silently, before sighing. “Your education is…indeed, as Minho says, impressive.”

Your heart soared, mind so entirely filled with elation that you almost missed his next words.

“But I’m afraid that still does not change the obvious. I did not secure decades of unprecedented peace under my reign by breaking with tradition. A woman sitting on the council is not tradition.”

You swallowed, heart sinking just as sharply as it had risen just moments ago.

“…There is precedent,” you pointed out, softly. “I found records of Princess Jiyoon on the royal council, less than two centuries ago.”

“That is true,” the king conceded, before tilting his head slightly. After a moment of consideration, he pushed himself out of his chair with the same half-grimace glimpsed earlier, and crossed the room towards a bookcase stuffed with leather-bound volumes. His hands hovered over them, fingertips brushing their spines, until he found the one he was searching for and pulled it from its stack with ease.

He made his way back to the two of you, opening the volume and thumbing through the pages as he walked, before offering the volume to you.

You took it, uncertainly, and looked down at what exactly he had handed to you.

Council records – but unlike the ones you had studied with Seungmin, you were shocked at just how much more detail this version contained. You supposed that made sense. The records in the library were likely censored, or edited for public consumption. These were private, a king’s own personal records, passed down from ruler to heir most likely.

Jiyoon’s name was there, listed amongst the other councillors, but these records included a strange symbol next to her name.

You frowned, and the king spoke again.

“I imagine you found no records of any contributions she made, correct? No votes cast, no motions brought to attention?”

“…No,” you admitted, reluctantly, looking up at him as dread began to curl in the pit of your stomach.

“There is a reason for that. Jiyoon filled a particular role. If you scour through the legal treatise of the time – dry reading, all of it, but it is there – you’ll find it. Jiyoon was not granted the role of an adviser, but of an observer. A silent one, there only to watch the council proceedings so that she could better educate her heirs in service of her husband. That is the precedent that Jiyoon set.”

Silent. Heirs. Husband.

Of course.

Of course. You should have known. That was what it always came down to. Centuries of royal women, millennia of royal women, and it was always the same.

Silent. Heirs. Husband.

You should have known. You should have known not to get your hopes up.

“What are you saying?” you heard Minho ask, dimly, as these thoughts repeated endlessly in your mind.

“The observer is required to be silent. She cannot vote, she cannot dissent, she cannot speak even when called upon to do so in session. She observes.”

Minho made a sound of disdain, maybe even disgust. “Then, what’s the point? Why have that great of a mind on your council if she can’t even use it? What a waste.”

“Perhaps, but that is the precedent you argue for. If you seek a compromise, that would be it.”

“A compromise? What–”

“I would accept it,” you interrupted, quietly. Your eyes were trained on the floor, voice barely above a murmur. Your brain still thundered with those three words, again and again. Silent. Heirs. Husband. “If Your Majesty were so gracious as to offer this role, I would accept it.”

You didn’t have to look at Minho to know the way his mouth was parted in surprise, astonished and outraged in equal measure. You could sense it in his tone when he spoke. “You can’t be serious.”

You raised your eyes to look at the king, purposefully avoiding Minho’s stare.

“I hope His Majesty knows that I don’t ask for this council seat out of personal ambition,” you said, softly, lying through your teeth to your king. “You said Jiyoon took the role as a duty to her husband and her children. If anyone objected to my position on the council, I would ask you say the same of me.”

“…You would take the council seat in service of Minho,” the king said, and even he sounded sceptical. You weren’t sure what that said about your marriage, but it wasn’t exactly promising.

“And our future children. We both take that duty very seriously.”

“Do you?” the king questioned, sharply, pointedly, but surprisingly it wasn’t you he was addressing – it was Minho.

You might have tensed at such an insinuation, but Minho practically bristled.

“Don’t,” Minho warned his father, straightening up in his seat. No, more than warned, he practically spat out the word. “I thought we agreed.”

Agreed? Agreed what?

You glanced between Minho and his father, sensing a tension that remained unspoken as the two eyed each other, jaws both set.

You were clearly missing something vital to this exchange, some secret piece of information – and, as always, the idea chafed at you.

And then, with a quiet and cold anger that you hadn’t heard in weeks, Minho told his father. “You owe me this.”

The king’s expression twisted. It was guilt, you realised. “Minho–”

“You owe me something.”

Another pause.

And then, finally, the king broke this staring contest with his son to look at you. “…The role requires complete silence. If I decided to grant you the seat on these conditions, and you flout them immediately, I will not look kindly on it. Do you understand?”

“I do,” you replied, solemnly.

“…Very well,” the king said, eventually. “I’ll make the necessary arrangements.”

You did it.

It was a hollow victory, yes, but a victory nonetheless.

You couldn’t quite muster happiness about it, or even gratitude, but there was a sense of achievement.

You nodded, quietly, and curtsied low before the king. “Thank you, Your Majesty.”

When you lifted your head again, you found the king glancing between your face and Minho’s before he spoke again.

“You do have quite the mind,” the king said, gaze still shifting between the two of you. “You might not be able to speak in the council room but…well, you share bedchambers now. Whatever you might discuss in there is your own private business. Is it not?”

Within days, news of your appointment to the council spread across the palace like wildfire.

You expected this, to some extent. Precedent or not, observer or not, this was still an undeniably shocking development. You knew there would be whispers about it, gossip passed around, growing and contorting with each telling and retelling.

All of this, and still you did not expect the conversation you happened upon one evening as you took a shortcut through one of the palace courtyards on your way back from a tutoring session with Seungmin.

The sun had just descended below the horizon, casting the square into shadow wherever the dim glow of torchlight did not quite reach. You caught snatches of voices as you walked, whenever you passed doors to parlours, to sitting rooms, to the dozens upon dozens of meeting places for the elite that resided within the court. Some of these doors were cracked open to enjoy the fresh air brought by the open-air courtyard on their doorstep, unaware of any passers-by.

And then, one particular comment caught your attention.

“Perhaps the poor girl is simply bored,” a haughty voice said, with a hint of laughter. “That council room might be a dreary place, but I’d wager it’s a damn sight better than her bedchambers.”

You froze, half within shadow, half without.

There was only one person that comment could possibly be referring to.

Immediately, you slipped behind one of the stone pillars lining the courtyard, heart pounding.

Finally, after all this talk of rumours, of whisperings at court behind your back, you finally had the chance to listen for yourself.

“Careful, Park,” another voice cautioned, although sounding more amused than concerned.

“A prince too scared to share a bed with his wife for weeks after the wedding,” the first voice – Park – scoffed. “What, did he hope no one would notice?”

A third voice chimed in, low and gleeful. “You want to hear something good? My wife heard a maid talking the other day. They change the sheets of that marriage bed every day. And they’re always pristine.”

Your face heated, something approaching bile threatening to burn the back of your throat. There was something about hearing your privacy be so…violated, and said so casually. Your bedsheets? They all talked about your bedsheets?

“You know my theory,” the third voice spoke again.

“Your wife’s theory,” Park corrected, sounding dismissive.

“It makes sense. She’s saving herself for the other brother. Traded one for the other before, maybe she’s waiting to trade back when he comes home.”

Felix.

Traded one for the other. Is that how they saw it? Is that how they all saw it?

“He’s not coming back,” Park scoffed. “Not for a long time. Not unless His Highness fancies looking down and wondering why all his children have the Lakelander look to them.”

Your heart stopped. You felt the blood in your veins freeze, matching the ice-cold anger settling into your bones.

“Gods be good, close the door before you say horseshit like that. Moron.”

This was more than fury.

This was wrath.

You stepped out of the shadows, just at the right moment to lock eyes with Lord Park as he stood by the doors, his too-late hand stilled on the handle.

“Good evening, Lord Park,” you said, voice so syrupy-sweet and cloying, and watched the blood drain from his face as he stared back at you in horror. You craned your neck to peek over his shoulder, catching a glimpse of the two other men with him. “Oh, I see Lords Song and Ryu have joined you. How nice.”

“Y-Your Highness,” Park stammered, and there was genuine fear in his eyes.

He knew what you had heard. He knew the words that had come out of his mouth, and how close those words danced along the line of treason. It would take you only one conversation with Minho, or with the king, and his career would be done. His family. His fortunes. Possibly even his life.

You smiled brightly at him. “I look forward to seeing you next week at the council. I’ve heard you’re quite the contrarian. You’ve voted to reject the last, what is it, seven bills put forward by my husband?”

Park didn’t answer. Perhaps it was more accurate to say Park couldn’t answer. You wondered what could possibly be going through his head at that moment. You wondered if he had ever felt this afraid in his entire pampered little life.

You tilted your head slightly, eyeing him. “Perhaps from next week, you might find yourself second-guessing a decision like that. Don’t you think so?”

Park’s face, still pale, twisted into something approaching realisation. He seemed to grasp exactly what you were hinting at – the threat that remained unspoken.

“…Y-yes, Your Highness,” Park agreed, nodding erratically.

“And your companions? Perhaps they’ll have similar changes of heart?”

From behind Park, his friends stammered their assent, just as rattled.

You beamed.

“Perfect. Have a nice night.”

You attended your first council meeting the very next week, finally taking that last empty council seat that had remained vacant for so long.

Sixty-two members attended the session in total.

You felt sixty-one pairs of eyes on you throughout.

You recognised quite a few of the faces in this meeting. Lord Young, as delightful as ever, sat just a few seats removed from the royal family – a position of great honour, especially for a man with neither blood nor marriage ties to the crown.

Lord Park had also made an appearance, and blanched the moment your eyes met his.

Good.

You paid the stares little notice, attention completely and utterly captivated by the debates that took place. Every idea proposed, every motion considered and accepted and denied, every opinion volleyed back and forth, you noted down.

You might have been silent, but you wrote feverishly. Pages and pages of scrawls, near indecipherable as you worked to keep pace with the spoken word of the other council members.

Minho was seated next to you. Of course he was – he served as a visible explanation for your presence there at all. To be useful to him, to educate his heirs and better his legacy. In the eyes of everyone else, your seat on the council was essentially just an extension of Minho’s.

You weren’t sure what to expect of him during these council meetings. You knew just how seriously he took his position as heir, and his duty to the kingdom – but you also remembered that carriage journey home from Lord Young’s orchards, the disdain he had for politicking, his derision in his voice when he talked of strings attached.

It turned out that in council meetings, Minho kept up the same perfect princely mask he always did in public. Never once raising his voice, never slipping into anger or mockery. Exemplary behaviour from the first second of the meeting to the last.

Except for one moment, when an old lord from the Tan family had loudly proclaimed an argument so poorly constructed, with parts so moronic that you made sure to underline his exact wording for its stupidity, that you heard the quietest of noises from Minho. When you glanced up at him, he was watching the debate with apparent rapt attention. If you weren’t sat so close to him, you would have missed the slightest way his jaw clenched, as if to fight a look of disdain as he watched Lord Tan blather on.

Minho proposed only one new bill – investment in a new mill, to be built in one of the kingdom’s slowly-dwindling rural villages, in the hopes of creating employment opportunities. You paused your notetaking to watch each council member cast their votes for or against the bill.

Most supported it. Some rejected it. Your eyes sought out Lord Park again, and you watched as he reluctantly raised his hand in favour of the bill, gaze nervously flickering towards you as he did so.

What an astonishing change of heart from the man. Who could have predicted?

Still, despite it all, the council meeting ended without incident. The issues tabled for the next meeting were fairly standard: a new maritime trade deal with a kingdom across the Sunrise Sea, preparations for next year’s census, the ongoing reports from the Lakelander delegation slowly making its way to the palace. You made note of it all, jotting down your own thoughts on each matter when you were able to, and kept the notes closely guarded on your person.

You made sure to take them straight to your bedchambers as soon as the meeting finished, intending to lock them away in your desk until dinner that evening, when you could discuss them with Minho.

To your surprise, instead of making his way back to his office to spend the rest of the working day, Minho followed you back to your shared chambers. You tried and failed not to focus on his footsteps, how they matched your pace precisely, echoing along the empty corridors.

The slightest sense of frustration sparked within you. If you had to be watched by gossiping onlookers, why couldn’t they at least see this? Minho ignoring his usual duties to accompany you back to your bedchambers? Let them whisper about that, sordid or not, that could at least be useful.

You pushed away the thought with one last scoff at your own poor luck, reaching your chambers without so much as a single pair of prying eyes to witness you.

“So,” Minho said, as the doors swung shut behind the two of you. “How did you find it?”

Frustrating. Exhausting. Borderline insulting.

“Informative,” you replied, collapsing into a seat. Your hands ached from how feverishly you had written throughout the meeting, and you began to clench and unclench your fists in the hopes of relieving the pain. “I made a few notes.”

“I noticed,” Minho commented, eyebrow raising as he appraised the pile of papers at your side. “They look…detailed.”

“They are,” you confirmed, picking the papers up and beginning to flick through them. “If I can’t speak my mind in that room, writing will just have to do.”

For now, you added internally. You refused to accept that this silent role would last forever.

“Can I…read them?” Minho asked, and his question came out hesitantly, almost cautiously.

You looked up, surprised. You weren’t sure how much use these notes would be – you were both just at the very same meeting after all – but there was something about the request that was almost…endearing.

Minho. Endearing.

Hell had truly frozen over.

“Of course,” you replied, holding the notes up.

Minho paused for a moment before, slowly making his way towards you. When he sat next to you, he was close enough that his jacket sleeve brushed your bare arm.

You cleared your throat, focusing your attention on anything but how close he was. “These pages are about the logging site proposals, this one was on the Lakelanders’ progress, this…oh, this page is actually about Lord Tan.”

“Lord Tan?” Minho repeated, one eyebrow raised.

“Yes. He’s…” you trailed off, trying to think of a polite way to phrase it. “…He’s a blithering idiot, honestly.”

Minho, to your surprise, laughed. Openly, loudly, with a note of genuine delight. A few weeks ago, you wouldn’t have thought him capable of producing such a sound.

“Do you know how many hours of my life I have wasted listening to that old man ramble incoherently?” he asked. “There were moments I was driven half to madness. But he was my father’s first real supporter when he became crown prince, so he’s adamant on keeping the man around.”

You watched as Minho turned the page over, half-smiling to himself.

“He’s a sentimental old fool like that, sometimes,” Minho said, too lightly to really be considered critical – or treasonous.

“Who was your first supporter?” You asked, curiously.

“…Felix,” Minho said, softly, discreetly shifting away as he held your notes out to return them. “He was the only one to never doubt me. Not even for a second.”

Yes. Yes, that sounded like Felix.

You took back your notes, and tried not to notice how Minho avoided your touch as your notes exchanged hands.

A new silence fell between you.

Stifling.

Deafening.

You tried to take a deep breath, and stood up, making your way over to your desk to lock away your writings from prying eyes.

From behind you, Minho’s voice brought you to a halt.

“We haven’t talked about Felix,” he noted. “…And we probably should. At some point.”

He said it so plainly, so devoid of nuance or emotion. As if it were a mere observation, a comment about the weather and nothing more. As if his words didn’t strike something deep and vulnerable within you, like fingers clumsily probing a freshly-formed bruise.

You hated his apparent nonchalance. You despised it, and you envied it because you might never be able to do the same. To speak Felix’s name as if it meant nothing to you.

To speak his name as if…

To speak…

You…

Realisation – cold, violent realisation – hit you at once.

You had not. Not once. In months.

It had been months. And you had not spoken Felix’s name.

Not since your wedding day.

Others had. Countless others had. They murmured it gently and sweetly like Her Majesty, or they crowed it before you mockingly like those noblemen, or they threw it at you, cold and cryptic and horrifically empty like Minho.

They dragged him out of your memories where you kept him locked away.

Away, where he was safest to you. Safest from you. Safest for you.

“…No. We haven’t,” you said, and the words were quiet. Pained. Final.

The two of you did not speak again that day.

Soon enough, your father found you.

Your mother, all those weeks ago when she summoned you for that painfully awkward afternoon tea, had at least shown you the decorum your new status demanded and sent you a formal request.

Your father, a proud man, a pragmatic man, had no patience for such etiquette.

You were in the library, sat with Seungmin and poring over budgetary records with tired and bleary eyes, when he came marching in. He was flanked by two panicked guards, too fearful of your father’s status to lay their hands on him, too mindful of their duty to let him wander freely.

They fixed you with beseeching looks. “Your Highness, we – no one told us…y-your father…”

“Desires to speak with his daughter,” your father finished, in a tone you’d never heard from him before. “Urgently.”

Usually, your father was calm, collected, never one to show even a hint of vulnerability.

Now, here, he was impatient. Almost rattled.

You rose to your feet, so thrown off-kilter by the situation that you were a touch unsteady. After a moment, you nodded to your guards. “Very well. Please leave us.”

They did just that – and so did a third guard who had been sat just a few paces away from you and Seungmin.

Your father’s eyes darted to your tutor. “Him too.”

Seungmin, however, stayed seated. Slowly, he laced his fingers together and rested his hands on the table in front of him, returning your father’s glare with an unimpressed stare.

“It takes a bold man to order around a princess,” Seungmin remarked. Gently, as always, but firmly.

Your father’s expression hardened. He opened his mouth to speak back, but you cut him off at the pass.

“He’s right, Father,” you said. You couldn’t quite shake the nerves from your voice. You supposed that was only natural, after a lifetime of loyally following his orders and keeping your mouth shut in the process. “What’s wrong? Has something happened to Mother?”

Your father stared at you for a moment, almost…bewildered. He recovered quickly enough. “Your mother is fine, which is more than I can say for the state of your…of…” he gritted his teeth, swallowing back whatever he desperately wished to say, and instead cut straight to the point. “You took a seat on the council?”

His question, and the venom behind it, almost took you aback.

Still, you lifted your head, trying to stand firm. “Yes, I did.”

“How could you be so…foolish?” your father demanded to know, anger giving way to frustration. “I could have protectedyou there.”

It took you mere moments to read between his words.

You didn’t take a seat on the council.

You took his seat.

“Could you?” you said, swallowing. “Or would you have protected your own interests?”

Your father’s eyes blazed at the accusation. You knew the look. Your own temper was a family trait – and it certainly didn’t come from your mother.

He thundered his response. “You are my daughter! My interests are your interests!”

“Are they?” You shot back, your voice rising to match his.

“We are family, we are blood–”

“And what have I done, except increase our family’s legacy?” you interrupted him. “I did that, I secured our first council seat.”

“And what seat is that?” he replied, incensed. “A mute councillor, never to vote, never to speak?”

Your face burned, as you tried to think of a rebuttal to his questions. Something began to twist in the pit of your stomach.

Your father sighed, fixing you with a stern look. “Let me be frank, girl, if you’re so eager to play politics. Your position is not secure.”

You swallowed. “I know–”

“No, you do not,” he snapped, briefly raising his voice, before dropping his voice to a more controlled volume. “You inspired the love of the people, but what else? I know half a dozen lords are plotting your annulment, and another dozen with their own girls waiting in the wings. What will you do with that council seat, when a proposal comes to terminate your marriage? Watch silently when they vote to cast you aside?”

You stared at him, as that twisting sensation in your gut finally earned a name: dread. You tried to respond. “Royal marriages are a king’s prerogative, they can’t–”

“Yes, they can,” your father said, simply. “Any silver-tongued politician could convince the king that your marriage is a matter of the state. Perhaps if you were married to the younger prince, you’d be safe, but you’re married to the heir–”

At those words, coming out of your father’s mouth of all people’s, your vision turned red. Your response, when it came, hung heavy in the air.

“And whose fault is that?”

Your father’s eyes widened, and he hissed. “Mind your tongue.”

“I did,” you said, your voice cracking. Before you could top yourself, words began tumbling out of your mouth, every secret silent thought that had festered in the darkest, most vulnerable corners of your mind, spilling to the surface. “I was happy and content and loved, and I still bit my tongue and let you scheme to take it away. I married the right brother for you, are you still not satisfied?”

In an instant, your father stormed his way towards you, eyes blazing as he loomed over you. “Be careful, girl.”

For a moment, you thought he was threatening you. Your own father.

And then you watched his body crumple slightly, panic and concern finally bleeding through all that pomp and anger. “Especially about…that. Him.”

You watched him take a deep breath, rendered speechless. You had never – not once, in all your life – seen your father like this.

He seemed almost…scared.

“If there are plots to annul your marriage, there are plots for something far darker. Annulment would be catastrophic, but bearable. But any whispers of adultery, of treason? To see you executed…”

Gently, he lifted his hand to cup your cheek. And for a moment, you were four years old again, showing your father your very first letters, beaming as he called you his little princess, long before the rest of the kingdom was obliged to.

“You are my child. My only child. Doubt my intentions, if you must, but do not doubt my love.”

You were stunned into silence. His words should have been touching, and you supposed on some level that they still were. But you felt almost numb as you absorbed them. Was it shock, hearing your father speak of his emotions so plainly? Perhaps.

There was a small part of you that whispered if this was all just too little, too late.

Your father dropped his hand and stepped away from you, silence filling the air between the two of you.

Then, he paused, and turned his attention to something behind you.

For a moment, you felt confusion, turning to follow his glare – before embarrassment consumed you.

Seungmin, of course, had been sitting there the whole time.

“And you,” your father interjected, his voice cold and bordering on menacing, pointing at your tutor. “If you breathe a word of this–”

Seungmin, despite showing the very clear signs of awkwardness one would expect from someone who had just witnessed such an intense and private family dispute, managed to keep calm as he replied with unfailing honesty.

“I am no fool. This position keeps my family fed, and will see my sisters marry well. I am only here at Her Highness’s request, and if the princess goes, this job goes with her,” Seungmin said, fiercely. “…And if nothing else, I know about your reputation, sir. I would rather like my tongue to remain inside my head.”

Your eyes widened.

That was a bold insinuation on Seungmin’s part. Tongue mutilation had been outlawed years ago, deemed too brutal a punishment when death was a surer way to guarantee silence.

You half-expected your father to deny this with bluster and offence. And yet, all he did was eye Seungmin silently, before nodding once and turning to the door.

As he approached it, your father spoke one final time to you.

“Keep your wits about you. You’ve made a dangerously bold move, and your enemies will use it against you,” he warned, before finally leaving, letting the heavy door slam shut behind him.

The echo of it reverberated across the library, as you stared after him with far more questions than answers.

It was Seungmin who first broke the silence, clearing his throat with just a touch of unease. “…Well, I imagine you’re no longer in quite the right mindset for last year’s harvest calculations. Would you like to finish our sessions early today, Your Highness?”

You didn’t speak. You barely looked at him, in fact, as you silently sank back into your chair.

Seungmin waited a moment or so longer, beginning to tap nervously on the smooth wooden surface of the table in front of him. “…Your Highness?”

“I…” you trailed off, as you realised the incriminating words that had fallen from your own lips just moments ago, and your head jerked towards Seungmin in panic. “Don’t… I don’t know how much you report to Minho about our lessons. But…please don’t tell him what I said about being…you know, about…”

“Biting your tongue?” Seungmin supplied for you, but his tone was heavy, knowing. He knew that wasn’t the offending part of your outburst.

“Yes,” you replied in the same tone, and when your eyes met, you knew you had an understanding. “He’s a smart man, I’m sure it’s nothing he doesn’t already know, but…it just seems cruel. I think. To hear it directly.”

Seungmin observed you for a moment, brow furrowing just a touch. He opened his mouth as if to say something, hesitated, before speaking anyway. “Actually, you should know that I don’t ‘report’ anything to Minho. Sometimes, he asks questions about what we study, and I answer them. Nothing more.”

You blinked, and before you could stop yourself, your curiosity won out. “What kind of questions?”

Seungmin eyed you again, and for a split-second, you could have sworn something akin to amusement quirked the corner of his mouth. Whatever it was, it disappeared in an instant, as he replied. “He asks about what interests you. Once, he asked about a book he’d seen you reading, and took a copy for his own use.”

“Oh.”

Whatever you were expected, it wasn’t that. A strange, unbidden feeling began to spread in your chest, warm for just a moment before common sense returned and drove it away.

“Well, I suppose that makes sense. Minho sometimes takes an interest in my education. Perhaps he wants to test me on it, make it a competition or something.”

“Yes, Your Highness,” Seungmin said, perfectly politely. “Or something, indeed.”

Soon after that, the first move was made against you.

Details were leaked about the maritime trade deal discussed in the council meeting. Confidential details that were now freely gossiped about, within the palace and without. No one could say for sure who was the source of those leaks, but the evidence was damning.

Before you joined the council, there hadn’t been a single leak in years. And now, after you attended your first meeting, sensitive information was being bandied about within days.

There was only one simple conclusion to be drawn about the identity of the leaker.

You.

Your father was right. Whoever your enemies were, they’d been scheming, and they did use your position on the council against you.

Perhaps the library would have been a better place to take a breath, dwell on the knowledge a little longer, turn it over in your mind alone to work out the whos and whys and how to press forward.

But your feet drew you to your chambers, through the doors, and even once inside they refused to let you sit idle. You paced, backwards and forwards, going over the situation, the accusations about to be levelled at you, the defences you might need, the evidence you had and did not have to prove your innocence.

You paced and paced, and thought and thought, until your head spun and your feet threatened to leave its imprints in the stone beneath you, until it became clear to you exactly what you were doing.

You hadn’t chosen these chambers for silent contemplation.

You were waiting here.

Because when you imagined defending yourself, you didn’t picture a faceless mob before which to protest your innocence. You didn’t picture the king, and his councillors, and the lords scheming behind your back.

You pictured Minho. His expression flickering between accusing, betrayed, angry, cold, pitying, wounded. It was him you wanted to convince before any others, as illogical as it was.

It was hurt, perhaps, maybe, at the idea that Minho thought you would betray his trust. You knew how he’d pushed hard for your position on the council. You would never throw it back in his face like this, and you needed to make sure he knew that.

You questioned just when Minho’s good opinion of you had become so…important.

Eventually, the chamber doors opened, and your words came spilling out at the mere sight of Minho in the doorway.

“I didn’t do it,” you declared. You wished you could be calmer. You feared that the panic in your voice would mislabel you guilty.

Minho, blinking in surprise for a moment at your sudden outburst, regarded you calmly. “Ominous words to hear when entering a room.”

“I’m not the leak,” you clarified, with little patience for his cleverness. “And don’t pretend you haven’t heard about it. I know the information being spread, and I know fingers are pointing in my direction. With some reason, I suppose, but it was not me.”

“You seem agitated,” Minho remarked, maddeningly, all but ignoring your words as his hands moved to begin undoing the fastenings of his jacket. It was some sort of rigid construction, high-necked and broad-shouldered, and perhaps once the imposing princely sight of him in it might have intimidated you. Now, there was a familiarity to the sight – and a bizarre comfort that came along with it, perhaps. “Usually I’m the one to spark it. It’s actually quite bemusing when something else is the source.”

You stared at him for a second. Off-guard, waiting for any kind of actual response to what you were saying. When none came, irritation sparked in your chest. “Minho–”

“You’re innocent,” Minho said simply, halting you in your tracks. “I know. I told my father as much.”

It took you a moment to register exactly what he said, your head too full of practised arguments to leave much room for the recognition that Minho didn’t need to hear them.

He believed you without them.

It felt as if you had been barrelling towards something at high speed, a runaway horse, only to come to a sudden jarring stop. Air left your lungs in one unconscious breath, like a weight that had crushed your chest had been lifted.

“…Good,” you said, haltingly, and then relief struck you with such a violence that your eyes began to sting with tears.

At the sight of them, Minho’s expression shifted instantly from flippancy to something bordering on horror.

Frustrated, and more than a little mortified, you wiped them away impatiently. “Don’t. I’m fine.”

Minho opened his mouth, about to speak–

“No,” you interrupted, pointing at him, embarrassment warm in your cheeks. “This is just a serious allegation to be faced with, and I’m…relieved that I don’t have to waste my time defending myself.”

You managed to regain your composure, with no more tears threatening to make an appearance and humiliate you further. Taking a deep breath, you refused to look at Minho, refused to know if he believed your words or if that damned expression still lingered on his face.

“People are talking,” you said, finally.

“…People always talk. We’ve discussed this before.”

“It’s different now. I thought it was just idle gossip before, but…” you trailed off. “My father came to me a few days ago. He believes some of the nobles are scheming to dissolve our marriage. Free you up to marry a daughter of their own, and have me removed.”

Or worse.

You hadn’t fully comprehended what your father had hinted to you that day, not until now. You could see it all now. The image of your execution, a hundred smirking noblemen awaiting it, ready to thrust their own girls into your role. Perhaps to perish after you. Their scheming would not end with your death. They would simply turn on each other, try again and again, a dozen dead brides falsely accused and outmanoeuvred and doomed from the start.

And then, you snapped out of your dark thoughts when you realised that Minho had closed the distance between you, standing almost toe-to-toe.

His eyes sought your gaze, and held it.

“They can’t do that,” Minho said, firmly, gently. Certain. “We are married, and nothing can change that now.”

“It could. It would be easy, really,” you argued. “There’s no real proof of our consummation. You could say it never happened, and our marriage could be annulled by day’s end.”

“I would not,” Minho said, firmly. “Believe what you will about me, but I would never break off our marriage with a lie like that. Those are a craven’s actions, not mine. I swear it.”

Perhaps to your surprise, you found that you believed him. Minho could be called a great many things – indeed, you have called Minho a great many things – but ‘craven’ was not one of them.

Minho’s lips set into a grim, serious line. “Is that what concerns you? That I would set you aside?”

Would he?

Even after so many years around Minho, after weeks of being married, you still could not guess his true intentions.

“…I don’t know,” you confessed.

Something small flashed in Minho’s eyes. It looked like hurt.

“You have done a lot for me these past few weeks. More than I ever expected. More than I could ever ask for, truthfully. I think…I hope that we are friends, or at least something approaching it,” you told him, because it was true, and the lastthing you wanted was to destroy this budding trust you had developed between the two of you. Still, he deserved total honesty. “But I know you didn’t want this marriage, Minho.”

Minho was silent for a moment. You knew he couldn’t refute it, and he didn’t try to.

Instead, to your surprise, his hands lifted to rest gently on your shoulders. You could feel their weight on you, and how warm it was. Solid. Grounding.

He held you there and when he finally spoke, his tone was serious – grave, almost.

“…The night before Felix left for the coast, he came to me,” Minho admitted. “He made me swear – on my life, on his, on my mother, on my crown, on everything I have ever valued – that I would protect you from harm.”

Your lips parted in shock.

Felix.

“I love my brother, more than anything. He was once my only friend, in all the world. The very best of me,” Minho said, words beginning to pour out of him, as if finally freeing thoughts he had kept buried deep inside for months, perhaps even years. “I didn’t tell him how much he meant to me, not really. And now…”

Minho swallowed, eyes closing for a brief second, before meeting your stare again with a quiet intensity.

“He will never forgive me for marrying you. Never. The least I can do is honour the last thing – the only thing – he has ever asked of me.”

You didn’t know what to say.

A sudden realisation hit you. A small piece of an inscrutable puzzle, revealed.

“Is that what you meant, when you told your father he owed you something? For making you marry me?”

Minho swallowed, pausing for a second, and answered.

“Yes, in short. My father and I have had our squabbles but this marriage…it was the first true fight we had. The first time he’s ever had to order me to do something as a king, not asked me as a father. We haven’t seen many things eye-to-eye since. He doesn’t…understand,” he said, and then, almost to himself, “but he doesn’t need to. I know I’m doing what is right.”

There was a terrible sadness in his eyes, a shocking vulnerability. It was almost alien to see such an expression on Minho’s face, to glimpse beyond the walls he so skilfully kept up.

Unthinkingly, you surged forward and wrapped your arms around him.

He stilled in your hold, tense with surprise. You ignored it, squeezing him tightly, pressing your face into his chest. It was an awkward embrace, perhaps. The hard edges of the embroidery on his jacket dug into your cheek, stitching rough against your soft skin, and Minho’s movements were stiff and unpractised as he returned the hug.

But it didn’t need to be perfect. It only needed to prove the one thing you intended to show him.

Trust.

That night, when dinner was cleared, Minho retreated to his couch and paperwork. You left to change into your sleepclothes in private, as usual, and returned to slip quietly into bed.

There, however, you fidgeted and fumbled with exactly what to say before finally, bravely, breaking the silence. “…You can sleep in the bed. Next to me. If you were…unsure about it.”

Minho’s stare in response was indecipherable. But he nodded once, and when he finished whatever report he had picked up from the pile of papers, he disappeared to the bathroom and reappeared dressed for bed.

White linens. Thin, soft. You remembered them from your wedding night.

It was enough to make your breath hitch – and, embarrassed, you rolled to your side to avoid looking at Minho, lest you stared too openly at him.

You heard him pull back the covers on his side, and felt the weight of him sink into the mattress. He seemed to keep his distance, as not a single part of you touched, and yet you were painfully aware of his presence there.

Silence fell over the two of you, interrupted only by quiet breaths in tandem.

Something squeezed gently in the pit of your stomach. You recognised it as something like anticipation, which was bizarre, as you knew nothing was going to happen.

Nothing would happen.

…And yet, you supposed it would be easy for Minho to shift closer towards you. You could imagine him reaching over, and setting his warm hand on the curve of your hip.

Would he turn you, so you were facing him? Perhaps, but you could also see him keeping your back to him. Letting you hide your face, a small mercy, because he would probably know how embarrassed you would be.

Your eyes drifted shut.

It would be easy for him to press his face into the back of your neck, his mouth into the crook where your neck and shoulder met.

And perhaps he would whisper, soothingly, as his hand travelled lower, seeking the hem of your nightgown, sliding it up your thighs and…

No.

Your eyes snapped open as you scolded yourself, a mixture of excitement and shame heating your face. You banished every remotely inappropriate thought from your mind, turning to lie on your back and stare up at the ceiling.

You wondered, briefly, if Minho was looking up at the same thing too. You refused to glance over at him to check. The thought of seeing his face after all…that that had been swirling in your thoughts? Absolutely not.

It took far longer than usual to fall asleep in the deafening silence, but eventually you managed to.

The next morning, you awoke and realised, for the very first time, you had woken up before Minho. He was sleeping peacefully, unaware that the two of you must have turned to face each other in the night, bodies still a careful distance apart.

With one exception – Minho’s left arm lay outstretched, the knuckles of his hand just barely kissing the delicate skin of your wrist.

You stared at where your hands touched, skin-on-skin.

And you did not move your hand away.

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rottiens · 3 months ago

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ਏਓ ! Content. — getō suguru x fem!sorceress reader. pinning, canon au with slight modifications (an au where getō never massacred the village and instead brought the twins to jujutsu tech), sensei getō, shy/reserved reader if you squint, some mentions of gojo (help me), very small age gap (the reader is in her early 20s and getō is 27), the reader wears her hair long enough to wear it tied back.

You stay bent over for a while longer, your face partially hidden by the worn green cap you are wearing, tousled locks escaping their confines to swirl over your forehead and the sides of your face. Your fingers, stiff around the handle of the basket begin to numb as do your knees suspended in the air halfway out of their former position.

You were emptying the basket of apples in aisle three of Fruit and Vegetables when you were caught unawares by a customer who asked for your help. Your heart flutters and your lips, a little parched by the cool spring wind, are half-open.

You look up from your position to finally meet the person who owns the voice, in your head everything has happened in slow motion but you are surprised to realize from the clock on the wall that not even a minute has passed. The cap hides part of the white light from your position as well as part of his face. From your unchangeable pose you get a glimpse of his broad thighs filling out the dark blue uniform pants and a glimpse of his chest down, hidden behind the jacket of the same color.

"I'm sorry, can you repeat that?" you insist, unsure what he had asked for your help with.

Instead, he says your name which takes you by surprise. Your name on his lips makes you feel caressed with an electric rush that runs down your spine. You press your lips together, then wet them, trying to focus more on the present than the hot sensation squeezing your lower abdomen.

"Geto, hello." You opt to pretend you hadn't realized it was him from the first moment.

"What are you doing here?" Suguru asks cutting to the chase as usual and somewhat incredulously glances at the place, verifying that you were indeed in the small supermarket near Jujutsu Tech.

"I work here," you reply tightly, your grip clinging to the baskets even tighter. Then you pull your neck back a little more to check his reaction; eyebrows pressed together gently in confusion.

"Oh," Suguru exclaims immediately, removing an unconscious pout . "I thought you were a sorceress, did you just quit?"

You squeeze your eyes tightly shut, flattered and at the same time conflicted that he knew who you were. This was not something you should be ashamed of but you are. You find yourself on your knees, on the floor with questionable hygiene in a supermarket working for minimum wage while your crush, with whom you had never exchanged more than five sentences, looks down on you like an all-powerful being.

It felt humiliating in a way. His long black hair caught completely back in a loose low bun that seemed to have been done effortlessly, a few strands escaped giving him an appearance of casualness. You were sure he was heading to his classes, smelling as if he had just stepped out of a cold shower, Suguru exuded a mild spicy cinnamon fragrance and you forced yourself not to inhale.

He was impeccable, while you—

Not so much.

Finally you stretch your legs to be about his height and a cramp immediately hits your calves like a hard whip. Seeing you limp, Suguru rushes over to hold you in place with a gentle smile that fills you with warmth.

"Are you okay?" The question sounds intimate in your head, otherwise why else would he be mumbling? He was closer this time, revealing the aroma of the coffee he'd probably had before coming here.

His fingers disappear from your forearm and you regain your stability still with your legs tingling.

"Thank you," you say, avoiding his eyes at all costs. "I needed more money and thought I'd get a part-time job."

"Why didn't you apply for more missions? You could have talked to me or Satoru."

Maybe that was the problem. There were no lower rank missions you could go on, the city had been quiet for a while now, Satoru and Suguru were taking care of the S-rank missions and third grade sorcerers like you didn't have much to do those days which meant less income.

And besides, you'd rather quit than talk to Suguru or Satoru alone, asking for more missions? You couldn't physically stand Satoru teasing you and his flirtatious personality or Suguru looking you up and down, giving you all the attention you've always craved from him (ironic, since that's exactly what he's doing now).

"I'm still new, I don't think I'll be assigned any more missions," you excuse yourself. "Besides you guys take care of the special missions, there's only so much sorcerers like me can do," you laugh dryly, trying to joke your way out of the pincer squeezing your shoulders.

Yet Suguru doesn't laugh with you even though the corners of his lips are stretched upwards giving you a flash of his pearly teeth. He looks you up and down as if scanning you which makes you feel aware of what a mess you were at that moment (your hair tied in a disheveled bun, very different from his, an olive green apron next to the cap of the same color and your blue jeans that are probably dirty from being on the floor every day).

Finally, his eyes return to yours.

"You have potential, I've seen you training, why don't you take the exam to move up a grade? I could recommend you for first grade sorceress even."

He had noticed you. He had actually noticed you in the field, somehow Suguru managed to hide his energy to watch you train alone maybe for hours and the thought makes you move from side to side to release tension, suddenly the air around you is very hard to breathe, heavy like a big wool blanket sinking you towards the ground making you realize that your cursed energy was leaking out of you, overwhelming you with feelings you couldn't control and you knew Suguru could clearly notice it.

"I see..." muses Suguru in a low voice, his tone indicating that he discovered something that perhaps you were unaware of. "You can't control it, can you? That's why you abuse physical training." Just as before he again checks your body up and down, it's as if he's observing the pain in your thighs and feet, the calluses on your hands.

The last is an affirmation so you don't need to respond. "Yeah." You still do, since responding vaguely was much better than continuing to gawk at him.

"C'mere." Suguru takes a step forward and your muscles tense but you allow him to break into your comfort zone, he stretches out his arm showing you his open palm and you understand that you expect him to do the same as he does. Like a mirror, you raise your left hand close to his chest and he immediately takes it and begins to trace the natural lines marked on your palm with his fingertips.

You startle, the sensation is strangely pleasurable. It makes your skin tingle.

"Think of it as a current of wind, it flows inside you like a hurricane. You have to concentrate and imagine spirals in your hand...like this." Speaking softly, as if he is explaining to a child why the sky is blue; Suguru changes the circumference of his strokes to start spirals on your skin, numbing your senses and although it is difficult you let yourself feel the sensation of having him touching you directly and try to channel what you are feeling. "You have to learn to control your emotions to get control of your cursed energy. I can teach you."

Was that why you couldn't feel his or Satoru's cursed energy sometimes? Do they have that much control over their emotions? His words lead you to ponder.

"Teach me?" You parrot back, questioning his suggestion.

"You want to learn?"

"Yes." You are quick to respond, still in the trance his caresses had led you to dive into. It was hypnotic, his touch, having him close, his scent, all your senses were excited, being assaulted by the very person who was going to help you control them and you're not sure how that's going to work.

"Come see me after my classes. I'll be waiting for you."

Then he pulls away from you, immediately your previously suspended arm in the air joins the other at the side of your thigh. Your hands become clenched fists, your teeth sink a little into the soft skin of your cheeks, forcing the sudden pain to keep you upright and aware because you were orbiting around him, trapped and pulled towards his body like a magnet and you didn't want to act on impulse and ask him to touch you again.

"Today?" you question him, filling the silence with your voice.

"If you want to," he replies, almost downplaying it.

"I do." You are quick to respond, which almost makes him smile. His lips quiver in a sort of grin that seems familiar to you (it was exactly the one Satoru wore whenever he had the chance to flirt with you).

"I'll be waiting for you," he assures you, bringing his hand to the infinity of his pockets and you see in his posture the decision to then turn away from you and leave the place which makes you remember....

"Oh! Geto... were you looking for something?"

"Yeah, right. Almond milk for my girls." He suddenly remembers, though your confused face makes him elaborate. "The twins." The mention of the pair of girls detonates flashbacks in your memories. You've heard something in the hallway, something about him being a hero and rescuing a pair of sisters from a village of non-shamans who were abusing them. However you didn't know they maintained such a close relationship, from the aura that surrounded him when he mentioned them it almost feels like a father-daughter relationship.

You nod. "Follow me."

You walk beside him and his footsteps immediately follow the trace of yours, so silently that you seem to be alone. You can't feel him, but the sensation of being watched is always on you, heavy like cold ice pressing against the back of your neck. In aisle four you find what you were looking for, a box of red and white shades with an almond in the center, so large that it takes up a large part of the middle, it sits behind a carton of whole milk and oat milk, right in the small refrigerator at the back.

The heat of the natural environment makes the carton sweat, wet drops sticking to your hands before you can hand it over to Suguru.

"Thanks," Suguru says, grabbing the much sought-after almond milk. Now the twins could make that protein shake they had told him so much about. "I have to go but I'll be waiting for you if you decide to stop by."

"Sure," you assure unconvincingly to both him and yourself and turning around Suguru disappears away from you.

Your eyes follow him to the end of the aisle, he looks huge in comparison to the store and the various aisles, at least a couple of heads bigger making it easy for him to easily peer over them if he wanted to so you doubt for the duration of a blink if he truly hadn't found the milk himself. You notice his shoulders stretch and contract every time he takes a step, only when you stop watching him do you realize that you had held your breath at some point in the past.

On that day Suguru realized two things. First, you had (a lot of) potential and he would make you see it. You needed to work on your confidence, you just needed someone to trust you just as someone trusted him when he discovered his innate technique. The second thing is, apparently you like him as much as he likes you.

Notes. I can't get gojo's name out of my mouth which worries me.

#wr #wr.geto #geto x reader #geto suguru x reader #jjk x reader #geto x you

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jermer10 · 10 months ago

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Hey, I've got a TF2 request, if you don't mind! Mercs with a s/o who accidentally falls asleep with their head on the mercs shoulder. (Very cliche, I know...) I'll let you pick who you want to write for, no pressure! PS, I think your writing is phenomenal, and I anticipate whatever you might post next!

TF2 falling asleep on their shoulder

gn reader | ahhh tysm!! this message means so much :) i decided to write for all the mercs, hope you enjoy!!!

temperatures are in celsius

drabbles under the cut :P

Scout: "Move ova'!" Scout pushed his way onto the already overcrowded couch, disregarding the protests of the other mercs. Tonight was movie night at the red base, and he would be damned if he couldn’t use this as a moment to try and get closer to you. "Hiya toots," he flirted, stretching his right arm out to rest around your shoulders. "Hi Jeremy." You smiled and rolled your eyes playfully. Scout had been crushing on you for a while, every chaste touch and every flirty interaction had culminated in something that far outweighed any feelings he once had for Pauling. The movie had long since started, and mercs were continuing to file into the living room, squishing themselves onto the lounge or plotting themselves onto the floor. He couldn't remember the genre let alone the name of the film, all Scout could hear was the sound of his own heartbeat and the feeling of uncomfortable itchiness in his throat as you cuddled into his side. An hour in and your eyes began to grow heavy, breathing slowing in tandem. Jeremy glanced down at you, his palms moist and his face flushed as he wrapped his arm around your waist, attempting to focus on the movie and not how cute you looked like that. He was definitely asking you out in the morning.

Soldier: Everyone felt hot, sweaty, and exhausted as they slugged themselves back to the blu base. The mood hung heavy, no one seemed interested in Soldier’s usual antics - all except you, of course. You feigned a smile as he ranted about team ethic and the "American spirit", some mercs scowled at the man and others mumbled profanities and sauntered off. A light breeze came in through the afternoon air, Soldier sighed in the smell of Spring. “Hey, we should sit out here for a bit,” you squeezed Jane’s arm, pulling him towards one of the wooden benches placed just outside of the entrance to base. He felt his heart swell, not only did you want to hang out with him, but any touch from you made him absolutely crazy. “AFFIRMATIVE CUPCAKE,” Soldier responded, allowing you to lead the way. You audibly sighed as you sat down, just looking at you it was obvious you were exhausted. “Better luck next time, huh?” you joked, Soldier chuckled and stared out at the afternoon sky. You sat there together for a while, until he felt a sudden, yet small pressure on his shoulder. You had fallen asleep on him, and with anyone else he would have woken them up immediately, but you looked so peaceful and….pretty in a way? Soldier glued his eyes to the afternoon sky, he could think about these feelings later, better to let you rest after a long day.

Pyro: Being friends with Pyro was exhausting in of itself, and they knew this. But they couldn't help wanting to invite you along to their errands, you were their best friend and any time spent with you was time spent well. By the end of the day, you were both well past exhausted. "You're lucky I like you so much, otherwise I would never go on an errand run with you again." You teased, slinging an arm around their shoulders as you both trotted up the stairs to the base entrance. Pyro flushed under their mask, muffling out a "Yeah, yeah whatever, you love me." and rolling their eyes. You chuckled, opening the door to base and dragging yourselves to the living room. Pyro plopped onto the couch, sinking into the plush cushions and removing their mask. They knew the rest of the team wouldn't be back for a while, and the heat of the day had done a number to both of you. You took your seat next to them, sitting back and resting your feet on the coffee table in front of you. "Wanna watch tv?" They asked, grabbing the remote. "Yeah whatevs" You responded, yawning and stretching your arms over your head. An hour of mindless game shows, and you had passed out, head falling on their shoulder. Pyro chuckled, turning the tv down and dimming the lights. They pecked your forehead, and cuddled into you, making themself comfortable.

Demoman: Demo certainly didn’t take you as a drinker, let alone a party animal like himself! You go out for a couple drinks together after a team winning streak and manage to arrive back to base blasted out of your minds, clinging onto one another for dear life in your drunken stupor. “IIIIII LOOVE YOU DEMOOO!!!!” You proclaimed, enveloping your arms around the Scott’s neck. Grinning and face burning, he wrapped his arms around your waist, attempting to gently guide you back to your bedroom. His ongoing feelings for you had always been pushed down, and despite knowing that you were probably just super wasted and wouldn’t remember it in the morning, he didn’t want to waste possibly his only chance to spill at least some of his feelings to you. “Aye, i looove you too y/nnnn” Tavish slurred, poking your face in various places. You laughed and kissed the man on the cheek, “DAAATE ME TAAVAVVVV!!” You lamented, cupping his face in your hands. The sudden movement causing you both to topple over onto the floor of your room. Demo sat up and leant against the foot of your bed, you, laughing hysterically, joined him. Resting your head on his shoulder, your laughter dribbled off to giggles and you listened to his thundering heartbeat. "I really do like you, Tav.." You whispered, peering down at the floor, feeling a wave of tiredness wash over you. You nuzzled into his shoulder, and drifted off, leaving a beet faced Demo staring down at you.

Heavy: Visiting Heavy's home during the middle of a Russian winter was a less than ideal scenario, but the team had wanted to see what a "real winter" was like, and now here you were trudging 2 foot deep in snow towards the wooden lodge. Heavy opened the door to the sight of 9 freezing mercs, and scoffed. "Inside." He commanded. You furrowed your brows and complied, shivering from the contrast of hot air. "Drink." A mug of hot coco was given to you by the gentle giant. "T-thanks.." You mumbled, walking over to the fireplace and sitting cross legged in front of it. Most of the mercs were directed to their rooms, some lounged around in the kitchen or dining area, having quiet conversations. Heavy sat next to you, mug in hand. This was already too close to comfort for you, and he could tell. Whilst he had been crushing on you for a while, he was oblivious to whether you returned those feelings - believing that you were scared of him. But right now your tired eyes and pink cheeks said otherwise, seeking some form of comfort from the man. "Come, I will hold you to warm you up." Mikhail gave you no room for choice, and you were still freezing. You complied and scooted closer to Heavy, resting your head on his chest as he wrapped an arm around you. In an instant, you had fallen asleep, curled up on Heavy, the body heat shared between the two of you giving more warmth than the blazing heat permeating from the fireplace in front of you.

Engineer: Even after hours of battling, the match on 2fort had yet to finish. Scouts from both sides rushing for the briefcase, only to instantly die from sentry guns, Spies in disguise, or a Heavy hopped up on ubercharge. You were ready to drop, the respawn machine healing your wounds but doing nothing for your exhaustion. You knew that Dell was stationed in the intelligence room, sentry setup so anyone who trespassed would be delt with. The perfect place to catch a few z's before heading back out to the fight. "Yo Dell, can I maybe rest down here for a bit?" You implored, watching the man upgrade a dispenser. "Sure darlin'," He smiled earnestly, you gave him a look of relief. Curling up under the desk, you attempted to sleep, but the lack of cushioning made it an impossible task. Dell noticed, and gave the dispenser one last 'clonk' with his spanner before accompanying you under the table. "Here," He scootched up next to you, "You can rest on me if you'd like." You looked up at him, his cheeks felt hot. "Wow - yeah, thanks Dell." Blood rushed to your face as you situated your head on his shoulder. "Anytime, pumpkin." He muttered. Sleep was instantaneous, Engie held his breath until he was sure you were out cold, letting out a deep sigh and smiling down at the floor. How did he get so lucky?

Medic: Medic suffered long nights in the infirmary, and during those nights you would often visit him to keep him company. It was routine - you would saunter in around 9pm, sitting on the edge of the operating table, your feet barely touching the floor, chin resting in the palms of your hands as he tinkered away. He reveled in it - he had grown attached to this schedule, and by extension, you. Your mere presence made him giddy, seeing your sweet smile before he put you under anesthetics made his heart swell. The best nights were the ones where you would let him operate on you, he would be able to enact out his writings, throwing things at the wall and seeing what stuck. Then, you'd either walk out around 3am, or respawn from a botched surgery, and go to bed. Tonight, however, you had proven to be far too tired for a surgery, let alone a full night of softly rambling to Ludwig about whatever crossed your mind. You had pulled up the operating chair and sat next to him, eyes flickering between him and the notes he had been writing in his medical book, slowly drifting off. Your head fell on his shoulder, fast asleep. Medic peered down at you from over his glasses, breathing a lovestruck sigh. Maybe these were the best nights.

Sniper: The middle of the day in Sniper's van was akin to hell. The air smelt stale, windows wide open, no aircon, just the both of you sweaty, sticky, and half clothed. This would usually have embarrassed the two of you, but the 40 degree weather and sound of the other mercs outside attempting to cool off using a singular hose had you both choosing to stay indoors, not wanting to get involved in the argument currently taking place between Demo and Soldier. Heat fogged your brain, you felt so tired, your body sweat all of your energy out. "Fuck, why couldn't you get an AC installed?" You groaned, lazily shutting your eyes and fanning your face with your hand. Sniper shrugged, and despite not being able to see the motion, you scoffed. "Dunno," Mick responded nonchalantly. He trailed off, seemingly succumbing to the same heat induced exhaustion you were fighting with. You opened your eyes slightly, confirming your suspicions that Sniper had also closed his. Arms crossed, head pointing downwards, God, he looked so comfortable. Mick could tell what you were thinking, and he wanted nothing more than to cuddle up to you, but he couldn't bring himself to move. You were close like that, almost reading one another's minds at times. So you made the first step, sliding over to him and laying your head on his shoulder. Sniper was uncomfortably hot, yet refusing to move an inch as you slept on him. Eventually, he couldn't help but nod off alongside you.

Spy: The drive back from your mission was excruciating. Sniper and Medic sat in the driver and passenger seats respectively, the only sound was the droning radio hosts on the van's radio. You had failed, and you knew Spy was seething from the loss. You, however, were so tired you couldn't even stand. Partially from the bullet lodged in your calf, partially from the athlete level running you had to do in order to get back to the van after the high elected government official had caught you in the act attempting to steal nuclear launch codes. Spy was the one to snatch the codes, but you had still been seen, and that in of itself was a failure. Incidentally, Spy had been the one to offer you aid once you were safely in the van. Your arm draped around his shoulders, wincing at the sharp pains running up your leg. As much as he tried to hate you, he just....couldn't. You were too sweet, too kind. So, he opted instead to blame Medic and Sniper for being unable to damage control the situation better. You were slipping in and out of consciousness, head slowly rocking towards Spy's shoulder, and then awkwardly leaning back towards the wall of the vehicle. "Rest your head on me, mon cher. Otherwise you are going to break your nose." He grunted. In an instant you had passed out on him, breathing in the strong scent of cigarettes and expensive cologne. He sighed a breath of relief, enjoying your gentle pressure on his side. Smitten was an understatement.

#tf2 #team fortress 2 #tf2 scout #tf2 soldier #tf2 pyro #tf2 demoman #tf2 heavy #tf2 engineer #tf2 medic #tf2 sniper #tf2 spy #tf2 fanfiction #tf2 imagines #tf2 x reader #tf2 x you #ask #jermer10 #fluff #tf2 fluff

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actual-greenninja · 1 year ago

Text

They spot you in the hot springs in the swordsmith village

Tanjiro/ Genya/ x gn!Reader (separate)

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Synopsis:

You are a demon slayer who has been sent to the swordsmith village to patrol for demons while also waiting for your demon slayer blade (or any weapon) to be repaired. While on your stay you decide to take a relaxing dip in the hot springs. You didn't expect another demon slayer to catch you there, especially not them.

Note: This story contains heavily hinted pining.Reader Is GN! and no pronouns are used. But this is my first time writing gn so please forgive me if it's not the best. Also this is sfw but the character kinda catches you slightly naked.. it's a hot spring of course.

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Tanjiro: ❤️(⁠≧⁠▽⁠≦⁠)

❤️ He is such a sweetheart<3

❤️ Tanjiro would be quite flustered

❤️ but he would try his utmost best to hide it, he wouldn't want to make you uncomfortable

❤️ He will want to join you (considering how he acted with Genya when he saw him at the hot spring)

❤️ Of course if you are Afab! he may be more respectful, but since this is GN! Reader he might be more forward and join you

❤️ He is respectful nonetheless!! He is a little bit blushy but is really just happy to see you

All you needed right now was a relaxing way of spending your afternoon. You had spent the whole night patroling the area, no demons were spotted but you didn't get much sleep as a result of you taking it upon yourself to be on watch for the night. You just needed to relax your body from being on high alert all night. You figured dipping in the hot springs would be a good way to do this.

You got up to the hot springs, the place looked deserted, perfect! You started to remove all pieces of your demon slayer uniform. In no time at all you were in the hot spring waters. You relaxed there in the steamy water for quite a while, feeling alot more at peace. You stood up, you were about to make your way through the hot spring and make your exit, feeling you spent enough time there. Just as you got up you looked to where you came in to see Tanjiro standing there. Your face was flushed, and you couldn't tell, but so was his. He stayed silent for a second before putting on a bright smile, he was happy to see you, but he didn't think he'd see you like this, here.

" [Last name]! Hey! I didn't think I'd see you here! How are you?!" He asked in his usual happy, polite tone, his voice was a little louder than needed, he couldn't really control the volume of his voice when he was nervous. "Um.. hey Tanjiro! Im Good, I just came here to relax in the hot spring..!" You called back to him with a nervous smile. Tanjiro's eyes light up. He gave another one of his sweet, warm smiles, they were so intoxicating. How can someone have a smile as warm as the sun, and eyes as pure as an angels..? "Really? I was just gonna come here and do the same thing! Why don't we relax here together" He asks with a happy smile. Before you can even answer Tanjiro was already stripped down and joining you in the hot waters.

He walked over to you, your smile never wavering. Once he finally made it to you he suddenly became a little more flustered, averting eye contact slightly. He didnt want to accidentally stare at you and your body, he thought you looked lovely, you and your body looked great! But he didn't want to stare, in fear of making you uncomfortable.

Soon enough though Tanjiro started to feel alot more comfortable, you two relaxed in the spring water together, talking about the demons you've slayed, the missions you guys have gone on, how your training has been going for you both and of course talking about how nezuko has been doing.

You both even went to go eat some food that was being served around that time together. You both had a great time together once you both got over your nerves around eachother. Tanjiro was extremely sweet and said with blushy cheeks that if you ever wanted to do this again he'd love to do this again soon! You couldn't help but get super happy. Hopefully you guys will do more things like this in the future!

Overall 10/10, Tanjiro is such a sweetie pie, respectful and overall perfect, I love him so much!!

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Genya:💜(⁠ ⁠˶⁠ ⁠❛⁠ ⁠ꁞ⁠ ⁠❛⁠ ⁠˶⁠ ⁠)

💜 Poor thing

💜 Will probably have a heart attack

💜 he might not even be able to speak

💜 When he does he might act all defensive and act like this is nothing when really you can tell he is on the verge of fainting

💜 Will try his best not to stare at you... Shy baby..

You had heard a few things about the hot springs while on your stay at the swordsmith village. You heard from Tanjiro, your fellow demon slayer and good friend of yours that you should consider taking a dip into the hot springs. He had noticed that you have been a little on edge with training and how you felt a little defenseless with your blade being repaired, leaving you weaponless temporarily.

You decided to take his advice the next day after some training to ease up your thoughts and your muscles. Once you got up to the hot springs you started to undress and relax into the hot spring.

You have to admit, this was super relaxing, you found yourself sinking into the warm water, next thing you knew you were under the water. You noticed a muscular figure entering the water. From underwater, you assumed it was Tanjiro, he did know that you were gonna be here, and you told him that he should feel free to join you. You started making your way to the muscular figure underwater, once you were Infront of him you popped up from under the water with a happy smile.

"Hey Tanjiro-" You were cut off when you realized it wasn't Tanjiro, Rather, it was Genya, the Big, Tall guy who you've noticed while on your stay here. His eyes pierced into your soul, he looked just as shocked. "I- Im so sorry Shinazugawa San! I thought you were Tanjiro!" You said apologetically. You then realised that his cheeks were completely red and he looked like he was about internally combust. He started to stutter, however not actually saying any coherent words. "Um, Shinazugawa San, are you ok? You seem... Panicked?"

He had no idea where to put his eyes, he didnt want to stare at you, but you looked so... Good.... But he was couldn't stare! That's weird and would give you the wrong idea. He feels you have already caught him staring at you multiple times during your stay.

He started to stutter again, his cheeks becoming redder. He then stammered in an angry tone, "T- The hell!? Im Fine! Im Not blushing! God damn it, leave me alone!". He then started to hurriedly exit the Hot spring, completely flushed. You had no idea what just happend, you didn't mention his blush, and why was he so angry when you just asked about his well being? You were rather confused, but you started to smile to yourself, you could tell he was just flustered.

You saw him a while later while you were eating the dinner that had been served to you. You look up to see Genya sitting across the room, staring at you once more. You smiled at him kindly, making him jump. He was extremely flustered. He turned his head away, acting upset, but for a second you swore you saw a small smile on his face.

Overall 7.5/10, cute, but also aggressive. But I love him nonetheless (my baby, he is so cute!!)

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Thanks for reading! Sorry if Tanjiro wasn't written very well, reblogs would be very much appreciated!! I hope to write some more soon, this was fun! Again I hope you guys enjoyed! Constructive criticism is welcome!

#demon slayer #kny x you #kny x reader #kimetsu no yaiba genya #shinaguzawa genya #tanjiro kamado #tanjiro x reader #kny tanjirou #kny genya #genya x reader #genya fluff #tanjiro x y/n #tanjiro fluff #fluff fic #swordsmith village arc #kny season 3

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asa-do-your-thing · 1 year ago

Text

Jack of all Trades, Master of None

Cregan Stark x F!Reader x Jacaerys Targaryen

18+ MINORS DNI

WC: 3,7k

Warnings / tags: pool sex, tag teaming, light anal, deflowering, p in v sex, fingering, porn without plot, no beta reads no nothing.

Anxious beads of sweat formed on your forehead as you shifted uncomfortably under the watchful gaze of Lord Cregan and Prince Jacaerys. Their eyes seemed to bore into your very soul as you floated in the warm, bubbling waters of the hot spring. Tall and handsome, both men held crystal bottles filled with deep red wine in their hands, a sharp contrast to the rough towels draped over their elegant clothing.

Their grins were almost mischievous as they looked down at you, a sight that surely surprised them - after all, you were just the sixth daughter of Lord Reed and the humble nanny to Lord Cregan's son Rickon.

"It seems like we've caught ourselves a mermaid here," Lord Cregan said and let his eyes wander over your womanly frame. He threw his towel next to the stone steps and began unbuttoning his doublet, glancing over at Prince Jacaerys. "That's the Reed girl I told you about."

With a quick flick of your hair and a graceful stroke, you swam towards the steps, your arms modestly covering yourself from the prying eyes of the men. "My apologies, Your Highness, my Lord, I must take my leave," you murmured as you avoided their gazes, cheeks flushed with embarrassment.

But your escape was halted by Lord Cregan, who had slyly removed his garments. You couldn't understand his intentions - to trap you like this in front of the Crown Prince, an honored guest...

Quickly swimming back with a bright flush on your face, you looked away as Prince Jacaerys disrobed as well and followed Lord Cregan into the hot water, groaning at the soothing temperature. This was wrong, oh so wrong, you thought to yourself as you swam up to a small ledge, tucking your legs under yourself and using your hair to shield yourself from their interested looks.

"So, my Lady Reed... whatever brings you to these hot springs so late in the evening? Should you not be in bed?", Prince Jacaerys asked you, letting his eyes wander over your wet, pale body. You knew that he was a Prince the second he opened his mouth - all of his words, his manner of speech, and gods, even his voice were regal and commanding, making you blush heavily.

Just as you wanted to defend your virtue, Lord Cregan stepped in for you as he gently, but firmly laid one of his big hands on the naked small of your back as he pushed you off of the ledge, closer to the shallower area where the Prince was standing. "Show some courtesy to your future King, my Lady, and answer his question," he mumbled quietly into your ear, his beard gently tickling your pale, soft cheek making you shiver and blush even more.

Prince Jacaerys Velaryon, Queen Rhaenyra's eldest son, was undeniably attractive. As he rested his arms on the edge of the pool and looked at you, it was hard not to be captivated by his beauty. He had a slimmer build compared to Lord Cregan, but the way his veins popped against his skin and the small trail of black hair down his toned stomach made your mouth go dry as you struggled to curtsy without dipping your head into the water. "Please forgive me, your Highness. I should be resting in bed. Keeping up with the future Lord Stark has been exhausting lately... And it was so chilly tonight, please excuse my forwardness, your Highness and my Lord. I simply wanted to feel some warmth."

You fought your hardest to suppress a shriek as he pushed himself and swam up to you, quickly turning you around and pressing himself against your well-rounded buttocks. He smelled incredible and you could feel him chuckling silently as he ran his surprisingly soft hand over your naked form over and under the water, as if to taunt Lord Cregan.

"Oh, dear Cregan, she is very cold..." He noted with a smirk as you shivered against his gentle touch, especially as he traced his thumb over your sore nipple, making you sharply inhale the damp air in the grotto. "It does seem like small Rickon is taking his toll on her. Tsk-tsk, Cregan, is that how you treat Lady Reed?"

Making sure you didn't look away, Lord Cregan came closer to you and tightly held your chin in his hand, giving you an almost challenging look. "Do you wish to tell you that I do not treat you well, my Lady Reed?"

Gods, gods, gods, you muttered over and over in your mind as you could feel the Prince's cock hardening against your asscheeks and at the way Lord Cregan's eyes seemed to burn into yours. "N-no, not at all my Lord, you are very generous and kind," you pressed out as he stepped even closer and gave Prince Jacaerys a look over your shoulder.

"Indeed I am, my Lady," he mumbled and moved to pinch one of your sore nipples, but was gently pushed back by Prince Jacaerys.

"Lord Stark, I believe the Lady has wished for warmth and relaxation. Is it not in your duty to provide for your subject's needs?", Prince Jacaerys whispered lowly against your ear, nibbling on it, making you scrunch up your face so as not to moan or follow your body's instinctive need to rub yourself against one of the men's hardening members.

Beads of sweat formed on your forehead as you shifted uncomfortably under the watchful gaze of Lord Cregan and Prince Jacaerys. Their eyes seemed to bore into your very soul as you bobbed in the warm, steaming waters of the hot spring, your hair gently swaying around your curvy form.

The sound of their voices echoed off the rocky walls, making your heart race even faster with each word they spoke. Their grins were almost mischievous as they looked down at you; it felt like they were sharing a secret joke that you weren't part of.

You couldn't help but notice the way Lord Cregan's eyes traced your every curve and how he licked his lips unconsciously. It was clear that he found you desirable - he had let you know that for a long while, but to be found desireable by the Queen's heir? That was another thing, by far.

Lord Cregan gently released your chin as he stepped back, allowing Prince Jacaerys to take over with a wide smirk on his face, his strong, broad arms crossing on his muscular chest. You couldn't help but whimper softly as the Crown Prince held you even tighter and lifted your hair over his shoulder so Cregan had a full view of your nakedness.

With a soft smirk, he pressed his hard length against your entrance, rubbing it teasingly against you as he leaned down and kissed the nape of your neck, sucking it gently with just the right amount of force to make you gasp and arch your back. The double sensation of both water and his warm mouth on your skin made you shiver. He pulled back with a satisfied hum, looking up at Lord Cregan who seemed equally amused.

"You see, little mermaid? What do you think happens when two strong men like us want what we desire?" he asked, his voice rumbling as he traced his fingers down your stomach and onto the mound between your legs. You were slick from excitement, making it easy for him to tease you further.

His finger dipped inside, finding your entrance already hot and wet for him. "You are tight," he whispered huskily, making you tremble as another finger entered you slowly. You moaned in pleasure mixed with discomfort, feeling stretched but wanting more of this wicked delight. "Do you like it when we share you?"

"I-I would not know my Lord," you managed to squeak out between moans as Prince Jacaerys' long finger pushed further inside you, making another moan escape your shivering lips.

Lord Cregan came closer to you and kissed you hungrily, his rough hands playing with your supple breasts. You held tightly onto him as Prince Jacaerys continued to bully your inexperienced cunny, your nails digging into his broad back. "Mh, I think she'll come undone in an instant if you continue like that, your Highness," Cregan mumbled and slid his hand down as well, rubbing your hot pearl, making you shriek in pleasure.

"Too much... I... please!", you hiccuped, tightening yourself around the Prince's fingers, your face flushing uncomfortably hot. "Please, I've never... 'm a maiden..."

Prince Jacaerys chuckled as he pinched your nipple gently, making you gasp and arch your back as he thrust his fingers deeper into your tight sheath, finding your sweet spot with ease. "Such a delicate little flower," he whispered in your ear, his hot breath sending shivers down your spine. Lord Cregan let out a low growl, leaning down to tease your other nipple with his lips before closing them around it, sucking gently.

You let out a high-pitched moan as they took turns teasing and pleasuring you, their hands roaming freely over your wet skin. You felt overwhelmed by the sensations as they claimed you like this, their bodies looming over yours in a dominating manner that made your heart race. With each thrust of their fingers inside you, you could feel yourself growing wetter and needier for more.

Lord Cregan groaned in approval as he slid two fingers into your tight passage, stretching you further than you ever thought possible. You moaned incoherently as they began to move in unison, their hands tracing every curve and hollow on your body. They smelled of sweat and saltwater mixed with expensive cologne from the south that made the air thick with desire. The taste of him was different from Prince Jacaerys - more musky and masculine - but it only added to the thrill of being taken by not one, but two men at once, neither of them your betrothed.

"Oh, but you are no longer a maiden, are you?" Prince Jacaerys teased, his fingers finding your weak spot once more, making you gasp as he pressed and rubbed against it. "I think you've been well taken care of, my dear." He smirked down at you, his lips brushing your earlobe. "Now, we can decide on how to break you in together."

You felt Lord Cregan chuckle darkly against your lips, his beard grazing your skin as he nipped at your bottom lip playfully. "Indeed," he agreed, his own fingers joining in the assault on your sensitive flesh, rubbing circles around your clit as his fingers plunged deep inside you with each thrust.

The water lap against your body and the roughened walls all around created a symphony of sensations that heightened the experience even more. You couldn't help but whimper and moan into Lord Cregan's mouth, overwhelmed by pleasure and fear of what was happening.

Prince Jacaerys pulled his fingers out of you with a pop, leaving you aching for more, tightening around Lord Cregan's. "Don't worry, little one," he murmured, leaning down to lift your hips up to Lord Stark's. "We'll take good care of you." He guided Lord Cregan's member to your entrance once he retracted his fingers and watched as it slowly slipped inside you. The burn was not as bad as you'd anticipated, yet you blushed just the same when you saw a tiny cloud of blood leave your cunny.

"The Lady did not lie, she truly is a virgin," Prince Jacaerys said and kissed you hungrily, pushing you down against Lord Stark's thrusts. "Such a good girl, aren't you? Taking us with no complaints, moaning and squeezing us tighter than any other."

His words sent shivers down your spine, and you couldn't help but cry out as Prince Jacaerys' fingers found their way into your mouth, massaging your cheeks, and teasing your tongue as his ally began to move inside you. The stretch was intense, but the pleasure that came with it was beyond what you could have imagined.

It felt like a mix of pain and ecstasy, as if you were both being ripped open and filled up at the same time. You groaned into Prince Jacaerys' taste, savoring the saltiness of his skin and the muskiness of his sweat mixed with the hot water that surrounded you.

You could feel Lord Cregan's hips move faster with each passing moment, his strong arms pinning your shoulders to the side as he plunged deeper into you. You clung onto him tightly, feeling his rough skin against your breasts as they swayed with every thrust. The sound of their bodies slapping together echoed in the water around you, creating a melody that only increased the arousal coursing through your veins.

Prince Jacaerys let out a husky chuckle before snaking one of his hands to your asscheek, whick he squeezed unimaginbly tight. you loudly cried out as your felt one of his fingers, which was still slick with your drool, gently swirl against the entrance of your bottom. The sensation sent shockwaves of pleasure through your core, causing you to writhe against Lord Cregan's member buried inside you. You couldn't believe how good this felt.

Just as Lord Cregan quickly pulled out of you and took a deep breath, Prince Jacaerys very gently shushed you and carried you over to the ledge, where he placed you onto your knees and slipped his longer cock in, giving you very slow, sensual thrusts. "You're so good to us, little one," Lord Cregan muttered as he joined you as well, giving you a sloppy kiss and sitting up in front of you, his cock just above the water in front of your puckered mouth.

"You'll get everything you want and more as long as you continue taking us so well, you little slut," he mumbled, gently sticking his large thumb into your mouth, almost making you gag. "Your future King loves your tight little cunny, you're making it hard for us to not just fill you with our seed."

You felt yourself torn between pleasure and pain, but the Lord's thumb in your mouth ground you back to reality. Your hips rocked with every thrust, matching the Princes rhythm as he took your cunt from behind. You could taste both of their salty skin on your tongue, their musky scent filling your nostrils.

You whimpered into Cregans' cock as he removed his thumb and replaced it with his thick cock, his hand gripping your wet hair tightly to hold your head in place as he fucked your mouth slowly, making sure you take him all the way down. His length slid against your tongue with each stroke, sending shivers down your spine.

The water echoed with slapping skin and men's grunts of pleasure. The waves crashed against the cliffs, drowning out the sounds of the night around you as Jacaerys gently teased your puckered back entrance with his thumb. Your mind went blank in ecstasy as his cock found the spot that made you see stars every time he rammed against it, feeling him fucking it over and over again.

His fingers dug into your hips, leaving bruises that only added to the ache between your legs as you wanted beg for more from him only to be met with the response thrust from Cregan into your throat, saliva dripping down your reddened lips. Lord Stark growled lowly, grabbing onto your hair and pulling slightly as he pushed deeper inside you. He grunted in approval at the noises you made you you felt that if you wanted to take a breath he'd always take the pressure away from your hair to reassure you that he wasn't forcing you.

Your body couldn't help but respond to the dual stimulation. You were being brutally taken by two men, one fucking your throat and the other pounding your pussy, but you couldn't deny the unparalleled pleasure it brought you. The water lapped against your skin, cooling you off from the heat between your thighs as Prince Jacaerys slammed into you from behind. A soft moan escaped your lips each time his hips met with yours, sending shockwaves through your core.

The taste of salt and musk filled your mouth as Lord Cregan's cock slid in and out, stretching it to its limits. As he picked up speed, his heavy breathing mixed with the sound of slapping skin and splashing water created a symphony of passion in the air.

Prince Jacaerys, meanwhile, moved slower inside you, teasing your sweet spot mercilessly as he pressed his lips against your neck. His hand found its way to your breast once more, squeezing it roughly before pinching your nipple between his fingers, sending tingling sensations down your shaking body. You cried out into Lord Cregan's cock, unable to contain yourself any longer.

"That's it," he growled into your ear, "take our cocks like the good little whore you are."

You moaned into Cregan's cock, tasting him deeply as you felt Jacaerys' rough hands on your body, possessing and demanding, his cock twitching against your tightening walls.

"You belong to us," Cregan murmured reverently against as he looked down on you, "and we're going to make sure you know that."

You whimpered as the men pulled out slowly and as the Prince slapped his cum onto your back, hot and sticky. You arched forward, unable to help yourself as Cregan pushed back in once more. "Mine," he growled lingeringly before leaning down to snake his arms under yours and to pull you onto his lap.

Jacaerys groaned behind you, his hand tousling his shaggy mop of dark hair as he sat back and tried catching his breath. "You're so fucking magnificent," he breathed and grinned as he watched you grining and bobbing up and down on Cregan's cock.

As you rode your Lord, you felt like you were floating up in the heavens, especially as he held you so softly, kissed you so reverently, it was as if he wanted to reward you for letting him fuck you so roughly, you immediately felt yourself coming apart as his thick finger bullied your overstimulated clit by rubbing it steadily. "Come for your Lord, my precious, take my cock and milk it," he mumbled senselessly as your nails drew sharp lines over his broad chest.

As the wave of pleasure washed over you, your body shuddered and jerked as if it had a mind of its own, as did Cregan's. Your walls clamped down around his cock, milking him dry while his fingers dug deep into your ass cheeks, holding you open for Jacaerys to see how your cunt was spasming around the cock and leaking his hot spend.

The men's roughness and demanding actions left you breathless, yet strangely satisfied. You were also pleasantly surprised at the way how Lord Cregan had released you ever-so-gently and continued holding you in a tight hug so that you didn't need to keep yourself afloat in the hot water.

Feeling the sturdy chest of Lord Cregan pressing against your heaving chest, you looked up to see him smiling at you, his eyes filled with an affectionate glow. "You were magnificent, my Lady," he praised, his voice a deep, soothing purr that vibrated through your body. He pulled you closer against him, one hand lazily tracing down your spine to rest on the curve of your hip. His other hand intertwined with yours and you found yourself nuzzling into the crook of his neck.

Feeling emboldened by the warm affection radiating from him, you whispered back, "And what reward do I get for being so?" A breathy chuckle echoed through his chest as he gave your hip a firm squeeze.

"Name your reward and it shall be yours," he murmured into your ear, sending a shiver down your spine.

Before you could answer, Prince Jacaerys waded towards the two of you through the steamy water, his eyes filled with mirth and admiration. "Indeed," he chimed in with a sly grin. "Your performance was nothing short of spectacular. Name any desire of yours and we will ensure it is granted."

With their noble praise echoing in the steamy chamber, their gazes expectantly on you, you took a deep breath and let it out slowly. You had made up your mind about what you wanted even before they made their offer.

"I would like to become Lord Stark's wife and to... repeat whatever this was at another point," you announced breezily. You felt Cregan's intake of breath against your back and heard Jacaerys' surprised laughter ringing out in the chamber.

"Oh, a bold request," Jacaerys laughed again, his eyes twinkling with both amusement and admiration. "You aim for the stars, my lady."

A soft rumble echoed from Cregan’s chest as he tightened his grip around your waist. There was an uncanny silence stretching out between the three of you; the only sounds filling the room were the gentle lapping of water against the stone walls and your own pounding heartbeat.

"Wife," Cregan repeated softly, running his rough fingers down your arm. His dark eyes met yours with a silent question, a spark of something undefined glowing in their depths.

"You are sure?" he asked gently, though there was anticipation beneath his calm facade. He looked at you intently, his grip on you tightening as if he was afraid you would slip away from him.

You nodded, looking straight into his eyes - your gaze unwavering. "Yes," you murmured, your voice firm despite the wonderment that was flowing inside you. "But on one condition."

Cautious curiosity reflected in Cregan's eyes as he nodded for you to continue. "And what would be that?" he questioned with a hint of amusement tugging at the corners of his lips.

"That Jacaerys doesn't fade into the shadows," you said pointedly looking back at the prince who seemed taken aback by your statement. "I want him to continue being a part of... whatever this is."

Jacaerys blinked at you several times before letting out a surprised chuckle. "Well, my Lady," he drawled lazily, running a hand through your wet hair and hugged you from behind, kissing your cheek chastely, "who am I to deny us all such passion. Though next time a bed would be more comfortable, don't you think?""

Tags: @fairysluna @aemondtarqaryens

#asas fics #fanfiction #jacaerys smut #jacaerys velaryon #hotd #house of the dragon #cregan stark #cregan stark smut #prince jacaerys #jacaerys x reader

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thoughtsfromlayla · 7 months ago

Text

26 Ways of Taking You: E for Edging

Summary: Hell hath no pettiness like a woman ignored.

Notes: ~4k words of pure POR-, Dream in this fic can be summed up as "the light is on but no one is home", reader gives big bratty energy and I love that for her honestly (same)

Warnings: NSFW 18+, Sub!Dream, orgasm denial, edging (duh), unprotected intercourse, p in v, handjob, blowjob, riding, takin' it from da back

⠄･ ⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠄･ ⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠄･ ⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄

Main Masterlist | Series Masterlist

D for Doggy ⇆ F for Face Sitting

How busy could a monarch possibly be?

You sit on the plush couch, quietly seething like the crackling fireplace that accompanies you. It should be your husband who should be accompanying you instead. The book you were supposedly reading has long since become words on a page, the letters merging together and tangling within themselves. You dejectedly shut the book with a bang as you realize you’ve been rereading the same line with no progress for the past hour.

You understand that Morpheus’ duties are never ending, as endless as his name, but would it really kill him to spend a few hours a day with you? With a sigh, you toss the book onto the ottoman and stand, your bones groaning as they finally move after hours of staying still. A bath wouldn’t sound half bad right now.

Another sigh of relief leaves you as you enter the bathhouse. The large communal bath of natural spring waters was completely empty. You still take a quick glimpse around before stripping yourself before submerging into the hot water, the sudden change in temperature making your nipples perk. The temperature burns you for a moment, but you soon become acclimated to it. You completely submerge yourself, the natural hum of The Dreaming deafens as you do, and with all of your pent up frustrations, you scream into the water, watching as the air leaves your lips in large, aggressive bubbles that swim to the surface.

“Anyway,” You say to yourself when you resurface, already feeling much better.

You move to the side, grabbing at a bar of soap, and begin to lavish it across your skin, feeling the soothing effect glide over your skin. The water was doing wonders on your muscles and the hum that leaves your lips was that of satisfaction.

“There you are,” Morpheus’ voice echoes in the empty room.

You turn slowly as you look at him, your body fully submerged in the water, except for anything above your nose. You stay quiet, too vexed with him to say anything of note. Instead, you turn away and continue washing your body.

“Are you that angry with me?” He continues and you hear the faint rustling of him removing his clothes and him walking into the bath soon after. The still water sloshes around his waist as he continues his path towards you and you soon feel his cooler limbs wrap around your body.

“Have you missed me?” He murmurs into your neck as he rests his head there. The comfort of your skin against his revitalizes his tired body.

The grip you had on the soap turns bone-crushing at his question. Have you missed me? You repeat his question in your head in a mocking tone. He surely needs to be punished for leaving you alone for so long. A plan is quick and easy to form in your head and a sly smile crawls on your lips.

You turn in his arms, the same smile on your lips as you look up at him.

“Dearly,” You answer back and press your lips to his. The heat of the bathhouse increases the heat that grows at your core. “Let me show you how much, my love.”

The suds of the soap drips down your hand as you continue to lather the bar with your one hand. The other hand is placed commanded on his shoulder to prevent him from running away, as if he would ever do so from your touch. A smile appears on his face as well as your sudsy hand trails down his chest and closer to his nether regions.

It is of no surprise to you when you already feel his half erection greeting you beneath the waters. Your slippery fingers grasp around the shaft and a broken gasp leaves Dream’s mouth. You meticulously move your hands along his cock as you wickedly watch as he throws his head back in pleasure. His Adam’s apple bobs with each beautiful sound that comes out of his throat and you don’t restrain yourself from wrapping your lips around the protruding piece.

Slowly, your hand increases in pace, gripping his cock tighter as you do so, the water and soap assisting you as your fingers glide across the skin. His moans and groans soon turn breathless and he’s simply breathing hard and desperate against your hand. The sounds echoed across the walls of the bathhouse.

His hands shoot out of the water as he grabs the back of your neck, looking deeply into your eyes as your hand continues its ministrations. His eyebrows crease as his dick jumps in your hand, mouth open in a silent plea as his orgasm comes closer to its peak. A whisper of your name like a prayer falls from his lips and both of you know he won’t last long. Morpheus closes his eyes in anticipation as his muscles tense below his skin.

His eyes snap open as your fingers leave him, pushing yourself back away from his body and he’s left standing on wobbly legs. The water ripples from his trembling and close orgasmed body.

“What-”

“Would you look at the time? I should go to bed now. Good night, Morpheus,” You cut him off with a firm hand.

His eyes follow you as you walk out of the bath. Eyes lingering on the roundness of your ass cheeks as they pop out further as you climb up the stairs. His feet stay planted in the bath as you wrap yourself in a towel. He stays still even as you leave the room without a second glance at you. He could finish himself off, but he knows it wouldn’t be as good as your hands.

The next day, you catch Morpheus and yourself by surprise as you see him standing along the aisles of the library. Embarrassment floods your system as you vividly remember what transpired the other day. Never had you defied him so easily… and felt so happy to do so.

You peek over the bookshelf you were half hiding behind. Morpheus had an off-glazed look in his eyes. His finger was resting on the spine of a book and he kept it there for a while. If you squint you don’t think he was even breathing. You walk up to him, his gaze still not noticing you. A tap on his shoulder was enough to garner his attention, and he seemed to snap out of his zombie-like state after seeing you.

“Are you all right, my dear?” You ask in truth. His distracted demeanor is a cause for concern.

Almost immediately his eyes harden and a frown grows on his face.

“You,” He growls down at you. “You left me wanting last night, denying me such a thing like that is cruel.”

You huff at his accusation. If denying one orgasm is cruel, what does he call leaving you alone for days on end then?

“Want me to make it up to you?” You reply coyly and with a smile. Your fingers go to the lapels of his jacket and smooth over them.

A quizzical brow raises itself at your compromise but his will dejects with a sigh. “How would you do that, dearest?”

“Well, I could…” You trail off as your fingers down his chest, just like the night before. You feel the sturdiness of the chest and how his heartbeat thrums beneath your fingers. He’s so real for the physical manifestation of a concept. “I could do something better than last night?”

He hums as your fingers ghost over the hem of his jeans, feeling his happy trail and the depth of the lines that lead itself to his cock. You cup at his growing hardness through the rough material and his hands once again go to you, holding you gently on your waist.

His eyes hold yours as you sink to your knees before him, a smile still evidently on your face. You don’t bother looking away when your fingers pop the button, nor when you pull at the zipper, his breath growing heavier at each tick of the metal. Your fingers tickle gently over the length of him behind the thin cloth of his underwear.

His hand grabs at the root of your hair as his hips impatiently bucks into your face. With a flat tongue, you press the wet appendage over the tip of him, wetting the cloth underneath as you trace around his frenulum. The smell of his manhood invades your senses as you do so and your eyes roll to the back of your head at his soft moan.

A little pull is all you need for his cock to spring out of its confinement, hot and heavy and leaking with excited precum. You feel its warmth as your soft lips kiss his tip, taking your hands around his base. You lick at the precum carefully then and his grip strengthens in your hair.

“You said it would be better. Enough teasing,” He commands and you feel your lips tug into a barely containable smile.

Without debate you wrap your lips around his tip, suckling at the supple skin. The bookshelf he leans against rattles as his head slams into the wooden material. You take down another inch while your hand continues to work his base. Saliva drips through your lips, creating a trail down a vein as you continue to suckle.

A guttural groan tells you to go deeper, and you do until you feel him hitting the back of your throat. Your eyes begin to tear slightly at the large intrusion, but you push through for your master plan. You hollow out your throat, taking him down the tight cavern, and relish in the feeling of his thighs flexing under your fingers.

Your nails dig into his thigh muscles as you bob your head back and forth on his weeping cock, the filthy mixture of saliva and pre-cum rests deliciously on your tongue. Morpheus has started to curse from above you at the warm fit. The Dreaming around you begins to hum louder as you pull back on his cock, sucking as hard as you could with him in your mouth.

His dick jumps in your mouth, his telltale sign that he is close to his orgasm. That and your name falling from his lips once again. His hand has yet to leave your hair as his hips try to take over by bucking themselves into your mouth each time you try to pull back. His thigh muscles spasm each second that passes and just as he’s about to see the stars, you remove your lips with a satisfying pop.

Cold air wraps around his cock instead of your warm mouth and he does his best to stop the whine that almost escapes his lips. Morpheus’ breath is ragged above you and his frown returns as he glares down at you. You looked perfect like this to him, on your knees, cheeks flushed, hair messy, and eyes watery. The only thing wrong with the picture was your satisfied grin that spread across your face and that very obvious fact that your mouth isn’t being put to use satisfying him.

“What do you-”

“Oh my, I think I hear Lucienne coming. I should go, goodbye, Morpheus!” You cheerfully lie as you stand and briskly walk away.

Lucienne was, of course, nowhere to be seen in the library. Both of them knew she was out gathering the consensus for the new year. Morpheus groans as he presses his palms into his eyes. You were going to be the death of him, even without trying. He’s starting to finally think that you were up to something, that devious smile of yours still flashes across his mind when he closes his eyes. He carefully puts his softening cock back into his pants as he absentmindedly thinks to himself. He doesn’t even remember why he was in the library to begin with.

Morpheus’ thoughts trail with him throughout the day and even the Dreaming residents notice the forlorn face that he wore. It was said that while he was attending to his duties and upholding the Dreaming, it was almost barely viable. His attitude turned sour and only answered Matthew’s questions with a simple grunt or resounding “no” (not much of a change there if you were to ask the bird). Lucienne was less than amused but unable to find you to help fix this issue, she kept quiet and hoped it would pass quickly with time.

That night, you were back on that couch, the fireplace was going again and the book you were reading was back in your hands. You’re freshly washed and enjoying the soft fabric of your summer’s nightgown as your feet tangle with the soft furs of the rug. This time, you did manage to read a few chapters but after a while, your thoughts went to the faces Morpheus made each time you denied his orgasm and a chuckle shakes through you. Surely this will teach him to never leave you alone for more than a couple days at a time.

The Dreaming this and The Dreaming that, well, next time he will remember that you too are a part of his world if he should ever want to feel the sweet release of his orgasm again. You’re sure the last two days have been Hell for him, but it was all worth it. That desperate look on his face was like sweet victory trickling down your throat, smooth and refreshing.

The door to your shared room opens with a bang causing you to drop your book in surprise. You look at Morpheus with wide eyes as you’re completely caught off by his sudden intrusion. Words fail you as he swiftly makes his way to you, standing in front of you with his lips tugging downwards. A scoff leaves you as you realize he’s pouting at you.

“What ever is the matter, sweet Morpheus?” You tease in an almost condescending, sickly sweet voice.

“You’re punishing me.” It wasn’t a question. He states it loud and clear. It had taken him all day to decipher your actions. The thought had been chasing him for the past two days, but he was always faster than it, jittering from denied orgasms and responsibilities to accomplish.

“No!” You gasp with exaggeration. “We were simply interrupted!”

Morpheus stays silent at your blatant lie, if anything you basically smacked him with a sign that read “yes, obviously, you numb-nut of a lover.” He doesn’t bother to move either, his eyes betraying his pseudo-domineering stance at the moment.

“Well, good conversation then,” You mutter to yourself as you pick up your book again. You turn to the page you left off on and begin to read again.

Morpheus’ gaze burned two holes into the top of your head as you read. Not before long, another surprised noise leaves you as he plucks the book from your hands and throws it off into some unknown corner of the room.

“Lucienne is going to murder you for treating her books like that,” You comment with a cross of your arms.

“She’ll survive,” He growls down at you. He’s met with your brow raising in turn, in which he finally pieces the last piece together. “Are you acting out because I’ve been neglecting you?”

Dang, he really hit the nail in the head with that one. You turn your head to the side, arms still crossed as you respond.

“Well, I certainly got your attention this time.”

“I’d say,” He muses. He sits down by your feet, the white fur of the rug in stark contrast to his outfit. The fireplace softens his sharpness with its warm glow as you look at him from above.

You think the conversation was over then, it seemed like the two of you came to a conclusion. Getting up from the couch, you try to walk over to the corner the book was lying in, but are stopped almost immediately as he holds onto your wrist.

“How can I make it up to you, my love?” He asks and the pout almost makes it to his lips again. And, well, how can you say no to a face like that?

You join him on the rug, hands cupping at his face. He leans into your touch, the moment endearing as you look at him.

“Did we learn anything?” You ask.

“Yes.”

“Lay down for me, darling. And let’s get rid of the clothes,” You hum.

The change is instantaneous as he lays down per your request. The furs caress against your shins as you move to straddle him, picking up the helms of your nightgown in the process. Your arousal starts to drip out of you at the sight before you. Reducing a King to nothing but a needy lover was a sight for fond eyes. It’s the thought of knowing that he could easily overpower you if he so wanted, but relinquishing all his power just so you may touch him? Delicious.

Your pussy lips slide across the length of him as you get comfortable sitting on his lap. Morpheus’ hands easily find themselves, once again on your waist. How he wished you would strip for him as well, but he doesn’t voice his want in case you decided against touching him tonight.

Leaning over, you go to kiss him, feeling his soft lips against yours and even you can’t deny your body when it grinds down over his cock. A satisfied hum emits from your throat as his hands wander over the curve of your ass and you leave his lips to give him bruising kisses along his pale skin. You are a painter and he is a canvas where you will show the world how much you loved him. Red blooms across the soft skin, his grip on you tightening.

His hips thrust upwards with a moan, to which you defiantly sit down harder on him to prevent him from moving anymore. Your name falls from his lips in a hushed whisper, barely audible over the crackling fire. It sends a tug into your core, to hear it in such reverence. With heavy breath, you lean back and watch as his lips try to chase you.

Morpheus stops himself short when he sees you raising slightly, hand moving between the two of you and firmly grabbing at his cock. You guide himself under you, teasing him a bit more by sliding his tip across the length of your slit. His mouth opens in protest, but before words can come out, you sink yourself onto him.

Harmonious groans tangled with each other at the feeling. The familiar stretch of him leaves you panting above him. Your warmth was incomparable to your hands or mouth and Morpheus’ nails left small crevices in your thighs. The slight pain grounds you from drifting off into a complete world of pleasure. It takes a few moments for you to start moving your hips, the size of him taking a few moments to adjust to. The first drag of his cock in you leaves you shaking already. It had been too long since you had last felt the touch of his skin against yours.

With your hands bracing themselves on his chest, you begin your bounces, keeping a rhythm that you like. Morpheus is like putty beneath your fingers, grasping at any part of you that he could in his throes of pleasure. His hair is beyond tussled, his lips dry and parted as noises accompany the slap of your thighs against his.

Each bounce makes his tip kiss against your cervix, your walls fluttering around him in a vice like grip at how well you took him. It was familiar but exciting each time you took him again and again. The smell of sex accompanies the smell of burning wood on the floor as your thighs shake in exhaustion.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” You whine out as you realize your rhythm starts to slow down.

You settle to grind on him instead, loving the way the new maneuver has his tip rubbing against the spongy spot in you. You gasp with your head thrown back as you’re about to reach your peak.

Morpheus stares at you in awe, sweat highlights your skin in the lowlight and your breasts bounce with each grind you push down onto him. Your hands brace themselves on his thighs as you feel your orgasm impeding slowly into your system. Just a few more like this and you would be done for and Morpheus would soon follow.

Another mischievous idea pops into your head through the haze of pleasure. With the remainder of your strength, you rise, letting his cock slip out of you. Morpheus whines this time, unable to hold it back as his hands grip your waist trying to pull you back onto him, to let you ride him into oblivion.

You feel his heat as you hover over his cock, panting into his neck. You may have denied your own orgasm, but seeing his teary and begging eyes was exactly what you wanted. His chest heaves with annoyance as a familiar frown makes its way onto his face.

“What do you think you are doing? I am going to kill you,” He accuses beneath you. The insult leaves his mouth but both of you know he would never follow through with it.

“I think… ha…” You’re still panting, cardio has never been your strong suit. “I think I’m too tired. I should turn in for the night, my love.”

“Surely you are joking,” He laughs void of any actual amusement.

“No, no, I’m just sooo tired. Yeah.” You fake a yawn as you unstraddle his waist.

His eyes trail you as you stand on wobbly legs, using the couch as a crutch as a halfway point to your shared bed.

“Absolutely not,” He comments as his hand brings you down again having you kneeling before the couch.

He’s quick to appear behind you, running his fingers down your spine to rest on your hip. The sensation leaves you weak and limp, bracing on the seat of the couch and resting your head on your arms. A kiss to the center of your shoulder blades is the only warning he gives before he inserts himself into you again.

Morpheus doesn’t wait as he picks up a brutal pace, each thrust he gives you communicating his frustrations. The legs of the furniture scratch the floor beneath it as it rocks with your body. You’re left, once again, panting in pleasure at the drag of his cock within your walls.

His grip on your hip is enough to bruise, to remind you of your passionate night the day after. His other hand snakes in front of your neck, pushing your face upwards, scattering your broken moans into the air.

The orgasm you denied yourself comes back with full force, your eyes shutting as you feel it searing through you. With help from Morpheus, as he thrusts forward into you, your lower lips clamp down onto him, releasing your cum over the front of his highs in a satisfying orgasm. Your back bows forward at the release and you’re left panting into the cushions.

“Let me cum,” He weakly commands as he feels your slick coating him.

“Please, yes! Cum,” You moan, riding through your orgasm as he continues pumping into you.

He bites down on your shoulder, his groan muffled between your skin as he climaxes into you. His cock twitches in you as he cum releases into the deepest part of your being. You feel as if your mind is full of cobwebs as he stays in you, keeping you full until his erection turns soft.

The softness of your shared bed barely registers in your mind as he moves the two of you over. The blanket is placed over your naked bodies and he pulls you close. His lips press into your temple as he chants mantras of his devotion to you as you fall asleep in his arms a satisfied smile on his face.

This time, Morpheus has learned his lesson as he stares adoringly at your peaceful face. How could he ever forget something like that?

D for Doggy ⇆ F for Face Sitting

Main Masterlist || Series Masterlist

Time to get back to that angst fic, but we can enjoy this as like... a palate cleanser or something

I'm now on Ao3! The fics are very slowly getting added when I have the energy to. I never knew how in-depth the tagging system went and I get tired looking at it...

♡ Yours, Layla

#the sandman #dream of the endless #morpheus #morpheus x reader #dream x reader #the sandman fanfic #dream of the endless x reader #the sandman x reader #sandman x reader #morpheus x reader smut #dream of the endless x reader smut #dream x reader smut #lord morpheus #dream the endless #26 ways of taking you

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piratesfromspace · 10 months ago

Text

Just Like Old Times PART 2 (Price x Reader + poly141)

Pairing: Reader x Price + Reader x 141 Rated: Explicit Word count: 4.3k Summary: Some flirting, hot springs, a cosy cottage in the snow, and lots of sex Note: This is the part 2 I promise with lots of smut, enjoy!

Content: ex-military!fem!reader, mention of food & alcohol, smoking, praise kink, heavy smut, fivesome, oral, PiV, light ass play, overstimulation, dom/sub vibes, aftercare, fluff

MASTERLIST // PART 1

It doesn’t happen this very night, but the day after.

The men are a little bit more rested after their long trek out in the open, and they are all very enthusiastic when you suggest a short hike to reach the hot springs hidden in a small valley just east of your cottage. It’s too remote from the touristy locations for random people to show up there, or for amateur hikers to stumble upon by accident. You’ll be alone and safe. And warm - most importantly. And it’s also a convenient opportunity to see them half naked.

The hot springs are tucked against the side of a small glade, where the snow melts to reveal rocky arrangements forming shallow pools. Steam hovers above the clear water, signaling its warmth. The afternoon is sunny enough to make the snow gleam, painting a decor so pretty even the rugged men around you remark on it.

“Gosh lass, you didn’t lie when you told us about this place” Soap’s voice shakes you out of your contemplation.

“Hope you don’t mind but I did not bring a bathing suit for our snow trip” Gaz is already stripping down, ready to dive into the steaming water. You take a beat too long to respond, mouth open at the vision of Gaz’s very naked and very ripped chest, muscles of his back rippling as he’s trying to remove his boots as quickly as he can.

“Don’t you worry, she’s seen a lot worse back in the days”. It’s Price who comes to your rescue, a mischievous glint in his deep blue eyes fixed on your face. Warmth pricks at your cheeks - and it’s not because of the springs. It’s true though, you’ve seen quite a lot of men in all states of undress during your previous life. Missions after missions after training sessions after stays in the infirmary, you all tend to lose any sense of modesty. A body is a body after all. Just that. You repeat yourself as you undress as well - still, you intend on keeping the two-piece bathing suit you put on under your winter gear before leaving. You also try to keep your eyes down as the men strip and sink in one of the natural pools with satisfied grunts bordering on moans. Their sinful sounds don’t help with the warmth already creeping up your face.

The steam covering the surface and the warping of the water does a good enough job at hiding the most intimate parts of their bodies. It’s not enough to hide how massive their bodies are though. You catch the glimpse of reddish or silvery scars on a muscular back or on a corded forearm. Dark hairs are dusted on the large pectorals of Price and Soap, while Gaz and Ghost are more smooth.

Ghost has kept his usual facemask, even though he traded the skull mask for a printed balaclava, with a wider opening, framing doe-like brown eyes looking intently at you under blond lashes. He’s the biggest of them all - and it’s saying something considering Price and the two younger soldiers are far from small men - the level of the water had visibly raised when he lowered himself into the shallow pool. He beacons you with a nod of his head, and you finally muster enough courage to remove the last of your garment - except for your bathing suit - and join them in the water. They’re nice enough to not make any comment on your choice of covering yourself while they are shameless in their nudity.

The enveloping warmth of the spring is a blessing for your body, immediately soothing the goose bumps you got from the cold. You let yourself relax until the little waves are lapping at your nape, free of the hair you carefully tied up earlier. Your whole body goes slack as you take deep breaths, and close your eyes, sun rays lazily kissing the skin of your face. On your right, Price is doing the same, and when you readjust your posture, your arm brushes against his, and then your thigh touches his leg. You don’t move away though, you both stay like that for a moment, the joyful chatting of Soap and Gaz on the other side of the pool, a surprisingly relaxing background noise. The simple contact with his skin is warming you up from the inside, the memory of the kiss he gave you last night making you unconsciously squirm against him, clenching your thighs together. You’re feeling… hot. And the temperature of the water is not the only thing to blame.

“Stop it, love.” the warning is uttered in a low gravelly voice, that does the exact contrary of what it was intended for. Liquid heat blooms between your legs as Price pairs his remark with a solid hand catching your right knee, immobilizing your whole leg.

“Stop it, or I will be tempted to catch on all the time we missed.” It’s still a warning, but definitely not a threat, his voice goes gentler, almost sad at the last words. Fuck. That’s what did it a decade earlier, what made you cave in to your attraction for this man, the intoxicating mix of confidence - in his skills and authority - and vulnerability - emotions and kindness just bubbling under the surface.

You can’t let this chance slip. Not again. Last night, you stopped at kissing, even though you wanted more, and you’ve been desperately horny since. You catch his hand on your knee, guiding it higher along your thigh, until it reaches the hem of your bathing suit. “What if I don’t mind it?” you whisper back, angling your body to better face him.

You can see the internal fight on Price’s face.

“They will see” he mumbles, looking above your shoulders to the three men chatting just a few feets away.

“I also don’t mind that…” you answer against the side of his head, pushing the words out before you chickens out “... do you?”.

“I did not remember you to be such a menace” he chuckles darkly, before one arm snakes around your waist and lifts you up so you’re fully braced against his side. His other hand dips under the band of your bottom to cup your cunt. Your lips part around a gasp. His skin is somehow even hotter than the water. The hand on your back climbs until it clasps on your nape, bending your head in the crook of his neck, at a not-so-successful attempt at muffling your sounds.

The captain waits for you to settle before he dips the pads of his fingers between your folds, grazing at your entrance where they meet the sirupy evidence of your desire. The tranquil water is not enough to wash away the sticky liquid, and Price takes advantage of it to glide effortlessly up your slit until he finds your aching clit. You stifle another gasp when he starts rubbing it in slow circles.

“Quiet love” He squeezes your neck, trying to remind you of your surroundings - and especially of your audience. You don’t dare look behind you, but you can imagine how you look. For Price’s men, it must look like he has you in a tight hug, which is telling already. But if you start moaning on top of that, it’s not gonna look like a chaste hug for long.

It’s difficult not to though, because the length of you is plastered against his formidable body, your tits pressed on his chest, he has you straddling one of his thighs, and you can feel his hard dick pulsing against your leg. Your teeth bite into your lower lip in an attempt at staying silent, and you would be scared to draw blood if you weren’t too far gone. Price’s fingers keep their pressure on your clit while he keeps you pinned to him with nowhere to go, and you know you’re not gonna last. Not when it feels so good to be in his arms, to feel his warm skin, and underneath it the strong muscles that keep you at his mercy. Not when he remembers exactly how to touch you to make you shiver in pleasure in mere seconds. Not when his most loyal men are probably looking at you from the other side of the pool. The idea that they might actually be, that they might understand what their Captain is doing to you, that they might even get hard at the view - you feel so dirty at admitting it, but it is what really makes you go over the edge.

You come with a silent sob, biting into Price’s shoulder, until he redirects your mouth on his own. He kisses you with a hunger, a desperate thirst, like it pains him to want you this much. You answer with your own passion, careless in your display of affection for him. Low whistles and impressed Damn, captain erupt from the three other men. You part from Price with a chuckle, still not daring to look behind you. Until you feel someone gently tugging at your wrist.

“Don’t keep her all to yourself Captain” Gaz beautiful eyes find yours, checking if you’re okay to follow him. You’re pretty sure he’s the only one to be able to snatch something from Price’s lap without too much trouble. John grumbles something that is lost in your soft laughs as Gaz brings you back with him near Soap and Ghost.

“Now, tell us a story from your time with our Captain, I’m sure you have some funny ones!” he offers, and you comply, not minding the fact Gaz’s hand is still on your wrist, absentmindedly drawing circles in your skin with the tips of his calloused fingers.

❄️

You get back to the cottage just before sunset. The heater is still broken, but it’s a blessing in disguise, corelling you all into the living room, where the nice warmth of the fireplace makes for a mellow atmosphere. Soap has managed to find your stash of scotch, a vice you don’t indulge often in, but you still keep a few bottles at hand, to celebrate happy occasions or cushion hard news. You guess your reunion with Price is worth bringing those bottles out.

The evening feels like one of those too-perfect fuzzy memories, made of laughter, comfort food and enough of the brown liquorous beverage to dull the last of your awkwardness around those newfound friends. Price has procured a cigar, spicy smoke weighing heavy on your senses. Someone has chosen a vinyl from your collection and turned on the old record player. Slow tempo music with suggestive lyrics. Gaz tugs you up from the ground, has you two sway along to the song - he moves his hips with a disconcerting easiness. You don’t really know what you’re doing, but he’s happy enough you follow him. You laugh in the dance, and he gets bolder, holding you closer with each new chorus. It drives you crazy.

Your earlier release at the hand of Price is long forgotten, and your whole body has been on fire since you came back from the hot springs. You can feel how embarrassingly wet you are, every little touch to move you out of the way in the kitchen, to lead you to your seat on the couch, every time they lay a finger on your waist, your arm, or even your face to tuck a stray lock of hair behind your ear. Everything they do to you makes you go crazy with want. Of course Price is the bolder of them all, large palms holding your hips while you step on a chair to reach something high in your kitchen, kisses stolen in the corridor, hungry eyes following your every move.

He might be guilty of teasing you to death, but the three others are not that innocent either. And Price is letting them. He’s very clearly allowing them to flirt, watching with a small smile as they make you laugh, as they make you crave their attention. Yes, guilty, they are all guilty. And you’re their very willing victim.

Your glass is still in hand, your eyes are half closed. Ghost and Soap are sitting side by side on your couch, bodies relaxed, eyes on you and Gaz. Simon’s balaclava is bunched up on his nose, still hiding a part of his face, but allowing him to sip on his - yours actually - scotch. He’s watching you dance like you’re the prettiest girl in the club, although his hand is possessively holding Soap’s knee. You noticed they were close, but you did not expect this open display of affection. It means they trust you to some extent. It flatters your ego, makes you balance your hips more boldly.

As the song comes to an end, Gaz has you in a tight embrace with your back against his firm chest, his hot breath fanning over the sensitive skin of your neck, his lips so close from your nape, you wish he would kiss you there already. It’s not calculated, more instinct than wit, but you tilt your head ever so slightly to the side, baring your neck to his mouth. It must be instinct from his part also, because he immediately takes the bait and lays a gentle kiss on the side of your neck. You leave out a shaky exhale at the sensation and sink a little more against him. He leaves another kiss, a little lower, going down where your neck meets your shoulder. And another one. It’s not about instinct anymore, it’s deliberate, it’s a clear choice. The gentle warmth of the alcohol, the smoke of the cigar, the tiredness of the afternoon spent in the water - it all makes your body pliant and your mind happily dizzy.

“Let us thank you for the stay, lovie” Kyle murmurs against the shell of your ear, his hands solid on your hips, leaving no doubt as to how they intend to thank you. The shock of his demand forces you to use your brain for a second. You kinda knew this was coming - you wished it too. But it’s one thing to fantasize about it, and another to live up to it. Your eyes fly open to Price, searching for his opinion on this. Not hard to guess he already had his word to say in the situation, but still.

“Don’t look at me. It’s up to you darling.” His voice is thick, thicker than usual. “You can say no. At any time.” he adds, words carefully chosen. The fire in his eyes when you nod your consent matches the fire between your legs.

Price rises from his chair while Kyle stays glued to your back, holding you upright, like an offering to his Captain. John stands in front of you, locks eyes with you and takes a long inhale on his cigar. His hand catches your chin, and he bends toward you until his mouth is a hair away from yours. You willingly part your lips to let him breathe out the smoke in your lungs. You can’t take it all, and the smoke spills out, engulfs your field of view, drowning you in the smell you have learned to recognize as his. Something rich and spicy, heavy and masculine, powerful and his, his, his-

Price takes advantage of the way the smoke makes you even dizzier to kiss you on the lips. A hungry kiss, mirroring the one he gave you when he had you in his lap earlier in the springs. Before you close your eyes to focus on the way his tongue is licking inside your mouth, you vaguely register Ghost getting up and taking the cigar from his captain’s hand to let it drop in the ashtray. You feel his giant presence, can feel him nuzzling at the top of your head, smelling your hair, fingers ghosting over your shoulder and upper arm. It’s becoming overwhelming very quickly to be surrounded by them, and if not for Gaz holding you upright against him, you’re not sure you would still be standing up.

Simon’s fingers find their way down your arm, until he gently takes your hand. His hold is feather-light, leaving you the opportunity to retreat. It’s a stark contrast with the raw strength you know he’s capable of. Price reluctantly stops kissing you, his large palms still holding your jaw from both sides angling your face towards his lieutenant. He wouldn't want for you to miss the show of Simon’s tongue peeking from his rosy lips to give a little lick at the pad of your fingers. Once, then twice. He groans, content with the taste of your skin. A predator confirming he caught the right prey. Without any warming he engulfs two of your fingers in his mouth, and sucks on the digits like he’s trying to get to the marrow of your bones. But instead of sharp teeths, all you get is the strange feeling of warmth and wetness, the powerful swipe of his tongue - he’s the one shoving your hand in his mouth, yet you have the intuition the big bad wolf is just a lost pet looking for a master. You press your fingers on his tongue, and down, until your flesh is flush against his teeth, and you keep pressing. He has no choice but lowering down too, unless he risks hurting you.

The hands of Price and Gaz on your body tighten ever so slightly, when Simon finally puts his knees on the floor. With just two fingers between his lips, you have managed to make the giant kneel at your feet. He’s gazing at you with glassy eyes, the black make-up fading on his skin making his blond lashes pop.

Simon nuzzles against your legs, and despite him being on his knees, his impulse for action is still there. He pushes his face against your crotch, his balaclava is bunching up on his nose and the bump of the fabric is providing some nice friction against your clothed cunt. Definitely not enough to quench your desire, but it’s welcome. It’s visibly an offense to Ghost that you’re still wearing clothes, so while Price is taking your attention with passionate kisses, he removes your pants and panties, until you can feel the air against your tender flesh. You’re already dripping, you can feel it against your inner thigh.

That’s when Soap, who is behind Ghost, a hand under his balaclava, fisted in his hair, pushes his face against your weeping cunt. Simon gives your folds a broad lick, and you let a heavy sigh out on Price’s lips. Ghost is lapping at you without any shame, his wicked tongue goes everywhere, no inch of the delicate skin between your legs is free from his attention. You have to grasp at Price’s shirt to steady you, because you’re squirming from the delicious wet warmth on your cunt. Gaz is still behind you, supporting you upright. His hands have found their way on your ass, he’s playing with the supple flesh, fingers inching between your cheeks.

“Can I touch you here?” he whispers, his breath hot on the shell of your ear, and you nod your consent without second thought. He lets his broad hands wander fully between your ass cheeks, thumbs gently petting at your hole. Each sensation is not entirely new, but layered like this, happening all at the same time - it’s so much, intoxicating in the best sense. Ghost tongue in your cunt is making sinful noises, and you’re drowning in it all, body fully shivering between all of them. You feel a knot tighten in your gut with alarming speed, and you come for the first time of the night, moaning against Price’s neck.

Price sweeps you off wobbly legs, and places you delicately on one of the mattresses. After this first orgasm, the warmth of the fire with the softness of the many blankets makes for a divine sensation.

“All good love? Wanna keep going?” John asks, his blue eyes set on your face, looking for any sign of discomfort or hesitation.

“Yes!” you answer with a fervor that makes the men chuckle.

“Wanna taste you too, hen” it’s Soap - he lies between your legs, folds them on your chest, so he can look at your cunt like it’s the most beautiful thing he has ever seen, before starting to lick, drinking the juices from your previous orgasm. He’s eating you messily but with enthusiasm, spending some time fucking you with his toungue, his thumb pressing on your clit. Your soft moans soon fill the air. It makes him bolder, and he goes even lower, his tongue licking at your puckered hole, not searching to go in, but feasting on every patch of skin he can find between your thighs.

Ghost is kneeling again, this time next to your head. He bends at the waist to kiss your mouth, making you taste yourself on his lips. He’s disciplined in the way he kisses you. After Price’s hunger, it’s a clear contrast. He makes you submit to his rhythm and is not afraid to make you feel the scrape of his teeth on your already swollen lips. He’s precise, sharp, calculated. Unlike you, he can’t be easily overwhelmed, and if you can coax a reaction out of him, it’s only because he lets you.

Soap has you come on his tongue, and you don’t even have the time to let your legs go down before Price hoists them on his shoulders. An undignified little yelp escapes your lips in confusion and surprise that John is quick to sooth.

“Shhh love, I’m here, you’re ok.” his gravelly voice making you so insanely hot that it has you clench on nothing. You’re not empty for long though. He fills you up in one slow inescapable move. It burns, but in a good way, a searing warmth seizing your whole body. The stretch is a lot. It has you clamp up on him, in a vicious reaction circle.

“Fuck, you’re… a… lot.” you whimper, eyes shut to try and focus on relaxing.

“Don’t fight it” you recognize Ghost’s voice. “You’re doing great, bonnie” Soap echoes. “Breathe, gorgeous” Gaz adds.

You open your eyes to see the three men in various states of undress, lounging on the mattresses around you both. Their gaze is fixed on you both, eager for the show you’re offering.

“Look at me, love.” John falls on his forearms, folding you in two. He cradles your face in his big palms, demanding for your full attention - the blue of his eyes is so dark, yet they are shining, like you’re watching a night sky full of stars.

“You’re perfect. Your body is perfect. I know you can take it.” He punctuates his affirmation with a delicious rolling thrust of his hips, that has your lips part around a soft moan.

“So let me make you feel good”

You can’t remember a single time in your life when you felt this good. This level of passion, not only from one person, but from four men. They take turns and team up to make you feel good. There are too many fingers and tongues on your body for you to count - sucking at your tits, leaving bruising kisses on your neck, hitting the most sensitive places inside of you, rubbing at your swollen clit. They discover they love giving a spank or two to your ass to hear you cry out in surprise then laugh and groan when the gentle heat of the blow reaches your cunt. They tie your wrists with a scarf for a minute, so you won’t disturb them in the very important task of finding out which one of them can make you come the fastest.

You love what they do to you, but you also want to please - want them to feel a tenth of the pleasure they offer. You follow the trail of hair on Soap’s belly with your mouth until you reach the tip of his cock. You ride Price until the muscles of your thighs give out. You swallow every drop of Gaz’s cum. You let Ghost come on your chest.

“you’re taking me so well” “look at you, so pretty” “there you go, just like that, perfect" "you’re so good for us"

You bask in their encouragement, let your brain short-circuit with their heady dirty talk, let your body go floaty, your limbs grow sore, let your flesh bruise under ravenous lips, let your skin get covered in sweat and spit and cum and your own wetness. The night is not young anymore when you shatter one last time on Price’s cock. He gently lay down your legs from his shoulders where they were perched. You don’t have any strength left in you to protest when Simon sits between your open legs to lick you clean for a couple minutes, ignoring your soft whines of overstimulation. It’s Gaz who comforts you, letting you know how good you’ve been, that you need to let them clean you up. He gently pets your hair while Simon and Johnny return with a damp clean cloth and try their best at cleaning your skin, before cleaning themselves.

They help you into a warm hoodie - it’s so oversized it obviously belongs to one of them. They feed you pieces of dried fruit, tilt a cup of water to your lips, cuddle with you in front of the fireplace. The crackling of the fire is the background to their gentle chats and laughs, and the occasional muffled moans when Ghost keeps his lips on Soap’s neck. The view is sinful - those two men, built like Greek gods, half-naked, kissing each other - it would be enough to re-ignite your desire if you weren’t feeling so sore. And yet there’s something more than lust between them, something tender you guess they don’t show often.

You eventually drift to sleep against Price, his body solid and warm by your side. Just like old times, you think just before he gently kisses your forehead - and you fall asleep understanding that maybe love has no fixed timeline.

#cod fanfiction #price x reader #ghost x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #captain price x reader #soap x reader #gaz x reader #poly 141 #poly tf141 #polyamory #reader x price x ghost x soap x gaz

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