Opal's Fanfic Library

“Good morning, Ms. Secretary,” he greeted jovially. Valko leaned one large hand on the polished wood of your desk, his tailored suit shifting with the movement. He looked every bit the impressive wolf hybrid who ran an entire tech company. When you finally looked up, he locked eyes with you. A wicked smirk pulled at his lips, his heavy tail giving a slow swish behind him. 

With a slow, deliberate nudge, he pushed a stray pen off the desk’s edge. Before it could drop more than a few inches, your feline reflexes snapped. Your hand blurred through the air, catching the pen mid-fall. You halted its descent perfectly, giving your boss exactly the show he had been looking for. 

Your ears flattened sideways as your tail flicked with agitation. You fixed him with a sharp glare, but his blatant amusement was written all over his face. 

“Sir, please,” you hissed under your breath, trying not to draw the attention of your coworkers. “I’m trying to concentrate, and I know for a fact you have a meeting later today to prepare for.”

He ignored the protest entirely. Instead, he leaned down closer into your space, his ears pulled backwards, almost flat against his head, like a dog waiting to be given affection. “Excellent reflexes, kitty. Keep up the good work,” he murmured, his voice a low rumble. 

He straightened up, turning on his heel to saunter back into his private office. He had clearly walked out with the sole purpose of disrupting your day, entirely for his own enjoyment. 

By mid-afternoon, your nerves were frayed from a constant awareness of the office door behind you. You needed a breather, and, more importantly, you needed fifty copies of the third-quarter financial portfolio organized and stapled.

You escaped to the copy room, a narrow, windowless shoebox of a space that perpetually smelled of ink and dust. The massive industrial printer took up most of the room, leaving only a narrow corridor between the machine and the supply shelves. 

You loaded the master files into the machine, pressed start, and let out a sigh as it began its rhythmic whirring.

The heavy door clicked open behind you. Your ears twitched backward, pinning flat to your hair as that familiar cologne filled the cramped room. You didn't even have to turn to know Valko had followed you. The already-small space suddenly seemed even smaller now that you were sharing it with his bulky figure.

“Need something, Mr. Chairman?” you asked, making it a point not to look at him as you watched the machine spit out copies.

“Just looking for some extra staples,” he answered, his voice entirely too close. Before you could offer to find it for him, he stepped directly into your space. His large hand landed on your waist as he maneuvered himself behind you, his solid chest brushing against your shoulder blades. You froze, your breath hitching in your throat. He leaned over you, reaching one long arm to blindly grope at the top shelf above the printer. The movement pinned you between the warm machine and his even warmer body. Heat radiated off of him, contrasting with the cool metal of his belt buckle pressing into your lower back.

“I can't seem to find it,” Valko murmured right against the extra-sensitive shell of your fluffy ear. His warm breath made your tail give an involuntary, hard twitch. “Are you sure we aren't all out, Ms. Secretary?”

He was completely blocking you in, using the excuse of a tight space to fully engulf you in his scent and to breathe yours in. Your claws instinctively pricked against your palms, desperately wanting to dig into his expensive suit just to ground yourself.

“It’s on the supply shelf, sir,” you choked out, your voice tighter than you intended. 

“Ah.” You felt the smirk in his voice. He twisted to look behind him, but still didn't release you, keeping you fully pinned to his broad chest. Keeping you trapped between his body and the machine, he slid his thigh deliberately between yours to keep his balance as he contorted his body to scan the shelves. “So it is,” he confirmed, reaching toward the half-empty box of staple refills. He finally left with the staples you were certain he didn't actually need, his fingers brushing against your hip as he slipped out behind you.

By 3:00 PM, the meeting room was full of executives intently listening to Valko speak about an upcoming project for the company. There was always something so captivating about watching him in his element at the head of the long mahogany table, and you found yourself paying more attention to how good he looked with his glasses and wanting to feel those sharp fangs sink into your skin than taking notes and keeping minutes.

“If you look here,” Valko directed, pulling a laser pointer from his pocket and clicking it on. A bright, ruby-red dot appeared on the screen. He continued speaking, using it to trace along line graphs and emphasize certain figures. He dropped it down when it was no longer needed, but it remained on, the red dot darting around the floor as Valko, to the humans gathered around the table, merely twiddled with it. 

Your pupils dilated, expanding until the irises of your eyes were practically swallowed by black. Your cat ears snapped forward, and your gaze locked onto the pesky pinprick of light as it zigzagged over the carpet.

Every single feline instinct screamed at you to pounce. Your right hand twitched, desperate to swat the light from existence. Your tail gave a hard, violent flick. You forced your eyes away from the hypnotic pull of the dot to look at the man having the time of his life toying with you despite being in a professional setting. Not that that little detail had ever stopped him before.

Valko was already looking at you, still explaining costs and financial logistics. With a subtle movement of his thumb, the dot darted just to the side of one of your shoes, and you couldn't stop your foot from attempting to stomp it out, only for it to reappear on your shoe.

You scowled, annoyed that you had fallen victim to your own instincts. From the head of the table, you heard Valko chuckle through his words, his golden eyes flicking over to you, making it very clear that you were the source of his laughter. With a final, mocking twirl of the pointer, he clicked it off, pocketing the device as if nothing had happened, and all you could do was sit in silent, exasperated rage.

The clock finally struck 5:00 PM, the workday coming to a close. The bullpen filled with a chorus of zippers, rustling coats, and goodnights as the employees filed towards the elevators. 

You were walking down one of the hallways, returning from the break room after taking a brief water break, when you saw that Valko had exited his office. His tie was loosened, and the top button of his shirt was undone, exposing the thick column of his neck. The suit jacket had been discarded, and his sleeves were rolled up to his elbows. His ears swiveled forward, immediately locking onto the sound of your approaching footsteps. 

When you passed each other, he didn’t stop you in your path, but he didn’t let you simply pass by him, either. With a deliberate sweep of his heavy, maroon tail, he brushed the furry appendage against your thigh. The thick fur brushed over your skirt and briefly against the fur of your own tail, sending sparks shooting up your spine. 

You gasped, your ears pinning flat against your head as you whirled around. “Valko!”

He continued to walk, barely sparing you a glance over his shoulder, but it was enough to see the wide smile on his face, his sharp fangs showing as he laughed. 

You huffed, practically stomping back to your desk. Ordinarily, you’d preen under his attention, but what didn’t he understand about “time and place?”

When Valko returned, seeing you practically pouting at your desk, he just couldn’t take it anymore. He needed to hear his kitty purr for him. 

“I need to see you in my office,” he said curtly, expending a tremendous amount of effort to keep his tail from wagging. 

You sighed, but followed him into his office. As soon as you were over the threshold and the door shut behind you, he pulled you into his chest, wrapping his solid arms around you as he buried his nose in the crook of your neck, inhaling your scent deeply. 

“Why won’t you let me do this during the day?” he complained. It was his turn to pout, but it didn’t stop the excited wagging of his tail at having you pressed against him without putting on the charade of a respectful employer-employee relationship. 

You rolled your eyes, but melted into his warmth anyway, wrapping your arms snugly around his waist. You didn’t struggle keeping your hands to yourself as much as he did during the workday, but he made his struggle yours with all his teasing. You nuzzled your nose into his chest, and he did the same against the top of your head.

The pair of you stayed that way for a long while, savoring the proximity of the other, tails winding together. 

It was sweet, until it wasn’t enough for the canine hybrid. His hands began to wander, groping everywhere he could reach, paying special attention to where your tail was attached to your body. It was highly sensitive, and he knew that, using it to his advantage. 

You gripped onto his shirt, claws catching at the material. He tugged at your silk blouse. “Take it off?” he whispered, his voice raspy with want. 

— — —

“Valko!” you yowled, the ridges of his cock hitting every crevice inside you. Bent over his desk like this, there was nothing you could do but take every powerful thrust, your claws leaving shallow grooves in the wood of his desk as you scrambled for purchase. 

“My pretty kitty,” he babbled. “Won’t let me show everyone you’re mine. Are you embarrassed of me?”

“No- ah!- ‘m not embarrassed,” you denied. 

“Prove it, then. I gave you that mark so- hng!- everyone would know you’ve already been claimed. Use it like intended. Don’t- so tight- don't hide it tomorrow.”

You nodded mindlessly. You’d have agreed to anything if it meant he kept fucking into you like he had a score to settle. 

Valko let out a low, triumphant chuckle. A fierce warmth spread through him, utterly thrilled that everyone would soon know you were his and he was yours. 

He continued pounding into your weeping pussy, his thick tip prodding at your cervix and grunts and whines spilling from his lips. You were a pliant puddle beneath him, unable to focus on anything except his hips rutting into you with a predatory precision. 

His hands were on your hips, pulling you back into him as he pummeled your insides. Your tail was curled around his thigh, and he relished the way your body subconsciously sought him out, even when he was already buried hilt deep inside of your pretty pussy. “Doin’ so good. Mmm, squeezing down so hard.” His voice is jagged, nearly a growl.

“S-so deep! Oh!” you cried out. The drag of his thick cock against your sensitive walls, coupled with the sinful sounds of your lover and the wet squelching between your bodies, had you right on the edge, and he could feel it. 

You could feel the swelling bulge at the base of him, knocking into the tight resistance of your already stretched-out hole. Your breathing was coming in shallow pants, and Valko wasn’t much better, his deep grunts morphing into whimpers with every clench of your cunt around his length. 

“Gonna take my knot, baby? Gonna let me fill you up?” he rasped, his head swimming just thinking about plugging his seed deep inside you.

You nodded feverishly, a weak “uh-huh” the most you could enunciate through the mind-numbing pleasure. 

He thrusted into you deeply, pressing his hips flush against your ass, and his knot popped inside of you with a strangled gasp. The new stretch sent you reeling, every muscle tightening as your poor abused hole clamped around him, shockwaves of ecstasy coursing through your body. 

His heavy cock twitched inside you, spilling ropes of hot cum inside of you. He moaned freely, his golden eyes transfixed at the point where your spasming cunt swallowed him to the base, his knot keeping you connected. Valko didn't stop rutting into you, pushing his cum deep inside of you, willing it to take. 

Only when he couldn’t take the overstimulation did he collapse on top of your panting figure, careful to brace himself not to hurt you. He peppered the side of your face, your neck, everywhere he could reach with sweet kisses, praising you all the while, telling you how perfect you were for him. 

He gathered you in his arms as best he could, pulling you with him to sit on his lap in his desk chair. He smoothed your hair down, paying special attention to where your fuzzy ears attached to your head. You purred in his hold, content to have your mate dote on you while he was still buried deep inside of you.

Valko, never one to be able to resist you, nuzzled his nose into your hair. “Did you mean it? When you said you’d stop covering the mark?”

You pulled back just enough to look into his earnest eyes, wide with anticipation of your answer, a spark of fear in them that you would take it back. You flushed, but nodded shyly.

He laughed loudly and unabashedly, pulling you into a bone-crushing hug. The sound of his glee was infectious, your own giggles joining the merriment. He pressed a kiss to your lips, overjoyed. “Can I scent you before work, too?”

You rolled your eyes in mock exasperation, but your smile gave Valko all the permission he needed. “On one condition,” you said. 

Valko’s eyebrows raised, curious as to what condition you could have.

“You have to promise me the same,” you smirked, leaning in close until your nose brushed his. Your fingers traced the line of his collarbones to the junction of his neck, where a matching bite mark was scarred into his skin. “Maybe then that annoying pomeranian in accounting will get the hint that you're taken.”

Valko’s eyes widened in surprise before a slow, deep chuckle rumbled in his chest. His tail began to thump wildly against the leather of the desk chair. “Are you jealous, sweetheart?"

“I don’t like the way she looks at you and stands too close,” you sniffed, tilting your head up in a way that reminded Valko you were no exception to feline haughtiness. 

He laughed again, the sound full of utter adoration, and squeezed your waist. “There’s no reason to be jealous. I’m yours, from the tips of my ears to the soles of my feet. I’ll let you scent me as much as you want. I’ll even make sure she smells you on me if it makes you happy.”

Your living room was empty now. The throw blanket sat balled up at one end of the couch, still warm, still carrying that earthy scent that clung to him. You figured he'd finally given up trying to get comfortable and left for home.

Things had been tight between you two for weeks — not bad tight, just like the kind that builds when you're close to someone in every way but one. Curling up next to him on that couch last night, close enough to feel him breathing, had taken more out of you than you wanted to admit. You'd gone to your own bed after and tossed for hours, finally giving up and finishing yourself off against your pillow just to get some sleep.

You grabbed the folder off the counter, shoved it in your bag, turned toward the door already dreading the way back to work.

Your foot stopped.

Through the crack in your bedroom door came a sound — low, cut off at the edges like it hadn't meant to get out. A hitch of breath, rough with something needy.

You don't move. For a few long seconds you just stand there, blood rushing in your ears, telling yourself you imagined it. Then it comes again—louder, unmistakable. A deep, broken whine bleeding through the door, underneath it the slow, rhythmic creak of your mattress.

Something hot drops straight to your navel.

Your feet move before you decide to let them, carrying you to the gap where the door hinges open. You don't need to push it. You can see everything

Valko is on your bed, completely stripped of the restraint he usually carries around you.

On all fours, every muscle in his back straining with each roll of his hips. Both your pillows are underneath him. One is pinned between his thick, heavy thighs. The other is crushed against his chest like he's holding onto it for dear life.

The fat tip of his cock is already leaking clear precum, smearing wetly against the fabric with every thrust. The muscles of his ass bunch and flex rhythmically, his tail swishing low and frantic from side to side, brushing against his calves like he can't control it.

His nose is buried deep into one specific corner of the pillow, taking big lunges of air—sniffing the hell out of it. Strands of saliva string from his parted lips, his eyes are squeezed shut so tight his eyelashes tremble. He looks like he's desperately trying to engrave that scent into the deepest part of his memory.

The heat that floods your face is scorching and mortifying.

That's where you'd been last night. Grinding against that exact spot, face buried in your own sheets with his name stuck in your throat, thinking thoughts you'd never planned on anyone knowing about. He has his nose pressed right there. Breathing you in like it's the first clean air he's found in days.

The hallway feels like it's closing in. You can't move. The folder is shaking in your hand and you can't make yourself look away.

Valko moves his hips down again and the groan that tears out of him is nothing like his usual voice. It's scraped raw, stripped of every careful thing he usually puts between himself and the world.

"Fuck—" The word drags out of him slow and broken. His face presses deeper into the pillow, lips parting against the fabric, inhaling so hard it pulls into his mouth. "Smells so good. So fucking sweet"

Your stomach drops.

When he pulls back to thrust again you get an unobstructed view of him, and your mouth goes dry. He's huge, veins mapping his cock in thick ridges, the head flushed a deep red and slick with everything he's been leaking onto your pillow.

"There you go," he breathes, eyes still squeezed shut, hips rolling down in a slow, grinding push. He's talking to the pillow. He's talking to you—or the idea of you, the ghost of you he's got his hands on. "Take it just like that. Let me get all the way inside that pretty cunt, puppy."

He makes that sound again—a high, needy whine that has no business coming out of something so big—and his ears flatten tight against his skull. His rhythm stutters, slow grinds breaking into something harder and more desperate, the whole bed frame groaning with it.

"Such a good pup," he mutters, tail thrashing wild against the mattress, fingers curling into your pillow. His voice is getting rougher, darker, words spilling out like he can't stop them. "Gonna stretch you out so nice. Fill you up with everything I've been—" A sharp, punched out groan. "You'd take it, wouldn't you? Every single bit of it."

His thighs grip the pillow tightly, his whole body going rigid as he grinds down and holds it there. His knuckles are stark white, fingers curled past the point of grip, something closer to desperation made physical. You can see the effort it's taking him to hold back. Every thick vein along the back of his hands stands out in rigid relief, branching up his wrists, mapping the strain all the way to where his forearms flex with each movement.

With every snap of his hips the tension climbs higher. Up his biceps and across his broad shoulders, the whole architecture of him pulled tight. He is holding the pillow like letting go for even a second would mean losing the last thread of you he has access to.

Like if his grip slips, your scent goes with it.

His hands have never looked like this. You've seen them steady holding a weapon, calm giving an order, certain in every situation that called for certainty. Right now they're shaking slightly. Not from weakness.

But from the effort of not having the real thing.

The ache between your thighs is unbearable and the urge hits you like something physical, pressing into your sternum until your body stops listening to your brain entirely. You want to tell him yes. You want to walk into that room and pull those pillows out from under him and put yourself there instead.

Your foot moves forward one step.

That's all it takes. The tiny shift in air carries your scent right through the gap in the door—laced now with the edge of your arousal—and delivers it straight to him.

Valko goes completely still.

His ears snap upright, swiveling toward the door, and his head follows a half second later. Through the narrow crack his eyes find yours instantly, pupils blown so wide the gold of his irises is almost gone. The room sits heavy with the smell of sex and the sound of both of you breathing.

He doesn't cover himself and your eyes drop without your permission.

The sight of you watching him—your scent hitting him fresh and full—is what does it. You watch it happen. His cock swells further, skin pulled tight, a low growl tearing out of his chest and his hips give one last involuntary roll forward.

He cums with his eyes locked on yours the entire time.

He stares straight through the gap in the door, unblinking, holding your gaze with an intensity that makes your legs feel unreliable, as the first thick streak of white paints your pillow. Another spasm rolls through him, another rope of cum landing heavy over the exact spot your scent had soaked into the fabric last night. Over and over until the last bead clings to the tip and stretches thin before finally dropping.

His chest heaves and his tongue drags slowly across his lower lip and then his canines like he's tasting the air. His tail gives one long, heavy thump against the mattress.

He's still staring a hole right through you.

​You are completely fucked.

And while we're here @ekay-i .... PLEASE🙏🏻. Valko deserves a spot in the pillow humpers art. i am begging on my knees 🧎🏻‍♀️🫣

Though letting himself into your apartment like this was nothing new, had become a part of your routine for months at this point, if you're honest, there was something that had been feeling different about Valko's visits to you lately. Less vexing and more… comforting.

An increased awareness of him, maybe? The sound of his voice. His size. The way his laugh and personality managed to fill the room more than his bulky body. Of the way he always tripped over your living room rug or tried to sneak a rub of his scent into every pillow. Of the way he stood so close when he spoke to you, capturing you in the sweet honey of his eyes.

It was something warm that pulsed in your chest, something intimate that had started to hook your gaze to his mouth and magnetize your palms to his skin even today, when you're at your lowest.

His right ear twitches at the sound of his name as he grabs your phone from the floor, a crease of distaste scrunching his nose when he clicks on the screen to stop the noise and tsks, "Looks like my 'dogs are better than cats' speech needs some work."

"Maybe I'll be more in the mood to hear you out–" you take your phone back and set it on the table with a huff, "–when my 'please use the damn front door' speech finally penetrates that thick skull of yours."

A crooked grin scrawls over his face. The pointed tips of his incisors reflecting the dim light of the small lamp you'd flicked on purely to save you from feeling like a complete gremlin while you moped this evening.

"Gonna tell you the same thing I tell Ma every time she says that." He unfurls from the crouching position he'd been in and drops his weight beside you, making your normally sizeable loveseat suddenly feel cramped. "Processing info is for the ears, not the skull."

Resting your cheek in your palm, you narrow your eyes at him with a considering hum.

"What?" Your uninvited houseguest turns to face you, eliciting a concerning creak from the loveseat as his knee comes up to rest on the cushion and his arm drapes over the back. An oversized paw just shy of brushing your shoulder. "What d'you mean, 'hm?'"

"Trespasser, jumpscaring people, terrible manners, and a smart ass to your mother?" You note each transgression by holding up a finger. "No wonder you're always prowling around Linkon alone."

"Hey, hey! Woah, woah, hold on." His hand darts forward, covering yours like it'll hide the evidence. "No– I mean– sure I may be some of those things, but trust me," he puts one of your fingers down and leans forward, another sad groan coming from below the cushion as he rests his elbow on his knee. "I wouldn't be sitting here, or hanging out with you – or breathing – if I were a smart ass to my mother."

Despite yourself, you feel the corner of your lip twitch, the closest you’ve come to a smile all day.

It surprises you how naturally it comes, how much lighter you feel, as you take in his easy grin, his warm palms, his artless gaze. Makes you worry that you're becoming used to this feeling, to something you might be misreading.

"Why?"

"Well, she has this really brutal way of grabbing you by the ear and–"

"No–" the word dissolves on a giggle that has both his ears twitching and an expression you can't quite interpret crossing his face. "I mean, why are you sitting here? Hanging out with me?"

"Oh. I kind of–" He stops, a hint of pink creeping onto his cheeks as he looks down at your still-linked hands. "I mean, I sorta felt like something was… off. With you." You're suddenly glad for the loss of his gaze as he starts to fiddle with your fingers, pressing the pads of his fingers to the tops of your nails as if to test their sharpness. "It's like a.. tug?"

Your mind races with panic as you realize just how much your attraction to him has been tugging at you over his last few visits. "Are you saying that with this– this bond or whatever, you can feel my emotions?"

"Nah, it's not like that." You hope he can't see the stark relief in your gaze when his eyes meet yours again, letting go of your hand to press a palm to the center of his chest. "It's not emotions that call me, it's, well… you. Calling me, that is. Needing me. Or, pulling at me, more like."

Your brows arc upward. "Like a leash?"

His head shoots back dramatically, paired with a groan that sounds almost as distressed as the loveseat still suffering under his weight. "Mercy, little hellion. Let a man keep at least a little dignity." He shakes his head with a bark of self-deprecating laughter. "But yeah. You've got me leashed up good. Happy?"

His question is gentle but pointed, hopeful. His frame still leaning over you, an umbrella shielding you from the sadness and negativity that have been pelting you all day.

Your chest warms at the sight, making it all the harder to respond with a sad smile and the shake of your head as the all the reasons you're not happy come flooding back.

"Alright," he says easily, unphased and unrelenting. A considering look enters his eyes. "Just means I've gotta take more drastic measures here."

In a blur of movements you barely have time to process, he turns his back to you, kicks off his boots – an oddly polite gesture that has you reconsidering just how serious he was about that leash comment – and flops backward. The broad span of his shoulders forces your bent knees down to accommodate the weight of his head as it nestles into your thighs.

"V-Valko! What are you doing?" you stutter, heartbeat galloping as the scent of amber and pine and him wash over you. His ear twitches as he takes your awkwardly hovering hands, placing one behind the wolf ear on his right and the other behind the human ear on his left.

"There," he says with a wiggle of his shoulders, like your thighs are a pillow he's nestling into.

When he notices your hands haven't budged, he gives you an expectant look, nudging the sides of his head into your palms until your lips twitch and your fingers start to move.

"This is your drastic measure?"

He hums in response, eyelashes fluttering as your nails scrape gently over a rose-coloured mix of silky hair and plush fur.

"And this is supposed to…" The question trails off but your hands continue.

He shrugs, the heat of his shoulders anchoring your thighs as one of his arms sneaks around your waist.

"I dunno, distract you? Annoy you, comfort you, take your pick." His eyes lock onto yours, sincere, earnest. "Whatever you need."

The combination of his touch and his words act like a stick of dynamite, blasting through the boulder of tension and worry that's been sitting on your chest all day.

You take a deep breath as he sighs in what you instinctually know is relief. And for the first time since he's mentioned this "bond" of yours, you think, maybe this thing goes both ways.

The thought that you might be starting to figure him out as well as he always seems to understand you brings a small smile to your face.

His lips mirror yours. "That's what I like to see," he says, voice low.

You roll your eyes and flick his ear to disguise the way your stomach flips when the praise rumbles through your thighs, flexing them to jostle him and joke, "What? Me being suffocated?"

His finger comes up to tap the end of your nose with a self-assured grin. "Stop pretending you dont like it, I saw that weighted blanket on your bed." You're not sure if it's you or the loveseat that squeaks when he tugs you into his face and nuzzles into your stomach. "Wanna tell me what's got you down?"

There's something about Valko's bluntness, about his willingness to tackle everything head-on, that catches you more off-guard than his casual and abundant displays of affection ever do. It's straightforward, without artifice. And though there's no hesitation in his request, there's somehow no pressure in it either. As if no response you give him could ever result in offense or resentment or awkwardness, making it feel like the most natural thing in the world to tell the unvarnished truth.

So you do.

"It's just… everything? I don't know, it's all piling up. Like, there's work, lack of sleep, friends I'm not keeping up with, not to mention the general state of the world."

You pause, finding his attentive gaze already on you when you look down to see if you're making any sense. He nods encouragingly, the ears on his head twitching in unison like an attentive audience.

"So I guess I've just been thinking about it all and it feels a little overwhelming. Right here." You press a hand to your chest. "And… heavy, I guess. Like–" You raise a pointed brow. "Like getting crushed by a giant mutt on my own sofa."

His jaw drops in dramatic affront. “You– did you just-” He snaps into a sitting position, your loveseat groaning in despair before he points a finger at himself, as if there could be anyone else you were talking about. “Mutt?! Oh you just crossed a line, you hellion.”

Any response you might’ve had morphs into a high-pitched squeal as you’re scooped up by a muscular arm and thrown over his shoulder.

“Valko! What are you doing? Put me down,” you manage through giggles and laughter as he hauls you to the bedroom with what sounds like a muttered 'I’ll show you a giant mutt.'

You land on the mattress with a breathless oomph, the stray laughs bubbling from your throat feeling foreign but welcome as Valko descends over your figure in an army crawl, finally stopping when you're nose to nose.

Your chests meet on each breath as he reaches up to brush hair from your face. His eyes seem more yellow than amber in the dim light, like marigolds, and you can't think of anything more fitting for the resilient, protective man above you.

"Hi," you breathe, grinning wide.

"Hello, gorgeous," he murmurs, darting a glance at your lips that has your heartbeat pounding against your ribs.

The shadow of his tail swishes behind him as he lowers his weight onto you, fitting his body over yours in a way that anchors and comforts you rather than stifles you.

"Better?" He mumbles into your neck, the heat of his breath awakening gooseflesh over your collarbones. "You know, now that you've made my pedigree your punching bag?"

"Yeah, actually," you realize with a giggle, fingers brushing over the soft bristles of his undercut. "I do."

You haven't laughed this much in a while. In fact, despite being pinned under the heaviest man you know, you haven't felt this light for a few weeks now, you think, which was… the last time he visited you. You close your eyes briefly, mourning the loss of your sanity at the realization that he was right earlier. You had needed him.

"Then listen to me real quick." Your hand slips to his jaw when he raises his head, his smile smaller, his eyes intent. "Next time you feel overwhelmed, or if it's all feeling like too much, you don't have to isolate yourself, or doomscroll, or muscle through it alone. I know I look like I'm all brains but I can help carry things. So just call me, yeah?"

You smile, agreeing with a small nod, pausing before you joke, "With the leash?"

"Okay, who's the smart ass now?" he mutters with a shake of his head, crooked grin back in place. "I meant with a phone. But the leash works too, I guess."

"What's it like?" you ask, curious for the first time since you've learned of it.

"The bond?" His eyes flicker between your eyes and your lips, a knuckle tracing your cheek. "It's like one of those less traveled paths in the woods. Barely visible to the naked eye, but once you find it and start walking on it, everything starts to feel… right."

"Your chest gets really warm and you have this zappy feeling in your gut." His lips tip up in a faraway smile as his eyes follow the path his knuckle makes over your ear, your neck, your collarbones. "Everything feels possible when it's there. Lighter. And when it's gone? Anything you do feels wrong. Empty."

"But…" You swallow past the heartbeat in your throat. "I thought you couldn't feel my emotions," you protest weakly.

A spark ignites in his eyes, electric enough to charge the air between you as his expression morphs into what you can only identify as a primal satisfaction. He inhales deeply, as if he's trying to memorize the scent of this moment, holding your gaze as his eyelids lower.

"I can't," he breathes, so close his nose brushes against yours when he shakes his head. "Those were all mine."

Your lips part, tongue hovering in wait between your teeth as his palm comes up under your chin, fingers settling on both sides of your jaw to draw you in. Your eyes shut as his lips descend over yours, and despite the warmth of his palm, the first brush of his tongue feel like being doused in flame. You wrap your arms around his neck on a moan, humming when he tilts your head to lick into your mouth again and again.

"Valko." The soft, fuzzy sensation of his buzzed hair grazes your knuckles and he sighs into your mouth, as if you're breathing life back into him with the sound of his name.

You take the chance to nip at his lip, holding it hostage between yours until he answers in kind. The sharpness of his teeth like bee stings on your mouth, soothed only by the sweet honey of a tongue that's licking, tasting, consuming the flushed skin between your lips and your throat.

His body sinks into yours, each of his muscles and contours taking shape around yours like heated metal, a weapon being forged for its master, its weight the heaviest thing you'll ever have to carry again.

➻➻ MASTERLIST

NOTE: They can take my undomesticated wolf man from me in the game but he will live on as a terrible house guest in my delusions forever xoxo

Masterlist

Chapter 1: The General

Chapter 2: The Rain Woman

Chapter 3: Treachery Amongst Generals

Chapter 4: To Squash An Insect

Chapter 5: Come At Me (Part 1)

Chapter 5: Come At Me (Part 2)

Chapter 6: Little General

Chapter 7: Darkness

Chapter 8: Don't Forget General

Chapter 9: Promises Kept And Promises Broken

Chapter 10: Convergence

Chapter 11: The Question You Should Ask Yourself General

Please look at author tags. Updated 4/23/26.

⛩ Heinan Era ⛩

A Distant Thunder - pomegranate_nectar

Malevolent Mercy - zeezee90

Beneath the Silk - phyx_morgan

Cursed Ascension, Darkly Earned - Syllable907

Cor Unum - vampyr_sm

Unholy Vows - sweetnemesis

👑 Royalty 👑

The rise of a king and the fall of a queen - EsperanzaHebras Eventual

We move swiftly - Drenched

Ceaseless - yenayaps

To Distant Lands - sukunahs

When Silence Feeds The Souls - hiyorimiki

💥 Modern JJK Universe 💥

Twisted Remnants - etchpicture

📖 College 📖

Sanctioned - bookaib

The Final Semester // Prof!Sukuna x Reader - sullibonk

🌶️ One shots 🌶️

Blood Moon - Logothetis

Shrike's nest - EwNasty (BogDing)

Ensnared - zarameraki

This video is something you had never seen before or even thought was possible. You watch, mesmerized by the way the woman’s stomach subtly shifts a visible bulge as he stretches her out.

Heat pools instantly between your thighs, making your breath hitch and a dizzying sensation of fullness hit your gut. He's always so careful with you, so agonizingly gentle, as if you’re something precious he might break if he breathes too hard. But looking at this... a dark part of your brain wonders what it would feel like if he didn't hold back.

"Holy shit..." you whisper to the empty room.

Your hand moves instinctively, fingers sliding down to find slick heat. The video is playing on a loop. Bulge. Stretch. Deep. Repeat. You watch it while your imagination runs wild, replacing the stranger on the screen with the man who owns your heart. You’re picturing his heavy weight pinning you down, his eyes blown wide, filling you until you can’t even scream.

You’re chasing a peak that feels miles away until, suddenly, it isn't. You hit your first orgasm with a stifled gasp, back arching off the mattress, only to find yourself immediately chasing the second one, body trembling and spent in the wake of the first.

By the time the second wave of pleasure ebbs away, you’re a puddle of limbs and heavy eyelids. You’re half conscious, drifting in that beautiful limbo between wakefulness and dreams. In a daze of post orgasmic euphoria, you squint at the screen, your thumb hovering over the comment section.

"How do I send him this without actually sending it to him 😳"

You tap 'send' with a clumsy thumb. You meant to just post it as a thought, a digital scream into the void. But as your eyes flutter shut, your hand twitches a final, involuntary spasm of exhausted muscle. Your thumb slips. It slides across the 'Share' icon, hovers over the very first contact at the top of your recent list, and taps.

Sent.

You don't hear the subtle whoosh of the outgoing message.  Delivered directly to the man who at this very moment is probably staring at a security feed or sipping red wine.

Sylus.

You just fall into a deep, blissful sleep, completely unaware that you've just lit a fuse.

🐦‍⬛ 🐦‍⬛ 🐦‍⬛🐦‍⬛🐦‍⬛🐦‍⬛🐦‍⬛🐦‍⬛🐦‍⬛🐦‍⬛🐦‍⬛🐦‍⬛🐦‍⬛🐦‍⬛🐦‍⬛🐦‍⬛🐦‍⬛🐦‍⬛🐦‍⬛

“Come on, sweetie, don’t give up on me now" Thrust. The impact is heavy, forcing a breathless gasp from your lungs. “You can take it, can’t you?”

He isn't being the gentle, careful man you know. Not today. His hand is hooked firmly behind your head, his fingers tangling in your hair, forcing you to watch the unmistakable, fat bulge stretching the skin of your lower abdomen, proof to just how deep he’s buried himself inside you.

“You wanted this, now you have to take it and you are going to watch.”

And there it is. The reality of it. It’s visceral. It’s exactly what you saw in that video, but it’s a thousand times more intense because it’s him. It’s real.

Your vision swima and just as the shock of it all starts to settle, he shifts. He changes the angle of his hips in a calculated move that hits your G spot dead on. An uninhibited scream tears from your throat, echoing through the room.

“I've been trying to behave,” he says, and the words come out rougher than he probably intended, an edge of frustration bleeding through his usual composure “But you make it so difficult... fuck... by sending me your filthy little thoughts.”

His hand settles against your belly, firm and heavy, and the second he presses down, your body reacts with a sharp inhale. You tense instinctively, muscles coiling around him, but you don't pull away. You can't.

“Can you feel me here?” he asks, breath coming in uneven bursts. He’s buried balls deep and for a split second, you see a flicker of hesitation in his eyes. You make a face, a strange, overwhelmed expression of fullness, and he looks like he might actually pull back to give you a moment to breathe. He thinks he’s pushing too hard.

He’s wrong.

Don't you dare.

Driven by a desperation you didn't know you possessed, you move your hips in a searching rhythm, pressing his hand down harder against your stomach. You want the pressure. You want to feel the exact point where he meets your skin from the inside.

He lets out a loud groan at the sensation. Your narrow walls clamp down on him, tighter than they've ever been. Every millimeter of space between you feels like it’s disappearing, leaving nothing but friction and heat.

You don't have the words to tell him that you never want him to stop, so your body does the talking. You cling to him, legs wrapping around his waist as he holds you there, keeping you exactly where you are until your breathing turns unsteady.

Until your body softens in momentary surrender and tightens again a second later, as if you're fighting a war with yourself, trying to decide whether to let go or to hold on tighter.

In the end, you don't choose. You do both.

The world dissolves into a hot haze of pleasure. It couldn't be called an orgasm because this feels like a total system failure. You’re sobbing his name or maybe you’re just gasping for air, you can’t tell anymore as waves of pleasure crash over you, violent and unrelenting. Your pussy seizes around him in long pulses, milking him, begging for the very thing that’s pushing you past your limit.

He follows you a few seconds later, burying himself soooo deep you feel the hot rush of him filling you.

Slowly, the fog begins to lift, leaving you in a state of blissful, heavy lethargy. The hand that was just pressing so ruthlessly into your belly softens, fingers tracing lazy circles over your skin.

"You really are a menace." he murmurs, pressing a lingering kiss to your temple.

The shame you expected to feel, the embarrassment of that accidental video is nowhere to be found. Instead, there is only a sense of immense satisfaction.

"Next time," he whispers into your hair "don't bother sending a link. Just tell me. I'll give you everything you desire. Every single time."

The problem with being in love with a man like Xavier is that your brain is constantly a minefield of "what ifs."

He’s incredible, truly, but you’ve noticed the way he pulls back sometimes. When he’s brooding or when that possessive jealousy starts to prickle at him, he becomes almost too careful. Like he’s afraid he might actually break you if he lets go of that restraint.

So, naturally, you’ve been doing a little "research" to keep the inspiration alive.

Now, you’re sitting on the edge of your bathtub, scrolling through your feed, a habit that’s becoming a bit of a vice, when a video catches your eye. A girl pinned to a mattress, her head pressed down by her partner as he fucks her from behind. Hard. The sound of her moans echoes in your ears through your headphones and suddenly the bathroom feels about ten degrees too hot.

God, yes.

You quickly save the link to your "later" folder, a digital stash of things you want him to eventually try, and then scribble a quick, thirsty comment on the video "This but with my boyfriend dressed as Lumiere 🤤 " and set your phone down.

Buzz. Buzz.

A notification lights up the screen. It’s him.

[Xavier]: Found a new hot pot place. Apparently, the broth is spicy enough to kill a Wanderer. Want to go tonight? Please say yes so I can stop thinking about food and start thinking about you.

A soft laugh escapes you. He’s so predictable, yet so devastatingly charming when he wants to be. Your answer is an immediate "sure" because you’d say yes to a lukewarm bowl of water if he was the one serving it.

But he always forgets to look at the menu and ends up ordering something way too spicy or something you're not in the mood for, so you look for the restaurant's menu.

You see the link. Tap it. Copy. Paste. Add "Look at the options! The spicy broth looks insane." Send.

Funny thing is, you don't actually copy the menu's URL, you just cut it. You don't even realize you just sent him the very un culinary link to the video you were just watching to fuel your own delusions.

Little typing bubbles appear. They dance for a long time. They disappear. They reappear.

He's so indecisive.

⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐

"Lumiere?" the name sounds like a curse "You wanted Lumiere to pin you down?"

Your face is pressed so firmly into the mattress that the fabric feels like a part of your own skin, the scent of laundry detergent mixing with the heat of the moment. Every time he thrusts into you, the world tilts, your vision blurring into white light and dark shadows. The Xavier who kisses your forehead and cuddles with you is buried somewhere deep inside the man currently fucking you breathless.

"Xavie..." you try to speak, but his name dies in your throat as he shifts his weight.

"Tell me," he demands, losing the battle with his own restraint. He hits you hard, a deep, soul shaking thrust that forces a broken moan from your lips. "Tell me you don't need a costume to feel this."

You try to answer, to tell him he's being ridiculous...

Smack!

The sting of his palm against your ass makes you gasp, your fingers clawing at the mattress for purchase.

"You sent it to me on purpose," he mutters as he leans down, his chest pressing hard against your back. "You wanted to see me like this, didn't you? You wanted to see if I could be as rough as him."

He doesn't want an answer. He doesn't wait for one. He just wants to hear you whimper his name when he hits that perfect spot.

His hand presses your face down even harder into the mattress, muffling your cries. It's everything you were craving when you were scrolling through your phone earlier, but the reality is a thousand times better.

You start to move, trying to meet him halfway, trying to grind back against him to find the friction that will push you over the edge.

"Faster..." you beg, trying to turn your head to tell him that there is no Lumiere, there is only him, but he just presses you back down, his thumb grazing your hip bone with trembling pressure.

"Shhhhhh, just a little bit more," he lets out a long groan, his forehead dropping to rest against the back of your neck for a fleeting second before he surges upward again. "You should see the way your pussy is taking my cock right now, so greedy. Just for me."

His hand shifts. It leaves the back of your head to find the column of your throat. His thumb and middle finger curl around your neck not enough to hurt, but enough to remind you that he is in total control.

He stills for a heartbeat, his middle finger softly tapping the pulsing vein in your neck. "Every beat belongs to me tonight"

You just nod, a jerky movement, because you are standing on the very edge of a precipice, and the fall is coming. The tension in your lower belly is wound so tight it’s almost painful.

"Say it," he breathes, his lips brushing the shell of your ear, his words a warm, humid ghost of a sensation, his control fraying at the edges.

"Yours," you finally whisper, like secret you’ve been holding in your lungs for far too long, finally allowed to breathe.

The moment the word leaves your lips, he loses the last of his mercy.

He pulls back almost entirely, leaving you aching and empty for a fraction of a second only to drive back in, bottomless and bruising. It’s a cycle of withdrawal and overwhelming fullness that leaves you reeling.

"Give me what's mine" the command vibrates through your entire body.

The world dissolves into white light as your head falls forward, muscles spasming in the violent quake of your climax, but he catches your hair, tugging just enough to force your head up, his face inches from yours, his eyes dark and swirling with a hunger that could swallow the stars.

"Good girl," he whispers against your parted, trembling lips.

He thrusts one last time, deep and final, spilling molten heat as your name breaks from his lips, torn in half by bliss before he presses a kiss between your shoulder blades. For now, the jealousy is gone. There is only the quiet, heavy reality of being his.

The video catches your eye instantly. The lighting is a soft purple, casting a surreal glow over the two people on screen. A girl is on top, her movements slow and agonizingly deliberate as she drags her pussy over her partners cock, the rhythm of it making your cunt clench.

Tonight you are in a "no filter" mood. You need to share this. You need to tell Tara.

With a smirk, you tap the share icon, copy the link, and switch over to your messages. You find Tara’s profile pic or so you think and start typing with the kind of unhinged energy only a best friend can appreciate.

You and Tara have long since abandoned the concept of "boundaries" when it comes to your filthy late night chats.

“Omg Tara, look at this. Raf’s cock is so pretty, I swear if he’d just let me do this to him, I’d never leave the bedroom again 🥵💦”

You hit send with a satisfied whoosh and let out a long, dramatic sigh. Silence follows. For a few minutes you go back to scrolling, blissfully unaware that you have just dropped a digital bomb into the inbox of a man who is already struggling to maintain his composure.

Your phone vibrates.

It’s not a "LOL" or a "Damn" from Tara.

It’s a notification from Rafayel.

Rafayel: Is that so?

Your heart skips a beat. You frown, squinting at the name at the top of the chat.

Wait.

Your face goes from pale to a shade of red that would put a sunset to shame. You stare at the screen, wanting to physically crawl inside the phone and disappear forever. You want to delete it. You want to throw the phone out the window. You want to move to a different planet.

But then, the little typing bubbles appear again.

Rafayel: Don't just sit there blushing, cutie. I'm coming to your place and you are going to show me exactly what you want"

🫧 🫧 🫧 🫧 🫧🫧🫧🫧🫧🫧🫧🫧🫧🫧🫧🫧🫧🫧

You’ve lost track of time. Your thighs are starting to ache, every muscle in your legs feels tight, strained from holding yourself upright, yet you keep moving. You have to. The friction is the only thing keeping you grounded.

You’re straddling him, your knees digging into the soft linens, focused on the way your cunt drags over his cock. Slippery. Hot. Wet.

Every time you slide down, the underside of him, that thick ridge presses ruthlessly against your clit. You can feel the vein running along his length pulse in perfect synch with your clit. 

Thump thump. Thump thump. 

"Slow down..." he groans, gripping your hips "You're going to... fuuuuck... you're going to kill me"

The friction is creating a heat of its own, a sliding friction that makes your head spin. You watch slightly delirious, as the light from the moon filters through the window, catching the sheen of sweat on his pale skin and the way his hair is plastered to his forehead. He looks wrecked. He looks beautiful. He looks like he belongs entirely to you.

But his hands are far from weak. They are heavy weights anchored to your hips, and he uses them to sabotage you. Just when you think you’ve found a rhythm that might actually save you, he tightens his grip, forcing your hips to slow, dragging the slide of your pussy out into a long, shallow glide.

It’s cruel. A sadistic kind of torture, making the night feel endless, as if the clock has stopped just to watch you suffer.

He wants to stretch this out. He wants to milk every drop of anticipation from your veins until your entire body begins to tremble, not from pleasure, but from the weight of the climax that refuses to arrive. He wants to push you to that edge where even your silence sounds filthy, where the quiet between your breaths is thick with the unspoken things you want to do to him.

Once he’s satisfied with the slow pace, his hands begin to wander. They trace the curve of your waist, the dip of your spine, the swell of your breasts, learning your body the way a sinner learns to pray. Like hunger learning the art of restraint just long enough to make the eventual feast mean something.

You slide back just a fraction, settling the heat of your pussy directly over his balls and then you reach down.

Your fingers wrap around the base of his cock, just like you saw in that video. You begin to stroke him while simultaneously rotating your hips in a circular grind over the heavy fullness of his balls.

The sound that tears from his throat is something unhuman, a vibration that feels like it's coming from the depths of the ocean.

Your name is caught between his teeth in a soft, sinful exhale. He sounds undone, completely unraveled by the sight of you taking exactly what you claimed you wanted in that accidental text.

He’s right there, on the edge of an unravelling collapse.

And because you are just like him, a creature of beautiful, chaotic impulse, you don't let him have it. Not yet.

You release his cock, hand slipping away just as the tension reaches its peak, and drag your soaked cunt back up the entire length of him in one loooong slide.

It feels like a collision of two fires.

In your desperation to feel everything you let your entire weight drop. The clench of your pussy as you cum wraps around the underside of his cock, squeezing him with a force that leaves him absolutely helpless.

He has no choice but to follow you into the fire.

Spurts of his cum paint the pale skin of his stomach, the liquid warmth spreading in thick, white streaks, pooling in his belly button.

For a few seconds, neither of you moves. There is only the sound of your breathing and the humid scent of your shared exhaustion.

“Was that pretty enough for you, cutie?” he teases, though his hand trembles slightly as he reaches up to tuck a stray lock of hair behind your ear. His thumb lingers on your cheek, like he’s constantly checking to make sure you haven't vanished into the night. "Or do we need to do it again?"

It’s late, way past the time Zayne would usually be nudging you to sleep but he’s still tucked away in his office, probably buried under a mountain of medical charts or surgical reports.

Your eyes are glued to your phone screen, watching a VIDEO of a girl grinding against a man’s thigh, bodies pressed together, his hands steady even as she buries her face in the crook of his neck. The guy in the video is wearing pajamas that look disturbingly similar to the ones Zayne is wearing right now.

Suddenly, the empty space in your bed feels a little too vast, your mind drifting to the office down the hall, aching to be that girl, to climb onto his Zayne's lap while he’s buried in medical charts and just... fuck yourself stupid.

You want to reach down and touch yourself but you’re a loud sleeper and an even louder moaner. If you start now, there’s no way he won't hear you through the walls, and you aren't quite ready for that kind of intimacy yet. So, you settle for a bit of digital venting. With a flushed face, you type out a quick comment on the video: "God, I wish I could do this while he's working..."

You go to save the link to your "Filthy Things" folder for a proper session tomorrow morning, but just as your thumb hovers over the screen, your phone starts vibrating. It’s Simone. She’s calling, probably to gossip about something trivial. In your rush to swipe the call and answer her, your finger taps the wrong folder.

And because Zayne is a man who is always, always connected to his devices for work... he’s going to see the notification the exact second it pops up.

🩺 🩺 🩺 🩺 🩺 🩺 🩺 🩺 🩺 🩺 🩺 🩺 🩺 🩺 🩺 🩺

It didn't take long. After that little "digital accident," the silence between you two wasn't awkward so much as it was heavy. Charged. He didn't even tease you about the comment. He didn't even blush. He just looked at you with those piercing eyes, a tiny, knowing quirk at the corner of his mouth, and silently commanded you to come to him.

And now, here you are. Perched on his lap, doing the same thing you saw on that video. Your lower half is completely bare, your thighs hugging his muscular one as you press yourself flush against him.

The friction is driving you completely insane.

Zayne, however, is a man of terrifying discipline.

His left hand is braced on your lower back, while his right hand moves across his keyboard. He’s actually working. He’s reviewing files, typing out notes, behaving as if you aren't currently trying to melt into his lap. Every so often, he’ll pause, not to stop you, but to lean in. His breath, cool and smelling faintly of mint, brushes against the shell of your ear, sending a violent shiver down your spine.

"Ah... Zayne..." you whimper against his neck as you press yourself harder against him. The sound is loud, far too loud for his quiet office and you can feel the heat rising in your cheeks.

"Hush now," he doesn't even look away from the monitor, though you notice the slight tightening of his jaw. "I need to focus. These reports won't write themselves."

He’s being difficult. He’s being a tease. And you love him for it.

You try to be "good." You force yourself to still when he has to write something long on his computer. You sit there, trembling slightly, waiting for him to acknowledge the havoc you're wreaking on his concentration.

A moment passes. The only sound is the soft click clack of the keyboard. Then, you feel his hand slide from your hip to the small of your back, pulling you just a fraction of an inch closer, a subtle command for you to keep going.

"Good girl," he whispers, the words a warm caress against your ear.

His expression is completely professional, but the way his fingers linger on your skin tells a completely different story. He’s still working, yes but he’s also letting you feel exactly how much of a distraction you really are.

Every time your thighs tense up, every time you desperately bite your lower lip to stifle a moan that threatens to shatter the silence, the air thickens with indecency.

He’s struggling. You aren't blind. You can feel the insistent twitch of his cock beneath you, reacting to every open mouthed kiss you press against the pulse of his neck, the sharp line of his collarbone, and the smooth expanse of his Adam's apple. He’s trying to maintain that surgeon’s calm, but his body is betraying him with every shuddering breath you take.

You’re right on the edge. Your clit is catching perfectly against the fabric of his pajamas, the material already damp and clinging to you from the amount of arousal you're leaking.

"Look at me."

His voice cuts through the air, forcing your gaze up. He wants to see the exact moment your eyes glaze over, the moment your breath hitches and tells the truth that your lips are trying so hard to hide.

When his hand slides up to cup your jaw, it isn't the gentle, comforting touch you're used to during a quiet movie on the couch. It's different. It's possessive. It’s a disciplined kind of dominance, a reminder that while he is the composed Zayne in the daylight, there is a much darker man caged behind that professional composure and you are the only one who knows how to let him out.

"You are close, aren't you, love?" he whispers, his lips hovering so close to yours that you can feel the heat of his breath.

You can barely manage a nod, your lungs feeling too small for the air you're trying to pull in. You're breathing directly into his slightly parted mouth.

"Cum for me, then," he exhales, a rare flush creeping up his cheeks, betraying just how much this is affecting him too.

He shifts his thigh, bouncing it up and down in a rhythmic motion that catches your clit perfectly.

The world tilts. You feel your eyes lose focus and you can't tell if it's the shaking of your limbs or the pounding of your heart that's making you tremble so violently.

"Zaynie... Zayne..."

His name becomes your entire vocabulary, there are no words left, only the sound of his name on your lips and the crashing sensation of finally, finally letting go.

You are flicking through a never ending stream of mindless clips and memes. It’s supposed to be a quiet afternoon, just a bit of scrolling to kill the time until Caleb comes back, but then there...

A VIDEO pops up. It’s not your usual aesthetic travel vlog or a cooking hack.

You freeze, your heart doing a weird, little skip in your chest. You know you should probably swipe past it, but your eyes are glued to the screen. It’s a girl, her lace panties completely drenched. The guy in the video isn't even taking them off, he’s just sliding the tip of his cock against her through the wet lace.

A sudden warmth blooms deep in your belly, spreading down until it feels like you’re melting into the cushions. God, you’ve been craving that. The teasing, the slow, agonizing buildup. You’ve spent so much money on delicate, expensive little sets, thinking maybe Caleb would appreciate the way they look on you, but hes a fucking dog. He doesn't do "slow." He usually just rips them or tugs them off with impatience, going straight for the heat of you. You just want him to play with you like that. To linger.

Your inhibitions are a little frayed from the visual, and before your brain can catch up to your impulse, your thumbs are flying. You tap the comment section, the screen a mess of unhinged messages from strangers, and you add your own little confession: “I really need him to play with me like this, but he prefers to eat it raw from the start😢”

You hit send, a tiny, embarrassed flush creeping up your neck, and immediately swipe the video away, feeling a bit silly for being so vulnerable to a bunch of internet strangers.

You toss the phone onto the cushion next to you a second later, completely oblivious to one mortifying detail. He’d logged into his account on your phone earlier when his own battery died, and you hadn't bothered to switch back.

In his office, the most dangerous man in Skyhaven is about to watch, in explicit detail, how you want to be ruined.

🪷 🪷 🪷 🪷 🪷 🪷 🪷 🪷 🪷 🪷 🪷 🪷 🪷 🪷 🪷 🪷

It turns out your assessment of him was spot on. The man is a fucking dog.

He hasn't taken your underwear off. That’s the part that’s driving you absolutely insane. The delicate lace is currently soaked, clinging to your pussy like a second, translucent layer of skin. He’s been working his tongue against the fabric, licks so long and heavy they feel like they’re reaching deep inside you. You’ve already been hit by two earth shattering, toe curling orgasms, your vision blurring every time his mouth finds your clit through the damp cloth. He hasn't even slowed down. If anything, it's getting worse.

“This is the reason I usually take off those pretty panties you wear” he presses his face into you, his broad tongue sweeping up in one stroke against your entire slit. You let out a choked, broken sound, fingers tangling desperately in his dark hair, trying to push him away just to catch your breath.

“Your scent is so fucking addictive,” he groans against your skin, “Especially after wearing them all day... knowing you've been walking around, smelling like this, just waiting for me.”

Then, he says something that makes your heart skip a beat not out of fear, but out of pure shock.

“You have no idea, do you?” he pants, nose brushing against your clit. “Last two years of High School... I spent them stroking my cock raw just to the smell of your panties. Thinking about you. Wishing you were right there."

Your vision blurs. Your hips jerk upward involuntarily as a third wave of pleasure crashes over you. You cum hard, your entire body shaking as you spill yourself directly onto his tongue, voice breaking into a high, desperate sob of his name.

He doesn't pull away. He just drinks you in, a satisfied smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth as he tastes exactly what he's been craving.

The moment your legs stop trembling he hooks his fingers into the soaked gusset and drags it to the side, baring your swollen folds and your pulsing clit, sensitive from his relentless attention.

He doesn't thrust in. He doesn't go for the full stretch you’ve been silently praying for. Instead, he slides the drooling tip of his cock over your slit. He isn't even entering you yet, he's just... slapping it against your clit, teasing the very edge of your tolerance.

You wanted the lace, the play, the slow burn... but God, you also wanted him to fuck you until you couldn't remember your name. You wanted the stretch.

But Caleb is a man who listens. Or rather, he's a man who has spent a lifetime studying every detail of your desires and right now he is giving you exactly what you asked for.

He leans down, his eyes dark, watching the way your face contorts with pleasure and frustration. He doesn't give you the release of a full thrust, he just feeds you the tip. He slides just the head of his cock into your pussy, a teasing invasion that barely makes a dent.

The reaction is instantaneous. Your walls react to him like a living thing, clenching around him, desperately trying to suck him deeper, to pull the rest of him in. The sensation is so perfectly matched that a synchronized moan breaks from both of you.

He pulls out just a fraction and then he thrusts the tip back in. Over and over again.

“Please,” you whimper, the word sounding pathetic even to your own ears. “Baby, please...”

You’re trying to force him to go deeper. But he’s in total control. His left hand is working the length of his cock, pumping with a desperate rhythm, while his right hand finds your clit.

His eyes are pinned to yours, watching every flicker of emotion on your face as if he’s trying to memorize the way you fall apart.

And then, the teasing ends.

His mushroom tip, still nestled just inside your entrance, begins to pulse. Warm, thick spurts of cum hit your sensitive walls, flooding the tiny space he’s occupied.

Your pussy clenches around the tip of his cock, trying to suck every last drop out of him while his hand squeezes the rest of his length, forcing the remainder of his seed into you, filling you up until his cum starts to leak out.

He finally collapses against you, the weight of his body pressing you deep into the mattress.

"You're so loud when you're happy," he murmurs before pressing a slow, lingering kiss to your temple, then your cheek, before finally settling his lips against yours in a kiss that tastes of salt and everything you are to him.

He pulls back just a bit, his gaze dropping to where the soaked lace of your panties still clings to your thighs, then back up to your eyes. There’s a flicker of that obsessive intensity returning to his expression.

"There isn't a single thing in this world you could ask for that wouldn't make me crawl to you. So don't hold back, Pips."

His head tilts towards you, shaggy hair shifting as his gaze travels over you with interest. You stare back at him blankly, brows furrowing when you take in the scruffy stubble covering his jaw and the weathered look to his skin. He had to be at least twice your age, but even you could admit the man was stupidly handsome. You’re only left with more questions than you started with as you continue to stare at him, feeling bewildered. The flex of his gloved fingers catch in your periphery, distracting you as you glance down to find him piecing together a disassembled gun with practiced ease, the parts set out neatly on your desk. 

His voice is gruff when he speaks. “You’re younger than I expected.”

“You… were expecting me?” you ask, irritation seeping into your voice, patience growing thin. “Who the fuck are you?”

The man’s brows raise at your blunt question, fingers still moving deftly, his eyes flickering with mirth. 

“You know, the FBI promised me a warm welcome,” he says, the chair swiveling as he turns to face you fully. “Can’t exactly say you’re delivering on that promise.”

“Yeah well, I didn’t make any promises,” you retort, giving him a tight smile, watching as he leans forward, sliding his newly assembled gun back into its holster. “Besides, you still haven’t answered my question.”

He sighs, leaning forward, his arm outstretched as he offers you his hand. “Leon–”

He’s interrupted by the Unit Chief calling out your name. Your eyes narrow when you see the case file in his hands, glancing back at Leon before you leave him, stepping inside the Unit Chief’s office, the door clicking shut behind you.

“We’ve got two new bodies,” he says, handing you the case file. “Unsub’s been crossing jurisdictions and the local police department is… well, concerned to say the least. Think you can handle it?”

You nod, flicking through the pages, nose scrunching when you see the images of the crime scene – each more grisly than the last. Mutilated bodies, blood smeared across the walls, messily carved symbols etched into the wooden door of the victims’ home.

“Seems ritualistic,” you murmur, reading through the reports. You glance up at him, clutching the case file to your chest protectively. “You’re letting me take this alone? I’m flattered.”

“Ah,” the Unit Chief shakes his head, nodding towards Leon. “Not exactly.”

“What?” you scoff, looking at Leon who gives you a smile and waves through the glass. You glare at him, yanking the blinds shut. “The old man?” you hiss, “he’ll only slow me down.”

The Unit Chief sighs, taking a seat in his chair. “That man is Leon Kennedy. DSO. It’s only a precaution. He’s more experienced than any team we could put together and after what happened with Agent Ashcroft, the FBI is trying to be more… mindful.”

“Ashcroft?” you echo, remembering the Rhodes Hill incident. “That’s– that’s because they sent an analyst into the field of all things. She must’ve been terrified. I’m a field agent, I can handle myself.”

“Agent Kennedy took an interest in the case,” he replies, hands clasping together. “If there’s bioterrorism involved, he’ll be useful. If there isn’t, use him as an idea board. The Unit Chief peers up at you, his expression stern. “My decision is final.”

Your jaw works irritatedly before you huff out a heavy breath, nodding reluctantly. “Yes, sir.”

Despite your sour mood and the urge to slam the door shut, you carefully close it, making your way back to Leon. You drag a spare chair towards your desk, sinking down onto it. Leon shakes his head when you offer him the case file.

“I’ve already read it.”

“Huh,” you stare at him, lips pursing while your eyes squint in recognition. “Leon Scott Kennedy,” you drawl, jabbing your finger at him, “you’re the Raccoon City cop. I’ve heard stories about you. Shouldn’t you be…” you gesture to him pointedly, “retired?”

“Ouch,” Leon says, his hand moving to press against his chest as he feigns being hurt. “You really don’t want me here, do you?”

“All I know is that you’re some big-shot DSO agent that I don’t need on my case, Leon,” you shoot back, flipping open the file to read the autopsy reports more thoroughly.

“The first case you’ve ever been in charge of,” Leon muses, his leather gloves creaking softly as he picks up a stray pen, putting it back into its place. “I’m impressed. Not everyone gets to be a lead on a case like this. Then again, you’re pretty good at this kinda thing.”

Was he buttering you up? He had to be. You don’t bother looking up as you mark a few things of interest off on the report.

“Thank you,” you murmur, scrawling a few notes down on a notepad before you pause, head turning to find him watching you carefully. “How did you know that?” you ask, a hint of suspicion in your voice, “we’ve never met before.”

Leon shifts, grunting softly as he tries to get more comfortable in your chair. “I took the liberty of reading your file,” he replies flippantly, his expression darkening as he tries to work the chair’s jammed lever. “Fuckin’ chair… how do you sit in this all day?”

“I don’t sit all day!” you snap, “and you read my file? I don’t care if you have the fucking clearance, you can’t just–” 

You’re interrupted by a loud snap, teeth gritting together when you realize he’s pushed the lever too hard – or perhaps, underestimated his own strength – the lever cleanly detached and now clutched in Leon’s gloved hand. 

“Sorry ‘bout that,” he murmurs, setting the lever down on your desk, patting it awkwardly. “I’ll buy you a new chair.”

You have half a mind to reach over and strangle him. You even consider doing it, until he grumbles under his breath and shrugs off that jacket of his, your murderous intent forgotten as soon as you catch sight of his thick biceps. With those things, Leon could probably strangle you and have no problem doing it. 

The sheer size of him renders you incapable of tearing your gaze away, your stare settled firmly on his shoulders, arms and chest – every part of him unfairly thick and muscular – his skin-tight shirt leaving you barely conscious of the way your throat was beginning to dry up. 

Your newly broken chair creaks once more under Leon’s weight, the sound piercing through the haze of your shameless staring. You blink uncertainly, taking another lingering peek at his biceps while he’s too busy trying to get comfortable. 

“We’d better get going,” you announce, grabbing the file before standing up abruptly. “The local PD is probably waiting for us.”

“We can take my car,” Leon says as he follows you into the elevator.

“I’m not in the habit of getting into cars with strange men,” you say testily, pressing a button before turning to face him. 

“And I’m not in the habit of babysitting FBI agents,” Leon drawls, leaning against the wall of the elevator, his arms crossing over his chest. 

The movement makes his shirt stretch tighter if anything, the fabric clinging to his broad forearms stubbornly, his watch glinting softly in the lighting. Your head tilts, eyes narrowing with irritation when you register his insult. 

“No one asked you to babysit,” you say, shaking your head. “I have a gun,” you take it out of the holster attached to your hip, pointing it at him, “and I’m smart. I’ll have this case wrapped up in a day or two, so stay the fuck outta my way.”

A smile pulls at his lips, the corners of his eyes crinkling as he lifts his hands in mock-surrender. The amusement in his eyes makes him look a little younger, your heart fluttering with delight for a moment before you tamp it down violently. 

When the elevator comes to a stop, Leon takes your bag before you can protest, his gloved fingers brushing yours briefly. You step after him, brows raising with begrudging respect when you see his car. Big-shot DSO agent, your mind supplies as he puts your bag into the backseat, gesturing for you to get in. You sigh heavily, opening your mouth to argue but Leon’s already disappeared inside his car, the engine rumbling to life. Muttering a curse under your breath, you get in his car, pulling the door shut firmly. 

–

“What do you mean there’s only one room available?”

“What’s there to understand?” Leon asks, dangling the singular key in front of your face. “Rooms are all booked out. They’re celebrating some special harvest festival according to the receptionist.”

“Harvest festival?” you echo, peering up at him. “You gotta be fucking kidding me. That’s like the perfect cover for our unsub.”

“I would help,” he murmurs, nudging your shoulder gently to get you to step aside, “but you wanted me to, what was it?” you roll your eyes when he snaps his fingers, pretending to think. “Ah yes, stay the fuck outta your way.”

You snatch the key hanging from Leon’s finger, ignoring his aggrieved sigh as you push past him and stomp back down the stairs to the reception, ready to demand another room. All the receptionist does is give you an apologetic smile and offer you a discount. You swallow your pride as you trudge back up the stairs, doing your best to avoid Leon’s eyes when you find him leaning beside the room’s door, his brows raising amusedly.

“I don’t want to hear it,” you mutter, slotting the key into the lock.

Leon shrugs non-committally. “I wasn’t going to say anything.”

The door is heavy as you push it open, Leon’s hand moving to keep it open for you as you step inside. You fumble in the darkness for the light switch at the same time Leon does, his strong, calloused fingers brushing over yours. It’s enough to have an unwanted shiver running down your spine, warmth blooming in your chest and a flush settling high on your cheeks despite your stubborn annoyance with him. 

“Fuck me.”

You follow his gaze when he swears, taking in the lit room. There’s a shitty couch in one corner, a tiny area with a coffee machine and table, and… a bed. 

“Okay,” you say slowly, staring at the one, pitiful bed you had been afforded. “Great! So I think you should go and chew out the receptionist.”

“I’m not doing that,” Leon scoffs, bending down to take off his boots, his gun clattering against the table as he sets it down. “I can take the couch.”

You look back at the couch, brows furrowing. “That’s really nice of you and all, Leon,” you begin, stepping further inside the small room, “but I don’t think you’re exactly going to fit.”

“You care about me or something?” he drawls, looking over at you with a smile as he opens his duffle bag to pull out a towel and a set of clothes. 

“Get over yourself. I’m just worried about your…” you gesture towards him vaguely, “potentially geriatric bones.”

Leon chokes on a laugh, his brows shooting up. “Geriatric? I’m 49. My bones are in perfect working order.”

“Right, nevermind. You did break my chair.”

“I did you a favor,” he retorts, slinging the towel around the back of his neck. “It was a hunk of junk.”

“It was in perfect working condition!” you scoff, crossing your arms over your chest.

“Do you always defend inanimate objects with such passion?” Leon muses, stepping closer until he’s only a few inches away, head cocking to the side.

“When they’re close to my heart, yes.”

“A chair is close to your heart?”

You decide to double down. “Yes, Leon.”

“Huh,” he nods slowly, clicking his tongue. “You got attachment issues?”

“Did my file not tell you that?” you smile up at him snarkily.

Leon grins, shaking his head. “I’m afraid I skipped over your psych eval.”

He turns, disappearing into the bathroom. You glare at the door and huff out a sigh, removing your shoes before grabbing the case file and flopping down on the bed tiredly. You flick through the pages absentmindedly, settling on the symbols carved onto the door. You hadn’t seen anything remotely like it before and the database search you’d done earlier in the car had come up empty. 

“Fuck,” you mutter under your breath, glancing towards the bathroom.

You’d exhausted all your options save for one. A reluctant groan leaves you as you stand, approaching the bathroom, leaning against the doorframe. 

“Hey, Leon?” you call out when you hear the spray of water come to a stop. “I… might have been a little difficult earlier,” your voice sounds strained, “but if you could maybe take another look at the file, then I would… you know, probably appreciate it or whatever.” You swallow, face twisting with discomfort. “Please?”

Leon laughs, the rich, deep sound seeping through the crevices. “Don’t hurt yourself,” he says, sounding entirely too entertained by your attempt to ask him for help. “I’ll take a look for you.”

You frown at the door, jolting when it swings open suddenly. A few wisps of steam escape, and you blink owlishly, finding yourself face-to-face with his bare chest. It’s hard to keep your gaze from wandering over his exposed skin, a light dusting of hair covering his chest coupled with a few scars. A strange, gurgling noise escapes you when he shifts back to grab his towel, his broad, muscled back now visible to you. You sway, moving to grip the doorframe, knees feeling weak. 

“You okay?” Leon murmurs, glancing over at you as he ruffles his damp hair, brows furrowing.

“Yes!”

Your voice is shrill, pitching up awkwardly until you clear your throat and give him an equally awkward smile. 

“Perfectly fine,” you clarify, this time sounding breathless as you try and fail to not look down, inhaling sharply when you see his defined abdomen and the dark, coarse hair below his navel, disappearing into the waistband of his sweatpants.

“It’s just that you look…” you trail off, fingers itching to reach out and squeeze and touch. Hot. Attractive. Fuckable. Really fucking fuckable for a 49-year-old man. “Like shit,” you settle on, the words tumbling out of you in a strained manner as you force yourself to meet his eyes. “You– you look like shit, Leon.” You pat his shoulder jerkily. “Unfortunately.”

“Right, sure,” he says, his head tilting as he stares down at you, unconvinced. “You really know how to flatter a man.”

“I’m charming like that,” you say, hands clasping behind your back. 

Leon hums, and you stare back up at him, gaze flitting away for one moment to get a glimpse of his left hand. No ring. Perfect. You pinch yourself as soon as the thought comes.

“You gonna let me out?”

“What?”

When Leon gestures towards you, you realize you’re still standing in front of him, blocking the way out. You move to the side sheepishly, pushing the case file into his chest quickly before locking yourself in the bathroom.

You let out an embarrassed groan once you’re in the shower, burying your face into your hands. What the fuck was wrong with you? There was no way that all it took was some dorky, attractive, older man to have you feeling out of sorts. A dull ache flares between your thighs at the thought of Leon, fingers sneaking past your folds to rub at your traitorously swollen clit. It doesn’t take much, just the image of his body pressed against yours, his arms wrapped around you, mouth pressed against your ear while he grunts–

You cum with a muffled whine. Scrubbing the rest of your mortification off of your skin with soap, you dry off, slipping into a pair of sleep shorts and a hoodie. You pad out of the bathroom to find Leon sitting at the table – thankfully with a shirt on – a few containers of food littered across its surface while he’s hunched over his laptop.

“Hey,” he greets when he sees you, gaze travelling over you briefly before turning his laptop towards you. “I had a look. Your guy might be part of a cult,” Leon brings up another image, showing it to you, “they’re not the exact same, but similar enough. Might be worth looking into.”

“Cult? That’s fun,” you murmur, dropping into the chair beside him, watching as he runs his hair through his hair. “Thank you for taking a look, and the food.”

His brows raise. “Those might be the most sincere words to come out of you today.”

“Shut up,” you say, although a small smile pulls at your lips.

Dinner is quick as you both make a plan for tomorrow – visit the local PD, check out the crime scene and investigate a few related areas of interest. Leon settles down on the couch soon after, adjusting his pillow a few times before grunting as he tries to get comfortable. You were right, he doesn’t fit. He looks so awfully crammed, knees bent and back hunched at an awkward angle that even you feel bad about it.

“Leon,” you say exasperatedly, “we can both fit on the bed. That can’t be good for your back.”

“This is fine,” he replies stubbornly, shifting onto his back uncomfortably, arm hanging off the edge. “I’ve slept in worse places.”

“I can’t deal with you complaining about your back tomorrow,” you say, gesturing towards the bed. You lay down, squirming to the side to make space. “See? You can have the other side.”

“You sure your boyfriend won’t mind?”

“What?” you ask confusedly, sitting up on your elbows. “I don’t have a boyfriend.”

Leon grunts as he gets to his feet, dropping down onto the bed without further protests. It’s a tight fit, but you both manage, a sliver of space left between your bodies. You stare up at the ceiling, lips pursing, feeling antsy. 

“Did you…” you glance over at him, feeling entirely too bold for your own good, “did you ask because you were interested?”

He stares back, brows raising. “Interested in what?”

“In what?” you repeat irritably, “are you seriously playing dumb?”

Leon smiles back at you, shrugging lazily. “I have no idea what you’re talking about. Maybe if you clarified what it was you wanted from me–”

“I don’t want anything from you!” you sputter, flushing hot. The bed creaks as you flop onto your side, facing away from him. “You’re old and weird and infuriating and–”

“I feel like you’re avoiding my better qualities.”

“Fuck you.”

“Yeah, I know you want to, baby.”

It’s a miracle your neck doesn’t snap with how fast you turn to look at him. 

“May I remind you that this,” you gesture between your bodies wildly, “is a professional relationship?”

“Yeah?” Leon murmurs, raising his brows, “is that why you got off in the shower? Rubbed one out to make yourself feel better ‘bout liking me?” He looks unfazed when your jaw slackens, tapping the wall behind his head. “Thin walls.”

“That is none of your business.” You lean closer, eyes narrowing in an attempt to hide your growing embarrassment. “HR is going to have a fucking field day with you.”

You flop back onto your side, trying to put some distance between you, but there’s such a little space on the bed that you end up half-dangling over the edge. Leon doesn’t say anything, the silence between you thick and stretching on uncomfortably until you sit up, turning to face him.

He stares back at you, the bed creaking softly as he shifts, folding an arm under his head. His shirt stretches tight, thick bicep flexed and the sight is enough to make you lose your last nerve. 

Your hand cups his jaw, head dipping to press a kiss to his lips. It’s meant to be quick, fleeting, to get whatever the fuck you have bottled up inside of you. Leon doesn’t seem to agree as he returns your kiss roughly, stubble scratching against your skin, his hand moving to cup the back of your head, blocking your escape.

“Where’re you going?” he murmurs, lips brushing over yours.

“This–” you whine softly when he kisses the underside of your jaw, fingers tightening into his shirt. “This is a bad idea.”

“I happen to be full of those.”

“You’re so fucking corny,” you groan, mouth dropping open as he trails kisses along your jaw lazily.

His lips are soft, calloused fingers massaging your scalp whilst an arm slides around your waist to pull you into his side. Another whine escapes you, head tipping towards him as his hand wanders under the hem of your hoodie, hot skin drifting over your waist and higher, his thumb grazing the curve of your breast.

“And you’re a fucking brat,” Leon says, watching your expressions closely as you whine and pant, pulling him towards you for another kiss, arms wrapping around his neck tightly. 

He groans into your mouth, lips slotting over yours feverishly, his hand squeezing at the back of your neck. You squirm, throwing your leg over his hip, mewling when he licks into your mouth. Leon’s a good kisser, you think dazedly as his tongue strokes against yours in a filthy motion that has heat blistering in your stomach. His hand moves, circling around the front of your throat, squeezing gently.

You blink up at him hazily when he pulls away, lips slick with spit and pupils blown out. A smile spreads across your lips as you arch into him, hands sliding up over his strong forearm, fingers wrapping around his wrist.

“You can squeeze harder,” you whisper, pressing his fingers into your skin harder, gasping when he grants your request, eyes rolling back as the pressure around your throat constricts.

“That’s a little fucked up, baby,” Leon breathes out, watching as you writhe and suck in a ragged breath, his brows furrowing. 

His brows raise when you glare at him, leaning over you to let his nose nudge against yours, kissing you gently before he tightens his grip a little more, drawing out a choked noise from you. There’s a heady fog settling over your mind the more he keeps you from barely breathing, something slow and syrupy creeping into the crevices of your brain as he presses a kiss to your cheek. He’s letting go before long though, brushing the pad of his thumb over your lips roughly. 

“I can handle it,” you mumble hoarsely, head tipping as he massages your throat, huffing out a breath when he laughs against your cheek.

“Yeah?” Leon rasps, his gaze darkening when you suck his thumb into your mouth, tongue swirling around the digit needily, head lifting as you feign bobbing your head. “What, you want me to put you in your place or something? Is that what you need?”

The idea is appealing. You’ve been strung tight for months, between work and the never-ending cases that were stacking up on your desk, you hadn’t exactly gotten much time to yourself, to wind-down from the constant wear and tear brought about by the commitments demanded from you by the FBI.

“Maybe,” you say slowly, looking away. “I don’t know. I guess I just want some… attention or whatever.”

“From me?” Leon says, his fingers sliding over your jaw to guide your gaze back to him. “Your way of asking for attention is acting bratty?”

“I don’t know!” you sputter, pushing at his chest, feeling shy. 

“Oh, that’s cute,” he coos, smiling down at you. “Don’t worry, sweetheart, I’ll give you all the attention you fuckin’ need.”

You squeak when he moves suddenly, sitting up before he’s dragging you towards him, maneuvering you until you're bent over his lap. A whimper is punched out of you when he squeezes the fat of your ass through your shorts, lashes fluttering when each consecutive grope grows rougher until it stings lightly.

“Guess if you’re into choking, you should be into something like this,” Leon murmurs thoughtfully, squeezing your ass greedily. “‘s been a while since I’ve done this with someone.”

“Since you’ve– ah– groped someone?” you ask, hips wiggling when his touches disappear, ass lifting involuntarily to chase after his touch.

“Kissed, touched,” he sucks in a sharp breath, “groped… fucked.”

You glance at him over your shoulder, brows raising curiously. “Can you still get it up?”

A sharp yelp escapes you when his hand comes down on your ass, hard and punishing. It stings, the pain spreading out over your ass unforgivingly. You try and glare at him but his hand is coming down again, landing another heavy spank to your other ass cheek. 

“It was just a question!” you protest, squeaking when he spanks you again and again, eyes squeezing shut as the red-hot pain spreads over your ass, the ache in your pussy beginning to burrow deeper.

“I know,” Leon murmurs, his fingers hooking into the waistband of your shorts. “Do you want me to stop?”

You pout into the sheets, voice quiet. “No.”

He huffs out a soft laugh, tapping your hip. You lift them, letting him tug your shorts down, mewling softly when he squeezes your ass, his fingers dipping past your panties, stretching them before letting them snap back against your skin.

“Cute panties,” he says, his hand rubbing over your stinging ass, fingers sneaking between your thighs, brushing over the drenched, ruined fabric. “Too bad you’ve made them all messy, baby. So fucking wet for me. You like my hand on your ass?”

“Yes,” you grumble, glaring at the wall. “Stop asking stupid questions, you jerk.”

You jolt when he spanks you, letting out an agitated breath when his hand palms over ass before coming down again in several repeated motions. A whimper escapes you when pleasure bleeds through your body, teeth sinking into your lower lip when the pace of Leon’s slaps quicken. It hurts but feels so good all the same, your thighs trying to squeeze together with how uncomfortably wet your pussy is becoming.

“Don’t– fuck! Don’t stop,” you mewl, arching your back, tears prickling at your eyes. “Leon– please ah–”

“Please?” Leon echoes, “look at that, you’re back to being polite. Good fuckin’ girl.”

You whine in agreement, nodding dazedly as you look back at him, unfocused eyes finding his lopsided smile, heart fluttering in your chest. You reach back for him, hand fighting his shirt, lips parting, eyes slipping shut when he leans towards you, head dropping to kiss you deeply, his fingers squeezing at your ass gently.

“You gonna stop being a brat? Hm? You wanna be my good girl, baby?” Leon rasps against your lips, stealing another soft kiss, his hands still palming at the blistering flesh of your ass, squeezing every now and again to force a pitiful whine out of you. He clicks his tongue when you slur, nose nudging against yours gently. “I asked you a question, sweetheart. Use your words for me.”

“Yes,” you manage out, pushing your ass back into his greedy, awaiting palm, a few stray tears dripping down your cheeks. “‘m gonna be– nghh– ‘m gonna be your good girl, Leon.”

“Yeah?” he breathes out, voice sounding rough as his thumb strokes over your cheek, wiping away the tears. “My sweet, pretty girl.”

“It– it hurts,” you babble, jerking in his lap when he rains an unsuspecting slap down onto your ass, teary eyes rolling back when his fingers slip between your thighs suddenly, rubbing at your swollen, aching clit through the dampened fabric of your panties. “Leon– ah fuck!”

“I know it does,” he soothes, pressing harder against your clit until your legs kick up, “but you asked for this, baby. Remember? You came up to me all pretty and said you wanted attention.”

“Stop being mean,” you hiccup, leaning into his palm when he offers it to you, nuzzling into the warm, rough skin.

“Mean?” Leon whispers, “‘m taking care of you, sweetheart.” He hums as he wipes away the saliva beading at the corner of your mouth, spreading it over your lips before his thumb presses down more firmly, a grunt of satisfaction leaving him when your lips part obediently. “There you go,” he breathes out, “suck on my thumb while I play with this needy, little pussy, baby.”

You whine, fingers clinging to his wrist as you suck lazily, tongue swirling around his thumb. His fingers rub against your wet panties, drawing out a soft mewl from you as he pets your clothed pussy.

“You can take them off,” you mumble around his thumb, biting gently before sucking again, happy to have your mouth occupied. “Want you to touch me.”

“I kinda like ‘em on,” Leon murmurs, his fingers grabbing at your thighs before they move, slipping past the waistband. “Besides, I can touch you like this.”

Your eyes flutter shut when his fingers glide through your sticky, puffy folds, breath hitching while Leon groans when he feels your wet pussy. His fingers are thicker than yours, slipping over the soft skin before the calloused pads find your clit. Your thighs twitch, toes curling when he starts to rub your clit using slow, measured circles.

“Is this how you do it?” he asks, leaning down to kiss your cheek. “Did you play with your clit til you came in the shower?”

“Mhm,” you nod, peering up at him, lashes fluttering. You lap at his thumb, tongue flicking against the tip playfully, letting him watch. 

“Fuck,” Leon rumbles, his thumb brushing over your bottom teeth before rubbing against your tongue. “So fuckin’ gorgeous, sweetheart. Look at you.”

You smile, lips wrapping back around his thumb soon after, eyes rolling back when his fingers leave your clit to play with your fluttering hole. A long whine leaves you when he circles your hole teasingly, the tip of a finger pressing in briefly before he draws them back out to rub at your clit.

“Put ‘em in,” you mewl, hips beginning to roll against his hand, one of your hands squirming underneath you to try and move his wrist. “Leon,” you grumble, pulling his thumb out of your mouth when he tries to press against your tongue again. “Put ‘em in.”

“What happened to being polite?” he muses, dipping his finger in again and then pulling it out. 

“If you put ‘em in, I’ll be polite,” you reply, blinking up at him sweetly, a smug smile on your face.

Leon laughs, watching as your mouth drops open when he finally inches one finger inside of your clenching pussy, beginning to slowly fuck it in and out of you.

“Go on then,” he coaxes, “beg all pretty for me, sweetheart. Tell me what you want.”

“P– nghh– please fuck me with your fingers,” you whimper, fingers moving to rub at your throbbing clit. “Please, Leon? Want– fuck– want another finger.”

He doesn’t make you beg any further, sinking another finger into you. You shove your face into the sheets, hips wiggling back to meet the thrust of his fingers, your fingers quickening their pace against your clit. 

“Taking me so good,” Leon murmurs, using his other hand to spread you open. You flush, feeling entirely too exposed as he stares down at your pussy stretching around his fingers. “Pretty fuckin’ pussy just sucking my fingers in.”

Your walls flutter around his fingers at that, hand reaching out for him blindly, fingers managing to curl into his shirt. You yank him down, mumbling something incoherent around his lips before dragging him down further, lips pressing against his. You moan into his mouth when he starts thrusting his fingers in and out of you harder, curling them just right. 

“Leon,” you pant against his mouth, biting his lower lip before tugging it. Leon groans, his fingers scissoring before you moan again, lapping at his lips. His eyes roll back when your lips find his neck, head tipping to bare more of it to you until you manage to move, crawling up onto his lap, his fingers slipping out of you momentarily.

His back hits the bed when you push at his chest, his fingers finding your pussy again, thumb rubbing at your clit while his fingers sink back inside. You shove your face into the crook of his neck, breathing him in with a mewl, pawing at his firm chest as you let your hips drop, fucking yourself on his fingers.

“You gonna do that on my cock?” Leon moans, his fingers tangling in your hair when you kiss his neck feverishly, teeth scraping against his throat, the action enough to draw a hoarse growl from him. “Gonna ride my cock like you’re riding my fingers, gorgeous?”

“Yeah,” you murmur against his neck, latching onto his skin and sucking, all with the intent of leaving a mark of your own, like he had done on your ass. “Wanna– ahhh– wanna ride your cock, Leon.”

“Fuck,” he mutters, an arm clamping around your waist to hold you flush against him, his thumb pressing against your clit harder, the lewd noises of your pussy growing louder with every snap of his wrist. “You’re gonna drive me fucking insane.”

You smile against his throat, kissing the underside of his jaw when his throat bobs uncertainly.

“We haven’t even fucked yet,” you whisper, fingers slipping into his hair, pulling at the strands to make him expose his neck further, drawing out a pretty whine from his lips. “Think you can handle me?”

Your smile fades when his fingers pull out of you suddenly, a sharp yelp leaving you when he grabs your hips and manhandles you onto your stomach, the fabric of your panties tearing loudly as he rips them off of you and pulls your ass into the air. 

“Those were comfy!” you protest, glaring at him. “Leon?” you jolt when he slaps your ass hard, pulling your asscheeks apart. “Leon, wait– ah fuck!”

You squeal when he buries his face between your thighs, lurching forward unsteadily on your knees, hands grabbing out for the pillows. He’s ruthless, tongue gliding through your warm folds, drinking down your slick with a rough growl, his hands squeezing at your hips, tugging you back onto his mouth when you try and squirm away. The stubble on his cheeks and jaw isn’t helping, scratching against your skin deliciously as he nips and spits onto your cunt.

“Where the fuck do you think you’re going?” he snaps lowly, biting punishingly into your thigh when you try kicking at his chest. “Huh?”

“I didn’t–” your leg jerks when Leon bites the back of your thigh, fingers curling into the pillows tightly when he bites the fat of your ass soon after, tongue laving over the bite.

“You didn’t what?” Leon asks, thumb finding your swollen bud, his tongue drifting over the inner crease of your thigh, barely shy of your aching pussy. “You didn’t mean it, is that it, baby?” he drawls, wet fingers rubbing over your pussy. 

“Yes!” you choke out, hand slapping against the pillow when he sucks your clit into his mouth lazily, his nose pressing into your pussy, rough hands massaging your ass. “I– nghhhh– I didn’t mean it, Leon.”

“Oh, I think you did,” he sighs heavily, feigning disappointment. He clicks his tongue condescendingly. “I thought you were being my sweet girl, but turns out you’ve just got one hell of a mean streak. Just can’t help being a bit bratty, can you, pretty baby?”

“I’m not a brat,” you wail, shoving your face into the pillows the same time he presses his face into your pussy.

You don’t think anyone’s touched you like this before, let alone used their mouth like this. Leon’s strong, his hands clamping down onto you to keep you in place as he flicks his tongue over your clit, teeth scraping over the sensitive bud. You drool messily, whimpering and whining as he laps at your cunt, his tongue prodding against your hole.

“Oh fuck,” you whisper, glancing behind you, eyes wide to find Leon looking at you hungrily, his gaze dark and feral. You swallow nervously, thighs twitching when he kisses the curve of your ass. “Leon, Leon– oh fuck!”

A squeal escapes you when he presses his tongue into your clenching cunt, eyes squeezing shut so tightly that you feel dizzy, hips pressing back needily to meet the movements of his tongue. He fucks it into you, head tilting as he holds you against his mouth, a hand moving under your hoodie to stroke over the length of your back. 

You arch, mewling, hips swaying dazedly as he caresses your pussy with his tongue. A soft, ragged moan leaves you when his mouth moves, returning to your clit, toes curling when he presses his fingers back into you.

“You sound so pretty falling apart on my tongue,” Leon murmurs, rubbing his tongue over your clit with a groan, his fingers crooking inside of you. “You gonna cum, baby? Pretty pussy’s clenching around my fingers.”

“Nghhh–” you slur into the pillows, trying and failing to keep your eyes open, your lids drooping shut when his fingers press against that spot inside of you, his fingers rubbing over it with just the right amount of pressure. 

His stubble brushes against the backs of your thighs, lips soft as he trails hot kisses all over your skin. Your hips jerk when he fucks his fingers into you harder and faster, the pressure in your lower stomach growing greater. When his mouth latches back onto you, you moan loudly, knees beginning to buckle.

“Fuck! ‘m gonna cum– ‘m gonna fucking cum, Leon,” you whine, hugging the pillow to your chest, a sharp breath of air leaving you.

“Cum then, sweetheart,” he whispers, “be a good girl and cum for me.”

You cry out when he sucks harder on your clit, his face pressing harder into you, nose buried into your pussy. Leon groans loudly, the vibration shooting up through you, making your pussy clench around his fingers tightly. Your body trembles, knees giving out finally when his tongue flicks at your clit, another moan tearing its way out of your throat as you cum.

“That’s it,” Leon snarls, managing to hold you up despite your arms feeling rubber. “Cum just like that. Good girl. Good fuckin’ girl.”

You whimper, still twitching as he laps at your cunt gently, tongue sweeping over your folds as he slurps down your slick, his thumb rubbing against your clit to draw out the final waves of your orgasm while his fingers slow their pace inside of you before pulling out completely.

Leon’s body is hot when he hovers above you, his hands brushing away the sweaty hair clinging to your skin, head dipping to press soft kisses to your cheek, his stubble oddly soothing as it rubs along your skin.

“You okay?” he asks softly, hands drifting down over your back, squeezing your waist soothingly, hands petting at your still reddened and slightly bruised ass. “I guess I’ve been a little pent up.”

“A little?” you murmur, fingers sliding into his hair when he kisses your neck. “I think you’re more than a little pent up, Leon.”

He grunts in agreement, dropping another kiss to your neck before laying down on his back, letting out a heavy breath. 

“I haven’t exactly had time to relax,” he sighs, “too many fucking responsibilities ever since Raccoon City.”

You hum, sitting up, arms still a little wobbly. Leon watches you, his eyes tracking your every movement. You smile at him, eyes twinkling, fingers hooking into the hem of your hoodie before you pull it up over your head, tossing it to the side. He sucks in a sharp breath when he sees your breasts, hand reaching out before he pauses mid-reach. You take his hand, pulling it toward your breast, smile growing wider when he squeezes.

“Are my tits helping you relax?” you ask innocently, hands landing on his chest as you swing a leg over his hip, straddling him.

“Guess so,” Leon says, his other hand joining the fray, squeezing your untouched breast. “Pretty fuckin’ tits, sweetheart.”

Your eyes flutter shut as you let him play with your tits, distracted momentarily by the way his fingers move – pinching and tugging, thumb sweeping over your hardened nipples. It’s when you shift on his lap that you become aware of how hard his cock is, hips rolling against the clothed length.

“To answer your question,” he murmurs, tracing the curve of your breast, gently cupping one in his hand, thumb stroking over the soft flesh. “I can, in fact, still get it up.”

You snort, unable to stop the laugh that bubbles out of you. Leon grins back, his head tilting as he peers up at you, hands sliding down over your sides to grab your waist.

“I didn’t doubt you for a second,” you breathe out, voice laced with amusement, your hands beginning to pull at his shirt. He helps you, lifting his arms so that you’re able to pull it up over his head easily. “You do look pretty good for a 49-year-old.”

You lean forward, kissing him gently before you trail kisses down his neck and over his chest, lips brushing over his thick pecs. Leon sighs, his eyes slipping shut, a hand cupping the back of your head as you continue to lay his skin with kisses. You kiss his scars tentatively, squirming lower to kiss his abdomen, tongue darting out to trace the defined ridges of his abdomen.

“You tryna make me cum?” Leon rasps, half-lidded eyes watching you as you bite at his side playfully.

“That is a priority, yes,” you say, following the trail of coarse hair that lies under his navel and the thick bulge laying further down.

His hands in your hair tighten when you nuzzle into his sweatpants, nose brushing against the fabric. When you breathe in, you can smell him, all heady and musky and arousal is seeping into your bones once more, mouth sucking at his clothed cock.

“As much fuck– I would like that,” he grumbles, hips bucking when you mouth at him again, spit dampening his sweatpants, “I’ll cum if you put your mouth on me, baby.”

“Just one suck,” you mumble stubbornly, pulling his sweatpants and boxers down. 

Your eyes widen when his cock bobs heavily, struggling with its own weight. You swallow, blinking dazedly as you take in the length and the thickness and the heavy balls that sit underneath. The tip is flushed angrily, darkened and dripping with globs of pre-cum that don’t seem to stop, his cock twitching when you lean towards it slowly.

“It’s big,” you whisper, glancing up at Leon before your eyes find his cock again, pussy beginning to throb as you imagine the stretch. “Really fucking big. You’re– you’re that hard for me?”

Leon grunts, his hand wrapping around his cock, giving it a quick pump. “Yeah, just for you, sweet girl.” He pumps it again, holding his cock towards you. “You said you wanted a taste, go ‘head, pretty baby.”

You don’t need any further invitation, licking your lips hungrily, tongue lolling out. You drag your tongue along the hot length of his cock, feeling the smooth skin and saltiness of his pre-cum. Leon groans, his hips bucking again, another glob of pre-cum dribbling out. You lean forward just in time, catching it on your tongue before your lips wrap around his thick cock.

“Fuck– fuck, baby,” Leon moans, twitching underneath you as you bob your head, beginning to suck. “Your mouth– hah– fuckkk.”

You peer up at him, eyes glittering as you let your tongue swirl around the head before you pull off, pressing a wet, sticky kiss to the tip of his cock. 

“Don’t do that,” he mutters hoarsely, shaking his head, “don’t fucking kiss my cock like you’re fucking in love with it.”

You do it again, brows raising when his cock twitches, looking over to find his hand clenched into the sheets, knuckles nearly white. 

“I think you like it,” you tease, moving to wrap your hand around his cock, stroking it slowly. “And… I think your cock likes it too.”

“Fuck me,” he growls, head tipping back when you take his cock back into your mouth, sucking and slurping lewdly. He groans and grunts through it, eyes peeling open to watch you swallow around his cock, your pupils blown wide with lust.

When his head lolls to the side, you take your chance, head dipping before he can stop you to suck one of his balls into your mouth. He tastes so dizzyingly nice, spit beginning to leak from the corners of your mouth. Leon’s cock kicks and you land one last kiss to the tip before he’s pulling you up towards him, muffling your whine with a messy kiss.

“Wanna ride it,” you mumble against his lips, worming closer, breasts squishing up against his firm chest.

Leon doesn’t answer, too busy tipping your head up by your chin to kiss you again, stealing your breath. You paw at his chest, fingers finally latching onto his thick biceps. Squeezing, you moan into his mouth when his tongue strokes against yours, arms wrapping around his neck as he pulls back up onto his lap. 

Your hips roll, bare pussy gliding along the length of his cock, the tip catching on your newly swollen clit, making you twitch. He refuses to let up with the kisses, groaning into your mouth when you pull at his hair, feverishly swallowing up every little noise that bleeds from your throat.

“Yeah?” he breathes out finally, head tipping back for a moment as he catches his breath, calloused hands squeezing at your hips. “You wanna bounce on it? Hm? This needy pussy of yours need a fat cock to keep it happy, baby?”

“Mhm,” you nod, biting your lip, arousal blistering over your skin, lust beginning to cloud your thoughts once more. You press closer, lips brushing against his ear as though telling him a secret. “It needs your fat cock, Leon.”

“C’mere,” he mutters roughly, moving you up onto your knees, hand grasping the base of his cock to hold it steady for you. “Sink down on it, sweetheart.”

You shift, lowering yourself slowly, letting out a muffled gasp when you start to take his cock, the head of it already beginning to stretch out your pussy as it bullies its way past your entrance.

“‘s just so fucking thick,” you moan softly, peering up at him.

Leon hums, his thumb stroking over your lower lip while his other hand strokes over your hip soothingly.

“You got it, baby,” he smiles, dropping a kiss to the corner of your mouth. “You took my fingers and my mouth so fucking good. Only got a few inches left, yeah?”

Your brows furrow as you bite your lip harder, gasping when you finally take all of him, pussy fluttering around his cock wildly in an attempt to adjust to his sheer size. You feel so full, so much so that you think you can feel him in your stomach.

“Good fuckin’ girl,” Leon whispers, his arms wrapping around your waist as he leans against the headboard of the bed. “Take what you need from me, sweetheart. ‘s all yours.”

“Leon,” you mewl, dragging out the syllables of his name, whimpering against his mouth when he kisses your cheek. “I… I can’t,” you say, flushing hot, “it’s too big, I don’t–”

“Good girls don’t give up,” he breathes out, hands moving to squeeze at your waist, “not to mention you were so headstrong earlier. Where’s that attitude now, baby?”

“You fucked it outta me,” you retort poutily, shoving your face into the crook of his neck. 

“And to think you said I was old and weird– shit, baby–”

You relish in the loud, guttural groan he lets out when the walls of your pussy squeeze around him. Nuzzling closer, you kiss the spot under his ear before your hips move, rocking and rolling in a lazy rhythm as you get used to his size. 

“I’m not giving up,” you murmur, glancing up at him as he watches you, head tipping back when his hand moves up over your breasts, slipping between them to wrap around your throat. 

“Atta girl.”

Leon squeezes and you moan, grabbing his wrist as your knees dig into the bedding, hips beginning to rise and fall. He pulls you into a sloppy kiss, growling into your mouth, panting as his tongue slips over yours messily, his thumb prying your mouth open. You pant, tongue lolling out as you ride his cock, the bed creaking from your motions as you fuck yourself on his cock needily.

“Fuckin’ gorgeous,” Leon rasps, watching you with dark eyes, his hair messy and hanging over one side of his face. “So fuckin’ gorgeous, sweetheart.”

You smile at him dopily, breath slowing when his hand tightens, starting to cut off your intake of oxygen. His nose nudges against yours, breath hot as he kisses you, lips working against yours eagerly until his grip loosens, letting you suck in a breath.

“You trust me that much?” Leon asks, smiling back at you with a feral look in his eyes when your hand wraps around his throat. “You think that’s a good idea, sweetheart? You wanna choke me out while you ride my cock?”

“Oh, you can take it,” you whisper, tightening your grip. Your movements don’t slow, thighs smacking against his as you bounce on his lap, your hand landing on his shoulder for leverage as you drop yourself down on his cock harder, setting a firmer rhythm. “Heard you– ahh– kicked ass back at Rhodes Hill.”

He grins, eyes glinting, a ragged noise leaving him when you pant into his mouth, licking at his lips. 

“Yeah, I still hah– got it,” Leon muses, hands squeezing at your ass. 

Your brows furrow when his grip tightens, a moan punched out of you when he grips your hips starting to lift you, using you as he fucks you on his cock. 

“That’s it,” he drawls, controlling the rhythm and you, his forehead pressing against yours as he jerks you up and down his thick, throbbing cock. “Take my fat fuckin’ cock, baby. Cute, little pussy’s just swallowing me up.”

You whimper, hand sliding to cup the nape of his neck, your bodies moving together as his cock carves its way through your pussy, nestling against that spot before it glides out and drives back in. His chest is pressed against yours, firm muscle pressed against your soft breasts, the coarse thatch of hair at the base of his cock rubbing along your clit. 

“Harder,” you whisper, eyes finding his, hips starting to sway back to meet his thrusts when he plants his feet into the bed, knees bending as he fucks his cock up into you. “Want it– nghh– harder, Leon.”

“That might strain my joints, baby,” he says softly, smiling up at you when you huff out an annoyed breath. “What? You were concerned about my bones.”

“Fuck your bones,” you groan, pushing at his chest, squirming off of his lap onto your hands and knees, ass swaying up into the air. You look back at him over your shoulder, hand worming between your thighs to spread yourself open for him, wet, dripping pussy all on display for him. “‘m so empty,” you whisper, voice lilting. “Fill me up?” You bat your lashes, “please?”

Leon mutters a low curse, his chest heaving as he rises up onto his knees, using your ankle to pull you toward him, his hand stroking his cock with uneven motions, knuckles tightening when he sees the slick webbing between your puffy folds and clinging to your thighs.

You’re half-expecting some witty remark, but all Leon does is brush a rough kiss to your shoulder, grunting into your ear before he’s notching the head of his cock against your aching pussy and driving his cock into you.

“Too– fuck! Too fast!” you squeal when he starts thrusting hard and fast, the bed beginning to rock with every snap of his hips.

“But you said you were empty,” Leon rumbles into your ear, “‘m just filling up this needy, pretty fucking cunt for you, sweetheart. So stop squirming,” his hand clamps down on your hips, “and fucking take it.”

You wail into the room, thrashing under him when his hips smack into your ass, balls slapping against your throbbing clit, the lewd noises echoing through the small space. He draws moan after moan out of you, his cock pounding into your pussy unforgivingly. You think you can feel it in your throat, his fat cock sliding through your gripping, fluttering walls. 

Leon’s body is draping over your back, his mouth settling right next to your ear as he grunts and groans. Your toes curl, back arching when he pushes down on the small of your back, his breathing ragged as he grinds his impossibly thick cock into you.

“Fuck,” you mewl, spying his flexed bicep near your head, drool pooling into your mouth. Your head tilts as the muscle bulges, all inhibitions lost when you follow the line of his arm to stare hazily at his veiny forearm. You lean towards his bicep, teeth sinking into the thick muscle with a moan.

Leon’s breath hitches, his hips stuttering for a moment when he realizes you’ve bit him before his thrusts start up again, his hot, heavy cock pounding back into your needy pussy. You lick his bicep, tongue laving over his warm skin, eyes rolling back when his arm moves, wrapping around your throat, his bicep pressed up against the side of your neck.

“You keep– fuck– staring at my arms, sweetheart,” Leon rasps, grinning against your cheek when you let out a choked moan, his breath cut off by a low moan of his own. “Is this what you need? A strong arm wrapped around your throat, fat cock pounding into your needy cunt and sweet, little kisses?” He punctuates his question by kissing your temple.

“I– nghhh– need you,” you whine, feeling dazed as he drops his weight onto you a little more, enough so that you can feel every inch of him against your back. 

You can’t really do anything but take it, his skin slapping against yours and breath rough in your ear. When his fingers move, finding your clit to rub the swollen bud, you whimper, clutching the sheets, nails raking against the fabric as the string of pleasure draws tighter.

“‘m gonna cum,” you say hoarsely, cunt clenching around his cock desperately. “Leon– Leon, Leon, Leon!”

“‘m right here, baby,” Leon whispers, kissing your cheek, “taking my cock so well. Doing so– fuck– good for me, yeah? Cum whenever you want, sweet girl, I’ve got you.”

Your body jerks when his fingers rub against your clit faster, a ragged scream erupting from you as you cum violently. Leon swears, his grip on you faltering, the arm on your throat drawing away as you twitch on his cock, grasping at the sheets, at the pillows until Leon offers you his hand.

Your fingers lace together with his and you squeeze tightly, gasping uncontrollably until his mouth finds yours, capturing your lips in a kiss. You whimper into his mouth, knees weak and thighs tired, your death-grip on his hand loosening when he soothes you with soft kisses. Your pussy clenches and Leon groans into your mouth, his hips jerking forward unevenly.

“‘m gonna cum too, pretty baby,” he grunts, fingers pushing at your ass gently, hips beginning to pull away. “Greedy, little pussy’s clenching around me too tight, I can’t–”

“Inside,” you mumble, letting your hips sway back tiredly, trying to swallow down the length of his cock. “Cum inside.”

“That’s– shittt– a bad idea, baby,” Leon groans, his head dropping forward to rest against your shoulder as his hips rock into you, pace stuttering.

You can feel his cock throb and twitch, a soft mewl escaping you. “You said you were full of bad ideas.”

Leon lets out a startled laugh, his breath coming out in short, choppy bursts. “I did– hahhh– I did say that. Take my cum then, sweetheart, gonna flood this perfect fuckin’ cunt with cum.”

He grips your hips, thrusting forward with a hard drive of his cock. Leon swears under his breath, his hips jerking into your ass as he cums, cock kicking and throbbing as hot, thick cum floods your pussy.

You let out a contented noise when he moans into your ear, low and guttural, the sound making you feel warm. His softening cock slips out after a few moments and Leon pulls himself away from you, the bed protesting under the weight of you both. You curl up into his side, head dropping over his chest, eyes drooping when you feel the steady beat of his heart.

Leon’s hand settles on your head, stroking over your hair lazily as he pants, chest rising and falling.

“Do you feel relaxed?” you murmur, peering up at him with a sleepy smile.

“I feel fucked out,” Leon mutters, his thumb tracing the curve of your cheek, rubbing at the spot of drool that had pooled at the corner of your mouth. “You did a number on me, sweetheart.”

“I aim to please.”

He laughs, hauling you closer and you smile, kissing the underside of his jaw. “You went above and beyond, I can tell you that much.”

You snort, arms wrapping around his neck. “Am I gonna get that in writing?”

“I’ll think about it,” Leon murmurs, his fingers slipping under your chin to tip your head, lips pressing against yours. You hum into the kiss, fingers tangling in his soft hair, a quiet noise leaving you as he squeezes your ass.

When Leon pulls away, you chase after his lips, eyes fluttering shut when he returns your kiss just as eagerly, your thigh hooking over his hip, brows furrowing when you feel his cock against your thigh.

You look down, cheeks flushing when you find his spent cock beginning to harden, the fat length bobbing gently as it fills out.

“Already?” you murmur, sighing softly when he leaves stubbly kisses along your jaw.

“What can I say?” Leon whispers, his hips bucking when your hand wraps around his hardening cock. “You uh… bring out the best in me, I guess.”

You raise your brows, unable to stop the wide smile that spreads across your face. “Your best attribute is your cock? That’s a little disappointing.”

He grins, groaning when you kiss his pec. 

“You didn’t seem to think it was disappointing when I fucked you with it.”

“It is nice,” you acquiesce, head tipping back as he leans into you, trailing hot kisses down your neck, his hips beginning to rock lazily, meeting the strokes of your hand.

“I do have other nice, non-sexual attributes,” Leon says, his hand cupping your cheek, thumb stroking over your skin gently. There’s a light flush settled on his cheeks and he clears his throat, sucking in a soft breath when you squeeze his cock. “Maybe you’d like to find out sometime?”

Your smile softens, affection beginning to creep in through the cracks of your ribs. Leaning forward, you kiss him gently.

You married Aerion Targaryen because your parents deemed it fitting. They considered it proper that they should cast the dice to capture a dragon, so that, with its claws, you might enrich the family name. And Aerion was a dragon, of that there was no doubt — not one of the great ones that once ruled the skies of Valyria, but a hungry dragon, with eyes that burned and fangs always bared. On the day he went out to hunt, you offered yourself as sacrifice.

You weren't noble, no. Your family possessed some wealth, gold enough to clothe you well and fill your belly, but they'd no standard, no sworn swords, no tower of stone to call their own. Still, noble blood ran in your veins, though diluted like watered wine. You were descended from cadet branches that had once been Arryn and Tyrell, and your parents, in their ambition, believed this remnant of noble blood would suffice to make you fly. They believed you could give the family an important name, a name feared throughout the Seven Kingdoms.

And you fought for this with the few weapons you had. You drew close to Prince Valarr, the heir's heir, who was as generous and kind as rare (even almost none) boys in Westeros. He had you as a good friend, as a sister that the court had never truly given him — for Matarys was far younger and he couldn't have with her what he had with you — and King Daeron II, the boy's grandsire, permitted you to remain at his side. He saw in you a beneficial influence, someone capable of teaching his grandson the ways of common men, of showing him a world beyond battles and blood.

And then, on one of the days when the sun bathed the Red Keep, you saw him.

He wasn't a dragon of scales and giant teeth, he didn't spew flames nor have wings to cover the sun. But his eyes burned with a fire not of this world, and from him emanated a terror similar to what Balerion once spread across Westeros. He saw you the very instant you saw him, and in that moment, both of you knew something had changed.

Aerion had found his prey.

Some days passed since that first glance. Enough for summer to deepen over King's Landing, for the roses in the gardens to bloom in profusion, and for your mother to lose sleep counting the imaginary coins your marriage would bring.

You came to know each other better at dinners, as was proper at court. He watched you over his goblet of wine, his violet eyes darkened by something you preferred not to discover. You spoke of the unusual heat, the court gossip, the dances planned for the next tourney. But behind the words, there was another conversation — one of carnal interest, made of glances, of the way his fingers brushed yours when passing the bread.

Then, one night when the stars seemed more distant than usual, he led you to his chambers. Aerion could be seductive when it suited him, and you let yourself be carried away by his charm after a few goblets of wine with Valarr.

The door closed behind you, and he drew near, so close you could feel the heat of his body, the smell of ashes and something sweet that always accompanied him.

"Stay this night," he murmured. It wasn't a request.

You stepped back one pace… only one.

"Why would I stay, my prince?"

His eyes narrowed, surprised. Maekar's son wasn't accustomed to being questioned.

"I'm not asking for this," he said, with the calm of one who'd never needed to ask for anything. "It's my will, and my wishes are usually granted."

"Of course, my prince…" you interrupted him, letting the ghost of a smile escape. "What do you think I am? A whore to warm your bed at your convenience?"

"I didn't say that."

"You said it with the way you look at me, as if I were the same as the women you send for when the night grows too long for you."

Aerion frowned, visibly disconcerted. He wasn't used to resistance, much less from someone he desired.

"Then why did you come with me?"

"Because I wished to be desired by a man who doesn't flee from what he feels, or so I thought you were. I want a husband, not a lover who'd have me this night and tomorrow scarcely know my name."

"I'd still remember your name, darling." He laughed, but there was no humour in that sound. "But you must know what you're asking of me, and you must know you've no such claim upon me."

"Well, my prince, I ask for what every woman should have the right to ask for." You held his gaze. "And if you're not man enough to give me that, I'll wait for someone who is. Perhaps your cousin, Valarr, understands the meaning of honour better than one who calls himself a dragon."

Aerion stared at you for a long moment, and for the first time, you saw something beyond the fire in his eyes; as if he were relishing the provocation, as if he now had respect for you, or something close to it.

"You're more dangerous than you appear," he said at last. "Brave… or completely senseless. I've not yet decided which of the two disturbs me more."

He stepped forward. Then another. The space between you closed further, leaving only the warm air of his breath against your neck when he leaned in, smelling you and tucking away a lock of your hair that had come loose after the dance with Matarys.

"Mind your tongue, darling," he whispered in your ear, his fingers trailing down your collarbone to the silver necklace at your throat. A gift from your family.

"Don't call me darling." You retorted, your eyes meeting his.

"Of course, sweetling." He smiled cruelly when your brows drew together in displeasure. "There are men in this realm who lose their heads for less."

"Then you'll have to put mine on the walls as well, my prince," you riposted, lifting your chin as your eyes descended to his lips. "I'd rather face death than live as a shadow of your will."

For an instant, you thought he'd touch you, would pull you to him, or worse, would order you removed from there when his hand slowly closed, as if containing an impulse too difficult to tame. However, he tilted his head, looking at every detail of your face, drawing near your lips, but not touching them, merely leaving the ghost of a kiss there.

"They all want something from me," he said, his lips brushing yours as his violet eyes slowly rose to meet yours. "Power, name, blood, but none of those women would dare speak to me as you do."

"Because none of them believe they're worth more than a whim."

"Men of my house don't survive by being gentle."

"A pity."

The corner of his mouth twitched. It wasn't a smile, but neither was it anger.

"Do you know what happens to women like you?" he asked, drawing back slightly to look at your whole face. The heat of his body made your heart leap in your chest, above your neckline.

"I know what happens to those who kneel," you answered. "And I shan't be one of them."

For a moment, you thought he'd advance, would crush your resistance as he did with everything else. Instead, Aerion brought his hand to your chin, lifting your face with two firm fingers. It wasn't brutal, and, strangely, that unsettled you even more.

"Look at me," he commanded.

You obeyed. His eyes were living fire, but now they held a pure desire, something he rarely allowed himself.

"You ask me to marry you," he said slowly. "Yet you speak to me as if you were already my equal."

"Because I'd only lie with a man who saw me as such."

His fingers tightened for a second longer than necessary. Pride, fury and desire seemed to war within him.

"If I wanted you only for a night," he said, his voice hoarse, "you'd already be in my bed."

"And if I wanted only a night," you retorted, "I wouldn't be here now."

He released your chin slowly, as if the gesture required effort.

"Be careful," he warned. "You're playing with something you don't know how to control."

Aerion turned and walked to the window, as if he needed distance to think.

"The gods are cruel," he murmured. "Just when I thought the whole world belonged to me, a woman appears who dares to deny me…"

"The world may belong to you, but I do not," was all you said.

He stood there, thinking on your words, and didn't look at you again, not even when he walked to the door and left. Something seemed to have disturbed him, perhaps the fact that you weren't what he thought you were, perhaps because he found it would be easier than he intended.

The next morning, he went to speak with your father. He took Maekar as witness to the promise he made to your father, to protect you, to care for you, to make you part of him, and then he asked for your hand in marriage, without Maekar himself expecting it, he knelt and asked your father, and there was only a nod, permitting him to make you truly his. And even if your father didn't permit the union, Aerion would marry you. He hadn't knelt to beg for your hand, but to ask the gods that your father might forgive him if he'd to act otherwise.

The wedding was small by court standards, almost discreet for those accustomed to excess and rumour. Still, it seemed too grand for someone like you who'd never dreamed of setting foot in the halls of the Red Keep without lowering their eyes. You dressed in the colours of your new house: red and black. The heavy fabric flowed over your body, marking more than was usual (because it had been Aerion's demand to eliminate any remnant of purity in you). Upon your hair, the crown of silver flowers rested too delicately for the family you now belonged to, as fragile as the fortune that had led you there.

When they placed you before him, you felt his gaze first before even raising your eyes. Aerion wasn't smiling. He watched you as he'd done that night; as if he were still deciding whether this was a conquest… or whether you were still challenging him. His hands touched yours, there was an instant when the hall seemed to disappear. The touch wasn't tender, nor was it cruel. It was possessive. Warm. A warning that this marriage wouldn't be made of your wills, but of Aerion's.

"You're mine now," he murmured, so low that only you could hear, while the septon intoned the blessings.

"I'm your wife," you answered, also in secret. "There's a difference."

His lips curved into a delicate smile, sufficiently capable of making you respond while he held your face; you admired the dimple in his cheek showing almost imperceptibly, which for a few moments made you forget how cruel he could be, whether touching you or not.

The bedding came with sunset. The ladies led you to the chambers you were to share, and this time the doors closed with the gods' blessing upon the union. Aerion moved towards you with the same confidence as always, but something was different now, you had become his territory, and that dragon had always been fierce in defending what was his. And for a moment you prepared yourself for the touch, for the consummation that every wife must endure after marriage.

You didn't retreat when he closed the distance, but he stopped, making you feel the ghost of his hand lowering the strap of your dress. Aerion halted, and his eyes travelled over your body as if he were grasping you, as if they could touch where he refused to go with his hands, pondering, torturing you slowly.

"Take off the dress," he commanded, wetting his lips.

It wasn't a request.

You obeyed, because that too was your choice, and he knew it. The fabric slipped over your shoulders, your waist, forming a red and black pool at your feet. You stood before him in only your skin, the warm blood rushing to your cheeks and the air seeming to fail you a little more.

Aerion said nothing, took a goblet of wine from the nearest table while leaning against it, sipping and watching you entirely as if appreciating a work of art that finally belonged to him.

"I lied when I said I didn't want you," he murmured, clenching his jaw. "My brother's the one who dreams, but it seems you're the gods' vision sent to torment me."

"Torment?"

"Yes." He set the goblet back on the table and stepped forward. Then another. The distance between you shrank until the heat of his body was almost unbearable. "Because I wanted you in that instant. I wanted to take you right there, before the septon, before my father, before everyone. I wanted to tear that dress off with my teeth and show every one of them that you were mine."

His hand rose, finally. His fingers brushed your shoulder, so light they seemed a question.

"In a short while, you'll forget how we should be," your voice came out hoarse.

"I know, but now…" He traced the path from shoulder to wrist, slowly, studying each of your reactions. "Now I wonder if you know what you've done."

"I married you."

"You gave yourself to me." His fingers tightened on your wrist. "There's a difference."

He pulled your wrist, drawing your body against his. His breath warmed your face, those violet eyes burning into you.

"I'm going to fuck you tonight," he said, and the words were such a shock you lost your breath. "I'm going to fuck you until you forget your own name. Until you forget there was a world out there, before me."

"Aerion…"

"No." His free hand covered your mouth, gently, his eyes fixed on yours. "I'm going to fuck you tonight, and tomorrow, and every night after that. Not because the law allows it, not because a septon blessed it, but because I want to and because you want to. Say you want to."

He removed his hand from your mouth, but held your gaze.

"I'm too good for you."

"And that makes me need you even more." He slid his lips along your jaw. "I'll never be gentle enough for you, but tell me you want me too."

"I want to," you whispered.

"You want to what?" he provoked, his mouth so close to yours they almost touched. "Say it. Say exactly what you want. You want me to fuck you? You want me to devour you? You want me to fill you until there's room for nothing else?"

"I want you to fuck me," you repeated, and the words came out firmer than you expected. "I want…"

You hesitated, but his eyes didn't let you escape.

"You want what?"

"I want your child."

Aerion smiled against your neck, that seemed to excite and amuse him because the hand that held your wrist rose to your nape, pulling you into a kiss that wasn't a kiss. His mouth pressed to yours with a hunger that seemed accumulated over years, not weeks. His tongue invaded, took, claimed, and you clung to his shoulders as if you were drowning.

When he drew back, both of you were gasping.

"A child of mine won't be like other children," his voice was torn, unrecognisable. "He'll be… like me."

"You think I'm afraid of that?" you answered, and your hand travelled from his shoulder to his chest, to his womb, to his belt buckle. "It's precisely why I ask."

"My grandsire told me about you before I saw you that day, he said: the boys never tire of her, nor of her sweetness. And I didn't know why, until I saw that 'fuck me' look in your eyes."

He guided you to the bed without ceremony, your back meeting the sheets with a push that drew a smile from you. Aerion hovered over you, his arms on either side of your head, his pupils dilated with desire.

"I'm going to fill you," he promised, his voice a growl. "I'm going to fill you with me, night after night, until there's no doubt in your mind, in the mind of the entire court, that you're mine. That what grows here" His hand descended, fingers spread over your bare womb. "Is mine. Is ours."

"Then do it," you challenged, lifting your hips to meet his. "Show me the dragon you claim to be."

The smile he gave you was the most dangerous thing you'd ever seen.

He leaned in to kiss your neck, his teeth grazing your sensitive skin, while his hands worked to rid himself of what he still wore. And when finally you were skin against skin, warmth against warmth, he paused for an instant.

"Say you're in love with my body," you murmured against his ear. "and that's why you're fucking it."

"Sweetling, if it feels good then it can't be bad," he answered in a half-sigh. "I'm something they all want, but only you can have."

His hand descended slowly, tracing in the air the contour of your neck, your shoulders, descending to the curve of your waist without touching. And each imaginary movement drew from you a shiver that he saw, that he knew he provoked. Aerion stepped back again, one pace, then another, and you stood there, still, feeling the emptiness where his warmth had been before, not understanding.

"But you'll wait," he said, fastening his belt while displaying his abdomen with some scars. "You'll wait and desire and imagine. You'll lie in this bed every night thinking of how it would be and when I finally take you, if ever I do take you, it'll be because I decided it, not because you demanded it."

"You want to fuck me now, Aerion. You want to see me on my knees. You need to consummate this marriage for us to be truly wed," you said, taking a step towards him. "The gods decide these things," you answered, bringing your hand to your womb.

"The gods have nothing to do with it, sweetling."

So he left the chamber and left you alone on your wedding night, as should not have been.

The months that followed were a constant lesson. You learned Aerion's humours as one learns to read the signs of an approaching storm; by the scents in the air, by the tension in his shoulders, by the cruelty that took his eyes when something displeased him. There was sweetness in him, yes, but it was a treacherous sweetness.

There were nights when he sought you with an urgency bordering on desperation, nights when his hands trembled touching you and his mouth whispered things you'd never repeat to anyone. And there were days when he scarce looked at you, building walls so high that not even your love — if that was what you felt — could scale them.

The court watched. The court always watched.

"Be careful of him," his mother, Dyanna Dayne, once advised in a rare moment when you found yourselves alone. "My son has too much fire in his veins."

"I'm his wife," you repeated, as if that explained everything.

She smiled, a sad smile that made you shrink inside.

"Being a dragon's wife is not the same as taming one, child."

You didn't understand then, but you would, in time.

Aerion remained by your side at dinners, at walks through the gardens, at court obligations. His eyes always found yours. He'd draw closer than necessary, his warm breath brushing your nape, his hand hovering over yours as it had once hovered over your body.

"Did you dream of me last night?" he asked one morning, with a smile that knew exactly what it provoked.

You denied it, but the flush on your cheeks betrayed you.

"I dreamed…" he confessed, leaning in to whisper in your ear. "I dreamed I finally touched you. That I heard your moans, that I felt your nails in my back. I woke hard and furious that it was only a dream."

He drew back before you could answer, leaving you with your heart racing and your legs weak. Thus he tortured you. With words, with glances, with the eternally delayed promise of a touch that never came. And you, fool that you were, discovered that desire can be as painful as any wound. Your body burned for him in ways you'd never imagined, and he knew. He knew and delighted in your torment.

"Why do you do this?" you asked one night, when he'd accompanied you to your chamber door and remained there, so close you could feel the warmth of his body, yet so far you could do nothing.

"Because I can," he answered simply. "Because it's the only thing you still don't have of me. You've had my name, you've had my oath, you've had my respect, but my body is still mine. And until it's your choice, not my gift, you won't have it."

The next morning, he left for Lys.

There was no farewell or explanation, only a servant who came for his clothes, a ship that departed the harbour, and you remained in the Red Keep, with your belly empty and your hands trembling because you still hadn't had him, because the marriage was called ill-starred for not having been consummated.

The months that followed were long as winters. The letters you sent went unanswered. The rumours that arrived from Lys spoke of feasts, of women with silver hair and dark eyes, of whole nights awash with wine and forbidden pleasures. And you imagined, and imagined, and each imagining was a knife he drove into your chest without being present.

The court whispered, the ladies looked at you with ill-disguised pity. Your parents wrote increasingly desperate letters, asking after heirs, after assurances, after anything that might justify the sacrifice they'd made in giving you to a dragon.

And you had no answers.

Until, one autumn morning, the news that Maekar had summoned his son back echoed through the corridors. It wasn't a request, but a command. Dragon's blood or no, Aerion was still a son, still a subject, still owed obedience to his father.

And he obeyed.

The ship docked at King's Landing's harbour beneath a grey sky threatening rain. You stood on the quay, because pride forbade you waiting in your chambers like a patient wife. You stood on the quay so he'd see you, so he'd know you hadn't bent, hadn't withered.

When he disembarked, you saw the months in Lys had done him good — or ill, depending on perspective. His face was more lined, his eyes darker, his mouth crueller. He wore silks of vibrant colours, and round his neck hung a golden collar you'd never seen before.

"Wife," he greeted, with a smile that didn't reach his eyes. "How good to be received by such a fair sight."

"Husband," you answered, and your voice came out as cold as you'd wished. "It's good to have you here."

He drew close, and for the first time in moons, you felt his true warmth, not merely the memory of it. So close you might touch him, if you dared.

"Did you miss me?" he murmured, low enough that only you could hear.

"I missed a husband I never had."

"You've still got a tongue, I see. Good. It'd be a shame if the months had tamed it."

He drew back before you could answer, and offered you his arm with a courtesy so perfect it almost hurt.

"Come, my father awaits me. And afterwards… afterwards we've much to discuss."

You took his arm because there was no choice, and as you walked through the streets of King's Landing, with the people bowing at the prince's passing — not from respect, but from fear — you felt his gaze upon you.

The rumour reached her ears through a trusted handmaiden, a whisper that made her blood boil and freeze all at once. King Maekar, in conversation with his son, had supposedly said that she'd grown weary of the local lands and customs, and would soon be returning home. But it was Aerion's reaction that set the court tongues wagging — the dragon had flown into a rage, bellowing at his father that she belonged to him. Not to another kingdom, not to another life — to him. Maekar, pragmatic and generous as he was, had supposedly just shrugged and reminded his son that she wasn't his. Not until the marriage was consummated. And it wasn't.

Aerion fell silent then, because in that moment, he understood; even married to her, even with her name inscribed beside his in the parchments of the Seven Kingdoms, she still wasn't his. Not the way he wanted. Not completely.

And you? You desired him. You desired him to look at you again like he did that first night, when his eyes burned your skin before any touch. You desired him to touch you, to finally slide his hands where they'd never been, to murmur your name against your neck as the night swallowed the room. You desired him to take you. To claim you.

But Aerion was cruel. He could smell your desire like smoke. He saw the way your body changed when he entered a room, how your breath caught, how that wetness gathered between your legs where no one else could see. And he delighted in it. In your exposed hunger, in the power of keeping you on the edge, in the knowledge that you waited… waited like a virgin wife who was no longer virgin in thought.

He knew you wanted him and so, he waited for you to beg.

When he returned to the chambers, the door closed with a thud that made you startle as you brushed your hair before the window. You felt his gaze before you saw him; he watched the golden robe you wore, slipped over your shoulders and you knew it wasn't yours. You'd taken it from his clothes, from those he'd brought from Lys, and the fabric held not just his scent, but the audacity of your gesture. Provocation or necessity, you no longer knew.

He sat down. The chair creaked as he leaned back, and you stayed there, turned away, your fingers pretending to fuss with your hair. But your eyes, in the window's reflection, devoured his every movement. You saw when he took a grape, deliberately. You saw when he brought it to his lips and bit. And he admired you.

Aerion bit another grape slowly, and you heard the wet sound, imagined his tongue gathering the juice from his own fingers.

"Come here." His voice broke the silence, but it wasn't a request. It never was.

Your fingers stopped in mid-air. The comb slipped, falling on the stone floor with a clink that echoed louder than it should have. You turned, slowly, and he was still there, reclined in the chair as if all the world could wait. His legs slightly apart, his free hand resting on his thigh, his eyes devouring you from head to toe and climbing back up, slower still the second time.

Because the shift you wore was thin. Diaphanous. Almost transparent in the room's half-light, but cruelly revealing where the hearth's light danced over your body. The fabric, a thread of pale silk that barely deserved the name of clothing, clung to you like a second skin, and the orange glow of the flames outlined every curve.

Your breasts, round and full, were warm from the hearth's heat, and the flush spreading across your skin was from desire. Your nipples hardened under his gaze, marking the silk with two dark buds that seemed to beg for — no, demand — his mouth. You saw when his gaze fixed there, when his jaw tightened, when the fingers on his thigh squeezed slightly.

He said nothing. But the hand that had rested idle began a slow, almost distracted movement, his fingers tracing circles on the cloth of his breeches. Beneath the dark fabric, something stirred. Hardened. And he made no effort to hide it, to disguise it — on the contrary, he shifted in the chair, his legs opening a little more, as if offering you the view, as if to say: do you see what you do to me? Do you see what you want?

You swallowed hard. Saliva scratched down your throat, because your mouth was dry, because your whole body was a single point of heat concentrated between your legs. The shift, too thin, hid nothing and you knew he saw. Saw the dark of your nipples, saw the tremor of your breath, saw likely the contour of your hips, your belly, and further down, where the triangle began to show beneath the silk, because the shift was short, because the fabric rode up when you moved, because he had commanded you to come and you had come to him and now you stood there, exposed, offered, devoured.

His eyes travelled down. Slowly. Following the line of your neck, the valley between your breasts, the curve of your waist, the parting of your legs — because you, without realising, had slightly spread your feet, as if your body already knew what your mouth dared not ask.

"I won't ask again," he said, his voice like velvet rasping over goosebumped skin.

You took a step. Then another. The distance between you shrank, and now you could see his eyes up close, their violet almost melted by the darkness of his dilated pupils. You could see his hand, still on his thigh, his fingers so close to the bulge pushing against his breeches.

"Closer."

One more step and you were between his legs now. His breath warmed the silk over your belly, and you could smell him, that strange perfume from Lys still on his clothes, the heat of his body, the almost solid desire that emanated from him like smoke.

Aerion raised his hand and his fingers touched the hem of your shift, brushing the bare skin of your thigh, and you trembled, but he didn't move higher. He stayed there, tracing slow circles on the inside of your thigh, each circle closer, each circle higher, until his fingers were a hair's breadth from where the silk was damp, where the heat seemed most intense.

"You're wet," he said. It wasn't a question.

You closed your eyes. Shame and desire twisted in your chest in a knot so tight it hurt.

"Look at me."

You looked.

"Say it."

"Yes," you whispered. "I am."

He smiled again, but the smile died quickly, replaced by something deeper, darker. His fingers finally moved higher, pushed the silk aside, found the wet heat of your cunt, the soft, open flesh, and you moaned — a small, hoarse sound that seemed to come from somewhere very deep.

He didn't touch you as you expected, just ran one finger, slowly, gathering the moisture, bringing it to his mouth afterwards, his eyes fixed on yours as he tasted.

"Sweet," he murmured. "Mine."

His fingers, still gleaming with your wetness and the saliva from his mouth, closed slowly, as if saving for later the taste his mouth had already known.

"Do you want something?" The question came sweet, almost mocking, and you knew he already knew the answer.

You swallowed hard.

"Yes."

He smiled, not with his whole mouth, just one corner, a half-smile that made your belly clench.

"What do you want?"

Bastard. He knew. He knew and wanted to hear, wanted you to confess, to humiliate yourself in your own need. You wanted him to take you. To fill you. To do what no words on marriage parchments could... mark you inside, fill you with his seed, make you his in a way no king could undo.

"I want you to touch me," you whispered.

He laughed softly, a sound that vibrated in his chest and echoed in your belly.

"I've already touched you... you want more."

It wasn't a question, it was an accusation, a provocation, the taut rope between what you dared ask and what he demanded to hear.

"Yes," the word escaped like a moan. "I want more."

His hand moved then, not to your body, but to his own lap. His fingers slid over his breeches, over the bulge that grew there, hard, hot, almost aggressive beneath the dark cloth. He squeezed, slowly, and you saw his jaw tighten, saw his head tilt back for an instant, his eyes closed.

"Do you see what you do?" he murmured, his eyes opening again, locking onto yours. "Do you see what you do to me, little whore?"

The name pierced you and you shuddered, your hands clenching at your sides, your nipples so hard they hurt against the thin silk.

"I see," you whispered.

"And do you want it?"

"I want to feel it inside me. I want to feel every vein, every pulse, every drop that comes from there. I want you to fuck me until I forget my own name, until I only know how to say yours," you replied, your knuckles white, trying to strip yourself of all dignity.

He stood then — the chair scraped back, pushed away — and suddenly he was before you, his free hand gripping your nape, pulling you close until your face was a handspan from his.

"Is that really what you want? For me to fuck you like a bitch? To mount you until you're completely wrecked, full of me, dripping my seed wherever you walk?"

"Yes," you answered without hesitation, your eyes fixed on his. "I want that and more. I want you to fill me so much I get pregnant the first time. I want to walk through this castle with your seed inside me, with your get in my womb."

His hand tightened on your nape, his fingers digging into your skin.

"Then beg. Beg as you should. Beg like the whore you are, who spends the night soaking the silk for me, who wears my clothes, who burns in my absence."

His hand moved down, found the thin strap of your shift on your shoulder, pushed it down. The silk gave way, slid, freeing one breast, the red, hard nipple meeting the cool air of the room. He looked, lingered, but didn't touch.

His hand moved down, found the thin strap of your shift on your shoulder, pushed it down. The silk gave way, slid, freeing one breast, the red, hard nipple meeting the cool air of the room. He looked, lingered, but didn't touch.

"Beg."

You opened your mouth and the words were there, all of them, dirty and sweet and desperate.

"I want you to fuck me. To claim me. To fill me with your seed until it runs down my legs, until there's no doubt in anyone's mind who I belong to, who possessed me, who made me his."

His eyes burned, burned so much you could almost feel the heat in his pupils.

"I'm going to fuck you against these walls until you can't stand. I'm going to fill you so much you'll dream of my seed. And tomorrow night I'll want you again. And again. And again. Until I'm certain it's done."

"Then do it," you challenged, your hands moving down, finding his breeches, undoing his belt with agile, impatient fingers. "Do it. Fill me. Put your heir in me. Show this whole damn kingdom that I'm yours and you're mine."

He pushed you against the wall — you felt the cold stone on your back, his heat in front — and then his breeches fell and he was naked, hard, enormous, the tip of his cock already wet, brushing your thigh.

"Look," he commanded.

And you looked down. You saw his cock, thick, long, the tip red and glistening, veins pulsing beneath stretched skin. You saw and your mouth watered, your hands moving down, wanting to touch, wanting to feel.

"It's beautiful," you murmured. "It's mine."

His hand found your cunt, his fingers parted your lips, felt the heat, the wetness, the opening that dripped, begging for him, throbbing indecently.

"This is how you beg," Aerion murmured, and finally his mouth descended on your breast.

The shock of wet heat against sensitive skin made your legs weaken. He bit, pulled, sucked with a hunger that seemed to come from somewhere very deep, while his hands tore at the thin silk, pushed away what remained of your shift, left you naked before him, before the hearth, before everything.

When his mouth released your breast, the nipple was red, throbbing, marked by his teeth. He looked, satisfied, and then his hands gripped your hips, pulled you against his body, and you felt his hard cock pressing against your belly.

"I won't be gentle," he warned, whispering in your ear. "I won't be sweet. I'll fuck you until you forget your own name, until you only know how to say mine. I'll fill you so much you'll feel my seed inside you for days. You'll walk through this Keep with your legs apart, dripping, and everyone will know."

You moaned, a loud, lost sound, as his hands turned you, pushed you against the nearest wall. Aerion brought his cock near your cunt and you saw; your whole body responded, a spasm that made more fluids run, that made your cunt open, empty, starving.

"Is this what you want?"

"Yes," you moaned. "Fill me, make me yours, fuck me until I can't walk..."

He lifted one of your legs, aligned his cockhead with your soaked cunt and pushed.

The moan that came from you was primal, animalistic, because he was big, because he filled you, because every inch that entered seemed to open a path to somewhere no one had ever been. He pushed more, more, until his hips met yours, until he was completely inside, so deep you felt your heart beating in your throat, in your eyes, in every pore.

"Deeper," you begged, whimpering. "Fill me completely. I want to feel you in my throat."

He buried himself deeper, his hips flush against yours. You wanted him to move, to fuck you, to fill you, to fulfil every damn word he'd spoken.

"Move," you begged. "Please, Aerion, move, fuck me, I want to feel..."

He moved with a slow, deep thrust that made lights explode behind your eyes. Then another. Then faster, harder, his hips slapping against yours, the wet sound of bodies meeting filling the room along with moans, curses, the filthy words he murmured in your ear.

"You're mine, sweetling. Mine. This cunt is mine, this arse is mine, this womb is mine. And I'll fill it. I'll fill you so much you'll get pregnant tonight, you'll have my child inside you, you'll walk around heavy, full of me, and everyone will know it was you who managed to tame the dragon, and when this one's born, I'll fuck you as many more times just to carry other children, isn't that what you want?"

"Y... yes," you moaned, your eyes rolling back.

The thrusts were fast now, desperate. You felt his cock sinking into your cunt, every inch, every time he buried himself to the hilt and seemed to touch your soul. Your legs faltered, but his hands held you, supported you, fucked you against the wall like you were a doll, like your body's only purpose was to receive that cock, that seed, that essence.

"I'm going to come," he warned, his voice a snarl. "I'm going to come and I want you to feel everything. I want every drop to go inside you, to swim, to find your egg and fertilise it. I want to see your belly grow. I want to see you birth my children. I want you to be the mother of my dragons."

"Yes," you screamed. "Yes, fill me, Aerion, make me yours, give me your seed, I want it all..."

He thrust one last time, deep, so deep it hurt, and then you felt it. You felt the first spurt, hot, thick, jetting inside you as if it would never end. Then another. Another. He trembled all over, roaring against your neck, while his seed spilled, filled, overflowed at the edges where your bodies met.

And you came too. Your whole body a spasm, your nails raking his back, your mouth open in a silent scream as your inner walls clenched, gripped, sucked every drop of that hot seed inside, deeper, to the very place where life began.

When he stopped spurting, he stayed inside you, still hard, still trembling. And you smiled, exhausted, empty, full, as you felt his seed running down your leg and his cock hardening again inside you.

"How long have you waited for this?" he asked, brushing your entrance. "How many moons have you knelt before me?"

"Many," you whispered, pushing back the hair that stuck to your face. "Many moons. Many nights."

"And what do you want, wife? Tell me again."

"I want your child," the words escaped in a single breath, as if you said it all at once. "I want to be the mother of your children, Aerion."

"You will be. I'll plant my heir in your womb and then I'll plant another, and another, until your body can no longer hide what we've done."

His hands found your face, and he grabbed you.

"You want to be the mother of my children? You want everyone at court to see your belly grow and know it was me who filled you?"

"Yes," you answered, and the word was a moan. "Yes, my prince."

Aerion kept moving inside you, prolonging your pleasure, taking you to higher and higher peaks.

"Now," he said when he felt you were ready again. "Now I'll fill you again. I'll give you everything you asked for."

His thrusts grew deeper, more urgent. And when you felt another spurt of his seed inside you, when you felt the heat spread through your entrails, a new orgasm took you, even more intense than the first.

He kept spilling inside you for a long time, each pulse a promise kept. And when he finally quieted, when his weight on you was a blessing instead of a burden, he kissed your forehead with a tenderness you didn't know existed in him.

"This is only the beginning," he murmured, still inside you. "Tonight I'll fill you as many times as I can. And tomorrow we'll do it again. And the day after. Until there's no doubt."

And he kept his word.

That night, he took you more times than you could count. In every position you'd imagined, in every way you'd dreamed. And each time, when he reached his end, he spilled inside you with a moan that echoed your own pleasure.

"I want to see you heavy with my child," he said the fourth time, when he had you on all fours, buried deep inside you. "I want to see your breasts swell, your belly grow. I want to feel your body change because of me."

"You will," you promised, arching back against him. "I'll give you many children. As many as you want."

"All of them," he agreed, quickening his pace. "I'll fill you so many times you'll lose count. You'll be the most fertile wife in the Seven Kingdoms."

His hands found your face, and he slapped you — a sharp, dry crack that made your head turn and your skin sting, but you smiled. His smile widened when he saw the gleam in your eyes, the way you tilted your face back, offering the other cheek.

"You want to be the mother of my dragons?" he repeated, and his hand came again, harder, the sound echoing off the stone walls of the chamber. "You want everyone at court to see your belly swell and know it was me who filled you?"

"Yes," you answered, and the word was a moan, your eyes brimming but fixed on his. "Yes, my prince. I want everyone to know I'm your whore, your wife, the mother of your dragons."

He spat in your face and the warm liquid ran down your cheek, mixing with the tears that had already begun to fall, and you moaned, your hands gripping his shoulders, pulling him closer.

"You're a bitch in heat," he murmured, his voice thick, his hips beginning a slow, deep movement that made his seed spill even more, that soaked the bed beneath you. "A bitch who only wants cock, only wants seed, only wants to be mounted by a dragon until she can't take any more."

"I am," you confessed, your voice breaking between sobs and moans. "Ride me like a dragon, make me drip..."

He spat again, and then his hands found your breasts, squeezing, twisting your nipples until they tore a scream from you — pain and pleasure mingled, confused, you no longer knew where one began and the other ended.

"Quiet!" he ordered, and his hand came again, another slap, and another, and you felt your face sting, the hot tears falling, but you didn't shut up, you didn't want to be silent, you wanted everyone to hear, everyone to know.

"I can't," you whimpered, your voice loud, uncontrolled. "I can't be silent when you fuck me like this, when you're so deep, when you're so big..."

He covered your mouth with his hand, his fingers pressing, almost suffocating, while his thrusts grew stronger, more brutal, the bed banging against the wall in a rhythm that must have been echoing through every corridor.

"You want them to hear?" he snarled in your ear, his hand still covering your mouth. "You want the whole bloody court to hear how the princess moans? How the princess cries? How the princess begs for more cock?"

You nodded, your eyes wide, tears and spit running down your face, and he laughed, a cruel, delighted sound.

"Then scream," he said, removing his hand. "Scream like the whore you are. Scream so everyone hears who you belong to."

And you screamed. When he thrust deep again, when you felt his cock pulse inside your cunt, ready to spurt again, you screamed his name, loud, desperate, a sound that wasn't human, that was pure instinct, pure hunger, pure need.

"Aerion! Aerion, fuck me, fill me, give it to me, give it to me, give—"

The spurt came before you finished the sentence. Hot, violent, jetting as if he were breathing fire inside you. Then another. Another. And you came with him, your body arched, your nails raking his back, your mouth open in a scream that must have woken half the castle.

He kept pumping, each thrust making his seed run, spread, soak your thighs, the sheets, everything. And when he finally stopped, when he lay still inside you, gasping, you felt the hot seed running, dripping, forming a puddle beneath you.

But he didn't pull out. He stayed there, still hard, pulsing inside you.

"More," you whispered, your voice hoarse from screaming. "More, Aerion."

He looked at you and saw your face swollen from crying, the marks from his slaps, the dried spit, your eyes red but bright with desire. And he smiled.

"You'll have it," he promised, and began to move again. "You'll have it until dawn. Until you can't take any more. Until you only know how to say my name."

He took you more times than you could count, in every position you'd imagined, in every way you'd dreamed. On your belly, your face buried in the pillows while he fucked you from behind and pulled your hair, wrenching screams from you that you muffled in the bedclothes. Riding him, his hands on your hips guiding the rhythm, squeezing until they left purple marks. Against the wall, your legs locked around his waist, your bodies slipping with sweat and seed that covered you like a second skin.

Each time, when he reached his end, he spilled himself inside you with a groan that echoed your own pleasure. And each time, you begged for more, wept for more, screamed for more.

"I want to see you heavy with my son," he said, when he had you on all fours, buried deep inside you, one hand tangled in your hair pulling your head back while the other slapped your arse, leaving the skin red and hot. "I want to see your breasts swell, your belly grow."

Aerion smiled, quickening his pace, his thrusts so strong you no longer had strength to hold yourself up — you collapsed onto the bed and he continued, mounted on you, fucking you like an animal. By the seventh time, you could no longer speak, only hoarse moans, silent tears, your body aching but hungry, always hungry. He laid you on your side, lifted your leg and entered again, slow, deep, and you felt every pulse.

"Do you feel it?" he murmured, his mouth at your ear. "Do you feel how hard I still am? How I still have seed to give you?"

You nodded, a sob caught in your throat.

"I'm going to come again," he warned.

"Please," you whispered, your voice thick with want. "Please, my prince, fill me again. Please don't stop. Never stop."

He groaned and thrust deep, one final time, and the seed spilled, hot, abundant, filling you once more, overflowing, running down your legs, mingling with everything already there. And when he finally quietened, when his body settled on yours like a dead weight, you still felt hunger. You still wanted more.

"Tomorrow," you murmured, your eyes closing, consciousness slipping. "Tomorrow I want more."

He laughed, tired, and kissed the nape of your neck.

"Tomorrow," he promised. "And the day after."

The next morning, you woke wrapped in his arms, with his cock still inside you — he'd stayed there all night, as if afraid the child might escape if he parted from you.

"You're still empty," he murmured, moving slowly inside you when he noticed you were awake. "I still need to fill you more."

And he filled you. And filled you. And filled you.

The days that followed were a whirlwind of pleasure and exhaustion. Aerion rarely left you, and when he did, it was only to fetch food or wine, to strengthen you for the next attempt. Your body ached in ways you'd never imagined, but each ache was a reminder of what you were doing, what you were creating.

"You're fuller today," he observed on the third day, his hand resting on your still-flat belly. "Or is it my imagination?"

"It can't be that quick," you laughed, but your heart leaped at the possibility.

"It can. We're dragon's blood… we do everything quicker."

On the fifth night, as he took you against the bedroom wall, your legs locked around his waist and your moans echoing off the stones, something changed. He stopped suddenly, his eyes wide.

"Do you feel it?" he asked, and his voice sounded strange.

"What?"

His hand moved down to your belly, pressing gently.

"There's something different."

You looked down, to where his hand touched, and for the first time you noticed a small protuberance, almost imperceptible, but there. A curve where there'd been flatness before.

"It can't be," you whispered. "It's too soon."

"I told you," he murmured, and there was triumph in his voice. "Dragon's blood."

He withdrew from you carefully and carried you to the bed, laying you on your back. His eyes never left your belly, his hand settling again on that small curve.

"My son," he murmured. "My heir... my seed growing inside you."

"Our son," you corrected, as you had so many moons ago.

This time, he didn't argue. This time, he simply nodded.

"That should have solved the problem," he said with a light laugh, his hand rubbing your belly gently. "Now you already have a child of mine."

You nodded, smiling, exhausted. He'd fucked the life into you trying to put one inside you, and they'd been the best nights of your life — nights that would soon repeat themselves.

Ი𐑼 . . . - continue on to my…. main masterlist ❜❜

۶ৎ sweethearts I never imagined I’d be able to write a breeding kink like this, but I clearly tried to channel Aerion so it would come out this way, otherwise it just wouldn’t have worked. I hope I didn’t disappoint you with this attempt, lol. ♡

The way you find out is probably even more bizarre than the fact itself. You and him had little to no reason to ever interact with each other. You weren’t some shy nerd who holed herself up in her room all day or anything, but you weren’t much of the party type other.

You were stuck somewhere in the middle of all that, vicariously living through some of your friends who had better things going for them.

As such, there was no real reason for you and Sukuna to cross paths. He never even had a reason to acknowledge your existence until the two of you are paired up together for a project in the one class you happen to take together.

——

The background noise is the chatter of your fellow classmates and their own project partners, you find your partner grumbling out a low, “What?” In response to your last statement, having hardly heard a thing you said.

“I said,” You huff, sitting beside the man in question as today marks week two of you being paired up with him for this semester’s project, “We should be meeting up outside of class too. We could get this knocked out in like a day if you just-“

“Oh that,” Sukuna cuts off casually. Seated all slouched back in his seat, his legs sprawled out in that signature manspread of his—he rolls his eyes at your little reminder, “You said somethin’ about that last week.”

You speak through slightly gritted teeth, fighting the headache he’s about to give you from this conversation alone, “All the more reason for you to take it into consideration. The faster we get this done, the less we have to deal with each other.”

As you say that, you glance at him only to find his eyes directly on yours already. He’s got such lazy posture, his head tilted slightly whilst he gazes at you so intently, and his big muscular arms folded across his chest. Even wearing a black hoodie and gray sweats, he still looks as attractive as ever—mean low-lidded crimson eyes locked on yours, tattooed face so beautifully defined, and rosy lips pulled into such an uninterested little frown.

Up until your words hit his ears properly, “The less we have to deal with each other, huh?” Sukuna repeats, narrowing his eyes even further at you, “You barely even know me and yet you want nothing to do with me already.”

“I know enough about you, Sukuna,” You say with a sigh, “And you hardly contribute to this project as is. Which only proves that everything they say about you is probably true.”

He arches a brow, his interest piquing, “And what exactly do people say about me?”

You let off a light scoff, “Don’t act like you don’t know.”

“But I don’t know,” Sukuna tells you honestly, maroon eyes boring into yours.

You stare for a moment as you try to decipher whether or not he’s being honest right now. How does he not know what people say about him? Everyone talks about his brooding personality very openly.

“They say you’re an ass,” You eventually say to the man.

To which his lips twitch into a slight smirk, “And you believe that?”

“Seeing as I’ve asked you to—at the very least—type your name on this document and you haven’t even done that yet,” You scoff, “Yes.”

The two of you mildly glare at one another for a moment before Sukuna leans up in his seat. Breaking eye contact for just a moment to look at his laptop, he swiftly moves to open up that shared document of yours and types his name out with a heavy sigh.

After which, he’s slouching back again and looking at you, “Don’t believe everything people tell you, woman.”

You roll your eyes at him, “What? Are you not fond of rumors? That still doesn’t negate the fact that you’re an assho-“

“When do you want to meet up?” Sukuna grumbles out almost reluctantly, watching the way you pause and swallow thickly as he catches you off-guard.

He’s almost even intrigued by how quickly you bounce back, despite being caught by surprise, “Friday. Are you free?”

“Unfortunately,” He grumps.

You give him a little shrug, “Good. I’ll see you then.”

And that was it. That was how each and every interaction with you and Sukuna went. Bickering back and forth about him not doing shit to help you with something that’ll affect your grade majorly, criticizing you about being too focused and needing to relax every now and then, and even calling you a stuck-up little brat one time—it was safe to say, you and Sukuna didn’t get along too well.

Not that you minded anyway. He wasn’t your first partner to care little about their grade so, you knew how to deal with these kinds of people by now. Typically, you indulge yourself in their craving to ‘relax’ just once and then they promise to start helping. You’ve gone down that path before and it’s worked for you just fine so you assume things will go the same way with Sukuna.

Plus, you guess you can give him a slight pass for his asshole attitude, at least he has a pretty face to look at. Black ink always decorating his awfully smooth skin, deep dark yet beautiful ruby-shaded eyes boring into whatever it is his focus on, and broad shoulders looming over your smaller figure every time he stands in front of you—you can't help but feel both attracted and intimidated by the man.

——

Which is exactly why when you open your apartment door for the scheduled meetup that Friday to crane your head up at him, you’re swallowing thickly to settle your nerves. You’ve never been alone with the man so of course you’re a bit nervous.

Especially with the way he gazes down at you like that’s exactly where you belong: beneath him. His eyes are filled to the brim with intensity and yet he’s only just set them on you. Wearing a noticeable black compression shirt and those signature gray sweats of his, he almost appears as though he’d just come from the gym.

And just as you take in his appearance, he very openly takes in yours—his eyes raking over your body and taking in every single inch of you. After all, just as it was your first time alone with him, it was his first time seeing you dress so comfortably. He doesn’t even try to hide the way he stares at your tits peeking out from the rather thin spaghetti-strap top you were wearing, his eyes soon trailing down slowly to those tauntingly short shorts you had on.

“So,” Sukuna swipes his tongue over his lips and cocks his head to the side, hands stuffed in his pockets and eyes yet to lift from your legs, “Are you gonna stare at me all day or are you gonna let me in?”

You blink out of whatever little daze you were in, having found yourself gazing at his chest far longer than you meant to. It was right in front of your face after all, how could you look anywhere else? And his shirt was so damn tight, the fabric hugging his well-toned body perfectly, so much so that you swore you could make out piercings on his-

Sukuna leans forward suddenly, his face nearing yours to gain your full attention, “If you keep staring at me like that, I’m gonna assume you invited me over for something else-“

“Sorry,” You chirp out as you clear your throat and awkwardly step back a bit to let him in, “You can come in.”

Nodding, Sukuna slips by you and you shut your apartment door behind him. Then, you’re quick to lead him over to your living room where you’d previously been working on your project.

The two of you are hasty to take a seat on your couch, both of you only a few inches apart from one another whilst you lean toward your coffee table and log into your already open laptop. Sukuna’s eyes are all over you as always, studying your side profile, your intent focus on the screen in front of you, and even the way you-

“Did you even bring anything?” You suddenly ask before you glance at the man.

Sukuna quickly meets your gaze, ripping his eyes off of wherever they’d been previously, “Was I supposed to?”

“Sukuna,” You sigh out, “Please tell me you’re joking right now.”

He swallows at the mere sound of his name rolling off your tongue in that scolding tone of yours—he's heard such a tone from you time and time again and yet, for whatever reason, it never seems to annoy him.

“I’m not.” He says plainly.

“How are we supposed to work on this if you-,” You cut yourself off and decide not to even attempt arguing with him. Arguing won’t change the fact that he showed up with nothing. “Just uhm,” You glance elsewhere for a second before an idea comes to mind and you place your laptop down and stand up, “Stay here.”

Sukuna doesn’t say anything. He merely watches as you huff and walk off, swiftly exiting the living room and disappearing down a nearby hall. He swears he finds himself looking at you a bit more than intended. Especially as you walked off, his eyes dropping to your ass and those damn shorts of yours.

Even when you’re out of his sight, he still finds himself staring in the direction of which you went, almost unable to look away for whatever strange reason.

That lasts for a few minutes until he snaps out of it and leans back against the couch, tossing his head back and letting out a long sigh. You soon return to find him with an arm stretched along the back of the couch, his legs spread as usual, and his eyes up on the ceiling.

He doesn’t even notice you’ve returned until he feels something placed in his lap. Looking down, Sukuna finds your laptop kindly set on top of him. To which his brows furrowed in confusion and he looked at you to see you sitting on the floor in between the couch and the coffee table with a paper and pencil in front of you.

“What’s this?” Sukuna scoffs.

You don’t even spare him a glance as you begin writing something down, “How we’ll get things done.” He opens his mouth to say something but then you’re looking back at him with a glare, “I already organized the parts of this project that you have to do so, since it’s on my computer, you can work on that and I’ll work with what I remember.”

You wholeheartedly expected him to find something about this to disagree with you on but, to your surprise, he simply nods and redirects his focus to your laptop immediately.

And then, the two of you work exactly like that for the remainder of that little study session.

——

Sukuna’s not terrible to work with when it’s just you and him. If anything, he’s rather cooperative and a lot smarter than he leads on.

Which is why a solid two hours of productivity flies by surprisingly smoothly with him. If you asked him a question, he answered. Told him to do something, he’d say something snarky, and then do whatever it is you’ve instructed anyway.

It all went so perfectly up until he let out a really heavy sigh, “Alright, I’ve had enough for this.” Sukuna says casually.

He’s been repeating a similar phrase every thirty minutes or so but he usually gets right back to work after getting ignored by you. This time though, you get the feeling he’s serious when he pushes your laptop off of his lap and places it forward on the coffee table.

It’s then that you frown, “Oh c’mon, we were getting so much done,” You comment as you glance back to him.

He shrugs, “I can’t keep looking at that damn screen, it’s giving me a headache.”

“Of course it is,” You utter sarcastically, rolling your eyes whilst you place your pencil down and throw your arms up to stretch, “Fine then, we can take a break.”

Sukuna’s brows lift in surprise. He didn’t expect you to listen to him, “Good.” He hums, “I was getting bored as well.”

You scoff, “Were you?”

“Yeah, can we do something else?” He asks.

Turning around, you rotate the way you’re sitting so that you’re facing him and your back is resting against your coffee table. “Like what?” You muse, meeting his low-lidded gaze.

“Talk,” Sukuna says.

That’s it? He wanted a break to talk to you? Your eyes are narrowing at him before you even realize, “Talk?” You repeat with a scoff, “Seriously?”

He nods, “Mhm.”

“What do you wanna talk about, Sukuna?” As you ask him that, you watch the way his eyes casually slide down to your lips.

Does he mean to be this indiscreet with his looks? Or is he eyeing you down like that on purpose?

The man shrugs, “Anything outside of fuckin’ school.”

You laugh at that, “Okay, I can work with that.”

He tilts his head at you and licks his lips, “Yeah?” Something about your little laugh threw him off.

“Mhm,” You hum as you look down at your hand, fiddling with your nails a bit, “The rumors… are they true?”

Thrown off yet again, Sukuna’s brows pinch together. “Rumors?” He echoes in a genuinely confused tone, “What rumors, woman?”

The sound of your scoff makes him stiffen in his seat. Almost in an instant, the atmosphere had changed suddenly. “C’mon, don’t play dumb,” You tease, lifting your gaze to him again, “The rumors about you.”

He gives you a perplexed look and it’s almost as though you could see the gears in his head turning. “If you know something, say it.” He demands.

You sigh, “Sukuna, do you seriously hear nothing people say about you?”

Sukuna shrugs, “I don’t care enough to remember. So what is it? What rumor?”

You’re just curious. You swear that’s all it was. And, naturally, since he seemed to have warmed up to you—of course you wanted to know if that rumor about his dick was true. You’re both adults and it’s just a silly question. Plus, with the way he’s been looking at you all afternoon, you’re sure he won’t mind answering you with a simple yes or no.

Glancing to the side, your shoulders lift a bit, “It’s uh, rather intimate.” You hush out.

Sukuna narrows his eyes at you, “Intimate?? An intimate rumor about me?”

His emphasis on himself makes your eyes flick back over to him. “Yeah, are you sure you don’t know what they say about you??” You ask again.

“Positive. Now speak, what is it they say?” Sukuna huffs impatiently, even more curious about this little rumor after the mention of it being intimate. After all, he’s never-

“People say you have a big dick,” You utter way too casually.

So nonchalantly that it makes him choke, a choke you don’t mess with the way he clears his throat and sits up a little. “What?” He rasps out.

You bat those stupidly false innocent eyes at him, “I didn’t stutter,” Your tone dips into something different and he catches every bit of it, “People say you have a big dick, is it true?”

Sukuna clears his throat and for the first time, he glances away from you. Then, he opens and closes his mouth, contemplating his next words carefully before they soon fall from his lips, “You wanna find out?”

His offer spurs a shift in your seat from you as you scoot closer to him ever so slightly, “You wanna show me?” You ask boldly, your tone direct, and not even a flicker of hesitation present.

“Do I want to-,” Sukuna pauses, his eyes scanning the entirety of your seated frame as you inch closer to him, “What?” He huffs, swallowing thickly.

You move to stand on your knees and lean forward to the couch, soon propping your chin up on your palm as you look at him, “Show me,” You chuckle, “I asked if you wanted to show me, Sukuna.”

He blinks, “Show you my cock?”

You shrug, “Yeah.”

The air is so thick right now, Sukuna’s not sure how exactly he can play this off without making a fool of himself. He gulps yet again, only to watch as your eyes start to drop down along his body.

“Stop,” He rushes out, “Keep your eyes up here. On mine,” He commands in a low tone, earning your gaze once more.

And then it’s quiet for a moment. He’s staring at you and you’re obediently keeping your eyes up on his. Sukuna hates it but he doesn’t know what to say or do from here. The last thing he wanted was for you to find out his little secret.

It’s like he was waiting for a fucking pin to drop, something to break the silence. Yet, his mind was going blank and words were failing him at the moment. He’s flirted with women before, plenty of times actually, effortlessly even—but for whatever reason, as you sit there with those stupidly pretty eyes staring at him, his mind simply flakes on him.

He’s like that for a minute longer until you move. So subtly too, sliding a hand to his thigh, leaning forward slightly, batting your lashes at him, “Sukuna?” You whisper.

His hips are rolling upward slightly at the sound of his name alone. “W-What?” He stammers, mentally cursing himself a thousand times over.

“If you don’t wanna show me you can jus’ say no,” You hum, smiling a bit, “Y’know that, right?”

He scoffs, “Of course I know that, woman.”

“If you know that then…” Your fingers lightly squeeze his thigh and you tilt your head, “Are you gonna tell me or show me whether or not those rumors are true?”

Something simply clicks inside Sukuna’s head. Rose-tinted lips cracking into a smirk, the man spreads his legs further and slouches back into the couch, “Find out for yourself since you’re so curious.”

Your eyes go wide, “What?”

Sukuna scoffs lightly, moving one of his arms from the back of the couch and placing his hand over his crotch. Of course, your gaze sinks down to his veiny hand, watching as he palms a stupidly large bulge in his sweats.

Your breath hitches a bit, “I-“

You don’t even get the chance to get it out before he’s cutting you off, “C’mere,” Sukuna hums in that low voice of his.

“What?” You whisper.

You and him make eye contact again and he nods his chin toward the space in between his legs. Nothing can really explain why you follow his gesture and quickly find yourself sitting in between his legs, taking a deep breath as you settle your hands on his thighs.

Sliding your touch up and up and up until your fingers graze his hand. The same hand that was resting on top of that aching bulge of his.

Sukuna slowly lifts his hand up and away, relaxing his arm on the back of the couch again as he stares down at you. Cocking his head to the side, “Well? Feel it.” He huffs.

You don’t even hesitate. Trailing your fingers upward carefully until you feel the outline of his cock beneath your fingertips, gulping as you drag your hand up to cup his length in your hand firmly, and smirking at the way his cock twitches furiously beneath your small touch.

Sukuna’s mouth falls open for a second but you’re too engrossed in feeling him to notice. He lets out a shuddered breath as he watches the way you grope his steadily growing erection. His head even tosses back and his fingers dig into the couch for a moment.

“It is big,” You whisper to yourself, your words only making him twitch more within your hand.

“Fuck,” Sukuna grits out lowly, hips unconsciously lifting to press himself further against you.

His curse earns your attention. You quickly glance up to him and see the way he’s got his head tossed back, Adam's apple bobbing with every heavy gulp he takes, and his chest rising and falling rather quickly.

You lift your hand carefully and decide to test something out. Slowly, you lean forward and just barely press your lips against his clothed cock.

Sukuna’s whole body reacts. He gasps louder than he means to and he’s weaving his fingers through your hair faster than he realizes, palming your scalp as he quickly looks down at you. “T-The fuck are you doing? Huh?” He huffs while gripping onto your hair.

You lift your head a bit but he keeps you in place, despite his question to you. “I just…” You’re not exactly sure you can explain yourself.

And by this point, Sukuna doesn’t think he cares enough to hear an excuse from you, “…You what? You wanna see it?”

All you can do is give him a little nod before he moves his free hand to the drawstring of his sweatpants. Then you're quick to help him tug them down until his boxers are revealed to you—a noticeable dampness in the fabric right where his leaking tip is. Was that because of you?

Before you can dawn on your own questions, Sukuna’s moving to tug his cock out. And fuck is he even bigger revealed before your eyes. With an upward curve, such an angry flushed tip, precum dripping from the slit of his fat cockhead, veins decorating his shaft and-

Shit, you were drooling. How’d you get like this again?? Ah, who cares.

“Sukuna,” You breathe out, ripping your eyes away from his cock just to look up at him.

He was almost panting, dark maroon eyes pouring down into yours, face flushed with different shades of red and pink, his lips parted softly—hell, he looked like he was in heat or something.

Gulping before he answers you, Sukuna clears his throat and his voice is already husky, “What?”

You shift against the floor, your hands relaxing against his large thighs, “Can I-“

“Yeah,” He cuts off. Lord knows if you got that question out he was going to lose his damn mind.

You raise a brow and lean forward, keeping your eyes on his while your lips near his tip, “Yeah?”

The last thing you get from him is a nod before you’re parting your lips. And from that moment forward, it all goes downhill. Everything from the way you’re sitting in between his legs to that initial connection of your plush lips against his drooling cock had Sukuna’s mind spinning.

He’s never been sucked off before. Hell, the farthest he’s gone as far as sexual activities are concerned is a little bit of dry humping. But this? Oh hell, this was his first time and he had zero idea how he was going to keep that information away from you.

Especially when he feels your tongue slip from between your lips and swirl around the head of his cock, kittenly lapping up that slim layer of precum sitting so prettily on his tip.

“Oh f-fuuck,” Sukuna groans huskily, the hand on your head gripping tighter.

You pull away from him slightly just to take in his expression and the way he tosses his head back. It was almost cute to you. The last thing you expected was for him to be so damn sensitive, you hardly did anything.

His sensitivity only worsens as you finally start wrapping your lips around his cock, feeling him throb when you sink your mouth down on him. Sukuna’s jaw goes slack and his brows twist up. He tries his best to hold it in but he can’t help but moan at the way you leisurely suck on half of his lengthy cock.

Your saliva wets up the rest of his shaft and you make up for what your mouth hasn’t reached yet with your hand, stroking him lightly whilst you take the rest of his girth in and out of your mouth. Rolling your tongue around him, pulling off just to messily spit and kiss on his blushing tip, and slobbering all over him—Sukuna almost fucking kicked something with how good your mouth felt around him.

He’s used his hand and other shit before but holy fuck, nothing, and he means nothing compares to that damn mouth of yours. The way you look with his cock stuffed right in between those lips he’s been staring at for God knows how long—your lips all slick with spit, eyes rolling back the deeper you take him, and tongue sticking out every time you pull your mouth off of him.

You soon slip your mouth off of him and start jerking him off, focusing your tongue on his tip and slithering the wet muscle in between the slit of his cock, lathering your tongue up with his glistening precum.

The sound of Sukuna groaning makes you look up at him, finding his eyes on yours again. He’s panting, trying his best to look like this wasn’t phasing him but failing in every way with how flushed his face was.

Your tongue sticks out and your hand continues to slide up and down his cock as you tap his tip on your tongue, making his brows twist up.

He bites back a throaty sound, “Hah… damn brat,” Sukuna huffs out as if to… degrade you?

You almost find it cute how clearly inexperienced he is, spitting a fat wad of spit onto his pretty wet tip and then smiling at him, “Sukuna,” You coo, your hand gripping his shaft tighter, “Is this your first time?”

He instantly looks off to the side, the veins in his neck and along his jawline tensing as he grits his teeth. Since he decides to ignore your little question, you take it a step further and slide your hand down his cock, gripping his thick base firmly before taking him into your heavenly warm mouth again.

His expression breaks completely, “Oh shit,” Sukuna moans, his hips bucking up into your mouth as you slide him deeper into your mouth than you did before.

Then his hand is pushing your head down further on instinct and he’s subtly rutting his hips up. You lift your head up despite his constant pushing, soon causing your head to bob up and down whilst you suck him off skillfully.

“Jus’ like that,” Sukuna suddenly groans and you moan around his cock in reaction. To which he keeps giving your mouth mindless little thrusts, “Don’t s-, agh, stop.”

Sucking him deeper and deeper before you move your hand completely, you suck in a deep breath of air through your nose, open up the very back of your throat, and sink all the way down, your lips meeting his pelvis as your eyes roll to the back of your head.

Sukuna kicks something. Probably your coffee table with the way one of his legs extends out so suddenly, a choked-out groan ripped from his throat as your little move was all it took for him to cum. And it’s so much too, hot thick ropes of cum spurting down your throat, his hand holding onto your head for dear life whilst a moan of your name rolls off his tongue.

You’re still sucking too, pulling up only to swallow what he’s gifted you and then stick your tongue out. Laying it flat against his tip, you leisurely lick at him as if to beg for more and now the man’s pushing your head away for the first time.

When you lift your eyes up to him again, you notice he’s got his tattooed arm over his mouth and his lashes are batting softly at you. For such a big man, he was so ridiculously cute right now. Panting, sweating, cursing under his breath as if you couldn’t hear him.

“Yeah,” Sukuna utters suddenly, clearing his throat, “That was… my first… time. I uh-“

“Do you want more?” Is the last thing you asked him before you were sitting back on your heels and he was stumbling to his feet.

You had to guide him through it of course but, Sukuna doesn’t hesitate to stuff your face full of his cock again. You take him so kindly too, obediently sitting there with your hands gripping his thighs for support with every careful thrust of his hips.

He was trying to be gentle with you at first. Partially because he didn’t know what the hell he was doing, and also because he just loved the initial entry into your mouth. Over and over, Sukuna slid his dick in and out of your mouth like he was possessed, addicted to the feeling of you greedily sucking on him.

He was still sensitive from his first orgasm but his cock had yet to go down—twitching inside that sloppy mouth of yours, aching against your tongue, and dripping into the depths of your throat. Sukuna wasn’t much of a talker but he damn sure let out a plethora of grunts and groans.

They were so husk too, coming from deep within his chest, some getting caught in his throat when he felt your tongue flick against a specific vein on the underside of his cock. His fat tip knocked into the back of your throat with a single heavy thrust before his hands were latching onto the sides of your head.

Again, he’s not much of a talker but, something seems to come over him all at once because soon he’s got his gaze locked down on the messy sight of you and he’s huffing out words before he realizes. “Eyes up here, c’mon, hah… look at me,” Sukuna grunts.

Your eyes are completely glossed over as they flutter up to him. A moan vibrates against his skin as you make such intimate eye contact with the man, feeling his hips pick up.

Sukuna nods, “Good girl,” He praises in a low purr, and fuck does that do wonders for you because your legs are squeezing together more than they were before and you’re whining against him. “Fuck, y’like that?” He huffs, earning a sloppy lil’ nod from you.

He then feels you hum, “M-Mhm.” And he’s got chills slipping up his spine in pleasure.

Cracking a lazy, lopsided, and almost fucked-out little smirk, Sukuna scoffs, “Yeah? Fuck, behind all those g-glares ‘nd-, agh, scolding me… this is all you wanted, hm? A throat full of cock?”

His words had you whining again, fluttering your lashes at him as your fingertips dug into his thighs a little. Sukuna eases his hips back slowly, tipping his head to the side as he gently caresses the side of your face with his thumb.

“Messy girl,” He hums deeply, biting his lower lip at the way you’re just drooling for more and more as he pulls himself out of your mouth completely. “Jus’ look at this face,” Sukuna chuckles, “Y’look like a slut cryin’ like that—it’s cute.”

Blinking, you hadn’t even realized you had a tear or two sliding down your face. Your mouth remains open for a second before he moves to rub his tip against your plump lips, smearing your spit and his cum all over the damn place with a little grin on his face.

“‘Kuna…” You whisper, earning a quirk of his brow, “I can’t believe you’re a virg-“

“Don’t finish that sentence,” He grunts, moving a thumb to your chin to widen how open your mouth is for him, “Jus’… keep sittin’ there lookin’ pretty f’me,” Sukuna says.

You roll your eyes at him and all he can do is smile, pushing his hips forward again and easing his cock in between your lips. He slides in slowly until you can feel him pressing right against the back of your throat. To which he keeps himself there for a second, testing that gag reflex of yours and watching your eyes water.

Moving his hand back to the top of your head, he buries his fingers in your hair, “So fuckin’ sexy like this,” Sukuna compliments, feeling you moan in response, “M’gonna cum again, stay j-just like that,” He breathes out heavily, his eyes rolling to the back of his skull before he’s throwing his head back.

And as if to coax his orgasm out, you carefully move a hand to cup his balls, sucking on his cock as best as you can and earning an accidental sound from his throat. The second your palm is felt against him, the moment he feels your tongue slicking against him, Sukuna whines.

Then his thighs are tensing and he’s groaning loudly as if to cover up the sound that just left his lips, filling your throat with his seed and then tugging your mouth off of him with a quick pull of your head. You’re quick to swallow for yet a second time, letting out a needed cough after the fact while he stumbles back just a bit, his calves hitting the couch.

“Whore,” Sukuna growls.

You clear your throat and send a smile his way, “Not my fault you cum easy.”

Sukuna’s slow to sit back down on the couch to catch his breath, “Tell anyone about this and I’ll-“

“Oh,” You suddenly purr, cutting him off as you lift yourself up from the ground. He watches with slightly widened eyes as you move to straddle him, “Don’t tell me you thought we were done?”

He’s at a loss for words all over again, his confidence suddenly getting caught in his throat and flying out the window. Your hands slip to his broad shoulders and you lean forward a little.

Sukuna’s hands shakily find their way to your waist as he stares up at you, “You want more?”

You smirk, tilting your head at the dumbfounded male, “Don’t you?” You ask in a sultry little whisper, making his sensitive cock twitch once more. “At the very least…” Your lips slowly near his and he’s losing his breath, “Taste yourself, Sukuna.”

And then your lips are on his and he’s taking your tongue into his mouth. His grip on your waist tightens before he pulls you flush against him, feeling your crotch press right against his cock that’s steadily twitching back to life.

The two of you share a heated and messy kiss, your hips carefully swaying against him to encourage his returning arousal. You can’t really use curiosity as an excuse anymore, can you?

Well, you can. And you do with the way your hands slide down to his chest, your fingers slipping over his nipples to find exactly what you’d been curious about. You flick your fingers over his piercing there and Sukuna lets out a low hiss, prying his lips from yours and sending you a glare.

Not only did that little move of yours make his cock spring up completely but, you also notice the frown on his face.

Smiling at him, “Sukuna…”

“Don’t.” He huffs.

“You have nipple piercings?” You end up asking anyway in a happy little tone.

He grits his teeth slightly, “…Obviously.”

Chuckling, you press a soft peck against his lips and whisper, “Can I see them?”

“No.” He replies.

“No? Oh c’monnn, they’re just piercings!” You whine as your legs remain sprawled out over Sukuna’s muscular thighs.

Your panty-clad cunt was throbbing over his saliva-slicked semi-hard cock, and yet here Sukuna was still trying his very best to figure out a way out of this situation. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to go further with you—he was just nervous.

Not that he’d ever say that out loud though. Admit you’ve made him nervous? Oh please, in what universe?

Sure, you made him cum prematurely but that’s not his fault. No one told you to have such a slutty ass mouth.

Back to the present though, as you gaze down at him with those stupidly pretty eyes of yours, batting your lashes pleadingly whilst you await for the man to change his answer. It was simply unfair of him to have nipple piercings and not show you. It’s the least he could do after the head you just gave him, right?

“No, it’s not the ‘least I can do’,” Sukuna huffs. It’s then that you realize you’d spoken your thoughts aloud but—in a way—you’re actually glad you did so, “You’re not seeing shit, now get off of me.”

The pout that presents itself on your face is practically immediate, “C’mon ‘Kuna, I won’t touch them. I just wanna see,” You coo softly, tilting your head to the side as if to convince him, “Please?”

One simple word and his tip was wet with precum yet again. Sukuna swears he hates you. He hates the way you're looking at him right now, the way you're seated so perfectly on top of him, and the way he forgets how the hell he even got into this position with you in the first place.

Didn't he come over here to finish a project? Not have sex with you.

And yet, he can't find it in himself to say no to you again. That damn word you said, it did something to him. Sukuna's not sure what or why but his mouth is moving on its own, almost instinctively, "You wanna see them?" He sighs.

You're nodding, slipping your hands down to the hem of his shirt, "Yeah. Promise I won't touch."

"Tch. I..." Sukuna grits his teeth and you can see a pretty vein decorating his skin along his sharp jawline as he glances away for a moment, "I want you to beg me again."

Although you're a bit taken back by his request, you're quick to lean forward a bit and bite your lower lip, "Please?"

He ignores the word leaving you lips, his cock springing to life once more despite his attempt at leaving you unanswered. Given his body's reaction to you, all you can do is smirk before you're leaning down slightly and pressing your lips to his jaw.

"Pretty please, Sukuna?" You purr, warm breath hitting his now overly tense skin, "I promise I'll be good. Won't lay a finger on you unless you want me to."

His head slumps back against the couch and he inhales sharply at your soft touch sliding under his shirt, steadily working it up as the black fabric bundles up against your hands.

Then you're at his neck, sucking on his skin, rolling your tongue over him, shifting your hips forward against his cock and he simply groans. "F-Fucking, fine." Sukuna huffs, annoyed out of his ever-loving mind at whatever control it is you seem to have over him.

He hates you. He swears he hates you. Everything about the way your hands quickly tug his shirt up over his head, tossing the fabric elsewhere as you set your greedy eyes on his chest, the way your eyes widen at how flushed his skin is, and the sight of your tongue swiping over your lips as soon as you set your sight on his nipples.

Such pretty contrasting metal decorated his very pretty swollen nipples. So flushed with shades of pink and red, itching to be touched—just one flick and you knew he'd let out the most heavenly sound. The problem was convincing him to let you touch his nipples.

They were so damn tempting though, you swore you were drooling at the sight. God, you just wanted to reach out and-

"No," Sukuna rasps out. Your eyes snap up to his face and your pussy throbs at his expression.

He's beyond embarrassed. His eyes almost look glossed over with how desperate he was for you to stop looking at him. And yet he was so pouty and grumpy too, plump lips pulled into the cutest little frown at how hungry you were looking at him, his breathing unsteady all over again, and his cock felt twitching wildly beneath you.

You smirk, "'No'... what?"

"No, you cannot touch them," He's slow to clarify that, having seen right through those greedy eyes of yours, "You wanted to see and you've seen so-"

"I can make you feel good though," You purr, leaning in close to him all over again. "Jus' let me-"

"No," Sukuna mutters sternly. Then his hands are meeting your hips and his grip alone makes you flinch.

His touch is filled with intent as he slides his hands back to your ass and gives you a nice and firm squeeze, tugging you against him and making you gasp at the way his dick twitches right against your cunt. Your hands go to his shoulders to stop yourself from being pulled flush against him and he gazes dead up into your eyes.

How does one look so needy and yet commanding at the same time? It was like Sukuna told you thousands of words through his gaze alone. Maybe it was his very apparent physical need for you, or maybe it was just how attractive he is when aroused but fuck his look had your body hot all over.

Sukuna lets out a small breath of air before he drops his raspy tone even lower to a whisper, "Fuck me," He utters, feeling the reaction your cunt has to his words and cracking a cocky little smirk, "Fuck me, and you can touch me as much as you wish to."

You gulp thickly. Did you forget how to speak for a moment because all you do is open your mouth and it was like no words were even coming to your brain. His gaze was to intense and starved, large hands playing with the fat of your ass while he lifts his hips up slightly.

Then you gasp again, his thick tip was pressing right against your needy hole through the few layers of clothing that remained and you felt drunk off of your own arousal. Nodding and whispering in return, "O-Okay," Your hands slide around his neck and you lean in until your lips are meeting his again.

And if you were drunk off of your arousal then he was fucking high off of his own—feeling faded out of his mind with the way he leisurely moves to undress your lower half as he kisses you like he's done so a thousand times before, sliding his tongue into your mouth, swallowing up your moans, sucking on your lower lip, and undressing you all in one go.

Hell, for a second you forget the man is a damn virgin.

And as if to combat with that—you feel like a damn virgin once you start sinking your saccharine walls around Sukuna’s thickly curved cock. Gasping against his lips and feeling his fingertips curl into the skin of your waist, his jaw-dropping and lips quivering against yours as he lets out the most guttural groan he’s ever uttered, and both of your eyes fluttering at the connection of his body to yours.

Sukuna’s deeply shaded red eyes are hazy on yours as you sink down on him. His mind is turning to mush and he swears he’s about to pass the fuck out. It could’ve been the way your face looked as your cunt greedily sucked in his cock, or how tight your walls clamped down on him but, either way, Sukuna felt hot all over. Dizzy with lust and faded off of everything that’s you.

Every inch of you, the feel of your squeezing wet pussy enclosing around his aching cock, that breathy squeak of his name leaving your lips, and then your fingers grazing his chest-

Sukuna’s brows twist up and his entire body flinches instinctively. Hips bucking up slightly, large hands urging you further down, and shaky sound escaping his wet blushing lips—he’d officially lost it.

He looked so damn pretty doing so as well, not that you’d ever tell him that (you’ve embarrassed him enough for the time being). Those damn eyes of his were all glossed over, his bottom lip was shaking as a sexy-pitched gasp escaped his throat, and his hands held onto you for dear life whilst he bottomed out.

His fat cockhead kissing your cervix with little to no movement had you panting heavily while you kept your eyes low on his. “‘Kuna,” You feel his cock twitch desperately inside you and you toy with one of his sensitive nipples in between your index and thumb, “Y-You’re so-“

“Shut up,” He groans, and then he’s kissing you—desperately, hungrily-, starved. He knew another word from you would have your cunt stuffed full of his cum within seconds.

And as much as he wanted that, as much as he knew that’d be the end result of all this, he did not want to make yet another fool of himself. Though, the way your fingertips constantly flick over his pierced nipples makes him fucking whine into your mouth, a heavy grunt following after the sound as if to cover it up.

The hands your waist urge your body up, dragging your slicked walls up along his cock before allowing gravity to slam you back down. God the way you moan his name makes his knees feel weak. You were making him, as a whole, feel so utterly weak.

It wasn’t long before you were picking up a steady pace on top of him, your breaths shared with his and his eyes not once leaving yours. Sukuna was such a silent commander, that gaze of his told you everything, testing-, no, daring you to look away from him. He didn’t even know what it was about eye contact but he craved it so desperately.

Your gaze made his cock so stupidly hard, so much so that he just wanted to flip you over on this stupid couch of yours and-

And then he was. Sukuna doesn’t even register he’s repositioned with you until you let out the prettiest little whimper and your eyes roll back as he, almost experimentally, thrusts his heavy cock deep past your plush pussy lips.

What brings him back into the moment is that sound of you and the way you’re choking out his name, “S’kuna, f-fuck,” You almost hate that he’s taken control because you’ve lost your teasing of his chest, “Why’d you-, ngh-,” You’re cut off completely when he drags his hips back so torturously slow before rolling his hips down into you.

Shaking his head thoughtlessly, “Shut up,” Sukuna huffs again as he presses his bulky weight down against you, folding you into the meanest mating press and making you let out a filthy mewl at the sheer stretch of his girthy cock. “Please,” He sounds almost breathless, that plea of his hardly even audible, “Just be quiet f’me.”

Your jaw hangs open and you’re simply gaping up at the man with stupid, cockdrunk eyes. Something about feeling and watching him learn how to please you was probably more pleasurable than the sex itself. Which is saying an awfully lot because even though he didn't know what the hell he was doing, whatever he was doing, he was doing it right.

All you can do is wrap your arms around his neck and tug him closer, moaning his name softly every time his tip nudges into that mushy spot inside you. Sukuna lets out a low hum when he feels your nails claw at his back suddenly.

Then the cocky bastard has the nerve to fucking smile at you. Almost as if he enjoyed the pain of your nails scratching at his back hard enough to leave marks…

Because, of course, then he’s fucking you faster, harder, deeper. So determined to learn what you like, to learn your body inside and out (literally), and to have you mark up his back more than the dark ink that decorates his skin currently.

“Y’feel so fuckin’…” He can hardly even speak as he just grows addicted to pushing his cock in and out and in and out. That sloppy sound of your cunt squelching and wetting up his cock over and over again-, fuck he couldn’t get enough of it. “S-So fuckin’ good,” Sukuna’s voice almost softens as he shifts his lips to your ear, “Oh fuck, wanna…” His words trail off, a deep shade of blush coating his cheeks.

You can’t help but grow that never-ending urge to tease him, moving your lips to his ear, “Wanna what?” There was a slight shake in your voice but that didn’t save him from his cock throbbing at the sound of your voice alone.

“Hahh… wanna-, agh, wanna make you cum,” Sukuna admits begrudgingly. He sounded so ridiculously embarrassed saying that out loud but he was far too pussydrunk to care right now.

Thrusts growing heavier as if he were searching for a specific spot inside you, his eyes softening as he shifts to hover his face over yours once more, and his groans making your stomach churn with butterflies. Hell, you almost do exactly that of what he’s requested based on the sound of desperation in his tone alone.

Sukuna’s usually such a big, mean, sometimes stoic man, and yet here he was, silently requesting your assistance.

He is only a virgin after all.

“Not anymore,” He gruffs, catching you by surprise as you render the fact that those words left your lips. “C’mon, tell me what to do.”

Again, Sukuna swears on his life he hates you. He hates the way you’ve made him so weak, the way your cunt is so deliciously warm inside, the way you moan his name-

Fuck, he hates you.

“‘Kuna,” You whisper as you slide one of your hands from around his neck to slip to his hand and guide him, “My clit. You gotta-“

Your breath is caught in your throat all over again. You were trying to guide him just like he wanted you to but Sukuna was far too quick of a learner, swatting his thick thumb around in search before his ears twitch at the way your voice gets stuck in your throat.

“Here?” He has the nerve to whisper gently, “Rub here, right? Y’like that?” Sukuna asks as he matches his thrusts with the flick of his thumb, drinking in the way your back arches up off of the couch and your eyes roll back.

You’re nodding, “Yes yes-, r-right there ‘Kuna, fuck…”

His eyes rake over your face all over again and then he’s doing that thing where he speaks without thinking, “So fuckin’ pretty like this.”

Of course, those softly uttered words pull you out of your cockdrunken stupor for only a moment, “H-Huh?” You breathe out as your eyes meet his.

“I hate you,” Sukuna lies straight through his teeth, “Hate how pretty you look beneath me,” He’s babbling at this point, picking up his pace and trying to angle his cock into somewhere specific, “How fuckin’—god you’re squeezin’ me s’tight, hahh—h-how you sound moaning my name, taking my cock.” With that last sentence comes a particularly harsh thrust.

Your nails scrape at his back again and he moans in pleasure. Gloss covers your eyes as he finally finds that spot that has you seeing stars, “Sukuna,” You moan sweetly, feeling him hit that very spot over and over and over again.

“Again,” He huffs, leaning down even closer and pressing more of his weight onto you, “Moan my name again, brat.”

“Sukuna,” You’re moaning without the need for his instruction. To hell if the man is a virgin, he knows how to use his cock.

What he doesn’t realize is how big he is in comparison to anyone else you’ve been with. Stretching you open with every thrust, fucking you ridiculously full of all his thick inches, knocking his dripping tip right against your sweet spot, making your legs tingle in numbness, and rolling skillful circles around your clit as if he’d practiced doing so before.

“Fuckin’ perfect,” Sukuna rasps out, his eyes locked dead onto yours as usual.

He was so focused on you, so eager to make you cum. Obviously, he’d never felt anything like this before so he never wants it to end. And perhaps that’s the only reason why he hasn’t emptied himself into you yet.

Every time you’re felt leaving another bright red mark on his back, he lets out a low hiss before flashing a smirk down at you, thrusts growing harder. Then there’s the way you just gape up at him, jaw dangling as you’re so clearly lost in pleasure, and pussy swallowing him in whole each time he fucks himself back into you.

And your little gasps of, “Feels s-so good Kuna, don’t stop.” Have him reeling back on purpose, pretending to mistakenly slip his cock out of you for a moment only to slap his fat cockhead against your needy hole and then push all of himself right back in.

With a smug expression on his face, “Don’t tell me what t’do,” He responds.

“I jus’ did,” You argue back all in one breath.

God, he- , “I hate you,” The words are leaving his lips yet again but he can’t stop driving his dick inside you. You’re so fucking warm, so welcoming for him, so honeyed and sweet inside. Hell, for a second he wonders what you’d taste like on his tongue—despite never even going down on someone before.

“Yeah,” You flash a fucked-out little smile up at him and your walls grip onto him tighter, making his brows twist up, “But you love fuckin’ me.” Your little whisper makes him shudder.

He nearly cums at that, releasing a strangled groan before he just nods almost obediently, “Uhuh.” Sukuna mumbles, his hate for you growing with every passing second.

There you are under him, still teasing him despite the expression of pleasure plastered across your face, “Yeah?”

“M-Mhm,” He grumbles in response.

He can’t help but just agree with you. Of course he adores fucking you. If anything, he doesn’t think he’d prefer it be anyone else. After watching your cute ass all composed every week in class, listening to the way you lecture him for not paying attention as if you actually care about him, watching you grow surprised today at the way he can get things done when he puts in an effort-

Shit, of course he wanted to see you like this—splayed out like a pretty little slut for him, gasping his name, looking him in the eye, and allowing him to fuck you. God, his mind is spinning. He can’t think at all.

So lost in his head, you’re left spasming below him because he’s still thumbing at your clit and his cock is as unforgiving as ever, “Sukuna,” His name rolls off of your tongue beautifully and he’s left in awe above you.

Tilting his head, “What?” Sukuna breathes as he’s pulled from his daze and back to the present.

“Make me cum,” You order so suddenly.

As that third word leaves those lips of yours, Sukuna smirks knowingly and he leans up a little just to angle himself better inside you. He glances down at your cunt, biting his lip at the sight of his cock bulging inside you, watching himself push in and out for a second before his smirk turns into a lazy little smile.

“Already did’,” He scoffs, flicking his eyes back up to you.

Your brows twist up, “Wha-“

“Are you that dumb when cock is inside ya’?” He utters meanly and earns an immediate squeeze of your gummy walls around his veiny shaft, “You came a few minutes ago, brat.”

“I…” Your expression becomes dumbfounded and in an instant, you’re the one left embarrassed.

Which he finds all too cute, “Felt good though.” He comments smugly, looking back down to where you’re connected and tilting his head at the sight.

Fuck, he was so sexy above you. Even on his chest, bright red scratches decorated his skin. When did you do that? His nipples were still as flushed as his face and you wanted so badly to reach out and flick your fingers against them again.

Pouting, “Sukuna-“

“Do it again f’me,” The man cuts off.

You can’t even get a response out before he’s leaning down again, “I-“

This time you’re cut off by him pressing your legs together and against your chest, loving the pretty sight of you folded and bent to his will like this. All he can do is stare down and watch himself fuck you, seeing your swollen lips take in his fat length so fucking beautifully. It’s like you were made for him or something.

Your cunt only molds around his cock, sucking him in whenever he pulls out like you never wanted him to leave you. He could feel every throb of your pussy when he spoke to you, every squeeze of your warmth when he reached deeper than before, and fuck was he enamored by every second of it.

“Please,” He says breathlessly all of a sudden, itching to watch you cum on his cock this time around.

His begging is followed by him moving his hand back down to your pussy, his thumb sliding back in search of your clit. Rubbing those maddening little circles once he finds it, Sukuna focuses most of his attention on your body. Every little jump you make when he swats his thumb to the left, every pitch in your moan when he thrusts inside you at a certain pace—Sukuna soon smiles once he’s got you all figured out.

“Oh fuck,” You whimper, tossing your head back against the couch as your eyes loll to the back of your hand.

With that knowing smile on his face, the couch creaks with his rough thrusts inside you, “Stop makin’ me beg you for shit,” Sukuna grunts before gifting your throbbing pussy with a little smack, “Jus’ give it t’me.”

“Sukuna-, ah,” You’re choking at the sensation and your cunt narrows even more around him.

His toned pelvis smacks against you over and over, heavy balls hitting your ass with each shove of his fat cock inside your warmth, “Fuck,” The man heaves as he feels himself steadily growing addicted.

Why the hell didn’t he have sex with someone sooner?

“M’gonna cum,” You soon whine out to the man.

To which he clashes into you faster, feining for it, “Please, fuckin’ need it,” Sukuna groans before pressing down against you again.

His thrusts grow uneven and jagged, eyes rolling back when he feels you finally cumming around his cock for a second time. You were squeezing him so tight. All he could do was moan at how perfect you were.

“Shiit,” He huffs, his cock twitching wildly inside you before his mind goes completely blank, “I love you-“

Your brows immediately twist up, “Wha-“

And then he’s painting your walls white. Grunting, groaning, moaning-, hell, you name it and the sound was leaving his lips as he fucks his orgasm into you.

Then he’s babbling mindless little praises of, “Love this fuckin’ pussy,” Lost in filling you with his cum and listening to you whimper from overstimulation.

Gifting you with praise after praise about how beautiful you are under him like this, how much he adores his name rolling off your tongue. He can’t even fathom how much cum is spilling into you, velvety thick ropes painting your walls a creamy white to the point where it spills out of you and coats his hefty base with a filthy ring of white.

All while he continued to praise you, going as far as thank you in quiet little whispers. God, he was out of his mind. He wasn’t thinking in the slightest, his mouth was just saying shit.

So much so that he’s barely lucid as his high comes down, doesn’t process a thing he said to you moments ago, and just lays there for a while with his cock resting inside you. All he can do is pant heavily as he rests his body on top of you, not yet pulling out and leaving his softened cock inside you.

You’re completely still beneath him for a while, trying to catch your breath as your legs feel temporarily numb. You couldn’t get those three words he spoke to you out of your head.

His tone was so damn soft and vulnerable, just replaying it in your head made you smile. Before he notices your expression though, you wipe the smirk off of your face and coo his name softly, “Sukuna…?”

“Don’t.” Is all he has to say to you. He was well aware of what he’d said to you.

He didn’t mean it, of course. He was simply… lost in the moment.

“Aww,” You purr, an obvious breathlessness to your tone, “You said you loved me cause I took your virginit-“

Sukuna lets out a mean groan before moving your legs apart so he can meet your eyes again, “I’m gonna fucking kill you.”

You flash a pout to mock him, “Why? ‘Cause I didn’t say it back?”

His face is all different shades of blush but he still looks as mean and grumpy as ever, “No…”

“You sure?” You tease further.

All he can do is roll his eyes at you, “Fuck you.”

And, naturally, you only continue, “I think you did that already…”

Sukuna sighs, “Just.. Don’t tell anyone about this.”

“As long as you promise we’ll do this more often.”

“I-, hah,” He smirks, “What are you, some kinda cockhungry slut?”

“No…” Your eyes drag themselves elsewhere for a moment, “But for you, maybe.”

“Mh.” Sukuna hums deeply, an unavoidable smile spreading across his face, “I think I like that.”

“I think you love it-“

“M’gonna ‘love’ fucking the snarky responses outta’ your mouth in a second if you keep it up,” He says flawlessly.

All you can do is swallow down whatever it is you were going to respond to that with.

To which he smiles, “Uhuh, that’s what I thought.”

perm sukuna tags (1/2):

@crude-saint @cupidstrace @iiakithegoat @hellodeeyanna @navyllll @grignardsreagent @kingofpiratesiguess @aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa444 @etsuniiru @starsryi

@not-a-glad-gladiator @audiblez @2kool4skoolll @o4tmilf @elliescumtubeslut @daxphoriax @gorouenjoyer @oookore @whore4hobie @blubearxy

@wonderfullymickey @iaintblockinnobody @anothergojostan @kitassecretgf @iam-souless @nanamitiddiechomper @ohreallyfriend @kunababy @withersworld @lilacsforveins

@suguphile @megottheswaskikacooooke @kvsqkiii @yourlocalcatscammer @lucy-lulu @sukubusss @sweetieelilii @lisabelhyhn @bellesiy @serenadesvt

Sylus in your mother tongue. 

His name makes lanterns quiver. Whispers amid the bordering provinces cease. The gilded crow etched into his inky, black armor is enough to tighten anyone’s lips, serving as a harbinger more than a mere adornment. 

His adversaries fear him, surrendering not just to the sword in his hand or the sea of arrows pointed by his men at his back. 

Those who survive him always speak of his eyes, how they hold something that makes his opposition stutter like they’ve seen a demon. Most compare him to something from the underworld, voice measured, hair unnaturally white, demeanor almost too calm for this plane. 

He favors psychological warfare: night raids, misinformation spread like a disease through enemy encampments, turning men against each other, sowing quiet seeds of dissent. 

Wars are often won before swords cross. On the occasions where he is required to sully his hands, he rides at the front of an assault on his onyx horse, straight sword gleaming, back rigid, expression impassive, as if violence is another language fluently curled around his tongue.

The Emperor favors him. The court disdains him, a foreign-born general who threaded his way into the empire’s spine and challenges their authority. 

Sylus kneels and obeys when the moment calls for it. But when he speaks, the world quiets, straining its ears to capture the wisdom he carries. Sometimes, out of fear of becoming one of the thousands of enemies felled by his sword.

You stand one step behind him. Always behind and to the left. A show of respect and tradition, and a signal to your position at his side. 

You’re his second in command. A shadow where lantern light does not stretch far enough to reach. Sharpened steel veiled in proficiency and elegance. 

His enemies often underestimate you, and you work that to your advantage. You know how to cut with your tongue and sword. How to capitalize on lowered defenses and lecherous stares, sliding a dagger through a man’s neck without so much as wincing.

You also know where your General buries the bodies of his opposition and his demons. How he keeps track of those he kills, not in some twisted way of collecting tokens of war, but out of respect for the dead, while the empire thinks he’s some calculative monster born of fire. An imperial, soulless tool only meant for conquering and nothing else. 

You always fight at his side. Shoulder to shoulder, sometimes back to back, your blades singing through the iron-salted air like you’ve danced together since the dawn of time. 

You’ve taken arrows meant for him, plucking them out of your chest with red filling the gaps of your teeth and amused defiance in your eyes. You’ve swiped blood from his jaw—thankfully, not his—with assured fingers while the world blurred to cinders around you. Poured tea into his cup, where others couldn’t be trusted not to poison him. Murmured guidance into his ear over deckled maps and official seals, flanked by men plotting his demise.

You are his umbra. His viper poised to strike when he holds his tongue. You shoulder his battles on the rare occasions that his armor is too heavy to bear. Represent him in strategic gatherings, carrying on as if he’s feeding you the words himself.  

And…

You love him. 

Silently, irrevocably, foolishly. 

In war, you find there is no room for affection. No place for something that can be fashioned into an arrow and used to pierce through leather and lamellar armor. With time, you’ve also learned that love doesn’t follow orders or wield a blade with the discipline of a general honed from countless battles. 

Love is a messy, fickle thing. An unpredictable sensation with claws and teeth when brandished by the wrong hands. So, you never ask for his heart. Never demand more than the quiet space at his side, serving him like it’s etched into your bones, and like every fiber of your existence doesn’t burn to stroke the perpetual furrow between his brows away with tender fingers. 

You carry your affection behind your ribs like something benign. You do not linger when he looks at you longer than a man of his position should. You don’t reach for him unless necessary. You don’t dwell when your fingers brush under the pretense of handing him his sword or adjusting his armor or the jade clasp in his hair, and your skin prickles with something you’ve tried to kill since it reared itself. You don’t allow your tone to soften when he says your name like it’s the only truth he’s ever spoken. 

You don’t stumble over your words when he presents you with new tassels for your sword or combs carved of jade and gold. You don’t loiter when his defenses slink in private, when he’s shrugged off his armor, figurative and literal, and his fingers tremble near your cheek as if he means to push the hair from your face.  

Adoration is dangerous. A luxury you can’t afford when life isn’t always guaranteed. It’s a weakness waiting to be exploited. And for a man like Sylus, vulnerability is a death sentence. 

So, like a lotus, you let this feeling bloom, never releasing it, choosing to tuck it away when it threatens to pierce through your chest. 

Besides, you know that other things have occupied his mind as of late. More than conquering opposing empires, representing the Emperor, and strengthening the weight of his name.

For years, you’ve helped him search for her.

A woman from his past, he once whispered as the hearth fire flickered and wine slid down his throat under the hush of night on his compound. A presence that has haunted the outskirts of his mind like a wraith. He never expounds more on their relationship than that, a faraway look in garnet-spun eyes, leaving you to fill in the gaps of his silence yourself. 

He insists she exists. He can feel her in a way that you can’t fathom. In a way that he never articulates beyond a hunch. You imagine whatever pull she has on him is like a red thread stretched taut whenever he nears the truth, and slackening when he’s just out of reach.  

You nod, believing him wholeheartedly. It’s the only thing you can do to give your hands purpose and to curb this aching, snaking feeling scraping against your lungs each time he speaks of the woman who owns something more spiritual than his heart. 

You make it your grand mission to find her, too. Anything of value to your General—no matter how much it pains you and fills your stomach with stones to discover it—is important to you as well.

Years of conquests lead to dead ends. You interrogate monks in the snow-laden mountains when you’re not cleaving through flesh in the name of the Emperor. You bribe merchants and seafarers, clinging to every morsel of information you manage to squeeze out. You hunt down philosophers who speak of reincarnation. Of foreign, nameless women who look like they could bear the cosmos. Scour villages, sifting through information and rumors like sand poured through a sieve. 

You convince yourself that this is what loyalty looks like. This is how you can love him without vocalizing it, hunting down the one thing that makes him restless and siphons his dreams when he catches wind of anything that might lead him to her. 

Finally, your efforts lead to a solution. One that reveals itself slowly like a flower unfurling towards the sun, cruel and beautiful in all its glory. 

You find a woman in a distant province, with eyes as soft as spun silk and beauty that doesn’t bellow like that of a painted, pinned-up courtesan or empresses adorned with jewels to hide the ugly gnarl of their souls. She’s unconventionally beautiful. Like fate’s taken corporeal form, and you can’t help how your stomach sinks when you realize she matches the description you’ve chased for what feels like eons.

You feel the red, fragile thread pull between them when their gazes lock. Feel the air shift and the breath burning Sylus’ lungs as if it’s your own. You feel his fingers flexing on the hilt of his sword, bone-white. The clench of his jaw, the disbelief painting otherwise stoic features. 

He softens in a way that you never thought him capable of. In a way reminiscent of wine-drunk nights with the stars a little too low and your heart blisteringly hot and bare in your palms. 

He doesn’t look back when he approaches her in the tea house, gathering her small hands between his much larger ones. Recognition sparks between them like flint striking steel, his more assured, hers distant like a melody surfing the corners of her mind. Words are exchanged, muffled, lifetimes warming beneath their smiles.

You don’t interfere. You can’t. You understand quicker than you'd like. Talks of fate and past lives you brushed off as exhaustion—it all makes sense, piling into your shoulders like snow. 

The universe slowly unfolds from beneath your feet, receding to make way for this change in dynamic. You don’t fall despite how much your knees scream. You can’t, gripping the leather of your sword that much tighter, your face schooled into something rehearsed and detached. 

It is with quiet, aching resolve that you accept you were never meant to be a part of his story. Never meant to take the main stage in his life. You were meant to be something indispensable. A tool, delivering him to fate’s doorstep in a cracked bowl filled with gold. 

History will remember General Qin Che—your Sylus—the man who burned his silhouette into an empire. It may even recall the woman who cradles the other half of his soul, forged from jade and peonies and everything you are not. 

History will not remember you, the person who loved him in fitful silence when the universe did not demand it.

You wince when you feel mild irritation at the base of your throat. Something you mistake for dust or dehydration. Quietly, you clear your throat, finally tearing your eyes away from the man you promised to shield with your life, but never to give your heart to.

—

Months pass, and yet you never abandon him. Not when he’s more merciful in battle. Not when he second-guesses taking a life, where before, he would murder with cruel proficiency. 

You sit on the padded cushion in your room as you always do, morning announcing itself in pale shafts of light through the lattice of your window, birds singing a joyous symphony that belies the twinge in your chest. Almost like thorns snagged on the lining of your lungs, unable to push past a certain point.

You tamp down the feeling, your reflection staring back at you in the bronze mirror of your vanity. Your hands shake slightly as you untangle the ends of your hair with practiced strokes of your brush, and you braid it in three strands like you always do. Your fingers brush over the combs on the table beside you, adorned with gold filigree, jade teeth, and rubies reminiscent of a certain general’s eyes. Gifts, all of them, from a man who knows your tastes better than he knows your heart.

You slide one of the combs into your hair, wordlessly appraising your handiwork. Distantly, you wonder if he’ll notice. If he’ll care enough to tease you about adornments in your hair. If his eyes will remain on you just long enough for you to feel something other than dejection. Than second place.

As you reach for the brush stained rouge with lipstick, your chest tightens. It’s a subtle feeling at first, one you’ve familiarized yourself with lately, like the beginnings of a cold refusing to manifest itself fully. You clear it once with a cough. Again, when it refuses to subside. You stifle the sound with your fist, trying not to wake your mother slumbering in the other room. 

The cough comes back sharper, your voice hoarse, chest seizing. You can’t control it, phlegm thick in your throat as you bow forward, and it feels like something is growing inside you. Clawing its way out from deep within your lungs, branching into your trachea.

You cover your mouth as the final cough finally dislodges something. But relief doesn’t come when you draw your hand back, the center of your palm stained bright red. And amid the violence of your blood slowly leaking between your fingers, a single, velvet-black petal reveals itself. 

For a moment, you scrutinize it. Stare at your reflection, eyes glazing over with something you can’t name. Slowly, your fingers curl inward towards your palm, your fingertips stained wet with fresh blood. Annoyance flares before you allow fear to bloom. You don’t allot yourself to dwell on what this means. On what the petal crushed beneath your fingers symbolizes. 

Instead, you rise so quickly, your vanity trembles, your robes quivering around your feet. You rinse your hand in the basin in the corner of your room until the water clouds pink. Until that persistent, scraping feeling in your chest recedes. You watch as the black petal buoys back and forth amid the carnage, alert bells sounding distantly in your mind. Too far off to give attention. 

As if moving on autopilot, you finish hiding the hollowness of your features with makeup. You tighten your sash, slip into your boots, and tie your sword to your hip after sliding the main door open, wearing the face of a warrior. Of the indispensable right-hand the empire expects you to be. Who he needs you to be.

You do not tell Sylus of the petal left drifting in your basin. You do not tell your mother when she asks why your robes slip off your shoulders, and you tie your sash tighter as the days pass. You don’t even tell yourself that you’re deteriorating, and that your plight worsens with each velvet dahlia petal you cough into your palm.

The first light that spilled through the apartment curtains were weak and yellow as the city sky danced with a distant haze. It filtered across the bed in long soft bands that glowed against the bronze of Smoke and Stack’s skin, turning old scars silver and making Sera’s freckles look like someone had sprinkled cinnamon down the bridge of her nose. The sheets smelled like sweat, cologne, soap, and the sharp ghost of whiskey, all tangled up with the lingering sweetness of her own skin.

Sera wrinkled her nose and rubbed a sleep heavy fist against one eye. Her eyelashes stuck together, still damp from whatever little dreams had been drifting through her head. She shifted to roll onto her left side and bumped straight into a wall of heat. Elias “Stack” Moore was sprawled there, taking up more than his share like always. He was stretched out on his stomach with one arm tucked under the pillow and the other flung aimless across the mattress. The sheet barely covered the dip of his lower back. His mouth hung open around a snore deep enough to rattle the headboard as a slick crescent of drool soaked into the linen beneath his cheek.

She blinked, let out a tiny baffled huff, and tried the other side.

Rolling onto her right only pushed her into another wall of sleeping muscle. Elijah “Smoke” Moore lay on his back, one hand resting heavy against his chest with his thick forearm cutting a dark line across the white sheet. The other arm had somehow hooked around her waist during the night, which was why she couldn’t move more than a few inches in either direction without bumping into him.

Hemmed in on both sides, she wriggled anyway. A little squirm against Stack’s hip. A slow push back into Smoke’s ribs. She tried to slip down under Smoke’s arm, then up over it but the mattress dipped and whispered loudly beneath her as she moved.

On the third shift to the left and the second wiggle to the right, Smoke’s lashes finally cracked apart. He stared down at the woman trapped beneath him and his brother, his woman… his wife. His pupils were curious and heavy with sleep while the rest of him woke up fast. Morning light slid over Sera’s face and turned the brown of her irises into warm amber when she glanced up at him, and her tangled ginger curls were wild around her head like she had been fighting angels in her dreams.

To him she looked like something pulled down out of a stained glass window and laid beside him. An ethereal thing with sleep swollen lips and a faint purple mark peeking at the curve of her throat where Stack’s teeth had marked the night before. She was a little miracle he felt compelled to guard until the day he died.

That old feeling, the one that sat in his chest like a rusted lock, clicked open a fraction and let memories flood in unguarded. Taking his eyes off his wife momentarily, his gaze drifted past her to Stack.

His brother was fully gone, knocked out cold, bare back rising and falling in a slow stubborn rhythm. The rumble of his snoring sounded like a train coming through the room. Nothing about the man looked careful in sleep. He took up space and air, with his limbs thrown wide, jaw slack, and the faintest suggestion of a little boy still there when he was unconscious and not pulling knives on people.

Unlike Stack, Smoke had forgotten how to sleep deep. He had taught himself not to when they were still boys in that leaning little shack that passed for a home. Back when the wind used to whistle through the cracks in the boards and their father’s boots used to stagger up the steps in the middle of the night. 

Smoke could still see it if he let himself.

He saw the way the door had slammed open with a crack that rattled the loose nails. He could still smell the liquor, sweat, and old tobacco. And he could still see their father’s shadow that lurched across the floorboards, thick and mean, before those heavy hands went for the wrong bed.

Stack, nine years old with his little afro smashed flat on one side from the pillow, had been yanked into the air before he even woke up. Their father’s fist had crashed into his face while he shouted that he had killed his woman by being born second and stubborn. Blows rained down, wild and vicious, and while Stack choked on sobs and a nosebleed, Smoke was deep in his slumber and didn’t even know the attack happened.

By morning, when the sun bled through the slats, Smoke had been the one dabbing at Stack’s split lip with a damp rag and whispering clumsy reassurances to a brother who tried not to cry and failed. In that hour, with the taste of iron still in the air and the echo of his father’s boots fading, he made himself a vow. As long as he lived he would never be caught sleeping that deep again.

Their father had tried the same stunt twice more, stumbling in with rage in his jaw and someone else’s sins on his tongue, but each time Smoke was already awake before the first creak of the floorboard in the hall. He would sit himself at the edge of Stack’s cot with a rusted blade hidden in his palm and his eyes fixed on the door. It was silent, that promise. Silent and solid. If the man took one more step toward his brother’s bed, Smoke would slit him open and live with whatever hell came next.

He had carried that vow into other nights. Into German trenches where the air tasted like mud and gunpowder. Into French cities where the beds were strange and the women were stranger. He once had gone five nights without sleep, body swaying on his feet, just to keep watch over his brother when the shells fell too close and men cried out in the dark.

He had kept his promise in juke joints and hotel rooms too. No matter what he would keep one eye open whenever a woman they barely knew lay close, his mind counting exits and weapons even as his body took what it wanted for the evening.

Now there were two people he couldn’t afford to sleep on. Stack, who was loud and reckless but loyal to the grave. And the precious gem wedged between them, the one he would burn down a city for if somebody looked at her wrong.

Something in his chest tightened at the realization and then softened when Sera wiggled again then made a little frustrated sound, like a trapped kitten.

“Go back to sleep, my love.” Smoke’s morning voice came out quiet and rough. “Sun barely yawnin’ in the sky. Get some moe’ rest.”

The pet name rolled over her skin like a glass of whiskey on a chilly winter night. Sera stilled under his arm and looked up at him, vision still glossed at the edges. His face was so close, eyes heavily lidded and mouth relaxed. An old scar that cut through his brow caught the thin light against the deep brown of his skin. Her heart did a slow and uneasy flip.

Instead of obeying, she scooted closer until her front pressed against his side, her fingers splaying over the wide plane of his chest like they belonged there. The cotton of his undershirt was thin, almost useless, and the heat of him seeped straight through.

“We in a new city,” she whined, fighting a yawn, her words dragging but stubborn. “I don’t wanna sleep the day away.”

Her gaze caught on the mark at his throat. The slash Annie had left there was healing but still angry, an ugly red line against the column of his neck. The sight pulled last night’s chaos up in her mind. Sera’s stomach tightened, but something else flared underneath it. She reached out gently and brushed her fingertips along the edge of the wound. The skin there was warmer than the rest of him and tender under her touch.

A smile tugged at her mouth, quick and mean before she bit her bottom lip to chase away the sarcastic giggle that tried to escape. “You need a new bandage, Elijah,” she murmured.

Smoke watched the path of her hand like it was a weapon she didn’t know how to use yet. Her fingers slid from his neck down to his collarbone, tracing the line where skin met fabric. Before she could travel further he caught her wrist. His grip was firm but not punishing and his thumb pressed against the flutter at the inside of her pulse. He lifted her hand and turned it, dark eyes never leaving her face as he brought the thin underside of her wrist to his mouth.

The first brush of his lips there was hardly more than a breath, a warm press against a fragile place. Sera’s lungs forgot how to work.

“First mornin’ after breakin’ you in,” he drawled, voice a shade darker now, “an you worried ‘bout my damn neck?”

The words dragged claws down her spine and another flash of last night broke open behind her eyes. The way he had held her down while she learned what it meant to take him. The way Stack had laughed low in her ear, then soothed and taunted in the same breath. The sting, the stretch, the way her own voice had sounded, desperate and wrecked, echoing off unfamiliar walls.

Heat flooded her face and her thighs clenched instinctively around nothing before a familiar small ache between them tugged up into something bright and needy.

She swallowed a whimper and failed. It came out anyway, soft and helpless as her eyes flicked away from him like she could hide under his watchful gaze. “You my husband,” she said quietly. The words felt strange and brave on her tongue. “I’m ‘posed to be worried ‘bout you.”

Something raw and unguarded flickered across Smoke’s face so fast she almost missed it. His expression sharpened, then immediately softened. He studied her like a man weighing treasure, eyes traveling from the undefined ginger curls around her face to the faint marks on her throat and the place where the sheet dipped over her hips. His hand still cradled her wrist, thumb stroking once over the jump of her pulse.

He wouldn’t say it out loud, not yet, not when their life in this city balanced on so many unfinished plans and ugly promises. But hearing her stake that claim, even tucked in between a frown and bedhead, it did something to him that felt permanent.

“Yeah,” he grunted, voice dropping even lower, the corner of his mouth tilting almost, almost into a smile. “Guess I am ya husband, little wife”

The nickname settled over her like a shawl. His eyes drifted to her mouth and stayed there, still and intent. The apartment outside their bedroom hummed with distant city sounds. A car backfired. Somewhere below, somebody shouted and laughed. In their little nest of rumpled sheets and heat, none of it quite reached them.

Between them the air thickened, and with Sera’s wrist still caught in his hand, she became acutely aware of how big his fingers were around her, how easy it would be for him to push her onto her back again, pull the sheet away and show her all over what belonged to who. Her body remembered the rhythm of his hips, the scrape of his stubble against her inner thigh and the way his voice had sounded when he lost that tight control for a heartbeat.

He, in turn, felt the tremor in her pulse and watched the way her throat moved when she swallowed. Watched her knees inch together like she was trying to hold in the memory of him. The possessive urge that lived inside him stretched, long and satisfied, and then coiled tight.

Behind them, Stack snored louder, completely oblivious with his foot twitching like he was running down some poor bastard in his dreams.

Smoke shifted, just enough that his thigh brushed higher against Sera’s, just enough that the curve of her hip slotted closer to his. “You keep lookin’ at me like that,” he said softly, his mouth so close to her wrist that each word warmed her skin, “an we ain’t leavin’ this bed ‘til it’s time for me an Stack to go to work.”

Her heart lurched in her chest. Desire tangled with nervous excitement and the faint, stubborn curiosity that had gotten her into trouble since the first day she saw him standing in her father’s kitchen. The city outside called to her, new and glittering and unknown, but the man beside her glowed like his own kind of danger.

She wet her lips, eyes flicking from his mouth to his throat and back up. “I… I wanna see the city,” she whispered, bravery and shyness braided together. “With my husbands...”

Smoke’s eyes narrowed, not in anger but in thought, the way they always did when he was considering a move in a game somebody else didn’t even realize they were playing. “I can make that happen, my love,” he promised, quiet, and leaned in just enough to let his nose brush hers. “But you gon’ learn somethin’ first, Seraphim Moore.”

Her name in his mouth made her toes curl.

“What’s that?” she breathed.

His thumb dragged another slow circle over the throb in her wrist. He didn’t kiss her just yet, instead he simply hovered there, letting the want sharpen between them until it bordered on painful.

“That bein’ my wife,” he said, voice a low rumble that vibrated straight through her, “mean you ain’t never gotta wonder where my eyes at… or who I am ready to bleed for.”

Her answer lodged somewhere behind her ribs. The ache in her body and the weight of his vow pressed in from both sides, heady and terrifyingly sweet. For a second, she forgot all about the city beyond the walls, about the ghosts they had dragged with them from Mississippi, about the woman who had carved his neck seventy-two hours ago. There was only this bed, this man, and the new life that had come for her whether she was ready or not.

Smoke watched her for one long heartbeat, then another, like he was deciding something heavy in that quiet space between one breath and the next.

Then his hand slid from her wrist to her waist and he moved. His movements weren’t rough or hurried. He simply shifted his weight and drew her with him while turning her onto her back with an ease that reminded her exactly how much stronger he was. The sheet twisted between them as he came over her, caging her beneath his chest and forearms as his knees braced on either side of her hips.

The world tipped and for a moment all she could see was him. Dark eyes. Dark mouth. The line of his shoulders blocking out the weak morning light.

Her fingers twitched up out of habit, brushing his ribs, then dropped when his gaze slid lower.

“Hold still,” he said, voice soft but brooking no argument.

Sera’s breath settled in her throat. “Why… what you doin’?”

“Checkin’ my work.”

He started with her throat. His fingertips stroked along the elegant column of her neck, tracing the faint red crescent his teeth had left the night before. He hummed low in his chest, thumb pausing at a spot that made her swallow.

“This one mine,” he whispered, almost to himself. There was a note of pride tucked into the words he didn’t bother to hide.

He followed the edge of her jaw, then drifted lower. The top of the sheet had slipped down to the swell of her chest, baring the high slope of her collarbones and the upper curve of her breasts. His palm flattened there then he eased the linen a fraction further just so he could see what else was riddled on her body. Purpled shadows bloomed along the side of one breast where his grip had been a shade too firm in the heat of everything. His thumb brushed the darkest spot, the slight roughness of his skin dragging lightly over her.

“This one me too,” he said quietly. “Got heavy handed right here.”

He bent his head and kissed the bruise, mouth warm like an apology and a claim at the same time. Her fingers slid into his hair without permission, curls soft against her knuckles.

He moved on, methodically across the line of her ribs where another small mark rested like a thumbprint. Down to the gentle dip of her waist, where the sheet no longer hid the shadows at the flare of her hips. Red and violet marks dotted the tender skin there in the shape of fingers.

Smoke huffed, a single amused breath. “Any muthafucka’ lookin’ at you gon’ know you spoken for now,” he said, voice turning lazy. He tapped one of the hand shaped bruises, light enough not to hurt. “Every time you step outta this bed ya dress sittin’ over our fingerprints.”

Heat climbed into Sera’s face, but she didn’t look away. Something shameless and fierce thrilled through her at the thought.

His hand slid to her thigh and he lifted the sheet until the morning light washed over the length of her leg. Small mottled marks bloomed along the soft inside of one thigh, some faint and some darker where teeth had threatened.

Smoke’s expression shifted. “These here,” he said, tracing the arc of neat oval marks along the meat of her thigh, “Stack.”

He didn’t sound angry, just certain. His thumb rested beside one of the bites, measuring the width and he smirked. “Little bastard always been greedy ‘bout leavin’ teeth.”

Sera’s stomach dipped and she remembered the curl of Stack’s smile against her skin and how he had laughed, breathless and pleased, when she had yelped and grabbed at his hair.

Smoke kept going as he nudged her other thigh open with his palm, careful and unrelenting, widening the space between her legs so he could see the back of one tender knee where another bruise hid, high and almost secret. “That one mine again,” he mused, fingers brushing the spot. “Pinned you there.”

The memory took her breath. Her mind supplied the sensation of her leg hooked over his hip, the way the bed had creaked, the way his voice had sounded when he had told her to take a breath and give him all of it.

He went back up, attention returning to the cradle where her thighs met and the sheet bunched.

Sera could feel her pulse there, embarrassing and insistent. She squeezed her knees together on instinct, but Smoke was already between them, his broad shoulders nudging them apart again with quiet efficiency.

“Elijah…” Her voice came out airy. “You finished yet?”

“Not quite.” His gaze had gone focused, all lazy humor tucked away. “This the part I really need to see.”

His palm stroked along the inside of her left thigh, then the right, slow enough to make her toes curl. His thumb skated just shy of the place that still felt tender and strange and wonderfully wrong. Even without looking, he could feel the faint heat.

“You still a little swollen down here,” he said, tone gentle. “Body took a lot last night, my love.”

Embarrassment flared hot and sharp. She caught his wrist, fingers clutching. “I feel fine,” she protested, even as her cheeks burned. “I promise. I feel… good.”

“That so?” He raised one brow, unconvinced.

“Yes.” She tried to close her legs again and ended up simply rubbing her knees against his ribs. “I can handle more. I want…”

She trailed off, teeth sinking into her bottom lip as she realized what she was about to ask for, what she was already asking without the words.

Smoke’s jaw clicked and he dragged in a slow breath through his nose, the muscles in his shoulders flexing above her. “We ain’t rushin’ this,” he said finally. “You gon’ be with us a long time. Ain’t ‘bout to break you tryin’ to prove somethin’ in one night.”

The firmness in his voice cut clean through the air. On the surface it sounded like a boundary. Underneath it was a protectiveness that made her chest ache.

“We gon’ give you another full body rub down tonight,” he continued, thumb drawing idle circles just above the place he was refusing to touch. “Get some moe’ oil. Work all this tension out. Let them muscles know we care 'bout ‘em.”

The mention of his hands and oil sliding over her sore limbs made her stomach swoop. Her mind flashed to the night before, when he and Stack had taken turns massaging her calves, back, and shoulders.

“But it’s mornin’ now,” she whispered. “Tonight a long way away.”

He exhaled, a rough little sound that might have been a laugh if it didn’t sound so pained. “You need rest, Seraphim.” His thumb finally stilled. “Ya body screamin’ at me an you too stubborn to listen.”

She frowned. “It ain’t screamin’… It just talkin’ kinda loud.”

His mouth twitched despite himself. “Don’t start with me, little girl.” He shook his head, eyes closing for a second like he was gathering himself. “I mean it. We take it easy today. Let you soak. Let you breathe. We ain’t gon hurt you.”

“But you not hurtin’ me,” she insisted. Her legs, traitorous things, shifted wider around his hips, giving him more room… more access. The sheet slipped higher, baring more coco brown skin and the faint shadow of her curls beneath.

His breath stuttered and she felt his gaze drag over her, slow and heavy. She could feel the air itself change and how it was charged now with something raw and hungry.

“Smoke,” she tried again, a little whine curling into his name. “Please… I want you. Right now. I don’t wanna wait ‘til tonight.”

Smoke stared at her, eyes dark as his past, and for a long moment he did nothing. Inside, he was counting, the way he used to count breaths in the trenches. One, two, three. He told himself he would move away on four, kiss her forehead, tuck the sheet back up and go into the kitchen to cook breakfast.

He reached four and didn’t move.

Sera’s hands slid up his sides, palms gliding over muscle and scars. Her nails scratched lightly at the back of his neck, just under his hairline, and a tremor chased down his spine. Her thighs flexed again, opening even further, and the soft needy sound that left her throat hit him low and mean.

“Hard for you to tell me no,” she whispered, almost like she understood exactly where the crack in him was.

The last of his restraint groaned. Smoke dropped his head, forehead pressing to hers, his breath hot against her mouth. “You gon’ make me regret this,” he muttered, though there was no real warning in it, only rough affection and a good man’s surrender.

“No I won’t,” she shot back, breathless. “I promise I’ll be real grateful.”

He huffed, a broken laugh that turned into a growl halfway through. One of his hands slid up, catching her smaller one, fingers weaving between hers above her head against the pillow. The other hand stayed between her thighs as his broad palm cupped her core feeling the tenderness, the heat,  and the way her body seemed to lean into his touch despite his caution.

“Listen here,” he said, voice low and serious, even as he shifted his hips closer. “You tell me if anythin’ feel wrong. Anythin’ hurt in the wrong way. You say it an I stop. I don’t care how close I am, you hear me?”

Her eyes locked onto his. “Yes sir,” she breathed. “I hear you.”

He searched her face a second longer, looking for doubt, fear, or some sign she was just chasing the high without understanding the cost. All he saw was trust. Nervous, trembling, hungry trust.

He sighed, defeat and desire tangled together. “Ight then,” he murmured, mouth finally claiming hers in a deep kiss that pulled a tiny sound out of her chest. “C’mere.”

The city went on buzzing outside their window, horns and footsteps and the distant call of a world that had no idea what was happening in that bed. Inside, between tangled sheets and careful hands, the morning thinned and blurred, swallowed up by the heat building once again between them.

Sera’s thighs were parted, one knee hiked lazily up on a pillow, the other draped over Smoke’s broad shoulder. He knelt at the foot of the bed with his mouth buried between her shaking legs, one hand gripping her plush hip to steady her twitching, the other working slowly between the cleft of her ass while his fingers curled inward to stretch her tightest, most private place with care.

His tongue lapped in careful patterns against her clit, tender but exacting, like he was tracing scripture he already knew by heart. His teeth grazed the sensitive skin every now and then, just enough to make her arch her back and sob his name into the sheets.

“So puffy,” Smoke groaned against her. His Delta accent was thick, syllables dragging from the pit of his chest. “We really put you through it last night.”

Sera whimpered, her toes curling, her fingers clawing at the linens. “I feel fine,” she whispered hoarsely, blinking up at the ceiling with dewy eyes. “I want more…”

He grunted, brows tightening as he fought his own instincts. “You always want more, don’t you?” he muttered, though his lips returned to her clit without hesitation.

She cried out when he resumed, spreading her thighs wider in invitation, hips rolling up in search of his mouth like she couldn’t bear to be empty for long. Smoke’s fingers pressed deeper into her backside, coaxing her to take more than just his tongue.

“Gone need to plug you again when I’m done,” he said with a low growl, tongue flattening against her clit before flicking it in tight, merciless strokes. “Keep you stretched an ready ‘til it’s time to fill you there. Ain’t no point trainin’ you if you tighten right back up.”

Sera’s thighs were trembling now, body slick with a sheen of sweat as her climax began to build. She reached for Smoke blindly, voice caught in the back of her throat—

—and then came the sound… A long, obnoxious yawn.

“Damn, y’all started without me?” Stack’s voice was hoarse with sleep, but his toothy grin was unmistakably sharp.

Sera barely had time to glance towards him before he moved. His weight shifted across the bed as he closed the distance between them. In the blink of an eye his hands were on her flushed cheeks as he leaned down and kissed her like she was his most prized possession. Tongue first and lips second, as though he intended to taste every unspoken desire left on the tip of her tongue. She moaned against him as her body still quivered from Smoke’s ministrations below, caught between the two of them with no reprieve.

When Stack finally pulled back, his eyes dropped to her lips. “How’s ya throat feelin’, baby?” he asked as his thumb dragged across her bottom lip, pausing where she had bitten it red and swollen.

Smoke’s eyes snapped up, brows drawn low in warning. “Stack.”

Stack didn’t even bother to look his way. He was busy palming the thick print of his manhood through his linen boxers, fingers flexing around it like he was already imagining her wrapped around him again. “I done asked how ya throat feels,” he repeated, his voice a rasp edged with arousal.

Sera blinked up at him, lips parted and breath ragged. “Fine…”

He grinned and leaned closer, his voice dropping to a whisper. “Wanna taste me again, doll? Like how you did last night?”

She didn’t answer with words. Instead her mouth fell open instinctively with her eyes soft and glassy as she waited.

Smoke pulled back from between her legs, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, visibly irritated. “Y’all don’t listen worth a fuckin’ damn,” he grumbled before swatting her bare ass with the flat of his palm.

Sera gasped, body jerking slightly as the sting bloomed across her skin.

“You,” Smoke pointed at Stack, “gone keep actin’ like we ain’t had conversations ‘bout bein’ patient?”

Stack shrugged lazily and unconcerned before thumbing Sera’s bottom lip again. “Our woman still got an untouched asshole. Think I’m bein’ real damn patient.”

Smoke’s jaw flexed before he grabbed a pillow and tossed it at Stack’s head. “You always do this shit. Always gotta jump in like you ain’t got no discipline.”

Stack caught the pillow mid air and tossed it back. “Whenever I gotta wait on you, I end up bored or blue-balled. I ain’t built like you, nigga. I like enjoyin’ things while they still warm.”

Smoke rose from his spot, bare chest heaving as he glared down at his twin. “Every time you ignore what I say, you end up lookin’ stupid. Like last night. You damn near nutted ‘fore you even got all the way inside.”

Stack’s jaw ticked, the insult settling into his bones like splinters beneath the skin. His nostrils flared, and for a beat it seemed like they would be at each other’s throats again. But Smoke didn’t bark another word.

His eyes shifted down to Sera, and his voice came quiet but edged with possession and care wrapped in command. “Seraphim,” he rumbled, deep enough that her lashes twitched at the sound. “If it get to be too much… say ya word.”

Sera’s gaze, dazed but obedient, met his. She nodded once, throat tight and lips glossy with the mess of Stack’s kiss. Smoke studied her expression for a heartbeat longer, then dropped back down between her legs like he never left.

No more warnings. No more arguments. His mouth reclaimed her with a hunger that bordered on obsession, lips parting to drag the entire weight of his tongue from the bottom of her slit all the way to her clit. The moan that cracked from her chest was breathless and strangled, like it punched its way up from her stomach. Her knees jerked, muscles flexing around his shoulders, but he held her firm with his mouth locked to her flesh like a man starved.

Stack tilted her chin toward him, his fingers coasting over her jaw. “That’s it,” he cooed, voice gritty with lust. “Open up for me, baby.”

Sera didn’t speak as her mouth obediently fell open again, while her tongue rested low and submissive as her lashes drooped. The wet sound of Smoke feasting between her thighs filled the room, obscene and constant, while Stack pushed his boxers down his hips and let his dick spring free. It was a sight to see, thick, flushed and already glistening at the tip.

He fisted it twice at the base, hissing softly through clenched teeth. “Damn, you look so pretty like this…”

His fingers threaded into her curls, anchoring her as he pressed the head of his dick against her waiting lips. Sera blinked up at him, needy and unfocused, her mouth still slack as he fed her the tip. Once her jaw muscles loosened he fed her the first inch, then another. Her throat worked to adjust, but she didn’t gag and she definitely didn’t flinch.

Stack groaned. “You ‘member how to breathe through ya nose, huh? Sucha good fuckin’ doll.”

Below, Smoke was relentless. He had slipped two fingers back inside Sera’s ass, twisting them in tandem with his tongue movements on her clit. The combination had her squirming, spine arching off the mattress as her voice broke into a whimper and her throat clenched around Stack’s dick.

“She squeezin’ up on me,” Stack said, voice strained. “Like her mouth missin’ me.”

“Usin’ that throat got her soakin’ me,” Smoke muttered darkly, though he didn’t stop.

Sera’s eyes rolled back slightly as Stack rocked forward, deeper this time, inch by inch until the weight of him pressed into her throat and her lips were kissing the base. He held her there, not cruel or fast, just long enough to watch the tears bead in the corners of her eyes. His thumb wiped one away with a gentleness that contrasted the way he groaned above her.

“Fuuuuck, this mouth was made for meeee.”

Smoke’s grip on her thighs tightened. His tongue flicked mercilessly, then he sucked her overworked bundle of nerves into his mouth with a pull that made her body convulse. Her throat clenched again, and Stack hissed out a curse.

“Better not make me cum first,” he growled under his breath, pulling out slightly and thrusting back in with more pressure this time, guided by her spit and the sheer slickness of her devotion.

“You keep nuttin’ quick like you the virgin,” Smoke taunted into her pussy, the words muffled by flesh and tongue.

Stack ignored him, but his pace didn’t slow down. He kept it just shy of fast, a steady invasion that filled her throat, then let her breathe, then fed her more. His free hand wrapped under her chin, guiding her, keeping her exactly where he wanted her.

Sera moaned around him, the vibrations traveled through his length and down into his gut.

Smoke’s tongue flattened and licked a lazy stripe up the middle of her folds before it circled again and again. His fingers crooked inside her ass with the same rhythm, bringing her toward the edge.

“She startin’ to throb,” Smoke warned, voice hoarse. “She gon’ cum."

Sera’s hands fisted the sheets beside her head, every nerve lit up like a wire pressed to flame. She didn’t know where she was anymore, only that Smoke was dragging orgasm after orgasm from her body, and Stack was stuffing her throat with praise and possession like it was his only purpose. And she loved it.

Smoke lifted his mouth only once to taunt, “You close, little wife?”

She nodded against Stack’s pecker, unable to speak with tears streaking down her face and her thighs trembling violently as her orgasm threatened to shatter her in half.

“Good,” Smoke growled. “Cum for me. I wanna feel it spill down my chin.”

And she did as she was told just as Stack pushed in again, his grip tightening in her hair while her mouth stretched to the limit as her climax finally took her under. Her body seized like she was frozen in time before her orgasm wrecked through her in vicious waves. Her thighs clamped around Smoke’s head, toes curling tight as if trying to grip the very air. Every nerve was on fire, overstimulated and singing, as if her body couldn’t tell if it wanted to run from the pleasure or drown in it.

Stack groaned low, hips jerking as her throat convulsed around him. “Shit… she suckin’ me back in like she starved.”

His hand flexed against the back of her head, fingers tight in her messy curls. He watched her expression closely. How the tears spilled from her eyes and how her lashes fluttered as her body trembled with delight. Her mouth stretched wide around his thick dick, lips glossy and ringed with saliva and desire. She was a mess, their mess, and neither of them could look away.

Smoke was soaked from chin to neck, his face buried between her thighs as her release coated his mouth and cheeks. He licked her through the aftershocks, tongue working in messy, devouring circles, not caring how sensitive she just became. Her body jerked again, breath catching around Stack’s rod, her fingers digging into the sheets like they were the only thing anchoring her to the earth.

“Don’t lock up on me now,” Stack rasped. “Take it, baby. Breathe through it. Just like that.”

She gagged once around him and he pulled back, just enough to give her air. His meat glistened with spit and arousal, veins bulging and jumping up and down with excitement. Her lips followed the retreat instinctively, mouth still open, like she didn’t know how to stop asking for more.

Stack’s thumb smeared a line of tears across her cheekbone. “Look at me,” he said. “You good?”

She blinked up at him, throat working, then nodded. Her tongue flicked out to lick at his tip, like an answer. A plea.

Smoke finally eased back, his mouth shiny with her juices. He exhaled like he had just taken communion and sat up, wiping his beard with the back of his forearm. “She gone pass the fuck out if you don’t pace yaself.”

“Nigga, I am pacin’ myself,” Stack shot back, guiding himself back toward her mouth, voice dipping into a darker register. “Ain’t even gave her half of what she swallowed last night.”

Sera moaned low in her throat as he eased forward again, filling her inch by inch, her head angled just right to take him deeper without choking. Stack’s hips rolled steady and deep enough to press against the limit of her throat and hold there, watching the flutter behind her eyes as she adjusted. Her hands rose on their own, clutching at his thighs like he was her lifeline.

Smoke’s eyes tracked every movement, the tremble in her inner thighs, the faint contractions that hadn’t stopped since she’d climaxed. He leaned in again, kissed the inside of her thigh, then dragged two fingers up her slit and slipped them inside. She gasped around Stack’s dick and the muscles in her abdomen jumped.

“Still twitchin’,” Smoke said, voice dark with satisfaction. “You cummin’ again an you ain’t even know it.”

Stack looked down at her, lips curled in a grin that was more wolf than man. “Mmm, greedy lil’ thing. We broke somethin’ open in her last night. Now she don’t know how to stop.”

Sera couldn’t speak, couldn’t move, and could barely think. All she could do was take. Take Stack in her throat, take Smoke’s fingers inside of her, take the wet sounds of her own body being used as if she were built for this exact thing.

Stack fucked her mouth a little deeper now, hips moving in a possessive rhythm while his hand gripped her curls tighter with every thrust. “You want me to nut in ya mouth, baby?” he asked between clenched teeth. “Wanna swallow it like you did last night? Or you want me to paint that pretty face?”

Smoke pressed deeper into her, fingers crooking to catch the spot that made her legs spasm. “She can’t answer,” he said, smirking as her hips bucked. “She too busy drownin’.”

“Then I’ll decide for her,” Stack growled, hips jerking forward again. “She earned it.”

Sera choked slightly as he slid all the way to the base again, her lips wrapped around him and her fluttered shut. Stack’s breath caught, thick and guttural, as her throat clenched around him again. He looked down at her one more time and groaned at how her mouth was stretched wide, tears streaked her flushed cheeks and spit dribbled from the corners of her lips. That was all it took.

“FUCK,” he groaned, voice hoarse and breaking. “Here it come, dollface. Hold still.”

He pulled out with a sharp inhale, hand gripping the base of his dick as his release spilled across her face in heavy, twitching ropes. One thick line landed across her cheekbone, the next across her lips, and the last just beneath her chin. It was messy, hot and claiming. Sera gasped, blinking through the haze, her tongue slipping out to taste what she could reach. She looked wrecked and radiant, like something that had been ruined with purpose.

Stack stared down at her for a long second, chest rising like a man catching his breath after a fight, then exhaled with a shaky laugh. “Damn near lost my soul in that throat.”

Smoke had already pulled back from between her legs, wiping his slick-coated fingers on the discarded sheet. His jaw was set tight, expression unreadable save for the faint twitch at the corner of his mouth. “You done makin’ a mess of our woman?” His voice was dry as bone.

Stack chuckled, still high off the tension, and stroked Sera’s cheek with two fingers, smearing his cum against her skin like paint. “She wanted it.”

“Mmhm.” Smoke’s eyes dropped to Sera’s soaked thighs, still twitching with aftershocks, lips swollen and glistening from the feast she barely survived. “Well, since you turned her into a damn mess, you clean her up.”

Stack arched a brow. “That an order?”

“That’s me bein’ generous,” Smoke said, standing fully and stretching out his shoulders. His tone never shifted, but there was a glint behind his eyes. “You get her washed up. I’ll fix somethin’ to eat.”

“Gladly,” Stack chimed as he bent to scoop her into his arms.

Sera whimpered softly, the tension in her limbs melting the moment Stack’s hands slid beneath her thighs and back. Her head lolled against his chest, face still streaked with his seed and eyes dazed with lust.

“I got you,” he whispered, voice husky with something softer now. “Let’s go get you clean, baby.”

Stack carried her towards the bathroom, her bare body limp in his arms. Just before stepping through the doorway, he paused and glanced over his shoulder, eyes narrowing. “Wait,” he said. “Why the fuck you ain’t get one off?”

Smoke looked back at his twin and gave a smile that was crooked, wolfish, and so ice-cold it didn’t reach his eyes. “Oh, I’m gon’ get mine,” he said, voice slick with unspoken intent. “After she clean. After she fed. Got a few things I need to address.”

Stack’s brow arched. “Yeah? Like what?”

Smoke rolled his shoulders and cracked his neck, the motion smooth and unhurried. “First one,” he drawled, “is her thinkin’ she can keep disobeyin’ me when I give an order.”

Stack’s grin faltered.

Smoke’s smile deepened, but the air around him shifted. It turned heavier, darker and tinged with something too quiet to be safe. “She gone learn,” he said softly, eyes never leaving Stack’s. “Real gentle first. Then however I feel like.”

And just like that, the air in the room changed again. Stack swallowed, then nodded once before stepping into the bathroom with Sera still cradled against his chest, her breath feathering over his collarbone.

Steam curled up the bathroom walls as the water filled the tub, the sound was low and constant, a hush that wrapped the room in privacy. Stack set Seraphim down gently, easing her onto the porcelain edge before guiding her into the water. It lapped at her thighs first, then her hips and finally her stomach as she sank with a soft sigh.

“Easy,” Stack murmured, bracing her with a hand at her waist as she settled back. He reached for the soap, working it between his palms until it frothed thick and white. “Just relax, sunshine. I got you.”

At first, his touch was exactly what he promised. Careful. Thorough. He washed her face with his thumbs, tracing beneath her eyes where tears had dried, wiping away the last streaks of his mess with tender swipes. He rinsed her curly hairline, cupped water over her shoulders, and cleaned between her fingers like he was undoing every moment of strain she had just endured.

Seraphim leaned into him without thinking, her back pressing against his chest as he reached around her. His forearms caged her in, broad and warm, soap sliding down her arms and breasts as his hands worked.

“You okay?” he asked quietly.

She nodded, eyelids heavy. “Yeah. Just… floaty.”

He smiled at that, a pleased sound leaving him as he dipped the cloth again and dragged it down her stomach. His knuckles brushed the underside of her breasts by accident at first… Then again, less accidental.

The water sloshed as he stepped one foot into the tub. Then the other.

“Oh,” she breathed, realizing too late.

“Can’t reach you proper from out there,” Stack said easily, settling behind her. The tub creaked slightly under his weight, water spilling over the rim in thin sheets. He pulled her back against him, her spine fitting flush to his chest and his thighs bracketing her hips.

The cloth disappeared and his hands took its place. Soap slicked his palms as they traveled over her shoulders, down her arms, then lower. His thumbs circled her breasts with a languid confidence, washing, squeezing and pulling soft sounds from her throat.

Sera melted into Stack again, head tipping back to rest against his shoulder. Her body still felt sensitive, but not fragile. Touched raw, yes, but craving closeness more than distance. Stack kissed the side of her head, then her temple, then her neck. His lips lingered there, mouth warm and breath grazing skin that jumped at the contact.

They sat like that for a few seconds, water rocking gently around them. Then Seraphim spoke.

“What did Smoke mean,” she asked softly, “‘bout me bein’ disobedient?”

Stack let out a short laugh, surprised enough that it escaped him before he could stop it. “You serious?”

She shifted slightly, turning her head just enough to look at him. Her brows knit together, confusion plain on her face. “Yeah. I don’t… I don’t get it.”

He studied her for a moment, waiting for the punchline that didn’t come. When it didn’t, his grin widened into something incredulous. “Oh, you precious,” he said, shaking his head. “I thought you was bein’ slick.”

Her frown deepened. “I wasn’t.”

“Well,” he sighed, settling back against the tub. “Guess that means I gotta explain.” His hands resumed their path, washing down her sides, over her ribs and grounding her while he talked. “Ight. First one,” he started. “You askin’ ‘bout lettin’ other men flirt with you. Not once. Twice.”

Her lips parted. “That was just a question.”

“Mm,” Stack hummed. “An we ain’t gonna dig into that one too deep. Still a sore spot.”

She swallowed, nodding.

“Second,” he continued, “that car ride. When we went to see Annie.”

Her shoulders stiffened. “I already apologized for that.”

“You did,” Stack agreed easily. “Your way.”

She turned more fully toward him now. “What’s that ‘posed to mean?”

“It mean,” he said patiently, “you apologized how you felt comfortable. You ain’t apologize how Smoke needed.”

Her mouth opened, then closed again. “What’s Smoke’s way of apologizin’?”

Stack chuckled, low and knowing, and shook his head. “We’ll get to that another time.”

She scowled at him, clearly unsatisfied, but he kept going.

“Third one,” he said, voice dropping a notch. “Last night an this mornin’. Every time Smoke told you we needed to ease up, an you chose not to listen.”

“I was listenin’,” she argued quickly. “I was listenin’ to you.”

Stack tilted his head, eyes sharp now but not unkind. “That’s the problem, baby. It don’t matter that you listened to me. You still didn’t listen to him.”

That stopped her cold and her brows pulled together again, this time slower, deeper. “So… if I listen to one of you, I’m still wrong?”

“If you ignore the other,” Stack said simply. “Yeah.”

She stared down at the water, lips pressed tight. “So I’m always gonna get in trouble for pickin’ one of you over the other?”

Stack’s hands slid to her back, washing there now, long strokes that soothed even as his words complicated everything. “Let me ask you somethin’,” he said. “If I tell you not to do somethin’, an Smoke encourages it, you think I’m just ‘posed to shrug an smile?”

She hesitated. “No…”

“Exactly,” he said. “You don’t listen to me, I’m gonna need my own apology too.”

Her head snapped back toward him. “That ain’t fair.”

He laughed again, softer this time, and pressed a kiss to the side of her neck, lingering there as his hands finished washing her back. “Fair ain’t really the point,” he said gently. “We spoil you rotten. You know that. We love you hard. You know that too. But you ain’t lovin’ one man. You lovin’ two.”

His lips brushed her skin again, affectionate and grounding. “An more than once,” he continued, “you done been disobedient to one of ya husbands.”

The water drained in a low, steady pull, leaving the room quieter than before. Sera shifted in Stack’s arms, her fingers curling against his forearm as that sentence settled in her chest. She was still trying to untangle it all when she lifted her chin just enough to look back at him.

“So,” she asked carefully, voice small but curious, “how would you make me apologize?”

For a moment, Stack didn’t answer. Something in him shifted instead. It wasn’t loud or explosive. It was subtle. The playful edge dulled and his smile thinned. His eyes darkened in a way that had nothing to do with lust alone. Old instincts stirred, ones that Smoke tried to force him to keep buried around her. Ones forged long before softness ever entered his world.

His hands slid from her shoulders to her hips, firm now, grounding. “You askin’ real questions today,” he said quietly.

Sera swallowed, but she didn’t pull away. “I wanna understand.”

That honesty was what made his jaw tighten. Stack exhaled slowly and leaned her forward in the tub, guiding her with a hand between her shoulder blades. The lowering water sloshed softly as she braced herself on the porcelain edge. His touch never hurt but it carried a weight that made her breath hitch anyway.

His palms spread over her hips, then lower, fingers sinking into the plush curve of her ass. He squeezed once, testing and feeling her respond to him even now. Then his thumbs pressed inward, parting her just enough to expose the place that still made her shiver when she remembered their conversation earlier.

“See this?” he murmured, not cruel, but honest. “This right here still untouched. Still tight. Still yours… for now…”

Her breath stuttered.

“I ain’t like Smoke,” Stack continued, voice dropping. “He corrects with structure. Rules. Order. All that proper bullshit. Me?” He huffed a quiet laugh. “I correct with pressure.”

His fingers spread her a little more, not invading, just revealing and reminding. She whimpered softly, thighs drawing inward before she forced herself to relax again.

“You never wanna disobey me, doll,” he said, not threatening, but real. “‘Cause I can be tougher than I mean to be. Sometimes I don’t stop when I should. Sometimes I get carried away.”

He released her just as gently as he had taken hold, angling her deeper before she could spiral. Then he slid down the tub, kneeling between her thighs. “Which is why,” he added, softer now, “If you gotta disobey one of us… it’d be better for you to disobey Smoke...”

His lips pressed a line of kisses along her inner thigh, feather-light at first. She gasped, body tensing, every nerve already oversensitive from earlier. His mouth traced closer, kisses lingering and dripped in devotion in their own dangerous way. When his tongue finally touched her, it wasn’t to take. It was to tease. A painfully slow stroke along her slit. A soft flick against her swollen clit that made her cry out despite herself. Her hands flew to the edge of the tub, grip slipping as her hips twitched.

“Still too sensitive,” he hummed against her skin, almost amused. “Smoke did a number on you.”

His tongue circled her clit, barely there, just enough to remind her of how close pleasure still hovered beneath her skin. Her thighs trembled, trying to close, but he held them apart with a steady grip.

“That,” Stack said quietly, lifting his mouth just long enough for her to hear him, “is why I let him handle most of the discipline.”

Stack stayed between her thighs far longer than he had any right to. He didn’t take her over the edge again, no, that would’ve been too merciful. Instead, he hovered just beneath the line, circling her swollen bundle of nerves with his tongue and retreating just as she began to shake. Then he would pause, kiss the inside of her thigh again, hum against her heat like she was his favorite melody, and start all over.

By the third time her hips bucked backward, desperate for more than teasing, she whimpered his name like it was the only word she remembered how to say.

He finally pulled back with a grin, satisfied by the sight of her trembling, wet, and flushed. “Told you,” he said with a wink, “I get carried away.”

Sera barely had the strength to glare at him. Her legs wouldn’t stop twitching. Stack stood, drained the last of the water from the tub, and helped her out carefully, cradling her body like she was something precious. He grabbed one of the thick cotton towels from the warmer rack and began drying her with those big, unhurried hands. Once she was dry, he pulled a nightgown from the dresser drawer. Deep blue silk satin, so light it felt like water when he unfolded it. He slipped it over her head and smoothed it down her waist, fingers grazing every inch of skin on the way down. The fabric clung to her curves, catching the light with every step she took.

“You look like a dream,” he murmured, eyes hooded.

“Then stop teasing me like a nightmare,” she whispered back.

He barked a laugh, kissed her temple, and opened the door. They padded barefoot down the hallway, the air cooler now outside the humid warmth of the bathroom. As soon as they stepped into the living room, Stack stopped short and threw a hand to his chest with a dramatic gasp.

“Goddamn!” he said, voice rising like he had been hit with the Holy Ghost. “Is that sausage I smell? Real pork? Ooh, that nigga done put his soul in the skillet this mornin’!”

Sera giggled as Stack fanned himself and strutted into the kitchen with mock reverence. The table was already set. Sausage links glistening with just the right char. A steaming pot of grits thickened to perfection. Buttered toast stacked high beside a pitcher of cold orange juice.

Smoke didn’t so much as blink. He stood near the stove, his back still partially turned to his brother’s foolishness, spatula laid down, apron now folded neatly on the counter. But his eyes? They were locked on his woman. Watching her. Studying her.

She paused beneath the weight of that stare.

Smoke moved before she could even lower hers. He closed the space between them with quiet, measured steps. His eyes roamed her body, from the blue silk clinging to her hardened nipples, along the soft slope of her hips, the hem brushing her thighs and then back up to her flushed cheeks and parted lips.

He cupped her face gently and inspected her like a man inspecting the edge of a blade that belonged to him. Then leaned in and placed a soft kiss on her lips. Barely there. More a promise than a greeting. “You sittin’ with me,” he said quietly against her mouth, “for breakfast.”

Before she could answer, his hand slid around her waist, guiding her toward the chair he had already pulled out for himself.

Stack was already two sausage links deep and halfway through his toast. “She gettin’ extra princess treatment today, huh?”

“She always gets that,” Smoke said without looking at him. His voice had dropped an octave, all velvet and warning. “But she still got a lesson comin’.”

Sera’s breath lingered in her throat as Smoke sat down and pulled her gently into his lap. His arms wrapped around her waist, anchoring her, while the scent of sausage and buttered toast hung warm and heavy in the air.

“Eat up, little wife,” he whispered in her ear. “You gon’ need the strength.”

Stack tore into a second plate of food like a man who had earned every bite. Sausage snapped between his teeth and grease shined on his fingers as he leaned back in the chair with a satisfied groan. He shoveled grits onto his fork next, thick and steaming, the butter melting into glossy pools across the surface.

“Lord,” he muttered. “This some stay alive food.”

Across the table, Sera sat tucked into Smoke’s lap like she belonged there by design. Her back rested fully against his chest, her spine fitting the hard plane of him as if it had been carved for that purpose. Smoke’s toned legs were spread slightly, solid and unmoving, creating a cradle she couldn’t escape even if she tried. One of his arms wrapped around her waist, forearm warm and heavy across her stomach, while the other rested along the table edge, fingers flexing like they were impatient for something.

She lifted her spoon carefully, the sweet grits clinging to it in a soft mound, brown sugar and cinnamon scent curling upward. She blew on it once and took the bite, humming faintly as it hit her tongue.

Stack froze mid chew. “Sweet grits,” he said slowly, disbelief dripping from every syllable. “You lucky you our woman, ‘cause any other day I’d curse you for that.”

She turned her head just enough to look at him, eyes narrowing. “They good.”

Smoke’s chest shifted behind her with a quiet laugh. “They real good when they made right,” he said calmly. “Ain’t nothin’ wrong with sweet grits.”

Stack scoffed. “That shit is blasphemy.”

Sera opened her mouth, ready to defend herself, but before a word could leave her lips Smoke’s hand slid beneath the hem of her silk nightgown. His palm met bare skin. No lace. No cotton. Nothing. 

He sucked in a sharp breath, his fingers flexing against the soft curve of her thigh. “Mm,” he murmured low in her ear. “Didn’t even bother with underwear.”

Her spoon trembled.

“You learnin’,” Smoke continued quietly, voice roughened with approval. “But you still green. Got so much left to teach you.”

His mouth found her neck, kisses pressed slow and possessive along the column of her throat. His lips lingered there, teeth grazing just enough to make her shiver. His hand drifted higher, fingers sliding through the slick warmth between her thighs until his thumb found her button.

Sera gasped and the spoon in her hand nearly tipped.

Smoke’s other hand came down fast and hard against her ass, the sound sharp in the quiet room. She yelped, body jolting against him. “Don’t you drop that spoon,” he said firmly. “Eat.”

Her breath stuttered as she scrambled to steady herself, fingers tightening around the handle. She glanced across the table, eyes wide and pleading, looking for mercy.

Stack just chuckled, shaking his head as he reached for another piece of toast. His grin was all teeth and trouble. “Ain’t nobody savin’ you,” he said lightly. “Lesson already started, doll.”

Smoke’s thumb resumed its work, pressing, circling and drawing soft broken sounds from her throat while his hand at her waist held her exactly where he wanted her.

“Keep eatin’,” Smoke murmured against her ear, voice thick as syrup.

Seraphim’s thoughts scattered the moment Smoke’s grip tightened at her waist. At first, she tried to focus on the bowl in front of her. The weight of it. The ceramic warmth against her palms. The faint sweetness of sugar melting into the grits. She told herself to chew, swallow, and lift the spoon again. Simple things. Normal things. Things she could still control.

But Smoke made control feel like sand slipping through her fingers. His hand kept moving. Always moving. Thumb dragging teasing circles that never quite gave her what she needed. Every time her body leaned into it, chasing relief, he shifted just enough to deny her. Her nightgown crept higher with each restless movement until fabric bunched around her hips, useless and forgotten.

Her cheeks burned where his palm had landed again and again, the sting blooming hot and bright before melting into something heavier. Something deeper. Her skin felt swollen and hypersensitive, like even the air brushing against her would make her cry out.

Her mind fractured under it. Part of her wanted to obey perfectly. To sit still. To eat. To prove she could listen. Another part of her was unraveling, desperate, aching, and furious at herself for wanting more when she had already been warned.

Smoke kept talking in her ear, his voice steady and almost calm, which somehow made this punishment worse. “Told you I wanted to take it easy today,” Smoke said quietly, fingers spreading her slick with unapologetic ownership. “But you don’t hear warnings. You test ‘em.”

Her stomach flipped.

“You listen to Stack when I tell you slow down,” he continued, letting a finger slide inside her just enough to make her gasp. “You push past ya limits like they don’t fuckin’ matter.”

Her spoon clinked faintly against the bowl as her hand shook.

“E-Elijah,” she whimpered, the sound thin and wrecked.

The smack came fast. Her ass burned as she cried out, the noise sharp enough to echo off the walls. Tears stung her eyes instantly, frustration and pleasure tangling so tightly she couldn’t tell them apart.

“Eat,” he ordered.

Sera’s thighs trembled and sitting still started to feel like an impossible task. Every shift rubbed her raw, puffy heat against Smoke’s hand, against his thigh, against nothing and everything all at once. Pain pulled her in one direction and pleasure yanked her another. Her mind couldn’t decide which to follow, so it fractured again.

Half a bowl in, her body felt like it was screaming from the inside out. She tried to look back at him, twisting her neck just enough to catch his gaze, lips trembling. Words spilled out, messy and unformed. “I’m sorry—I didn’t mean—I’ll listen—I promise—”

None of it landed.

Smoke’s hand slid up her spine and guided her head forward again. “Eyes on that nigga ‘cross the table you love listenin’ to.”

Sera’s breath hitched as she looked up. Stack was already watching her like a man watching his favorite show. His elbow rested casually on the table, hand palming himself through his boxers, eyes dark and unblinking. He didn’t hide his interest. Didn’t soften it. That look made her chest tighten.

He grinned slowly. “She got that look, Smoke,” he said, voice low and pleased. “The one right ‘fore she get to cryin’.”

Smoke hummed in agreement. “Mean she ain’t learned yet.”

She felt it before she fully understood it. The thick head of Smoke’s dick pressed against her entrance, warm and unrelenting. He didn’t push in, he just rested there. Teased. Let her feel exactly what she was being denied and her hips jerked involuntarily.

“Still got half that bowl, doll.” Smoke said calmly. “Finish it.”

Then he pushed inside. The stretch hit her all at once, deep and overwhelming, her body clamping down around him like it had been waiting for this exact pressure. Her vision blurred at the edges. Her brain short-circuited completely, pleasure detonating so suddenly she couldn’t stop the sound that tore from her throat.

Sera’s body tightened too tight and too soon. Smoke felt it instantly and landed a slap to her clit that was sharp enough to steal the air from her lungs. She sobbed as her orgasm shattered before it could crest, leaving her trembling and ruined in his lap.

“I’m tired of repeatin’ myself,” Smoke said flatly. “Finish. Eatin’.”

Her hands shook so badly she nearly dropped the spoon again. Tears slipped down her cheeks now, silent and helpless, as she forced herself to lift another bite to her mouth. Her body throbbed around him, aching and denied, every nerve lit and screaming.

“You gon’ keep me warm ‘til you finish,” he said quietly near her ear, his voice steady even as his body betrayed him. “That’s all you doin’ right now. Holdin’ me. Nothin’ else.”

Her breath shuddered as she nodded, lips brushing the spoon as she forced another bite of grits into her mouth. Sweet and buttery turned cloying on her tongue and her stomach knotted too tight for hunger. She chewed because he told her to. Because the alternative felt unimaginable.

“You don’t get to finish,” Smoke continued, one hand firm at her waist, the other hovering just close enough to her clit to make her flinch. “Not ‘til that bowl empty an not ‘til you apologize proper for not listenin’ to me this mornin’.”

Her chest tightened. She swallowed hard. “Yes, sir.”

Inside, Smoke was fighting a war. He could feel how wet she was. How her body kept pulling him in, clenching in small, helpless pulses that made his jaw lock and his breath turn shallow. Every instinct in him screamed to take her, to rock up into her until her words dissolved into sound and her eyes went glassy with pleasure. But this wasn’t about release. This was about patience and discipline. This was about teaching his woman that his warnings meant something.

He took a deep breath and lifted his eyes before meeting Stack’s across the table. Stack took one look at Smoke’s face and barked out a laugh. A sharp vein stood out along Smoke’s forehead, his control was stretched thin as wire. Stack’s shoulders shook as he tried to contain it, lips pressed together like he was savoring the moment.

Smoke’s gaze snapped hard and lethal towards his twin.

Don’t.

Stack raised his hands in mock surrender, still grinning, but wisely shut his mouth.

Sera shifted again without meaning to, the movement instinctive as her body sought friction. Her walls clenched around Smoke, tight and needy.

The next smack came fast. Her clit stung sharply as Smoke’s palm snapped against it, the sensation electric and punishing. She cried out, thighs jerking.

“Don’t do that,” he warned.

Another involuntary clench. This time, his hand cracked against her ass, the sound loud in the kitchen. Her mahogany skin burned, already tender from earlier, the sting layering over itself until it felt like fire beneath her skin.

She whimpered, tears blurring her vision.

“Eat,” Smoke reminded her, voice firm but not raised. He said he was tired of repeating himself, but he kept doing it anyway, like a mantra he needed just as much as she did.

Her frustration finally bubbled over. “I am tryin’,” she snapped weakly, tears streaking down her cheeks. “You just— you bein’ unreasonable!”

The room froze and Smoke’s brow furrowed, his grip tightening on her hips until she gasped. The muscle in his jaw flexed, restraint cracking audibly in the silence.

Stack lost it before he leaned back in his chair and laughed so hard tears gathered at the corners of his eyes. “Unreasonable?” he wheezed. “Baby, Sera… you don’t even know how merciful he’s actin’ right now.”

Smoke inhaled slowly through his nose, trying to steady himself. It didn’t work. “Fuck it,” he grunted.

Before either of them could react, he grabbed a fabric napkin from the table. His hands were sure, practiced, as he tore it into long strips with a sharp rip. He caught Sera’s wrist gently but firmly, then the other, guiding her arms behind her back. The fabric tightened, binding just enough to restrain without cutting off circulation.

Her breath hitched. “E-Elijah—”

He lifted her effortlessly, repositioning her with a quiet authority that stole the air from her lungs. Her upper body was bent over the kitchen table, exposed skin braced against the wood, nightgown pushed up, her ass lifted and exposed. She felt impossibly open like this. Vulnerable in a way that made her pulse race.

Smoke stepped in close behind her and fisted her hair, tilting her head back just enough that his mouth brushed her ear. “If you can’t take no more,” he whispered, voice low and deadly calm, “use ya word.”

She nodded frantically, heart hammering. Without another syllable, he drove into her. No warning. No easing. He slammed into her soaked pussy with a force that knocked the breath from her as the table rattled beneath her weight. A broken cry tore from her throat as her body stretched around him, the sensation overwhelming and consuming all at once.

He stayed buried to the hilt, his chest pressed against her back, one hand cinched tight in her hair, the other gripping her bound wrists like reins. His breath thundered against the side of her neck, heavy and ragged, every exhale branding her skin. The only sounds in the kitchen were the tick of the clock, the soft drip of sausage grease cooling on the pan, and the uneven panting of two people locked in a dangerous rhythm.

Sera’s mind splintered the moment he entered her. The stretch had been brutal and deep. There was no gentle lead-in, no warning tap or whispered promise. Smoke had filled her in one merciless stroke and her swollen walls strained to take him all over again after being teased to madness.

She felt every inch. Every pulse. Every twitch of restrained fury that rippled beneath his skin. “S-S-Smoke,” she gasped, voice already wrecked.

His hand curled tighter around her hair and yanked her head back, forcing her spine into an arch. Her bound wrists strained behind her. “You don’t get to say my name like that,” he growled against her ear. “Not after what you pulled this mornin’.”

She whimpered, legs shaking.

“You got the nerve to tell me I’m bein’ unreasonable,” he bit out, punctuating the sentence by pulling halfway out and slamming back into her, making her cry out again. “When I been tryin’ all goddamn mornin’ to go easy on you.”

Her eyes slammed shut.

“Tryin’ to let you rest. Tryin’ to feed you first. Let Stack take care of you. But you? You kept pushin’. Kept mouthin’ off. Kept thinkin’ you ain’t gotta follow my word.”

Another deep stroke, punishing and deliberate. She screamed into the wood of the table, tears slipping down her cheeks as her body clamped around him. He groaned, long and guttural, forehead pressed to her shoulder as he barely held himself together. His dick throbbed deep inside her, wrapped in tight heat that was slick like velvet and honey.

Across from them, Stack was no longer laughing. His eyes had darkened again and the humor drained from his face as he watched Smoke discipline their woman. His hand stroked lazily over the bulge in his boxers, slow and appreciative, but his eyes never left Seraphim’s face. The way her mouth hung open, lips trembling, cheeks streaked with tears she couldn’t stop.

“You okay, baby?” Stack asked softly, voice laced with sarcasm knowing this punishment was all his fault. “You still with us?”

She nodded quickly, too afraid to speak, her body trembling like a fever had taken hold of her.

Smoke’s hand trailed from her wrists down to her lower back, then lower, until he gripped her hip in a bruising hold. “Say the words,” he demanded. “You know what I’m waitin’ on.”

“I’m—I’m sorry,” she gasped, barely able to form the words. “I should’ve listened—I didn’t mean to—”

“That ain’t good enough.”

He thrusted into her again, harder until her knees nearly gave out. She choked on a sob, her mouth barely finding words now.

“I’m sorry for not listenin’,” she cried. “I should’ve done what you said. I’m sorry! Please…”

The sound of her breaking undid something inside him. His grip tightened. His strokes turned sharp, brutal, relentless. Wet sounds filled the room. Her pussy gushed around him, puffy and wrecked, taking every punishing inch. Her cries dissolved into moans that were no longer pleading, but high, ragged and confused by how good the pain felt.

Her thighs quaked.

Smoke’s voice dropped to a growl. “Don’t you dare cum.”

“I—I can’t—” she sobbed. “I can’t hold it—”

“You will,” he snarled. “Or I’ll stop right now an make you sit on my pecker ‘til supper.”

Stack leaned forward on his elbows, eyes low and hooded as he watched her fall apart. “She gettin’ real close,” he chimed in. “That little twitch she do when she hold her breath… yeah… there it go.”

Smoke didn’t even glance at him. His focus was entirely on the woman folded over the table in front of him, arms bound behind her, nightgown wrinkled around her waist, tears slipping silently down her cheeks.

He grabbed her ass in both hands, spreading her wide, the pads of his fingers sinking into her sore flesh. Her pussy stretched around him gripping his length like it didn’t want to let go. He fucked into her with a rhythm that was cruel in its precision—deep, steady, devastating. Not rushed. Not chaotic. Just brutal truth in motion. Every stroke landed in the spot that made her toes curl. Every retreat had her body sucking him back in like she needed him to breathe.

Sera’s vision blurred, her lashes were damp and her lips trembled against the polished wood of the table. Her aching bud pulsed with need, but Smoke’s hands stayed on her hips, his dick did the talking, and she felt herself rising far too fast again.

“E-Elijah—” she whispered, or tried to. It came out like a sob, raw and shaking.

“You holdin’ ya breath again,” he warned, voice pitched low, just behind her ear. “That same damn twitch… That same cry... I just told you—”

His hips snapped forward harder, and she screamed. “—you don’t cum ‘til I say you can.”

Her thighs buckled. Her whole body shuddered, inching on the edge of collapse.

Stack leaned back in his chair again, watching with lazy fascination, the kind a man might show when watching fireworks right before the finale. His expression was still fixed on Sera’s face, like it was the most beautiful portrait of agony he’d ever seen. “You gon’ break her,” he muttered, voice thick with amusement and arousal. “An she gon’ love you for it.”

Sera’s mouth fell open, but no words came. Just a strangled cry and a tremor that ripped through her spine. She couldn’t think. Couldn’t plead. Her mind felt fractured, held together by nothing but the pressure of Smoke’s dick and the promise of a release that stayed just out of reach.

She clenched again. Smoke’s hand came down hard on her ass. Then again on her clit and she screamed.

“Stop clenchin’,” he growled. “Every time you do it, you gettin’ punished.”

Her sob hitched in her throat. “I—I can’t help it…”

“Yes you can,” he snapped. “You just don’t wanna. You think this still a game. You think Stack laughin’ means I’ma let you off easy. I ain’t.”

He dragged out the next stroke, slow and maddening, hips grinding deep until she felt the weight of him settle inside her like a curse. “You wanna cum?” he asked, voice barely above a whisper. “You need to cum?”

“Yes—yes, please—Sir, please—”

“Then prove you know who you belong to.”

Smack.

His hand connected with her clit again, and Seraphim’s scream caught halfway through her throat, unraveling into a ragged sob that echoed off the walls of their apartment. Her body trembled and she couldn’t take it anymore. One more stroke, one more word, one more push would split her open completely. Her pussy tightened around him, slick and swollen, so sensitive it felt like every breath she took rubbed her raw from the inside out. And still he didn’t let her finish..

Smoke exhaled through his nose like a man straining to keep the devil at bay. Then, in one fluid, powerful motion, he pulled out of Sera, making her whimper from the emptiness. He gripped her hips and lifted her off the table, turning her pliant, shaking body in his arms until she was seated in his lap again facing the table, back flush against his chest, legs straddling his thighs.

His length slid back inside her with a thick, wet glide, and they both groaned, though for very different reasons. Sera felt it like a punch to the gut. It was full, deep and searing. Smoke felt it like a curse, like the weight of restraint collapsing against him. His jaw clenched, a vein rising again along his temple as her tight, wet pussy squeezed him from every angle.

He untied the napkin bindings from her wrists with fast, frustrated movements. The fabric was damp from sweat and the heat of her trembling body.

“You gon’ finish that damn bowl,” he gritted out, dragging the half-full dish toward her. “An you gon’ do it right.”

Sera blinked, still dizzy, the spoon barely registering in her hand as Smoke forced it back into her palm. “I can’t—” she whimpered, trying to gather her thoughts.

“You can,” he snapped, the grit in his voice fraying, his patience unraveling by the second. “I done gone outta my way to show you mercy this mornin’. Now I’m givin’ you one more chance to sit here an eat in peace.”

His dick twitched inside her, throbbing with a rhythm that matched the hard set of his jaw. Every second it sat inside her unmoving was a torment he forced himself to endure.

“Couple seconds ago you begged for more,” he continued, lips brushing her temple, “but now you wanna fall apart ‘fore earnin’ it?”

She whimpered again, trying to lift the spoon, but her hands were shaking too much. The grits were cold now. They were sticky, sweet and forgotten but she brought the bite to her lips anyway.

Behind her, Smoke’s fists clenched at her hips. He held her in place as she swallowed, each throb of her pussy making him want to growl. Her walls tightened involuntarily again, soft little clenches that gripped him like a mouth trying to suck him deeper.

He hissed in her ear low and dangerous. “You better stop grippin’ me like that,” he growled. “I swear to God, Sera, if you keep squeezin’ me like that I’ma fuck this chair through the floor.”

Her hips trembled. Another clench. Reflexive. Helpless. Smoke’s entire body went rigid beneath her, every thick vein in his arms standing out as he breathed through his nose.

Stack, still leaning in his chair with his arms crossed, barked a laugh. “Look at you,” he said to Smoke, amusement dripping from every word. “You the one givin’ the lesson an look like you the one ‘bout to tap out.”

Smoke shot him a death glare that could’ve stopped time. “Shut the fuck up an go find sum’ safe to do,” he bit out.

Stack raised his hands in surrender, chuckling as he walked away with a shake of his head, mumbling something about pride coming before the fall.

Sera managed another bite. Then another. Spoon trembling between her fingers. Smoke stayed inside her, twitching and full, like a devil caged and waiting for the final chain to snap. The last bite felt like climbing out of deep water. She swallowed it with a shaky breath, her hands finally lowering the spoon back to the table with a soft clink. Her shoulders sagged in relief before her body remembered everything else at once.

Smoke exhaled, long and controlled, as if he had been holding himself together by sheer will. “Good,” he said quietly. “Now turn around.”

His hands guided her with a firm gentleness, repositioning her until she was facing him, knees bracketing his hips and straddling him fully. The chair creaked under the shift. She could see his face now. How tight his jaw was, how his eyes were dark and focused, and the sheen of sweat along his temple that told the truth of how hard this had been for him too.

He slid his hands away from her hips on purpose. No grip. No guidance. “You gon’ ride me,” he said. “An you gon’ apologize.”

Her heart stuttered.

“I ain’t holdin’ you,” Smoke continued evenly. “You gotta do this yaself.”

Sera nodded, nervous and aching, and tried to move. The first attempt was awkward. She lifted her hips too high, lost the angle, and Smoke slipped free with a wet sound that made her gasp in embarrassment.

“Easy,” he said, steady and calm. “Don’t rush it.”

She tried again, hands braced on his shoulders this time. Still clumsy. Still unsure. She sank down, missed again and frustration twisting in her chest.

“That’s alright,” Smoke murmured. “You still learnin’. Look at me.”

She did, cheeks burning.

“Slow your hips,” he coached. “Think ‘bout sittin’ on me, not droppin’.”

On the third try, she found him again, her body easing down until he filled her properly. A broken sound slipped from her throat at the sensation, pleasure blooming sharp and bright now that she controlled the movement.

“There you go,” he said softly. “That’s it.”

She began to move, tentative at first. Small motions. Rocking more than riding. Her rhythm faltered, and once more she slipped free, a frustrated sob leaving her lips.

Smoke reached up then, just briefly, guiding her back down to reconnect them before pulling his hands away again. “Ain’t mad,” he said. “I got patience for you. Keep goin’.”

She nodded, breathing hard, and tried again. This time, something kind of clicked. She rolled her hips instead of lifting them, letting the motion come from her core. The friction changed instantly. Everything felt deeper and steadier with a rhythm that made her eyes roll and her mouth part.

“Oh,” she whispered.

Smoke’s chest rose sharply. “Yeah… find that spot.”

Encouraged, she kept going, movements growing more confident, pleasure building in waves instead of spikes. Smoke watched her closely, his expression softening even as his voice stayed firm.

“That’s my girl,” he said quietly. “You doin’ good.”

Her chest tightened at the praise.

“Now apologize,” he reminded her before landing another swat at her tender ass.

She swallowed, riding him as she spoke, words trembling but honest. “I’m s-s-sorry for n-not listenin’ to you this m-m-mornin’.”

He nodded once. “Mmhmm… Keep goin’.”

“I’m sorry for pushin’ p-p-past what you told me,” she continued, hips rocking, voice breaking. “I wasn’t tryin’ to d-disrespect you. I just— I wanted you...”

Smoke’s jaw clenched as her walls tightened around him, but his voice stayed steady. “Say it right.”

She leaned forward, forehead touching his, breath mingling. “I’m sorry, E-Elijah. I’ll listen to you. I won’t ignore you a-a-again.”

Silence stretched for a beat. Then Smoke’s hands came back to her hips, firm and grounding, finally taking control again. His thumbs pressed into her skin with possessive certainty.

“That’s it,” he said low. “You did good.”

Her body responded instantly, relief flooding her so hard she nearly cried.

“You can cum now,” he murmured, voice thick with promise. “Use this dick an ride me ‘til you can’t think no more.”

The permission hit her like a snapped wire. Seraphim cried out, body surging forward as her hips stuttered through the movement, rhythm breaking under the weight of too much sensation at once. Pleasure had her seeing sounds and hearing colors, making her limbs feel clumsy and uncoordinated again, like she was learning how to use her body for the first time.

Smoke felt it immediately. “Hey,” he comforted, steady even as she trembled. “Easy, baby. I got you.”

Without breaking their connection, he wrapped one arm around her back and stood, lifting her with an ease that made her gasp. She clung to him instinctively, arms winding around his neck as he carried her across the room. Every step dragged another soft sound from her throat, his dick still seated deep inside her, keeping her anchored to him.

He lowered himself onto the living room couch and guided her with practiced care, settling back into the cushions before positioning her again. This time, he angled her so her knees pressed into the couch on either side of his thighs, grounding her. He took her hands and placed them on his shoulders.

“Right there,” he instructed quietly. “Hold on.”

She obeyed, fingers digging into muscle as she rocked forward, tentative again until she felt it… that familiar, devastating pull low in her belly. Her breath caught.

“There it is,” Smoke said, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “That sweet spot.”

Her hips began to move with more confidence now, guided by sensation instead of nerves. Smoke’s hands rested on her waist, thumbs digging in just enough to remind her he was there, that she wasn’t doing this alone.

He leaned forward, lips brushing her ear as he spoke, voice rough and unapologetic. “That’s it. You look so fuckin’ good ridin’ this dick. Just like that. You feel how you takin’ me now?”

She nodded frantically, words lost to the sounds spilling from her mouth. He spit into his palm, the sound sharp in the quiet room, and slid his thumb between her legs. When it touched her clit, she sobbed, head dropping forward as pleasure detonated anew. His thumb moved in slow, filthy circles, perfectly timed with the roll of her hips.

“Ya lesson is over,” he whispered. “Now you just mine.”

Her body responded instantly, tightening around him as her movements grew more desperate. Smoke’s praise poured over her in a low stream, grounding and wicked all at once.

“Good girl,” he murmured. “That’s my wife. Ridin’ me just how I like. You doin’ so damn good.”

Her world narrowed to the drag of his thumb, the fullness of him inside her and the sound of his voice. Her mind went hazy, thoughts dissolving into sensation until there was nothing left but the need to move, to chase the pleasure cresting higher and higher.

“Don’t stop,” he urged softly. “Stay right there. Let it take you.”

Her body was still trembling when the last waves eased, breath coming in uneven pulls as she sagged against him. Smoke kept her close, arms firm around her, his chest rising hard beneath her cheek. For a few heartbeats there was only the aftermath. The thud of her pulse. The drag of breath. The sticky heat between them.

Then she lifted her head.

Her eyes were glassy and unfocused, but the desire for more burned bright beneath it. She shifted her hips just enough to feel him still thick and pulsing inside her, still hard and waiting.

“Smoke,” she whined, voice wrecked and needy. “Please… feel good with me.”

He stilled and the muscles in his arms tightened while his jaw settled as he looked down at her. He was breathing hard now too as his desire roared through him unchecked. “Beg for it,” he grunted. “Beg me like a proper doll.”

Her lips parted. Her pride and inexperience wavered for half a second. Then she nodded. She slid her hands up his shoulders, fingers digging into him as she leaned in, forehead brushing his. Her voice came softer, shakier, and stripped bare of bravado. “Please,” she breathed. “Please fill me... I need you to. I need you to make a mess inside me… make me yours.”

Her hips rocked once, desperate and unsteady. “Please, Smoke,” she whispered. “I’ll take it. I’ll hold it. I’ll be good.”

That was the straw that broke the camel's back. Smoke growled and crushed Sera against him in a bear hug, arms locking around her torso as he took control completely. He surged up into her with no restraint left, driving into her from below with brutal, relentless power. The couch creaked beneath them as his hips snapped upward again and again, each thrust knocking the air from her lungs.

“Oh—oh—s-s-shit! Smoke!” she cried, the sound loud and unfiltered as her head fell back.

He didn’t slow down and he couldn’t even if he tried. He fucked her like a man claiming ground, like a storm that had finally been unleashed. The sound of skin slapping skin filled the room, obscene and wet. His balls smacked against her soaked folds with every hard thrust, slick sounds echoed as her body gushed around him, overstimulated and wrecked.

Sera’s moans grew louder, uncontrolled and tearing out of her as she clung to him. Her nails dug into his shoulders, sharp and desperate, and she sobbed into his neck, tears streaking down her face as pleasure overwhelmed her completely. Smoke’s head tipped back, eyes rolling as he drove into her harder, faster, every muscle straining. He was dimly aware of the noise, of how loud she was, of how anyone within a hundred miles could probably hear how thoroughly he was fucking his woman but he didn’t care.

“Mine,” he snarled, voice breaking as he buried himself deep. “Mine—FUCK—take it!”

Her body clamped down around him, convulsing as another orgasm tore through her, sharp and blinding. She screamed his name, voice cracking, nails raking down his back as she shattered. That was what pushed him over. Smoke groaned deep in his chest and slammed into her one final time, holding her there as he came hard, spilling inside her in thick pulses. He stayed buried, arms locked tight around her as he filled her completely, breath ragged, body shaking with the force of it.

For a long moment, neither of them moved. The room rang with the echo of what they had just done. Then Smoke lowered his head, forehead pressing to her shoulder, breath finally slowing as he held her close. His grip softened just enough to be comforting instead of crushing.

“There,” he murmured hoarsely. “That’s it.”

Sera sagged against him, spent and shaking, mind blissfully empty as she clung to him and let herself be held. Smoke’s body had gone slack beneath her, the corded tension in his shoulders melting away with each ragged breath. He held her now like something precious, not breakable, but claimed. His calloused hands moved across her back in slow strokes, grounding her, tracing the ridges of her spine, and soothing her through the aftershocks of everything they just endured together.

And then came the kisses. Soft, loving and unrushed. Smoke pressed them everywhere he could reach, her cheeks, her forehead, her nose, her chin. His lips lingered at the corner of her mouth before returning to her brow, each one an echo of the worship he couldn’t put into words. Sera breathed through the haze as her fingers curled loosely at his nape while she floated down from her high.

Neither of them moved to separate. He stayed sheathed inside her, their bodies still connected as if to let go now would mean something sacred might come undone.

They were still wrapped in that hush when the cushions beside them dipped with a familiar weight.

Flop.

Stack dropped onto the couch with all the care of a man who hadn’t just watched his brother take their woman to the brink and back. He leaned over, lit a freshly rolled cigarette with a flick of his lighter, then held it out toward Smoke, eyes half-lidded. Smoke took it without a word and brought it to his lips.

Sera didn’t move. She was boneless, her breath coming in long, shaky exhales, arms still lazily slung around Smoke’s neck. Her thighs twitched now and then, the soreness between them blooming as awareness returned.

Stack sucked his teeth as he looked her over, then leaned back with a groan and poured himself a glass of whiskey from the bar cart. The ice clinked once before melting into the amber liquid. “We keep fuckin’ her til her damn brain turn smooth,” he complained, swirling his glass. “Gon’ be real hard to share her when she don’t 'member her name no more.”

Smoke exhaled a long stream of smoke, then turned his head just enough to blow it away from Sera’s face. His arm stayed wrapped around her waist, his other hand cradling the back of her head like she might drift off right there against his chest.

“Was worth it,” he said, voice rough and satisfied.

Sera cracked one eye open, lips swollen, eyes glazed but glinting with sass beneath the haze. “I can handle both of you,” she grumbled, her voice hoarse but defiant. “I’m stronger than I look.”

Stack choked on his drink and turned his head to stare at her like she had just challenged the sun. “Oh yeah?” he said, one brow cocked. “You ready to get that second hole filled up proper then?”

Smoke didn’t laugh. He took another long pull from the cigarette, smoke curling around his lashes. His hand absently stroked Sera’s lower back, slow and possessive. “I was gon’ put her jade back in,” he said mildly, thumb brushing the top of her ass, “but the mornin’ went another direction.”

Stack looked her up and down again, mouth twitching. “Sure did,” he muttered. “Poor thing look like a wind could knock her out.”

Sera pouted and nuzzled deeper into Smoke’s chest like she hadn’t just been ravaged into near silence moments ago. She was sore, stretched, and dripping full, but somewhere deep in her exhausted core… she wanted more.

Smoke took one last drag from the cigarette, the ember glowing orange in the dim light of the living room. The taste of tobacco mixed with the salt on Sera’s skin still lingered on his tongue, warm and grounding. With a quiet sigh, he leaned to the side and passed the cigarette to Stack, who plucked it from his fingers with an easy smirk, already tipping it to his lips.

He brushed a hand through Sera’s damp curls and let his fingers linger at her nape. “You got any energy left in that body?” he asked, his voice roughened by the edge of spent desire. “Or did I fuck them city plans clean outta you?”

Sera tilted her head up, eyes still half-lidded and dreamy, lips parted in the afterglow. “I need…” she paused. “A bath. An a nap… Then maybe the city.”

Stack huffed out a laugh through a stream of smoke, the cigarette perched lazily between his fingers now as he stretched his legs and let his head fall back on the couch. “She say that like she ain’t ‘bout to be walkin’ sideways,” he teased, voice thick with amusement.

Smoke ignored him, his focus still locked on her. “A bath an a nap,” he repeated, nodding slowly. “We can do that.”

His tone softened, the grit giving way to something deeper. “We’ll check it out tonight. See what this city life got to offer us. Take it all in when the sun drop. It’s livelier at night. More to see.”

He leaned in and kissed her temple, slow and tender, the scent of her skin sweeter now, like sweat and lavender mixed with surrender. “Remember, you ain’t gotta rush, little wife,” he added against her skin. “You got us for a lifetime.”

Sera exhaled, a small, contented sound leaving her lips. She melted against him, her arms still loosely wrapped around his shoulders as if she wasn’t quite ready to let go. Tonight, they would walk the city streets. But for now, the twins would carry her back to the bath. And hold her, again and again, like something they never planned to release.

Author's Note: Damn thats crazy... Ya'll finally have an update after I was gone for like two days *cough*.

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You get a look at his throat, the curve of it, the rich color of his life force pulsing beneath, and your fangs ache in your mouth as saliva unattractively puddles in your gullet.

He welcomes you when you slide into his lap, one hand slipping beneath your top to map out the notches of your spine whilst the other pulls back your hair to bare your cheek. He cants his head to offer you his neck, the indentations you’d left last night already healed, making way for smooth skin unaffected by your ailment.

You can feel the throb of his pulse as you nose along his throat. How his heart trips in his chest. His scent is bewitching, the warmth of his skin enmeshed with the saccharine waft of his blood, threatening to toss you into a haze.

He’s been your favorite meal to savor since you were hit with some strange anomaly that temporarily gave you fangs and an appetite for scorching, red blood. Things are always going awry around Onychinus these days, so Sylus didn’t bat an eye when you suddenly developed an aversion to the sun and a penchant for obsessively counting grains of rice.

The flats of his nails graze your cheek, the hand once melded to your spine, slipping around your shoulders to coax you closer. He smiles faintly in your periphery, glancing down with eyes reminiscent of dusk, quietly urging you to have your fill. His other hand slips to your waist, where he holds you, bracing for the dull prick of your fangs.

With a breath in, your incisors bare themselves, and as gently as you can, you sink them into your favorite spot. He doesn’t flinch, grown accustomed to your nightly feedings. Instead, he sighs something low and satisfied, his body, once tense, relaxing under you like your feeding brings him as much relief as it does you.

The taste is divine. A warm gush of fluid pools between your teeth and onto your tongue like the richest, heartiest wine. It’s addictive. Something ancient tucked beneath, sweetened by the countless lives he’s lived and the souls he’s consumed.

Your stomach flutters happily beneath the taste, the tension caught in your aching muscles melting away. You groan faintly as you drink. As his fingers massage your hip and his thumb lovingly swipes over your back. He cradles you like a child he’s protecting from the storm. A love he’s shielding from all the dangers of the world. Your hips unconsciously shift on his thigh, painting a slow, pleasurable rhythm there as his warmth leaks into your extremities.

He lets his head tip back, colliding with the headrest of his leather chair, Adam’s apple bobbing temptingly beneath the amber recessed lights of his study. His fingers tangle in your hair—which has also grown long with your ailment—and his chest vibrates with a chuckle beneath the palm you braced there as your lazy feeding frenzy draws to a close.

“Greedy little thing,” he drawls, his voice thick with affection. “You take too much, and there will be nothing left to give next time.”

You barely register what he’s saying. That you’re grinding against his muscled thigh, the stitching of his slacks moving just right against the center of your legs. Another slow-weighted roll of your hips, and he shifts to give you more of his thigh.

“Better?” he coos as you melt against him, offering you everything he has to give.

You’ve realized that in the days you’ve been a slave to sanguine hunger, Sylus has become more than just a meal. A warm body to fill yours when the ache is too strong. He is your communion.

Fangs retracting, belly hot and wonderfully filled like a kitten who’s had too much milk, you drop your face into the nook of his shoulder. Nod deftly, the puncture wounds you left closing up as if they never existed. You lick a faint wisp of blood trailing down his neck, and your love groans against your attention, his fingers flexing around your shoulder.