#this is one of the rare times I love my mother

[sansaorgana]

— TAMED

PAIRING — Na-Baron Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen x fem!Reader

SUMMARY — You're a cat lover and Feyd-Rautha reminds you of one. You want him and you believe you can tame him.

REQUEST — (1)

AUTHOR’S NOTE — This is not exactly what the request was about but it includes Feyd having to deal with his wife's pet (I chose a cat because I'm a cat person myself). You see, I was a bit tired of my Readers being afraid and scared and I was also tired of the arranged marriage trope, which is one of my favourites, but everyone needs a break, huh? 😅

WARNINGS — harm to animals mentioned, brief mentions of Feyd's traumatic past, Reader being absolutely spoiled

WORD COUNT — 4,230

ENGLISH IS MY SECOND LANGUAGE.

TAMED

“I want him,” you announced as you put your binoculars down and your lips curled into a smirk.

Your parents looked at each other, confused. You were in the stands as the guests invited to watch Na-Baron Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen’s gladiator fight. It was his birthday and his uncle made sure all the leaders of the befriended worlds were watching the display of violence and power. The display that made your parents absolutely terrified but you… You were amazed and aroused. The way young Feyd-Rautha defeated his enemies was like a brutal dance; a raw ritual. He was a feral feline and you were known to be a cat lover.

“Excuse me?” Your father asked.

“I want him. Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen,” you repeated without even looking at him. Your eyes were focused only on the man in the arena who was raising his knife in a gesture of victory.

“These people are insane,” your mother hissed.

“You keep telling me it’s time for me to find a husband. I want him,” you pouted. You were determined – but not desperate.

“I can talk to Baron Harkonnen. But I am sure he would rather marry his nephew and heir to one of the Imperial Princesses,” your father informed you as your mother gasped at his words. She opposed the idea of this match completely.

“I understand,” you nodded. “Just do whatever it takes so if you fail, I will know you couldn’t possibly do more.”

He reluctantly agreed as he squeezed your cheek as if you were still a little girl. But perhaps it was a good thing that in his eyes you still were one. Because he would do anything to make you happy and fulfil your every whim.

You spotted your father talking to Baron Harkonnen during his nephew’s birthday party but you didn’t want to just stand in the corner and wait for the men to make decisions in your name. Despite your mother’s protests, you approached Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen and bowed slightly in sign of respect. He tilted his head, reminding you of a curious cat. You giggled and he squinted his eyes.

“Na-Baron, I couldn’t wait to meet you in person after seeing you fight in the arena,” you admitted.

“Lady (Y/N),” he greeted you coldly. “I wouldn’t expect such interests from a lady like you.”

“And I expected you would know more about the female nature,” you teased him and visibly angered him although he was trying to be on his best behaviour around guests. “Don’t you know that ladies love violence? The interesting ones at least,” you shrugged your arms.

“I don’t care what ladies like,” he answered. “I always get what I want either way.”

“I’m sure you do,” your eyes sparkled at a possibility of being one of the things he would want to claim for himself.

Most noble women were scared and disgusted after hearing all the stories about Feyd-Rautha and his sexual appetite, his psychotic nature. They would approach him only when needed and tried to stay away as far as possible. You were the very rare breed of women who would actually take interest in him and that intrigued him as he looked you up and down.

You gave him one last smile and walked back to your worried mother who was about to scold you for your reckless behaviour. However, for the rest of the night you kept glancing at the young na-baron and he was looking back. 

When you left the party, earlier than most people, you made sure to announce loud and clear that you were about to retire to your chambers. Then you looked deep into his eyes and walked out, followed by a servant. You dismissed her when you were in the guest wing and you continued your journey alone and as slow as possible.

You looked around but Feyd-Rautha seemed not to be following you. At least you could not see nor hear him and for a moment you thought you failed. After all, you were not a skilled seductress, you only did what your heart was telling you to do – your heart and your experience with the animals you loved the most. Cats.

And just like a cat and a skilled assassin that he was, Feyd silently emerged from the darkness when you were just about to open the doors leading to your bedroom. He was standing right behind you and his ominous presence sent a shiver down your spine.

“What are you doing, na-baron?” You swallowed thickly and shivered.

“Don’t pretend,” he whispered in his raspy voice. “You’re not the first spoiled noble lady who wants to use me for pleasure,” he told you. “What is it? Are you bored? Or engaged to an awful lord and you ant to find out what it’s like to have fun before you are forced to spend the rest of your life with him? Honestly, I don’t care,” he admitted and turned you around to face him. His touch was rough and for a second you genuinely felt scared when he trapped you between the doors and his muscular body.

The way he was staring down at you felt as if he was penetrating your soul. Only that his eyes were empty. He was gazing into you but you couldn't gaze back because he didn’t have a soul. There was an endless coldness in his pupils. And so much pain.

“It’s a misunderstanding,” you whispered, almost inaudibly, as the tips of your noses brushed against each other. “I am not one of those women. The only man who can take me will be my husband,” you tried to sound convincing and stern but with a small dose of innocence. He blinked slowly, surprised by your confession.

“I thought you wanted me to follow you,” he insisted.

“No,” you lied. “I was only looking at you because I find you interesting,” you looked down. “But it’s sad what you’ve just told me, my Lord,” you added.

“Why?” Feyd was confused as he took a step back.

“I don’t know… I just think you’re so much more than a toy to use for pleasure,” you looked up again to meet his gaze. “I don’t think you should let those ladies treat you like that. I know you keep telling yourself you like it but it’s not you always getting what you want. It’s them always getting what they want until there is nothing left of you, is it not, na-baron?” You batted your eyelashes and he took another step back, like a predator realising that the prey he had caught was poisonous. “Good night, my Lord… and happy birthday,” you gave him a soft smile and disappeared behind the doors leading to your bedroom.

You couldn’t sleep all night, clutching on the bedsheets and hoping for the best outcome. In the morning your father told you that The Baron was slowly starting to like the idea of your marriage union with his nephew. Apparently, he changed his mind after a conversation with Feyd-Rautha in the early morning.

“I hope you know what you’re doing,” your father warned you at the sight of your wide smile.

“Oh, papa, I always do,” you assured him, already excited about your new pet kitty.

You stayed on Giedi Prime for a month for the courting process but Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen had the privilege of being able to call off the engagement at any moment. That, however, did not happen. He was growing more and more fond of you each day. You were watching him train and walking all around the fortress as he was telling you about his family’s history and culture. You were the most fascinated by the war stories and weapons, always eager to learn more. Always eager to let him steal a kiss here and there, let his hands wander but always stepping back when it would get too heated. You didn’t want him to use you and then discard you. No, he had to be patient for the real reward. Just like cats would lose interest if you let them catch the mouse too quickly.

What you noticed about him, though, was how much he avoided the intimate physical touch. He didn’t mind his opponents striking him or choking him, violating his body in any way, really. But the delicacy was making him flinch and startle to the point of aggression. He wouldn’t lash out at you but he would do that often at the servants. When it was you trying to caress him, he was clenching his jaw and shooting you a deadly glance. The more you knew about him, the more convinced you were that he was just a cat in a human form.

When a month passed, you were scared he would send you away. But instead of doing so, he sent a tailor and a bunch of servants to your room. It was time for you to make all the required fittings for your wedding dress. You sent out the invitations, too. And in the letter addressed to your parents, you mentioned all the things you wanted them to bring you to Giedi Prime.

One of them was your favourite kitty Mephisto.

On the first day of your marriage you were unpacking the boxes from home as Feyd was sitting up in bed and watching you. It was the only day he allowed himself to skip the daily training as the activities between a husband and a wife could count as one, too. However, you required a break and wanted to finally reunite with your favourite items… and your favourite pet.

Feyd’s eyes widened at the sight of a hairless cat in the arms of the servant girl.

“What is that monstrosity?” He asked you.

“That’s Mephisto! My cat!” You took him from the girl’s arms and cuddled him. “Oh, mummy’s been missing you, baby,” you cooed to him and he started to purr.

“You can’t be serious, wife,” Feyd moved closer to inspect the creature with his eyes. Mephisto hissed and you giggled. “That is a cat?”

“You’ve never seen one?” You asked.

“I have. But not like that. It’s ugly,” Feyd scrunched his nose.

“Why ugly?” You gasped and held Mephisto’s head lovingly as if you were protecting him from your husband’s harsh words.

“Cats have fur. This one is so…”

“Bald?” You teased and he closed his mouth, realising the irony. “I have plenty of cats back home but I was aware I couldn’t bring them all here. I chose Mephisto because he is my favourite. We had tough beginnings. He didn’t trust me and he was scratching me a lot. He’s a mean-mean baby,” you leaned in to kiss the cat and Feyd winced as he found it disgusting.

“Do whatever but I don’t want this creature in my chambers,” Feyd stated.

“You’re insane! Mephisto will never leave these chambers. I don’t want him to get lost or hurt in the fortress. Also, he always sleeps with me,” you protested.

Feyd took a deep breath in as he closed his eyes, trying to calm himself down.

“If he scratches one thing… I will throw him out of the balcony door,” he threatened.

“If you do that, I will never speak to you again. And certainly I won’t ever share the bed with you, husband. Mephisto is like a child to me. You can’t threaten me this way. It does nothing but anger me,” you pointed out and cuddled the cat. “Aw, Mephisto, look, daddy’s angry.”

“I am not this thing’s… father,” Feyd drawled through gritted teeth as he stood up to put a robe on. “After all, I think I will go train today.”

“Then go,” you shrugged your arms. “I will cuddle with Mephisto in the meantime because I haven’t seen him in a month.”

Feyd shot you an angry glance.

“You’re not jealous, are you?” You looked up as that sudden realisation hit you.

“No,” he snorted. “Of this thing? Please,” he sneered at you and left the chambers.

“We have lots of work with your new daddy, Mephisto,” you chuckled to the kitty and kissed its head. He meowed at you.

Feyd-Rautha absolutely despised your cat. He hated that you allowed that creature to sleep in bed with you and you were always holding him in your arms. When Feyd was working on paperwork – which he hated – Mephisto would often jump on his desk and bother him. Many times when you were out of the room, Feyd had the urge to grab the creature and throw it out of the balcony or even snap its neck but when he actually extended his hands to catch the cat, the urge disappeared.

First of all, he didn’t want to hurt you. And that was a brand new feeling for him because never before had he cared about someone’s feelings like that. And second of all, the moment the cat was in his arms, Mephisto would start to purr and rub his head on Feyd’s hand or chest. Even though at first he found it disgusting, he quickly started to enjoy it. There was something comforting in the cat’s touch. It was not human and yet so pure. As time passed, he was allowing Mephisto to nap on his lap as he worked on the papers. Of course he would quickly put the cat away whenever someone was coming. He didn’t want anyone to see him so weak.

But he was jealous of the cat, too. He was jealous of the kisses and attention he was getting. The belly rubs and scratches behind the ear. The way Mephisto would curl up and sleep on your chest. Feyd craved it from you, too, but he didn’t know how to allow himself to ask for it. It would be humiliating, he thought, but also dangerous. He wanted to trust you but he was not able to. And whenever you tried to touch him gently, he was haunted by the memories he didn’t want to remember. He didn’t cuddle you at night and he didn’t allow you to do the same. While performing the marital duties, he had a feeling they would be even better if he allowed himself a little gentleness but he just couldn’t let his guard down. Not even around you.

For a long time, Mephisto was the only creature that saw the soft side of your husband. When they were alone in your chambers, Feyd would let him not only nap on him but he would also carry him in his arms and pet him. Sometimes he was starting fights for the cat to scratch and bite him and for Feyd it was great fun. They created a bond that you had no idea about. You kept thinking that your husband despised Mephisto and he didn’t mind you thinking this way.

So, when you spotted a scratch on Feyd’s desk one day, you panicked. You quickly covered it with a few papers laying aside and fixed your hair right before your husband walked inside the chambers that afternoon.

“What are you doing here so early?” You asked as he squinted his eyes at you, suspiciously.

“I have to work on the papers, answer some stupid letters,” Feyd sighed and approached you. He put his hands on your waist and inspected your suspicious face. “Is everything alright, wife?” He asked.

“Yes, my dear, perfectly fine,” you faked a smile. “I have to go and work on the preparations for the event next week,” you reminded him and he nodded before leaning in to give you a possessive kiss. He would give you them a few times a day to remind you to whom you belonged. Not that you minded. After all, you had been wanting this from the moment you had seen him in the arena.

“See you later, then, wife,” Feyd sat by the desk and your heart skipped a beat when you spotted him picking up one of the papers you had used to cover the scratch with. However, he didn’t seem to notice the damage done to his desk. You sighed with relief and left the chambers, hoping that Feyd would continue to be blind when it came to that scratch.

But when you came back to your bedroom two hours later, it was empty. You didn’t expect to see Feyd because he had his other duties to perform on that day. What worried you was the fact you couldn’t find your cat. After crawling all over the floor like a madwoman, trying to see if he was not hiding under any furniture, you just burst into tears in the middle of the carpet. You were sure that Feyd had spotted the scratch and gotten rid of your cat. After all, he had threatened to do so on the very first day of your marriage.

You pulled your knees to your chest and rested your forehead on them as you sobbed, hugging yourself. You could only blame yourself. Your parents had been warning you about the Harkonnens but you still wanted a man like Feyd-Rautha as your husband. Hoping to tame him as it would boost your spoiled ego even further to do that. And now your innocent little kitty was a victim of his fury. Was Mephisto still alive? You hoped so. But even if… how would he survive on Giedi Prime? He would not. And you would not either without him. He was your anchor.

You didn’t want to complain about your husband’s homeplanet because you chose him to be your husband yourself. And some part of you loved him – even though at the moment you weren’t so sure anymore – but it was not a friendly place. And it was not pleasant. It was cold and scary and colourless. Mephisto was reminding you of home. Of your other kittens, of your parents, of the real sunlight. He was also letting you love him like your husband would never do. And he was loving you back… unconditionally. And now he was gone. Your little baby.

You couldn’t tell for how long you had been sobbing like this. It could be hours. When Feyd came back to your chambers, he froze at the sight of you in such a position on the carpet.

“What happened, wife?” He asked as he stood above you. You didn’t answer, too angry at him. He sighed and crouched down to be on your level. “Are you hurt?” 

“Yes, I am,” you finally looked at him, furiously. He seemed to be surprised. “I am hurt by what you have done. And now you’re going to pretend that you don’t know what I’m talking about, right? Go to hell. I hate you,” you snapped and hid your face again.

“I don’t understand. Can you explain this to me?” He asked, slowly, trying not to snap back at you.

“Mephisto! You got rid of him!” You sobbed.

“What? I have not…” He stuttered and put his arms on your shoulders to make you look up again. So you did but you were as angry as before.

“Don’t lie to me. You hated that cat and you just threw him away because he scratched your desk. Congratulations, Feyd-Rautha, you got rid of an innocent animal, you won with a sinless little baby; my baby. Are you proud of yourself? Was it a satisfying victory to hurt a little kitty?”

Feyd didn’t answer, he was staring at you as if you were crazy.

“It really feels as if you killed my baby,” you told him. “And I will never forgive you.”

“What are you talking about? I didn’t touch him. What happened?” Feyd shook your arms.

“He’s not here. I don’t know what you’ve done to him but he’s not here,” you sniffled.

“I didn’t do anything!” He protested.

“I don’t believe you!” You moved back, you hated to feel his touch on you. You clumsily stood up and curled on the bed. “I don’t want to see you. Go away. I wanted to love you but you’re rotten to the core. You’re just evil. Unlovable,” you muttered.

You couldn’t know how hurtful your words were. But Feyd didn’t blame you because you couldn’t know his true feelings. And he focused more on Mephisto anyway. He was worried about the kitty, too. So, after a while of staring at you without a word, he put his hand on his hip and looked around, as if he would magically find the cat. He even looked under the bed as your sobs filled the room.

Without a word, Feyd left the bedroom and you hugged your own arms as the pillow under your head was getting wet from your tears. 

It was dark already and you were half asleep when the doors opened again. It brought you back from the state of slumber but you felt too hopeless to even lift a hand to turn on the light. You recognised Feyd’s silhouette approaching you so you decided to ignore him completely. Nothing could fix this damage. Never.

You felt him sitting on the edge of the bed while turning the bedside lamp on. You squinted your eyes at the sudden brightness.

“I found him,” Feyd’s whisper made your eyes open as you sat up rapidly, utterly shocked at the sight of Mephisto in your husband’s arms.

“Wh-what?” You asked. At first, your sleepy and foggy brain refused to believe that the cat was really your Mephisto.

“He was hiding in the dungeons,” Feyd explained. “I searched through the whole fortress to find him. Hired half of the guards to help me. My uncle found it hilarious,” Feyd handed you the kitty and you sobbed out of relief. Mephisto was stinking but he was alive and healthy. You hugged him tight to your chest. “One of the servants was not cautious enough and left the doors ajar when she was cleaning here.”

“Which one?” You asked, angrily.

“It doesn’t matter. I have dealt with her already,” Feyd assured you and you nodded.

You suddenly began to feel guilty for the way you had treated your husband before. Now, when Mephisto was back in your arms and it was all thanks to Feyd…

“I didn’t expect you to care so much,” you admitted, not wanting to look up and meet his gaze. Your hands focused on caressing the cat. “That you didn’t want me to be sad.”

“You’re my wife of free choice. I don’t want my wife to be sad,” Feyd nodded. “And I wanted the cat back,” he added. You eventually looked up at him, surprised by his confession.

“You hate him,” you reminded him.

“Not at all,” Feyd smirked nervously and you didn’t say anything to that. You had no idea that he actually liked the cat. You still had a lot to learn when it came to the ways in which your husband would show his affection.

“I was cruel to you,” you whispered. “I am sorry.”

“You had your reasons to be,” he only said. “And you were not wrong about me.”

“I was,” you moved to the side gently, making a space in bed for him to lay there, too.

So he did, without a word. And one of his hands actually caressed Mephisto’s head. The cat began to purr and you realised they had already had a bond that you had just not noticed before.

Hesitantly, you dared to raise one of your hands, too. You gently brushed Feyd’s forehead and then his cheek. He didn’t startle this time and you happily began to explore every curve of his beautiful face with your fingertips.

“You’re funny,” you giggled and he looked up, curiously. “You’re the scariest Harkonnen but you’re also the prettiest,” you admitted and he blushed a little. You had never expected to see him blush. “And look at you, you allow me to touch you.”

“It feels good when you do that,” Feyd closed his eyes just like Mephisto had his own pair shut close. You swore, if your husband was an actual animal, he would start purring under your touch.

You felt proud of yourself to tame him. You had known from the moment you had seen him that you would succeed. But it was not the pride that made your heart swell. It was love. There was something about Feyd-Rautha that just made you want to treat him like a kitty, too. Scratch him behind his ear and let him sleep on your chest. Most ladies would call you insane for that but you knew him in a way they would never know him. You leaned in to place a kiss upon Mephisto’s forehead and then you did the same to Feyd-Rautha.

“I’m sorry I have doubted you,” you whispered to him. “You would never hurt me, am I right?”

He only hummed in response, moving even closer to your body. You smiled to yourself.

“I have tamed you, husband, have I not?”

But he didn’t reply. He was already asleep, snoring lightly. You had never seen his face so relaxed and carefree before. He didn’t have to say anything for you to know the answer.

And as much as you loved Mephisto like your own little baby… You had a new favourite pet now.

MASTERLIST

[mickandmusings]

sincerity & sonnets

-

pairing: anthony bridgerton x f!reader

word count: 2.1k

summary: anthony bridgerton is blessed with many things-a warm, loving family, a well-funded lifestyle as a viscount, a beautiful wife. more notably, he is cursed with a short fuse and a sharp tongue, which might lead to his demise.

(based off of this request! to the anon who requested, I sort of wrote the argument as more of a sharp remark, but i hope it is still angsty enough for your liking! <3)

warnings: angsty->fluffy, no other warnings

-

As Anthony sat at his desk, scribbling away at his numerous piles of papers stacked in front of him, he noted the unusual quietness that had fallen on his study. He first thought that he had shut the door, but one quick look at the doorway contradicted his beliefs. Anthony's eyebrows furrowed in confusion-his home was never quiet.

Between his own family, and the families of his four sisters and three brothers, his home was full of life: laughter bounding off the walls, his wife and sisters' voices chatting over tea, the stampeding footfalls of his hoard of nieces and nephews assured his ears would never grow accustomed to utter silence. Even in the rare occurrence that the house was empty save for Anthony and his beloved wife, he'd often hear her humming to herself as she attended to her own business in their home, or she would join him in his study, writing her own correspondences at the smaller desk next to his own. Which is why, now, as he sat at his desk this afternoon, the silence stunned him. Anthony frowned, lifting his pocket watch to assure himself he was not entirely losing his mind. As the gold clock stared back at him, the small hand signaled it was midday.

He chuckled to himself, his wife must have chosen to sleep in entirely too long. Y/N was a chronic night owl, often keeping Anthony awake with her bedside chatter and comments on the appearance of the night sky through the window that faced their bed. Anthony would indulge her, but would still wake before the sun. His wife, however, would not budge for several more hours. He grinned and pocketed his watch, pushing himself up from his chair to wake his sleeping beauty of a wife.

Anthony bounded up the stairs two at a time, nodding curtly at any house staff before reaching their shared bedchambers. His dark eyes peer into the empty bedroom-his wife certainly was not here. He noted the dutifully made bed, the open curtains allowing the sunlight in, and, most importantly, his wife's absence. Anthony shook his head briefly before dashing back down the stairs, nearly stumbling into one of his wife's handmaidens.

"Pardon me," he addresses the woman with a sigh, a bit breathless from the unexpected goose chase his wife has taken him on. "Do you know the whereabouts of my wife?"

The younger maid looks at Anthony almost confused, but quickly takes on a professional tone:

"The Viscountess is reading in the garden, she's only just gotten back from tea with the Dowager Viscountess and the Duchess."

Anthony nodded in thanks, hastily departing for their expansive garden, his mind racing. Seeing his wife was an afternoon ritual-she would come bounding into his study after tea with his mother and respective sisters, spouting off all of the new ladies' gossip as he listened intently, all while pretending he was entirely disinterested. He enjoyed seeing her eyes grow wide with the shock of scandal, or her smile at a sweet interaction she witnessed at the park. If you were to ask Anthony Bridgerton, there was no sight more splendid than his wife in all of her extraordinary, everyday beauty. Not that he would admit that aloud, at least not to anyone but her.

Frankly, he was missing her presence today more than he cared to admit. He spotted Y/N almost instantly, her periwinkle gown shining in the sun. She sat in a chair politely under a shady tree, the book on her lap seemingly forgotten. Her expressive eyes locked onto the treeline in the distance, her face solemn. Anthony's heart seemed to fall in his chest, the sinking realization of why his home had been so soundless for the entirety of the day. His chest felt tight as he thought of his actions last night...

-

It had been a very, very long day for Anthony. With Francesca's upcoming debut to society, his mother had been harping on Anthony for nearly a fortnight about every minute detail. His patience for his mother was infinite, but sometimes she did manage to test its limits. Atop this hurdle was the never ending stacks of paperwork littering his desk, waiting to be looked over and signed off by his barely legible scrawl. He had neglected to write Colin back for weeks-his younger brother writing about his travels in Greece. The house staff had been in and out of his study all day, the incessant knocking severing his nerves. The heavy weight of life as a viscount was falling on Anthony, making him irritable and exhausted. His dear wife had settled his discomfort around lunch, bringing his nearly-cold meal into his study to make sure he ate. She had left him with a chaste kiss and a better mood, but Anthony had returned to her worse for wear.

Dinner in their large dining room had felt unnaturally dreary, only the sound of utensils clanking against china plates filling the air, only to be stifled by his wife's chatter. Normally, Anthony would've listened attentively, enjoying hearing about trips to the modiste or how Portia Featherington had driven his wife to near madness. Today, however, her voice had him pressing his nails into his palms to aid his irritation. He sipped his wine and shuffled his food on his plate to avoid making eye contact, he would not want her to see the frustration lingering in his eyes.

"Eloise was completely beside herself, I had never seen her so embarrassed! Madame Delacroix-"

"Must you talk so incessantly?!" Anthony's voice spat out in a low growl, dripping with fierce vexation.

Y/N's eyes grew wide, looking at her husband as if he had sprouted an extra arm and slapped her with it. She said nothing, only cowering in on herself, staring down at her lap as she fidgets with her hands. After several moments of Anthony's intense silence, she lifts a shaky hand and wipes the tears forming in her eyes as she hastily made her way out of the room, attempting to put as much distance between her and Anthony as possible.

Anthony followed suit moments later, feeling angry at himself as he slammed the door of his study shut, falling asleep at his desk hours later. Y/N had slept on her side of a bed far too large for one, her eyes tender and cheeks splotchy, her mind racing. Did she truly talk too much? Had he been annoyed by her daily talks for all these months? Her mind weaved small details into a full blown breakdown, and she quickly settled on being Anthony's perfect, quiet wife as she caved to her drowsiness.

-

The wind blew his wife's curls against her shoulder as Anthony approached her in the backyard, her back still facing him. He wasn't sure she had even heard him approach, her eyes still focused on the landscape sprawled before them. Anthony shuffles nervously, his hands behind him as he stands at her side, only the wind and birds chirping aiding the suffocating silence.

"Splendid weather we're having," Anthony's voice finally spoke, awkward and fumbling into casual conversation as he sank into the chair across from him. Y/N said nothing, only blinking in the same direction she had been staring at the entire time. Anthony nodded, mostly to himself, resigning himself to her silence, it was what he deserved at the moment.

After several moments of dead silence, Y/N turned her attention back to the book perched in her lap, and Anthony sat silently, wanting to spout out his apology in a hurried, bumbling manner, but he knew his wife, she would simply nod and continue reading, allowing herself to stew in prolonged silence.

He rose quietly, leaving with a small kiss landing atop her head-a touch that burned Y/N's skin. She watched Anthony leave out of the corner of her eye, sighing heavily as his presence was back inside their home. She was a myriad of feelings: angry at Anthony for being so blatantly cruel, his words had stung and left her reeling for hours. She was sad, as much as the words had fired her up, they had torn her heart, leaving her chest heavy with dejection. Y/N was nearly bursting at the seams to just apologize-even if it wasn't her who needed to apologize-just so the awkward encounters would come to an end. She wondered if Anthony even felt remorse at all.

In his study, Anthony ran his hands through his hair for the hundredth time, attempting to focus on the business papers in front of him. His efforts were fruitless-all he could think of was the empty look on Y/N's face. He had never seen her this lifeless, like her glow had been snuffed out, and it was entirely his fault. Anthony's mind raced with a million different scenarios of how he would make this up to her, ranging from flowers to begging on hands and knees, but despite his blunders, he knew his lady well. His Viscountess had never been one for showy things or frivolous purchases, she would only want his sincerest apologies. He would do it tonight, over dinner, he decided. He only hoped when the time came, she would at least spare him a glance.

-

Hours later, at the dining room table, Anthony found himself sitting in his chair at the head of the table completely alone. The kitchen staff came and left with plates and glasses, but his wife had yet to make an appearance. Anthony's foot tapped against the floor in anxiety, his eyes shooting up to the closest staff member, nearly shouting:

"Where is the Viscountess taking her dinner?"

The head of the kitchen staff looked at Anthony wide-eyed at his outburst, replying politely:

"Viscountess Bridgerton took her dinner in the library tonight."

Anthony said nothing, rising from his seat and walking down the hallway, coming to the door of the library and knocking lightly.

"Come in."

Anthony nearly burst into a fit of tears, happy to hear her voice.

He pushed the door open, Y/N's eyes meeting his before they dropped back down to the open book in her hands. Anthony felt guilt press heavy on his chest. He settled into the plush chair opposite her, separated only by a small end table. Anthony looked over at her, his brown eyes all but practically begging her to say something to him.

"Y/N..." Anthony's voice is small and timid, trying to coax her into at least hearing him out. Y/N's voice came out a whisper, cutting him off.

"I am sorry."

Anthony furrowed his brow, that was certainly not what he was expecting to hear. He looked over at her, her gaze locked on the moonlight coming through the window, her eyes glassy with tears.

"I am sorry I have become a burden, Anthony. I did not realize I irritated you with my ramblings. I thought you wanted to hear of my daily activities. I know my day as a woman is not nearly as riveting as yours as a Viscount, but-"

"My dear, your apologies are not necessary," Anthony's voice dripped with sincerity, his eyes warm as he looked at her, ready to grovel for forgiveness. He stuck his hand out for her to take, which she did. He pulled her towards him softly, his gentle touches coaxing her into his lap. Y/N's eyes grow soft under his gaze, her limbs melting in his strong hold. "I am the one who has been a fool. I look forward to your ramblings, no matter if they hold what you consider to be valuable or not, they brighten my day. I wait most ardently for news of trips to the modiste, or my mother's ramblings over tea-" He pauses, tucking a stray curl back behind her ear, his thumb wiping away the stray tears on her cheeks.

"I don't want you to be silent. Your voice is more pleasant than any other sound," Anthony cuts himself off, sighing, before starting again. "I should not have spoken to you in such a manner. I should not have raised my voice at you. You have my word that it will never happen again, I cannot go another day surrounded by your silence, it is torture."

Y/N smiles slightly at her husband's words, his transgressions forgiven with his sincere words. His face is close enough to hers to brush her nose against his, their lips close enough to meet.

"Are you certain you were not a poet before we met, Lord Bridgerton?" Y/N's voice is a whisper, the moment feeling far too intimate for anything else.

Anthony chuckles as his hand grasps the side of her face lightly, bringing her closer, speaking before he kisses her deeply:

"Only for you, my beloved...you inspire sonnets."

-

[houserautha]

These Destined Ends

Part Twelve

Summary: Jessica fulfilled the wishes of the Bene Gesserits to produce a daughter. You’re now burdened with the task of not only marrying the na-Baron, but also bearing his child — the Kwisatz Haderach. Will you take your fate into your own hands? Or will it always belong to those who control you?

Pairings: Feyd-Rautha x F!Reader

Word Count: 3.5k

Warnings: goodbye to Giedi Prime, no foreplay, fucking with ✨a view✨

A/N: I was planning on making this a long(er) installment but my monkey brain needs the instant gratification of updating the story😂 Hopefully Part Thirteen will be up soon, too. Thank you for being patient with me!

Amongst the hustle and bustle of moving, servants rushing in and out with your belongings and Feyd barking out orders, you kneel down next to the synthetic plant. You check twice that no one is paying attention to you before reaching inside, running your fingers along the inner lip of the pot and past clumps of fake dirt. Finally you connect with something and a triumphant fissure erupts in you at the sight of the fertility necklace.

You clutch it in your hand.

While you don’t intend to use it, it’s the last link to your mother that you have. You can’t believe you almost forgot it — it seems like a small eternity since your wedding. You had almost completely wiped it from your memory since you hid it, remembering only because Jessica and the Bene Gesserits were at the forefront of your mind.

You drop the necklace into a pocket of your dress before anyone sees it.

“Do you know what today is, wife?”

You catch Feyd loping towards you, seemingly having forfeited his supervising responsibilities.

“Mm, the day we get a lovely chat with the Reverend Mother?” You ask, distracted by the weight of the necklace.

“Surely you haven’t forgotten.”

You blink, then center your focus on him, on the fleeting look of smugness he has. “It’s today.”

Feyd’s eyes glint. He pounds his fist to his chest three times, drawing the attention of the servants who stop what they’re doing and straighten in response. You wave them away, grabbing your husband by the crook of his elbow and pulling him into the corner.

“Must you insist on doing that so often?” You chide him. “We would already be on Arrakis if they didn’t have to keep pausing for you.”

The grin on his face tells you that he is not even the slightest bit apologetic. “Can I not dedicate servitude to my wife on our anniversary?”

“Our anniversary of one month,” you remind him.

“A perfect opportunity to laud you.”

“You can laud yourself over there to help that poor man.” You indicate a servant struggling with a particularly heavy trunk of belongings.

Feyd narrows his eyes. “He’s fine.”

“Feyd-Rautha.”

Your husband considers your tone, then turns and delivers another three-strike salute to his chest. He’s darting away before you can reprimand him for it, snarling for a second servant to help with the heavy lifting instead of himself.

Shaking your head, you can’t but smile privately. It warms you to see Feyd like this, the charismatic, alluring side of him that you so rarely glimpse. He usually deploys it in political situations, a switch that he can flick on at will, but it seems genuine today. Perhaps the anniversary of your wedding has lifted his mood in light of his brother’s engagement.

Either that, or the fact that the first step of your plan would be initiated today.

You liked to believe it was the latter.

It’s midday before you’re called to receive the Reverend Mother, and sweat beads between your shoulder blades. To calm your pounding heart, you think of Caladan: the spray of the sea against the rocky crags, the rare peal of your mother’s laughter, and how it all had been stolen from you by those like the Baron and the Reverend Mother. People who thought their agenda more important than the lives of those carrying it out for them.

Your vengeance keeps you sharp, your smile like a knife as you approach the Reverend Mother.

“Thank you for meeting with me earlier than we planned,” you greet her.

She replies, “You said it was urgent, though I sense that, once again, your womb is empty.”

“Yes,” you say, stifling the urge to choke her with those stupid chains. Hopefully the saccharine tone of your voice does not betray your inner thoughts. “I called you here for a related reason.”

“And what might that be?”

“You were wrong about Feyd-Rautha.”

The Reverend Mother visibly recoils. “Tell me what’s on your mind now, girl, I do not have the time for your vague accusations.”

“How do you truly know that he’s destined to sire the Kwisatz Haderach? He is…unpredictable,” you say. “Perhaps your calculations are wrong. It could explain why I am not yet pregnant.”

“Does he know you voice this concerns?” The Reverend Mother asks with a sniff.

Your lips press together. “Of course not.”

“Keep it that way. Feyd-Rautha is just as destined to sure the Kwisatz Haderach as you are to bear it from your womb.” You can feel her scrutiny from under her decorated veil. “You were defiant before about your arrangement. Why are you questioning his authenticity now?”

“As you remember, you assessed me under the Gom Jabbar. Feyd-Rautha has had no such assessment. What if he were to fail?”

The Reverend Mother considers this. “You suggest that we test him.”

“Yes.”

“Do you believe him likely to succumb?”

“I don’t know what I believe,” you reply, “only that his capabilities have not been proven by your standards.”

“You speak as if this is an oversight on our part,” the Reverend Mother says, rising to her feet. A bolt of uncertainty shoots through you.

“I mean no offense. I am simply voicing my concerns, as you said.”

“You leave soon for Arrakis?”

“In a few hours.” You try to look sheepish. “You can see why I demanded urgency.”

The Reverend Mother doesn’t immediately reply. You’re not sure what she sees when she gazes upon you. When she finally does speak, her voice is begrudging: “I shall see that Feyd-Rautha is tested by the Gom Jabbar, though I hardly think it necessary to facilitate now.”

“But what if he fails? I am wasting my time with him,” you counter, perhaps too quickly.

The Reverend Mother must mistake the haste in your voice for panic. “I will visit you on Arrakis in one week. We shall test him then.”

You dip your chin, acquiescent. “Thank you, Reverend Mother.”

The Reverend Mother has no sooner left before Asha scurries to you, her eyes wide. “I overheard everything. It won’t be ready by then.”

“It has to be.”

After your disconcerting dinner with the Baron, you made it your top priority to mend things with Asha. Albeit, less messy than your reunion with Feyd. Asha was only too quick to forgive you and gush her own apologies, which you reassured were not necessary. You had explained to her the plan you created with your husband that very night, while lying side by side in bed, voices whispered, his fingers dragging across your skin.

You had uttered plans to destroy his family like they were sonnets of a poem, threaded with love and unwavering devotion.

Asha, of course, eagerly agreed to assist you with the plan.

“These things, it takes time, and without having an actual reference —”

You lower your voice as not to be heard by anyone lingering nearby. “Tell them I will double their pay. It must be delivered to me on Arrakis in a week’s time.”

“Okay.” Asha hardly looks convinced.

“The promise of coin is an excellent tonic for idleness,” you say. You allow a small smile. “I wish it would change your mind.”

You had invited Asha to join you on Arrakis but she had swiftly declined, ever after you swore a higher salary. You would do anything to guarantee her company.

“I belong here, Y/N,” Asha says, “I know it must be difficult to believe. I imagine you felt the same about Caladan.”

You stiffen slowly. Oh, how lovely it must be to make your own decisions and live where you choose. Subconsciously, you know you could order her to join you and she would have no choice but to say yes. But you would not sacrifice her happiness for your own. “I understand.”

“Are you…disappointed?”

Feyd glances at you. You both stand in the whirl of a thopter’s wings, the force of it billowing your skirts and the red scarf you’ve draped over your head and shoulders in preparation for Arrakis. Your hand sits on your forehead like a shield for the sun — the last time you would see it, a dark, unblinking eye in the white sky.

The light casts Feyd in sharp contrast.

“What do you mean?” He asks.

“This…is your home,” you say, “will you not miss it?”

As if prompted by your question, he surveys the barren landscape, factories belching smoke in the distance as servants finish preparing your things for space flight. You think that he might not answer when he eventually says, “This place has always been more prison than home. I will be glad to rid myself of it.”

You want to reach out and grab his hand, but it feels wrong in this instance, when you wear your mantles of na-Baron and na-Baroness like armor.

Instead, you take to inspecting the same land that your husband does. You can’t even imagine the horrors he’s experienced here. And, unlike you, with your life scattered across several planets, Feyd had only known Giedi Prime — its cruelty and hardships and penchant for violence.

Though Arrakis is hardly a paradise, you hope he will find reprieve there.

“I can’t believe I’m going back,” you mutter. Your throat thickens. “And my parents won’t be there. I…I didn’t imagine it would be like this.”

“A soldier who dies in battle holding a weapon is guaranteed a place in the Heavens. If they were anything like you, they died fighting.”

You smile, blinking appreciatively at him. “I didn’t know you were religious, Feyd-Rautha.”

“I have little care for the Orange Catholic Bible. But there is comfort in knowing that there might be sanctuary for those who have spent their lives in battle.”

“Like you?”

You’re not sure what prompts you to ask it, but he turns sharply to regard you. His eyes scan your face, then the slightest of smiles graces his lips. “I’m afraid that there is no sanctuary for someone like me, jewel, but you’ve certainly ruined me by giving me a taste.”

Your chest tightens with emotion. You want to respond but it’s then that you’re beckoned over to the thopter. Feyd’s gaze flickers behind you and the moment is lost. “Be quick, wife.”

Be quick?

A pair of arms circle around you, making stumble. You automatically lean into their embrace while Feyd retreats to give you time to say goodbye, though you hardly notice with the tears springing to your eyes and blurring your vision.

You’re loathe to leave Asha here. She clings to you tightly, and you know that she wishes it could be different.

“You will come visit,” you tell her fiercely.

Asha withdraws an inch. “Of course.”

“And you will send me monthly — no, weekly updates.” You give her a stern look. “You will spare no details. I command you as your na-Baroness.”

“I suppose I have no choice then.”

You grin at her. “No you do not.”

Asha draws you in again, then whispers, “Your promise of coin worked.” She recovers, saying louder, “Now go. The na-Baron looks anxious for you to join him.”

“Thank you, Asha. For everything. You are my dearest friend.”

Asha offers you one last smile then bows to you. Aware that half of the fortress is watching, you spin on your heel and make your way to the thopter, to your na-Baron, and to your uncertain future.

“I can’t say it’s good to be back,” you report dryly as the heighliner descends. The expanse of desert stretches out before you, Arrakeen, shield wall visible just on the horizon. It shimmers slightly in the low lighting, duel suns casting a glow as they prepare for nighttime.

You’re escorted by a horde of Harkonnen soldiers in their all-black armor through a crowd of Arrakis natives. The handful of Fremen are easy enough to spot with their blue-on-blue eyes — you think them to be hostile of you, considering your Harkonnen marriage, but most regard you with curiosity. As you pass, you hear a rumbling in the crowd that you catch snippets of:

“…the Holy Mother of the Kwisatz Haderach…”

“I hear she’s no Bene Gesserit witch as they claim.”

“…does she already look pregnant to you?”

It displeases you, these vast speculations, but do your best not to reveal it. The truth of your education is not widely known. You were a shameful blot on the tapestry the Bene Gessrits have woven, and instructed by your mother upon first arrival on Arrakis not to tell anyone.

The prophecy foretold you to be part of the sisterhood, so that was the facade you upheld.

A Fremen woman twists free from the crowd. You’re too stunned to push her away before she lays a hand on your lower abdomen. Her blue-on-blue eyes shine vibrantly.

“I have touched the womb of the Holy Mother,” the woman says in a tremulous voice, “the womb which will bear our sacred Messiah.”

You stare, open-mouthed, as two Harkonnen soldiers grab under her arms and drag her away, still spouting heretics about your womb. The last you see of her is her feet dragging in the sand as she’s sucked into the crowd. Unease travels across your skin like goosebumps despite the stifling heat; you’re grateful to have worn the headscarf, as it hopefully masks your alarm.

“I should’ve had her hands removed for daring to touch you,” Feyd hisses under his breath.

He glowers the remaining way to the Arrakeen palace. It’s difficult to say if any of the remaining Fremen are eager to replicate the scene, but they’re surely discouraged now by your husband.

“That would’ve reflected poorly on us,” you say.

“I don’t care.”

You bump arms with him, stepping closer as not to be overheard. “You cannot blame them for their exuberance. They have been manipulated by the Bene Gesserits for centuries now. They believe our child to be their savior.”

A look of discomfort crosses Feyd’s face but he elects not to respond. Together you’re admitted through the airtight entrance into the palace, which is promptly sealed again. It takes a moment for your eyes to adjust but when they do, you’re rooted to the spot by confusion.

The palace is exactly the same. You’ve memorized it from your long days stuck inside, but the decor and furniture are completely different. You suppose you expected to see it mostly the same, perhaps ransacked or destroyed, a standing tomb from the life before — not this, a space crafted entirely new.

The Harkonnen soldiers dispatch, probably to sweep for spies, leaving you alone with Feyd for the first time since your exchange with the Baron.

Your brows furrow as you say, “I don’t understand.”

“I hope it’s to your approval.”

“You did this?”

“I thought it would make the transition…easier,” he tells you. “Everything that was salvageable has been taken to a storage vault for safe keeping in case you later feel so inclined to see it.”

Gratitude swells inside you. “The entire palace?”

Feyd indicates for you to continue onward. He trails after you as you explore the halls, amusement etched on his face as he observes you peeking into each room for confirmation. It’s only once you’ve reached the bedroom meant for the man and lady of the house that he stops you.

“I’ve deigned to move our personal belongings to the next biggest suite,” he says, “this room is considered off limits.”

Relief washes over you — you won’t have to stay where your parents slept, where your mother would venture nightly from her quarters to slip under the covers with your father. Your throat thickens. “I don’t know what to say.”

“Say nothing.”

His gesture moves you deeply, but it’s hard to miss the streaks of residual lasgun burn marks on the walls, the unfamiliar servants now in your employ. And you’re not sure if it’s your imagination or not but you sense a heaviness within the palace as if the weight of the deaths press on you from all sides.

The intricate care taken to packing your belongings is now undone over the next few hours. At least here everything is in color and there’s a human warmth that was always lacking on Giedi Prime. You sneak glances at Feyd on occasion to gauge his reaction, but he maintains his casual indifference to it all.

It would be impossible to tell if he’s masked his feelings or if he really doesn’t care. Either way, relief loosens your mind when night descends and the servants are sent away to rest, leaving you alone with Feyd. There are no pretenses you need to hold — not that it would matter if you tried. His attention is already fastened to you, analyzing.

“Let me help you out of your dress,” he offers in his rasping voice.

You obey, turning your back to him so that he may untie the laces running up your spine. You suspect that he would normally make quick work of such a task, it’s not like he’s unfamiliar with the process, but his fingers are clumsy, grazing. Feyd crowds close to you, his mouth hovering over the shell of your ear.

“Did everything go as planned?”

You nod, humming. It’s hard not to get distracted with him near you like this. “Yes. She will be here next week to assess you.”

“Perfect.”

“It truly could not have gone better,” you admit to him with a splash of self-satisfaction.

He drops a kiss to your bare shoulder as he eases the dress down over it. “I was talking about you, jewel.”

Twisting, you meet his mouth with yours. Feyd’s hands instantly grab at your waist and spins you the rest of the way until you’re pressed together. You allow the dress to slide down and pool at your feet, which you step out of as Feyd pedals backward, taking you with him. His kiss grows deeper. Attempting to take the lead, you tug him towards the bed, but Feyd has other ideas.

“No, no, come here,” he rasps. Like the tide eroding the sand, you let him guide you to the floor-length window. The glass against your skin is still warm from the twin suns.

“Here?” You gasp into him.

Feyd is too busy discarding his own clothes to answer immediately. “Let all of Arrakis see their na-Baroness,” he murmurs, mouth reuniting with yours with renewed passion.

His touch coasts down your side to your thighs, lifting you so that you can settle your legs around his waist. The vantage point giving your center access to his hardened length. Your body bows in response to him, ribbons of desire reaching out to capture you, binding you to him.

It’s without warning that Feyd drives inside you. He grunts as his cock splits your cunt, walls protesting at his size, the force of his intrusion. You bite down on his shoulder as pain intertwines with pleasure, muffling your cries until his thrusts have thoroughly slickened you. And Feyd never relents, bucking his hips into you with wild enthusiasm.

You’re not sure how it’s possible but every touch — every thrust, every kiss — catapults you to the edge of a precipe from which you willingly step over, languishing in the free fall. Someday you might hit the ground, but that doesn’t frighten you as it should. You would do it over and over again as long as he was the one to bring you there. All things considered, it was his hands pushing you off the ledge, prompting you to fall, to spiral down into the chasm he created — and his hands who ultimately catch you.

Feyd eventually lets you back down on your feet only to twirl you around again. His arms snake around you, hands cupping your breast. You moan as he pinches your nipples, rolls them between his fingers, his breath hot on the side of your neck. Feyd wastes no time returning his cock to your weeping cunt, using his knee to spread apart your legs.

It feels as if you can see all of Arrakis from here as Feyd pummels into you: the cresting desert beyond the city, the shield wall, lights flickering in the distance. You wonder if anyone can see you now, make out your blurred shape high above them getting properly fucked by the man who rules over them. The thought fills you with molten heat, pulsing over you in waves of pleasure as you imagine an audience to your fucking.

Feyd laughs like he knows this. “What shall we say when our people discover their na-Baroness is a whore?”

“It doesn’t matter,” you pant, “you’d kill anyone who even hints at it.”

He snaps his hip to you, grunting in approval.

It’s not long after that he coaxes your final orgasm from you, coming himself soon after. The lights of Arrakeen merge, brighten, as you unravel beneath him; the subsequent bliss of him coating you with his seed. Once he’s wrung his pleasure from you, he pulls you against him, your back flush with his chest. You stay like that for quite some time as you both catch your breath, looking out over the planet you inherited together.

“It’s all ours,” Feyd rasps.

“What an anniversary gift,” you reply, grinning as you watch him in the reflection of the glass.

“If you asked of it I would gift you the entire Known Universe.”

“I know,” you tell him. “Maybe next month.”

Taglist:

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[mononijikayu]

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, 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 Death, Depiction of Harm, Heavy Angst, Heavy Pining;

masterlist

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. 

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.

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, reaffirming the reality of your duties and the constraints they brought with them. “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.

[scaly-freaks]

a cage she'd live in forever

ignore me just randomly re-posting stuff into the vacuum i guess (i'll probably repost my rhaenicent fic next)

Aemond’s stoic manner doesn’t last.

Alicent took one look at her son during the confrontation with Rhaenyra, and understood he was pretending to be a man. He was forcing himself to grow up faster in the face of a cold, callous court, just as she once had. It broke her heart.

Now he’s back in King’s Landing, in the safety of his own chambers, and his voice cracks when he asks his mother to help apply salve to his eye. He doesn’t like the servants touching it.

Each crack in Aemond’s young voice drives her further into madness.

Madness to Alicent was never a legible concept.

It’s tucked away into the neat folds of her green sleeves, a problem for later.

She’s no Targaryen. There is no fire and blood to reckon with here.

And yet she sees her child suffer and she wants to burn down this cursed castle with herself in it.

You let this happen to him. You should have been more vigilant. You knew how obsessed he was with those beasts. YOU DID THIS.

Viserys plays no part in her judgements. The old man gave his seed and withered into the peripheral. These are her children. Alicent has the right to be possessive over them at least. Nothing else in her life has ever truly been hers.

Her title of ‘queen’ belonged to a woman more well-loved by her husband. Her name of ‘Hightower’ belongs to the men in her family. Her regal status could be snatched at any moment should the king die.

But her children she bore and birthed, they are hers.

Even so, they still ask for their father. They haven’t yet learned.

“Why does he like them more than he likes us?” Aegon mumbled to her when she can get a sober word out of him. “I thought he wanted us. I thought he wanted me.”

In a rare moment of affection – slapping Aegon was the worst thing she could have done in that room, she sees that now – she stroked the back of his silver head and made a soft, comforting sound.

“He does want you. He always wanted you.” She lies to her children with ease, just like she lies to everyone else.

When Aegon was born, no matter how it traumatised her to give birth so young, she had celebrated, thinking life would be better now that she was the queen who had managed to birth a male heir for the king.

It changed nothing.

Helaena was born and her depression grew worse.

She tries to forget what she’d done days after the birth, as if it were nothing more than a horrible nightmare. But she can’t forget the screams of her ladies-in-waiting, how they’d dragged her off the ledge. Helaena had been in her arms, shrieking miserably.

Alicent had begged her and begged her to stop crying, that she could do no more for her, that they were both helpless.

At some point, the crying faded into nothing, and the next thing she knew, she was standing on the window ledge, staring down at Maegor’s Holdfast, with her baby girl clutched to her chest.

There’s no doubt in her mind now that she would have jumped if they hadn’t found her.

She was dragged back to her cage, and her father came to rebuke her for her ungratefulness. She didn’t know how to tell him what was wrong. She didn’t know when everything went so perfectly wrong.

Aemond was born when she was happiest. She had grown a little older, become more well-adjusted. And a second son was further proof of her fertility, as well as another pillar to hold up both House Targaryen and Hightower. He was a beautiful baby, wide-eyed and gurgling. He was the happiest baby she’d ever had.

The happiness wears away the older he grows, but sometimes, when she cups his chin in her palm and makes a kissy sound, he beams, and she sees the precious infant again.

He isn’t smiling now. His shoulders are hunched, and he won’t look up, not even when she speaks to him.

Helaena sits on the corner of his bed, glancing up from time to time as she mumbles under her breath.

Alicent looks at her and doesn’t understand her, but there’s something about the girl no one can help but love. And Alicent does, painfully. The guilt of that window ledge will never leave her.

Helaena worries more than she lets on and will often wander into a room and sit in the corner like a watchful ghost when someone in her family is hurting. Alicent can’t count the nights she’s cried into her hands only to look up and see Helaena’s large eyes peering at her from the shadows. It never fails to make her laugh through the tears.

“Is Vhagar fed?” She coaxes Aemond on his favourite subject. She has no love for the dragon, but she uses her to get her son to speak.

He grunts, fiddling with his fingers. She wonders what confusion is now curdling in his young head. All her children are sad in their own ways, as sad as their mother, and she doesn’t know what to do. Leave well enough alone, Otto tells her, and Alicent can’t help thinking he might be right. He did the same with her after all.

“You were brave, Aemond. Your nephews would never have held their own the way you did.” Alicent wipes her fingers clean of salve and lifts his face up. He stares at her with his one, pale violet eye and she feels a burst of rage upon seeing the wound. It’s so strong it makes her nauseous.

“Even our uncle noticed,” Helaena hums. She looks up when she realises her mother and brother are staring at her. Then, she shrugs, stroking the dead centipede in her hand. It died this morning on her pillow. “I think he liked your bravery. But he would never say it.”

Daemon’s baleful, amused eyes flash across Alicent’s vision and she recalls her childhood infatuation with him. She grew out of it and happily so. It does not surprise her that Daemon would look at his brother’s children and see himself in them. He’s always boasted of himself as stronger than Viserys. It would entertain him to see a boy so like himself come from a woman he deems strait-laced and dull and a brother he considers weak.

“Our uncle,” Aemond scoffs. “He slept with her.”

“With whom?” Alicent’s head snaps around.

“Our father’s only child,” he spits out, venom in the words.

Rhaenyra.

“How do you know this?” Her eyes are wide and terrified, picturing a scenario where Aemond bursts out with this information at the wrong moment and gets punished.

“I was waiting to slip out and go to the beach, but I couldn’t find a good time. I saw them leave together. I know what they went to do. I’m not a child, mother.”

“Aemond, you must never speak of this again.”

“Why not?” He gets to his feet, all Targaryen rage and impulsivity. “Why must we always keep our mouths shut while she gets to do whatever she wants?”

Alicent breathes in, willing herself to stay calm.

Taking both his hands in hers, she kisses them and holds them against her cheek, reminding herself that all her children are still here. Daeron is safe in Oldtown. Her eldest three are here with her. They’re not gone yet. Daemon can’t do a thing to them. Daemon, not Rhaenyra, because even she knows her childhood friend would not willingly cut the throats of her own siblings.

“There will come a time when we will no longer live in fear of what Rhaenyra and her brood do or say to us,” she tells him. “But it is not that time yet.”

“Do you mean when father dies?” Helaena pipes up.

Alicent hushes her. “Don’t say such things out loud.” Her eyes dart to the door. Larys has spies everywhere, and though he might act innocuous with his crooked smile and haunted eyes, she knows him too well to think he’s loyal to her. He’s loyal to himself alone, as proven by the deaths of his kin. “But I assure you, Aemond, your patience will be rewarded, not just with a dragon, but by the respect of the entire realm. You are my warrior, my boy, my prince. Nothing will ever change that. Understand?”

Aemond grinds his teeth – it’s a habit she’s trying to help him out of – but he nods, slow at first, but then, with a greater degree of certainty. He believes her.

She glances at Helaena, a wordless signal that they should leave Aemond alone for a while.

At the door, she turns to look at him one last time, and smiles.

He brings peace to her heart, not because she loves him more than the other children, but because she knows he sees outside of himself, just like she was trained to. He will protect his siblings if Alicent is no longer there to do so.

Aemond is her favourite because he is exactly what she pictured when she imagined what it would be like to have a son.

Now they see you as you are.

Alicent wakes in a cold sweat, Rhaenyra’s vicious violet eyes burned into the backs of her eyelids. Her dreams are cruel to her. One moment Nyra’s head is in her lap, her young face alight with pleasure at the thought of flying away with Alicent and finding places no one else will ever reach. And then there’s a knife in her hand and Rhaenyra is bleeding out all over her green dress.

She can never control her dreams. Either she hurts Rhaenyra by the end, or Rhaenyra rips off her mask and shows her what she is.

A frightened young girl turned into a cold, enraged woman.

Her brother Gwayne used to reassure her she would be an excellent wife and mother to some very lucky minor lord. They were children of a second son, it was the most they could expect, even if their father was the Hand. And Alicent had revelled in the imagery. Gwayne was always kind to her, loving her the way younger brothers do, without question and without strife.

She never felt worthy of his simple love. She never believed she would be as good a woman as he believed she would. But often, on nights she can’t sleep, she thinks of all Gwayne told her and measures herself against it.

If she measures herself against what Rhaenyra promised she would grow to become, she’ll cry herself to death.

You are the sweetest person I’ve ever known. Everyone in this court looks at me and they see a princess, not a prince. They see what I am not, what I should have been. But you look at me and I feel strong, as if even I could bear the weight of my father’s crown. Do you know the worth of such a quality, Alice? You give strength to those who feel forsaken.

That last sentence was what echoed in Alicent’s mind the night she rushed out of the Great Hall, away from Rhaenyra’s bloodstained wedding, to find Criston Cole kneeling in the godswood, with a knife angled towards himself.

She wonders what Rhaenyra would feel knowing she herself is the reason Criston still lives.

A shadow stirs under her door and she hears the familiar clink of armour.

The guards change at midnight, and he comes to stand by her door, ever unable to sleep when the night is darkest. Alicent has memorised the sound.

Some nights, she can’t sleep until she hears the clink. Her heart doesn’t settle in the right place until Criston moves in front of her rooms, as if he’ll protect her from the hurricane waiting outside.

But no matter how she tries, tonight, sleep evades her.

She gets up and summons one of her maidservants, asking for a cup of mulled wine.

When the door opens, Criston moves an inch to the left, as if expecting trouble. Their eyes lock.

Alicent clutches her robe tighter around herself, suddenly aware of how little she’s wearing in comparison to her daytime garb. Her hair is loose from its coif, and falls in unruly curls down her back, large eyes betraying an age that is still not old enough for the troubles she bears.

“Ser Criston,” she calls, before he can close the door.

He walks into the doorway. “My Queen.”

She inclines her head to indicate he enter. He does so without a flicker in his expression, ever prepared to serve.

“Are you well, my Queen?”

Her palms are sweaty. She’s never been more aware of anything in her life. Whether it’s his presence or the lingering aftermath of her dream, she does not know.

“I could not sleep.”

His brown eyes peer at her through his lashes. They’re so large, they appear wholly sincere, but she’s seen them turn cruel at the mention of Rhaenyra. Never has a man confused her as much as Criston Cole.

Daemon, enigma as he seeks to appear, is fairly predictable within his impulsivity. If one wants trouble, look to the Targaryen prince with not a chip, but a giant oak tree on his shoulder. He’s always certain trouble.

But Criston can pass for serene and dutiful and be something totally different underneath.

Yet with her, Alicent believes he is at her service. She just often has doubts as to the precise reasons why. It can’t all be because she saved him from killing himself.

“The maid – “ he begins.

“Yes, she’s gone to fetch me a jug of mulled wine. I was hoping you would partake of it with me, Ser Criston.”

He bows his head in agreement.

Alicent’s mouth twitches in a sad smile.

He never suspects she may have ulterior motives.

Even to a man as guarded as this, she is laced so tightly, he would never suspect otherwise.

She’s never wanted to be like Rhaenyra – at least not to be in her situation – but now she does. To be able to say something charming, quick-witted, and break the ice, it would be a relief.

The maid returns with the wine and Alicent pours for the knight, setting the cup beside him.

“I appreciate how much you do for my children, Ser Criston.” She gestures for him to sit, and when he does, carefully seats herself beside him.

He keeps his eyes on the ground when he nods. “It is my duty, Your Grace. I will always work in the favour of the princes and the princess.”

“You go above and beyond.”

Now he looks at her and she sees a spark of surprise. “Have I overstepped, Your Grace?”

Alicent’s face softens, and she reaches to rest her hand on his gauntlet. “No. No, you have not. I am commending you, Criston. Not everything is a question of your ability. I will never doubt that.”

She hears him breathe out, but he still appears discomfited. She takes a sip from her own cup, hoping to encourage him to drink from his. A few seconds pass, and he mirrors her action. They smile at each other. Hers is wider, and his is small, but grows the longer he lets himself gaze into her eyes.

“May I ask what troubles you, my Queen?”

He knows. He must.

He was there in the room after the fight between Rhaenyra and Alicent was broken up. He’d watched her cry with Aemond’s bloodied face tucked against her neck. He was the one who had guided them both out, away from the court’s judgemental eyes, somewhere safe to grieve alone.

“I dreamt of Rhaenyra. Of our younger days.”

He keeps his face carefully smooth. “I remember that you were good friends. She always spoke highly of you.”

At least he’s not calling her a spoiled cunt anymore.

“She spoke well of you too,” Alicent admits. “Though I never saw when it was that she grew a particular affection for you. I was adept at reading those signs in her. With Daemon it was youthful infatuation. I was guilty of it too for a while. But you, I had no idea.”

A muscle in his jaw pulses. He’s staring into the cup of wine as if it will tell him what to say next, or what to do.

Alicent waits.

“I don’t think she held an affection for me the way I did for her,” he says at length. “I misread her cues. Had I known, I would never have offered what I did on our way to Driftmark. And she’d never had had the chance to prove just how little I meant in her world.”

“Did you – “ Alicent pauses, clears her throat, as if this isn’t something she should ask. Criston glances at her, expectant. “Did you like her a lot?”

His mouth tugs upwards with a tinge of bitterness. “It was my first time at court, away from war. And I was in the service of a princess. I’d heard one too many ballads, and she had a sweet smile. I saw everyone underestimate her. I saw her father harangue her to accept marriage proposals she didn’t want. It tangled up my views on love and duty, and my protectiveness grew into something more. It was youth’s folly on my part. It wasn’t until later that I learned she came to me after her uncle left her stranded in a brothel down in the city.”

Alicent nods, a knot stuck in her throat. She still remembers the pain in her stomach when her father first told her of the news, and that he was being banished from court for it. She remembers the way Rhaenyra’s voice trembled when she dubbed it a “vile accusation.” And yet it was never far from the truth.

Now Alicent understood exactly why Rhaenyra went to Ser Criston afterwards.

She knows this man has failed to forgive Rhaenyra’s youthful indiscretions, just as much as he refuses to forgive his own, but she feels pity for him regardless.

There’s no sense of betrayal towards the princess. Rhaenyra stopped feeling pity for Alicent the moment she was coerced into becoming her new stepmother. Alicent has ceased feeling that stab of guilt whenever she spoke against the princess in her absence. Life goes on.

“Everyone commits folly in their youth. It is of no consequence.” She says the words but doesn’t truly feel them. Her own youth was wasted in biting her cuticles till they bled and praying she did no wrong in her father’s eyes. Hardly a youth at all.

“Not you, my Queen.”

Alicent almost flinches in surprise. Criston has a look of amusement on his face. It takes her a moment to process, and then she laughs, uncertain. “What do you mean?”

“I don’t believe you’ve ever committed a folly as a child.”

“I have. Plenty of them. My father was always admonishing me for them.”

“What your father deems follies, aren’t really follies. He watches Aegon with the same focus he once used on you.” Criston’s implication is clear.

Just like Aegon, Alicent was once a pawn to move around as Otto saw fit. It doesn’t feel right to allow a member of the Kingsguard to absolve her of her perceived sins, but she leans into the feeling, letting it envelop her in comfort.

“I regret one thing in regard to you,” she mutters, looking away before the heat of the wine reaches her cheeks.

“What’s that?”

“The way I referred to you when you took of your helmet during your first tourney here.”

“’Gods, he’s Dornish’?”

Alicent’s eyes widen. Criston’s voice ripples with laughter. “Rhaenyra told me. I found it amusing.”

“I did not mean it to denigrate you,” Alicent says quickly. “I swear. I just meant – I hadn’t seen many Dornish folk growing up, and I wasn’t expecting – “

“It’s alright, Your Grace,” Criston cuts her off, eyes crinkled at the corners.

He looks young again, the way she remembers.

Alicent heaves a sigh, and then laughs, embarrassed.

They both drift into a comfortable silence, each glancing up while the other isn’t looking. It happens three times before their gazes finally meet and then suddenly, neither can look away.

She tries, but the urge to drown in the dark chasm of his eyes is more enticing than anything her husband has ever said or done to her.

Criston looks away first, but it’s to reach under his gauntlet. “I brought something. I thought the young prince might like it. Losing an eye at such an age is a great blow. I know he wishes to become a better warrior, and I fear it may create problems.”

Alicent’s face falls at the mention of Aemond’s injury. “Yes, well, there’s nothing to be done. His eye is gone.” Her voice cracks, just like her son’s had.

Criston stops fiddling with the gauntlet and stares at her. It’s as if he wants to reach across and comfort her with something more tangible than words.

But instead, he removes what he was looking for and holds it out.

It’s a leather eyepatch.

“I had it made. It’s well-padded and it will fit the circumference of his head. I know he is self-conscious about the scar, but once the wound heals, he can cover most of it.”

Alicent doesn’t speak. Her eyes glimmer with an emotion she can’t put a name to and her fingers tremble as they take the patch from Criston’s palm. Her bottom lip quivers, and she sniffs, trying not to give into the weight of grief upon her chest.

“Your Grace,” Criston murmurs, troubled at her reaction.

“Don’t – “ she seals her lips, and squeezes her eyes shut, letting the tears fall free. “Don’t call me that. Call me Alicent for once. I hear the name my mother gave me so little these days.”

He swallows, something unreadable flickering across his face. “Alicent.”

She inhales, a shivering breath, and clutches the eyepatch to her chest. “He’s going to look like a Braavosi ruffian,” she laughs, but it sounds more like a sob. “It would be highly improper.”

Criston shrugs and grins. “The boy deserves to go around however he wants after the trouble he’s had, no?”

She can already picture the scowl on her father’s face when he sees the patch.

It’s what convinces her to set aside her qualms.

Aemond will adore it. He has a knack for going straight for the thing he’s not supposed to, and just as with Vhagar, he’ll continue to make those decisions well into the future. At least Alicent can give him her blessing on this one.

“Thank you,” she says, and her voice barely breaks above a whisper. “You are good to me. To us.”

They smile at each other, and a picture of utter serenity invades her mind’s eye.

In it, her children don’t have silver hair, but red locks like her own, and deep, beautiful brown eyes like his. Their home is small, but happy, and each night when he returns, all four of them run to him, trying to tell him about their day at the same time. Alicent lingers in the back, waiting for her turn, knowing it will always come.

“Your Grace?”

The formal address shatters her vision like an arrow through glass.

She blinks, bringing herself to reality, to the quiet, dark room, so spacious and luxurious.

And him.

He’s closer now, and his hand is halfway up, as if he’s unsure whether he’s allowed to touch her.

Alicent takes it without thinking and kisses the back before pressing it to her cheek.

He doesn’t pull away. He doesn’t say a word. His fingers tighten around hers and his armour shifts as he leans in.

Alicent doesn’t lift her head. She’s afraid of what she might see in the reflection of his eyes. She’s afraid she’ll see herself, yearning, something she’s long forced herself never to do.

“Alicent.”

“I won’t,” she whispers. “I won’t make you break your oath a second time. I’m not like her. I’m not her.”

“I know. I know.” He sets his other hand beneath hers, supporting it. “You’re not Rhaenyra. You are yourself. And I chose to serve you for that, not because I owe you my life and my dignity.”

“Rhaenyra made her choices out of youthful folly, and I am a grown woman. This is wrong.” She lets go of his hand, but he tightens his grip before she can take hers back. It’s not an aggressive hold, but it’s enough to keep her reined in close to him.

“I would never encourage you to do anything you did not want to, my Queen,” he says, and she now sees what Rhaenyra saw in him.

That wide-eyed devotion, the darkness stirring just underneath, as if he would do anything Alicent asked, no matter how cruel.

How could anyone say no to such intensity? Except Rhaenyra used him as a replacement, and Alicent has nothing to replace. She is a grown woman, but in this aspect, her experience is lacklustre.

“I don’t know what I want,” she chokes out, biting her lip to keep it from trembling.

“That’s not quite true, is it?” he says kindly.

She shakes her head. “I want a great many things, most of them to do with my children. But for myself, I don’t know what I want. Perhaps I want to sleep. Or to be at peace. Or maybe I want never to worry about another thing as long as I live.”

Her voice breaks as she remembers Aemond wiping his tears with haste so she won’t see them, and Aegon turning away to hide how her words trouble him, and Helaena – sweet Helaena – hoping her mother will understand what she means without having to try and explain it all the time.

And then she looks up at Criston and he is looking at her, only her.

Not Alicent the queen, nor Alicent the mother, nor Alicent the daughter.

Just Alicent.

She leans in for the space of a long sigh, and kisses his lips, seeking a taste of what it is that makes him see her that way.

Criston doesn’t let her pull back. His hand is behind her head – gentle, as if she were made of crystal – and his lips move like warm silk, pressed over her mouth. He kisses each corner, and then the bow of her upper lip, his breath soaked into hers. The scent of mulled wine is strong, but underneath, she tastes something sweeter. She wonders if she’s imagining it.

He manoeuvres her with an ease that steals her breath away.

One moment she’s on the seat, the next she’s half on his lap and his arm is braced around her slender waist.

She’s never been kissed like this before, like the centre of the universe is hidden between her lips and he means to steal it.

“Criston – “

His name is muffled in the wet slide of his tongue over hers, and she isn’t sure what she means to say next. He doesn’t give her the chance to think about it. His hand braces against the side of her neck, pulling her closer, until she’s caged.

This is a cage I would live in forever.

It takes the will of the gods to end the kiss.

The second she does, his mouth grasps at her chin, her cheek, her jaw, her throat, reaching for anything she’ll give him. And for a few heartbeats, she lets him have it all. She pretends her body is his to do with as he pleases, and that no one will ever come through that door to break them up.

She pretends she is his, and he is hers.

And then her body strains back, breaking the restraint of his arm.

Criston releases her immediately, breath coming short, eyes glittering with arousal.

Her own face is no better. Soft steps retreat, taking her back until she finds the bedpost. It’s the only thing keeping her knees from giving out.

Criston stands, and she’s suddenly aware of how much larger he is. It doesn’t help the heat spreading across her body, or the heartbeat pulsing in her throat. Her cheeks are still wet with tears.

“We can’t,” is all she manages to breathe out.

He nods, a sincere gesture. He understands.

Alicent thinks then that she might die to be understood like this always, that she’d die for him.

His white cloak whispers across the floor when he approaches.

A coarse hand rests ever so soft against the petal-skin of her cheek. It brushes down towards her chin, tilting it up. He studies her face as if she were a finely woven tapestry, each thread made of precious gold and silver.

“Your tears are as beautiful as the rest of you,” he murmurs. “But would that I could, I’d banish them from your eyes forever.”

Alicent trembles, trying not to let out the sob building up in her chest.

He presses a kiss to her forehead, chaste, and his hand drops away her face.

He leaves and behind him, lingers a poignant scent she’s only ever breathed in the godswood.

It’s holy.

“What’s this?”

Aemond looks confused at the velvet pouch she dangles before him.

Aegon is sitting on a nearby chair, sober for once, and Helaena is curled up by the fireplace, making swirling patterns with the corpses of dead bugs. Aegon keeps cringing and telling her not to bring them too close to his feet. She threatens to throw one in his open mouth when he’s asleep.

Their bickering continues in the background as Alicent pulls Aemond close. “Open it.”

He does, and removes the patch with a blithely confused face. “What is it?”

“It’s a patch for your eye, you dolt,” Aegon calls.

“Aegon, don’t be mean to your brother.”

“Why not? He told father I knew about the bastards. I got barked at.”  

“I was protecting mother,” Aemond snaps.

“Yes,” Alicent says quickly, before it can get out of hand. “And I know you were as well, Aegon. Thank you.”

Aegon opens his mouth to say something, frowns, and then grunts. Alicent gaze lingers on him for a moment, feeling that familiar sadness, but then she’s distracted by Aemond putting on the patch. He laughs in delight as he darts towards the mirror.

“I look like a Braavosi sea lord!” he exclaims.

“This is what he’s giggling over!” Aegon laughs. “No more ‘I may have lost an eye, but I gained a dragon?’ Pretentious twat.”

Helaena chooses that precise moment to throw a dead bug at Aegon’s head, and the room erupts into chaos.

Alicent’s first instinct is to shout and stop them, order them to behave like the royalty they are.

But then she notices the maidservants giggling, and she lets it carry on. Helaena, emboldened by her initial attack, chases her older brother with a whole tray of bugs, and Aemond stands at the centre of it all, doing his best impression of a Braavosi water dancer.

Alicent smiles so wide her face hurts.

They look like children.

It won’t last, but they look like children again.

[lambtotheslaughterr]

I Burn : Part Nine

A Rafe Cameron Mini Series

[THIS STORY WILL CONTAIN THEMES OF NON-CON/DUB-CON, MENTAL-EMOTIONAL-PHYSICAL ABUSE, ETC. YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED. READ AT YOUR OWN RISK. 18+. MINORS DO NOT INTERACT]

WC: 3.6k

Dividers provided by @firefly-graphics

PART EIGHT | MASTERLIST | FINALE

IMPORTANT NOTE* hey ya’ll! just a reminder that my requests are OPEN. please read this POST before making any requests as i have rules in place. there are three spots left (which you will see at the bottom of the linked post). so get your requests in if you’re wanting to use me;p

            You twirled in your hotel bathroom, admiring your dress in the mirror. A bright smile on your face. You were looking forward to the night. Your dad, having won his lawsuit against John a little over a month ago, was attending a charity gala & your mother was unable to attend as she was busy with work. So, your father had asked if you would be date. You happily accepted.

            Ever since you left the facility two months ago, your relationship with your father had improved. He had made a complete 180 in light of Dr. Mooney’s assault charges. Your father had apologized to you, a genuine one, hugging you & holding you, promising he would never let another man let you down, let alone himself. It was all you could ever truly want, to be accepted by your father. Now, more than ever, your father-daughter relationship was thriving.

            After you accused Dr. Mooney of rape, the investigators were quick to get to work. They completed a rape kit on you which did indeed prove that there was a recent intrusion. There had been no DNA of course since you made Rafe wear a condom, but the bruises that formed on your upper arms matched Dr. Mooney’s hand size, & those bruises were indeed from him. From when you quite perfectly framed him as he held you down on the couch.

            What solidified the case more so, however, because Dr. Mooney pleaded innocent, was Albert’s testimony. He revealed the rumor about Dr. Mooney & a former patient that he had told you about. After a deep dive into the allegations, it was revealed that Dr. Mooney did have a relationship with the former patient, though she insisted it was consensual. But the nurse who was with you most of that fateful day, Nurse Graham, played the part of witness, sharing that she overheard Dr. Mooney & yours conversation in your room right before you went to his office. The case was solid & closed. Dr. Mooney was effectively removed from his position at Arrowhead & was sentenced to three years in prison. It wasn’t as long as you would have preferred, but you were content with it. Dr. Mooney had gotten what he deserved. You had won.

            Of course, you were forced to play the victim for some time, isolating yourself, struggling to talk in therapy. But as the weeks passed, you felt safe to open up more, to be yourself again. No one questioned the truth. Sometimes, very rare times, you did feel guilty for changing the course of Dr. Mooney’s life. It was no surprise that his affair with Nurse Carney was revealed, ultimately leading to his wife leaving him. He was completely alone. And you were free, surrounded by those who swore to love you just as you were.

            What ate away the most at you was how there were countless rape victims out there, real rape victims, whose cases were going unjustified. That you conjured up the whole case & succeeded in getting an innocent man imprisoned. But you argued to yourself that Dr. Mooney was a shitty person, that he deserved some sort of consequence for his lies & false authority. It was a win to you, & that’s all you really cared about.

            Fortunately, you didn’t think on it much. After Dr. Mooney was removed from the facility, Dr. Frazer made the decision to close the Arrowhead for the summer, to hire new doctors & nurses, to re-write policies & protocols, to ensure that something like your case never happened again. It was the least he could do, after all.

            So, with Arrowhead closed, Albert finally reached out. He was apologetic for his coldness to you in those last days, but you reassured him that you didn’t blame him. You had called him weak, after all. But the two of you would talk on the phone every now & then. He was near the end of his program when Arrowhead closed so he was given the ‘okay’ to re-enter life in the real world. He & his boyfriend moved in together & he was starting a new job as a drug counselor at the high school in his hometown. You were glad to have Albert back.

            Grabbing your phone off the counter, you snapped a couple pictures of yourself in the gown you wore, sending them to Albert. He replied with heart eyes. You giggled, clicking your phone off. Just as you did, there was a light knock on your door.

            “_____, it’s near time to leave. Are you about ready?” You father asked from the other side.

            You touched up your hair just a tad before going to the door, opening it. You grinned up at your father in his black-tie suit. He looked handsome. You were glad to be on his arm that night.

            “How do I look?” You asked, twirling yet again for him.

            Your father grinned, his eyes taking you in, “You look beautiful.”

            “Thank you, daddy.”

            Your father offered his arm to you then, “The car is waiting downstairs.”

            Quickly, you grabbed your Yves Saint-Laurent clutch & tangled your arm with your father’s. He led the two of you out of your hotel suite & to the elevators. On the ground floor out front, there was a sleek black sedan waiting for the two of you. Your father opened the back door for you as you slipped inside, sure to be careful not to catch your heel on the frame. Your father followed after you.

            The town where the charity gala was being held was in a town you had never heard of. It was small but upper class, similar to the town you lived in. It was called Kildare & lied along the Atlantic coast. And even though the end of summer was nearing, you couldn’t feel it in the air. It was still warm out & the breeze from the ocean helped keep it cool. You had spent the day earlier today shopping along the boardwalks & indulging in the cute café’s. You were happy to be here with your father.

            In the car, your father clacked away on his phone, likely responding to emails, so you just watched as the quaint little beach down passed you by. After about twenty minutes, the car pulled into a beautifully crafted country club. It had clearly been decorated for tonight’s event. There were lights tangled around the trunks of trees, a handful of elegantly crafted benches, & even a pearl colored carpet that invited guests would walk on as they entered the gala.

            Yet again, your father offered his arm & you took it, admiring the building you were entering. You had no idea what the charity event was for but you didn’t really care to. You were just glad to be seen in public with your father after his lawsuit. Not that anyone knew about it since it wasn’t public knowledge, but you wanted people to see that your father was proud of the daughter he had on his arm.

            Inside the venue, you were aghast at the fantastical elements of it. The interior & décor of it all made your heart leap with joy. It would be one of the first events you attended after returning home, family gatherings not included. You were more than ready to have fun, but of course, not too much fun.

            Your father kisses you on your temple, releasing you, "I'm going to go find the host, why don’t you find us a table?”

            “Okay.” You smiled.

            Before finding a table, you chose to take a stroll though the gala. There were hundreds of people, everyone dressed to the nines. You easily fit in. It was a strange feeling but you welcomed it, nonetheless. Near the back of the spacious room was the many tables of food along with bowls of punch. You inspected your options, your eyes often returning to the desserts table. In the corner was an open bar. You desperately wished you were old enough to get yourself a glass of wine. And you were confident that they would give you one without checking for your ID, but with your father close, you didn’t want to risk disappointing him. Perhaps if you asked him first…

            “Craving bubbly?”

            The voice just behind you made you jump, as it was much too close. You spun around, expecting it to be a random guest speaking to another, but the eyes you met made you falter in your step.

            “Rafe…” You breathed out unbelievably.

            “Boo.” He smirked, his hands hidden inside the fitted formal pants he wore, “Ghost of Arrowhead’s past.”

            “What are you doing here?” You asked, but your eyes quickly flashed around the room in search of your father.

            “I should be asking you that. You’re on my turf, after all.”

            That brought your attention back to him. You frowned, “Your turf?”

            Rafe smirked, “Kildare. My home.”

            A lump formed in your throat. What were the chances? Really? What were the fucking odds that the key to your rape accusation would be standing right before you. Far from Arrowhead.

            “You’re looking a little sick, _____. Spooked?”

            “No, no.” You shook your head but he was right. You were beginning to feel dizzy & nauseous. “It’s nice to see you.”

            Rafe chuckled darkly at that. He took a step forward & you were quick to step away from him. But he continued walking past you to the nearby bar.

            “Two glasses of the house red.” He ordered from the bar, but his eyes trailed back to you.

            You felt rooted to your spot, unable to move away from him. Had you known that you were going to run into Rafe Cameron of all people, you would have stayed at the hotel.

            The bartender handed Rafe the two glasses of wine. Rafe turned back towards you, offering you one of the glasses. You stared dumbly at the crimson liquid then at the hand holding the glass before trailing back to his eyes. He looked devious in the dimly lit space.

            “I shouldn’t.”

            Rafe stepped closer, his voice lower, “We shouldn’t do a lot of things, but that doesn’t stop us, does it?”

            You gulped. With a shaky hand, you accepted the glass but didn’t take a sip. Your father be damned, you didn’t trust yourself to drink now. Not with the one person who knew the truth about your darkest secret.

            Rafe tipped the glass, savoring the taste of the wine as he peered at you. You shifted uncomfortably under his stare.

            “Well, it was nice seeing you.” You mumbled, “Thanks.”

            You were about ready to spin away & run off but Rafe was quick to gently snatch your elbow. Your skin tingled & burned where his fingers grazed you.

            “Running away? So soon?” Rafe clicked his teeth in disappointment, “The party is just beginning.”

            All your fire & blissful independence evaporated as he held you close. He clinked his glass to yours, “Indulge.”

            Knowing he wouldn’t let you go until you obliged, you were quick to bring the glass of wine to your lips. Uncaring of any potential curious stares, you quickly downed the wine, the smokey & sweet flavor going unappreciated as you swallowed it all. You released a breath of air, handing the glass back to him.

            “I have to go.”

            “Wait, wait, Cinderella.” Rafe tugged you closer. He tucked your empty glass under one of his arms as he used his free hand to reach for your face. You jolted back but he held you tight. You stared wide-eyed at him as his thumb brushed against your lower lip. When he pulled it away, you noted the stain of wine on his finger, mixed with the maroon color of your lipstick. Rafe stuck his thumb in his mouth, sucking the flavor. You felt your lips part as you watched the action.

            “As good as I remember.” His eyes twinkled.

            You ripped yourself away from him then, snaking your way through the plethora of people before you found your father. He was sitting at a table with a man & woman who looked familiar. But how could they? There would be no one here you would know. Or at least you thought that until Rafe appeared out of the depths of hell.

            “Dad.” You tried to sound as normal as possible, but your heart was racing with panic.

            “There you are.” He grinned proudly up at you, “_____, this is a friend of mine, Ward & his wife, Rose.”

            You offered the couple a polite smile before moving to sit down next to your father.

            “Your dress is beautiful, _____.” Rose, who was quite younger than her husband, commented.

            “Thank you.” You replied softly.

            Ward eyed you then. But it wasn’t the kind of eyeing you were accustomed to when it came to meeting new men. He looked at you as if he saw right through you, not like he was admiring your youthful beauty.

            “My son was right, Harold. Your daughter is something.” Ward shared with your father, but his eyes never strayed from you.

            Your father smiled at that, though it appeared force. All the while, you were confused by the comment.

            “I’m sorry.” You chuckled awkwardly, “Your son?”

            Then, like the phrase goes, speak of the devil & he shall appear, Rafe appeared just behind Ward & Rose.

            “Oh.” You failed at hiding your distress.

            “You two were at Arrowhead not too long ago.” Ward pointed out, but it wasn’t necessary. Of course you knew where you met Rafe.

            Your father shifted in his chair, his eyes falling to Rafe’s as he took a spot on the other side of Rose, an empty chair just between the two of you. It was clear your father didn’t trust Rafe. So, why was he ‘friends’ with Ward?

            You forced a smile, “Hello, Rafe.”

            “_____.” Rafe returned, his voice thick with mischievousness.

            “Rafe told us about how you were the only one friendly to him.” Rose commented, her smile bright as she said as such.

            “She was definitely the most welcoming.” Rafe added, the tone in his voice playful.

            You felt your father’s eyes on you but you made it point to not face him. You had only just gotten his trust & acceptance back not too long ago. You’d be damned if Rafe would ruin that.

            “Rafe.” You said his name firmly, “Would you dance with me?”

            Rafe’s eyes glinted under the light at your offer.

            “I don’t think that’s the best idea, _____.” Your father said, though his voice was low. You met his eyes, seeing the uncertainty there, but you needed to get Rafe away from your father.

            “Let the kids be kids, Harold. We’ve got business to discuss, anyway.” Ward leaned back in his chair, staring comfortably at both you & your father.

            You could see the struggle occurring within your father but he ultimately inhaled sharply, nodding, “Stay where I can see you.”

            “Harold,” Ward laughed loudly, “You baby her. She’s quite the grown woman as far as I can see.”

            Your father ignored Ward’s passive aggressive comment, instead turning to you, “As I said, _____.”

            “Of course, Dad.”

            Rising from your chair, Rafe was quickly beside you, offering his arm. You reluctantly took it. As you did, you didn’t miss how Rafe’s father’s eyes never left the two of you as Rafe led the way to the dance floor.

            On the dance floor, Rafe was swift in ensnaring one of your hands in his own before circling his arm around your waist, practically pressed your chest against his own.

            Watch Me Burn by Michele Morrone began playing & Rafe moved your bodies in time with the music. It didn’t pass you by how fitting the music was in that exact moment. The song having been shot to stardom thanks to the erotic foreign films 365 Days. A trilogy focused on the tumultuous & tense sexual relationship between two people who shouldn’t be together. You had gotten yourself off to it a handful of times when they first came out. But now, you only felt extreme discomfort.

            Rafe cocked his head, watching you intently as you looked everywhere but at him.

            At the first chorus, Rafe twirled you before catching you firmly then dipping you. You stared hard at him.

            “Bring back memories?”

            He returned you upright, his hands finding your arms to drape them over his shoulders. His own hands found themselves on your hips. Despite the thick layers of the dress, you could feel his heat, & how it made your body feel like it was on fire.

            “Why are you doing this?” You asked, your voice low so only he could hear you.

            “Because I can.” He responded curtly.

            You glared up at him as he pressed your more against him, his hands trailing along your lower back.

            “That’s not a good enough reason.”

            He chuckled at that, shaking his head knowingly, “And what was your reasoning?”

            “For what?” You bit back.

            Rafe narrowed his eyes, smirking, “You know exactly what.”

            You pressed your lips together, licking them in distress. Rafe’s eyes flashed to the movement, his own lips parting.

            “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Your voice shook.

            He leaned forward until his lips were at your ear, “You’re a bad liar, _____.”

            You gasped softly. It was foolish of you to think Rafe couldn’t put two & two together. He was an ass, but he wasn’t dumb.

            “But you fooled the police.”

            At the mention of the police, you attempted to shove yourself away, but Rafe was secure in holding you against him.

            “I didn’t fool anyone.” You snarled. “What happened, happened.”

            Rafe nodded, “If you say so.”

            “I do.” You lowered your eyes, “You don’t know anything.”

            Rafe hummed at that, “Maybe. But what I do know is that you gave me a going away gift at a very crucial time in your life. And Dr. Mooney’s.”

            You stopped dancing. Rafe copied. The two of you stood still on the dance floor, staring hard at one another.

            “I wonder what would happen to Dr. Mooney’s sentence if I came forward with what I know. With what we did.”

            “You wouldn’t.” You dropped your arms from his shoulders.

            “Watch me.”

            Tearing away from him, you made to leave the floor but Rafe was, as always, quick like a snake to snatch your wrist. He yanked you back to him before he planted his mouth on yours. You cried softly into the kiss before catching his lower lip between your teeth & sinking them in.

            Rafe ripped away, bringing his fingers to his lip. Blood spotted his fingertips.

            “I forgot that you liked it rough.”

         ��  Unsettled at his comment, you stepped backwards, “Stay away from me. I mean it.”

            Rafe glowered, a devilish smile gracing his unacceptable handsome features.

            You spun away from him, desperate to create distance, but as you did, you didn’t miss the parting greeting he offered.

            “No promises.”

            The rest of the night you managed to avoid being within 10 feet of Rafe. He was always there though. Even when you couldn’t see him, you could feel his eyes burning into you, always watching you.

            You stayed glued to your father’s side, & you were grateful that when you found him after your tense dance with Rafe that he was no longer with Ward Cameron. The whole night, you entertained small talk with your father’s acquaintances but never strayed. You barely even had the nerve to look around the room, fearful you’d meet the dangerous blues you were desperate to never see again.

            It wasn’t until you & your father were in the car back to the hotel that you finally managed to relax, though Rafe’s threat still lingered heavily on your mind. Would he go so far as to totally counteract everything you had done? You wouldn’t put it past him.

            But your relaxation was short-lived once in the hotel suite. Before you could disappear to your room for the night, to get plenty of sleep for the drive back home to Virginia Beach tomorrow. It wouldn’t be a long drive, less than two hours, but you wanted to sleep away the tension from the night’s event. Your father stopped you though.

            “We’re extending our stay for another day.” He shared as he began to undo his tie.

            You frowned, glancing at him, “How come?”

            He sighed heavily, sitting down at the only dining table in the suite to unlace his shoes, “The Cameron’s invited us to dinner.”

            You felt your heart falter. No.

            “And I accepted. You’re expected to come with me.”

            Your body began to shake, “Do I have to?”

            “Yes, _____.” His voice was tense, & he wouldn’t look you in the eyes. Something was going on. He knew something you didn’t.

            “But—”

            “No buts, _____. You’re coming with me tomorrow evening & that’s final.” He stood up, unbuttoning the cuffs on his dress jacket. His eyes finally met yours. The look there felt like someone was pouring a bucket of Icelandic water over you. It was a look you knew well, one you hadn’t seen in a couple months. He knew. Your father knew.

            “Okay, Daddy.” You mumbled as you felt your lips begin to shake.

            “Now, go to sleep. I’ll see you in the morning.”

            Nodding once, you walked fast to your room, your head hung low.

            In your room, you were quick to disappear into the bathroom, flicking the light on. Tears were already falling as you stared at yourself in the mirror. The novelty of the dress, of coming here with you father, of being the perfect daughter, had quickly rotted away.

            You glared at yourself in the mirror, the ink from your eyeliner & mascara leaving smudged black trails along your cheeks. This wasn’t happening. It couldn’t be. Tomorrow, you would wake up & everything would be as it was. Your father would say your name with pride, he would be proud to call you his daughter. But no. You saw it coming & there was no stopping it.

            Your father would see you exactly as you were. The Cameron’s would make sure of it.

drumroll please!!! the finale of I Burn is next. & it will be the end of another era. it's indeed a bittersweet feeling but i'm excited to begin writing The Taming featuring Clark Kent.

also, how was the dance scene? i really wanted to incorporate lyrics from the song to match their conversation but do it subtly. comments?

as always, please share your thoughts w me! i'm so so curious to hear your thoughts with the end near. please share w me via comments, reblogging w reviews, or dropping as ask.

thank you for reading!

beau<3

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[xrollingmyeyesx]

OVERWORKED

pairing: Aonung x Metkayina!Reader x Neteyam, ALL CHARACTERS ARE 18+

summary: You're a stressed and overworked healer; Aonung and Neteyam are constantly bugging you at work. When you blow up at them, they offer a helping hand.

warnings: smut, praise, dumbification kinda, threesome with my favorite boys 💕

Notes: I know this isn’t an innocence update, but I figured I’d give y’all something just waiting in the drafts! 💕 lots of love. As always, reblogs, likes, and comments are appreciated!

“You always seem so stressed, Y/n.” Tsireya mused one day in the healers tent. “You should take a rest day.” 

Easy for her to say. She hadn’t been up all night for the 5th day in a row. 

First, it had been a sudden stomach illness from spoiled food. Several people became ill, and you spent the night cleaning puke and forcing them to drink water. Then it was sea flu, passed between the younger members of the clan. The youngest were among the most fragile, so they had to stay under careful watch. Night after night, something kept you from the comfort of your bed. 

The day time was just as busy. 

When you weren’t bombarded with people seeking your help, you worked to replenish the stores of balms and elixirs that had been used up after the last hunting trip. Somehow, every hunter managed to come back with some type of wound, ranging from small lacerations to a brutal, but accidental, knife wound. 

You were the best healer the Metkayina had; So good that Ronal, the Tsahik, often requested your help with difficult wounds or ailments. 

If you were anyone else you would take the day off, but you were you. You were sought out at all times, even when you weren’t supposed to be working. No day off was truly a day off. 

“I am just tired.” You replied to Tsireya, mixing up a balm for a new mother in the clan. She was still experiencing great pains from the birth, and you hoped to ease it as best you could. 

You really did love your job, too. You loved caring for people and being able to relieve their pain. 

It was just so consuming. At times it felt like all you did was work, and you were quickly burning out with each sleepless night.

A muffled voice came from the tent's entrance, and you turned your back as Tsireya greeted the newcomer. 

“Skxawng, what did you do?” She admonished.

You knew just from her tone that it must have been Aonung who’d come through. And where Aonung went, so did Neteyam. You’d had a bit of a crush on the both of them, but never pursued it. After all, if you didn't have time to sleep, you definitely didn't have time to date.

You sighed deeply, your shoulders sagging from the stress of the day. You wanted to just have one, relaxing night to forget about your job. But you doubted it would be any time soon.

“It is actually my fault,” Neteyam admitted to Tsireya. “I got distracted during sparring.”

Now that was interesting. Rarely did Neteyam falter. He was a worthy warrior, and you’d never seen him lose to anyone but Aonung. Not that it proved anything, Neteyam had won over him just as much as he’d lost to him. 

You turned towards them, averting your gaze as you added new components to the balm. It was a thick yellow paste now, and you needed it to turn a soft cream color. You sat on the floor of the tent, diligently mixing and watching for the color change. 

“Just sew it up,” Aonung huffed in his normal grumpy tone. 

He had a deep cut right across his bicep, deep enough to see the lower layers of skin peeking out. Ouch. It bled freely, dripping down his arm. He would need stitches, at least 6, and it would be especially painful in that specific area. 

“Let me get a needle,” Tsireya turned to rummaged through the suture supplies. 

“No, I want Y/n to do it.” Aonung stated, as if you would drop what you were doing to come to his aid. 

You raised a brow at him from your position on the floor. You were clearly busy with something, and Tsireya was just as capable of stitching him up as you were. And she was his sister, he should trust her implicitly. 

You voiced your contempt aloud. “Tsireya can sew your cut, Aonung.”

He scowled, and behind him you saw Neteyam crack a smile. “You do them better.”

That wasn’t true. You may have been faster at stitching, but you had the exact same technique as Tsireya because you’d both had the same teacher: her mother. 

Tsireya found the supplies she needed and rolled her eyes at her brother. “Aonung, do not be stubborn. Come here.” She sat across from you, looking at him expectantly. 

“I wanted Y/n.”

What is up with him? He barely talked to you normally, communicating mainly in grunts and letting Neteyam translate. And now he wants to demand you help him, when you're literally in the middle of something else, and his sister is readily available to help? 

You scowled. You were in no mood to have him order you around like you were some servant. You had a job to do: help people, which you were actively doing. Tsireya was right there!

“I’m busy.” You dismissed him with a wave of your hand.

“Y/n.” He growled, as if that would make you do it. 

You whipped your head to face him, baring your teeth in a sharp hiss.

“I said no, Aonung! I am doing something for someone else, and I will not put it down just because you are the son of Olo’eyktan and think you deserve special treatment.” You glared at him, rising to your feet. “Your sister is perfectly capable of sewing you up, and I am tired of your shit.”

You whipped back around, your long curls whipping across your back as you stomped out of the room and to the back of the tent, taking the mixing bowl with you. Fuck him if he thought you’d play favorites with your patients. 

Fucking asshole. 

Later, you would chastise yourself for lashing out like that. Aonung was rude sometimes, but you shouldn't have taken your own stress out on him. 

Maybe Tsireya was right. 

You did need to relax. And you needed to find a way to de-stress so you weren’t taking out all your frustrations on other people. 

…..

A few days later, after some convincing from Tsireya, you decided to visit the hot springs along the edge of the island. You desperately needed to get away for a bit. It helped that a large grove of trees and a rock formation created a natural barrier, giving the area some semblance of privacy away from prying eyes. 

You waited until the sun set before leaving, making sure to keep quiet. It’s not that you would get in trouble for being out, but you didn’t want to face any questions about where you might be going. The hot springs weren’t too far from your own tents, so the walk was brief. 

The spring was small, but not enough to deter you from using it. You could probably lay down flat against the bed and touch both sides. The forest floor faded into stone around the pool, creating a ledge that dropped down into steaming water. 

You undressed and gingerly stepped down, and immediate relief flooded your senses. The spring was hot enough to sting slightly, but not so much as to cause pain. You figured your skin would be burned a soft pink by the end of your bath. 

You washed your face first, attempting to wipe the weariness from your eyes. Your hair was next, and you dipped under the water to soak it. You washed it carefully, parting it into sections and finger-combing each one out.

Your arms burned by the time you finished with your hair, and you sat along the edge of the pool where a protruding ledge had created a makeshift bench. You leaned back against the wall, your body slipping beneath the soothing water.Eyes closed, you allowed your muscles to loosen one by one until the tension had eased. 

Usually when you showered, it was a quick affair. You had places to be and things to do, so bathing for long periods of time wasn’t possible. The act of bathing had become less of a relaxing activity and more of a quick scrub; A necessity rather than a luxury. 

“You shouldn’t be out alone this late, Y/n.” A deep voice chided, starting you from your peaceful moment as you whipped around quickly, pushing off the bench defensively. 

Neteyam leaned against one of the trees with his arms crossed over his chest. He was bathed in shadows, and you could just barely make out his bright, amber eyes. You dropped the defensive stance. Neteyam might have been scary at times, but he wouldn’t hurt you.

His eyes shifted, dipping slightly. You followed his gaze down, only to remember you were completely naked, and your upper half was exposed above the water. Flushing, you scrambled to cover your chest, crossing your arms over them. You didn’t have time to wonder if he found it strange for you to hide when your people had no stigma against nakedness.

“What are you doing here?” You accused, stepping back. Had he followed you out here? What could he have been doing so late?

He pursed his lips and tilted his head at you in study. “I was just out for a walk and saw you leaving the village,” He uncrossed his arm and stepped forward out of the shadows.“I wanted to apologize for the other day. Aonung behaved poorly.”

Strange, that he would apologize for his friend. Even more strange that he would apologize when it had been you who’d lost their temper. 

“There is no need to apologize, Neteyam. I should not have been so quick to anger.” You spoke softly, and then, believing the conversation was over and he would leave, you turned your head dismissively. 

Neteyam, however, was not done speaking. “Aonung was being stubborn, like usual. He did not mean to upset you.”

You rolled your eyes, sinking further into the water so you could drop your hands from your chest. If this conversation was going to continue, you couldn't just stand there exposed. 

“I am well aware of Aonung’s stubbornness. It comes from being the oldest, I think.” You replied thoughtfully. 

The foliage behind Neteyam ruffled as something moved behind it. A second later, a large, blue body stepped out from the darkness. 

“Have you been watching me, minyu?” 

Aonung’s sudden appearance immediately put you on edge, and you subconsciously took another step back. 

You should have known he would be there. He was Neteyam’s best friend, and the two were never far from each other. Where one went, the other followed. 

“Aonung,” You addressed him cautiously, your face flushing at the accusation. How arrogant he must be to think you would spend your free time watching him. You may have enjoyed the occasional view, but you didn’t have the energy to pursue anyone in that way. 

He was attractive, of course, but he’d never been anything but platonically cordial to you. Which made sense because the only time you ever saw him, outside of clan events, was when he came to you to be healed. 

You were so distracted by Aonung’s accusation that you almost skimmed right past what he had called you.

Minyu.

It was a type of lily that grew near the southern part of the reef. The leaves were very sweet, almost addicting, but they were hard to get. A person would have to climb several reef walls to reach their growing site, and risk falling if they failed. It was a delicacy that most would avoid risking their life for. 

And you knew from Tsireya that Aonung was particularly fond of the plant. He was one of the few who scaled the walls regularly to get a taste of the ripe flower. 

What a strange thing to call you.

He grinned, sky blue eyes taking in the scene. The water didn’t do much to conceal you, but the darkness helped some. The only source of light was the soft glow of moss on the outer rocks. 

Aonung walked to the edge of the pool and peered over. Then he began to do something weird. He began to untie his necklaces. He let them fall to the ground, and then he untied the laces of his cumberbund, his warrior's vest. 

Oh, Eywa. He wasn’t going to…

“Neteyam,” He called over his shoulder, eyes locked with yours as he spoke. “I think we should have a bath as well.” His voice carried over the water, and you inhaled sharply. 

He was going to get in with you. They were both going to get in with you.

It was bad enough they were there interrupting the only peace and quiet you’d had in months, but now they were going to invade your space too? The two could be cocky at times, but never out right mean. And it was clear by how tense you’d become that they weren’t welcome there.

That you didn’t want them there, regardless of the tingling at the base of your tail and the stupid, quick beating of your heart. 

Or so you tried to convince yourself as the two men stripped their clothing off. 

You couldn’t even ask them to leave without exposing whatever miniscule feelings you had for them. It was completely normal for Na’vi to be naked in front of each other. And if it was anyone else, you’d have no issues at all. 

But it wasn’t anyone else. It was them. 

Unease curled in your gut at the idea of sitting in this pool and bathing with them sitting only a few feet away. Not only would you not get the quiet you’d been seeking out, but you would be uncomfortable the whole time. There was no way you would be able to relax with both sets of piercing eyes watching you.

“Staring is rude, Y/n.”

You narrowed your eyes at Aonung and scowled. “Yeah, well, so are you.” 

Okay, maybe not the best comeback, but you were a little distracted with the two semi-naked men basically giving you a peep show. They were both down to their loincloths, and Aonung had busied himself with tying back his hair. 

He quickly tied the long locks in a knot on his head and moved to untie the only thing keeping him decent. You attempted to turn, but not nearly quick enough, catching a glimpse of what is unmistakably his cock in your peripheral vision. 

You squeezed your eyes shut. 

Aonung was incredibly irritating, but he was also very, very hot. 

One of them laughed behind you, and then twin splashes and the rocking of waves signaled they had joined you in the water. You refused to turn, your shoulders tense as you stared at the mossy rock in front of you. 

Don’t think about them naked. Don't think about them naked. 

“Perhaps I should leave,” You muttered, after the repetition failed to erase the mental images you had already conjured.  

“Stay,” Aonung ordered, and you shivered as your back straightened. 

You hated how your body reacted to him. The traitorous bitch didn’t get the memo that you were supposed to be angry at him, not horny for him. 

“Please,” Neteyam added. At least one of them had manners. 

The rational part of you told you to leave, to jump out of the pool and make a dash for your home. Yes they’d get an eyeful, but at least you would be out of this awkward situation. It was the better option, the more logical option. 

Another more insistant part of you told you to stay. You were there first and you deserved to relax, even if you had to deal with the two assholes. And even if it was awkward and they irritated you the whole time, at least you had new material for the nights when your hand was the only respite you got from the grueling day. 

On those nights, the men in your fantasies were much less annoying. 

“I’ll stay,” You relented. 

A minute passed where nothing was said, and you stood tensely as apprehension grew. Maybe you shouldn’t stay. Maybe they were only telling you to stay out of politeness, and now things were weird because you hadn’t gotten the hint? Maybe they–

“Y/n, are you going to turn around or is there something particularly interesting over there?” Neteyam teased.

Right. Don’t be awkward. 

You dipped lower into the water to cover your chest before facing them. You might have decided to stay, but that didn’t mean you were ready to bare your whole body to them.

“Thank you, sevin .” 

You were sure Neteyam hadn’t meant it, but the words sounded strangely close to a purr. The deep rumble had a shocking sizzle of heat shooting straight to your core, and you hoped they hadn’t noticed your flustered reaction. So distracted with appearing nonchalant, you didn’t even realize Neteyam had called you pretty. 

Aonung and Neteyam sat on the ledge you had been on before they surprised you. They were splayed out, Aonung’s broader form taking up more of the space. They were so pretty together, like a tapestry of varying blues all woven together to perfection. You were completely captivated, watching them with a keen interest. 

Strangely, Aonung’s arm was thrown over Neteyam’s shoulder. It created a strange sense of intimacy you’d never seen from the pair. You had never given it much thought, but maybe they were closer than they let everyone believe. 

“Y/n.” 

You startled out of your ogling, darting your eyes up to meet Aonung’s. “Yes?”

He grinned in a way that bared his fangs, the sharp point digging into full lips. “Neteyam asked you a question.”

You flushed, fidgeting with your hands below the water. “Oh, I’m sorry. I was just thinking.”

The knowing look on Neteyam's face said he knew exactly what you’d been thinking about, but he said nothing about the rosy tint to your cheeks. He repeated the question, asking if you usually came to the hot springs late at night. 

The way they watched you made it hard to think. They looked at you like they were reading every glance, making note of every little twitch of your ears. It made your skin itch. It was almost as if they were looking for something, and if the glances they shared were any indication, you were pretty sure they had found the answer they were looking for.

“Rarely. I do not have time during the day to come for a bath, and usually by night I am so tired I fall asleep before I can make it out of my home. I usually just try to squeeze in a quick shower at the falls.” 

Neteyam tilted his head. “But you were not tired today?”

You sighed, picking at your nail beds. “I am very tired, but I thought I would maybe relax a bit,” You shot him a pointed look. “You know, get away from other people.”

Neteyam laughed, and held his hands up in mock surrender. “Fair.”

You managed a small smile back. Maybe they weren’t so bad all the time. 

“Why are you so tired, Minyu?” 

You shifted your gaze to Aonung. He seemed confused, as if there was no reason you could possibly be so busy that you didn’t have time to bathe. 

“I am just busy, that's all. I spend all day with other people, with the elders and Ronal, and all the people who need my help. Healing and studying and teaching,” You looked anywhere but at them. “From sunrise to sunset, I have people depending on me to help them, to take care of them. And I love helping them,” You nodded, as if to reassure yourself. “Really, I do. But sometimes… Sometimes I think it would be nice to not have to think sometimes. To have someone take care of me, for a change.”

A quiet stillness fell over your trio as your admission settled in. 

Regret quickly flooded you at having just admitted something so personal. You hadn’t meant to overshare, but the words just spilled out of you like a flood. Embarrassment and dread filled your gut and you swallowed harshly. 

“I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean–” You started to explain your rambling. 

“Do not apologize,” Aonung barked, and you sucked in a breath at the bite in his words.

His mouth was pressed in a hard line, like he was thinking deeply. You could just make out Neteyam’s hand under the water, rubbing soothingly on Aonung’s leg. You had a sneaking suspicion the two were not just friends. 

Neteyam glanced up at his friend before turning to you. “You could have asked us, Y/n.” 

You crinkled your nose in confusion. “Asked you what?”

Neteyam sighed, but Aonung butted in before he could speak. “You could have asked us to take care of you.”

The laugh bubbled up out of you before you could control it. “And you would take care of me?”

“Yes,” Neteyam answered, as if that was obvious. 

The dark glint in Aonung's eyes could mean anything, but paired with the smirk on Neteyam’s face, you were pretty sure you knew what he meant by ‘take care of you.’ The picture it conjured had your skin heating and a fuzzy feeling grew in the pit of your stomach. It was unease, but leaning more towards something else… Anticipation. Need. Excitement. 

“I thought you didn’t like me?” You were sure they didn’t like you. Maybe they liked irritating you, but they didn't like you. 

Neteyam smiled. “We like you enough.”

A minute of silence passed and you briefly wished that the earth would swallow you whole. You had no idea how to respond to him. Maybe you had imagined the tension you felt towards them. 

“You don’t want to think?” Aonung asked, and you looked up from where you’d been fidgeting. 

You sighed, slapping your hands against the surface of the water. “Yeah, that probably sounds stupid.”

Neteyam studied you. “It’s not stupid, Y/n. You need not think, to let someone else do the thinking for you.” He shrugged. “There’s no shame in that, sevin.”

You flushed at him calling you pretty, and squeezed your thighs together under the water as discreetly as possible as the words traveled straight to your clit. There was no denying the sexual undertone this time. 

“Uhm,” Your mouth fell open. You shouldn’t like the insinuation. You were an independent woman, but the idea of handing over the reigns, of letting someone else do the thinking? You breathed out softly. 

“Oh?” Aonung smirked from next to Neteyam. “I think she likes that.” He leaned forward. “Is that what you need, minyu? You need someone to help you empty that pretty head, is that it?”

Your eyes blow wide at his words. How do you even reply to that?

Aonung grunted, and whispered against the shell of Neteyam’s ear. Then he stood, lifting his gorgeous, tattoo covered body out of the water. Once again, you glance away out of modesty. 

He slowly waded across the pool to you, and your chest began to rise and fall quickly with each step. You held your breath as he approached. He stood over you, his upper body exposed while you stayed hidden under the water. 

“Is that what you want, Y/n?” He asked slowly, like he was talking to a small animal. “We can help you forget all that stress. You don’t have to think with us. You just have to say you want it.”

You stared up at him, mouth opening and closing as you sorted information in your head. It all happened so fast, his suggestion, his insinuation that you let them control you, that you let them do what they want to you. You tried to think, to find a reason to say no, but he was standing so close and you couldn’t form a coherent answer. 

“Y/n,” He asked again, this time softer. 

You could say no. You could remind him that they don’t like you and you don’t like them. You could run away, like you had considered earlier. You could yell at him for thinking you would be so easy, for thinking you would just fall to your knees for him. You could.

But you don’t. 

Slowly, you rose from the water, droplets trailing down your skin and over the smooth curve of your breasts. Your skin prickled with awareness as he watched, and a sharp sense of satisfaction filled you as he drug in a ragged breath.

He trailed his knuckles over your arm, leaving goosebumps in his wake. “Say the word, Y/n.” 

“Both of you?” You asked breathily. You glanced over his shoulder at Neteyam, who was watching the interaction intently. 

“Both of us.” 

You’d already made up your mind. “Okay.”

Aonung dipped his head, ghosting his lips across yours. “Say all of it, minyu.”

You licked your lips, briefly touching his. “I want you guys to take care of me.” The words were barely audible to you past the pounding of your heart in your ears. 

They heard you clearly though, twin groans of approval coming from both of them. 

Aonung pulled away. “Go to Neteyam.” It was an order, and one you followed unquestioningly. 

You walked around Aonung to approach Neteyam hesitantly, and he held a hand out to you. He pulled you close to stand in between his spread legs. You watched him, trying to avoid looking down,where just under the water his cock jutted out from between lean hips. 

Aonung stepped up behind you and pressed his chest to your back. His bulky frame caged you in, surrounding you with the smell of sea water and spices. He was the perfect height for you to lean your head back against the curve of his shoulder. His rough palms slid against your hips, and he took your waist in his larger hands. You released a ragged breath. 

Another hand slid up the side of your leg, dancing over the curve of your ass to grip your hip on the other side. Since he was sitting, Neteyam had to tilt his chin to look up at you. 

“You listen so well, sevin.” You preened at the praise, your stomach fluttering. “Such a pretty blush.”

He tugged you closer. “You gonna let us fuck you, Y/n? Let us fuck you until there’s nothing left to think about in that cute little head of yours?” 

You nodded slowly. 

Something about the way Neteyam talked to you made you want to melt, to submit to whatever he wanted from you. Everything about his voice, the cadence, the tone, the soft lilt on the end, eases you into submission, into a sense of security with him. 

He caressed your face softly, and then pulled your mouth to his. He kissed slowly, sensually, savoring your taste and taking the time to map the shape of your mouth dutifully. You pressed closer, eager for more, and threw your arms around his neck. His fingers dug into your hip as he groaned low in the back of his throat. 

By the time he pulled away you were panting for air. 

“You tell us if you ever want to stop, okay?” His face turned serious, and he urged you to answer.

“Mhm.” It seemed they had already ruined your ability to speak actual words. 

“Words, Y/n.” Aonung grumbled from behind you, his warm breath ghosting over your ear. “Use your words.”

“Yes, I’ll tell you to stop.” 

A lie. 

You would never tell these two men to stop. There's nothing they could do that you wouldn’t accept willingly at that point. You were already slick with need and a desire so intense your clit throbs.

“Good girl, sevin.” Neteyam praised. 

Aonung kissed the side of your neck, eliciting a gasp from your parted lips. You tilted your head back to allow him easier access, and he used the new angle to turn your head and press his lips to yours. 

Where Neteyam was soft, Aonung was hard. He kissed you forcefully, like a summer storm determined to take everything you had to give and more. Your teeth clashed, his tongue quickly dominating yours. His sharp fangs bit into your lip, and you gasped at the sharp pain, pulling away. 

“So responsive, isn’t she, Aonung?” Neteyam hooked an ankle around yours under the water and used the leverage to pull your legs apart, opening you to him. He slid his hand between your thighs to your aching center, his fingers just barely gliding over the slick outer lips. “So wet for us.” He applied pressure to your clit, moving in smooth circles until you were grinding down against his hand. 

“Yes.” You whimpered, leaning back against Aonung for support.

Aonung nipped at your shoulder. “I told you she would be, I saw her clenching her pretty little thighs when she was angry at us. She’s been thinking about us, haven’t you minyu?”

“Great Mother,” You cried out as Aonung bit down, right in tune with the increased pressure against your clit. 

“No,” Neteyam corrected. “Just us. If you're going to scream a name, it better be one of ours.” He teased your slit, coating his fingers in the wetness there before he pushed two fingers into your heat.

“‘Teyam,” You gasped at the intrusion and moved your hands to grip his shoulders. 

He worked his fingers out slowly, and then drove them back in at a languid pace. He repeated the same motion, finding a sensual rhythm that had you clenching around his fingers.

Aonung reached from behind you to take the heavy weight of your breast in his hand, brushing calloused fingertips over the sensitive peak. He pinched your nipple, rolling the pink bud between his fingers. 

You arched your back, pushing up into his hands just as Neteyam added another finger. The stretch was delicious, and he curled his finger inside you, finding a spongy wall that made you see stars. 

“So fucking tight,” Neteyam growled. He increased the pace, stroking and stretching you on his fingers till you were gasping his name for more.  

“More,” You pleaded. “Need more.”

While Neteyam brought you closer to release, Aonung explored your body restlessly. He pulled at the flesh of your ass hard, pressing close to you. His thick length pressed against your backside and he rutted against you in short thrusts. 

“Demanding little thing. Ordering your future chiefs around.” He kept one hand on your breast and one on the curve of your ass as he rocked against you. “You forget your manners, minyu.” 

Neteyam thrusted up, harder against the textured wall of your cunt. They pulled you in opposite directions, playing a tantalizing game of tug-of-war with your body and you were enjoying every second. 

“Please, I need to come.” You looked down at Neteyam with wide, pleading eyes, your lips parted as you moaned. 

He stole your lips in another kiss, slotting his mouth over yours. He waited till you surged forward for more, and then pulled away.

“‘Teyam, please.” You begged. Water sloshed around you and you grabbed his arm, clenching down on his finger with each thrust.

He was hitting the perfect spot, the perfect angle with his hand so that he could thrust into you and grind his palm over your swollen, puffy clit with each stroke. Stroke after stroke, you climbed higher towards your release. 

Your stomach tightened and your toes curled against the floor of the spring as you approached the height of your pleasure. Behind you, Aonung pressed his thumb over the tight ring of your other hole, not entering but applying enough pressure to have you crying his name along with Neteyam’s. 

He kissed the shell of your ear, running his teeth along the sensitive skin behind it. “I can’t wait to take you here next time, Y/n. You’re gonna be so full of us.” He pressed in just the tiniest bit, and every muscle in your body clenched in response to his words. 

You trembled with the force of the orgasm and your nails dug into Neteyam’s shoulder as pulse after pulse your orgasm came over you. 

“She’s fucking milking my fingers.” Neteyam stared at the apex of your thighs, watching as your pussy sucked his fingers in. Your legs trembled, going weak in his arms. Behind you, Aonung held you upright. 

“I bet she fucking is.”

You shuddered as it came to an end, still feeling the throbs of aftershocks, and fell back against Aonung’s chest. You gasped for air, sucking in lungfuls in an attempt to catch your breath.  

They barely gave you time to recover before Neteyam pulled his fingers from you with a wet squelching sound. You watched, awestruck, as he brought his glistening fingers to Aonung’s lips. The Metkayina man held your gaze, and then he took Neteyam’s fingers into his mouth, swirling his tongue around them and moaning. 

Your mouth fell open in surprise  at something so lewd, and Aonung grinned back at you. “Fucking delicious.”

He pulled you from Neteyam’s arms to kiss you, licking into your mouth, and you submitted to him easily. He tasted like you, a heady tartness to his normal sea salt flavor.

Water splashed behind you, and tore away from him, turning just in time to see Neteyam lifting himself onto the edge of the pool. Your mouth turned down in a frown. 

“Aww, don’t pout.” Aonung teased. “Neteyam’s not leaving.” 

He kissed you again, softer this time, and you followed his lips when he pulled away. He laughed at your antics and slapped your ass softly. “Turn back around.”

You’ll deny it to your very last breath, but you kind of like how bossy Aonung is. It sucks when he’s irritating you, but in this situation, it is very much welcomed. 

When you turned, Neteyam hadn’t moved far. Instead of sitting on the ledge beneath the water, he sat on the edge of the hot spring, his ankles dangling down into the water. At this height, your head was basically in his lap. 

He sat with his legs splayed out, his swollen length hard against his stomach. The pink tip leaked pre-cum, and a drop of it spilled over, slowly sliding over down the blue, velvety skin..  White freckles decorated the shaft in a random constellation pattern. You ached to take him into your hands. 

Neteyam leaned forward to kissing the tip of your nose. “You still okay?”

“Very okay,” You answered with a dazed smile. He was so pretty, so close. And he smelled so fucking good. You inhaled his scent, allowing your head to loll to the side, a cloudy feeling invading your senses. 

“Good girl, you’re doing so good for us, sevin.” He leaned back on his hands, and you followed, driven to be closer to him. He stroked a hand over your head, as to pet you. “You want to keep going?” 

“Yes ‘Teyam.” You answered breathily.

He chuckled, brushing back your hair from your face. “So eager.”

Warm air brushed over your ear. “Ask to suck his cock,” Aonung whispered.

He nudged your shoulder, and you leaned over Neteyam’s thighs, looking up at him through thick lashes. “Can I suck your cock?”

Aonung tsked. “You know better. Gotta ask nicely, Y/n.”

You pouted, but did as he said anyway, speaking in a higher tone. “Can I please have your cock Neteyam?”

You watched as his cock very visibly twitched in front of you, and he groaned. “The answer is always yes for you.” 

Yes, yes, yes. You started forward, but stopped midway to glance back at Aonung. 

“Nung?”

He gestured toward Neteyam. “Go on.”

“But, but what about you?” You whined. You really wanted to put your mouth on Neteyam, but you didn’t want to leave Aonung out. He may have been fine just giving orders, but you didn’t want anything less than everything from boy men. 

He stepped closer to you, cutting off your whine. He must have read the longing on your face, because he was quick to assuage your fears. 

“Do not worry about me, minyu.” He kissed you quick and hard. “Neteyam’s going to take care of that pretty mouth of yours, and I’m going to fill you so full of my cum, it’ll be dripping down your thighs for days. The whole clan is going to smell us on you.”

Your lips parted in surprise, your pupils blown wide as heat licked at your core. You clenched around nothing, your whole body thrumming with electric energy at what he’d said. 

“I think she likes that,” Neteyam drawled cheekily. 

“Turn around.” Aonung rasped with his own cocky smile. 

Aonung grabbed your shoulders and turned you, still a little dazed from his words, and pushed you up against Neteyam. Face to face with his cock, your attention focused in at the throbbing erection. 

You reached you, cautiously tracing the tiny white freckles and the thick vein on the underside of him. He breathed in sharply above you, and bucked into your hand. You glanced up, and he nodded for you to continue. You took him into your hand, lithe fingers locked around the thick base. He was so warm, so hard yet so soft at the same time. 

More pre-cum gathered on the plush, pink head of his cock, and you impulsively stuck your tongue out to swipe at the bead. The salty taste exploded against your tongue, and you eagerly moved in for another taste. 

Neteyam slid his hand into your hair, tugging your head back slightly.“Open your mouth for me.”

You did as he said, opening your mouth and letting your tongue fall out. He guided your head over his length, pushing you down until he hit the back of your throat. You gagged softly, but hollowed your cheeks as he repeated the motion. 

“That’s it, just like that, sevin.” He moaned. 

You watched as his head fell back, eyes clenched shut in pleasure. You kept one hand on his thigh to keep you upright, and you used the other to work the base of his member. Drool pooled at the corners of your mouth, dripping down over your hands and creating a slick mess. 

Neteyam moaned your name, and you felt him buck up into your mouth again. You could tell he was holding back, trying not to hurt you as he succumbed to your mouth. You did your best to take him as far as possible, breathing through your nose and letting him push your head further and further down. 

You were finding a rhythm, settling at a good pace, when large hands pulled at your hips. With Neteyam’s hand gripping your hair so hard, you had no choice but to bend at the waist to stay upright. You rested the full weight of your upper body on his lap, your chest squished up against his thighs. 

Behind you, Aonung parted your legs and groaned at the sight of your exposed lips. He brought his hand to your entrance, slipping two fingers into the slick hole. You were already so wet and so stretched from Neteyam’s fingers that he slipped in easily. 

You pushed back against his hand at the intrusion, forcing his fingers deeper inside you. 

“So fucking greedy,” Aonung chastized.

He pumped his finger for a minute, waiting until you were moaning around Neteyam’s length, and then pulled away. He replaced his fingers with his cock, sliding the thick head through your folds and coating himself in your cum. His head brushed over your swollen clit, and you cried out, eager for him to fuck you already.

“Fuck, you’re so wet, minyu,” He growled deep in his chest, and the sound traveled straight to your pussy, pulsing with need to fucked right then. 

After teasing you, making you jerk back to get more of his touch, Aonung finally slid between the slippery folds and into the molten heat of your cunt. 

He was big, much bigger than either of the two lovers you’d had before, and he had to work to get the full size of him into you. He rocked in and out, and inch by inch he seated himself deep inside you, his hips pressed tightly to your backside. 

He’s girthy; so think that you sure no amount of prep could have made him entering you any easier. 

“Oh, fuck, its so fucking hot.” Aonoung grits out. 

You think he meant the heat of your core, which is so hot you felt like you were being burned from the inside out. You were so full of him, your lips spread tight around his length and spasming around the stretch. 

You tried to pay attention to Neteyam, but the all-consuming fullness of Aonung inside you had your focus divided. Neteyam didn’t seem to mind though. While you were distracted, he used his grip on your thick hair to take full control, maneuvering your head over his cock how he wanted as you melted into his lap. 

Aonung didn’t wait long for you to get comfortable, opting instead to pump into you hard and quick. He wasn’t not soft about it, and he pulled at your hips with a bruising grip as he pumped into you. 

You couldn’t speak, couldn’t ask for more, you could only take whatever they gave you. A fog had overcome your senses, blocking out the world until your only focus was Aonung and Neteyam, and the tight coiling in the pit of your stomach. 

You whimpered around Neteyam’s cock, tears pulling at the corners of your eyes as he essentially fucked your throat without abandon. 

“Great Mother,” Neteyam grunted, and you looked up at him through watery eyes. He wasn’t looking at you though, at least not at your face. He was looking behind you, watching Aonung bury himself inside you over and over again. “She’s taking you so well, Ao’.”

“Fucking look at her,” The other man gritted out, his jaw clenched. “Look at her greedy hole gripping my fucking cock. Bet there isn’t a single thought in there,” He punctuated his words with a hard thrust that has you crying out and your vision going blurry around the edges. “Just needed to be fucked stupid, didn’t you, minyu?” 

There was nothing you could do but rock back into him and cry around the mouthful of cock that Neteyam had been so gracious to give you. 

Aonung angled his hips up, the blunt head of his dick rubbing against the fleshy, textured wall of your channel. You arched your back further, and your hand dug into Neteyam's thigh harder. Watching your reaction, Aonung repeated the same motion, aiming for the same spot repeatedly. 

With Neteyam one one side and Aonung on the other, there is nowhere to escape the blazing heat that courses through your body. 

Neteyam jerked his hips, and you gagged, your throat constricting around him. Your jaw ached, spread open over him, and tears fell down your reddened cheeks. Above you, Neteyam cried out, and started to push harder against your head, pumping into your mouth. 

You watched him through your lashes and held his gaze as you flattened your tongue over the bulging vein on the underside of his length. His thigh tensed under your hand.

“Fuck, Y/n, I’m– Fuck!” You hollowed your cheeks, allowing him to hold you down at the base of his cock. Thick ropes of cum hit the back of your throat, and you swallowed as much as you could. 

You pulled from him, your head spinning as you gasped for much needed air. The last ropes of it landed across your chest, marking your blue skin with white. His body shook, as if the force of his orgasm had affected his whole body. He panted above you, the two of you locked in an intense stare as cum dripped from the corner of your mouth. 

With a shuddery breath, he grabbed your chin. “You look beautiful covered in my cum, sevin.” He leaned over, slanting his lips over yours in a desperate kiss.

Aonung had waited for Neteyam to finish, and then began to fuck into you more forcefully. He snapped his hips fast and hard, and it wasn’t long before you were a limp mess, rocking back and forth between their bodies like a toy, holding on to Neteyam to stay standing. Your stomach knotted, wound tightly as you chased the sweet bliss of coming. 

Neteyam wiped tears from your face with his thumbs and cooed down at you. “Look at you, all fucked out on his cock. I bet you’re close, huh?” He stroked your head as you nodded desperately.

“S-So close.”

“You’re taking him so good, Y/n.” He praised, and you melted under the sweet words, desperate to please him.

“So good, so good for you.” The words were a jumbled, stuttered mess, but you couldn't string together anything more coherent. “Fuck, so good.” You slurred your words, drunk on him.

Drunk on both of them 

“Oh, Aonung, fuck, fuck-” You mewled as your knee gave out beneath you. 

Aonung reached around and pulled you up against his chest. The new angle pushed him even deeper, and your body tightened around his member, sucking him in with each thrust. 

“You going to cum on my cock, minyu? Want me to fill this pretty pussy?” One of your hands reached behind you, grasping for any sort of support as he pounded into you. He takes one of your breasts in his hand, pinching hard over the peak.

The added pain is just what you needed to finish, and your back arched against him as liquid heat coursed through you, like electricity in your veins. You shook in his arms, your core spasming around his length as wave after wave crashed over you. You clung to him like a vice, crying out his name as he continued to pump into you.

Aonung doesn’t stop for a second; He chased his own release, pounding into you as you came and holding you at the height of your own orgasm in a sweet, delightful kind of torture. 

His arms tightened around you, and tears streamed down your face as he completely overwhelmed your senses. His thrusts grew sloppy, and harsh grunts fell from his lips as he rutted into you. He mumbled incoherently against your ear, grunts of “take my cock” and “fucking ours” falling from his mouth in a stream of curses. 

Your stomach drew tight, the same heat as before growing impossibly hotter. You were all fucked out, a limp, mewling mess in his arms as he used you to get to that peak, pulling your down onto his cock with each snap of his hips. 

Aonung made a sound deep in his chest, some mix of a growl and purr, and then buried himself as deep as he could inside you. A warmth filled your belly as he came inside you, rocking his hips as he worked through his release. 

A second, smaller orgasm pulsed through you, and you locked eyes with Neteyam. Gold eyes hold yours as you writhe in Aonung’s arms, mouth parted on a high-pitched whimper as you fall limp against him. 

Minutes, or maybe hours later, Aonung pulled himself from your worn out body. Your whole body was loose, any stress or tension completely gone from your addled brain. The world seemed to have a fuzzy tint to it, and you fought the urge to whine at the loss of his body from yours. 

He picked you up, placing you gently in Neteyam’s waiting arms. You fought to regain your bearings, to focus on any one thing, but you couldn’t tell how much time had passed. You watched as Aonung stepped out of the hot spring, and this time you did whine, low in the back of your throat. 

“Shhh sevin, it’s okay. He’ll be right back.” 

Neteyam kissed your cheek, and your forehead, and then your lips, distracting you from Aonung’s retreating form. 

Then he began brushing his hands through your hair, carefully detangling the new knots as he went. Through the haze, you heard him mutter something about “messing up your hair,” but the words barely registered.

Neteyam whispered sweet words against your ear as he worked with your hair, and your heart beat slowly began to return to normal, no longer beating out of your chest. The act of him brushing was so soft, so… domestic and sweet, that you almost think you were imaging it. 

Aonung returned soon after, having collected flower petals to wash up with. He lathered it in his hands and gently cleaned you. He paid special attention to cleaning the stickiness from the apex of your thighs, but nothing about it was sexual; It was merely a soft way for him to take care of you. 

“You did so well, Y/n.” Netayam soothed, kissing your nose softly. “I bet you’re sleepy, sevin.” The continuous brushing of your hair had your eyes falling shut slowly. The deep timber of his voice settled over you like a blanket, luring you into a deep sleep. 

Aonung finished up cleaning your body and poured water to wash away the suds. He kissed you gently, softer than you thought he was capable of, and laid back beside you and Neteyam.

He stroked your cheek, smiling at you softly. “I’m so proud of you, Y/n.”

You hummed in content, smiling back as you fought sleep.

“Sleep, minyu. We’ll talk when you wake.” He curled an arm around you and Neteyam, the bigger man holding the two of you in his arms. 

As you fell asleep, you realized it was the most at peace you’d felt in a very long time. If this was how it would be, you could definitely get used to letting them take care of you. 

[germajne]

SCREAMING!! My mom handed me a package this morning and I open it— it was the shirt Fulton wore in D3. The skeleton anatomy shirt. I told her a while back I had wanted one but they were being sold on Ebay for like 200 bucks. She was like ‘Happy Belated Birthday’ (mind you my birthday is on December 26th— it’s not as great as it seems because I’m a introvert who hates any real form of socialization with real people outside of the internet). Sure, it’s XL, and like way too big for me but like who cares when it is a shirt that Fulton (Michael) Reed can be seen wearing in D3: The Mighty Ducks. 🤭🤭

[todayisafridaynight]

fathers day is this month how am i going to inflict psychic damage on myself

[dewwshi]

i need a touch up, i need a makeover dream

[yardsards]

every couple of months i rediscover exactly how much i love tea and go through a period of almost a week wherein i drink multiple mugs a day of it, only to forget again after that

[mashkaroom]

aunts are god’s perfect creatures

[thewickerking]

OK SO. EPIC WIN! SOUND HAS CEASED!! its on and off and idk if ill hear it again tonight (please i hope not) but it is GONE i am COMFY in BED. my phone DIED but thats ok shes at 3$ now and plugged in so shes going up :)

[maldito-arbol]

It’s time for Mal to Talk in the tags again because I’m too tired to do homework or write so I’m gonna use my energy for this

[celesterayel]

something out of my dreams | luke castellan

pairing : luke castellan x dionysus!reader

request: could you possibly write a luke x daughter of dionysus please? maybe she’s like super nice and when percy gets to camp she becomes like an older sister and luke is super whipped for her? @elz-zalarrr

IN WHICH — all he knows is that you were something out of his dreams.

"trust him like a brother, yeah, you know i did one thing right. starry eyes sparkin' up my darkest night" - t.s.

w.c. 1.8k

warning(s) : cheesiness ゜✭・.

✩ ‧₊˚ author's note okay i've begun to realize that low-key i feel like i write in cursive if that makes sense? if a feeling could describe it i'd say its like using poetry to write? that's likely not any better lol :)

there was but one person that everyone could agree they adored at camp half blood.

it didn't matter what grudge who had with whom or what ancient rivalries transcended the ideals of reality, everyone loved you. not the typical type of brittle love that crumbled at the slightest of touches, but pure adoration that endured the sands of time.

you with the gentle soul, who healed others with each laugh and smile. when new half-godlings were brought to camp, you made sure to comfort them and make them understand that they belonged here and would find a home whether they wanted to or not. you made sure that no birthday was forgotten, no deed undone.

children of minor gods or elders, of Ares or Aphrodite, you became an older sister to all who needed you. you, the daughter of fertility and chaos, the god dionysius.

there was no debate that at camp half blood there was only a before you and an after you. you were like that high right before the free fall–invincibility and smoke and curiosity wrapped into the form of a demi-god. you were the gentle breeze during summer nights when the heat became too much. and none ached more to feel it than luke castellan, who had been burning for as long as he knew.

your relationship in itself was tentative, you danced around your feelings–scared one wrong touch or word would break the shaky, fine line that lay between you two. but you could not hide the way you loved the other to yourselves nor the children of the beings of divine blood. 

luke castellan loved you like the stars would fall out of the sky with one harsh touch, free and incandescently self-destructive. like you were a wild, wonderful thing out of a fantasy.

you loved him like there was no hell or heaven but the cosmos that lay in his eyes and the worlds that lay in his soul. something so sacred and rare. a love so true and mortal it put all the greek tragedies to shame. 

you knew that whatever you and him were made of, in every lifetime or the next you two were made for each other. 

loving luke castellan would be both your redemption and destruction in the making, your elysium for whatever good thing you had done in your previous life. 

✩ ‧₊˚

you first met percy jackson when he came to camp, he was a scared little thing who had just lost his mother when the veil between reality and deception flickered. everything he’d known came crumbling as quickly as the truth was uncovered: gods and monsters were real and played games of hell and heaven on earth. some thing about him called out to the vulnerability you once knew when you first came to camp so you made it your mission to be the sister he never had. 

you met him at the front of the steps of the main office, “my name is y/n, percy jackson. welcome to camp halfblood.”

“do you just somehow know everyones name,” he raised his eyebrows at you. 

“yes.” no, but you supposed it’d be fun to let him think that. 

“of course you do.”

“come along, i’ll show the ins and outs here. if you're nice enough, i might let you in on the cook's secret stash of blue ice cream,” you laughed out.

he contemplated his choices before grabbing your outstretched hand and shaking it, “deal.”

you showed him who to avoid and the best people to befriend. the history between your kind and why the gods were as they were. the truth behind his bloodline and the legacy that he was now responsible for. the tribulations and the pain that was cursed to follow the children of the gods. 

“and this is chris. the best person to ask if you need to know what plants are poisonous,” you say, introducing him to a guy with black hair and soft eyes. 

percy looks at chris before looking around to see where the hermes boy is, “we’ve met. he was with luke when he was showing me around”

you’re cheeks heated at the mention of his name; looking around to see if you can spot the familiar tan skin and soft eyes that belong to your luke. 

“oh! luke! yeah, he’s around here somewhere. he’s sly like that, wandering and then popping up the next second.”

a voice pipes up behind you suddenly, “y/n, already telling percy everything about me?” 

you whirl around and there he stands in all his glory with the curls you love and the sun in his eyes. your golden boy.

“just telling him the truth, castellan. you’re hard to get a hold of sometimes.”

a hue of pink covers his cheeks, “i’m never far from you.”

both of you oblivious to percy and chris who seem to be conversing about you both and the tip-toe dance you play. 

percy just wonders what’s happening here: firstly, luke is looking at you like you’ve hung the moon and the stars and that’s saying something because he has shit observation skills–his analysis essays can attest to that. secondly, he swears he can see hearts in his eyes from where he’s standing and is that…is that a blush?

he turns to chris, who is just staring at the two like it's not out of the normal for what’s happening, “what’s happening here? is he blushing?”

chris just nods, “yeah. luke’s kinda–very obviously to everyone–in love with y/n. if i didn’t know better i’d say she’s gotten him insane in love. very likely as her dad’s the god of insanity.”

he turns back to the two who are laughing and standing closer than before, “like super, super in love. if there was a word for love, luke’s found it”

“huh.” 

chris says it like it’s common knowledge like how the best food is blue jelly beans, “i mean i ship it, y/n’s the sweetest person around here–the type of person people write songs about. she’s like a sister to us older ones and a mother to the younger ones. the whole camp is waiting for him to just man up and ask y/n. they make each other happy, you know?”

“yeah, i think i do.” 

percy thinks it’s something the poets would write about.

✩ ‧₊˚

fridays are capture the flag days.

you’re not the type of person to engage in these types of games all that often but you suppose there’s a first time for everything. someone’s got to show the percy boy how it’s played. 

“okay, percy. remember, keep your senses open and make sure that no one gets close enough to engage. once they engage, it’s hard to fight them off.”

all around you two, people have begun to don their armor and raise arms. the sun has just reached its height and you’re huddled together discussing your gameplan. even though your cabin house is pretty small, you’ve joined athena and hermes for this game. 

percy’s voice rises a little high as he tries swinging his sword around only to drop it, “yeah, okay. i’ll just try not to die, i guess. that’s not like hard or anything.”

“just follow my lead and if i’m not here find luke.”

you're not exactly excited about percy’s odds. the kid is lanky as is and his sassiness doesn’t help him out much when others target him for it. 

that’s exactly why you’re gone to his rescue when he nearly gets hit in the face by a spear after he insulted one of the boys from house ares. 

your heel nearly buckles under a sharp hit after you block the attack that’s directed to percy. you manage to reset your heel and push the sword off before you drop down into a crouch and sweep the legs of the warrior in front of you.

unfortunately you're slightly too focused on what’s in front of you and protecting percy you don’t realize that someones charging toward you from the side. 

fortunately, a block from a familiar sword stops any attack that might meet you head on. no sooner do you hear the block that luke’s got the other guy on the floor and surrendering. 

you grin at him, “i had that handled.”

giving you that grin that makes you feel like your future's right in front of you, he replies: “i’m sure you did. but why let you deal with him when i can save you the trouble.” 

“why don’t you go and help annabeth win the games, romeo.”

he gives you a wink, throwing a quick ‘yes ma’am’ before he’s already running off again. 

no sooner than later, a quick gong resounds throughout the camp, concluding the games. you’re standing slightly battered while percy walks behind you pointing out all the flowers he’s found. you definitely need to teach him how to defend himself. 

the players are just trickling in for the woods they’ve been fighting in to reband together and in the distance you see a figure running toward you. 

holding onto the flag, he continues to look at you like you’re everything he’s ever needed to breathe. he’s taken his helmet off and you can finally see him fully: brown eyes and all dimples.

“see you’ve found the flag.”

he takes a couple of steps closer to you until only two steps separate him and you, “yeah, someone told me to go win the game so I did just that for her”.

“really now?”

he whispers, “yeah.” 

his eyes twinkle and you’ve never wanted anything more than to continue to stare at them. 

you hope he’ll make the next move but luke castellan, the boy you’ve fallen for in every lifetime, is always content to admire you.

so, you take those two next steps, grab him by his neck, and press your lips to his. 

he stands shocked for a minute, wondering if what’s happening is really happening. but no sooner, he’s dropped the flag on the grass and holds you like your the greatest treasure he’s ever had.

there’s a certain type of tragedy that your golden boy tastes like, fire and freedom all in this moment. it’s the price of redemption and damnation that you’re willing to pay. 

to him, it’s the stars aligning like you’d will them to–the power you held and every thing he’s ever needed. your his past, future, and present: the threads in his life giving him the one thing he’s ever wanted. something he’s only ever dreamed of. 

he pulls back slightly before murmuring, “in every lifetime or the next, i am yours. i don’t know what i did to deserve you. you’re something only out of my dreams, y/n.”

"you sap"

you just kiss him again, ignoring all the campers and those still trickling in. 

✩ ‧₊˚

“definitely a child of dionysius. she’s reduced him to insanity,” pipes up percy as he tears off the petals of the flower he holds in his hand. 

chris just grabs a flower and continues to rip the petals off like the boy beside him. 

“damn straight!” shouts luke toward the two.

[zarameraki]

♡₊˚🛏️₊✧ 𝘀𝘁𝗲𝗽-𝗱𝗮𝗱𝗱𝘆 𝗴𝗼𝗷𝗼’𝘀 𝗴𝗼𝘁 𝗮 𝘀𝗼𝗺𝗻𝗼 𝗸𝗶𝗻𝗸 ♡🌙₊˚₊✧

: ̗̀➛ tropes: fem! reader 𖥔 minors do not interact 𖥔 somnophilia (the characters have discussed the kink beforehand) 𖥔 unprotected sex 𖥔 step-father x step-daughter 𖥔 porn with a bit of plot 𖥔 dom daddy and his little girl 𖥔 gojo eats you out 𖥔 bj 𖥔 alternate universe 𖥔 biting 𖥔 nipple play 𖥔 heavy daddy kink 𖥔 lots of dirty talking

: ̗̀➛ words: 3.1k

: ̗̀➛ notes: initially this was a toji fic but satoru somehow decided to fit better (bad-dum tshh). ngl when i was writing this i got butterflies in my stomach. like i legit felt sumn throbbing lmaooo. tmi??? dont care. we're all horny here mamas. if you have any requests, don’t hesitate to send them. pls follow, reblog, like, comment—whatever you want! okay love you and enjoy.

Satoru wasn’t ashamed to fuck his step-daughter. 

He enjoyed it. 

You enjoyed it. 

A clandestine affair kept under the sheets from your mother and two older brothers.

Megumi and Yuji had their suspicions about how carefree their step-father was around you, constantly tickling your side, asking you to lay your head on his lap during movie nights, and buying you gifts on a whim. The boys would obviously complain about the special treatment, but Satoru would just watch with a smile as you stuck your little tongue out and called yourself Daddy’s girl. 

Because that's what you were. You were your daddy’s girl. And Satoru ensured that fact was deeply ingrained in your mind as he moved in and out of you, lifting your tender legs onto his shoulders, kissing your rosy lips, saturating your silk sheets with both his and your release.

It was difficult keeping the lewd side of your relationship a secret. Your mother was rarely at home from her corporate job, and you suspected she was having an affair with a salaryman named Satoru.

Meanwhile, your brothers were in their second and fourth year of college nearby and could come home whenever they pleased—particularly Megumi, who wasn't as much of a partygoer as Yuji being a senior. There were multiple times while Satoru was fucking you when Megumi returned home, but did that stop him from satisfying his girl? Fuck no. 

As for your stepfather, he was a remote investor in the booming hospitality industry, managing significant stakes in various companies. His encounter with your mother at an industry event last year was strategic; she became a means to an end, a stepping stone toward fulfilling his desires. A few months down the line, she introduced him to her family, to you—the most precious thing Satoru laid his eyes on. You were the real prize in his eyes, something he had to figure out how to get his hands on, despite always getting what he wanted.

So, he married your mother, moved into your house, and deployed every weapon in his arsenal, including his lethal charms, to claim you as his own.

But did Satoru cherish you in the way a man should cherish a woman? No. He didn't cherish you. His love didn’t check off the conventional boxes. He was consumed, fixated, captivated by your existence, by your body, the adorable noises you made when you climaxed. But not enough to make you his girlfriend, or someday his wife. 

He just wanted you as his step-daughter. He was a selfish, depraved bastard who got off on that fantasy, and you, God you loved nothing more. You wanted nothing more from him than to be exactly who he was in his spot—your step-father.

As long as you both kept fucking each other for however long, you were satisfied. 

“Quiet, baby,” Satoru whispered as he clicked on a link for a video call with his team. His one hand rested over his mouse, the other over your crown as you lapped at the tip of his leaking cock. “This is an important call.” 

You’d returned from school after acing the test you’d been studying all week for and wanted to release that excitement onto your step-father. After all, he did massage your shoulders and brought you fruits when you were busting your ass memorizing the periodic table. 

Satoru plastered on a smile as the voices from his computer started speaking. He still kept petting your head, chuckling casually and speaking smoothly about numbers and profits like the capitalist he was. 

You opened your jaw wider and took his length into your mouth. Your gag reflex was non-existent after months and months of perfecting this skill. Your tongue supported the bottom of his shaft, while slowly bobbing your head up and down. Satoru’s grip tightened in your hair, but he remained all rainbow and sunshine in front of his workers. 

You gripped his thick cock, feeling the veins pulsing under your touch. Your tongue slid from the bottom to the top as you sucked on the pink head like a lollipop, glancing up at him through your lashes.

Satoru shot you a heated look and guided your head with his hand. He pushed his throbbing cock into your mouth, holding your face against his pelvis. You gagged a bit, needing air, and he eased off.

“It’s on mute,” he muttered. 

You broke out into coughs and smacked his leg. “What the fuck was that for?” 

“For giving me those eyes.” 

You scoffed. “Dickhead.” 

“It’s right in front of you, Princess. Put your pretty lips on it again.” 

Rolling your eyes, you grabbed his cock extra tight making a muscle in his jaw twitch. You lapped at the pre-cum leaking down his length, then took him into the cave of your warm, small mouth. 

Satoru held your head in his hands, guiding the pace. He struggled to focus on the meeting, clearing his throat to shake off the intense feeling building up inside him. With fifteen minutes still to go, he was on the brink. 

Feeling your tap on his knee, he glanced down to see you motioning to your mouth.

Satoru lowered your head again, clenching his jaw as your tongue pushed him over the edge. He held his breath, releasing a wave of warmth as he emptied himself into your mouth. His grip tightened on your hair, while his other hand reached for his glass of water, desperately trying to steady himself with large gulps.

You pulled back, strings of your saliva and his come forming a bridge. He gave you the water and you drank the last bits of it. Satoru patted the top of your head and you stayed hidden underneath his table, admiring him as he finished his meeting. 

And before you knew it, he had you bouncing on his cock again. 

At dinner time, you helped set up the table with your brothers while your mother flipped the hamburger patties.

Satoru tossed the salad bowl, taking small glimpses at you and the pink set of tight shorts and tank you wore. He’s been noticing you rubbing your temples, swaying a little on the balls of your feet, blinking rapidly. You clearly weren’t feeling well from all that studying you’d been doing. 

Megumi abruptly pulled you aside by your elbow. “Is everything all right?” 

You blinked, fighting the sharp pain in your temple. “Yeah. Why?” 

“Satoru keeps glaring at you. Did you piss him off or something?” 

You cast a look at your step-father, who’s focused on pouring olive oil on the greens. “I haven’t talked to him since I came home from school.” 

Megumi nodded, rubbing your arm. “Well, I’m here if you need to talk about anything.” 

“What do you mean?” 

He scratches the back of his neck. “I just— This probably sounds stupid, but I don’t like knowing you’re both home alone in the afternoon.” 

“He lives here, silly. What do you expect?” 

“Yeah, I know. I know that—I’m just saying that he looks at you . . . like, weirdly. Not in a way someone would look at their family member. He acts weirdly, too. Always touching you and tickling you. I don’t know.” Megumi scrutinizes your outfit. “I don’t think it’s appropriate to wear that around the house when he’s here.” 

You frowned and crossed your arms. “I can’t deal with this again.” Putting on an act that Satoru was simply your step-father and nothing else was tiring, but you’d mastered it. “You’re being delusional as always, Megs. Satoru is just family to us and vice versa. I’m just special because I’m the youngest.” You patted his shoulder. “I can take care of myself. And if I ever need help, I’ve got you and Yuji to defend me.” 

Megumi smiled solemnly and shrugged off his hoodie, handing it to you. “Can you at least wear this?” 

Anything to ease his mind. 

You smiled and shouldered the large hoodie. 

Throughout dinner you kept losing focus of the conversation flowing between your brothers and mother. Your head was pounding from the stress of your upcoming final exams, your scalp ached a little from Satoru’s grip this afternoon, and you desperately needed sleep. 

“Y/N?” 

You lifted your head, blinking lethargically. “Yes, Mom?” 

“Are you okay?” 

“I—” You rubbed your heated forehead and pinched the bridge of your nose. “I, uh—I think I’m just not feeling too good.” 

“Sweetheart, how many times have I told you to take it easy with school? You’re doing great—”

“Great’s not going to get me in my dream college, Mom.” You lost your appetite easily and excused yourself from the table, grabbing a bottle of NyQuil and a spoon. “Please don’t wake me up until tomorrow. Goodnight.” You ignored everyone’s stares and marched upstairs, taking a spoonful on the way. 

Dropping face-front on the bed, you melted in your sheets and forced yourself into a sleep. 

Satoru waited until every light in the house was off before visiting your bedroom.

Of course, he had to check that little shit Megumi’s room, and after hearing nothing but white noise, he checked up on Yuji and found him snoring his lungs out, then finally entered into your space.

He shut the door quietly and locked it. 

You laid fast asleep, hair dusted across your soft face, one hand on your stomach, the other next to your head.

Satoru smirked and sat at the edge of your bed, checking your temperature by pressing his hand against your forehead. You were burning up, and the little strangled breaths puffing from your parted lips proved you weren’t going to school tomorrow. 

Lying down next to you, Satoru brushed your hair from your face and kissed your cheek. He glanced down the length of your body and back to your face. His fingers danced over your collarbone, the expanse of your throat, feeling your rapid pulse.

“Relax for me, baby,” he whispered in your ear, kissing below your earlobe. He watched you for a second, waiting for you to shift or wake up, but you were dead asleep. 

You talked about what turns you on the most last week, and somnophilia was right up there, leaving Satoru scratching his head in confusion. He couldn’t wrap his head around how someone could be into getting it on while asleep. But you were practically begging him to give it a try someday, and he couldn’t say no to you. 

Well, surprise, surprise, baby. 

Satoru slipped down the straps of your tank top, leaning over you. He bridged kisses from your jaw to your neck to your shoulders, softly, not his usual crass ones. His finger hooked your tank lower until it exposed your tits and your puckered nipples.

“You’re always sensitive here, aren’t you, Princess?” He cupped your left breast and lowered his head, kissing the nipple and sucking the bud. 

You took a deep breath and shifted your face to the right.

Satoru switched to your neglected breast, taking his sweet time nibbling your tender nipple, then bringing his lips to yours. He kissed the top one, the bottom one, pushed his tongue inside to feel your sleeping one. His kisses trailed lower and lower until he reached your shorts. He pulled them down to reveal white panties and a damp spot between your legs. 

“Even in your sleep, huh?” Satoru planted kisses on your inner thighs, gently biting and licking. He nuzzled his nose against your clothed sex, inhaling deeply and breathing out slowly. His tongue traced over the area, wetting it more with each stroke. “Daddy’s gonna eat his pussy now, baby.” He pulled your panties to the side and dove into your slick, moist folds. “Mmm. You smell so sweet.” 

Satoru began to lap your juices like a starved dog, keeping your tender folds parted with his thumbs. The tip of his nose bumped against your clit, sending a little shiver down your body. He double-checked to see if you’re still asleep, then continued his job. He pushed two fingers in your walls and chuckled against your flesh as you clenched around him. “It’s okay, baby. Daddy’s taking good care of you.” 

Half an hour. He ate you out for half an hour until he could see the slight quiver in your swollen clit. His saliva and your fresh release covering your abused, delicate folds.

When he pulled away, his hard cock in hand, Satoru sat back, admiring you spread out like a feast before him. Leaning in, he teased your folds with his throbbing length, digging his tip over your clit in gentle circles.

“Can I put it in, Princess?” he whispered in your ear. You didn't answer, sweat trickling down your forehead with the fever. Satoru licked the droplets, then kissed down to your neck. His hands stayed by your head as he moved his hips, dragging himself over your puffy cunt. “Oh, fuck, baby. Fuck, fuck, fuck. Your little pussy is so soft and wet.” He gripped his length and pressed just the tip into your entrance. “Since you’ve been such a good girl, I’ll give you what you want. Just don't wake up, okay?”

Satoru slipped in smoothly and nuzzled into your neck. He eased into your tightness, going slow and steady, urging your gummy walls to adjust to his size. “My sweet baby. Look at you. Sleeping while your daddy fucks himself in you.” He pulled back and widened your legs, seeing his fat cock sliding in and out of you. “Fuck, yes. Gonna fuck this little cunt of yours for hours.” He started moving quickly. “I don’t care if you can’t walk tomorrow. You won’t be leaving this bed anyway with that fever of yours. Daddy’s gonna fuck it out of you however long it takes.” 

He put his hands on either side of your head and kissed you while moving his hips.

You moaned, feeling a shiver as cold touched your bare chest and legs. “Satoru,” you said softly. His eyes closed in pleasure as he increased his pace. 

Sensing you stirring, he wrapped his arm around your waist and turned you over so you were lying on his chest. He paused, running his hand down your arm. “It’s okay, Princess. Go to sleep. Daddy’s got you.” 

You exhaled heavily. 

Satoru licked his lips and grabbed your plump asscheeks in his palms, slowly moving himself up into you. His face squished up seeing how well you were handling him even though you were out cold. He kept going, sometimes easing up when you shifted on his chest, or speeding up when you stayed asleep. 

“I'm so close, baby. So close to finishing inside my little girl. Gonna fill you up. Flush those pills and make you a mom.” He envisioned you with a swollen belly, your breasts heavy with milk, your body glowing and all his. 

Fuck, you were his. 

You were only his. 

Satoru came harder than he ever had before. Hot spurts of his release filled your sweet hole to the brim, and yet he continued with pumping into you. “Hey, baby? Daddy doesn’t want to stop now, okay? He’s going to fuck you some more,” he said, realizing why this kink meant so much to you.

Pulling out slowly, he laid you down beside him, shedding his clothes. Pressing his chest against your back, he wrapped your leg around his and slid back inside you, burying his face in your neck. He wanted to be rough, to feel your nails on his skin, to bite you and hear you moan.

“I wanna kiss you, baby. I want your little tongue.” Satoru pulled out of you after finishing for the second time and laid you on your back. He adjusted your head so you were looking at him. His fingers went back to pleasuring you while his lips met yours. He slipped his thumb between your teeth, easing your bottom jaw down. Satoru slid his tongue in, playing with yours, moaning and breathing heavily.

“My baby has such soft lips,” he murmured over your wet, swollen mouth. Taking his finger soaked with your juices and his come, Satoru placed them between your lips and ran them over your tongue. He ravished your mouth again. 

Exhausted from holding back, Satoru pulled you close and slid back inside you, staying still, just feeling your warmth. He ran his hand over your back, kissed your head, and shut his eyes.

In the morning, you woke up feeling a bit weighed down below and something awkward stopping your movements. You lifted your head, rubbing your sleepy eyes, and saw Satoru asleep beneath you. A grin spread across your face as you remembered the steamy dream you had about him satisfying you. 

You planted a kiss on his cheek and tried to get up using your hands, but then you froze. 

You looked down and realized you were sitting right on top of Satoru’s cock.

Holy shit. It wasn’t a dream. 

Satoru fucked you while you were out cold. Just thinking about him taking advantage of your defenseless body to satisfy himself made you shiver.

“Dickhead,” you grumbled, then began to rock your hips. Time for payback. Yanking down your cami-top, you teased your nipples, riding his stiffening cock. You couldn't care less as you leaned in for a kiss. “Rise and shine, Handsome.” 

Satoru took a deep breath. His lips synced with yours effortlessly, and his hand found its way into your hair. He yanked your head back, his eyes widening as they trailed down to your swaying hips. A smirk played on his lips as he relaxed back, crossing his arms behind his head. “You feeling good now, Princess?”

“Much better, Daddy.” 

Satoru admired the playful bounce of your tits, the adorable mewls escaping your mouth, the flush of your smooth skin. Seeing his step-daughter fuck herself on his cock first thing in the morning had him on cloud nine. 

“I’m gonna come, Daddy,” you moaned, hands planted on his chest. 

“Come, then, baby. Come on your daddy’s cock.” He reached out and grabbed your throat. “Then lick it clean.” 

“Yes, Daddy.” You came with a muted cry, milking every last drop of him. “Your cock is so full inside of me.” Satoru smirked at your dirty little words and gave your left tit a little slap. 

You picked yourself up from his cock and knelt between his legs. Satoru watched as your little hand barely wrapped around his girth, lapping at his come like his pretty, little kitten. “Feels good, Daddy?” 

“Yeah, baby. You always feel good to me.”

Satoru released a contented sigh and reclined against the soft pillows, his arms folded beneath him.

He will never be shameless of fucking his sweet girl ever.