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randomdragonfires · 1 month

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Pieces of a Woman | One Shot

Text Divider by @saradika-graphics

SUMMARY | Even when his life takes a turn for the worse, Aemond Targaryen endures.

WARNINGS | 18+; Canon Divergence AU; Smut; Insanity; B&C; Gore; Delusions; Miscarriage; Yearning; ANGST

WORD COUNT | 7.2k

A/N | This is my personal favourite out of all the stories I've ever written, reposted with a new header and all that fun stuff! Beta read by the lovely @ewanmitchellcrumbs ❤️

They say madness is a slow disease, and that nobody truly knows when it begins.

They were wrong. Aemond Targaryen knew very well the exact moment the madness had sunk its claws into his wife. He had watched as her once bright and hopeful eyes became empty and devoid of emotion. He had watched as she was pulled into the darkness completely, becoming a shell of the woman she once was.

As much as he wished he could turn back time, he had accepted his fate. He accepted that he would never have his wife back. He would never hold her in his arms again and never get to lay his head on her lap as she embroidered. She would never read to him in her mellifluous voice ever again, despite the fact that he would give everything he had to have her with him once more.

What good was all this power and wealth, if he could not protect his own family? What good was his title as Prince Regent, if he did not have her to stand by his side? If he could not protect his little boy?

His hair, once braided to the side by her deft and nimble fingers with love, remained uncared for, left loose in all its glory. Training his one dark-rimmed, tired eye at the crypt that held the ashes of his heir, Aemond Targaryen let the sadness take him - for when his son’s life was brutally snuffed out, his wife’s very soul had been too.

There was nobody to blame for it all apart from himself.

Ever since their wedding, she had been a steady and calm presence in his life. She was the quiet to his rage, the water to his fire. He had always been a sullen and lonely child that harbored resentment for those who had wronged him, but he felt his heart steadily calm down with every moment he spent in her presence.

It wasn't until he met her that he realized he was lacking love and consideration, both of which he believed had never received before - not like this. She gave him an opportunity to be a better man; one that he took eagerly with both arms.

In return, he was a respectful husband who did his very best. He wasn’t adept at great gestures of love, but he always made sure that his wife woke with a kiss to her hair and his arms enveloping her body. He wanted her to never know loneliness for as long as he lived, he would make sure of it.

For all his reading and knowledge, Aemond was not good at making his appreciation known verbally. Instead, he would bring her huge tomes from the library so he could read to her. These books covered topics that he was passionate about, so everytime he brought one, he was offering up a part of his soul. Who better to give it to than the woman he has sworn his heart, soul and loyalty to?

He needed her. He needed her from deep in his soul, and he needed her carnally, always. She was all that was missing in his life, and now that he had her, he would always need her.

But right now, as her screams erupted through the halls of Maegor’s Holdfast, Aemond’s heart lurched in his chest, becoming heavier with each passing moment. The babe was arriving, and it would seem that the child was taking her for all that she was. Everytime she groaned in pain, he held onto the railing tighter than ever, as though it would make her pain go away.

They would not let him in, no. Childbirth was a woman’s fight, and the men would have to wait outside - much like the women did when the men went to battle. There was nothing he would not give to hold her hand right now; to tell her that she would be an absolutely beautiful mother, and that all she had to do was summon all her strength and emerge victorious.

As though she had heard his thoughts, her pained wails slowly died down, replaced by the first cries of a newborn. Boy or girl, the babe had an incredibly strong pair of lungs on them, their mighty cries could overshadow even the loudest of thunderstorms. The cries echoed through the halls of Maegor’s Holdfast, and the servants outside immediately jumped to work. A new royal babe had been born after all - there was work to be done, celebratory feasts to be organized, chambers to be prepared, nothing but the best for a Targaryen.

His mother stepped out of the chambers and laid a hand on his back in comfort. She kissed him on the cheek and smiled in congratulations. “Mother and babe are well, my son. She has made me so proud. The little one is beautiful, he would go on to achieve many great things. Just like you.”

A son. She had given him an heir to carry his bloodline. How would he ever repay her?

He walked into the chambers with speed that he did not know he possessed, his purpose made clear with each stride. The midwives and maids moved to make way for the One-Eyed Prince, and in he went.

She laid in the middle of the chambers, looking like she had braved the worst experience of her life. Her hair was askew, with sweat coating her entire body, her fatigue was palpable. Blood and waters coated the floor, and the chambers smelled like death. The bloody spots on her shift alarmed him, and it concerned him to see his usually happy and energetic wife look so thoroughly worn out. But then she smiled.

Through all her weariness from the challenges of the birthing bed, she had meekly smiled at him - and all was alright in his world again. He held her cheek in his palm and kissed her forehead, heart full from knowing that she was alright. She reached for his other hand, holding onto it like it was the last thing that kept her tethered to reality.

“Are you well, wife?”

The seemingly simple question certainly did not project the waves of concern that had plagued him outside while he waited with bated breath, but she knew. She saw it in the crinkles on his forehead and the widening of his good eye.

“I am now.”

She had braved battle, and had never looked more beautiful to him than she did now. Her voice was hoarse from all the pained screaming, and she certainly had no business being awake right now - but by the Gods, he was the happiest man in the realm.

The maids were done with wiping the blood off of the babe and had handed the boy to her. Aemond knew right then that he would have to compete for his wife’s attention from then on, for his little son had clearly stolen her heart, and his, within moments of his birth.

Her weak voice called out to him once more. “Aemond, husband… look what we made.”

He was exquisite. Aemond reached out to the babe, his son, and his son's pudgy rose finger latched onto his long, sturdy one as he continued to cry. “He has a strong grip. He shall be a storied warrior." She smiles at the possibility, and he cannot help but kiss her hand once more.

"You’ve given birth to a boy as strong as you are, wife.” He watched as she nudged her nose to the babe’s and smiled, her face glistening from sweat and tears. His newborn son’s cries got louder with each passing moment, but despite being a man of silence and solitude, Aemond had never felt more at peace.

“Thank you.”

Aemond would be the first to deny that he was a doting paragon of a husband that the bards would sing about, but he certainly was a good man who loved and respected his wife.

In the days that followed the birth of his child, he had spent every waking moment that he could spare with the pair of them. Both mother and son had the fierce One-Eyed Prince wrapped around their fingers. Between sparring sessions and battling his family’s idiosyncrasies on the daily, his little family had given him quite the reprieve, one that he was infinitely thankful for.

But now, his son is gone, and his wife is too.

“The heirs need to be kept safe. The twins, little Maelor, all three of them,” his mother said.

He may be in the middle of a war, but it was moments like these that seemed hardest to him. Aemond sat quietly by the hearth, in the very same chair where he always rested. His wife used to sit by him or at his feet as she embroidered. Now, her absence was a gaping hole each time he sat.

“Aemond…”

He turned to the sound of his grandfather calling out his name, looking cold and calculated. It did not escape Aemond that he was discussing the safety of his brother's children while he had lost his own child. The irony of it all was stark and jarring.

“Yes,” he curtly responded.

“It is in our best interests that you…” His grandfather paused midway through his words, and Aemond knew well that the man did that only when unsettling news was to follow. “...that you take a new wife. We’re in need of an alliance, and she can be sent to the motherhouse at Oldtown. She will be cared for, she will be fed-”

He saw red. “My son is dead!” The words tumbled out of Aemond’s mouth like shards of glass before he could even comprehend the gravity of his grandfather’s heavy, cutting words.

"My son’s death is on my conscience, his blood is on my hands. I did not do the deed myself, but it certainly feels like I was the one who wielded the knife that killed him.” The people had taken to calling him a kinslayer, and Aemond felt it in his bones everyday - not because of Lucerys Velaryon, but because of how his rash actions had resulted in the death of his little boy.

“My son is dead, and my wife has not been the same ever since. How do you think I can start a new family, with a new woman, when I know very well that I have caused all the grief that has driven my wife to madness? When I caused the death of my own child?”

Aemond Targaryen always made for a menacing sight, but his grandfather was not prepared for the kind of anger that his grandson had kept stored in him - for himself, his wife, and his son. They were not here, and he was angry enough for all three of them.

The Dowager Queen watched the entire conversation unfold, and she held her hand to her chest, feeling her heartbeat become frantic with each moment that she saw her son in distress. She knew how content he was in his wife's presence, and how much he loved her. To watch a child grow and fester in his own resentment - no mother should have to witness it. And yet, the Gods saw fit to give Alicent Hightower the closest view to her son's heartbreak.

“Get out,” he seethed. Otto Hightower took Aemond’s raw and angry words in stride before walking away, his head still held high.

His mother stood in front of him, held his hand and kissed him on the cheek. “I’m sorry, my boy. I’m so sorry…”

She wept until she could not, and it took everything Aemond had in him to not do the same.

When he tossed and turned in his bed in the middle of the night, he would always reach out for her.

She would always welcome his touch and curl into him, her forehead resting on the smooth planes of his chest and her warm breath making goosebumps rise on his skin. He would hold her tight until neither could ascertain where one ended and the other began, and sleep that normally eluded him would come to him faster than anything else.

Tonight, her spot on the bed is empty.

When he woke in a hurry, he noticed the crumpled sheets and the pillows left askew, the only evidence of her having retired to bed alongside him. He quickly rose from the bed and tried to calm his rapidly beating heart, wondering as to where she could have gone at this ungodly hour.

Gods, was she hurt?

He did not have to wait for the divine deities to answer, for his answer came in the form of the sweet humming sounds that he had grown to love. He followed her voice as he walked through their apartments, and it led him to the chamber where his son’s crib was kept. She was sitting next to it in her white shift, her head peeping in as she let her hands rest on the crib. She hummed softly and happily, marveling at how beautiful her little boy looked as he slept - looking much like the man she shared her bed with.

Aemond wanted to ask her to come back to bed immediately. The maesters had advised lots of rest for his wife, given the stress of the labors and the damage her body had taken. But as he watched her and his boy, he knew he couldn’t. He needed a moment to drink in the sight of his wife and son - his entire world, all in one chamber.

He held so much love in his heart for them both despite seeing them only with one eye. Perhaps he’d be able to love them more if he could see them with two.

“He’s going to be there when we wake, wife. Come back to bed.”

She turned to him and smiled, a warm smile that he wished he could brand into his mind for all eternity. “Did I wake you?”

“You did not. Your absence from our bed did.”

She chuckled softly, and he walked over to her. He positioned himself behind her chair and kissed her temple, letting his hands rest on her shoulders. “I don’t think I shall ever tire of looking at him,” She said.

“Hm.” His gaze rested on the sleeping babe, tired from all his crying throughout the day.

“My son, a dragon prince,” She mused. “He’ll be charming, strong and intelligent, just like his father.”

At that, he chuckled darkly and she rose, turning around to face him. Her hand found his cheek and he leaned into her touch, leaving a light kiss on her wrist as he held her hand in place. “What’s so amusing, husband?”

“Charming is not the first word anyone would use to describe me, wife.”

“Well, you are. To me.” Her whispering siren-like voice was like music to his ears.

She reached up on her toes and left a light kiss on his brow, and Aemond was quick to hold her to him by the waist, wanting to have this - this quiet solace - all to himself for a time.

Who was he to argue with the woman around whom his entire world revolved? The very one that held his heart in her hands?

He stands in the middle of what used to be their shared chambers and sighs.

The entire room is covered in pieces of her - fragments of her that he desperately clings to for dear life. Robes and dresses that she had not worn in a long time, but still manage to somehow retain her scent. Quills and ink that she used to write her correspondence with, now left to gather dust. Ten Thousand Ships, her favorite book, one that he had given to her as a name day present, laid abandoned on the bedside table.

This was the very same chamber where he had claimed her. This was where he had first admitted to loving her. This was where she had told him that she was with child. This was where they had spent countless nights talking well into the night, their bodies entwined and voices coming out in hushed whispers and low giggles. This was where they had discovered and learned of the passions of the marital bed, together. This was where their marriage had grown and bloomed.

If he walks a little further, his feet will take him to the adjoined room where his son used to sleep - but try as he might, he does not have the strength for that. Not yet.

He sits by the edge of their bed, the sunlight passing through the windows in streaks of yellow gold. He closes his good eye, hoping for a little time to adjust to the light. Perhaps if he closes it hard enough, he will be able to picture her sitting by the window with her focused eyes trained on her embroidery or one of his books, waiting for him to come back to her after his daily duties.

His nose flares at the unearthly reminder that his wife is no longer his by side. She had been full of happiness and life, and she had brought light into his life. He welcomed it for as long as she was around, but now that she was gone, he closes his eye and avoids it like the plague, much like he does with the sunlight that now warms his skin.

Her world has become dark because of him. How can he sit in the light in good conscience, when he knows he has lost all right to it?

The waves crashed by the shores of Blackwater Bay and she sat on the sands, watching them. She had a book in her hands, and a basket of food that she had the maids prepare for them to take.

Her eyes closely followed her husband as he held their baby son’s hands upright, his little pudgy feet resting over his huge boot-clad ones as he led them forward. The little boy’s gurgling and laughing echoed through the wind, and she took a bite of a juicy apple while holding a book in her other hand.

They were the picture of a happy family, the stories of whom may be immortalized in songs for years to come.

He had not yet begun to walk, and his words were all a blubbering mess - but Aemond Targaryen was not known for being patient. He insisted on guiding his son to his feet so his first steps would come to him quicker, and spoke to him in High Valyrian in hopes that his first words would be in his native tongue.

Her boys had walked all the way toward her with her baby’s toes pressing onto Aemond’s feet harshly. He picked him up and held him then, and his son’s hands landed on his eyepatch. It had become his favorite little plaything these days - the boy took to wrangling it off his father’s head and swinging it with his two fat fingers until he grew tired - that was if he did not notice the sapphire first. By the Gods, if he did, he would insist on taking that off to play with too. His son, like him, had a taste for the finer things in life, it would seem.

“He’s taken well to the waters, I think,” she said. Her fondness for the little lad and her husband was evident in her face as she watched them. Her son had taken to swinging his arms in all directions, occasionally hitting his father’s face.

“Water does not mix with fire and blood. He should not be taking so well to the waters.”

“Suppose he can embrace it all then. Perhaps he’s… special.” She rose to meet her son’s eyes, leaving a kiss on his cheek. The boy smiled, a handful of his father’s alabaster hair in his hands as he pulled. Aemond winced, and she giggled.

“Zaldrītsos…” Aemond murmured, a quiet plea to his son to stop. It fell on deaf ears, but he did not mind. [Little dragon]

A maid had come to inform them that their presence was requested in the keep, and Aemond handed the boy over to her before walking back to give his wife his hand. He pressed a kiss to her knuckles and rubbed her hand with his before leading them away, their steps slow and relaxed.

“We should have another,” she said. Her smile, the source of all his content, was as bright as the sun. “You should take me tonight,” she murmured then, eyes quickly blackened by lust. He watched as the girl with childish wonder transformed into a seductress, and he lost even before he tried - defeat had never felt sweeter.

He could never deny her anything she wanted.

“Do you want me, wife?” He muttered darkly as he halted his steps, turning towards her. He held her by the waist and kissed her brow, waiting for her to respond.

“I always want you,” she murmured, eyes fluttering at the closeness of his lips. Her bright eyes sought his lilac one as the sound of the waves rippled through the air. “I also want to bear you another child. Would you like that, husband? Another little babe for us to love…”

He nodded and kissed her, pouring all his passion into it as he devoured her lips. “You do look beautiful, belly round and full with my child.”

That night, he choked her name out like an urgent prayer while he spilled into her, his peak following soon after hers. He then peppered kisses across her face and neck as the smell of sweat and coupling engulfed them, while she held onto his hair and let her hand wander over it in a soothing manner. He rubbed a hand over her belly, praying that his seed had taken. If not, he would seek her out and touch her everywhere once more - he would never be tired of her.

If another child was what she desired, then she shall have it - for how could he ever deny her?

The burns and injuries had ruined any spirit Aegon may have had as King.

He had watched his brother as he grew into a fierce protector of his family soon after being crowned. Ser Criston had made clear the dangers that they posed to Rhaenyra with their very existence, and it was all Aegon needed to grow into his role as the rightful monarch. However, he had gotten ahead of himself and underestimated his skills as a dragonriding fighter and gotten himself hurt.

Aemond’s role as Prince Regent was something that he slid into seamlessly - he had always known that he was the better fit for the throne after all. His first action was to ensure the safety of his own wife, Helaena and her three children.

“They’ve been moved to our father’s old chambers. Deep in the Holdfast, far away from any possible intru-”

“I know where the chambers are, Aemond. Will you shut up? You’re giving me a headache.” Aegon interrupted, words slurred as he sipped on Arbor Red. The wine sloshed in the cup as it moved in his unsteady hands.

His eyes were trained on his brother, a tired and tested man who was now incharge of running a Kingdom. Aegon knew that the crown was heavy, but it did not compare to the weight of the world that Aemond always carried on his shoulders. It only seemed to have gotten worse since his son’s death and his wife’s isolation.

“Does she fare any better?”

“No.” It is all Aemond wishes to say on the matter.

While he may not want to speak of the family he had lost, Aemond knew that he would protect those he was left with every breath in his body if need be. He may not have been there for his little boy, but he would die before he let a hair on any of his remaining family members’ heads be touched. The regret of being an inadequate husband and father pricked at him like the heat from the bright blaze of the fire in the hearth, and he walked out with purpose.

He knew where he was going next. After all, his feet always carried him to her at nightfall.

When Aemond came home dripping wet from the rain that had drenched him at Storm’s End, he was convinced that he had ruined everything good that he had. He could not imagine a simple scratch on his little boy without feeling angered - how could he expect Rhaenyra to simply accept her son’s death?

He had to get them safe. He had to keep them safe. He had to keep them safe. Safe, safe, safe.

She had just left the babe with the nursemaid and come to their chambers to find a moment of quiet before her son’s inevitable crying began again. Her eyes widened when she opened the door to find her husband completely drenched, looking like he was inviting death with open arms. He may as well have.

“Aemond..” She rushed to him immediately, hands going to his damp hair and clothes. “Gods did it rain on your ride back home? Let me fetch you some clean clothes and something to dry yourself with.” He reached out to her before she could go too far, and she gasped at how cold his touch was.

It was always warm, and tonight it was not.

“Stay, please.”

“I need you to put on something warm first, Aemond. You’ll catch a chill.”

She was too distracted by his wet state to notice the tears mixed with the raindrops. He said nothing as she walked away and brought back fresh garb for him to change into. She quietly bade that he raise his arms and he obeyed, not having the strength to do anything else. Slowly, each garment fell with a wet thwack to the floor and she took to wiping all the water off of him.

His grave silence unnerved her immensely, and she knew something was wrong. She would wait for him to say it.

She dressed him in a linen undershirt and breeches and took him to his beloved chair by the fire, in hopes that it would warm him up and encourage him to tell her of what plagued him. He sat in silence for a long while as she sat cross-legged on the floor, her forehead leaning on one of his thighs while her finger drew mindless patterns on the other.

His hand always reached for her hair when they sat like this, but tonight, that was not the case. She looked up at him with inquiring eyes, and as he caught her vision with his one eye, he did not have the heart to tell her what he had done, but he had to.

“I killed Lucerys Velaryon.” His voice is hoarse and the words are choked out with difficulty, and while the weight of his actions hit him hard, it was harder to watch his sweet wife’s concerned face morph into something else entirely.

“What?”

“He was sent as an envoy. I only meant…” He gulped, and the tears fell freely once more.

She quickly lifted herself up and straddled him, holding his face in both her hands. Her fingers caught every tear that fell in quick succession. “Tell me, go on.”

“I only meant to scare him. I need you to believe me, I did not mean to kill him.”

Her husband was a proud man, and it made her stomach churn to see him sound so broken. She feared that she may not like what she was about to hear, but she had promised to be his other half for all his life, and now he needed her.

He may be fearsome, but he was not a cold-blooded murderer. He did not mean to kill him - but how much weight did his intent hold, now that the boy was dead?

“I believe you. Go on.”

“The dragons…” He let out a hoarse breath and she continued to wipe at his tears with the tips of her thumbs - softness that he right now felt very undeserving of. “Arrax breathed fire at Vhagar and she retaliated, she bit into the dragon’s neck and Luke fell, so did Arrax.”

She felt light headed with worry. How could she stomach the thought of a young boy falling to his death from the skies? How could she, when she was a mother to a little boy herself?

His uncle, Daemon, was going to come for them, Aemond was sure of that. But he could not bring himself to think of much else as he watched his wife digest all that he had told her, never once ceasing to remind him that she believed him, even if nobody else would.

When they rose, Aemond’s anger knew no bounds. The possible consequences ran through his mind as he pushed his desk onto the floor with brute force. The sharp edges of her vanity had drawn blood from the back of his hand as he moved in frustration, and she was quick to hold onto him and remind him of her presence. He was not alone, he had her.

“Take me. Take it out on me.” Aemond could not think straight, and she could not bear to see him hurt himself, any more than he already has. It is this very thought that drives her to take his hand and lay it upon her clothed chest.

He took her from behind that night, hands clutching onto her bouncing breasts. Every string that was stretched had snapped with each rough thrust into her, the sounds of skin slapping skin somehow seeming too rough that night. “We’re going to be fine, wife,” he groaned - and she did not know whom he was trying to placate - her, or himself?

“I will keep you safe, the both of you.”

When he was done with her, she was left looking ragged with dried tear tracks on her face. He wanted to apologize - it seemed as though he hurt everything he touched, and after his now dead Stong nephew, his own sweet wife was his latest victim.

She held him between her breasts that night as they both wept, at a loss for words at what he had done. She did not know how to comfort him or rid him of the guilt or paranoia that his mind now played host to.

What she did know is that her husband needed her, and that she was not going anywhere. So when he suggested sending her and their son away, fearing for her safety, she begged him to let her stand by his side.

“If something were to happen to me, there would be nobody to protect you and our boy.”

“If something were to happen to you, our son and I would much rather follow you than brave many years alone.”

He reluctantly gave in, thinking that an increased guard and his constant presence around them would be enough to keep them unharmed.

How wrong he was.

He had walked away only for a moment.

His wife had wanted to eat some cake during the night - he suspected that she was with child again. Little did he know that it was the last moment of their happy marriage. The sight that he had walked back into was something that would never fail to haunt him.

Dead guards, a whole litany of them. His wife in her bloodied white shift, holding onto their son’s decapitated body. All the light in her eyes had dimmed as he stood frozen in place, his eye widened at the harrowing sight before him.

She wailed as she clutched the corpse to her chest, with no care for the injuries on her own body, or the blood of their babe that was now mixed in with her own.

“My boy, my precious boy…”

The rest of the royal family soon followed and his mother pulled her away from the babe’s lifeless body. He fell to the floor with no one to hold him, and Aemond could do nothing but watch. Aegon’s angry calls for his nephew’s head to be brought back along with the killers slipped into one ear and slipped out the other, and he went numb as he realized that the consequences of his actions had caught up to him.

Him, he could understand. But his sweet wife, his little son? What had they done?

A son for a son.

The rational part of his mind would have argued that Luke’s death probably left Rhaenyra feeling the same tragedy that he was faced with - but he was anything but rational in that moment. His fists clenched as his knuckles met the wall, and Aegon had to physically restrain him from walking out to catch the rats himself.

“She needs you. She needs you. She needs you. Listen to me, Aemond!”

Helaena had collapsed onto the chair entirely, repeating ominous words that he did not register at all.

“Blood and Cheese. Blood and Cheese. Blood and Cheese.”

Aegon had gone to join in the hunt for his nephew’s killers, and she kept rocking herself back and forth at the sight of the blood that now painted the walls and floors of her brother’s chambers until she was led away. Aemond stood, all alone in a pool of his son’s and wife’s blood.

When the Silent Sisters were led into the chamber by his grandfather, Aemond froze. His wife had held their lifeless son to her breast as she cried, but he could not bring himself to look at him, much less touch him.

Hours later, with patches of his own son's blood soaked through his clothes, he had gone to see her. He held her in his arms as she sobbed through the night, trying to push him away with each firm hit to his chest. Aemond shushed her over and over to no avail, holding her closer each time she tried to separate herself from him. Sometime during that night, her eyes had become lifeless; a deep abyss. The sight of it finally drove him to tears too, with his good eye becoming a glistening violet ring floating in a sea of angry red.

They say madness is a slow disease, and that nobody truly knows when it begins. They were wrong. Aemond Targaryen knew very well the exact moment when the madness had sunk its claws into his wife.

It was right then as he held her, comforting her and apologizing like a madman for tainting her life with his presence.

The moonlight diverged through the stained glass windows that directly faced the room where she now resided. She had been kept in these chambers before their wedding, and she often spoke of how beautiful the lights were when they fell directly onto the corridors, reflecting the colors of the glass that they slid through. He wondered if she still thought the same. He wondered if she even looked.

In the day that followed their son’s death, they had burned their little boy and watched as his body was wheeled around the streets of King’s Landing for their benefit. Aemond had wanted to retch then, but he held his wife tight as the people empathized with the kind princess whose time as a doting mother had been brutally cut short.

She fared worse - she looked dead in her eyes, and he was sure she was lost on the inside too. He did not know if she even sensed his hold on her as she kept muttering their dead boy’s name in a series of weak whimpers.

Two days later, she had lost their second child. He held her from behind and rocked her gently as the blood flowed from between her thighs for hours, the babe coming out in clumps of bloodied skin, having never drawn breath. Every moment of his wife’s torture plagued Aemond’s existence, and he questioned his abilities as a protector while grieving his son and his unborn child all alone.

The Gods were cruel to him in their games. They made him watch as his son’s life was taken, and they took bits of his wife’s mind and soul with each passing day. He supposed that this was the hand that kinslayers were dealt.

It was a slow death for Aemond, and it had begun the day his son was killed. Now he had to watch as his once vivacious wife completely lost hold over all her senses, and lived in a world where he could not reach her.

On some days, she would receive him with love, as though his presence in her life had not destroyed her completely. He would be able to revel in her touch once more, if only to simply be able to remind himself that she was still alive - in body, if not soul. He missed her, his wife, his woman, his entire heart. But his actions had killed her from the inside - did he have a right to his yearning anymore? He did not want to know, for he feared that he may not like the answer.

On other days, she would be the complete embodiment of madness. She would fight the maesters and scream at them, begging for them to let her die and throw herself off the window. She would pull at her beautiful hair, blame him continuously and shriek, mourning the loss of their child.

When she was done, she'd lower her voice and murmur words into the air. Speaking to no one in particular, almost like a ghost, she'd fidget with her dress and say, "His body twitched after they hurt him. My baby boy suffered. Oh, my boy!"

He may not have wielded the knife that removed his head, but his actions caused it. He may as well have killed his son himself. Guilt was not an emotion that Aemond Targaryen knew well as a boy, but it was all he now knew as a grown man.

She would bawl and cry at him to go away. She would scream at him to leave her alone, and blame him for killing her children - and rightfully so. And though it pricked at his heart, he would come back every night.

He wonders how she is feeling tonight. He wishes she was ignorant and unaware, for he is desperate for her touch, her company. It has been weeks. He is brought back to reality when the Maester’s gown billows behind him in the night wind.

“Your Grace.” he bows.

“How is she?”

“Somewhat calmed tonight and not lucid, my prince.” The old man sighs before continuing. “The Princess continues to ask for her little prince. We have given her milk of the poppy, so she may fall asleep soon enough.”

“Hm.”

He is mildly relieved to hear that she is not herself tonight - for it allows him to relive some of their happier days.

In his hand is a book - Ten Thousand Ships, the very one that he had gifted her. He dismisses the maester and his stewards follow behind him. Aemond walks into the room with his mind steeled, ready to be brave - for himself and for her.

“Husband! Come, come!” Her cheery voice is not quite hers, and it unnerves Aemond - her words are not from her heart, and it takes everything in him to not fall to his knees and apologize once more for what he has done to her. “The Maester said our boy’s learning to walk! Did you see him? I was promised that you would bring him tonight! Where is he?”

Gone, where we cannot see him, he wants to say. But how could he, without wanting to throw himself at her feet in regret? “He is tired. All that walking has exhausted him.”

“I suppose, yes! They tried to force me to take that vile concoction once more tonight, I managed to push it away and evade them! Look!” His gaze follows her hand and sees the spilled milk of the poppy on the floor. His wife was a calm and steady woman, and now she was behaving like a child and mistreating maesters.

I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.

“You should not do that, wife. It is not proper.”

He holds her hand and kisses her knuckles, before leaning his head back to look at her. Her hair has not been combed today, and he gently turns her around to run his fingers through her hair, digits trembling at touching her once more. She could come to at any moment and remember who had caused her such distress, and then she would cry until he walked away - the very real possibility rakes at Aemond, so he remains prepared for her to push him away any time now.

I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.

"I know. I drank it the second time. I'm sorry."

He then turns her back to face him and notices the dark rims around her empty eyes. He sighs and lets out a long, heavy breath. If he was drunk enough and she was unaware, he would fool himself into thinking that they were alright. But they aren’t.

“It is time to go to bed, wife. Will you come with me?” I love you, I miss you and I am sorry. Will you come back to me? Please?

He kisses both her eyelids and leads her to the bed in her shift. He gently helps her lay down, following her immediately as he lays next to her. She leans into his hold seamlessly and he tightens his arm around her - it hurts him how despite her madness, her penchant to seek out his touch never changes.

He takes the book from the bedside table, and she squeals. “Will you read to me tonight, husband? I do love it when you read to me. Perhaps a quiet moment between the both of us before the maids bring our son back? You know how he makes a fuss and refuses to give us a moment of quiet!” She laughs, and Aemond holds his tears back once more.

“Of course.” He kisses her temple.

He begins reading and the dry sounds of his throat lull her to sleep in his arms as he rakes his fingers through her hair. When she has completely drifted away from him, he allows himself a moment of thought and kisses her on the lips - watching as she murmurs his name.

He had taken her to wife, and sworn to protect her from any harm that may come her way. In the end, the only one she had to be protected from, was himself. He failed her, and now, he would not rest until he picked up all the pieces and put her back together.

When morning comes, she may still be unconscious of her surroundings and allow him some more time, or she may be lucid and scratch at his face until he leaves her alone. The uncertainty kills him, but he will allow himself to enjoy her tonight.

It was on this very day that he had kissed her for the first time, in the Sept, between the statues of the Mother and the Father. On this day, four years ago, they were married.

And on this day, he continues to read to her because she had asked, even when she had fallen asleep - for how could he ever deny her?

BONUS CHAPTER FOR THIS FIC, HERE.

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inumaaaki · 1 year

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« i will continue to love you in every timeline. »

SUKUNA SAVING YOUR LIFE

synopsis: this is based on this random thought.

a/n: this was way harder than i thought it'd be. and it took so much longer than i planned. (i even worked on it during my lectures i just couldn't get it OUT OF MY MIND). anyway, i hope you enjoy it!!!

the curse had come out of nowhere.

you'd been celebrating your victory of successfully eliminating the threat of the grade one curse with your classmates, when all of a sudden, an overwhelming surge of energy knocked the four of you to the ground.

it didn't take long for you to find yourself trapped in the special curse's domain, unable to move due to the sheer pressure of its presence. and it took even less for the three of you to become on the verge of exhaustion, able to barely fight by just for your survival.

"(y/n)! fall back!" you can barely make out megumi's urgent voice before the attack is sent your way, hitting you square in the spine.

the breath is knocked out of your lungs, your mouth opening in a silent scream. unbearable heat and discomfort surges through your bones, incapacitating you.

your hands are trembling, your vision is blurry. around you, the whole world is muffled, like a pillow settling over your five senses. the world is tinted red, and oh? was that a pool of blood increasing in volume with each passing moment?

you struggle to stand up, using whatever strength in your hands to raise yourself up, to keep fighting. if you fall that means you had failed your friends. nobara was already lying unconscious, yuuji and megumi ganging up against the special grade curse.

with shaking legs, you struggle to stand, to balance yourself. but you finally raise your head, bringing your crossed fingers in front of your temple, gathering all your strength into this finally attack.

you accumulate enough cursed energy, feeling your whole body draining, until all at once you release it, and it unleashes stronger than any attack you had ever made.

you were sure, this would hurt the curse badly, enough to create an opening for your friends to finish it off. you and the boys watch it as it finally reaches the curse, the force wave washing over it, you can see yuuji gathering his black flash, ready to take it down—

the curse stands still as the attack washes over it, it sets aflame, and you hear its terrible pained screeches. relief washes over you, the ghost of a smile making its way into your face.

until the flames die out all at once, and the curse slowly, almost comically, turns around. it's previous mocking face was all but gone now. replaced by an ugly frown, it looks angry. and it was looking straight at you.

your eyes widen, hands shaking in disbelief. you can't control the exhaustion as the aftermath washes over you, can't control your trembling lips as you finally collapse.

and then the fear, because you know it's making its way towards you, you know megumi and yuuji won't have time to hold it back. and you really don't want to die, not this soon. you have to move out of its way, but you're on your knees, watching helplessly as it dashes towards you.

unbeknownst to you, at that same moment, excruciating pain surges through yuuji's head. his hands fly up to clutch at his temples as he doubles over.

"get yourself together, we have to help (y/n)!" megumi yells but he knows it's no use, the curse had already crossed half the distance, it was going to get her, and only yuuji's supernatural strength is on par with its own, but he was busy having a migraine—

"he wants to come out!" yuuji finally yells, and in the next instant the all-familiar black tattoos slowly appear on his skin.

he begins growing in size as sukuna takes over his body. megumi couldnt believe his eyes. he had to help (y/n), why the hell did sukuna make an appearance at a time like this? he grits his teeth, taking his defensive stance, but sukuna doesn’t even glance at him.

he dashes towards (y/n), and megumi would have never believed it had he not seen it with his own eyes, but he stands between (y/n) and the curse.

with one swish of his claws the special curse they had almost been killed by is split in half.

there's rage in sukuna's face, rage that freezes megumi on his spot. a manic glint in his eyes as he pounces on the curse and rips it to shreds, even when it is clearly dead.

and when he’s done with it, as he turns around and kneels before you, that rage is nowhere to be seen.

instead, you are sitting there on your knees as you watch it unfold, certain that once the king of curses turns around, you were the one about to be ripped into pieces.

instead he's kneeling in front of you, a conflicted, almost gentle look on his usually demonic features as his large hand reaches out to you, before he stops mid-way.

and you realize with a jolt, that the great curse before you is hesitating.

you feel your heart beating wildly against your chest. you are afraid, very much so. he was so big, so animalistic. with his outstretched claws, his four eyes and his sharp fangs when he opened his mouth only to close it again.

suddenly you feel the tears running down your cheeks, and his eyes soften at the sight.

he isn't hesitant anymore when his hands, with the sheer strength you knew he possessed, wipe away at your tears so gently, so softly, cradling your face as if you were made of glass.

and when he leans in, pressing his lips to your forehead, you refuse to believe this is reality.

when he pulls away, its yuuji facing you with an incredulous look on his face. and you realize with another jolt, that with his kiss, sukuna had healed all your wounds.

you're left speechless, staring into the eyes of your pink-haired friend as if he had suddenly grown another head. he looks back at you with the same look.

***

a week has passed.

you were growing impatient, but you were also scared.

impatient because yuuji was banned from seeing anyone after his latest 'slip-up'. scared because even though you wanted an explanation for what happened, you feared what it could mean.

however, you should've known better than to assume this presumed ban would last any longer. it took only for gojo-sensei to burst into your room for you to understand his intentions.

"wanna go see sukuna-kun?"

you flush at his insinuation. to be fair, you preferred these jabs to be directed in front of your face rather than behind it. it was what everyone was speaking about, anyways. how you had somehow seduced him.

jujutsu sorcerers were truly insane, in more ways than one.

but that was at the very back of your head. as you follow your very tall sensei through the hallways, you finally reach yuuji's room.

as soon as gojo slams open the door, yuuji jumps up from his bed.

"i swear i have him under control. he just went all crazy and started torturing me from the inside. he made a pact and he only wanted to save (y/n)—"

yuuji stops as soon as he spots you.

you pale. so, it really was true. he didn't, say, hold a grudge against that particular curse, or he didn't feel bloodthirsty all of a sudden. no, but of course not, he had healed you after.

he had wiped away your fearful tears.

"yuuji-kun!" gojo-sensei suddenly exclaims. "do whatever (y/n) tells you to do." and with that, he leaves the both of you together, closing the door behind him with a slam.

"are you okay?" yuuji is the first one to break the silence.

you shake your head, "i am fine," you say lowly, "are you?" you ask him sincerely. this was, after all, the first time you'd seen each other after that dreadful mission.

he flashes you a wary smile, his hand flying to rub the back of his head. “well… ” he starts. “it’s been, strange.”

“what do you mean?”

yuuji’s face is serious when he replies. “he’s been awfully quiet.”

you don’t know how to react to that information, but you can’t help but look away.

you’re now both sitting on yuuji’s bed, knees almost touching. instinctively, you grab his hand with yours and squeeze it.

“that’s a good thing, no?”

“well, yes.” he turns to fully face you. “but he’s never this quiet. he’s always spouting insults and threats, this silence is…unnerving.”

you hum. “i see.” you nod, thinking of the best course of action. “i need to speak to him.”

the words surprised you as much as it surprised him.

“uh-oh, no well in hell.”

“you heard what gojo-sensei said, do whatever i say.”

“i am sure he didn’t mean letting out the king of curses.”

“i am sure that’s exactly what he meant.” and you were very sure. knowing your sensei, he must have known that this is eventual what you would want to do. which is exactly why he uttered that last command to yuuji.

yuuji thrashes around, muttering about how irresponsible and stupid you were being, you didn't disagree, but you stood your ground. with your arms crossed over your chest, your deadpan face finaly drives yuuji to agree.

"fine!" he finally concedes. "but you get ten seconds with him."

you laugh humorlessly, "two minutes."

"you're mad," yuuji shook his head. "i'll give you one minute, but the second i sense malicious intent i am switching."

you nod. "fair enough."

and as yuuji steps back and closes his eyes, you start to panic. what exaclty were you going to do once you face him???

you had no time to think as yuuji starts growing in size, the black tattoos appearing slowly on his skin.

and when narrowed, red eyes glare back at you, you take a deep, shaken breath.

he does nothing but stare at you. you don't miss the way his eyes scan your body, or how his displeased frown only seems to grow by the second. his overwhelming presence takes over your senses. an aura of destruction and death fills the room, and it becomes harder to see anything past the fear clouding your thoughts.

"what do you want, brat?"

somehow, hearing those words helps to calm your nerves. even if they were spoken with such disdain and displeasure. it was the indication you needed to be certain he wasn't going to attack you.

but deep down, you knew all along that he wouldn't hurt you. not really, anyway.

despite every fiber in your being telling you to take a step back, you take one step forward with shaky legs.

he seems taken aback, and if you weren't hyper aware of every slight movement he made, you would've missed the slight inhale of breath when you took another step forward.

"you have some nerve, to stand unarmed before me." he says sowly. "if this were anyone else—"

he realizes his mistake and stops. his jaw is harshly set, his hands clenching and unclenching at his sides. if this were anyone else.

"i know you." you finally say the words that have been plaguing you all week.

sukuna freezes. three, simple words rendering him in a state of disarray he hadn't experienced in hundreds of years. it was all he could to maintain the scowl on his face, the leer as he looked at this woman to whom he had given out his heart so, so, many years before.

he barely remembered her, and it made him all the more pissed. why would such a puny, tiny, (beautiful) creature make him, this confused? this obsessive, this protective?

he hadn't been able to stop thinking about you ever since he first saw you through the eyes of yuuji. something in him stirred, something he had long lost. but of course, he ignored the jabs he could feel every time you got yourself hurt. he didn't care. he never did.

so why had he gone feral when you had laid there, on the brink of death? the thought of losing you, of your death. it was suffocating, unbearable, he couldn't allow it. he didn't allow it. did he?

and this was why you were here, standing so close to him. loooking at him with those big (e/c) eyes that searched his for answers. you look so soft, so weak compared to his strength; he knew he could kill you with one swipe of his claws. the thought, however, didn't entice him one bit.

and then you spoke those words. i know you. and it was as if you had read him perfectly, saw right through him. understood exactly what was going on here.

"you know me too." it wasn't a question.

your voice was so low, so shaky, but not uncertain. you suddenly wanted to touch his rough skin with your own, to close the distance and feel him. how was it, that one felt affection for a monster?

"you need to stay away from me," he says, and your eyes find his. they were pained, but stern.

"why?"

"because i am a curse." he steps closer, and you realize with a jolt how close he was to you, how, if anyone of you takes one step closer, your chests would collide. "isn't that common knowledge for you troublesome sorcerers?"

and then his hands hover again, just like they did back then when he saved you. and even if he does hesitate like last time, this time, he continues. until his finger is on your face.

gently, slowly. one finger, and then the rest follow as he cradles your cheek.

the breath has long been knocked out of you. he towers over you and you're frozen. how can a beast such as him gaze at you with such longing?

"why do i know you?" you whisper, and he gently shakes his head.

the movement is slow as his eyes roam your face, until they finally settle on your lips. he slowly brings his thumb to brush over your lips.

your heart almost burst through your chest. your lips slightly part.

you can't move, not under his gaze. not when he was this big, this magnificent.

all too soon, he pulls away.

"never seek me out again." he says. you panic, hands reaching out to stop him as he steps away.

but you were too late, yuuji's confused face staring back you.

***

you toss and turn in your bed that night.

a simple moment you'd spent with him, and it had completely taken over your thoughts.

despite your better judgment, for the nth time that day, your fingers ghost over your lips.

you could still feel his touch, hot and hiding a secret you wished to unfold.

who were you to him in your past life? you shudder at the possibilities, at the truth you saw in his rough, yet sincere gaze.

eyes softening at the reminder, you hug your pillow tighter to your chest, as you let out a defeated sighed.

until they suddenly harden upon the following events.

somehow, the higher ups had gotten wind of the situation. you were summoned immediately after departing from yuuji's room.

"this is an unprecedent case," they had said.

"you do understand the importance of this task, don't you, (l/n)?"

"make sure to earn the affection of the king of curses, that way, we might finally be able to control him."

what did they expect you to do? you were barely able to get a minute to speak with him, let alone earn his affection. whatever that meant.

amidst your jumbled thoughts, a yawn makes its way to your mouth. you feel the fatigue washing over you. tapping on your phone screen, it lights up. 2:47, it says. you really should sleep.

but just as soon as you start closing your eyes, your phone starts buzzing non-stop.

annoyed, but more so alarmed, you quickly reach out for your phone. it was yuuji who was blowing up your phone.

pink-haired dork:

(Y/N)!!

he's killing me

he wants to see you

he's demanding to see you

(y/n) i want to see you too, something has happened i need to tell u.

don't come to my room we're both being watched.

(y/n) are u here??? wake up!!!!

you sit up straight, staring at the screen apprehensively. your fingers begin tapping away.

what do u mean we're being watched?? wth

your phone buzzes instantly.

pink haired dork:

megumi told me. he and nobara overheard a conversation earlier. we didn't understand what it meant but i think sukuna does.

he's been pestering me for hours but he just told me it means you're in danger

your confusion increases as you begin to reply.

and you believe him?

pink-haired dork:

i can't risk not to. if this true, (y/n), then we need to get you out of here.

before you can reply, your phone buzzes again.

meet me by the fountain in 15

climb out of the window.

DON'T USE THE DOOR

THEY'RE WATCHING IT

it wasn't that you didn't believe him, this was a hundred percent a scenario you should have seen coming. the higher ups would take advantage of any situation if it meant gaining an advantage over a curse. what you were doubtful again, was the sukuna part.

you don't think too much as you sneak out, not wanting to make yuuji wait out in the cold. you wear a jacket and rush out into the chilly night, being extra careful not to make any sound.

you spot him pacing back and forth besides the fountain. once he hears you coming, he lifts his head. the next moment he was dragging you by the wrist to a more scheduled spot in the garden.

"yuuji what—"

he shushes you, until you reach the location hidden by overgrown trees and vines. "we can't risk anyone seeing us together," yuuji says. "we can't anyone see you near him."

"i got that, but why? what happened?"

"by the ocean's might she was reaped. the devil's claw invincible after an era of peace. the skies welcomed his calamity. against the cruel sorcerers he swore his wrath. the world shall never again know peace shall she be reborn.''

the words were suddenly spoken from yuuji's cheek.

yuuji only nods. as if you were supposed to understand what that meant.

"what does that even mean?" you cross your arms over your chest. and when yuuji only looks as confused as you, you frown.

"this is what megumi and nobara overheard, and sukuna is saying—"

"so you don't know what it mean?"

"no. but he does."

"so tell him to explain!!"

"he won't, unless i let him out."

"let him out then!" you finally retort. you see yuuji falter, you understand his hesitance. but if sukuna wanted to hurt you, he would have already, wouldn't he?

"okey, okey. just be careful alright?" he sends you a stern look. all you could so is nod as you prepare yourself for another showdown with the king of curses.

and once he stands before you in all his glory, you realize this is a bit easier than last time. after all, he was the one who wanted to see you.

"i thought you said, 'never seek me out again'" you make a terrible impression of his previous order.

a big mistake.

you blink and you're pushed on the ground, his hand wrapped around your throat. he was only lightly squeezing, but with his intimidating form leering over you, his fangs barred inches away from your face, you can't help the fear that crawls into your senses.

"know your place, brat." he whispers into your ear. goosebumps erupt against your skin. you can't believe how fast he was, you didn't even see him coming.

you glare at him, trying to wiggle out, but he overpowered you compeltely.

"let me go," you meekly say, looking up into his eyes.

he had already been staring at you intensely, no, not you. your lips. you suck in a shaky breath. in this compromising position, it wasn't difficult to assume what he was thinking about.

"what are you doing?" your voice, barely a whisper.

and then his eyes look up at you, focused on you. "if you'll allow me, i'll make you remember."

you don't know how to answer because you don't understand what he's saying. you also can't form words, they stay, stuck in your throat. and he can see you’re confused, so he decides to show you what he meant.

he leans his whole body in. his breath fans your face. his presence consumes you, he was everywhere. you couldn’t nt ignore it even if you wanted, how his lips were grazing yours, how you knew if you didnt stop this—

you turn your face away. "no!"

"you don't really have a choice, sweetheart."

and you really don't know what he's going to do to you. and you're really scared. and you're trapped, and helpless. and you're wondering why yuuji isn't switching back. you can only close your eyes and await what's to come.

you were expecting a lot of things, but sukuna gently kissing you wasn't one of them.

his rough lips move against yours. a small peck, at first, as if testing, and when you relax into his touch, (a rush of warmth curses through you, as if this is exactly where you need to be), he molds his lips on yours. his hands that had left your neck land softly on your cheeks, in your hair.

and when his gentle ministrations continue, you finally understand what he meant.

you think he had imbued some cursed energy into the kiss, because suddenly the memories come crashing on you.

you see yourself, but not quite you, loving him. not his human form, no. you had loved him as a curse. you see yourself living with him, chastising him against hurting humans. and he listens. for a decade you lived together.

until he had gotten you pregnant. and that's when the jujutsu sorceress of that era had come together. they had ignored your dallying with the curse because it had benefitted them. the biggest threat to them had been tamed by you, after all.

by when they heard news of your condition it was decided. you could not bring his child into the world. a hybrid, an abnormality. they couldn't risk this unpreceded situation from unfolding.

and so they drowned you when sukuna was away, with your unborn child. sukuna came back to find your body floating lifeless ashore. and the sorceress ambushed him then.

in his grief he was overpowered, and despite killing every last one of them, he was still sealed away.

when the vision stop and you're back to reality, you come face to face with a sukuna watching you intently, with concern flashing on his face.

tears were streaming down your face.

"the world shall never again know peace shall she be reborn.'' he whispers. "a mother's wrath born and unseen, awaiting endless moon cycles to be unleashed."

"that's the rest of the prophecy." he pulls away completely, leaving you lying there, consumed by an overwhelming feeling of grief. "they believe you will avenge what happened once i restore your memories, this is why they're discussing what to do with you."

sukuna might have pulled away, doing nothing but staring as your tears fell, but it was taking him everything not to wrap his arms around you, to comfort you and tell you he'll never let those bastards touch you. never again.

and then you sit up and look at him, with those big eyes he had once worshipped. you don't say anything, processing what he had just told you.

the elders want you dead because of a baseless 'prophecy'? how absurd. how utterly foolish.

but you can't help but be scared. they had killed you once. or, even if that wasn't really you, it certainly felt like it. you rub your shoulders, trembling and whimpering.

and then sukuna can't hold back anymore. he makes his way to you, and takes both your hands with his. he squeezes tightly, tighter than he intended.

"no one will hurt you again, or i'll kill them." he says, and watches as your eyes widen, as the tension in your shoulders dissipates, even if by just a little.

because you know. you can feel the truth in his world. he was't going to let anyone harm you ever again. and you weren't sure if that thought ought to comfort you or scare you to the bone.

a/n: i might do a part 2??? there’s just so much sexual tension between them that deserves to be….written about XD

taglist: (everyone who liked/reblogged the prompt) (the ones i could tag anyway) (faceless blogs ignored)

@multiple-fandom-here-wego @odwashere @nikster1111 @dellalyra @shigaraki-b @omgher @minjilovers @scarletbedlam @moonseye @honeyhoneyyyyyy @manjiros-wifey @zoeylunar @soheexxe @gimyeongbestboymain @incognitoowl @ipandora001 @eymahys @imvivian @1-800-mika @stareatch @odwashere @weirdnewbie @bulletinreporter @sukustar @17cherries @sofdah11 @kenmaslittlebrat @dabishotgf @xoiajules

#sukuna x reader #sukuna x y/n #sukuna x you #ryomen sukuna #jjk imagines #jujustsu kaisen x reader

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arminsumi · 8 months

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growing up with gojo satoru.

NOTE: it's a trash draft abt growing up with gojo and he had a crush on u since ever or smth idk i think it's a potential backstory for a fic?? 👍🗑️

you and satoru have known each other since you were toddlers because the gojo family and your family are very close. he was born just two years after you.

growing up, he was the richest and snobbiest and snottiest. but he could be charming if he needed to be. formal when he needed to be. just not to you, his closest friend. his only friend growing up.

satoru greatly enjoyed picking on you. he annoyed you to death. chasing you down the halls while your parents had tea together. tripping you. ruffling your hair. stealing your sweets and putting them above his head once he had hit that big growth spurt and you could no longer reach them. "accidentally" spilling tea all over your new kimonos. bringing bugs to you just to freak you out.

but that was just all the annoying childhood memories that you dwelled on. if you asked your parents, you'd hear stories of how you and satoru were inseparable; jointed at the hip, the one never strayed too far from where the other was. where you went, he followed without missing a step and vice versa. often you'd be holding hands without realizing. you remember your grandparents laughing and teasing the two of you about that many times, and then you and satoru would throw each other disgusted looks and let go of each other's hands — only to resume that fingerlocking a few minutes later. it was subconscious for him to stick so close to you.

dwelling on the bad memories detracted you from remembering all the good memories.

the times satoru comfortingly slept at your side when you stayed the night during a thunderstorm at his house. all the times he stood up for you and faced off with that brat sukuna. how suguru would console and hug you while satoru threw fists with the other boy; always, always emerging victorious and bearing a triumphant, almost cocky smirk at you. albeit with blood dribbling out of his nose. you remember sukuna always picking on you, but not in the way satoru did; he had a malicious way about it, but satoru's teasing was playful and even cute. he was tasteful with his jokes, never falling victim to crudeness or vulgarity, never genuinely offending you.

and satoru's mother really liked to bring up that satoru had a "boyish crush" on you around the ages 10 - 14. she mentioned it at dinner all the time, when he was reaching the ages of 16 - 18 it really annoyed him.

"i did not have a crush on bugface." he would always deny it. ah, that ancient nickname, the one that still got on your nerves. and it came to be all because a bug landed on your cheek one day at the riverbank and you didn't notice until satoru pointed it out and burst with laughter.

satoru was gifted. you know, a child prodigy. he was the strongest. and growing up with him, he always used his gifts and strength to protect and care for you, whether it was physically or mentally. throwing fists with people who picked on you, acting like your bodyguard at times even if a boy simply wanted to ask you out on a date. studying with you until you aced your papers so that the both of you could go to the same high prestigious high schools.

albeit he was a bit enigmatic with how he showed his care. it was in the little things. helping you out the river when you fell in when you were twelve, confronting sukuna while you cried in suguru's arms about what he had said about your family, or picking blossoms out your hair.

that last one was something he continued to do through his whole life. whenever a blossom or leaf tangled into your hair, or got caught on your clothes, satoru would very gently pluck it off. he did it so smoothly that you never noticed he was doing it. though sometimes, you'd look at him suspiciously and ask why he was standing so close to you. he'd flick his brows up and hum "nothing."

#🗑️ — trash #gojo #gojo x reader #gojo fluff #gojo x you #gojo x y/n #gojo satoru

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llamagoddessofficial · 2 months

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How would your boys be with an MC that likes to play fight? Would they let her win? Would they refuse all together?

Sans: He does enjoy play fighting - but only the relaxed kind, and exclusively with people he really really likes. It's a lot of physical contact for him. You have no idea how much of a privilege it is that he engages with you like that, tussling and teasing when he normally can't even stand to sit too close to somebody. When the play fighting comes out, it's a very reliable sign you're one of his 'forever people'.

Oh, he'll let you win alright; oh noooo, he's pinned under a hot human, oh nooooooo truly he is defeated. He's totally dead, only a kiss can bring him back. It's the only way. Right on the mouth, please.

Red: Play fighting might as well be one of his love languages. He likes it rough, after all. A bonus of having to do a lot of actual fighting while underground is he's very good at controlling his strength, he's aware of his body, he knows exactly when to apply pressure and when to ease off. Red is probably the safest and most fun skeleton to play fight with; he has an extremely gentle nature underneath all that swagger and he loves letting it out.

He enjoys casual displays of his strength. He'll let you think you're winning, then flip you onto your back, or pick you up and toss you over his shoulder, easily disarming you. Though like Sans, he's also not adverse to "losing" and having his very hot human love interest all over him. He'll happily ruin the moment with sexual remarks too.

Skull: He loves play fighting.

... Well... he likes when you TRY to play fight. He appreciates the effort, he likes any consensual contact and anything that shows you're not scared of him. He won't be doing all that much fighting, he's far too big, as soon as he even gently play fights he immediately wins. But he'll act the part, faux collapsing when you've defeated him, even if it's as convincing as a bear pretending to be defeated by a small cat.

You'll win every time. You've gotta understand, though, that play fighting with Skull is playing with fire. He'll get swept up in how cute you look when you have that victorious glimmer in your eyes, and his cute aggression will rapidly rise. You'll end up crushed by cuddles sooner or later.

#llamagines #you [straddling red]: What're you gonna do now huh??? I've bested you in combat!!#red: i'll beg if you want me to #you:#red:#you: Ok. I'm going to bed-#red: YOU'RE NO FUN

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oofthwoods · 2 months

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CHAPTER ONE! ── ˙ ̟ bring home the glory !!

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 :: "what is a legacy? it's planting seeds in a garden you never get to see. i wrote some notes at the beginning of a song someone will sing for me". | a victorious journey always begins with a death and an offer.

𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞 :: funerals, grief and death. if you don't feel comfortable with these themes, go straight to the part after 2023. you won't lose much, i promise! the second part is somehow based on right hand man from hamilton, don't ask about it. this is pretty much a prologue number two tbh, but i still hope you enjoy it.

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 :: 3.2k

⭠ previous masterlist next ‭→

2021

In the solemn setting of the cemetery, the sun hung in the sky, seemingly unaware of the grief below. Its golden rays contrasted sharply with the darkness consuming your soul, each beam of light piercing through the heavy clouds of sorrow. As tears streaked your face, the warmth of the sun felt out of place, a painful reminder of the world's indifference to your shattered heart.

Standing beside the graveside, you looked up to the sky, seeking solace in its vastness. But the heavens offered no comfort, no relief from the ache within. You wondered why the sky remained clear, why it didn't reflect the storm of emotions raging inside you. Its serene blue expanse seemed to mock your devastation, its unwavering indifference amplifying your pain.

Your mother and her siblings stood ahead, their shoulders bowed under the weight of grief, their sobs a haunting melody that echoed through the air. But you stood alone, isolated in your sorrow, drowning in memories that threatened to consume you whole.

Memories of your grandfather flooded your mind like a deluge, each one a bittersweet reminder of the love you had lost. His laughter, once a source of joy and comfort, now felt distant and painful, a cruel reminder of all that had been taken from you. His stories, his wisdom, his gentle touch — they all seemed like distant echoes of a life that was slipping further and further away with each passing moment.

You recalled his final moments, the frailty of his form, the sadness in his eyes as he whispered his last words to you. "Be proud of who you are," he had said, his voice barely a whisper, his breath brushing against your cheek. "And never forget where you come from. Your roots are your strength, my dear." His words had been a lifeline in the storm of your grief, a reminder of the legacy he had left behind, of the love that would endure long after he was gone.

As you stood beside his grave, the words offered little solace. They felt empty, a faint reminder of the warmth once found in his embrace. You longed to reach out to him, to feel the warmth of his touch one last time, to beg for just a moment more in his comforting presence. But he was gone, lost to you forever in a world that seemed infinitely colder and darker without him.

You closed your eyes, allowing the tears to fall freely as you whispered your silent goodbyes to him, each word a prayer for his eternal peace. But even as you spoke, you knew that no amount of tears could ever hope to fill the void he had left behind, that no words could ever hope to capture the depth of your loss.

As you stood there, lost in your grief, the soft sound of footsteps approached from behind. You turned to see your mother returning, her eyes red and swollen from tears, her expression etched with the same pain that weighed heavily on your own heart. For a moment, you simply stood there, sharing a silent understanding born from the depths of your shared sadness.

Without a word, she wrapped you in a gentle hug, her arms providing solace amidst the whirlwind of emotions swirling around you. "I'm not sure I can go on without him, Mom," you murmured, your voice barely audible as you buried your face against her shoulder.

Her embrace tightened, her fingers gently combing through your hair. "I feel the same way, sweetheart. But we have to find strength, for his sake," she whispered softly, her words tinged with a mixture of sadness and determination.

As you leaned into her embrace, the weight of your grief seemed to press down upon you, threatening to crush you beneath its relentless force. Your mother's presence briefly brought comfort, like a delicate lifeline amidst the stormy sea of emotions swirling inside you.

"I miss him so much already," you confessed with your voice trembling. "It feels like a part of me is missing, like I'll never be whole again."

Her arms tightened around you, a silent reassurance that you were not alone. "I know, my love. I do too," she whispered, her voice thick with unshed tears. "He was the heart of our family, the glue that held us together."

A bittersweet silence fell between you, punctuated only by the soft rustle of leaves in the gentle breeze. Memories of your grandfather danced through your mind like flickering candle flames, casting shadows of laughter and love against the walls of your grief-stricken heart.

"Do you think he's watching over us?" you asked quietly, your voice barely a whisper in the stillness of the evening.

Her hand stilled against your hair. "I'd like to think so," she replied, her voice wavering with uncertainty. "I'd like to believe that he's found peace, that he's somewhere out there, looking down on us with love in his heart."

Tears welled in your eyes as you imagined him, a silent guardian in the heavens above, watching over you with a warmth that transcended the boundaries of life and death. "I hope he knows how much we love him," you whispered, your words a fervent prayer whispered into the vast expanse of the sky.

"I'm sure he does, my dear," she murmured, her voice soft with tenderness. "And I know that wherever he is, he'll always be with us, guiding us through the darkness, lighting our way with the love that he left behind."

As your mother's words gently washed over you, a sudden movement caught your eye. In the corner of your vision, a flash of royal blue fluttered amidst the solemn surroundings. You blinked, momentarily startled, before fixing your gaze on the delicate creature that alighted on a nearby branch.

A small gasp escaped your lips as you beheld the bird, its feathers shimmering like fragments of the sky woven into living form. With a heart full of wonder, you watched as it stretched its wings, basking in the fading light of the evening sun.

"We can leave now, if you're ready, sweetheart." her mother murmured, delicately turning her daughter's face to meet her own.

As your mother looked into your eyes, you could see the sadness reflecting in them, speaking volumes on its own. Although she softly hinted that you could go if you wished, it was evident that she longed for some respite from the weight of your mutual grief. Beneath her calm demeanor, you sensed her vulnerability, a silent plea to escape the overpowering sorrow surrounding you both. With a simple nod, you silently agreed.

With a mix of sadness and resolve, you followed your mother's lead, letting her guide you away from the graveside and back into the world. While you walked together, a quick look back caught your attention, drawing your eyes to the scene you were departing. And there, on top of the gravestone, sat the blue bird, its colorful feathers standing out against the solemn surroundings.

For a moment, time seemed to stand still as you watched the bird, a silent sentinel overlooking the final resting place of your beloved grandfather. He seemed to look at you, and, if birds could smile, you would swear he did.

2023

You find yourself standing outside a closed door, your hand hesitantly reaching out to lightly tap against the wood. The muffled voices from within only add to your uncertainty, but the urgency of speaking with the team principal before the Abu Dhabi sprint pushes you to take action. Whatever discussion awaits behind that door must be significant enough to pull you away from your pre-race meeting with the mechanics.

In the stillness of the hallway, time seems to stretch endlessly as you wait for a response that never comes. With a mixture of nerves and anticipation coursing through your veins, you finally muster the courage to grasp the doorknob. Its cool metal provides a fleeting sense of reassurance as you turn it slowly, the hinges creaking softly in protest as the door swings open to reveal the dimly lit room beyond.

Inside, seated at a table, is Mr. Vowles, engrossed in conversation. Your presence at the threshold goes unnoticed for a moment until you gather your resolve and speak up, your voice barely above a whisper as you address him.

"Mr. Vowles, did you need to see me?" you venture, your words hanging in the air with a hint of uncertainty.

At the sound of your voice, James looks up, his expression softening into a welcoming smile.

"Williams, come in," he says, his warm tone instantly easing your nerves as he gestures for you to enter. "Have you met Sargeant?" he continues, motioning towards a figure standing nearby, their presence previously hidden in the shadows of the room.

As James mentions Logan, it's like a floodgate of memories bursting open, whisking you back to the time when you and Logan shared an unbreakable bond. You were inseparable, navigating the twists and turns of life at the academy with laughter, support, and a shared vision of the future.

But as the competition for a spot in Formula One heated up, your friendship began to strain. What started as friendly competition slowly morphed into something more complicated. The pressure mounted, and with it came a subtle shift in your relationship. Each race seemed to drive a wedge between you, rather than bringing you closer.

It was at the peak of your rivalry that things started to unravel. Every little disagreement or perceived slight seemed to fester, poisoning the once vibrant atmosphere between you. Despite your efforts to keep up appearances, there was an underlying tension that threatened to fracture your bond.

When Logan secured a seat at Williams while you remained in F2, a whirlwind of emotions swept over you. Of course, you were genuinely happy for him, but there was also a pang of envy and disappointment gnawing at your heart. It felt like a piece of your own dream slipping away, leaving you grappling with a sense of loss you couldn't quite shake.

And then, just when you thought things couldn't get any more complicated, James hinted at the possibility of you stepping into Logan's shoes. The idea of replacing your friend-turned-competitor added another layer of complexity to an already tangled web of emotions. It was a constant battle between your ambition and the fear of losing the one person who had been by your side through it all.

"Yes, sir," you respond, choosing a simple response. Logan's gaze meets yours, seeming to ignite with intensity. "We keep on meeting"

In a deliberate choice of silence, Logan sidestepped any engagement with you, his eyes fixed on the team leader instead. "As I was just saying," he began, his voice brimming with confidence, "I truly believe that with these adjustments, I can improve my control over the car."

James reciprocated Logan's smile, though his gaze hinted at a wandering mind. "Sargeant?" he interrupted, signaling a shift in focus to another pressing matter.

"Yes, sir?" Sergeant replied promptly, ready for further instructions.

"We'll talk about this later. Close the door on your way out," James commanded, his tone decisive, drawing their exchange to a close.

As Logan's footsteps faltered on his way out, a pang of unease settled in your chest. You couldn't shake the guilt that crept in, knowing your success might come at the cost of his dreams.

In the relentless world of Formula One, sentimentality was a luxury few could afford. You grappled with the harsh reality that success often meant sacrificing the dreams of others. It was a something you had grappled with since the beginning of your journey, one that forced you to confront the truth that in this fiercely competitive arena, there would always be someone waiting in the wings to take your place if you faltered.

As you redirected your focus towards James, the man who now held the reins of your family's team, you couldn't help but reflect on the rarity of such a moment. Conversations with him had been few and far between, a testament to the typical hierarchy within Formula One teams where direct interaction between a team leader and a junior driver, especially mere hours before a pivotal race, was uncommon.

“Have I done something wrong, sir?” You ventured, a tinge of uncertainty coloring your tone.

"Not at all, quite the opposite actually," James responded, rising from his seat and leaning casually against the table, his arms folded. "Your stats this season are impressive—seven wins, numerous podium finishes. You've got a bright future ahead of you. But here's the thing, every day I see offers come across my desk to buy out your contract, and frankly, I find it amusing."

"Uh, sorry, I'm not following," you admitted, furrowing your brow in confusion.

"Williams, why is it that no team seems to be able to snag you?" James clarified, a hint of curiosity lacing his words. "You're undeniably talented, but turning down offers from big names like Alpine and Alpha Tauri might not be the smartest move."

"To drive their tractor, or worse, become a reserve driver? I don't think so." you remarked with a disbelieving smirk.

"Think about it, a spot at Alpha Tauri could open doors at Red Bull down the line," James suggested, attempting to sway your perspective.

"Everyone knows they have their sights set on Daniel Ricciardo, or Liam Lawson at best" you countered, a note of frustration creeping into your voice. "I'm a bit lost here. Why are you laying all this out for me?" you questioned, a perplexed furrow creasing your brow. You knew full well the offers on the table and why you were declining them. James likely wasn't in the dark about your reasons either.

"I'm just being honest with you," He replied, his tone carrying a hint of earnestness. His hand reached up to rub his forehead, fingers tracing over the lines etched there as if seeking solace in the familiar. "We're on a tight budget," he explained, a touch of resignation in his voice. "We're short on engineers and mechanics compared to almost everyone else, except maybe Haas and Sauber. While we've made progress since last year, I can't promise our car will match up to the competition next season."

James lifted his gaze, fixing it upon you with a mixture of earnestness and concern. "I'm not one to squander talent. I know you've got your reasons for sticking with us, and I'm grateful for the opportunity to have you on board. But I can't move forward without ensuring you understand exactly what you're signing up for."

"I'm just asking for a shot, James. Just one chance to prove that we've still got what it takes," you implored, your words tinged with determination. Images of past triumphs flickered through your mind, a reminder of the team's glory days.

With a weary smile, James let out a soft sigh. "Seems like sheer tenacity runs in the family, huh?"

"They used to say I took after my grandmother," you remarked casually, a wistful grin playing on your lips.

Turning to the desk, the man retrieved a piece of paper from a drawer, his movements deliberate and measured. "What are the odds?"

You knew precisely what he was referring to. "Iwasa's already out of the running. If I take the sprint, I'll have enough points to clinch the championship."

Extending the contract towards you, James presented it as if unveiling a glimpse of what lay ahead. "Win this championship, and the seat is yours."

The weight of his words hung heavy in the air, mingling with the anticipation that crackled between you. With the contract poised like a tantalizing promise, the room seemed to hold its breath.

You reached out tentatively, fingers hovering over the document that held the potential to shape your future. The paper felt crisp beneath your touch.

"I know it's a risk, trading one rookie for another" James conceded, his voice tinged with a hint of apprehension. "But I believe in you, and I need someone who believes in this team."

A surge of determination coursed through your veins, bolstered by James's unwavering faith. "I won't let you down," you vowed, your voice steady despite the flutter of nerves in her chest.

"TO TOP OFF AN INCREDIBLE SEASON, Y/N WILLIAMS WINS THE ABU DHABI SPRINT AND HAS ENOUGH POINTS TO CROWN HERSELF A CHAMPION." The narrator's voice reverberated through the sprawling circuit, amplifying the momentous declaration that crowned your achievement.

The roar of victory surged through the airwaves as your race engineer's voice erupted over the radio, a symphony of celebration. "You did it, Williams! Formula 2 champion, with one race to spare!"

Amidst the cacophony of cheers echoing from Rodin Carlin's garage, you felt a surge of adrenaline coursing through your veins, the weight of your accomplishment settling upon your shoulders like a mantle of triumph. Your mind raced with a whirlwind of emotions, a torrent of exclamations, gratitude, and tears that threatened to overwhelm your senses.

As you gradually eased the car to a decelerating pace, you couldn't help but feel the swell of pride and disbelief wash over you. With trembling hands, you lifted them skyward in a gesture of reverence, a silent tribute to the one who had inspired you journey.

"This one's for you, grandpa," you murmured, your voice a whisper against the backdrop of roaring engines and jubilant cheers. "I hope you're proud up there."

Amidst the jubilant chaos enveloping the pit lane, your thoughts swirled like a tempestuous storm, each emotion vying for dominance in the tumult of your mind. As you joined in the exultant cheers of your team, a sense of disbelief mingled with elation, the reality of your victory sinking in with each heartbeat.

In the midst of the celebration, you couldn't help but steal a moment to glance towards the podium, where your destiny awaited. The anticipation pulsed within you, a heady mixture of excitement and nervous energy propelling youforward.

As you ascended to the highest step, each stride felt like a triumph, a testament to the countless hours of dedication and sacrifice that have led you to this pinnacle moment. Your mind hummed with a whirlwind of thoughts and emotions, a kaleidoscope of memories and aspirations swirling in the depths of your consciousness.

The thunderous roar of the crowd enveloped you like a tidal wave, the sound of applause echoing in your ears as you stand upon the podium, bathed in the radiant glow of the spotlight. Your chest swells with pride, your heart beating in time with the pulsating energy of the spectators.

Locking eyes with James amidst the sea of faces, you feel a surge of excitement washing over you. There's a silent understanding that passes between you, a shared recognition of the journey you will embark upon together. In that fleeting moment, as your gazes meet, you know with a certainty that transcends words— you'll be signing that contract.

With a triumphant smile, you raise the championship trophy high above your head, the weight of your accomplishment buoyed by the unwavering support of your team and your unyielding belief in yourself.

And in the middle of the bustling paddock, a blue bird chirped happily, swooping towards the girl as she lifted the trophy high. It appeared as though he'd be sticking around a while longer.

taglist (tell me if you want to be added or removed <3 | italic means i couldn't tag you) :: @formulanni @clownrrari @leilanixx @notyouraveragemochii @alliwantisadonut @oooom4rie @watermelon-sugars-things @glitterquadricorn @minkyungseokie @formulaal @itsjustkhaos @thebearchives @hiireadstuff @laura-naruto-fan1998 @cptg00s3 @welovediaaxx @eugene-emt-roe @cha-hot

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