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starrierknight · 11 months

Text

𝟎𝟐𝟎. 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐫𝐚𝐛𝐛𝐢𝐭𝐬

You both like the thrill of the chase, but he likes being caught more. You were fully willing to take advantage of this fact (and him).

MASTERLIST | KINKTOBER 23' | AO3

wc— 5.3k

pairing— mean!dom!gn!reader x bunny hybrid!sub!choso

cws/tags— dubcon, hybrid sex, predator/prey dynamic in an incredibly literal sense, flatmates to fuckers, biting, ear/tail pulling (I promise it makes sense), thigh riding, petnames (“bunny” & “pet”), degradation, humiliation, overstimulation, dacryphilia, choso is a closet pervert, implied masturbation at the start, this is a bit of a crackfic

Knock-knock-knock.

"Hey, are you free right now?" the unfamiliar, deep voice of your flatmate said, the sound muffled by the door.

You startled, quickly snapping your laptop shut, and straightening out your clothes and tugging up your shorts. The abrupt sound of the door and his voice had disrupted the peaceful cocoon of your solitude. The scent of your room, previously filled with the aroma of a fragrant candle, now carried a faint whiff of embarrassment as you hurriedly composed yourself. You cleared your throat, the dry rasp echoing in the room, and the sudden shift from the soft hum of your laptop to silence was palpable.

"Gimme a sec!"

You sighed in frustration after having been in the middle of your, ah, private activities, acutely aware of the residual warmth on your skin and the lingering taste of a guilty indulgence on your lips. God, why now?

You walked over to your bedroom door, partially opening it.

You were greeted by the sight of Choso, your reserved flatmate. In all the time you had shared this apartment with him since you moved in, you had spoken to him maybe half a dozen times, at a push. Your knowledge of him extended to a slightly obscure and dark recollection of his appearance—you were pretty certain he had black hair and black eyes, for example. The scant details of his existence in your mind were like faint echoes, and you couldn't recall the last time you'd even heard his voice.

The atmosphere around him was enigmatic, much like the dimly lit corners of your apartment at night when he was most active. Your sense of familiarity with him was akin to touching something in the dark and trying to discern its shape by feel alone. You hadn't even exchanged more than a few words with him since moving in.

So, it begged the question: Why now, of all Godforsaken times, had he knocked on your door? The uncertainty hung in the air, and you couldn't help but wonder what had prompted this rare interruption of your solitude. Nerves prickled your skin, and the soft buzz of anxiety hummed in your ears as you tried to read the situation.

His tall, broad, dark figure loomed over you in the hallway, his face hidden by the darkness. He had a lumpy-looking hoodie on, the hood drawn up over his head, and the strings pulled tight, making his silhouette rather unfortunately egg-shaped. In the dim light, the fabric absorbed the surrounding environment, giving him a spectral quality.

"I need to talk to you about something," Choso said flatly, his voice devoid of any discernible emotion.

"Something?" you repeated, the slight crease forming between your brows mirrored by a taste of irritation on your tongue.

The hallway closed in on you, and the tension thick between you, heightening your awareness of the details—his hooded silhouette and the soft hum of the apartment building's ventilation system added an eerie backdrop to the encounter.

Choso stared at you and said nothing. His inscrutable expression was like a dark void, offering no clues as to the nature of his issue. You huffed.

Reluctantly, you opened your bedroom door wider, inviting him to step inside and speak whatever his piece was. The hinges creaked softly, and a cool draft wafted in from the hallway, carrying the faint scent of the outside world into your personal space. As he entered, the rustle of his lumpy hoodie echoed slightly in the confined space.

You shut the door behind you with a soft click and walked over to your bed, plopping unceremoniously onto it. Despite your bedroom being considerably better lit by the soft candlelight scattered around your room, you still had a hard time making out Choso’s features clearly. Shadows danced across his lumpy hoodie, making his face remain hidden, and the flickering flames played tricks on your senses.

"Well?" you prompted impatiently, the sound of your voice breaking the silence and mingling with the gentle crackling of the candles.

He sighed, the faint gust of his breath causing the candles to flicker slightly. "Promise you won't laugh?"

You raised a brow, giving him a thoroughly unimpressed look. "No," you replied, your voice carrying a hint of stubbornness.

Choso nodded, as if a little sympathetic to your situation. He slipped his lumpy hoodie off, the soft sound of fabric sliding over skin filling the room. As he revealed more of himself, the candlelight danced across his now clearer form, allowing you to finally see his features more distinctly.

As you leaned in to see him more clearly, you couldn't help but be taken aback by the stark contrast between your preconceived notions and the reality before you. He was tall, muscular, and broad-shouldered, with a physique that seemed at odds with his reserved demeanour. His incredibly pale skin, like porcelain, was warmed by the hue of the candlelight, giving it an ethereal quality. Every contour and muscle came alive in the shifting light.

His black eyes were deep pools, absorbing the candlelight and reflecting it back with a certain intensity. His long, messy black hair, tied into two high ponytails that jutted upward and outwards, framed his face in a wild, untamed manner. Some strands of hair gently caressed his forehead, adding to his haunting allure.

Upon closer inspection, as you leaned in even further, you noticed his face was sharp and angular, with thin but expressive eyebrows that added depth to his gaze. His straight nose was perfectly sculpted, leading your eyes down to his distinctive feature—the thin, black, horizontal, rectangular tattoo that adorned his nose bridge.

The tattoo was his most striking feature, but if you weren't counting that, then there were the unexpected elements that truly set him apart—a pair of bunny ears perched atop his head, their velvety texture contrasting with his dark, flowing hair. Completing this ensemble was a fluffy white tail, its cottony appearance inviting a touch to verify its authenticity.

Wait, hold on a second… Bunny ears and a fluffy white tail?

You clapped a hand over your mouth to muffle your laugh, the suppressed amusement creating a tickling sensation on your skin.

"Y'know Halloween is coming up, not Easter, right?" you quipped, your voice carrying a teasing note.

Choso groaned, hiding his face in his hands, his reaction palpable even in the dim candlelit room. Though it was hard to see, you had a good reason to believe that he was blushing, a subtle warmth colouring his porcelain complexion. This revelation only made you want to laugh harder, the sensation building like a wave within you.

"So you ordered the wrong Halloween costume. What's the big deal?" you chuckled, attempting to downplay the situation.

Choso's bunny ears twitched, a subtle movement that defied logic.

They... they twitched?

"It's not a costume," he muttered, his voice barely audible above the tumultuous thoughts racing through your mind.

Your jaw dropped, and you spluttered in disbelief. "N-not a costume? Those... Those are your actual ears?"

He grimaced and nodded, still avoiding your gaze. Those were his real ears? Is this why he had hardly interacted with you, because he was hiding his 'bunny features'? The discovery left you reeling, a cacophony of thoughts and emotions filling your mind as you tried to make sense of the extraordinary truth before you.

In good bunny fashion, he slowly tiptoed over to your bed and sat on the opposite side, his ears drooping. The way he moved was oddly endearing, a blend of hesitancy and vulnerability that tugged at your heartstrings.

"I didn't know how to tell you," he mumbled, his voice carrying a note of regret.

The pair of soft, black bunny rabbit ears were a delightful and charming sight, a surreal addition to this unexpected encounter. They looked velvety to the touch, with a plush texture that invited you to run your fingers across their surface. The deep black colour was rich and dark, blending in with Choso's hair, but creating a stark contrast against his pale skin. The enigmatic tattoo on his nose bridge gained new significance in light of this revelation, like a piece of a larger puzzle waiting to be deciphered. As you observed him, a profound curiosity washed over you, eager to learn more about the intriguing world that had remained hidden beneath his hoodie and in the shadows for so long.

You impulsively reached your dominant hand over and stroked one of his ears, unable to resist the allure of their intriguing texture. It was incredibly soft and plush to the touch, and running your fingers over them felt like stroking a delicate, silken fabric. They were adorned with fine, velvety fur that lent them a luxurious feel—so exquisitely soft to the touch.

"Wow... You're not kidding," you said with quiet awe, your voice hushed, afraid to disturb the delicacy of this revelation.

He stiffened and recoiled, looking at you with wide eyes, a mix of surprise and unease clouding his expression. He shifted away from you, instinctively retreating from your touch. You raised your eyebrows, curious about his reaction, and leaned forward, extending your hand gently to stroke his ears again.

"Hey, c'mere for a sec. Let me touch," you murmured, your voice soft and reassuring as you reached for him.

Choso, however, kept shifting away from you, his movements increasingly frantic, until he was almost completely dangling off your bed. The experience of revealing his hidden secret had left him clearly unsettled, and your attempts to comfort him had the opposite effect, pushing him farther away.

Your curiosity about his strangely endearing rabbit anatomy grew the more he recoiled from you. His eyes darted between you and the door, and the bedsheets rustled beneath you as you inched closer, your desire to explore this newfound aspect of his identity becoming increasingly difficult to contain. Then, unable to resist your impulse, you lunged forward.

Choso, however, was immediately ready to bolt away as you started moving towards him. His instincts kicked in, and he began to run, his legs and thighs moving quickly as he made rapid bunny hops, dashing away from your reach. His bunny ears flapped in the air as he ran, the delicate contrast of black against the dimly lit room a mesmerizing sight. His white tail wagged rapidly in this game of chase, and his athletic and swift movements made it clear that he was determined to elude your grasp.

Choso got to your bedroom door, threw it open, and dashed out into the hallway, his swift movements making it seem like he had vanished into thin air. But you, not one to give up easily, sprinted after him, your determination propelling you forward.

Choso, with his innate agility and a clear knowledge of the apartment's layout, made several quick turns and corners, using his familiarity with the space to his advantage and evading your pursuit. His bunny ears continued to flap in the air, and he occasionally glanced behind him to gauge your progress before making another sharp turn, running into yet another room and attempting to hide.

As you followed closely behind, your footsteps reverberated through the apartment, giving away your pursuit. Choso's white tail wagged rapidly in response to the adrenaline coursing through his veins, and he made more bunny hops, utilizing his speed and agility to the fullest in his quest to evade your grasp. The game of cat and mouse—or rather, cat and rabbit—had taken an unexpected turn, and the chase continued through your shared living space.

You skidded around a corner, your fluffy socks proving slippery on the hardwood floors as you made a valiant effort to keep up with Choso's rapid pace.

Choso, ever the elusive bunny-eared flatmate, saw you coming around the corner and anticipated your move. With a burst of agility, he made another sharp turn, dashing out of the room and out of your immediate sight. His bunny ears flapped in the air as he continued to sprint away, his athletic legs propelling him forward with impressive speed.

As he reached the kitchen, he couldn't help but call out, "I can hear your footsteps!"

His bunny ears twitched, as if to listen further, and his white tail wagged rapidly. He continued to make bunny hops, each one like a real rabbit's bound, as the game of pursuit and evasion intensified.

You changed tactics and stopped running, realising that a more stealthy approach might be the key to closing the gap between you and Choso. Instead of chasing him, you began to stalk quietly around the apartment, moving with deliberate caution to ensure that your footsteps remained silent and didn't give you away.

Choso, ever alert, immediately picked up on the change in your movements. His bunny ears stood straight, their sensitivity tuned to the faintest of sounds, and his fluffy white tail had stopped wagging. Tension radiated from him as he shifted into a state of heightened awareness, his eyes flicking around the apartment in an effort to spot any sign of your presence.

He began to worry a little, his black eyes flicking around as he tried to catch a glimpse of your whereabouts in the apartment. Remaining completely still, he strained to hear any faint sound that might give away your position. His ears were perked, each subtle noise amplified in his perception.

Choso's ears twitched at the faint noise emanating from the hallway. His senses heightened, and he remained perfectly still, straining to decipher the source and nature of the sound. His black eyes narrowed as he focused his attention on the hallway, ready to react to any potential movement or disturbance.

As the moments stretched on in silence, Choso remained completely still, vigilant and on the lookout for your next move. His bunny ears stood erect, capturing even the faintest of sounds, and his body remained tense, ready to react at a moment's notice. His white tail remained motionless, a clear sign that he was in full-on alert mode, on edge and anticipating your next attempt.

In the hushed atmosphere, you could hear his breath, slightly faster than usual, as he held it in anticipation. Each inhalation and exhalation was more pronounced in the quiet.

"Boo!" you exclaimed from a few meters behind him, and you lunged forward.

Choso flinched in surprise at the sudden exclamation from behind him, his rabbit instincts momentarily taking over. He swiftly turned to face you, only to be caught off-guard the moment you lunged towards him. His bunny tail wagged in response to his flustered state, and he made a light bunny hop to escape your reach, his athletic legs propelling him forward in a rush.

Clearly, you had caught him by surprise, and he was running away as fast as he could, employing his signature bunny hops to gain distance. His slightly red face betrayed his flustered state, and nervous giggles bubbled up from him as he continued to flee.

You chased Choso into the living room, and with nowhere left to escape, he found himself cornered. In a final act of pursuit, you lunged forward and tackled him onto the sofa, your laughter mixing with his surprised gasp as you both tumbled onto the cushions. You managed to pin his wrists above his head, straddling him in a victorious pose.

As you caught your breath, you both panted heavily, the adrenaline-fueled chase having taken its toll on your energy. Choso's body flushed a deep, red hue all over, and his features displayed a mix of shock and deep embarrassment. Your body on top of him in such an intimate position left him blushing intensely, his pale skin providing a vivid canvas for the crimson flush that had overtaken him.

In this somewhat awkward and unexpected moment, you were both left panting and gazing at each other. Choso's bunny ears laid back slightly, and his large, expressive eyes met yours with a mixture of surprise, curiosity, and… and what on Earth was that?

"I win," you muttered smugly, your playful victory evident in your tone.

As you both caught your breath and your eyes met, you found yourselves in an unexpectedly intimate moment, just inches away from each other. Your gazes locked, and you peered deeply into each other's eyes, your chests rising and falling with each heavy breath. His heart was pounding in his chest, threatening to break through the bones of his ribs and run away.

"Well, I suppose you win..." Choso conceded, his rabbit ears drooping ever so slightly, a subtle sign of his disappointment. “Let me go now?”

"Don't I get a prize?" you murmured, smirking ever so slightly as you inched closer, your proximity intensifying the charged atmosphere.

Your playful question hung in the air, charged with a newfound tension that neither of you could deny. You licked your lips, a subtle, teasing gesture as you maintained unbroken eye contact with Choso, your gaze locked onto his dark eyes.

Choso's eyes slowly traveled down to your lips, his gaze fixating on the subtle curve of your mouth. He was entranced, his rabbit ears twitching almost involuntarily as his breathing picked up ever so slightly. His dark eyes remained locked onto your mouth, where he noticed the subtlest details, including the hint of your smirk and the shape of your canines.

As he continued to study your lips, Choso's eyes widened slightly, and he found himself unable to move, mesmerized by your presence. A faint, involuntary moan escaped his mouth, the sound barely audible even in the hushed room.

“Don’t… Don’t do this,” he whimpered.

Instead of going in for a kiss, you tilted your head to the side and bit gently into Choso's neck. Your unexpected move elicited a sharp gasp from him, his dark eyes widening in response to the unexpected sensation. Your hands, still firmly gripping his pinned wrists, curled more tightly, keeping him in place as you continued to nibble at his neck. The room crackled, and the taste of his skin and the sound of his rapid heartbeat filled your senses—God, he looked so helpless.

Choso's body shivered involuntarily under your grip as you bit his neck, his sensitivity to the unexpected sensation causing a surge of pleasure and excitement to course through him. Despite how tightly you were pinning him down, he squirmed beneath you. His hips lifted slightly off the sofa, a reflexive response to the thrilling stimulation you were providing. A low, muffled groan escaped his lips—something that sounded close to your name.

Your sharp canines bit deeper into Choso's neck, and he responded with a low, deeper moan that reverberated through the room. His hips grinded slightly against you, an instinctual reaction. His breath grew heavier and faster, each inhalation and exhalation punctuated by soft, low sounds of pleasure.

“No, no, no… Don’t, please… Ah, fuck…!”

Choso's bunny ears continued to twitch, a visible sign of the tension that had taken hold of him. Despite your firm control and grip, he began to move slightly, a silent plea for closeness and touch. His movements became more pronounced under your control and grip, an unspoken desire to get closer to you and touch you. His skin felt hot to the touch, the evidence of his arousal undeniable in the heated atmosphere of the room, at war with his mind which was begging for it to stop.

“It hurts… You’re hurting me, stop… No, no,” he whined.

Choso's response to your biting was undeniable. He let out a deep breath of pleasure, his body shivering in excitement as your canines continued to tantalize his neck. His lips formed a perfect "O" shape as he released the breath, and his bunny ears twitched slightly, betraying the undeniable excitement and pleasure coursing through him.

It was clear that he wasn't trying to resist your bite; On the contrary, he thoroughly enjoyed the sensation, despite his whines about it hurting. The pleasure experience far outweighed any discomfort, and his surrender to the moment was evident in his quivering body and the sounds of delight escaping his lips.

You pulled back from his neck, your breaths heavy and your voice dripping with desire as you whispered in Choso's ear, "You taste good. I think I'll have you."

His response was immediate, a loud whine escaping his trembling lips as he squirmed beneath you. His body was a tempest of emotions, a cocktail of fear, adrenaline, and unmistakable arousal.

While maintaining your grip on his pinned wrists with one hand, your other hand ventured to gently stroke the soft, black, velvet-like fur of his droopy bunny ears. The sensation caused him to shiver, a powerful response to the intimate touch.

"D-Don't... P-Please, don't," he mumbled pleadingly, his voice carrying a mixture of vulnerability and desire.

But you weren't inclined to stop. With a wicked grin, you silenced his protests with a simple command, "Hush, bunny... Let me have my fun with you."

You didn't hold back as you ducked your head down and bit more harshly into the pale, sensitive skin of Choso's neck. He let out the cutest squeak of fear in response. You sucked and nibbled at his neck, your actions causing him to tremble and moan.

His moans, while not entirely lustful, were filled with a heady mixture of fear, excitement, and desire. Each tremor of his body and each moan that escaped his lips only fueled your passion and drove you to explore further. In another circumstance, you might have had the heart to stop, but the undeniable evidence of his arousal pressed against your thigh as he rutted his hips into you left little room for restraint.

“C’mon, now. Be a good pet and let me touch you properly,” you muttered into his ear, causing the last of his apprehension to crumble.

Your desire burned like a fire, and with fiendish strength, you tore Choso's thin cotton t-shirt, a symbol of your unrestrained desire for him. He gasped at the sudden action, his eyes wide with a mixture of surprise and anticipation.

As your hands traversed the now-bare skin of his muscular torso, Choso shuddered and groaned, his body responding eagerly to your touch. He leaned into your caresses, his desire mirroring your own.

Sensing his readiness and compliance, you shifted on the sofa to provide him with enough room to remove his trousers. Without protest, Choso stripped out of his trousers, revealing more of his taut, athletic body. With greedy hands, you pulled down his underwear, releasing his aching erection, which sprung free, throbbing with arousal.

"Well, aren't you a needy thing?" you laughed teasingly at Choso, the sound carrying a mixture of amusement and desire.

You pulled him onto your lap, and he now straddled you, his embarrassment causing a deep shade of red to spread from the top of his head all the way down to his shoulders. His bunny ears laid flat against his head with shame, unable to meet your eyes.

Your hands settled on his petit waist, and you dragged him along your thigh, pulling him closer. He couldn't help but moan as his throbbing dick rubbed against your skin. His arms wrapped around your neck, an instinctive desire to hold you as close to his body as you would allow. His tongue darted out to lick his lips, his gaze darting between your eyes and your lips as he looked at you imploringly, his need and desire laid bare for you to see.

"God, you're so fucking desperate to be touched," you laughed, your words dripping with desire, and you placed a possessive hand on the back of Choso's neck before crashing your lips together in a heated kiss.

Choso whimpered in surprise at the sudden aggression of your kiss, his cheeks flushing with desire and embarrassment. He couldn't help but emit light, quiet moans in response, the sensations overwhelming his senses. His bunny ears were twitching madly, and his entire body quivered at your rough touch.

His eyes remained closed as he surrendered to the passionate kiss, his lips moving in sync with yours as desire consumed both of you. As the kiss continued, the room filled with the intoxicating sounds of his heavy panting and the increasingly louder moans that escaped his lips.

Choso's face flushed even deeper as your fingers squeezed his bunny tail, the unexpected sensation sending a jolt of desire through him. Instinctively, he ground his hips against your thigh, seeking more of the electrifying pleasure you were providing.

His calloused hands roamed over your body, their touch possessive as they grabbed your shoulders and pulled you in closer and tighter. The intensity of his desire was palpable, his body tense and shaking as he felt the warmth from your hand on his tail. He couldn't help but make quiet, breathy whimpers and sounds as your deep kiss continued, your tongues exploring each other with fervour.

Choso continued to grind his throbbing cock against your thigh, the friction heightening his pleasure. Your hands fondled his ass and massaged the base of his tail, each touch driving him further into a frenzy of desire.

You pulled away from Choso's lips, and in a breathy, taunting whisper, you spoke to him, "You should see yourself, pet. Fucking my thigh like you're in heat."

Choso's response was a mixture of pleasure and desperation as he panted between moans, his voice a trembling with need. "Ah...! I-I can't help it... Feels too good."

Your hands continued to guide his hips steadily as he humped your thighs, his movements growing increasingly frantic. Pre-cum smeared messily across your skin where your shorts ended, evidence of his overwhelming arousal. His pretty cock was flushed an angry red at the tip, the desperate need for relief evident in every twitch and throb.

Choso's moans grew louder and more desperate with each passing moment, his voice a fervent symphony of pleasure as he whimpered your name. His thrusts against your thigh became increasingly frantic and messy, his body shuddering with the overwhelming sensations coursing through him. His fingers dug painfully into your shoulder blades, his grip on you tight and unrelenting, holding on for dear life.

Your taunting words only added fuel to the fire. "That's right, bunny. Moan my fuckin' name and let the whole building know I'm getting you off like a slut. Let them hear your voice—let them hear how disgusting you really are," you teased, your words charged with desire and dominance.

"Please, please... Oh, please! Fuck, I'm so... I'm so c-close," Choso cried out, his voice filled with desperate need and urgency.

Your wicked grin only widened in response to his pleas, and with a harsh tug, you pulled on the fluffy white tail at the base of his spine. The sensation was electrifying, and Choso practically screamed your name as he came on your thigh, his body trembling with the intensity of his release. He continued to rut against you, coating your skin in his hot, sticky cum, the sheer amount of it a testament to the depth of his need and desire.

As you watched him in the aftermath, you couldn't help but realize that your mysterious flatmate had been far more desperate for you than he had ever let on throughout your history of knowing him. And then it clicked:

He had wanted you all along.

Choso naturally began to slow his movements, his body slumping against yours as he buried his face into your neck. He whimpered your neck and pressed soft, damp kisses against your neck. Your grip on his hips didn’t falter, though.

"You're a pervert, aren't you, bunny?" you said teasingly as you pulled back to look at Choso's flushed face.

Choso's breath hitched, and his lips parted as if he were going to protest or defend himself, but before he could utter a word, you forcefully moved his hips, causing him to grind against your thigh once more. He yelped in response to the sudden stimulation, his cute dick still sensitive from his recent climax, and it continued to throb and drip with cum, staining your thigh. You maintained your control over him, keeping him forcefully grinding against you, and despite his whines and keening, he remained a willing slave to your lustful amusement.

"Oh, my God," you laughed cruelly, your words dripping with taunting amusement. "This has been what's getting you off ever since I moved in, huh? You've been touching yourself, wishing it was me fucking you all along?"

Choso's protest was weak, his voice trembling as he moaned and squirmed under the relentless overstimulation you forced upon his weeping cock. "N-No... Stop, I wouldn't," he protested, his words a feeble attempt to deny the undeniable truth.

But you weren't about to let him off the hook that easily.

"Bunny," you continued, your voice low and sultry, "you've been wanting to fuck like rabbits this whole time, and you've been too embarrassed to ask. Now's your chance. Beg me now, like the dumb slut you are, and I'll be here to fuck you when you're desperate."

"Please… Please, please, please!" Choso cried out, his voice desperate and filled with longing as he moaned your name.

Your dominance over him intensified as you continued to drive him to the edge of ecstasy. "And what are you, pet?" you demanded.

"I'm… Please, please… S'too much… Too much," he gasped, his words coming out in short gasps as his powerful body writhed and shuddered. His hips continued to hump against your thigh, guided by your hands.

"You're a dumb fucking bunny, that's what you are. Now, say it," you commanded.

"I'm… I'm a… Ah…!" Choso's voice trailed off into a moan of pleasure and surrender, his body consumed by the intoxicating sensations you were inflicting upon him.

You narrowed your eyes, your superiority over Choso unwavering as your dominant hand reached up and clasped those soft bunny ears of his, tugging harshly. Choso's response was immediate and intense—he screamed and sobbed, the pain shooting down his neck and spine, sending waves of torment and pleasure right to his aching dick. Tears cascaded down his flushed cheeks as he moaned and whimpered, his pleas for gentleness and kindness filling the room.

"Say it, slut," you demanded, your voice firm and unyielding.

"I'm a… a dumb fucking b-bunny," Choso sobbed, his words a painful admission of submission.

You tugged on his ears once more, and his back arched in response, the sweaty muscles of his chest pressing firmly against your torso.

"That's right, pet. You're a dumb fucking bunny, and now, you're all mine," you laughed, your words filled with triumph.

Choso's response was immediate and explosive. He screamed your name and convulsed violently, his body wracked by the intensity of his climax as he came all over your thigh once again. The overstimulation proved to be too much for him, flooding his body with an overwhelming, painful pleasure that left him utterly and blissfully mindless. In that moment, all thoughts, inhibitions, and restraints were wiped away, consumed by the raw and uncontrollable desire that had drawn you together.

It was clear that he had become your loyal and devoted pet, forever bound to you. The future held untold possibilities, but one thing was certain—Choso had willingly surrendered to you, and you had claimed him as your own.

a/n: icl i got wayyyy too carried away with this. choso is such a gorgeous man and i need to ruin him LOL. god, i fuckin love bunnies. writing this has permanently altered my brain chemistry, i think. Happy Kinktober! :3

this work belongs to STARRIERKNIGHT . please refrain from plagiarising any of my works and do not repost/translate/modify/copy onto any platforms.

#꒰ ✎ ꒱ — tongues in trees #꒰ ✑ ꒱ — they kiss consume #꒰ 🝮 ꒱ — kt 23 #choso kamo x reader smut #choso kamo smut #choso kamo x reader #choso smut #sub choso kamo x reader #sub choso kamo #tw dubcon

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lxndonorris · 7 months

Text

racing surprise for Lando - Lando Norris (SFS24)

fem!reader x Lando Norris Theme: Smut (you've been warned) in the midst of pre-season testing, Mclaren invited you to surprise Lando x word count: 2710+ taglist: @game-set-canet another edition to the suit fitting saga 2024 (SFS24). Quite similar but I hope you like the added twist. Oh and I needed that picture so dont blame me. Next one will hopefully be este, and if you have any request, for SFS24, testing or simply something else, dont be shy and hit me up!

The air crackles with anticipation as the new season of Formula 1 looms on the horizon, heralding a fresh chapter in Lando Norris's illustrious career as a professional racing driver. With the promise of new gear, a state-of-the-art racing suit, a meticulously crafted helmet, and a gleaming Mclaren race car awaiting him, excitement pulses through his veins like the roar of an engine.

Amidst the flurry of activity in the Mclaren garage, you stand, a silent observer disguised as one of the team members. Dressed in the team's iconic orange shirt, dark pants, a cap, and sporting a headset, you blend seamlessly into the backdrop, your heart aflutter with anticipation as you await Lando's arrival.

He initially invited you himself to join him here, but you had to decline. Unbeknownst to him, his team has already reached out to you, preparing a surprise for your boyfriend.

And then, like a whirlwind of energy and charisma, he enters the scene. Clad in his new racing suit, adorned with sponsor logos, he cuts a stroking figure. The fabric hugs his form in all the right places, accentuating his athletic build with precision and care. His curly locks framed his face, adding a touch of boyish charm to his rugged allure.

As Lando moves through the garage, his presence commands attention. There is confidence in his stride, a swagger in his step that speaks volumes about his self-assurance. He greets everyone with a warm smile and a handshake; his enthusiasm infectious. There is a genuine camaraderie between them, a sense of unity forged by their shared passion for racing.

With the assistance of two friendly mechanics who shield you from view, you watch as Lando prepares for his testing session. The air is thick with excitement and tension, a tangible buzz of anticipation that electrifies the atmosphere. The scent of his cologne lingers in the air, a subtle reminder of his proximity that sends shivers down your spine.

Each step Lando takes seems to echo purpose, his eyes alight with a belnd of determination and curiosity.

You watch from your vantage point, hidden in plain sight among the team members. As a conversation turns to the upcoming training session, Lando's demeanor shifts slightly. A curious, shy smile played on his lips as he listens closely. With a hand on his hip, he leans in slightly, his posture relaxed yet attentive.

There is a quiet determination in his gaze, a hunger to extract every ounce of potential from the testing session. He understands the importance of these moments, recognizing them as opportunities to fine-tune his skills and familiarize himself with the nuances of the new car.

You can't help but admire the way the fabric hugs his body tightly, emphasizing the curves of his backside and the strength of his arms. His movements are fluid and purposeful, each gesture imbued with quiet confidence.

With each glance, your eyes trace the lines of his suit, lingering on the subtle details that hint at the layers beneath. You know that beneath the sleek exterior lies a network of tight undergarments—fireproofs designed to protect him.

This knowledge adds an extra layer of allure to his already magnetic presence, heightening the intensity of your admiration.

As the conversation draws to a close, Lando offers a grateful nod to his mechanics. With a sense of purpose, he turns his attention toward the track, eager to put their plans into action and unleash the full extent of his talents.

With practiced ease, Lando slips into the remaining racing gear—his gloves and a tight balaclava—each movement deliberate and precise. The helmet, adorned with beautiful colors and logos, completes his ensemble, its glossy surface reflecting the glow of excitement in his eyes.

With a playful twirl, he settles into the driver's seat, his grin widening as he prepares to start testing. With a loud roar, the engine comes to life, and slowly but steadily, he makes his way out of the garage. Your stomach tightens in a mixture of anticipation and pride.

Through the crackle of the radio, his voice rings out, a symphony of exhilaration as he tackles each corner with precision and finesse. You listen intently, your heart swelling with joy as he pushes the limits of his Mclaren. You know he is so happy to be back, and you can actually see him smiling when you close your eyes. His voice is a little rougher, yet it carries his joy and passion through the radio.

Once his session is over, he returns to the garage. As Lando emerges from the cockpit of his Mclaren, he lets out a jubilant cheer with a triumphant flex of his arms. Shaking your head, you can't believe him actually doing that. Licking your lips, you still can't tear your eyes away from his arse, filling his suit fully.

The testing had been a success, and he surpassed all expectations. Running a hand across his chest, he can't help but revel in the rush of adrenaline that still courses through his veins. The fabric of his racing suit clings to him, damp with sweat from the intensity of the session—a sensational sight that you missed during the winter break.

In one swift movement, he reaches up to remove his helmet and balaclava, revealing a mop of tousled curls and a flushed complexion beneath. His lips part slightly with a satsified smirk, a hint of mischief dancing in his eyes as he licks his lips, sending shivers down your spine. He looks so happy and excited, and you smile seeing him like that.

As he moves through the garage, shaking hands with his team members, he can't contain his joy. His tongue darts out playfully, a gesture of exuberance that shows his satisfaction with the achievements so far.

Lando chats with a few mechanics for a while, and you can tell the residual excitement from the testing session continues to surge through his veins, pulsating with every beat of his heart. He keeps stroking his chest, touching his arms, and subconsciously, he touches himself through his suit—just barely, yet it catches your attention.

It is as if the adrenaline of the track has infused his very being, filling him with an exhilarating energy that seems to amplify with each passing moment.

Entranced by his every move, the sound of his voice, and his cologne's scent still hovering all around you, you miss the opportunity to reveal yourself—Lando has already left for his private quarters.

Leaving your headset and cap behind, you rush after him and spot him strolling through the paddock. Unable to tear your eyes away from him, captivated by the effortless grace with which he moved, you follow him. Every step seems to exude confidence, joy, and self-confidence.

As he runs a hand through his messy curls, you can't help but notice the way his hair fell in disarray, framing his face in a way that is both endearing and alluring. There is a rawness to his appearance—a sense of vulnerability—that makes your heart flutter in your chest.

And then, as if sensing your gaze, he runs a hand across his chest, a subtle gesture that speaks volumes about the excitement still running through his body. You can almost feel the electric energy radiating off him, a tangible reminder of the thrill of driving an F1 car.

In this moment, you are struck by the sheer magnetism of his presence, even though you're just looking at his beautiful back. And as he disappears into his quarters, leaving you to ponder the whirlwind of emitions he had stirred within you, you can't help but feel a sense of awe and admiration.

As you knock on his door, a nervous anticipation grips you, your heart pounding with uncertainty—how is he going to react?

"Coming." Lando's voice echoes through the door before it swings open, revealing your boyfriend standing right in front of you. With an almost shocked expression, your breath catches in your throat.

"Y/N?" He asks, and in an instant, his entire face lit up with a radiant smile that reaches his eyes, filling you with warmth and joy.

"Hi." You smile shyly, your face flushing with heat.

Without hesitation, he pulls you into a tight embrace, his arms enveloping you closely. You melt into him, running your hands across his firm back.

"What are you doing here?" Lando smiles, separating himself just enough for his face to be mere inches away from yours. He places a hand on your cheek, tracing your skin with his fingertips.

"Surprising you." You motion for a few Mclaren team members to film the two of you from afar.

Both of you turn your heads and wave toward the camera.

"They offered to get me here; we just needed a few clips for their channel." You shrug, and he nods in agreement and curiousity.

"This is great," he leans into you, kissing you gently. You lock eyes with him for what feels like an eternity.

The film crew gives you a thumbs up, telling you that it's now time for some alone time.

As Lando welcomes you into his private quarters, a rush of excitement surges through you, mingling with the lingering traces of adrenaline from his testing session. Your gaze is drawn irresistibly to the contours of his chest, the fabric of his racing suit accentuating every curve and sinew.

He meets your gaze with a knowing smile, a spark of amusement dancing in his eyes as he senses the admiration and desire in your gaze. There is confidence in his demeanor, a quiet assurance that speaks of his comfort in his own skin.

"So, how was I?" With a playful grin, he steps closer, closing the distance between you until the warmth of his presence envelops you.

"Amazing." You lift your chin slightly, meeting his confidence with your own. "And you look the part too." Smirking, you lick your lips.

Without a word, he takes your hand and guides it to the fabric of his suit, allowing you to feel the sleek material beneath your fingertips.

"I know how much you like this on me," Lando breathes, locking his eyes with your own. However, you're unable to withstand his burning gaze and lower your eyes, following the movements of your hands instead.

As your hand traces the lines of his chest and arms, you can't help but marvel at the strength and resilience that lie beneath the surface. The fabric is cool to the touch, yet it seems to hum with the energy of the track, a tangible reminder of the passion and dedication that fuel his every movement.

"This feels so good." You breathe deeply while you keep stroking his chest, feeling his biceps, and watch his chest move with every breath he takes, eliciting a low rumble of pleasure deep down his throat.

"Fuck," Lando can't hold back a low moan, his hand now following yours closely, his body yearning for so much more. He leans his head back, embracing both of your hands now on his chest.

You know how much he loves to be teased, touched, and stroked. Effortlessly, you push all of his buttons and his most sensitive spots—his nipples, pecs, arms, and most importantly, his member filling his suit.

"Good." You whisper, leaning in to him, tracing the outlines of his stubble just above his lips. A shiver races down your spine, the rough texture of his beard contrasting with the softness of your touch. There is something undeniably alluring about the way his beard frames his lips, adding a touch of raw sensuality to his appearance.

With each passing moment, the desire to feel the roughness of his stubble against your skin grows stronger—a primal urge that threatens to consume you completely. You lean in, brushing your lips against his in a tender caress. The sensation of his beard against your skin sends waves of pleasure coursing through your body.

With your hand on his crotch, he moans softly against your lips. Lost in the heat of the moment, you surrender yourself to the heady rush of emotions. Your lips meet in a fervent kiss, craving his delicious taste.

"Y/N." Lando murmurs, his hands now steady on your waist, holding you close.

"Care to give me a show?" You bite his lower lip teasingly, causing him to chuckle. "I want to see all of you in that." Tugging at the zipper of his racing suit, you stroke him firmer, encouraging him to show off.

"Of course." He giggles, and you settle onto the sofa, anticipation tingling in the air, thick with the electricity of the moment. With a mischievous glint in his eyes, Lando takes center stage, spreading your legs to make some space. His movements are fluid and confident as he begins his private show.

With each flex of his muscles, his form seems to come alive, the contours of his body highlighted by the sleek fabric of his racing suit. He lets you feel his muscles tense, letting out more guttural growls.

"Very good." You smile, and with a playful smirk dancing on his lips, he turns around, giving you a tantalizing glimpse of his firm back and arse. He bends to show off his butt even more, much to your amusement.

And then, with a sudden burst of energy, he begins to dance, his movements a mesmerizing combination of grace and athleticism. His hips sway to an invisible rhythm, and his body moves with a natural ease that shows off his innate charisma and confidence.

As he twirls and turns, the fabric of his suit seems to come alive as well, clinging to his form as he moves with effortless grace. With a slow and deliberate motion, he reaches for the zipper, his fingers tracing the line with teasing slowness.

As Lando slowly unzips his suit, his eyes never leave yours; their intensity like a flame igniting the air between you. His gaze is electric, a silnt invitation that sends shivers down your entire back. Hidden beneath his beautiful eyes lies hunger—a raw desire that mirrors the heat pulsating through your veins.

With each inch of fabric that melts away, inch by inch, he reveals the tight garments—a glimpse of the tight fireproofs. Easily, he slips out of the upper half of his suit, giving you a good look at his chest. His defined muscles barely conceiled, he flexes again, straining the fabric even more.

Lando closes the distance between you until you feel the warmth of his body radiating against your skin. His gaze is never wavering, pulling you so much closer.

"Fuck." You reach for his chest, tracing the tangible outlines of his abs, as he licks his lips. With the sleeves of his suit dangling down his waist, he stands before you, his form outlined against the soft glow of the room, a vision of strength and sensuality that takes your breath away.

In that moment, as you drink in the sight of him, you know you want him.

You motion for him to sit down right next to you, and right away, you lean in, kissing him passionately.

Lando embraces your body against his, and at the same time, your hand slips underneath his suit. His skin is warm and tight; all of the tension is showing its effect on his body.

"Mhmmm." He purrs into your mouth, one of his hands firmly on his length, bulging against his clothes.

In one swift motion, you manage to get into his pants and pull his member out of his clothes, causing him to moan in agreement.

"That would be so good, Y/N." Fully aware of what you're about to do, you keep kissing him while simultaneously running your hand up and down his length.

With every breath he takes, Lando lets out guttural groans before leaning his head back against the sofa cushions.

Looking into his eyes, you bend down and take him into your mouth.

"That's what I meant." He swallows hard, running a hand through your hair.

Together, you easily catch up to each other's rhythm, moving as one. His husky, rough voice echoes through your mind as more and more drops of his taste cover your tongue.

Then, his body gets stiff and rigid, and he holds his breath before letting go of all this tension, pressure, and desire. It feels so good. Letting out a long, breathless moan, he relaxes quickly, leaning back even more. You let go of him, licking your lips to savor the taste.

Lando fondles with himself for a while while you catch your breath.

"This was so good." You sigh deeply before a chuckle leaves your wet lips. He smirks, leans in, and kisses you.

"Thank you for being here." Lando rubs his nose against yours gently.

583 notes · View notes

bookwormjust · 13 days

Text

Imagine: Wrapped in Azriel’s Wings

The evening air was cool, and the twilight sky was painted in hues of pink and purple as the Night Court settled into a tranquil hush. The estate was bustling with activity as the celebrations for a recent victory continued, a lively affair filled with laughter and music. But amidst the festivities, you found yourself feeling a bit overwhelmed, the noise and crowds pressing in on you.

Azriel, ever perceptive to your moods, had noticed your discomfort. His keen instincts and deep connection to you made him acutely aware of when you needed solace. As the evening wore on, he gently guided you away from the crowded hall, leading you toward a quieter, more secluded corner of the estate.

The space was adorned with soft, glowing lanterns and the gentle rustle of leaves, creating an almost magical ambiance. Azriel’s protective nature was evident as he swept you into his arms, his wings unfurling behind him like a dark, comforting shield. His gaze was intense, but there was a softness in his eyes that spoke of his deep affection for you.

“I thought you might need a break,” he said quietly, his voice low and soothing. “It’s a lot to take in, and I don’t want you feeling overwhelmed.”

You looked up at him, gratitude and love shining in your violet eyes. “Thank you, Azriel. It’s just… sometimes it’s hard to process everything.”

He nodded, understanding fully. “I know. And I’m here to make sure you’re safe and comfortable.”

Without another word, Azriel enveloped you in his wings. The motion was smooth and deliberate, his wings folding around you with a tender, almost primal protectiveness. It was as if he was creating a cocoon, a private sanctuary where you could escape the world’s demands and simply be with him.

The warmth and softness of his membranes cocooned you, creating a snug, secure space. You could feel the gentle hum of his power, the steady beat of his heart as he held you close. The world outside seemed to fade away, the muffled sounds of the celebration becoming distant echoes.

“Better?” Azriel asked softly, his voice coming from the depths of the comforting darkness created by his wings.

You snuggled closer to him, feeling an overwhelming sense of safety and affection. “Much better,” you murmured, pressing a kiss to the fabric of his shirt where it met your cheek. “Thank you for this.”

Azriel’s breath hitched slightly at the touch, his protective instincts flaring even more. “I’d do anything for you,” he said, his voice a deep rumble that resonated with the sincerity of his words. “I don’t want you to ever feel alone or exposed.”

The bond between you pulsed with warmth and connection, a silent affirmation of the love and trust that you shared. Azriel’s wings tightened slightly around you, a gesture of reassurance and devotion. He rested his chin on top of your head, the soft whisper of his breath brushing against your hair.

“I love you,” you whispered, your voice filled with heartfelt emotion. “You make me feel so safe.”

Azriel’s grip on you tightened, his wings forming a snug embrace that made you feel utterly cherished. “I love you too,” he said, his voice tender. “You’re my everything. And I’ll always protect you, no matter what.”

The minutes passed in peaceful silence, the warmth of his wings and the rhythmic sound of his breathing creating a serene cocoon around you. You felt the tension and anxiety melt away, replaced by a profound sense of calm and contentment.

As the evening continued outside, you remained wrapped in the safety of Azriel’s wings. His primal instincts as an Illyrian male were evident in the way he held you, his protective nature a testament to the deep bond you shared. In that intimate space, you felt truly at home, surrounded by love and security.

When you finally emerged from the cocoon, the world seemed a little less daunting, the night’s festivities a backdrop to the profound connection you and Azriel shared. You looked up at him, your eyes shining with appreciation and affection.

“Ready to head back?” he asked, his gaze warm and inviting.

You nodded, feeling a renewed sense of strength and tranquility. “Yes. Thank you for this.”

Azriel’s smile was both gentle and fierce, his pride in you evident. “Anytime,” he said, taking your hand and leading you back toward the celebration. “I’m always here for you.”

As you rejoined the festivities, you felt a renewed sense of belonging and confidence, knowing that with Azriel by your side, you were never alone. His wings had been a shield, a sanctuary, and a symbol of his unwavering devotion, and you carried that warmth and protection with you into the night.

#azriel x reader fluff #azriel x reader anxiety #azriel x reader #azriel fanfic #azriel x oc #azriel x female!reader #azriel x you #azriel shadowsinger #azriel spymaster #azriel acotar #acotar reader imagine #acotar x reader #acotar #Spotify

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etherealval · 21 days

Text

— distraction

pairing: chris sturniolo x reader

warning: oral sex (f!recieving). fingering, worst written smut EVER ..

a/n: a bit scared to post dis cause writing smut is so hard and my last chris blurb did terrible compared to when i write for matt but here we go!

(∗˃̶ ᵕ ˂̶∗)

you lay comfortably on your bed, the soft light of your laptop screen illuminating the darkened room. the gentle sound of the latest episode of love island you’d been meaning to catch up on fills the air, providing a comforting backdrop. as you sink into the mattress, the day's fatigue gradually fades, as you lose yourself in the episode.

your attention is fully on the screen, immersed in the unfolding plot, when you feel a subtle shift beside you. chris, who had been lying quietly next to you, begins to move. at first, it’s just a slight rustling, the kind of movement that barely registers in your consciousness. but then, you feel his hand, warm and familiar, slide across your stomach. the touch is gentle, almost tentative, but it’s enough to draw your focus away from the screen.

you glance over at him, catching the faint outline of his face in the soft light. he’s watching you, his expression a mix of affection and something deeper, something that makes your heart skip a beat. you smile softly, thinking he’s just seeking a little comfort, a bit of connection after a long day. you let him linger, returning your gaze to the screen as his hand remains on your stomach.

but chris doesn’t stop there. his hand begins to move lower, sliding beneath the fabric of your shirt, and your breath catches. his touch is gentle, but there’s an intent behind it that you can’t ignore. you feel the warmth of his hand against your skin, the way his fingers brush the waistband of your pants, and suddenly, the video on your laptop doesn’t seem so important anymore.

you try to focus on the screen, willing yourself to stay engaged with the content. you even adjust the volume a little, trying to drown out the sensation of his hand moving lower, but it’s no use. his touch is insistent, demanding your attention, and your body reacts despite your attempts to stay grounded in the video.

“chris,” you murmur, your voice carrying a note of warning. “i’m trying to watch this.”

but he doesn’t stop. if anything, your protest seems to encourage him. his kisses become more insistent, more heated, and you can feel the wetness of his open mouth as he leaves a trail of warmth along your neck. each kiss is a little more intense, a little more demanding, and you feel yourself melting into the bed beneath you, your resolve weakening with every touch.

"please," he whispers against your skin, his voice thick with desire. "let me make you feel good."

you close your eyes, his words instantly making you wet. the episode, the screen, the dialogue—it all fades away, replaced by the sensation of chris’s mouth on your neck, his hand still moving lower, teasing the edge of your waistband. you want to resist, to tell him that you’re trying to watch, but the truth is that you’ve already lost the battle.

chris’s kisses grow more intense and more purposeful, and you feel a heat pooling in your belly that makes it impossible to focus on anything else. his hand slips beneath the fabric of your shorts, his fingers tracing circles on your thigh, leaving you breathless. every touch, every kiss is an unspoken promise, a plea for you to let go, to give in to the moment.

your facade crumbles, the episode-long forgotten as you turn toward him, your hands finding their way to his hair, pulling him closer. you feel the tension between you both, the electric current that seems to buzz in the air, and you know there’s no turning back now.

chris’s mouth is on yours before you can say another word, his kiss searing and passionate, a release of all the pent-up energy that’s been building between you. you let out a muffled moan before kissing him back with equal fervour, losing yourself in the sensation of his touch.

his hands are everywhere, mapping out every inch of your body as though he’s trying to memorize it, to savour every touch, every shiver he elicits from you. you can feel his heartbeat against yours, the rhythm matching the frantic pace of your own, and it only heightens the intensity of the moment.

the bed creaks beneath you as you shift, your legs tangling together as you pull him closer, desperate to feel every part of him. his lips leave yours only to find new territory, trailing down your jawline, your neck, his breath hot against your skin. you gasp as he finds the sensitive spot just below your collarbone, his teeth grazing your skin in a way that makes your back arch off the bed.

“chris,” you whine, his name a plea on your lips, but for what exactly, you’re not sure. all you know is that you want more, need more, and he seems to understand without you having to say another word.

his hand dips lower, finding the hem of your shorts, and he pauses, his eyes meeting yours in a silent question. you nod, your breath catching in your throat as you give him permission to continue, and he wastes no time slipping his hand beneath the fabric.

the rest of the world falls away as chris’s touch consumes you, his fingers rubbing slow circles over your clit. you can’t help but moan pathetically, wriggling your hips under his touch. he continues his wet kisses down your neck, all while pulling your shorts and panties down your legs, leaving you bare and vulnerable.

“so pretty baby, every single part of you” he mutters under his breath before placing his calloused hands on your thighs, spreading them out. he dips his body lower, his face directly infront of your glistening pussy.

he takes one last look at you before licking a bold stripe up your slit. you let out a gasp, your hands instantly finding their way to his hair, gripping his locks as your eyes flutter shut. his tongue laps at your pussy desperately, before latching onto your sensitive bundle of nerves.

“oh my god, chris please” you moan, grinding your hips further into his face, desperate for more of his touch.

your body tightens as the sensation builds, an electric current buzzing through your core, waves of euphoria coursing through your body. each breath you take becomes more shallow, your muscles clenching in anticipation.

“you taste so fucking good…” chris muttered against you, slurping your juices shamelessly, it was as if he lost all control in himself. he couldn’t get enough. “tell me how good i’m making you feel.”

“so good baby, you’re making me feel so good, please don’t stop” you whine.

he moaned into your heat, while shaking his hand, causing his nose to bump in to your clit repeatedly, sending shocks down your spine. soon after he began to slide his finger into your gaping hole, gasping at the way it swallowed his finger, before thrusting it slowly.

you looked down to see chris grinding his hips against the sheets, desperate for a release. the sight alone almost sent you over the edge.

“fuck, i’m close chris so close”

you felt yourself drawing closer and closer to the edge, as he added another finger, speeding up his movement all while paying more attention to your clit with his tongue.

his kisses, his hands, his voice, all working together to drive you to the edge. the room is filled with the sound of your breathless gasps, his low murmurs of encouragement, and the quiet rustling of sheets as you lose yourself in the moment.

and with a final, skilful flick of his tongue over your clit, chris sent you tumbling over the edge, leaving you trembling with the utter force of your release. a wave of intense pleasure washes over you, starting from deep within and radiating out in rhythmic pulses. your mind goes blank for a moment, lost in the overwhelming sensation, before slowly returning as the intensity fades, leaving you with a lingering warmth and a deep, satisfying sense of relaxation.

“are you alright love?” chris’s voice breaks you out of your orgasm induced haze, his hand cupping your cheek sweetly.

“mhm” you mumbled softly, tiredness washing over your body “thank you chris”

he smiled in return before sitting up on the bed “c’mon, let’s get you cleaned up.”

⭑.ᐟ

taglist: @42angelgirl , @heartsforvin

#etherealval ´ˎ˗#chris sturniolo x reader #chris sturniolo smut #chris x reader #chris sturiolo fanfic #chris sturniolo x y/n #chris sturniolo #matt sturniolo x reader #matt sturniolo smut #sturniolo x reader #sturniolo smut #sturniolo triplets #not proofread #i’m never writing smut again

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twilightnesss · 2 months

Text

・.・✫・゜secret gardens in my mind

pairing: kate martin x gf!reader

summary: after long and stressful days for kate while also being captured in the public eye, kate always turns to the one private thing in her life. her girlfriend, kristal.

warnings: smut; fingering!kate receiving. bottom kate (i hate it but it felt right)

divider from @animatedglittergraphics-n-more

kate stood at the window of her las vegas apartment, gazing out at the bustling city below. the sun had set, casting a golden hue over the skyscrapers, their outlines stretching into the pink and orange sky. the view was breathtaking, yet it did little to soothe her hiked nerves. another hectic day in the life of a star basketball player had taken its toll.

as if on cue, her phone buzzed with a text, and a small smile played on her lips. it was from kristal, her girlfriend—a soothing balm to her soul. come over soon, the message read. i'll help you relax.

turning away from the window, kate quickly changed into something more comfortable, her movements filled with anticipation. she slipped on a soft pair of sweatpants and a loose-fitting zip up. this was her evening routine, a sacred ritual that helped her unwind from the chaos of her public life.

stepping out of her apartment, she made her way downstairs, her footsteps echoing through the quiet lobby. as she stepped outside, the cool evening air nipped at her nose, and she breathed it in deeply, savoring the freshness.

kate's strides were purposeful as she walked the familiar route to kristal's apartment, her mind beginning to unravel and her shoulders relaxing with each step. the bustling city streets, usually a source of anxiety due to the constant attention, now felt like a welcoming backdrop to her private escape.

as she approached her destination, her heart rate quickened in anticipation. she climbed the stairs to kristal's floor and knocked softly on the familiar door.

the door opened, and there stood kristal, her haven in this chaotic world. kristal's eyes glistened with a welcoming warmth, her dark hair falling softly around her shoulders. she stepped aside, inviting kate inside with a gentle gesture.

the apartment was filled with the soothing aroma of incense, and soft jazz music played in the background, creating an ambiance that immediately slowed kate's racing thoughts.

"i've been thinking about you all day," kristal whispered, leaning in for a tender kiss.

kate melted into the embrace, the stress of the outside world momentarily forgotten. kristal's full lips and the subtle hint of mint in her mouth ignited a fire within her. breaking the kiss, kristal led kate further into the apartment, their hands intertwined.

seated on the plush couch, kate allowed herself to be drawn into an intimate embrace, kristal's slender fingers caressing her hair and neck. the tension that had been building up within her began to unwind. kristal's expert hands massaged her shoulders and back, working out the knots with practiced ease.

"you always look so stressed when you come over," kristal murmured, her breath warm against Kate's ear. "let me help you let go of all that."

with that, kristal stood up and began unzipping kate’s hoodie, her eyes never leaving kate's as she slowly revealed the soft skin beneath. once the hoodie was removed, kristal's hands returned to massage kate's bare shoulders, her touch even more exhilarating without the barrier of fabric.

kate's breath quickened as she felt kristal's fingers trail down her spine, and a shiver ran through her body. kristal's lips found their way to the nape of her neck, planting soft kisses that sent shudders down her spine.

"i want you to relax completely," kristal whispered, her voice like velvet against kate's sensitized skin. "let me take care of you."

kate felt herself being guided to the center of the room, where a large bean bag chair awaited. kristal helped her settle onto it, and kate reclined, closing her eyes as Kristal's skilled hands continued their magical touch. the world around her faded away, and she surrendered to the soothing atmosphere, her mind drifting into a peaceful haze.

kristal's massages had a hypnotic effect, and kate lost track of time, her body becoming heavier with each passing moment. the tension melted away, leaving her feeling weightless and serene. and then, kristal's hands stopped, and a momentary silence enveloped them.

kate opened her eyes to find kristal kneeling before her, a mischievous smile playing on her lips. without a word, kristal reached for the hem of kate's leggings, slowly slipping them off her muscular legs, revealing the smooth skin beneath.

kate's heart raced as she understood kristal's silent invitation. she sat up slightly, eager to reciprocate the favor, and began untying the loose knot of kristal's robe, revealing the curvaceous body beneath.

with gentle hands, they explored each other's bodies, touching, caressing, and kissing with utmost devotion. their breaths synchronized in the quiet room, the soft music providing the perfect backdrop to their intimate dance.

kate took her time, savoring the taste of kristal's skin, the scent of her perfume, and the feel of her supple curves. every touch was intentional, every kiss filled with longing. she explored every inch of kristal's body, relishing the soft moans and shivers that her touches evoked.

similarly, kristal's expertise in arousing kate was evident. her hands seemed to know exactly where to wander, and her lips devoured kate's with a hungry passion that matched her own. the bean bag chair became their sanctuary, a soft nest for their built up desires.

their kisses intensified, and kate felt the heat of desire build within her. she craved more, needing to feel kristal deeper inside her.

with gentle urgency, they guided each other to lie down on the large bed nearby. the soft sheets dipped beneath them, and they nestled together, their bodies now aligned.

kate felt kristal's hot breath against her collarbone as her strong thighs bracketed her hips. a low moan escaped kate's lips as kristal's fingers found their way to the most intimate parts of her body, skillfully teasing and pleasing her.

the pleasure built in waves, and kate surrendered to the sensation, her hips rising to meet kristal's expert touches. the room became a blur, the outside world non-existent, as she was lost in a maelstrom of pleasure.

kristal's name escaped her lips in passionate sighs, her fingers entwined with kristal's as they both rode the high of an intense orgasm. the aftermath left them content and breathless, their bodies glistening with a fine layer of sweat.

lying in each other's arms, kate felt the weight of the day lift from her shoulders. kristal's steady heartbeat against her ear soothed her soul, and she knew that this was her sanctuary, a place where she could truly be herself and find peace.

as the night deepened, they shared whispers of their day, their voices soft and intimate in the dark room. the scent of sex and the soothing jazz created an atmosphere that was both exhilarating and calming.

eventually, reality hit, and they reluctantly parted ways, dressing in silence as the moon cast a silvery glow over their intimate space.

kate exited the apartment, a sense of calm and contentment washing over her. the city streets seemed quieter now, and the paparazzi nonexistant. she breathed in the night air, feeling rejuvenated and grateful for the sanctuary that kristal provided.

returning to her own apartment, kate felt a sense of balance restored. she knew that no matter the chaos that awaited her tomorrow, she had a secret weapon—a loving embrace that could melt away any stress.

as she drifted off to sleep, kate smiled, knowing that while the public eye may capture her image, her true self belonged to another—a captivating woman who provided her with a sanctuary of sensual bliss.

a/n: hehe.. love , lana

#kate martin #kate martin x reader #wnba #womens basketball #wbb x reader #iowa wbb #kate martin x oc #kate martin smut

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aeth-eris · 11 months

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Synastry Placements as Love Tropes

Enemies to Lovers: Mars in hard aspect (square or opposition) to Venus. This planetary configuration symbolizes the initial conflict and tension that often characterize the enemies-to-lovers trope, where intense attraction gradually unfolds amid a backdrop of emotional friction and passionate exchanges.

Friends to Lovers: Moon in harmonious aspect (trine or sextile) to Venus. Reflecting the gentle transition from friendship to romance, this aspect signifies the emotional comfort and rapport underlying the progression from platonic companionship to profound romantic intimacy portrayed in the friends-to-lovers trope.

Forbidden Love: Venus in hard aspect (square or opposition) to Saturn. This configuration mirrors the emotional constraint, societal barriers, and profound longing central to the forbidden love trope, where characters grapple with the complexities of desire amidst formidable obstacles and societal expectations.

Love Triangle: Venus in hard aspect (square or opposition) to Uranus. The disruptive influence of this configuration echoes the emotional turmoil and conflicting desires often depicted in love triangle narratives, where characters navigate intricate relationships fraught with unpredictability and inner conflict.

Soulmates: Sun in close aspect (conjunction) to Moon. This celestial alignment signifies the deep emotional resonance and profound connection characterizing soulmate relationships, exemplifying the profound sense of unity and mutual understanding embedded within the soulmate trope.

Fake Relationship: Venus in hard aspect (square or opposition) to Neptune. Reflecting the illusory nature and emotional complexities woven into the fabric of fake relationship narratives, this configuration captures the blurred lines between genuine affection and orchestrated pretense often portrayed in this trope.

Slow Burn: Mars in harmonious aspect (trine or sextile) to Saturn. This planetary configuration embodies the patient development and enduring attraction characteristic of slow burn relationships, where emotional growth and profound connection gradually unfold over time amid a backdrop of steady, deliberate progression.

Second Chance Romance: Jupiter in harmonious aspect (trine or sextile) to Venus. Signifying renewed hope, growth, and forgiveness, this configuration embodies the themes of redemption and reconciliation embedded within second chance romance narratives, where characters embrace a renewed opportunity for love and understanding.

Vampire/Human Love: Pluto in hard aspect (square or opposition) to Sun. Reflecting the intense power dynamics and existential challenges often portrayed in vampire/human love stories, this configuration captures the transformative and sometimes tumultuous nature of relationships entwined with themes of immortality and forbidden passion.

Opposites Attract: Mercury in hard aspect (square or opposition) to Jupiter. This planetary alignment embodies the interplay of contrasting perspectives and personalities central to the opposites attract trope, where characters navigate the intricate balance between differing worldviews and complementary qualities to foster a harmonious and dynamic relationship.

#love tropes #relationship tropes #astrology #synastry #synastry placements #love astrology

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mariasont · 6 months

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Our Minds Entwined-----------------------

ch 1, ch 2, ch 3, ch 4, ch 5, ch 6, ch 7

MDNI !!!!!--------------------------------------------------------------------

pairings: aaron hotchner x oc x spencer reid summary: in which jason gideon's daughter joins the fbi as the newest, youngest member warnings: soft dom spencer, sub oc, making out, sexual tension, age gap, fingering, dirty talk, i think that's it!

Chapter Six:

As the SUV rolled into the small, sunbaked town of Maricopa, Arizona, the heat hit them like a physical force. The town lay simmering under the relentless sun. The mercury had soared to a scorching 113, and the air summered with heatwaves rising from the parched earth. It had been weeks since Evelyn's last case, filled with a growing sense of belonging at the BAU, yet blemished by an internal battle against thoughts she deemed incredibly inappropriate--thoughts of Hotch and Reid.

As she stepped out into the furnace that was midday Arizona, the heat enveloped her like a suffocating blanket. She was clad in a light, sleeveless tank top that clung to her form, paired with loose-fitting cargo pants that allowed her some respite from the heat.

Behind her, Hotch and Reid were thankful their sunglasses hid the way their eyes followed the sight of Evelyn, her silhouette outlined against the harsh glare of the sun.

As Evelyn's gaze lingered on Spencer, the sight of his shirt sleeves casually rolled to his elbows, sent a warm shiver down her spine. She caught her breath, her teeth gently catching on her lip in a futile attempt to stop the fluttering in her chest. When he spoke, a dimple would flash momentarily on his cheek, a fleeting view that would leave her heart aching for more.

Her thoughts then turned to Hotch, whose commanding aura was accentuated by the way the heat caused his shirt to cling to his broad shoulders. She couldn't help but think of how he would look on top of her, pinning her own shoulders down. Even in the sweltering sun, he exuded an air of cool authority that was as compelling as it was intimidating.

Both equally alluring in their own right. It was a dangerous game, letting her mind wander like this.

She shook her head, trying to dispel the images. 'Focus,' she chided herself.

The sun bore down mercilessly on the small town of Maricopa, turning the air into a tangible curtain of heat. Evelyn wiped at her forehead, the fabric of her handkerchief quickly dampening as she exhaled a labored breath. "I knew it'd be hot, but this is like walking into an oven."

Hotch, his silhouette sharp against the blinding backdrop, offered a firm nod, the lines of his face set in stoic resolve.

"Focus on the case, Evelyn. The heat is just another variable to manage." Yet, even he seemed to succumb to the sweltering climate, his fingers deftly unfastening the top buttons of his shirt.

Evelyn's eyes traced the movement, a flush of embarrassment warming her cheeks even more as she imagined a completely different scenario.

God, she needed to get laid.

Spencer emerged last, his curls already beginning to curl from the oppressive humidity. "Actually, if we consider the heat index, it's more akin to a convection oven. The humidity amplifies the subjective temperature, making it feel even hotter."

Evelyn's smirk lingered as she absorbed Reid's attempt at reassurance. "Thanks, Reid. That's... oddly comforting," she quipped, the irony not lost on her.

The scene before them was a desolate stretch of road, a dusty turnout off a seldom-used highway. A lone car sat in the center; its paint job dulled by the sun's unforgiving rays.

Hotch's voice cut through the stillness. "Let's get to work. Keep an eye out for anything that might give us insight into the unsub's patterns."

The rest of the team was back with the local PD, leaving just the three of them to navigate the scene. They moved with precision, each step deliberate, documenting everything. The heat was a constant pressure, an invisible force that sought to overwhelm them.

Evelyn seemed almost like a mirage to Hotch and Reid. The fabric hugged her form as beads of sweat traced paths down her skin. As she leaned forward to inspect the car door, Spencer's attention by the curve of her breasts. He quickly redirected his thoughts, focusing on the task at hand.

"There's a discrepancy in the tire impressions," he began. "They're inconsistent with the victim's tire treads. It's possible we're looking a secondary vehicle, potentially the unsubs."

"The victim, Michael Torres, 34, he's far from his last known location at the diner. He was an accountant, no known enemies." Evelyn announces from memory, her gaze sweeping over the bleak scene, "but how did the unsub lure him out here? Especially if he brought his own car? How could he prevent the victim from just driving off? Going to the police station?"

"It's possible the unsub used a ruse to get Torries out here." Hotch suggested, his posture rigid as he folded his arms over his chest.

Spencer, his brow furrowed in concentration dragged his thumb across his bottom lip. "Or the unsub could have disabled the vehicle remotely after Torres arrived, preventing him from leaving."

Evelyn's eyes narrowed as she considered the implications. "That would require technical expertise," she mused aloud. "Do we have anything in his background that suggests he was targeted for his skills?"

Hotch shook his head gently. "Not that we've seen," he confirmed.

Evelyn's moment of contemplation was brief, her lips pursing in a thoughtful pout that captured the attention of both Spencer and Hotch. She reached for her phone and dialed Garcia.

"Tech Goddess Garcia, at your beck and call my queen," Penelope's voice rang out, a vibrant contrast to the arid scene around them.

Evelyn's laughter, light and unexpected, seemed to momentarily soften the edges of the harsh environment. "Hi, P. Can you cross-reference Michael Torres' financials? Look for any anomalies or recent tech purchases."

"On it, sug! I'll work my magic and get back to you," Garcia replied. Evelyn, with a smile playing on her lips, voiced her thanks before gently disconnecting the call.

"Also, let's consider the possibility of coercion. The unsub might have threatened someone Torres cared about," Spencer mused, his voice steady despite the heat that seemed to press upon them with an almost physical weight. Droplets of sweat glistened on his forehead, and his hair, now clung to his temples in damp curls.

"But there's no mention of a missing person connected to him," Evelyn countered.

"Right. Let's keep digging. The answer is here; we just need to connect the dots." A pause, then a slight tilt of his head towards Evelyn, Hotch's voice carrying the faintest hint of dry humor. "Let's get out of this heat, Evelyn looks like she's about to pass out."

Evelyn, caught off guard by the rare flicker of levity in Hotch's tone, stopped fanning herself. "Hey," she giggled, "I think the heat's getting to you too. You're starting to sound almost human." Her words were light, teasing, and in the vast expanse of the desert, she swore she caught a brief smile before he turned towards the SUV.

Inside the bustling precinct, the team gathered around a cluster of desks, papers and photographs spread out before them. Officers darted between the rows of desks, their voices a low murmur punctuated by the occasional crackle of radios. The conditioning was a welcome reprieve from the desert's furnace.

"Local PD says there's no pattern in victims' jobs or social circles. It's like the unsub is choosing them at random." Prentiss's voice cut through the buzz of the station.

Mirroring her team's attire, Prentiss donned a casual v-neck today, a file in her hand fanning the heat off her face. She paced the room, arms clasped behind her.

"There's gotta be a link," Morgan argues, his voice tinged with frustration. He stands firmly, his posture is assertive. His eyes, dark and focused, scan the team, seeking any sign of agreement, "unsubs don't just throw darts at a phone book."

"Unless we're dealing with a thrill killer. But this feels more... personal." Rossi spoke, leaning back in his chair, eyes narrowed in thought.

Evelyn leaned forward, her gaze flitting across the faces of her colleagues, settling on Spencer's. "Three victims, three different lives. There has to be something that ties them together," she asserted.

"Well, they all suffered in that heat. Maybe that's our common thread--punishment." Prentiss suggests.

"Speaking of heat, I never thought I'd say this, but I'm actually missing those chilly Quantico mornings." Morgan manages with a wry smile.

Rossi, with a chuckle a knowing glance towards Morgan, retorts, "you? I recall a certain someone complaining all last winter."

Evelyn chimes in, her laughter crinkling the corners of her eyes as she gently shakes her head, "I think we can all agree, a little less sun and a little more snow wouldn't hurt."

The sound of a phone ringing cuts through their exchange. Evelyn glances at their caller ID and a smile forms on her lips, softening the tension in her jaw.

"Hi P, you're on with the team." Evelyn answers, switching to speaker. The device clicks and Garcia's voice spills into the room.

"Hello, my knights in standard-issue body armor! I have news," she announces, "all of the victims made purchases from a company called Key Innovations. They make those fancy remote car keys--like, the kind that can start your car from inside a building."

"That's our link." Hotch notes, " Get as much information as you can on the employees, Garcia. Evelyn, you're with me. We need to pay this Key Innovations a visit."

The SUV's engine hummed as it cut through the streets, a steady backdrop to the hush that had fallen over Evelyn and Hotch. She stole a glance at him, his profile etched with the usual stoicism, eyes hidden behind his dark sunglasses.

"You know," Evelyn began, her voice a soft flutter against the buzz of the AC, "I've never actually been to a company like Key Innovations. The tech must be pretty advanced, right? To remotely disable a car like that?"

Hotch's reply was curt, his gaze never leaving the road. "It's a specialized field. Their technology could be a critical piece of this case."

Evelyn's fingers danced over her badge, the metallic surface cool against her warm skin. "Right, right. Critical. It's just... well, it's fascinating, isn't it? How something designed to make life easier can be twisted into... this."

"It's often the case. Progress has it shadows." Hotch noted.

Evelyn, her hair coiled into a bun atop her head to escape the heat's caress, felt the air conditioning brush against the exposed nape of her neck. Hotch's gaze, though obscured, lingered a moment too long on the delicate curve.

"I've been meaning to ask--how do you stay so composed? With everything we see?" Evelyn asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

"Focus on the victims, the justice they deserve. It keeps things in perspective." Hotch replied, his voice steady.

"I guess I'm still learning that part," Evelyn sighed, "sometimes it all just feels overwhelming, amazing, but overwhelming."

"It takes time," Hotch says with a curt nod. "You're doing well."

"Thanks, sir. I just really love this job, you know? It's just that sometimes it feels like I'm running alongside professional athletes. And I'm just... me. I mean, I keep up, sure. I have my morning routine--high-protein breakfast, you know, eggs, Greek yogurt, the works. It's actually because of my anemia. Not a big deal, really. But it's like my own personal marathon every day, keeping pace with you guys."

Hotch remained silent for a moment, his eyes never leaving the road. Then, without turning, the corners of his mouth twitched upwards ever so slightly.

"Agent, take a breath."

Evelyn's rambling came to an abrupt halt, and she let out a small, nervous laugh. "Right."

The sleek glass doors of Key Innovations slid open with a whisper, ushering Hotch and Evelyn into the cool, modern lobby. The receptionist looked up, a practiced smile ready on her lips, but it faltered and died under Hotch's firm gaze.

"I'm Special Agent Hotchner, and this is Special Agent Gideon. We need to speak with your CEO," Hotch announced, his voice echoing slightly in the vast space of the lobby as we presented our badges.

The receptionist nodded, her fingers trembling slightly as she pressed the intercom button. "Mr. Landon, FBI agents are here to see you."

A voice crackled through, calm and collected. "Send them up."

As they ascended to the top floor, Evelyn's nerves buzzed. She watched Hotch, his every move exuding authority and purpose.

They were greeted by a man with sharp eyes that held a hint of caution and a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. "Agents, I'm James Landon. What can I do for you?"

"We believe your products have been used in a series of murders. We need a list of customers who've purchased your remote car keys as well as your employees in the past six months," Hotch stated.

Landon's eyes flickered with concern, a shadow passing over his face. "Of course, I'll get that for you right away."

Minutes later, they poured over the list in a conference room. "Hotch," Evelyn points out, her finger tapping against a name on the list, "Look. Simon Travers, he processed the orders for all of the victims."

"Is Travers in the building?" Hotch questioned, his gaze never leaving the list.

Landon nodded, a hint of unease creeping into his eyes. "Yes, he's one of our programmers."

Travis was found in his office, a nest of gadgets and screen that hummed and blinked with a life of their own. His surprise at their presence was palpable, but he masked it quickly.

"Mr. Travers, we need you to come with us for questioning regarding the misuse of your company's products," Hotch state, his tone leaving no room for argument.

As Hotch and Evelyn escorted Simon Travers through the bustling corridors of Key Innovations, tensions hung in the air like static. Travers, with hands cuffed in front of him, a defiant tilt to his chin. He turned his head slightly towards Evelyn, a smirk playing on his lips.

"Must be my lucky day, getting arrested by such a pretty face," Travers smirked, his eyes raking over Evelyn in a way that made her skin crawl.

The comment sliced through the professional veneer of the moment, and Evelyn's stride didn't falter, but her eyes flashed with disapproval. Before she could respond, Hotch stepped slightly in front of her, his voice low and edged with a warning.

"Watch your mouth," he growled.

The interrogation room was awash with the harsh, unyielding glare of the overhead lights, which hummed incessantly above. They cast a clinical pallor on the team, their faces etched with the indelible marks of fatigue. Travers remained seated; his composure seemingly unshaken by the grueling hours of scrutiny.

In the midst of the tense atmosphere, Evelyn's yawn cut through the silence, a delicate yet unguarded moment that caught Spencer's attention. He couldn't help but watch her, the way her eyes fluttered closed slower than usual, her lashes casting long shadows down her cheeks, the way the corners of her mouth downturned in a soft frown of exhaustion. It was rare glimpse of vulnerability that Spencer found incredibly endearing, a contrast to her usual ball of energy.

Rossi, ever the observant one, caught the exchange and responded with a wry smile, "You know, in some culture, yawning is considered a sign of deep thinking. Or is it just your subtle way of saying we're boring you, Evelyn?"

Her tired eyes twinkled at the comment as she shot back, "If that were true, Rossi, I think we'd all be geniuses by now."

"We're done for tonight," Hotch declared, his voice devoid of his usual sharpness, worn down by the day's exertions. "he's not giving anything up."

"Because I have nothing to hide. I didn't do anything," Travers retorted, his voice unwavering.

Hotch let out a deep sigh, the sound heavy with the weight of a 14-hour deadlock. He rose from his chair, the movement sluggish, a signal to the oppressive heat that seeped into their bones. "Let's pack it up. We'll continue tomorrow."

The team's exhaustion was evident, Hotch's once crisp suit now clinging to his skin, tie loosened in a futile attempt to alleviate the sweltering heat. Evelyn's eyes were softened by the relentless temperature that mocked the coolness of the room's decor. As they collected their belongings, their movements slow, mechanical--each step was a battle against the invisible battle of the exhaustion and heat.

The hotel was a beacon of rest in the night, but as they arrived, the front desk clergy greeted them with an apologetic frown. "I'm sorry we're overbooked. You'll have to double up on rooms."

Hotch took the news in stride, quickly making arrangements for the team. "JJ and Prentiss, you're together. Rossi and Morgan, you've got a room. And Spencer, you're with Evelyn."

The hotel room door clicked shut behind Spencer and Evelyn, the sound echoing slightly in the compact space. They stood there for a moment, an awkward silence stretching between them. The awkwardness skyrocketing as their gaze landed on the situation before them. One bed. Of course.

"I can take the floor," Spencer suggested, grabbing Evelyn's bag, setting it beside his own by the dresser.

Evelyn's response came with a dismissive wave, "don't be ridiculous, it's big enough, we can both take a side." Her voice carried her usual confidence, though her insides were aflutter with what that might mean. "Do you mind if I take the first shower?"

"Of course, go ahead. I'll just... um, go over the case notes again while you do that."

Evelyn nodded and disappeared into the bathroom, the sound of running water soon filling the room. Spencer's breath hitched in his throat as he noticed the door slightly ajar, revealing a sliver of light within the bathroom.

With his case files before him as a cover, he watched as Evelyn stood in the crack, slipping her shirt gently over her head. Spencer knew he was supposed to look away, he knew that. Next came her bra, falling to the floor, leaving the slope of her back to Spencer, her hair dropping against the bare skin.

Spencer tore his gaze away as she reached for her pants, trailing a finger over the files with one hand and rubbing the bridge of his nose with the other. A few minutes later, the water stopped, an Evelyn emerged, a cloud of steam billowing out behind her. She hadn't realized the door hadn't closed fully, and Spencer quickly averted his gaze, his cheeks coloring with embarrassment.

"Oh! Sorry, I didn't mean to... I thought I closed the door."

"It's... it's fine. I didn't see anything." Spencer stumbled over his words, his hand instinctively reaching for the back of his neck.

Evelyn was now dressed in a tiny pair of pajamas, the fabric light and airy against her skin. It left nothing to the imagination, the shorts riding up with every step, her generous curves filling out all the right places, the outline of her nipples evident despite the heat.

"Well, I guess this is the one way to beat the heat, huh? These PJs are practically made of air." Evelyn joked as she ran a brush through her wet hair.

Spencer managed a nervous chuckle, his eyes darting anywhere but at Evelyn. "Yeah, the heat... it's definitely something."

Evelyn made her way across the room, tossing her hair into a loose ponytail, attempting to gain some relief off her neck. Her frame stopped at her bag, reaching down to neatly shove her clothes back in the duffel.

Spencer the flames rise to his cheeks as he attempted to keep his focus glued to the files before him. It took everything in him to not ogle the woman who stood in practically nothing and eventually his resolve didn't hold. He started at her ankles, rising slowly over her legs, taking his time, drinking her in. His eyes halted at the soft curve of her ass, God, he'd never seen an ass like that.

He cursed himself for thinking like that, for imagining his coworker, much younger coworker at that, in such a way. He felt like a pervert, imagining her in compromising positions, her hands braced against the dresser, his chest flush against her back.

Evelyn turned back towards the bed and Spencer covered his state with a clearing of his throat. She made her way to the bed, letting her bare legs slip under the comforter.

"Did you know," Spencer began, adjusting his glasses, "that the body is bioluminescent? We usually emit a small amount of light, but it's a thousand times weaker than the human eye can perceive."

"Well, if we start glowing any brighter, we might just save on the electricity bill," Evelyn quipped, a smirk playing on her lips as she tucked herself under the comforter. Her gaze lingering on his.

Spencer glanced at Evelyn, the corners of his mouth twitching upwards. "Actually, the human body could power a small light bulb with the energy it emits," he said.

Evelyn's laughter bubbled up uncontrollably at his response. She leaned in, tucking her head against his shoulder. Spencer's initial reaction was a slight stiffening, the unfamiliarity of the contact sending a jolt through him, a warmth spreading through him that had nothing to do with the temperature.

Evelyn settled into the bed, her body relaxing as she nestled her head into the soft pillow. Spencer, meanwhile, rose to dim the lights, leaving only the lamp beside him to cast a gentle glow across the room. He then rejoined her, sitting upright with the case files spread before him, his mind still entrenched in the details.

"Spence, it's late," Evelyn murmured, her voice tinged with concern. "You can go over that in the morning. You need rest."

He glanced at her, the faintest hint of a weary smile on his lips. "The mind has a remarkable capacity for nocturnal problem-solving," he replied, his gaze returning to the papers.

Evelyn sighed softly. "So, where do we go from here then?" she asked, shifting to face him.

"We keep interrogating him," Spencer explained, "we'll use the profile, find the leverage points and get inside his head. It's only a matter of time."

As he spoke, Evelyn's leg accidentally brushed against his. A flush of warmth spread across her cheeks, but Spencer seemed unfazed, his focus unbroken as he continued detailing their strategy.

Evelyn felt her eyes drift closed, the steady hum of his voice washing over her. The file slipped from Spencer's fingers as his eyes followed Evelyn's movement, the sheets rustling as she pulled them around her, hair falling against her neck, the tips tickling the exposed flesh.

He was suddenly very aware of how close she was, his thoughts turning from the case, his mind solely on her.

A soft sigh escaped her lips as she burrowed deeper into the blankets, the soft light framing her face, her long lashes fluttering. He let his gaze roam over her, his heart stuttering as her legs brushed his again. His heart beat a rapid rhythm in his chest, his hands fisting the sheets as his body responded to the contact.

He reached over to the lamp, flicking it off as he let the darkness envelop them both.

The night had deepened into its quietest hours. Spencer's eyes fluttered open to a soft sound, a distant echo that seemed out of place in the stillness. As his senses sharpened, he became acutely aware of the warmth against him, the gentle rise and fall of Evelyn's breathing. At some point during the night, they had gravitated towards each other, his hands planted firmly against her back and ass.

He quickly redacted his touch, palming through his hair as he made out the peaceful expression on her face. Her features softened in her sleep, her lips parted slightly, her arm rested on the pillow next to this, hand splayed open.

"Spencer," Evelyn whispered.

Spencer's gaze widened; she was still asleep. Compelled by a force he couldn't name, his hand sought hers, fingers intertwining with a gentleness that belied his racing heart.

Evelyn's moan drifted into the silence. The sound sending an unexpected pleasure through him. His hold on her involuntarily tightened. His eyes darted back to her, breath lodged in his throat, as he became acutely aware of the peaks of her breasts poking through her top.

Once more, she stirred, her breasts drawing close, her back arching ever so slightly. She was having a sex dream, he realized. Her leg swept across the sheets, sending a soft graze of her knee against his. He sucked in a breath as he felt the familiar surge of arousal, his cock hardening as his name fell from her lips again.

A hushed moan parted her lips once more as she shifted relentlessly, writhing softly. Finally settling her ass firmly in the nook of his front. Spencer exhaled a shaky breath, his hands gravitating to her hips with an urgency that betrayed him, fingers pressing into the fabric of her shorts in an attempt to still her movements.

This was wrong, he thought to himself, willing rational thought to take over. It felt like a betrayal to even entertain the thought, a silent war waged in the recesses of his mind. She laid before him, not just a coworker but a friend, one at least seven years his junior. And yet, the blood rushing to his cock and Evelyn's parted lips calling his name seemed to cut his IQ in half. A fog descending over his reason.

A wave of desperation guided his free hand up the delicate curve of her neck, entwining with the curls at her nape, pulling her closer into his chest. Evelyn's eyelids lifted slowly, a drowsy haze giving way to clarity as she registered the hold. The reality of their closeness, the arousal coursing through her, and the slickness between her thighs washed over her.

Her voice was a soft tremor in the stillness, "Spence," she whispered, her voice tinged with uncertainty, now fully awake.

"Seems like you were having a bad dream, Evelyn," Spencer murmured, his fingers gently coaxing her hair, drawing her into the warmth of his breath, his lips hovering close, "the mind has a peculiar way of weaving narratives when we're most vulnerable."

A wave of warmth surged to her cheeks, the dream's vivid memories flooding her senses, each one starring him. She found herself momentarily breathless as her body instinctively softened against his. Her thighs clenching, seeking to soothe the deepening ache that thrummed through her every heartbeat.

Words deserted her, her thoughts scattering like leaves in the wind as his fingers sketched a path along her hip, coming to a deliberate pause on the tender skin of her inner thigh, tantalizingly close to where she needed him to be. Her hand swept back in a natural arc, fingers threading through his hair, securing a tender hold as his lips brushed softly against the crease of her neck.

His fingers danced along the canvas of her thighs, igniting a yearning within her that propelled her body against his, driven by a fervent desire to diminish the space between them. Her panties were reduced to a soaking mess.

His fingers danced on her wrist, her body pushing into his in a desperate attempt to be closer.

"Tell me to stop." His plea unfurled in the hush, raspy and laden with sleep, as if each word was a desperate clawing against the silence. "Tell me to stop, Evelyn, because I think if I don't now, I'll never be able to."

"Spencer, please," came Evelyn's soft murmur, not even sure what she was asking for.

Her fingers curled tighter into the soft rebellion of his hair as she pivoted to face him, her gaze delving into his, drinking in the sight, absorbing every line, every contour. His eyes, wide and ravenous, betrayed a longing as palpable as the hands that ached to trace her every curve.

Her soft utterance was all the invitation he needed; his hands framed her face like a cherished verse, his lips finding hers in a kiss that was both reckless and rooted in need. His fingers made its way between them, as he flipped her onto her back, his body towering over hers. Evelyn gasped into his mouth as his fingers drew delicate circles on her clit, her body instinctively rising in an arch to meld with his.

"God, you're so fucking wet, Evelyn." His obscene words only seemed to amplify the problem, prompting her thighs to clench together, but his hands prevented her from doing so. A moan was her only response, her hands reaching out to desperately cling to him, distrustful of her ability to speak.

"You want me to make you feel good?" He questions, his fingers teasing Evelyn's entrance, tracing up and down her slit. Evelyn's nod was fraught with urgency, her head tilting back, surrendering to the softness of the pillow. Her fingers twisted into the sheets, gripping them tightly. "I know, princess."

His fingers plunged into her wetness, her moan coming out as a sob of relief. Her hands found their way around his neck as her hips grinded against the palm of his hand. A ghost of a smirk played on Spencer's lips at the reaction. His lips found her neck, settling at the sensitive flesh behind her ear.

His pace increased. As she threaded her fingers through Spencer's hair, it only spurred him on, his movements relentless. Her mind was blank, every thought eclipse of his face. Evelyn tried to speak, to say what? She wasn't sure. All that came were breathless moans.

"You're doing so good, sweetheart," Spencer's praise traveled all the way to her pussy, clenching around his fingers as he spoke, "look at you, you're such a mess princess."

The familiar coil of anticipation tightened in Evelyn's core, her breaths growing labored as she grasped at Spencer, her fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt. "Spencer, I--"

He silenced her with a decisive motion, his hands tracing the contours of her face as he pressed his lips to hers hard. Her sobs melted into the kiss as she writhed beneath him. "I know. Go ahead, let go for me."

His words were all she needed, her body convulsing suddenly as pleasure washed over her. Her eyes, brimming with the shimmer of tears, sought out Spencer's face. Her thumb finding his bottom lip as she grinded her body against his. A Chesire grin spread across his face, leisurely and content, as he eased his pace, letting her ride out her high.

Her eyes fluttered as she tried to recover, her mind a haze of disorientation. Her fingers danced lightly across his face and neck, exploring to warmth of his skin. With a gentle press of his lips to each cheek, he drew out a smile from Evelyn, dazed and luminous, her chest rising and falling. She had never felt so euphoric.

Her hands immediately flew to his pajama pants, dancing along the line of his boxers, drawing him closer, as her lips found his. A soft chuckle escaped him as he seized her wandering hands, halting their advance with a gentle firmness.

"Spencer," she uttered with a pout, her gaze intensifying as if to memorize his every feature, "let me return the favor."

"Can't let you do that, sweetheart," he protested with a smile. "If I did, I will never focus on another thing again. Remember, my eidetic memory would replay that moment with relentless precision every hour," he paused, planting a kiss on her temple, "every minute," another to her nose, "every second," and finally, a lingering kiss to her lips.

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mononijikayu · 5 months

Text

too sweet — ryomen sukuna.

His gaze did not waver as he leaned in, the intensity of his eyes locked onto yours, communicating a depth of emotion that words could scarcely convey. You felt his breath against your skin, warm and inviting, before his lips met yours in a soft, exploratory kiss that spoke of a thousand unspoken promises. The gentleness of the kiss was a stark contrast to the fierce battles and harsh realities that both of you faced daily; here, in this moment, there was only gentleness, only love.

GENRE: Heian Era to Shibuya Arc, 2018;

WARNING/s: Alternate Universe ─ Canon Divergence, Romance, Emotional Hurt, Found Family, Hurt/Comfort, Heavy Angst, Heavy Pining, Domesticity, Friends to Lovers, Character Death, Grief, Mention of Depression, Mention of Mourning, Depiction of Physical Touch, Depiction of Mental Anguish, Depiction of Violence, Depiction of Harm, Depiction of Blood and Wounds, Depiction of Death, Depiction of Harm, Portrayal of Misogynist And Degrading Acts and Language;

masterlist

ashes of love

song: too sweet by hozier

note: i was distracted writing this because my mother came from thailand and brought home the best sandwiches from 7/11 thailand. i just??? i think i fell in love. other than that, they've grown up and fallen in love for each other!!! let's see how their love story <333 mwah <333

HE’D NEVER THOUGHT HE’D EVER BE IN THIS POSITION SEVEN YEARS LATER. As the wind caressed his face, Sukuna's stern gaze took in the increasingly familiar landscape unfolding before him. The languid rustle of cherry blossoms caught in a spring breeze, their petals scattering whimsically, began to ease the tension in his shoulders. The lively calls of fisherfolk, a harmonious chorus that had once been foreign to his ears, now beckoned warmly from one end of the bustling docks to the other.

Approaching the land, the sight of double herons embroidered on rich, silken purple flags fluttering against the wooden decks of the patrol ships struck a chord within him. A subtle smile tugged at the corners of his mouth—a rare, involuntary expression of contentment. For years, the concept of home had been an alien idea to him. As an orphan boy, he had never known a consistent backdrop, nor had he felt a compelling need to root himself in a place that promised permanence.

Yet, here he was, years later, feeling the weight of reformation. Ryomen Sukuna had wrestled with the need for a place to call home for many moons, and now, as he stood on the precipice of return, he found it waiting for him. Home, once a strange and elusive notion, had slowly woven itself into the fabric of his existence, coloring his world with a sense of belonging he had never dared to imagine before.

The familiar sights and sounds that he had once observed with detachment now welcomed him with the quiet affirmation of arrival. Home was no longer just a place, but a living tapestry of experiences and memories that, against all odds, had claimed him as its own.

Sukuna hadn’t anticipated that his mission would stretch out so long; after all, the curse wasn't particularly formidable. However, as time passed, the whispers of his prowess in jujutsu began to permeate far and wide. You had always cautioned Sukuna to maintain discretion in his work—reminding him that a Ryomen does not boast nor seek glory in fulfilling his duty.

He vividly recalled the countless times you made him write those words repeatedly whenever his confidence edged into arrogance. Hiramu had ingrained this principle deeply, reiterating it time and again, especially when Sukuna found himself kneeling in penance for any youthful misdeeds.

Despite this, the enthusiastic accolades and expressions of gratitude from those he helped, intertwined with your praise, had become a secret indulgence for him, a reward he guiltily cherished. He was well aware that his rising fame likely irked other clans.

They were losing clients, gifts, and, most crucially, influence—a fact he was sure had not escaped the ears of clan leaders who probably complained to your father over the past seven years. Yet, Sukuna remained indifferent to their displeasure of these foolish, pitiful clans; his primary allegiance was to you and your interests. And to you, it was the prestige of the clan.

Thus, he continued unabated, accepting mission after mission. To prove himself. To hone his jujutsu. To serve you. Even though he disliked being away for extended periods, he still did what he must. He felt you needed him more than those he aided, but you smiled at him each and every time, telling him to go.

You told him you were proud of him, even before he left. Each mission must be impeccable. Your name was on the line, as much as your honor was. He was a part of you. And so, he had to do well. He had to be stronger. He had to be greater.

The thought of disappointing you was unbearable to him. He couldn't risk drawing your ire, not when he yearned so deeply for the comforting touch of your hand in his once more. It was as painful as to see you harmed in the field, doing the dirty work of the elders who can’t be bothered to exercise curses themselves. His devotion to you dictated his actions, guiding him through a tangled web of duty and desire, each task performed a step in the dance of his allegiance, bound by the intricate threads of loyalty and love.

As Ryomen Sukuna approached the end of the pier, his silhouette was etched sharply against the setting sun. His white and red haori flew against the wind, the herons dancing against the exquisite silk. His stride was purposeful and his presence commanding, causing a stir among the few who lingered in the vicinity.

He supposed the town’s folk will never get used to the intensity of his presence. But he did not care. A lone servant dressed in Ryomen silk wool waited there, his head bowed respectfully as he anticipated Sukuna’s arrival. The moment Sukuna's footsteps halted before him, the servant looked up slightly, maintaining a posture of deep respect.

"Sukuna-sama," the servant began, his voice steady yet imbued with a palpable tension, aware of the importance of this encounter.

Sukuna's eyes narrowed slightly as he surveyed the servant. "I was expecting someone else to wait for me." he stated, his tone cool and imposing. He did not say your name, for risk of your reputation. “But it seems you were on time. Unlike last time.”

The servant swallowed, a hint of anxiety flickering across his face. "My apologies, Sukuna-sama. It would seem that Mikoto-sama was preoccupied accompanying Gojo-sama and Lady Hiromi on their ride. They were—"

Sukuna raised a hand, cutting him off mid-sentence, his displeasure evident on his features. As time went on, his annoyance of Gojo Suzaku had turned into hatred. "Why is clan leader Gojo in Hida? And did you say it was now Hiromi–sama accompanying him?" His voice grew colder with each word, and a shadow seemed to cross his features.

"Yes, Sukuna-sama," the servant hurried to explain, sensing the growing storm. "They were engaged in matters of the clans, discussing important matters. But Hiromi–sama seemed uneasy and went for a ride. Gojo–sama came along, to continue their conversation.” Sukuna's jaw tightened, and he took a moment to compose himself. The thought of Hiromi spending time with Gojo, in such intimate discussions concerning such intimacy, stirred a tumult of feelings within him. His voice was controlled but sharp when he finally spoke. "I see. And was this meeting arranged?"

"It was planned, Sukuna–sama. Gojo-sama is here for business with Isamu–sama," the servant replied, his eyes downcast, wary of Sukuna’s reaction. ”The annual clan gathering will be hosted here in Hida, after all. Gojo–sama thought that he would discuss the matter with Isamu–sama and Hiromi–sama.”

Sukuna processed the information, his mind racing with thoughts of Hiromi and Gojo together, the implications of their meeting stretching beyond simple preparations. A surge of possessiveness and an unspoken fear gripped him—emotions he wasn't accustomed to confronting. Jealousy, he was certain, among them. But he would not let them be expressed out loud.

"Very well," Sukuna said tersely, his demeanor calm but his eyes betraying a storm brewing beneath the surface. "Make certain to inform Hiromi–sama that I had returned. Have a rider sent out, if you must.”

"Of course, Sukuna-sama," the servant responded, relieved to have been spared Sukuna's wrath but noting the undercurrent of tension.

As Sukuna turned to gaze out over the water, his mind remained on Hiromi. The servant, recognizing the dismissal, bowed deeply and retreated, leaving Sukuna alone with his thoughts. The tranquility of the scene before him contrasted starkly with the turmoil within, as he grappled with the complexities of his feelings—a mixture of protectiveness, entitlement, and a burgeoning realization of deeper emotions towards Hiromi that demanded his attention and perhaps, his action.

He purses his lips and crosses his arms.

It was not easy to feel all these at once.

But he thinks it's just what it truly was, to him.

The madness of love, that’s what it truly is.

With you, love was the unknown bountiful sea.

FATHER’S WORDS RANG OUT YOUR EARS OVER AND OVER AGAIN. As you rode atop your horse, the weight of recent events hung heavily upon you. The shock of your father's firm decision still clung tightly to your mind, refusing to dissipate. You felt a deep sense of unease; even the horse’s steady gait beneath you and the surrounding sounds of clan leader Gojo's voice failed to draw your attention or stir your passions. It seemed inevitable, this moment.

For the first time, your father had exerted a true force over your decisions, and as his vassal, he had treated you with an uncharacteristic lack of deference. You pressed your lips into a tight line, realizing it was perhaps overdue for him to assert his will over yours. You were no longer in the flush of youth, yet remained unwed and without an heir to carry on your father's legacy.

Most women of your age in your position would already have children; indeed, your mother often joyously remarked how your Fujiwara cousins had dutifully fulfilled their roles, providing heirs for their husbands. But your situation was far more complex. You were not merely your father's daughter; you were his chosen heir.

Your life and choices were inexorably tied to the clan's future. Whether in sickness or in the throes of war, your existence was a matter of clan continuity. Now, with the pressure mounting over your lack of a spouse and an heir, it seemed your father could no longer shield you from the council's increasingly pointed discussions.

Each council meeting, you knew, brought with it brooding deliberations over your future and the future of the clan. The need for you to marry and produce offspring was not just a familial expectation but a strategic necessity. What good was a clan, after all, if there were no descendants to continue its legacy? The question haunted you, echoing the stark reality that your personal desires were secondary to the clan’s needs.

As you contemplated this enforced path, a mixture of resignation and defiance took root within you. You understood your duty and the importance of your role within the clan, but the thought of a marriage arranged solely for strategic purposes—devoid of affection or choice—chafed against your deepest desires for autonomy and respect.

The landscape around you blurred into a backdrop for your turbulent thoughts, each hoofbeat of your horse a reminder of the relentless march toward a destiny chosen not by you, but for you.

This imposition on your personal freedom was a stark reminder of the sacrifices demanded by power and position. As the future clan leader, your personal happiness was intertwined with strategic alliances and clan survival. This realization did not come easily or without resentment, but as the land stretched out before you, you knew you must find a way to navigate these complex waters, preserving both your father’s legacy and your own integrity.

Lost in your own thoughts, Hiromi barely noticed the scenery changing as they approached the heart of the clan territories. It was Gojo's voice, gentle yet tinged with concern, that pulled her back to the present.

"Hiromi, are you alright?" he asked, his eyes searching hers for any sign of distress. “You seem lost in thought there. What's on your mind, little heron?"

Startled, you blinked, refocusing on the man riding alongside you. Suzaku Gojo had always been more than just a clan leader; he had been a mentor and, at times, a confidant. You had grown up with him as much as your brother had. He was a thankful constant in your life. But his presence too was comforting.

He was your better in such concerns of life, one who had experienced them more readily than you had. He was, if anything, someone you trust, on the same level as you do with your uncle and Sukuna. Perhaps, even more.

"Yes, I'm just... considering everything that's happening," You responded to him, blinking slightly. His eyes did not waver in that concern. Your voice steady but your eyes betraying the turmoil inside. “Father had never been forceful about the idea of marriage before. The council of elders was another thing, but well, father was always another.”

Gojo nodded back at her, his eyes softly gazing at you. “It’s understandable. Your father has thought to give you the same freedoms as that of a man, to choose your intended. It is your right as heir.”

“It is my right.” You gently reiterated back to him. “But to see him fold like that….”

“I shall say this, I do understand your father’s concern.”

You raised a brow at him. “In what way?”

“You are his only heir now—”

“Sukuna is one of his heirs.” You retorted back to him, urging your horse forward again. “He is my uncle’s son. He has a name. He has the power, the strength. He can be my heir.”

Suzaku sighed, “But he will not be inheriting the blood of your father. Sukuna is one of you but–”

You turned to him sharply. “There are no buts, no ifs. He is one of us. He is my kin. That is why this is preposterous.”

“It is not truly as preposterous as you think.”

“Says the man who is a bachelor by choice.” You snickered back at him sharply. Suzaku laughed. You sighed. “How do men have more choices than women?”

Gojo's laughter faded into a knowing smile, an acknowledgment of the sharpness in your words. His gaze, still filled with a mixture of respect and understanding, remained fixed on you as your horse picked up pace alongside his.

"Indeed, I have chosen to remain a bachelor," Gojo conceded with a nod, the lines around his eyes deepening with his smile. "And you're right; men often do face fewer constraints in these matters. It's an imbalance, rooted deep within our traditions.”

Your frustration was palpable, the reins tight in your hands as you navigated the uneven path. "And yet, here I am, expected to marry not for love or even respect, but for alliance and convenience," you said, your voice tinged with bitterness. "Is it so wrong to want more from life than strategic marriages?"

Gojo's expression sobered, his horse slowing to match the contemplative pace of your own. "It's not wrong at all," he replied sincerely. "In fact, it's a sign of your strength and your understanding of what true leadership involves. It's about merging duty with personal happiness, which is a difficult but not impossible balance to achieve."

“How would you know?”

“I was a child born out of love.” Gojo retorted back to you, with a prideful smile. You rolled your eyes at him. “It’s not entirely impossible for you to find some poor piss sod of a second son with good blood as your consort.”

You glanced at him, the setting sun casting shadows across your path, mirroring the complexity of your thoughts. "Certainly not the Zenin second son, if that is who you imply," you murmured dismissively. “At the very least, they should let me choose. They handed me a list, but they must ‘access’ him if he is indeed worthy of me.”

Gojo took a breath. "Your father is in a difficult position. As much as he values your freedom, your choice, he also faces the burden of ensuring the clan's future stability. The council made him realize that. Your marriage isn't just about you or him; it's about the entire clan's lineage and the alliances that will sustain it into the future."

"The weight of legacy," you sighed, the realization settling in like a cold blanket. "And what of Sukuna?" you asked, turning to your friend. "You say he cannot be the heir, but he has the strength and the respect of many within and outside our clan. He has the Ryomen name. Isn’t that worth something?"

"Sukuna is indeed capable," Gojo agreed, "and his contributions are invaluable. But leadership of a clan as prominent as yours, involves more than personal strength. The council will never approve of putting you aside. Woman you may be but you are their kin. And most blessed of the gods, with your powers. They’d not risk handing that over to another bloodline. Sukuna, while respected, will never gain the approval of the council. You know that too well, Hiromi."

You did know that well.

But you did not wish to believe it.

You wished that it was all too easy.

As you rode alongside Gojo, the silence stretched between you, filled with the distant sounds of nature and the soft thudding of your horses' hooves against the soft earth. Your mind churned with thoughts, particularly of Sukuna, and the complex web of emotions that his potential marriage stirred within you. The idea of him choosing a partner, possibly from outside the clan, and the resulting distance that it might create, unsettled you deeply.

You had always relied on Sukuna, not just as a cousin or a fellow warrior, but as a pillar in your life—a constant presence whose strength and understanding had often been the anchor in your turbulent role as heir. The thought of him being tied to someone else, of sharing the bond you valued so much with another, felt like a quiet threat to the stability you depended on.

In the reflective quiet of your ride, you realized how much you needed him to remain close, both physically and in loyalty. "If Sukuna were to marry," you finally spoke, breaking the silence, "I hope it would be someone from within our clan." Your voice carried a mix of hope and a subtle plea, laden with unspoken reasons. Suzaku did not say anything, if he had noticed.

Gojo glanced at you, noting the undercurrent of concern in your tone. "Keeping him close would certainly be beneficial for the clan, and for you," he acknowledged. "Sukuna’s talents and his loyalty would be best served within the clan, continuing to strengthen our core."

"Exactly," you agreed, feeling a slight relief at Gojo’s understanding. "His marriage within the clan would ensure that he remains integrated in our affairs, accessible, and involved. It’s not just for personal reasons," you added, though your voice faltered slightly, betraying your personal stake in the matter.

Gojo nodded, recognizing the dual layers of your concern—both for the clan and for your own connection with Sukuna. "It’s a strategic and personal hope then," he observed wisely. "But remember, Hiromi, as much as we plan and hope, some things will ultimately be Sukuna’s decision to make, just as some of yours are yours alone. Even as his lady and he your servant — you will always be two separate souls.”

You absorbed Gojo's words, feeling the gravity of their meaning settle heavily upon you. Yes, Sukuna had his own will, his own life to lead, and while your paths were intertwined by blood and duty, they were also distinctly separate. You couldn't help but feel a pang of sadness at the acknowledgement, a reminder of the individual journeys you both must undertake, regardless of your desires for closeness.

You purse your lips in resignation, eyes casted off to the ground. “I suppose you are right. If he wishes to continue to serve me….that is up to him.”

“Don’t worry about your pretty little head too much, you’ll end up with Hiramu–sama’s wrinkles.” Suzaku jokes at you as you pout at his words, glaring at him. “Besides, ‘tis not too late to find a man to boss around, other than Sukuna–dono. There’ll be eligible bachelors at the clan gathering waiting to be bossed around like him, I’m certain!”

You gasp at your friend. “I don't boss him around! Take that back!”

Gojo's laughter trailed into the distance as he galloped ahead, leaving you momentarily alone with your thoughts. His jest, though light-hearted, sparked a mix of irritation and amusement within you. You couldn't help but smile slightly, despite the seriousness of the conversation. There’s a reason your brother had loved Suzaku like his own brother. He let the weight fall off, with one laugh. And you are, you supposed, are fond of him in that way too.

You nudge your horse forward, catching up to Gojo who had slowed down, allowing you to ride side by side once again. "You know, it's not about bossing anyone around," you began, your tone playful yet carrying an undercurrent of sincerity. "It’s about having someone who understands and shares the burden, someone who can stand by my side not just as a subordinate, but as a partner."

Gojo nodded, his expression turning thoughtful as he considered your words. "True partnership is rare, you need only look at my parents, Hiromi." He whispers back to you "but it's not unattainable. And you, Hiromi, deserve that. And I hope you have it. But such a talk of marriage, that is for life. You bound your homes, your family, your souls for all eternity. You must pick well.”

You gave him a small nod. "I shall bear it in mind.”

"As you should," Gojo responded, his tone confident. "Take this opportunity, this clan gathering, to access the suitors. Take mind of what you want — companionship, friendship, strength, mayhaps even love. Look into their souls. And pray to the gods on it.”

“I know.”

"You're not just choosing a husband, Hiromi," Gojo said as the estate’s gates came into view, silhouetted against the twilight sky. "You're choosing someone to support you as a leader, someone to stand with you against whatever challenges the future might hold."

Gojo's words carried a weight that resonated deeply within you as you neared the grand gates of the estate, the last rays of sunlight casting long shadows over the grounds. His advice was not merely practical; it was a call to introspection and discernment, a reminder of the profound implications your choice of a partner would have—not only for your personal life but for the future of the clan you were destined to lead.

"I understand, Gojo–sama," you replied, your voice tinged with the gravity of the decision that lay before you. His eyes changed, became more guarded, now that you were both returning to the world beyond the two of you. Servants bowed as you passed them by. He sighed. “I take your words into mind.”

As you passed through the estate gates, you felt the weight of your responsibilities more acutely than ever. The upcoming gathering would be a pivotal moment in your life, a time when the personal and the political would converge in the faces of the suitors presented to you. Each candidate would need to be evaluated not just for his lineage or his alliances but for his ability to be a true partner in every aspect of the word.

"Pray to the gods, indeed," you murmured to yourself, echoing Gojo's earlier advice. You knew that divine guidance, if such a thing were inclined toward your plight, would be most welcome. Yet, you also knew that the ultimate decision would come down to your own judgment, your ability to see beyond the surface and discern the true nature of those vying for your hand.

"Thank you, Gojo–sama, for your guidance," you said, offering him a sincere smile as you approached the main house. "I will take everything you’ve said to heart. It was good advice for me to ponder on.”

Gojo Suzaku returned your smile, a sense of pride evident in his eyes. "That's all I can ask for, Hiromi–sama. Know that whatever decision you make, I, and many others, will support you. You are not alone in this, nor will you ever be."

As you dismounted your horses at the stable, you parted with Suzaku, who had returned to his own quarters in the far hedges of the estate. The very best was offered to him — lest your pride would sooner give it to the Fujiwara. As you approached the main house, the fading light cast long shadows across the courtyard.

There, standing with a poise that commanded attention despite the casual lean against a stone pillar, was Ryomen Sukuna. The sight of him, so suddenly before you, caused a small hitch in your breath—a mixture of surprise, then a flood of relief and tension. All those around you were lost in the blur as you approached him. You felt your chest tighten in joy as you looked at him. He was back home. He was safe. And he’s in here, in the flesh.

You turned to your servants as they bowed to you in reverence. You smiled at them, ordering them away. As they backed away, leaving you both to your privacy, Sukuna straightened as he noticed your approach, his expression unreadable at first, then warming slightly with a reserved smile that seemed exclusively reserved for you. His bright red eyes, sharp and discerning, scanned your demeanor as if trying to read the thoughts swirling behind your composed facade.

"Hiromi–sama," Sukuna greeted, his voice carrying a calm strength that often reminded you why he was not only respected but also deeply integral to the clan.

You smacked his hand. “Ever so formal. They’re gone. Talk to me as you usually do, you brat.”

Sukuna's expression tightened subtly at your playful smack, a brief flash of something unspoken passing through his eyes before he masked it with a controlled smile. "Of course…night flower," he replied, his voice holding a trace of coldness that wasn't there before, as if maintaining a careful distance even in his informality. “As you wish.”

“It is my wish,” You nodded at him. “Now, tell me. What has gotten you to such a state?”

"You always preferred plain speaking," he continued, his tone smoothing into something warmer, though it still held an edge that you couldn't quite place. His gaze lingered on you a moment longer than necessary, as if trying to read your thoughts or perhaps gauge your mood.

As you looked back at him, trying to decipher the layers of his demeanor, you noticed a tension in his posture that was unusual for Sukuna. "What's the matter?" you asked, your voice tinged with concern. "You seem... different. Has the trip fatigued you?”

Sukuna shifted slightly, looking away for a moment before meeting your eyes again. "It's nothing," he said, a bit too quickly. "Just the usual clan pressures, you know how it is." His smile was back, but it didn't quite reach his eyes, leaving you with a sense of unease.

You frowned at him, looking up to him as his height towered over you. “You are displeased. But what about? Tell me. Is it something I’ve done?”

Sukuna paused, the conflict evident in his expression as he weighed his words carefully. The usual confidence that characterized his demeanor seemed momentarily shaken as he grappled with his internal struggle. He took a deep breath, and when he spoke, his voice was a mix of resignation and sincerity. His red orbs take a good look at you, the beauty of you, as you stand there, waiting for him to speak. Even now, you’re more concerned about him. More desiring to please him, to see him warmly smile. To be joyous when he’s with you.

“It’s….” He takes a moment as your eyes plead with him, you move to take his hand into your own. He looks down as you wrap your palm against his. It moves him, how your hand and his seem to fit each other like a glove. After all this time, he thinks the touch of your hand on his is the warmth that touches his soul the most. The very touch that makes his heart beat in his chest. “It’s nothing.”

Sukuna's voice trailed off into a whisper, his usual resolve crumbling slightly under the weight of his unspoken thoughts and feelings. The contact of your hand in his, gentle yet firm, seemed to anchor him, providing a silent reassurance that words alone could not convey. Despite his initial protestations, the simple gesture encouraged him to open up, to share more than just the superficial concerns that had been allowed to surface.

"Night flower," he began again, his gaze lifting to meet yours, a hint of vulnerability flickering behind his steady exterior. "It's….I heard about the council.." His words hung heavily in the air, charged with an emotion that had previously been masked by his stoic facade. "I know it's what's needed for the clan. I know it's your duty. But," he paused, searching your eyes for understanding, "It doesn't make it easier to know that….you and another man…”

Your heart clenched at his confession, feeling a surge of empathy for the struggle he faced. Sukuna had always been the pillar of strength, the steadfast protector, rarely showing any signs of personal desire or conflict. To hear him express such raw, personal sentiments was both startling and touching.

"Sukuna," you responded, your voice soft but filled with conviction, "You are irreplaceable to me. No political alliance or marriage can change what you mean to me, to the clan. To us. You are my confidant, my steadfast supporter. My….my dearest follower." You squeezed his hand, reinforcing your words with the warmth of your touch. Your cheeks turn scarlet at your words. "This decision, while necessary, doesn't diminish us. It doesn't diminish our bond."

He listened intently, each word you spoke seeming to ease some of the tension that had built up within him. The warmth of your hand in his served as a tangible reminder of the connection you shared, one that went beyond mere familial duty or clan obligations.

"I know," Sukuna finally said, a small, grateful smile breaking through his usual guarded expression. "And I'm here for you, little night flower. Always." He squeezed your hand back for a moment. Next, they touched your cheeks.You leaned against his touch. “I only live for you.”

“I know.” You responded in a small whisper, feeling his hand squeeze your own. You smile at him. “You had just gotten home. This conversation should not be what we welcome you home with.”

Sukuna's smile softened at your words, a mixture of affection and reassurance lighting up his features. "It's alright," he said gently, his thumb lightly caressing your cheek. "There's no one else I'd rather talk to about these things, no matter the day. But you're right, let's not let this be the shadow that greets my return."

He dropped his hand, though his eyes lingered on you a moment longer, conveying a depth of emotion that words could scarcely capture. "Let’s focus on the now. I’ve missed this—us talking, just being together," he added, his tone warm and inviting.

You felt a wave of relief wash over you, grateful for the shift towards lighter conversation. "Then tell me about your journey," you suggested, stepping back but keeping the warmth in your smile. "What tales do you bring from afar? Any new challenges, any triumphs?"

“I shall tell you later, when we have both recuperated.” He whispers to you tenderly, a small grin on his lips. “Will you sup with me tonight?”

“Of course,” You responded with elation, smiling at him. “I would be happy to be your guest tonight.”

“As am I, little night flower.” He gently lifts your joint hands under his lips, and lets his lips brush against your fingertips. “I shall let the servants know.”

Sukuna released your hand with a final, affectionate squeeze and let it go, as soon as he turned, his sharp eyes piercing towards one of the nearby servants who had been discreetly waiting at a distance. You turned to where he stood and he nodded at the servant. With a few quiet words and a nod, he instructed the servant to prepare for the evening meal. As soon as he showed himself, the servant too fled.

As he finished, he turned back to you, his expression one of quiet anticipation. "It will be just us tonight," he said, his voice carrying a hint of something more personal, a shared intimacy that was often veiled beneath the formalities of clan duties. "A chance to relax and speak freely, away from the ears of the clan. You need not bother with manners.”

“As you like.” You laughed, turning to your side as you watched the sun go down. “We have much to talk about. I suppose. With you being gone so long.”

“Hm.” He nodded at you as he turned around, as though to inspect your surroundings. You were stunned at his sudden touch, tickled as he pressed a kiss against your cheek, his arms wrapped against you. You slowly descended into his touch, your face as scarlet as the scarlet sunset. You leaned against him, comforted in the familiar touch. “I had missed you.”

You slowly looked at him.

You smile at him tenderly.

Your heart skips a beat.

You see the world in him.

“I missed you too, Sukuna.”

YOU HAD NEVER INTENDED TO FALL FOR SUKUNA. He was younger than you, he was not at the same rank as you. You were his better. His superior. You were his master, he your follower. You did not know how it truly began, where it began. But you knew it started subtly, and felt that slow shift in your relationship with Sukuna. In the early years of your youth together, it was all about duty and the responsibilities that came with your roles within the clan. You were the mentor, guiding him through the nuances of life and jujutsu sorcery, preparing him to make the banner of the Ryomen clan stand firm. He was eager, a quick learner, and his dedication to his role within the clan mirrored your own. But most of all, he was eager to serve you in all ways you wanted him to. He declared his purpose to live — to be you.

Over time, however, the lines between duty and personal affection began to blur. More so when your uncle had made him your retainer, as an extension of your uncle’s service to you. It was the small moments that began to weave a deeper connection between you two—the late-night strategy sessions that turned into long conversations about hopes, fears, and dreams.

The way he looked at you when you taught him something new, a look of admiration mixed with something you hesitated to define; the quiet comfort of his presence on a difficult day, and how naturally you began to seek out his company.

You found yourself noticing little things about Sukuna—the way his eyes crinkled when he truly smiled, how he'd always make sure you had the first cup of tea during your meetings, or the way he'd stand just a little closer to you whenever you were in a crowd. How he would walk with you night after night until your body finally tires enough to bid nightmares in the dark.

These were trivial, everyday occurrences, but they built up a tapestry of affection and care that was hard to ignore. They built up admiration, they built up devoted trust and then they built love — one that lingers in your heart then and now today, even stronger.

The realization that you were falling for him was sealed to you during a particularly perilous mission. Sukuna had thrown himself in harm's way to protect you, and the fear that gripped your heart at the thought of losing him was a wake-up call. He had been cruel to that curse that had nearly taken your life.

But he did more than ever, because if he hadn’t, then life would be gone. It wasn't just protective instincts or camaraderie; what you felt was deeper, more personal—a tangled mix of love and devotion that you no longer could or perhaps even wanted to deny.

Admitting your feelings to yourself was one thing; acknowledging them to Sukuna was another. The night you both finally spoke openly about what had been silently growing between you was filled with a mix of anxiety and relief. Under the dimly lit kiss of moonlight, the blossoming of those queen of the nights all around the ponds. Your eyes had never seen clearer. Your heart had never beat harder.

Sukuna, it turned out, had been harboring similar feelings. He confessed that what started as admiration and respect had grown into something much more profound. He loved you, not just as his mentor or as the heir to the clan, but as the person who understood him better than anyone else. He loved you because you were his life. You were his everything. And that has reduced you to the most profound tenderness of your life.

It was the night of too much merry drinking, Sukuna’s name–day. He had settled it to the day he had met you, the day his life had truly begun. Under the ethereal glow of the moonlight, you and Sukuna found yourselves walking along the tranquil paths of the estate's garden.

The night was serene, with a gentle breeze stirring the air, carrying the delicate scent of Wijayakusuma flowers—a rare bloom that only opened at night, releasing its fragrance into the quiet darkness. The pond beside which you walked reflected the moon's silvery light, enhancing the otherworldly atmosphere that enveloped you.

You had been discussing mundane clan affairs, but as the pathway brought you to a secluded spot near the water, surrounded by the blooming Wijayakusuma flowers, you felt a compelling urge to express the feelings that had been growing stronger within your heart. You stopped walking, turning to face Sukuna, who looked back at you with a questioning gaze, sensing the shift in your demeanor. You pulled at the sleeves of his haori. His eyes widened slightly, at how intimate your touch had been.

"Sukuna," you began, your voice soft yet carrying a firmness that underscored the importance of your words. "I know that our duties and roles within the clan are what have always guided our actions. But tonight, under this moonlight, I want to speak not just as your mentor or the heir to the clan, but as myself."

Sukuna's expression softened, his usual guardedness easing as he stepped closer, instinctively understanding the significance of the moment. "Hiromi," he replied in an equally soft voice, his bright red eyes searching for yours.

"There’s something I need to tell you," you continued, your heart beating faster as you gathered your courage. "Over the years, what I feel for you has transformed. It has grown beyond respect, beyond our…existing bond. Sukuna, you must understand. This is….it is hard to say. But…I love you." The words felt liberating, yet laden with the weight of truth that you had held back for so long. You looked at him even more intensely. “I love you.”

The world seemed to hold its breath as you waited for his response. Sukuna's eyes deepened with emotion, a mixture of awe and tenderness etching across his features. He reached out, his hand gently cradling your face, his thumb caressing your cheek softly.

"Hiromi–sama," he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. "This heart of mine has been yours for longer than I can admit. I love you too. I have loved you in ways I dared not acknowledge until now." His words flowed like a sacred confession, filling the space between you with a profound sense of connection.

The admission ignited a spark that had been smoldering quietly within both your hearts, and as Sukuna drew you closer, the distance between you closed not just physically but emotionally. Your lips met in a kiss that sealed your mutual confession, a kiss that spoke of deep bonds, shared secrets, and a love that transcended the roles you played in the daylight.

Surrounded by the night-blooming Wijayakusuma blossoms, under the watchful gaze of the moon, you and Sukuna embraced each other, allowing yourselves to fully experience the depth of your feelings without reservations. Tonight, you were not just the heir and the warrior; you were two souls united by a love both forbidden and inevitable.

Your relationship, of course, since that confession had been a carefully guarded secret. The stakes were high—fraternization within the clan, especially of such a clandestine and intimate nature, was fraught with political implications. Not to mention, he was your uncle’s son. He would be one to decide his son’s fate in matrimony.

Even if the marriage would be acceptable, the elders would never accept it either. Yet, this secret had brought you closer. This desire to grow this love, this relationship has brought you closer. You both had enjoyed creating a private world where you could both just be yourselves, without the titles, without the burdens of your birthright.

Now, each stolen moment with Sukuna was cherished, a precious respite from the world's demands. You understood the risks, but the depth of your bond made every stolen moment, every shared glance, every secret touch, worth it. It was a love that had grown in the most unlikely of soils, under the cover of duty and clan loyalty, blossoming into something neither of you could have anticipated but now could not imagine being without.

As you sat across from him, delicately handling the utensils and taking small, thoughtful bites of the meal laid out before you, Sukuna watched you intently, his gaze almost unblinking. The soft light of the candles flickered across your features, highlighting the gentle curve of your cheek and the sincere smile that occasionally graced your lips as you engaged in conversation.

To anyone else, this moment would seem ordinary, just two people sharing a meal, but to Sukuna, it was a poignant revelation of all the facets of your being that he had come to adore.

In that quiet observance, Sukuna found himself reflecting on the depth of his feelings for you. He thought he understood it well. You deserve someone as sweet as you, someone whose kindness mirrored your own, whose love was as unwavering and pure as the light in your eyes. You deserve someone who could love you better than he ever thought he could—someone less troubled, less consumed by the complexities and shadows that often followed him like specters from his past.

Yet, as he watched you, Sukuna knew he was addicted to your sweet taste. It was an addiction born not out of necessity but out of a profound and overwhelming desire that transcended mere affection or loyalty. It was an addiction to the warmth you brought into his life, to the serenity that accompanied your presence.

It was an addiction to the way you saw him—not as the formidable warrior or the guarded clan member, but as himself, Sukuna, with all his flaws and strengths laid bare.

He liked things bitter, he liked things as they were—harsh and unadorned with pretense. That was the world he knew, the world he had made his own. But not with you. Never with you. With you, everything was different. Your sweetness didn't cloy; it soothed. It didn't overshadow; it illuminated the dark corners of his heart he had long resigned to shadow. Your love, your presence, transformed the bitterness of his existence into something bearable, even beautiful.

As these thoughts swirled through his mind, Ryomen Sukuna realized with a pang of both joy and sorrow that no matter how much he believed you deserved better, he could not imagine stepping back into the shadows and watching someone else take his place by your side.

The selfish part of him, the part that was irrevocably entwined with your very essence, would not allow it. He was bound to you, not just by duty or shared secrets, but by a powerful, inescapable love that demanded to be acknowledged, cherished, and reciprocated.

So, as you laughed softly at something he said, bringing him back to the present, Sukuna allowed himself a small, genuine smile—a rare gift from a heart so fiercely guarded. In that moment, he made a silent vow: to be the sweetness in your life whenever possible, to temper the bitterness not just within himself but in the world around you, ensuring that no matter what, you would never have to face the shadows alone.

The path to Sukuna's quarters was familiar, yet each step seemed imbued with a sense of anticipation tonight. The estate was quiet, most of its inhabitants having retired to their respective quarters, leaving the halls dimly lit and silent. The soft patter of your footsteps on the polished wooden floors marked your passage through the vast corridors of the Ryomen clan's ancestral home.

As you approached the door to Sukuna's quarters, you paused, taking a deep breath to steady the fluttering in your chest. It was strange how, even after all this time and despite the countless secret meetings, the thrill of seeing him never faded. You gently knocked, a coded rhythm that whispered of hidden intimacy.

The door opened almost immediately, as if he had been waiting just beyond it. Sukuna's presence filled the doorway, his figure imposing yet welcoming. His eyes lit up at the sight of you, a warm smile quickly replacing the usual stern expression he wore around others.

"Night flower," he greeted softly, stepping aside to let you into his private world. The warmth of the room, lit by the gentle glow of lanterns, enveloped you as you entered. The familiar scent of incense was comforting, a subtle reminder of the many nights spent here, wrapped in conversation—or in silence equally profound.

Sukuna closed the door quietly behind you, ensuring your privacy. "I'm glad you could make it," he said, leading you toward the small dining area where a simple yet meticulously prepared meal awaited. The intimacy of the setting—a small table set for two—was a stark contrast to the grand dining halls you were both accustomed to.

"It's been too long," you responded, allowing the relief and happiness to show in your voice. As you sat down across from him, the proximity brought a comforting sense of closeness that you cherished deeply. "I've missed this."

"As have I," Sukuna admitted, his gaze lingering on you with an intensity that made your heart race. He served you both, his movements graceful and familiar. The meal was a simple affair, chosen for ease and comfort rather than formality. Each dish was a reminder of previous confessions and conversations that had deepened your bond.

Dinner passed with easy conversation, the kind that you could only have with someone who knew you as well as you knew yourself. You spoke of everything and nothing—missions, clan politics, small triumphs, and trivial frustrations. Yet, beneath the mundane lay the unspoken acknowledgment of the rare and precious nature of your relationship.

As the meal came to an end, Sukuna took your hand across the table, his touch sending shivers up your spine. "No matter where our duties take us," he said earnestly, "this—us—it's worth every risk."

You squeezed his hand in agreement, the danger of your secret alliance a shadow that loomed large but felt inconsequential against the depth of your feelings. "Always," you affirmed, your voice low but fierce with conviction.

The rest of the evening passed in a beautiful blur. You talked, laughed, and shared quiet moments of just being together, stealing time from your respective responsibilities. When it was time to leave, parting was as always bittersweet, filled with silent promises of another stolen moment soon. He did not wish to see you leave. But you had to.

There was a meeting to prepare for, the clans will be arriving soon enough. It was needed as heir to be part of the conversation. Sukuna too will be returning to his training. He had been eager to perfect another technique he had thought of, he called it Kumo no Ito.

He had done it once, fighting a mountain curse by chance. But he was adamant to show it imperfect in form to you. He said it had to be perfect. And he could only do so, if he was perfecting it. And as such, you both needed to bid farewell for the night.

In his dimly lit room, the soft glow of candles casting shadows that danced upon the walls, Sukuna held you close as he bid you farewell, his strong arms encircling your waist with a gentle firmness. The world outside faded into a distant murmur, leaving only the two of you in the cocoon of warmth that your shared presence created.

His eyes, usually so intense and commanding, now looked at you with a tenderness that made your heart flutter, a softness you saw only in moments shared in solitude like this. He was like this, only for you. You were the only one worthy of his humanity.

The gentleness of the kiss was a stark contrast to the fierce battles and harsh realities that both of you faced daily; here, in this moment, there was only gentleness, only love.

As if moved by an unspoken agreement, the kiss deepened, driven by a surge of emotions that had been simmering beneath the surface. Sukuna's hands moved from your waist to cradle your face, his fingers threading through your hair with a delicate touch that belied his warrior's strength.

The softness gave way to a burning intensity as the kiss grew more passionate, more urgent. His lips moved against yours with a fervor that left you breathless, each kiss a fiery declaration of his need, his desire, his love.

The intensity of the moment fueled a deep yearning within you both. Sukuna’s hands, firm and warm, traced the contours of your back, pulling you even closer against him. His touch sends shivers down your spine, igniting a fire within that grew with every caress, every squeeze that conveyed his impatience and longing.

You responded with equal fervor, your own hands exploring the broad expanse of his back, feeling the muscles tense under your touch. You could feel the heat of his skin through the thin fabric of his shirt, the solid strength of his body a stark contrast to the gentle way he held you. It was a heady feeling, knowing you could evoke such a powerful response from a man as composed and formidable as Sukuna.

He broke the kiss momentarily, his breath ragged as he looked into your eyes with an intensity that made your heart race. "You undo me," he murmured hoarsely, his voice low and husky, filled with raw desire. Before you could respond, his lips were on yours again, more insistent this time, as if he couldn’t get enough of the taste of you.

His kisses trailed from your lips down your jawline to your neck, where he lingered, nipping and sucking at the sensitive skin, eliciting gasps and soft moans from you. Each sound you made only seemed to drive him further, his hands roaming over your body, mapping every curve, every line, with a possessiveness that thrilled you.

You tugged at his shirt, pulling it free from his trousers, desperate to feel his skin against yours. Sukuna obliged by shedding the garment swiftly, revealing a chest sculpted with muscle and scarred from battle—a sight that only heightened your desire. You traced the lines of his scars with reverent fingers, each one telling a story of survival and strength.

Sukuna lifted you then, with a surprising gentleness, and you instinctively wrapped your legs around his waist. His hands supported your thighs, his grip secure and unyielding, as he carried you to a nearby piles of warm straw pillows. Gently, he laid you down, his body resting against you. You lean towards him, looking into his eyes as though you see the stars, he whole sky, in him.

The world around you seemed to spin, the intensity of the moment drawing you deeper into a whirlwind of sensation and emotion. Sukuna's heartbeat thundered against your chest, mirroring your own rapid pulse. The heat between you built, a delicious tension that made every touch, every kiss, feel like it was both the first and the last.

As you clung to each other, lost in the fervor of each other, it was as if nothing else mattered—no clan duties, no hidden secrets, no potential consequences. In that moment, there was only the truth of what you felt for each other, laid bare and undeniable. But Sukuna knew he could not give into his desires. You were too sweet for him, it's true. But he didn’t want to curse you with bitterness.

Not until you want him to. You deserved better than this. Better than to be shamed beyond your marital bed. He would marry you first, he would claim you as his wife before he goes beyond anything else. Control, he must have control. He could not do this to you. Not yet.

When the kiss finally broke, you both were left gasping, foreheads pressed together, still holding onto each other as if to anchor yourselves in the aftermath of such powerful emotions. Sukuna's eyes met yours again, still intense but now shimmering with a mix of satisfaction and awe at the depth of connection you shared.

“You must go.” He whispers to you, eyes not leaving yours. “Before we do something we’re not prepared for….Tomorrow, we have a busy day, night flower.”

His voice was husky, a whisper laden with regret and a stark reminder of the reality that awaited outside the sanctuary of this moment. His hands, still cradling your face, held you gently as if he could somehow convey the intensity of his feelings through his touch alone.

You nodded, understanding the weight of his words, feeling the ache of leaving him like this. But his use of your affectionate nickname, "Night flower," reignited the warmth inside you, a reminder of the deep bond you shared, one that went beyond physical desires.

"I know," you whispered back, your voice tinged with reluctance. Your fingers traced the line of his jaw, memorizing the feel of him, the strength and warmth that emanated from his skin. "But it doesn’t make it any easier."

Sukuna's eyes held yours, a tumult of emotions swirling in their depths—passion, desire, but above all, an overriding sense of duty and care for you. He leaned in once more, his lips brushing against yours in a tender, lingering kiss that felt like a promise. "Tomorrow," he said softly. You looked up to him. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Reluctantly, you stepped back, feeling the cool air rush between you as you disentangled from his embrace. The room seemed colder now, the warmth of his body a ghostly presence that you already missed. You fixed your attire, a physical act of preparation for the return to your separate roles within the clan, each movement marked by a silent yearning for just a few more minutes.

Sukuna watched you, his gaze following every movement, every adjustment. There was a protectiveness in his posture, a silent vow that he was there, always, no matter the distance or duty that might separate you.

As you reached the door, you paused, looking back at him, still standing in the middle of the room, the candles casting soft shadows over his strong features. "Goodnight, Sukuna," you said, the words heavy with unspent passion and a profound affection.

"Goodnight, my night flower," he replied, his voice steady but his eyes revealing the storm of emotions within. As you closed the door behind you, the soft click sounding unusually final, you carried with you the memory of his touch, his kiss, his longing look—a treasure to sustain you through the challenges of the coming day.

As you slipped out of Sukuna's quarters and back into the cool night air, the secrecy of your love felt not like a burden, but a shared secret that bound you closer together, a silent vow renewed with every fleeting encounter. In the shadows of the clan's expectations, what you had with Sukuna was a beacon—a light that, however hidden, guided you both through the darkness.

You wanted it to last forever.

You want it to be eternity, all of it.

Yet you knew better than that.

Wijayakusuma dies easier than that.

And so do many happy days in spring.

Nothing sweet tastes sweet forever.

fun facts for this chapter

they got together when hiromi was 21/22 and sukuna was 19/20. it took hiromi about a year to confess, sukuna was planning to confess when he was promoted in a higher position in the clan. when she confessed, he was already at a higher rank, something similar to a buke, and so felt a little more confident abotu accepting her confession.

hiromi doesn't use her powers that much when she fights, but sukuna does. sukuna is a perfectionist when it comes to jujutsu. he thinks his skill is the best way to prove he's worthy of hiromi, who in his eyes is already powerful without using much of her cursed technique. her cursed technique, sadly drains her too much. we'll see that in as the world caves in and a red winter!!!

isamu does not want hiromi to get married to someone who will make her unhappy due to his own unhappy marriage. but the council of elders think that the earlier hiromi marries, the more her position wouldn't be contested by sukuna (he does not want to contest her).

council of elders want someone who is from outside the clan to marry hiromi because they think it would open to a closer tie with a powerful clan that they think would be able to subdue sukuna's influence. the elders do not trust sukuna, and they never will.

hiromi and suzaku gojo became very close after her brother died, as he was her brother's closest friends. she feels like she needs him in her life to have her brother close. she's hiromi's person when she needs advice about something serious.

hiromi and sukuna often ate together with hiramu in their presence, they were like their own little trio. but hiramu has become more busy with the bureaucratic work that isamu asked his brother to do - so he left sukuna in his place as hiromi's retainer. sukuna has since taken his adoptive father's place as hiromi's confident.

hiramu isn't clueless about what's going on between sukuna and hiromi, but he says nothing. he knows sukuna would end up in trouble. but he would rather see them happy than not at all.

the clan gatherings were made by hiromi's ancestors to settle rekindle friendship between clans. they hunt curses together, compete in poetry and music, archery and such the like. it's the ryomen's turn to host it this year. last year it was the gojo clan who hosted, which is why suzaku was there, talking about clan matters.

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maximilfisms · 10 months

Text

draw me like i'm one of your french girls | thérèse raquin x fem!reader

Summary: Thérèse, trapped in her unwanted marriage to Camille, seeks comfort in Y/N, the talented artist who painted her husband's portrait, in the form of an illicit rendezvous. Or a glimpse on one of those nights where Y/N would sneak into Madame Raquin's shop, fulfill Thérèse's needs, and disappear like ghosts in the air.

Word count: 2k+

Tags: 18+, smut, fingering, cheating, semi-public sex? idk, but they almost got caught, bottom!thérèse, top!reader, what's proofreading?, MDNI!

this is my first fic, and i honestly don't even know what i am doing rip

The moonlight shone its faint light to the labyrinthine streets of Paris, where gaslights cast flickering shadows upon the cobblestone alleys, and the whispers of clandestine affairs lingered like the fragrance of aged wine. Thérèse found solace in the hidden corners of a city draped in secrets. The narrow passages, cloaked in the heavy scent of impending rain, and the hushed murmur of distant voices all served as the backdrop for her forbidden love. It was within this maze of dimly lit alleyways, where the echoes of the footsteps of busy Parisians harmonized with the nocturnal symphony of the city, that she navigated the complexities of their entangled destinies.

The bedroom, perched on the second floor of her aunt, Madame Raquin's shop, became their clandestine haven—a sanctuary veiled in heavy drapes, the creaking sighs of weathered floorboards, and the gaslights flickered outside, transforming her marital bedroom into a cocoon where the artistry of their passion unfolded. The ambient glow painted an intimate tapestry upon the walls, revealing the shared vulnerability of two souls seeking refuge in the shadows.

The air itself seemed to hold the whispers of lovers from eras past, a blend of the city's musky perfume and the intoxicating aroma of forbidden desire. Thérèse, adorned in the trappings of societal expectations, stood before her woman with a yearning that mirrored the palpable tension of the quiet night. Y/N, the painter with fingers that could evoke emotion from pigments, gazed at Thérèse as if deciphering the poetry etched upon her soul. The dim light filtered through the bedroom's heavy drapes, casting Thérèse's silhouette in a dance of shadows that accentuated the soft curves of her vulnerability, and Y/N, a connoisseur of emotion, observed with an artist's discerning eye—a voyeur capturing the essence of clandestine passion in each subtle movement.

"Draw me like I'm one of your French girls," Thérèse whispered, her voice a soft plea that echoed in the dimly lit room, where their secret unfolded against the backdrop of Paris's clandestine allure.

Y/N, attuned to the nuances of their surroundings, nodded in silent agreement despite the subtle yet genuine smile that graced her lips. The room, a haven shrouded in the mysteries of the night, bore witness to the illicit dance of two souls—a dance painted with the strokes of desire, vulnerability, and the unspoken language of their love.

Y/N's hands moved with purpose, much like the strokes of a brush in a canvas that became an intimate exploration of Thérèse's essence. Her slender fingers brushed Thérèse's shoulders, sliding off the brunette's dress off of it, watching as the fabric fell onto her feet. Y/N's eyes glimmered with sheer affection for the woman, her point finger tracing Thérèse's prominent collarbones, down to her sternum, where the valley's of her breasts lay, waiting to be worshiped.

“You truly are a work of art, mon amour,” The artist whispered as she leaned in to place chaste kisses on her soft neck, and Y/N's hands palmed the supple flesh of Thérèse's breasts, touch as tender as the stroke of an artist's brush. Each caress of the canvas mirrored the unspoken language that flowed between them—the language of love that dared not speak its name in the harsh light of day.

Yet, the threat of discovery loomed above them like a guillotine, sharp and unforgiving. Camille, Thérèse's unsuspecting husband, engaged in games just outside, unaware of the symphony of passion that played out on the shop's second floor, on their marital bed.

"We must be cautious," Thérèse whispered, her eyes darting towards the creaking floorboards below. "Madame Raquin and Camille must not suspect."

Y/N, whose heart beat in rhythm with Thérèse's, nodded solemnly. "Our love is a secret garden, Thérèse, one that flourishes in the shadows but withers in the harsh light of judgment.” She spoke as her hands went to cradle Thérèse's cheeks. “I promise to be careful.”

The bedroom, once a marital sanctuary for Thérèse and Camille, transformed into the backdrop of an illicit affair. The fear of discovery heightened the intensity of their connection, turning stolen kisses into acts of rebellion against a world that sought to confine them.

Outside, the city's heartbeat continued, oblivious to the symphony of emotions that echoed within the four walls of the bedroom. Thérèse, her heart torn between duty and desire, reached out to Y/N, their fingers entwining in a silent vow that defied the constraints of their reality.

With the air thick of passion, tender affections, and fear, all that had happened went on like a blur. Both women couldn't remember who leaned in first to trap their lips into a fiery but loving embrace, and yet, the flickering candlelight cast an ethereal glow upon their entangled bodies, the shadows playing upon the tapestry of their clandestine love. Y/N dared to speak, to try and use the last of her reason, to attempt at stopping herself despite knowing that she had gone far too deep, but, Thérèse, overcome by the weight of societal expectations, pressed a trembling finger to Y/N's lips, silencing the unspoken fears that lingered between them.

No words were needed as the artist took the initiative and resumed their kiss, her lips brushing against Thérèse's as the bedroom became a cocoon, shielding them from the judgmental eyes of society. The intimacy between them, though a spark in the vast darkness, burned with the intensity of a thousand suns.

Y/N carefully lay the woman beneath her to the plush bed, hands exploring Thérèse's skin like a caveman threading a path in the unfamiliar wilderness. The tips of her fingertips toyed with Thérèse's hardened nipples, eliciting held back whimpers from the woman laying beneath her.

“Y/N…” Thérèse whispered, but she only gave her woman a smile in response, taking the other nipple to her mouth, and sucking on it like a newborn starved. Thérèse closed her eyes shut, body overwhelmed by the sensations of Y/N's worship, only for those brown orbs to flutter open along with her mouth as two fingers eased their way to her core.

A sly smile tugged in the corners of Y/N's pink lips, gazing up at Thérèse whose pupils were blown wide, and mouth covered with one hand, containing the noises that ought to escape her with each thrust of the artist's long and slender fingers in her tight pussy.

Thérèse's labored breathing, accompanied with the wet sloshing sounds created by her dripping entrance and Y/N's fingers, were the only sounds heard in the stillness of the night. That was before a sudden creaking of the weathered floorboards interrupted the women's intimate bubble, sending shivers down Thérèse's spine. Her eyes widened, but Y/N did not pull back even as her breath was caught in the suspense of the moment. Instead, her fingers only went faster, opting to guide the writhing woman below her to the pinnacle of her high, and the contracting of Thérèse's pussy against her fingers only served as an indication that she was on the right track.

Thérèse struggled to finish the sentence as she held back her moans in between, "Our world would crumble." Y/N hummed in approval as she leaned in to Thérèse's clit, using her tongue to stimulate the woman's bundle of nerves that only made it harder for the latter to control her sounds, more so as she came all over Y/N's face and fingers, legs trembling as the artist's fingers slowed down its thrusts, prolonging the release.

"Quiet, amour," Y/N whispered breathily, a twinge of worry in their voice amidst the obvious arousal. "If Madame Raquin or Camille were to hear—"

The bedroom, though once a haven for marital vows, now bore witness to a love that dared to defy the norms of its time. Thérèse and Y/N, in the quiet moments between heartbeats, exchanged vows that resonated with the soulful ache of a love that existed in the shadows. The night wore on, and with each passing moment, the threat of exposure intensified. Thérèse, torn between the intoxication of love and the fear of societal retribution, felt the weight of their clandestine affair like a stone pressing against her chest. The gaslights outside continued to flicker, casting a gentle glow upon the tangled sheets that bore witness to the stolen moments of Thérèse and Y/N's clandestine affair. The night, though silent, echoed with the lingering whispers of a love that dared to exist in the shadows of the city.

In the quiet aftermath of their shared passion, the room held the remnants of their intimate communion. Thérèse, her senses heightened by the mingling scents of jasmine and musk, traced her fingers along Y/N's bare chest—the contours of a lover and confidante. The air, once heavy with fear, now carried the sweet echo of their shared pleasure. Y/N, eyes filled with a tenderness that mirrored Thérèse's, brushed a strand of hair away from her flushed face.

"You don't know what you do to me, Thérèse," Y/N murmured, their voice a soothing melody that hung in the air. "I hear your voice in my dreams, feel the ghosts of your touch on my body, and crave you like I haven't satiated myself in years."

Thérèse, still lost in the aftermath of their intimacy, met Y/N's gaze with a mixture of gratitude and longing. The world outside, with its judgmental eyes and societal expectations, felt distant—a mere whisper in the night.

"Promise me, Y/N," Thérèse pleaded, her voice a fragile whisper. "Promise me that our love will endure, that it will be a persevering flame against the winds of adversity."

Y/N, caressing Thérèse's cheek with a touch that bordered on reverence, responded, "I don't have to promise anything, Thérèse. Like the stars above, I know our hearts will shine even in the darkest nights."

The bedroom, once charged with the tension of secrecy, now cradled the two lovers in a post-coital embrace. Their entangled limbs spoke of a passion that transcended societal norms, a love that flourished in the clandestine corners of their shared existence.

In the silence that followed, Y/N traced circles on Thérèse's skin, each touch a reassurance of their shared vulnerability. The room, steeped in the essence of their intimacy, held the echoes of their whispered promises and the delicate symphony of their love. The shadows, once a cloak for their secret desires, now danced upon the walls like witnesses to a tale written in the language of tender glances and lingering touches.

Thérèse, her senses attuned to the lingering traces of their passion, gazed into Y/N's eyes as if searching for the permanence of their connection. Y/N, the artist who knew how to breathe life into moments, held Thérèse with a gaze that mirrored the profound depth of their shared intimacy.

As the first light of dawn painted the sky in hues of soft pink, Thérèse and Y/N lay intertwined, bodies and souls entwined in a tapestry of shared vulnerability. The air, now tinged with the promise of a new day, carried the remnants of their intimacy—a scent that lingered like a secret between them.

"Promise me you'll come when I call again," Thérèse pleaded, her gaze locking with Y/N's in a silent pact. "When I need you the most, when I feel my cage even more… promise me you'll come running.”

Y/N, brushing a stray strand of hair from Thérèse's face, nodded with a smile etched on her face. "I'll be here before you know it."

As the sun rose, casting its golden rays upon the city of Paris, Thérèse and Y/N knew that the world awaited their departure from the intimate cocoon they had woven together. With a final, lingering kiss, Thérèse and Y/N parted ways, slipping into the daylight as if reentering a world that demanded conformity. The bedroom, now silent and empty, held the memories of their stolen moments—a gallery of passion that defied the limitations of societal norms.

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